Elections and Conspiracy Theories

There it was.

Written on the walls of the Saint Michel metro stop in the heart of Paris:

Toulouse Complot

Toulouse Plot

In two words of graffiti scrawled across an ancient cement wall, the belief of many skeptics was succinctly summarized. Believers include a large number of immigrants, often of North African origin, but also some on the French left. They just can't believe that French security could have allowed last week's shootings in Montauban and Toulouse, that a Muslim born in France would do something so horrific.

Always fans of conspiracy theories, Arabs resent the portrayal of Al-qaeda in the Western media. They point out that radical Islamicists were once in the pay of the U.S. government. They served as a useful bulwark against the U.S.S.R. during the Cold War, and those ties didn't just die once the Berlin Wall fell. Thus when they hear that suspected killer Mohammed Merah was associated with al-Qaeda, they can't help but think of the possible (but unverifiable) connections he might have had with Western governments.

Mr. Sarkozy is struggling in his battle to be reelected. A law-and-order politician, he made his reputation during a school siege back when he was mayor of the rich Parisian suburb Neuilly-sur-Seine. He would look stronger in a national emergency and turn the campaign back to a subject he feels comfortable with.

It's impossible not to speculate. He had the power. It is easy to blame the Arab Muslim--Westerners believe they are behind all bombings and shootings. It would have benefited him...surely he did it.

Westerners, non-Muslims, in their ignorance and hate of Muslims, they just don't understand. Maybe a cry in the dark will shock them into seeing the truth.

Maybe a few words left in the center of tourist Paris will shock them into seeing the truth.

David Sedaris Agrees With Me

Comedian David Sedaris is now jumping on the bandwagon. After my musings a few months ago about my first doctor's appointment in Paris, Mr. Sedaris felt compelled to chime in with his two cents.

Writing for some publication called The New Yorker, he says:

One thing that puzzled me during the American health-care debate was all the talk about socialized medicine and how ineffective it’s supposed to be. The Canadian plan was likened to genocide, but even worse were the ones in Europe, where patients languished on filthy cots, waiting for aspirin to be invented. I don’t know where these people get their ideas, but my experiences in France, where I’ve lived off and on for the past thirteen years, have all been good.

While Mr. Sedaris' reputation for exaggeration might cause one to question his description of French medicine, I can assure my readers of the impossibility that exaggeration and hyperbole might cross the pages of my blog.

Cost burden and sustainability aside, one thing is sure whoever you trust and however you look at it: there's no way escaping that French health care really isn't all that bad.

Women Came to Paris Too

The postwar odyssey of American men in Paris, from Hemingway to Wright, is as familiar as a ride on a bateau mouche. For the women of the same generation, no matter what their ultimate destinies, the traces of their experience are harder to convey.

More on those women from Alice Kaplan’s Dreaming in French: The Paris Years of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, Susan Sontag, and Angela Davis.

Doing My Civic Duty

Yesterday I walked into the Center of Public Finances and, with a bold look of resolve, I said to the man, "I want to pay my taxes."

He replied, "Oh, you can't do that here. You have to talk to my colleague." He pointed out the window. "Cross the street, go through the mall, veer to the left, and there you will find the other Center of Public Finances."

And so I went out the door, crossed the street, went through the mall, veered to the left, entered the other Center of Public Finances, and, with a bold look of resolve, said "I want to pay my taxes."

The woman replied, "Oh, you can't do that yet."

And I said, "Oh."

"It will be at least May before we send out the paperwork for taxes." She pulled out a form. "This is the 2010 form. You fill out your marriage status, income, and housing situation. Then you send it back to us and we send you another piece of paper that tells you how much taxes you owe."

In a profound voice I replied, "Ok."

"You need to hold on to your "Declaration of Revenue" form that your company gave you. You will need it in May. Now, that's the income tax. Then in October we will send you a form telling you how much you owe for the Housing Tax."

"Ok, merci," I replied this time in an only slightly less profound voice.

