Can François Hollande begin a centre-left revival?

The French presidential election will show whether the European left is bouncing back or in possibly

If 2011 was a tough year wherever you were it truly was annus horribilis for the European left - a year of frustration and failure. Frustration as the conservative politicians who lead most European governments spectacularly mishandled the eurozone debt crisis and persisted with co-ordinated austerity programmes that have pushed many countries back into recession and driven unemployment to frightening new levels. Disappointment as socialist governments in Spain, Portugal and elsewhere were toppled from power - collateral damage from the sovereign debt crisis.

From the high point in the late 90s when Blair, Schroeder, Prodi and Jospin set the terms of debate in European politics, the centre-left has now been reduced to impotence in opposition, in power in a mere handful of countries. Although Europe is still embroiled in an economic crisis which originated in the financial sector, social democratic parties rather than their conservative rivals have been the ones to suffer at the hands of the electorate

Incumbency did not help. The governments of Gordon Brown and Spain’s Jose Zapatero were routed because they presided over the boom and then were blamed for the extent of the bust. But, more profoundly, the economic collapse created an identity crisis which social democrats are still wrestling with. Having embraced market economics, light touch regulation and a managerial style of politics in the 1980s and 90s, many centre-left parties have found themselves in political no man’s land – outflanked on the economy by liberals and conservatives and on social policy by the hard-left.  

Indeed, although social democrats in Denmark and Slovakia have taken power in the past few months, the defeat of the Zapatero government in Spain meant that the Prime Ministers of the five biggest EU countries – Germany, France, UK, Italy and Spain – are all conservative.

But is the political tide about to turn in France?

With six weeks until the first round of voting, François Hollande is very well placed to become just the second socialist to get the keys to the Elysee Palace in over half a century. Although Nicolas Sarkozy is a formidable campaigner and has improved his opinion poll numbers in recent weeks, the evidence suggests that he is picking up votes from National Front supporters rather than from the centre. Every poll so far has Hollande ahead by between six-ten points in the second ballot.

The French presidential election has taken on huge importance for the rest of Europe as well as France. The ‘Merkozy’ hegemony has led the response to the eurozone debt crisis, so it did not come as a surprise when Angela Merkel publicly endorsed Sarkozy’s re-election bid. But a similar axis of the left has emerged during the campaign. Last month, Hollande shared a platform with Ed Miliband during a campaign visit to London even if, in truth, they don’t have much in common politically. However, more robust support has come from Sigmar Gabriel, the leader of the German SPD. Both Miliband and Gabriel will be acutely aware that if the French left cannot win against a hugely unpopular President who has presided over five years of economic decline, their own election prospects will fade as well.

In Gabriel’s case ideology as well as pragmatism is at play. The Franco-German axis has dominated European politics in the past few years, with the 'Merkozy' inspired fiscal compact treaty the shining example. However, we are gradually starting to see a coherent alternative from Hollande and Gabriel. Both have criticised the fiscal compact treaty, with Hollande promising to re-negotiate if he is elected, and Gabriel threatening to oppose parts of it in the Bundestag. They have also pointed out the glaring omission from the treaty, namely, the absence of any measures to promote economic growth and create jobs. We could expect to hear demands for a growth and jobs pact from a Hollande presidency.

Moreover, last summer, during the negotiations on the EU’s new economic governance framework, they signed up to a pan-European campaign ‘Let’s change Europe’ which, among other things, called for a financial transactions tax, Eurobonds and an embryonic common fiscal framework, while also decrying the “economic and social decline brought about by blind austerity policies.” Although hardly a manifesto, here are the building blocks for a revitalised European left.

The irony of post-debt crisis Europe has been that while the terms of economic debate have shifted firmly to the left, the centre-right has established a clear narrative that has driven economic policy at national and EU levels. From Berlin, London, Paris, Rome and Madrid, the mantra is the same - the debt crisis is solely the result of reckless governments over-spending and a diet of budget cuts and tax rises offers the only route to recovery.

Yet, perversely, there is little public support for co-ordinated austerity and common agreement about the need to re-balance our economy away from relying on financial services and revulsion at the excesses, and incompetence, of the self-appointed masters of the financial universe. In the past two years a raft of financial sector regulation has, most notably, banned uncovered short-selling, put in place limits on bank bonuses and regulated the derivatives market. Merkel and Sarkozy have even driven plans for a financial transactions tax – itself a policy that would have been dismissed out of hand just a few years ago.

For the past two years conservatives and liberals across Europe have tried an economic experiment that has been an abject failure, but have been allowed to do so virtually unchallenged by social democrats who have been confused and in retreat. Faced with a lost decade of austerity induced economic stagnation and social unrest, the fight-back needs to start and the French elections will offer a clear indication of whether the European left is bouncing back or in possibly terminal decline. The stakes are high. If Hollande and the Parti Socialiste cannot win when the political odds are stacked in their favour, then the prospects for their sister-parties here and elsewhere will look increasingly bleak.

Ben Fox is chairman of GMB Brussels and political adviser to the Socialist vice-president of economic and monetary affairs.

French Socialist presidential candidate François Hollande waves as he speaks during a campaign meeting in Nimes, southern France. Photograph: Getty Images.
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The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism