Is France going down the drain?

I once had an idea for a book titled, "How France made me a capitalist?".  Recent news stories on the BBC; "France's Macron faces baptism of fire over economy reforms" and "French 'mess' threatens real civil strife" seem to suggest that I should write that book.

The present socialist government is trying to push through reforms that they hope will reboot our failing economy.  Unfortunately as always when a French government tries to introduce a reform self-interested groups are protesting to protect their "acquis".  These "acquis" are work benefits, such as early retirement for TGV train drivers, and cheap or even free electricity for EDF staff.

The main objection to the current reform is that it will allow extended Sunday opening for shops.  Today shops can open five Sundays a year with the permission of the "Prefect" in each region.  The reform proposes to raise this number to twelve.  The opponents believe Sunday is sacred and should be spent with families, ignoring the fact that many people work on Sundays already, and few people spend their Sundays in church or with their families.   Sunday opening would create jobs and perhaps raise consumption.  Personally I think the opponents are missing the real problem with the reform seven days of extra shopping is not going to save the French economy.  This reform is minor tinkering with a system that needs a major overhaul.

One aspect of this major overhaul was in the reform but has been pushed aside faced with opposition of Pharmacists.  It is the liberalisation of Pharmacies, unlike in the United Kingdom; supermarkets in France cannot sell over-the-counter medicine.  The monopoly is held by Pharmacists who often overprice these medicines, knowing that there is no competition and they are likely to be reimbursed by customer’s health insurance.   If this reform was passed over-the-counter medicines would become cheaper and this would save the indebted health service money.  Pharmacists are not the only monopoly and the reform seeks to open up other professions.  However it faces strong opposition from the members of all these professions.

I have been in France 13 years now and as my children grow up I really wonder whether it is a good idea to stay.  Many young educated people I meet are planning to go overseas after their studies, I wonder if they will come back, and what the France that they come back to will be like.  The most frightening aspect of France's present situation is that the only politician with the courage to make major changes is Marine Le Pen of the Front National.   I foresee a bleak economic future for France and a FN presidency if someone does not step up to the plate and pass reforms that will make them deeply unpopular but might just save France from itself.

Banque alimentaire and charity at Christmas time.

This weekend was the annual national collection for the "banque alimentaire".  The food bank collects food and toiletries which are then distributed to people in financial difficulty.  In my village the local councillors and CCAS (Centre communal d'action sociale) volunteers collect donations.  The collection takes place at the end of November in local supermarkets.
It was my first time, and I was interested to see how people reacted to be asked for charity in a time of crisis.  So I donned my orange vest and took my place at the entrance handing out leaflets with a smile and a "Bonjour".  As the collection is an annual event and well publicised people weren't surprised to see us and almost everybody donated something.  Nobody challenged our right to be there and solidarity still seems to exist, at least in my corner of the world.  However a number of people asked where the food was distributed, and were satisfied when informed that it was given to people in the immediate locality.  Suggesting charity still begins at home.
We filled supermarket trollies with the cans of food, pasta, rice, biscuits, etc. that people donated.  Once these were filled they were ferried to a garage that is used as a food store.   By the end of the weekend we had filled a garage lined with shelves, and my colleagues told me that we had collected more than the previous year.  This food is then distributed to people who request help over the following year.
This generosity is all the more impressive when you know that the annual "Restos du coeur" winter campaign has started.  The "Restos du coeur" was created by the legendary French comedian "Coluche".  It aims to provide assistance to homeless and poor people during the hard winter months. So we are asked to donate to them.  Then this weekend is the annual "Téléthon" event which raises money to fund research into, and treatment for Neuromuscular diseases.  So we will be expected to donate to them as well.  At the same time my two kids are selling their school and sports club calendars.  Any day now the "Pompiers" will ring my door bell to sell their calendar.  All these demands at Christmas time, it is a wonder there is any money left over for presents.
Mind you I would rather donate money than fight over discounted Televisions on Black Friday, something which has happily not yet arrived in France where solidarity is more important than consumption.