Then I went to work.

What European Blogosphere?

A year ago, Cecilia Atrios started a blog. Since she was the ex-wife of French President Nicolas Sarkozy newly transplanted to New York City, I figured it would be interesting. So I started following her.

Two weeks later I gave up.

Her posts were like political press releases, full of blather and lacking in any serious content. Also, for no apparent reason she put large parts of her posts in bold, sometimes repeatedly in the same sentence. Given the total lack of hyperlinks, I was convinced she had just not yet mastered the sina qua non of blogs, the 'insert link' button.

But no...as it turns out, Cecilia's blog is little different from the rest of the European blogosphere:

As Ronny Patz noted in a recent post (hat tip to the European blogs aggregator bloggingportal), European blogs are still very much “unconnected”. That is, they use hyperlinks far less than their American counterparts or do it and in a way that doesn’t create two-way debate. In brief, Europe has bloggers, but no blogosphere: it lacks a living ecosystem to exchange and debate. Of most leading European blogs, only 1 in 5 were linked to other online content. This is a pretty striking number but one that is somewhat consistent with the use that Europeans make of blogs (ie. just another media but not an interactive one).

It's a sad statement about European democracy. The blogosphere is about one of the only places where Europeans of all nationalities could realistically get together and debate the troubled but worthwhile European project.

Us vs. Them

It's become so normal for me now.

On Friday night I had dinner with an American, a Tunisian, a Venezuelan, and a Dominican. On Saturday night I went out with the Tunisian again. I work with a Moroccan, a French man from Martinique, a French woman born in Paris, an American, and an Englishman. During the one block walk from the metro to work, I pass by shops run or staffed by Kabyles, Tunisian Arabs, Romanians, and Syrians. When we go out to eat for lunch the ethnic foods available within walking distance include Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai, Laos, Italian, French, Turk, and American (that is to say Subway and McDonald's, if that counts).

Like New York and London, Paris is a world city. You can find someone here from almost every corner of the world. Very few people are actually from here, and those that are keep to themselves. Most French people in Paris were not born in Paris, so even if they share the French culture, they share the feeling 'I'm not from here'. Most places in the world, the locals outnumber the non-locals. Everyone remembers a time when they were the locals and also when they left home and became the non-locals. In Paris, though, that sense of 'us vs. them' is virtually nonexistent. Because, when it comes down to it, we are all them.

Women Are Heroes

Today it felt like spring

Today it felt like spring.

What that is exactly and how wonderful it feels...I can't really explain. But I do know that opening my shades to a shining sun is a bizarre and yet utterly pleasing abnormality. The winter is not cruel in Paris, but, much like its inhabitants, it is not exactly welcoming.

Perhaps after two Moroccan winters I have developed irregular seasonal expectations. Paris is not Siberia, after all. It dropped below freezing for only a couple of weeks.

After breakfast I headed to work. With a smile on my face and a skip in my step, I left the apartment courtyard into the great urban outdoors.

I immediately had to hunch my head into my jacket, for I had no scarf. I might have even shivered. And then I looked up at the misleading sky.

We're getting there, but we haven't arrived yet.

Coffee and a Newspaper

I'm not quite sure why, but reading Le Monde over a shot of expresso in a cornerside café is a Parisian ideal I cherish.

As with many ideals, though, in my daily life I am far from attaining perfection .

Today, however, was an exception. :)

Puritanism and Sex-Shops

Unlike the enlightened French, Americans are prudes, hung-up about sex and unduly influenced by religious ideology. Religious groups interfere in the public square, getting in the way of open, rational talk about sex. This is what I am told incessantly in the French media and by my French friends.

And rightly so. Yesterday, for example, a sex shop was fined by a court and will be soon closed. A petition had been started by a Catholic group that was concerned that the sex-shop was too close to a school. The court agreed, citing a 2007 law in protection of the family.

Oh, wait...that didn't happen in the U.S.

That happened in Paris yesterday.