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The NS Interview: Ruby Wax

“None of us has a manual on how to live life – it’s a crapshoot ”

Were you always going to be a comedian?

In Chicago, they have one of the best senses of humour outside Glasgow. So, if you grow up around that, it's a real advantage. Also, nobody can take the piss out of Americans better than an American.

It gives you licence?
Exactly, I know them backwards. I know what they are going to say before they've even finished their sentence. I can smell their mentality.

You are from a Jewish family. Is religion part of your life?
No. I wish I had it - it's a really good safety raft. It would have been so easy, to be born with religion, but it missed me.

Your new show, Losing It, is about struggling with mental illness. Why did you want to do it?
For about ten years, I'd been trying to figure out a way to do something very funny but about something, getting behind why Hello! magazine would drive me to envy, eventually making me sick, and why, ultimately, I want all those people dead.

How does the audience respond?
I am telling the truth, using myself as the target, but usually everyone in the audience is nodding their head. I think that it's cathartic. None of us has a manual on how to live life: we are all winging it. It's a crapshoot.

Why do you think that we still find it so hard to talk openly about mental illness?
Once, we didn't say cancer and we didn't say gay; the new one is mental illness. It's because people can't get it into their heads that the brain
is an organ that can go down, too.

What did it feel like to be unwell?
People think that there is a little guy sitting up there who has nothing better to do than be a wanker and say, "Let's feel a little bad today." If you are mentally sick, that means every day, in and out: you can't get up. Eventually, you lose the ground you stand on.

Do you think that it was something you were born with?
Sure, my mother was mentally ill. I come from a long line of people who were ill.

Were you ashamed of your condition?
Yes. I never talked about it. Especially when you're someone who has a lot going for them - you know, I worked my ass off to get that.

Did the pressures of being on television - of celebrity - contribute to the problem?
It doesn't make you break down. It's a coincidence. You don't get it from something unless you were a soldier or around during 9/11.

When you spoke out about your illness, did you worry that people would define you by it?
They used to think that I was just a clown. People like to put you in a category. I might have studied the trapeze - so, what am I? A trapeze artist?

You've said the tough economic climate might help people's well-being. What did you mean?
I was being facetious. But we have got into this culture of "get as rich as you can, get as famous as you can". For a banker to suddenly work for
a charity might be interesting.

Are you politically engaged?
It depends on what time of the day it is. So I am not political, no. I mean, I think George Bush should have been assassinated, but for reasons of stupidity, that is.

What do you make of Sarah Palin?
A country that comes up with someone like her gets what it deserves. She's the hero of morons.

Do you think she could win the presidency?
She's popular, but we are dead if that happens. It always astounds me how stupid the whole thing can get between New York and Los Angeles. I don't know what is living in Arkansas but I would be very afraid.

So, you prefer living in Britain?
In Britain, they don't tolerate fools; in the US, we celebrate them.

Do you vote?
I can't vote here. I vote in America.

Did you vote for Barack Obama?
Oh, yes. I trust him as a human being.

Is there a plan?
I would like to take my show and rewrite it. I always like things that have been reinvented; otherwise, I'm just competing with people who are funny. You are not just being a comedian: you are making a point.

Is there anything you'd like to forget?
I would like to forget my early childhood. My kids, growing up - they have such a great childhood. I think, "That would have been nice."

Are we all doomed?
No. We're just going through a stupid phase.

1953 Born in Evanston, Illinois
1974 Moves to UK to study at Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama
1978 Joins Royal Shakespeare Company
1987 Launches Don't Miss Wax chat show
1988 Meets her future husband, the television producer Ed Bye
1994 Diagnosed with bipolar disorder
1996 Presents Ruby Wax Meets
2010 Starts performing Losing It, about mental illness, at the Priory clinics

Sophie Elmhirst is features editor of the New Statesman

This article first appeared in the 24 January 2011 issue of the New Statesman, State of Emergency

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The French millennials marching behind Marine Le Pen

A Front National rally attracts former socialists with manicured beards, and a lesbian couple. 