Language

I scrolled through my past articles to see if I had already railed against this phenomenon and was surprised to see I had not.  After 13 years it still gets my goat, it seems that just as I am feeling integrated, the French have a knack of putting me back in my place.
Today we had a meeting to organise our village fete in March.  The discussion turned to buying new decoration and the possibility of getting some "winflags".  If like me you don't know what this is google it.  Anyway one of my colleagues complained that the word was Anglo- Saxon and asked for its French translation.  He commented that he is always battling against these Anglicisms.  So in French its an "oriflamme", so now you know.   Another colleague commented that she found the French term more poetic.  To which I responded that this underlined the difference between English and French.  The French like poetic, literary terms, while the English prefer vocabulary that is punchy and has more of a buzz about it.
The same week I noticed an article in our village magazine commenting on a recent concert.  An Australian friend of ours is the lead singer.  His group sing a mix of rock and jazz classics in both French and English.  What disappointed me in the article was the line which said, ".. the accent of the Australian singer when he sang in French couldn't help but make the spectators smile."
Then my seven-year old comes home telling me that his teacher wants to meet us.  Apparently he had a bad mark in "dictée", a pillar of the French education system.  The teacher dictates a word and the children have to write it.  It seems that because we speak English at home he made mistakes in his dictation.   The fact that it is the first bad mark he has had in dictation does not seem to be an issue.  Now I have to contain my anger and avoid making the observation that good English is going to be more useful in a global economy than good French, as that will only make his situation worse.  Arrogant Englishman!
It may seem that I am being too sensitive, but I have had to put up with this "BS" for thirteen years.  The sensitivity of certain sections of French society about the domination of English.  During her nursery school we were warned about speaking two languages to our daughter, and confusing her!  While working as a English trainer I devised a course entitled "Anglais pour telephone et E-mail", only to be told by a colleague that I should have used the term "mel".  While I accept that it is frustrating for the French to see the language of their historic enemy dominating the world economy, I think they need to get over it as the Scandinavians, Chinese, Indians, Germans, etc have.  If not they could find themselves trailing far behind in an ever decreasing Francophonie.  As far more I am going to keep speaking English to my kids in the knowledge that being bi-lingual will serve them better than just speaking one language.

La sobriété heureuse

During my two year absence from this blog I made a discovery, Permaculture.  I have always appreciated nature and enjoyed growing plants.  So when we were looking to buy I insisted on having a garden.  For the last ten years I have grown some of our vegetables.  In addition, I have chickens who provide us with eggs, and a few years ago I started beekeeping.  It was during my internet searches for tips that I stumbled on Permaculture.

The more I read the more I became hooked.  I had been brought up to use classic gardening methods but here was method that seemed more respectful of the earth.  Permaculture believes in working with the natural system and not against it.  Rather than tilling the land, the objective is to provide a permanent green cover that protects the soil and micro- organisms, mimicking natural environments.  Chemical agents, particular those derived from petrochemicals are proscribed and even unnecessary.  Permaculture seeks to create a natural, productive balance.  After reading a range of books and blogs, I decided to take the plunge and follow a Permaculture course.  I spent ten days at a former silk farm near Montauban learning about Permaculture.  The participants were an eclectic mix; two middle aged men who were embarking on an eco- community project, an SNCF ticket salesman, a women who worked for the Ministry of Agriculture, some students and a number of people seeking to change their professional orientation.  Our trainers were an Englishman who had brought Permaculture to France, and lived in a caravan in Brittany, and a surveyor who walked around barefoot, and only ate uncooked fruit and vegetables.  However we all shared a common goal, that of living in a better world. The course was interesting and I returned home fired up with enthusiasm.  I built a Herb spiral in my garden and then helped my neighbour do the same.  I also constructed a Mandala garden, and experimented with no- dig garden beds.

Herb spiral

Mandala garden

At the same time, I continued my reading and discovered Pierre Rabhi.  He has been practicing agro- ecology for many years and promotes the idea of simple living as an alternative to our consumerist society.  His ideas are well presented in his film "Au Nom de la Terre" (unfortunately only available in French).   Watching the media with all the problems of extremism, environmental degradation, financial crisis, health problems, etc, the ideas of Pierre Rabhi speak to me and have led me to change my way of living.  My hope is that others will follow the example given by Pierre Rabhi.  I cannot agree with militant ecologists who try and force others to follow the same path.  Each person must find their own way, I have found a path that provides me with a reason for my existence.

11 Novembre

Here in France "Remembrance day" is always celebrated on the 11th of November, whatever day of the week it falls on.  It is a national holiday and every village and town has a service organised by the "Mairie" (town hall).  In our village the local "fanfare" (brass band) plays for both us and the neighbouring village so the two towns time their services differently.
This year we met outside the town hall at 10:30 before walking in procession to the war memorial.  The band led the way in their uniforms of cream trousers, blue blazers, and maroon ties and caps.  After them came the "Sapeurs- pompiers" (firemen) led by their flag bearer in his shiny, ancient helmet.  Behind the firemen a handful of anciens combattants (old soldiers) dressed in their best suits, adorned with medals and wearing the berets of their old regiments.  There are fewer soldiers every year and those that attend now are likely to have fought in France's ignoble colonial wars such as Algeria.  After the soldiers the local gendarmes are followed by the local councillors, led by the Mairie and his adjoints with their red white and blue sashes of office.  Finally the inhabitants of the village straggle behind.  The band play militaristic marching tunes and our procession mimics those poor souls who set out a hundred years ago.
When we arrive at the war memorial the band lines up in front, the sapeur- pompiers line up on the left and the anciens combatants and local councillors face them on the right.  The local schoolchildren are gathered behind the memorial facing the band.  The Maire makes a small speech, battling a recalcitrant sound system.  Then an ancien combattant reads out a letter written especially for the occasion by the President of his association.  Next the names of each villager killed in the first world war are read out by the schoolchildren.  It is poignant to hear the names of fathers and sons who both died.  I find myself wondering what it must have been like after the war in homes and farms where no males returned.
The next step is the laying of wreaths which is followed by a minutes silence, inevitably broken by the wail of a baby or a car speeding past.  Although many people turn out, many more seem to ignore the significance of the day and see it as a holiday.
Finally after a rendition of the national anthem, the militaristic "Marseilles", we are invited to the village hall for an aperitif of "Kir" (white wine and creme de cassis).  This pattern is played out up and down France in towns and villages as the country commemorates the lost generation of a horrific war we can hardly imagine.

Rugby school

I have already written about the Forum d'associations and the after school clubs.  At last year's forum my son decided he wanted to give rugby a try.  The local club is in the next village.  In my village they are all mad on football thanks to a wave of Portuguese and Spanish immigration when the mines still operated.  I was rather pleased because growing up in eighties Britain all my friends were football crazy, I was not very good at football, and the media was full of hooliganism.  Although not particularly good at rugby either, I have always preferred the atmosphere and spirit.  Even if, as my wife feared, the risk of injury is greater.
So one Saturday morning we headed off to the rugby ground, much like any other amateur ground around the world.  The pitch, of course, surrounded by metal railings and a clubhouse, with bar, dressing rooms and communal showers.  The smell of stale sweat, damp and mud took me back to miserable school sports sessions.  Why was I doing this to my own son?  Men of various sizes in mix and match rugby kits were shaking hands and patting each other on the back in a display of macho camaraderie.  Meanwhile parents stood around with their offspring.  One of the educators, as the rugby coaches are known, called together the parents of the under seven category and explained how the club operated.  The under sevens were the newcomers, the other categories had already trained last year and knew what they were doing.  We were told that parents could volunteer to help, "benevole", and could even follow a certificate to be educator, the "Brevet d'Etat d'Educateur d'Ecole de Rugby".  In a rush of enthusiasm I volunteered and found myself helping to train every Saturday and  accompanying the team to tournaments.
At the same time, I found myself enrolled on the educator training course.  This involved going once a month for a theory session on a Friday night, followed by a practical session on Saturday morning.  At first I felt like an impostor, my fellow trainees were obviously big rugby fans and discussed the national and international matches.  The names of famous players were bandied about and I was teased about being English.  I held my own making non committal noises or joking about French arrogance, but I felt out of place.  I lacked the technical vocabulary and forced myself to watch matches to understand more.  As the year progressed I became more comfortable and, even if I lacked the physical characteristics of the rugbymen, I could talk the talk, and walk the walk.  Finally at the end of the year I passed my exam.
However I still felt frustrated because the coach of the under sevens did not really consider me or use me.  I blew noses, dealt with minor scraps, tied shoelaces, but my training suggestions were largely ignored.   The coach in question had been coaching for a number of years, did not have the certificate and did not much car for the French Rugby Federations rules.  At the end of the year I requested to train another category without him.  I was given the under eights and began to train for real.
As for my son he seems to enjoy the training sessions and tournaments, despite breaking his wrist early on and then aggravating a knee sprain suffered while skiing.  I also think he is quite proud that his Dad is a coach.  My wife is a judge for my daughter's aerobic competitions so each child has their parent involved in their activity.

