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French Revolution 2019
(Authors Note: Hopefully this post will clarify the current state of affairs in France for my English readers.)
As you are well aware Paris, and all of France, is not very gay at the moment. Due to the fact that, like Louis 16th, President Emmanuel Macron as a revolution on his hands.
While the Bastille has not yet been stormed – the current revolutionaries have succeeded in defacing a National Monument(the Arc de Triomphe),paralyzing the economy by blocking transport, torching cars,smashing windows, vandalizing shops and businesses, leaving four dead, hundreds injured and over a thousand (so far) arrested.
These “freedom fighters” are largely working class French who are “mad as hell and not going to take it anymore. ” And the current “troubles” are the expression of their discontent.
They refer to themselves as the “Gilet Jaune” (gee-lay zoan) – “Yellow vests” – after the classic traffic safety vests they’ve adopted as their emblem.
The black irony here is that now anyone who sports said vest will instantly be branded as a “Gilet Jaune.”
Their movement began, and continues to be spread, via the internet. Which means the Gilet Jaunes have no leader. No single charismatic figure urging them on to greater disruptive/destructive glory.
Likewise – no cohesive platform or political agenda. They’re simply “against” everything the Government is doing and/or proposing.
Bottom Line: Anyone “mad as hell” can”be” a Gilet Jaune. All it takes is anger/rage and a yellow vest.
And therein lies “the rub.” Right wing thugs,anarchists and all variety of hooligans whose “raison d’etre” is smashing things up, put on a yellow vest and go to town.
The yellow vested ones will admit that their movement has been infiltrated/co-opted by these “casseurs”(literally “breakers”), and that, yes, they’re responsible for the violence. And, yes, it is sad/tragic, but it’s the price of getting the government’s attention.
Likewise their blockage of roads. Assuring that perishable foods will perish. Assuring that businesses from the corner boulangerie to the giant supermarket see their profits cut in half or more. Assuring that the elderly and special needs people won’t get the medicine and/or professional at home services they need.
To put the Gilet Jaunes response to these disruptions of the lives of their fellow citizens into popular language: “Tough titty.”
The concerns of the Gilet Jaunes are genuine. But they are not unique.Every Western Democracy has cracks in the system. Which people can and do fall through.
What the yellow clad crusaders fail to appreciate is that they have the good fortune to live in a country with one of the most progressive social programs in Europe. You pay nothing to visit the doctor or dentist. If you’re unemployed, there is not only “chommage”(unemployment benefits) but “RSA” – a program that pays you to retrain your work skills.
But the Gilet Jaunes main problem is not Emmanuel Macron. It is their inability to connect the dots between their actions and their objectives. The fact that you can’t improve an economic system by destroying it, is not on their radar.
To date their “manefestations” have created a bill of 4 million plus Euros. A Figure that does not include businesses large and small who went OUT of business, due to the yellow clad “patriots” blockage of roads.
As one French Newspaper demanded: “Who Will Pay?” The answer, sadly, is ALL the French People.
Another newspaper compared the Gilet Jaune “movement” to a house in need of repair, occupied by several renters.
When the landlord fails to respond to repair requests – the renters begin trashing the house.
This does get the landlords attention. He initiates some repairs, and suggests meeting, in the near future, to discuss further repairs.
The renters response – is to keep trashing the house.
By throwing the Gilet Jaunes a bone – in the form of scraping a proposed gas price increase, other economic appesements, and the promise of a National Dialogue, President Macron has not saited the beast’s appetite.
He has increased it. Now, the Gilet Jaunes are hungrier than ever. More determined. More empowered. More convinced of the “rightness” of their cause.
Imagine if the level of violence, defacing of National monuments,destruction of businesses, human injury,and economic paralysis that France has endured occurred in the USA.
What would the Government’s response be? You’re ahead of me, aren’t you? That’s Right. State of emergency. National Guard. Army. Suspension of civil liberties. Live ammunition.
Like Louis 16, President Macron hasn’t been paying attention. And for that, he will pay the price. In the next election. If not before.
But what he can, and should do, to ensure the welfare of the Nation he’s been entrusted with guiding, is to, as police commanders have pleaded, bring in the army. Give them, and police, authority to use deadly force when attacked. End road blockages. Take Control. Establish and maintain order.
Like Napolean, Emmanuel Macron is vastly outnumbered in this third French Revolution. And like Napolean, it will be his Waterloo.
But it needn’t, and shouldn’t be, a defeat for the French Nation.
Live French Saints – Part Four
Authors note: If this is your first time on this page, checking out Parts One,Two and Three of this engrossing narrative might be instructive. (but, no promises!)
By now, you’re probably getting the impression, as I was, that the Toussaint’s life was totally sunshine and blue skies. Not. Remember that old rant: “Into each life a little rain must fall?
A big raindrop – particularly for Marie Andre – were her two daughters. They were seriously squabbling over the inheritance of their late Pere. (Marie Andre’s first husband.) The sunny sky here was their children. Making Bernard and Marie Andre grandparents. The doting happy kind. As most are.