“In 85 days, Marine will be President of the French Republic!” The 150-strong crowd cheered at the sound of the words. On stage, the speaker, the vice-president of the far-right Front National (FN), Florian Philippot, continued: “We will be told that it’s the apocalypse, by the same banks, media, politicians, who were telling the British that Brexit would be an immediate catastrophe.

"Well, they voted, and it’s not! The British are much better off than we are!” The applause grew louder and louder. 

I was in the medieval city of Metz, in a municipal hall near the banks of the Moselle River, a tributary of the Rhine from which the region takes its name. The German border lies 49km east; Luxembourg City is less than an hour’s drive away. This is the "Country of the Three Borders", equidistant from Strasbourg and Frankfurt, and French, German and French again after various wars. Yet for all that local history is deeply rooted in the wider European history, votes for the Front National rank among the highest nationally, and continue to rise at every poll. 

In rural Moselle, “Marine”, as the Front National leader Marine Le Pen is known, has an envoy. In 2014, the well-spoken, elite-educated Philippot, 35, ran for mayor in Forbach, a former miner’s town near the border. He lost to the Socialist candidate but has visited regularly since. Enough for the locals to call him “Florian".

I grew up in a small town, Saint-Avold, halfway between Metz and Forbach. When my grandfather was working in the then-prosperous coal mines, the Moselle region attracted many foreign workers. Many of my fellow schoolmates bore Italian and Polish surnames. But the last mine closed in 2004, and now, some of the immigrants’ grandchildren are voting for the National Front.

Returning, I can't help but wonder: How did my generation, born with the Maastricht treaty, end up turning to the Eurosceptic, hard right FN?

“We’ve seen what the other political parties do – it’s always the same. We must try something else," said Candice Bertrand, 23, She might not be part of the group asking Philippot for selfies, but she had voted FN at every election, and her family agreed. “My mum was a Communist, then voted for [Nicolas] Sarkozy, and now she votes FN. She’s come a long way.”  The way, it seemed, was political distrust.

Minutes earlier, Philippot had pleaded with the audience to talk to their relatives and neighbours. Bertrand had brought her girlfriend, Lola, whom she was trying to convince to vote FN.  Lola wouldn’t give her surname – her strongly left-wing family would “certainly not” like to know she was there. She herself had never voted.

This infuriated Bertrand. “Women have fought for the right to vote!” she declared. Daily chats with Bertrand and her family had warmed up Lola to voting Le Pen in the first round, although not yet in the second. “I’m scared of a major change,” she confided, looking lost. “It’s a bit too extreme.” Both were too young to remember 2002, when a presidential victory for the then-Front National leader Jean-Marie Le Pen, was only a few percentage points away.

Since then, under the leadership of his daughter, Marine, the FN has broken every record. But in this region, the FN’s success isn’t new. In 2002, when liberal France was shocked to see Le Pen reach the second round of the presidential election, the FN was already sailing in Moselle. Le Pen grabbed 23.7 per cent of the Moselle vote in the first round and 21.9 per cent in the second, compared to 16.9 per cent and 17.8 per cent nationally. 

The far-right vote in Moselle remained higher than the national average before skyrocketing in 2012. By then, the younger, softer-looking Marine had taken over the party. In that year, the FN won an astonishing 24.7 per cent of the Moselle vote, and 17.8 per cent nationwide.

For some people of my generation, the FN has already provided opportunities. With his manicured beard and chic suit, Emilien Noé still looks like the Young Socialist he was between 16 and 18 years old. But looks can be deceiving. “I have been disgusted by the internal politics at the Socialist Party, the lack of respect for the low-ranked campaigners," he told me. So instead, he stood as the FN’s youngest national candidate to become mayor in his village, Gosselming, in 2014. “I entered directly into action," he said. (He lost). Now, at just 21, Noé is the FN’s youth coordinator for Eastern France.