Two years of silence.....

I was shocked to see how long it has been since I last posted.  So much has changed since 2012.  
I grew increasingly fed up with teaching English.  The historical hang-ups that French people have about speaking English drove me nuts.  I can not count the number of times I have heard "Je suis nul en anglais", only to hear the person speak English with only the occasional mistake.  The French generally want to speak English but find any excuse not to.  So I began to find myself dreading lessons and sinking into deep depression before every lesson.  Not good for my family, my students or me.  I decided to try my hand at translating.  Over the years I have been asked to translate various documents.  The advantage is I can work from home and look after my kids.  For the moment this activity has not completely replaced teaching, although telling people I am a translator, rather than a teacher, seems to lead to opportunities.At the same time I have immersed myself in Permaculture.  In my own garden I built an herb spiral and designed a Mandala garden, both doing well.  I have three beehives in a sympathetic neighbour's garden, where I also practice Permaculture techniques.I attended a Permaculture course in the South of France.  This was an interesting experience; an eclectic mix of people staying in a run down silkworm farm.  The farm was owned by Dutch people who had initially created an artists community that fell apart.  The farm was currently looked after by an old, recovering alcoholic, ex- hippie who had travelled throughout Asia.  There was no heating and only one hot water boiler.  In the winter the caretaker barricaded himself into one room with a wood-burning stove.  The compost toilets were plastic bins with wooden seats.  They had to be regularly emptied onto a compost heap, that threatened to avalanche onto ones feet.  Most of the course participants slept on the dance room floor, however there were also caravans and several of us slept in tents.Our trainer was English; he played on his accent and English humour to capture his audience.  The course was interesting but lacked practical elements.On my return to my village I began to promote the idea of transition.  I organised two screenings of the Transition movie (http://www.intransitionmovie.com/).  Then with a small group of people we set up a system to exchange services.  Another group set up a collective beekeeping project.  We have also organised an annual litter pick in the village.Then at the beginning of this year I was invited to join the "Conseil municipal", and we were elected in March.  We have a meeting every month to vote on issues affecting the village, then there are other meetings to work on specific issues such as urbanise and communication.  I chose to be on the Communication and Development Durable commissions.  Unfortunately communication is not our strong point,  it seems that a quarterly magazine and a luminous sign in the village is enough for my fellow elected representatives.  There is a plan to revamp our dismal website but nothing will happen any time soon.  As for Development Durable it seems that lip service is paid to the concept but nobody takes it seriously.  What I have discovered is that many of the decisions that affect our lives are taken at a higher level, regionally or at the Community of Communes.  We have to simply rubber stamp these decisions and sell them to our electors.  But it is early days so I am trying to keep an open and positive mind.  
Meanwhile I push forward with my Permaculture projects.  Patience being my watchword.