The other raindrop actually had a cloud with a silver lining. Marie Andre’s Mother. Who lived with them. While she had her own suite and “did her own thing” she was definitely part of the household. And seriously engrossed in Italian. Not for a voyage. But just because it interested her.
Ok, so far so good. So – where’s the raindrop? Her health. Not the best. Which pushed a desired move to southern( more sunny )climes to the bottom of the “to do” list.
Then there was the garden. Of course, a pleasure, like most gardens. And like most gardens – a lot of work. For Marie Andre and Bernard, REALLY a lot of work.
Here’s why: Back of house. Patio (bien sur) below it sucessive rows of flora and fauna descending to a (more or less) level expanse of grass. Beyond the grass, bush and forest. So not only flowers and herbs to be nurtured. But grass to be cut and bushes to be trimmed. (Can you say: ACTIVE backache?)
These “raindrops” didn’t seriously dampen the spirits of Bernard and Marie Andre. They continued to greet each day with a smile. A joke. And unfailing appreciation for their good fortune.
A particularly fortunate moment for me was the day I accompanied Bernard to an “Old Rabbits Skins” rehearsal. (his band, remember?) He’d brought along the blue Les Paul Special for me. As it was ordained that I absolutely MUST “jam” with the “rockers of a certain age.” While, in all modesty, I do have a few “pas mal” moves on the acoustic guitar, I hadn’t hung one of the electric variety from my shoulders for many, many years.
Oh never mind! Of course no excuses would be accepted. The quandry was the usual one. What would we jam “on?” Since I was familiar with but couldn’t really contribute anything worthwhile to their 50’s “Rock Nuggets” – I suggested “the Blues.” A classic “fail safe” when musicians groove for the first time , as it has only three basic chord changes.
The first, and only Blues number that ever interested me enough to learn (part of) it was: “Hideaway” by Freddy King. (Brother of you-know-who!)
“The skins “(as do all guiartists) knew this tune. So, I managed to make it through, relatively unscathed. And, possibly add some “street cred” to Bernard’s rep.
Alas, alack, and gosh darn it – After 6 days of incredible hospitality ,great adventures, and not a few fine photos, it was time for the exotic stranger from the far away lands to do his “Willy Nelson.” (“On the road again….gee it’s great to be…”)
In spite of our warm connection, I don’t get many emails from them. But, each time I phone, the reception is the same. Plus 10. The number one question being: “When are you coming back?”
While I don’t know for sure, I would be suprised if Bernard and Marie Andre are not still kidnapping strangers and zapping them with their saintly vibe.
Happily, I was one.
THROW ME A BONE HERE,PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
Live French Saints – Part Three
Authors Note : Although I can’t promise – PART ONE and/or TWO could add to your enjoyment/interest/understanding of this missive.
While DA BG’S “raison d’etre is always to film his memorable meetings with marvellous people(like the Toussaints) – this voyage he was also on a photographic mission. The subject: Ruined Chateaus.
When this become common knowledge, Marie-Andre offered to tour me around the ones she knew. Several of which were not on my pre-tour research radar.
And so, since Bernard was off to play golf(active retirement, remember?) I was willingly kidnapped.( After all, how can you refuse your hostess?)
What impressed me most that day were not the chateaus. But the attitude of Marie Andre. She was never bored or fidgety while I trolled for photo opps. Happily doing her own thing, enjoying the scenery AND pointing out possible points of view overlooked by the exotic stranger from the far away lands. Contrast this to one of my ex -girlfriends who always brought a book along on our wilderness walks!
After several marvy Chateau gems, Marie Andre suggested lunch. (my arm twisted again!) Happily our “petite resto” had an outdoor terrace. The deserted kind. Perfect for a weary, hungry photographic team.
On the route home, we scooped up some REALLY fresh butter and milk from a local farmer. One of the great joys of country life. Food treated with respect – not chemicals. (interesting concept -wot?)
The fact that Marie Andre’s enthusiasum for my “pile of ancient stones” project had not waned, came when I discovered what appeared on the internet to be the Mother of all ruined chateaus. It was a decent train ride away. Outside of a major city. When I announced my intention to add this jewel to my photographic crown, Marie Andre ‘phoned a pal in that town, who then offered to treat me to a resturant meal and, more importantly, a bed. High Cotton! No long train ride TWICE on the day!
That was the good news. The bad, was the Chateau. It was a total LLLLLLLOSER! Bearing almost NO resemblance to it’s internet counterpart. And to add insult to photographic injury, surrounded by a high wire fence. WHY? Who would want to go on anyway?
But that wasn’t the worst of the bad. The worst was that I would have to, and did do the long train ride twice on the same day. Because my hostess -to -be was not off work until 7pm, and it was now barely noon. With (now) no other reason to be here, and facing 6 hours of nothing, I decided to return to villa Toussaint.
Bad decision. I never met my gracious hostess-to-be. Who that night, dined alone.
As Mr. Sinatra warbled : “Regrets…..I’ve had a few.”
Part Four -Next Time.
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