Metz, Creative Commons licence credit Morgaine

Next to him stood Kevin Pfeiffer, 27. He told me he used to believe in the Socialist ideal, too - in 2007, as a 17-year-old, he backed Ségolène Royal against Sarkozy. But he is now a FN local councillor and acts as the party's general co-ordinator in the region. Both Noé and Pfeiffer radiated a quiet self-confidence, the sort that such swift rises induces. They shared a deep respect for the young-achiever-in-chief: Philippot. “We’re young and we know we can have perspectives in this party without being a graduate of l’ENA,” said another activist, Olivier Musci, 24. (The elite school Ecole Nationale d’Administration, or ENA, is considered something of a mandatory finishing school for politicians. It counts Francois Hollande and Jacques Chirac among its alumni. Ironically, Philippot is one, too.)

“Florian” likes to say that the FN scores the highest among the young. “Today’s youth have not grown up in a left-right divide”, he told me when I asked why. “The big topics, for them, were Maastricht, 9/11, the Chinese competition, and now Brexit. They have grown up in a political world structured around two poles: globalism versus patriotism.” Notably, half his speech was dedicated to ridiculing the FN's most probably rival, the maverick centrist Emmanuel Macron. “It is a time of the nations. Macron is the opposite of that," Philippot declared. 

At the rally, the blue, red and white flame, the FN’s historic logo, was nowhere to be seen. Even the words “Front National” had deserted the posters, which were instead plastered with “in the name of the people” slogans beneath Marine’s name and large smile. But everyone wears a blue rose at the buttonhole. “It’s the synthesis between the left’s rose and the right’s blue colour”, Pfeiffer said. “The symbol of the impossible becoming possible.” So, neither left nor right? I ask, echoing Macron’s campaign appeal. “Or both left and right”, Pfeiffer answered with a grin.

This nationwide rebranding follows years of efforts to polish the party’s jackass image, forged by decades of xenophobic, racist and anti-Semitic declarations by Le Pen Sr. His daughter evicted him from the party in 2015.

Still, Le Pen’s main pledges revolve around the same issue her father obsessed over - immigration. The resources spent on "dealing with migrants" will, Le Pen promises, be redirected to address the concerns of "the French people". Unemployment, which has been hovering at 10 per cent for years, is very much one of them. Moselle's damaged job market is a booster for the FN - between 10 and 12 per cent of young people are unemployed.

Yet the two phenomena cannot always rationally be linked. The female FN supporters I met candidly admitted they drove from France to Luxembourg every day for work and, like many locals, often went shopping in Germany. Yet they hoped to see the candidate of “Frexit” enter the Elysee palace in May. “We've never had problems to work in Luxembourg. Why would that change?” asked Bertrand. (Le Pen's “144 campaign pledges” promise frontier workers “special measures” to cross the border once out of the Schengen area, which sounds very much like the concept of the Schengen area itself.)

Grégoire Laloux, 21, studied history at the University of Metz. He didn't believe in the European Union. “Countries have their own interests. There are people, but no European people,” he said. “Marine is different because she defends patriotism, sovereignty, French greatness and French history.” He compared Le Pen to Richelieu, the cardinal who made Louis XIV's absolute monarchy possible:  “She, too, wants to build a modern state.”

French populists are quick to link the country's current problems to immigration, and these FN supporters were no exception. “With 7m poor and unemployed, we can't accept all the world's misery,” Olivier Musci, 24, a grandchild of Polish and Italian immigrants, told me. “Those we welcome must serve the country and be proud to be here.”

Lola echoed this call for more assimilation. “At our shopping centre, everyone speaks Arabic now," she said. "People have spat on us, thrown pebbles at us because we're lesbians. But I'm in my country and I have the right to do what I want.” When I asked if the people who attacked them were migrants, she was not so sure. “Let's say, they weren't white.”

Trump promised to “Make America Great Again”. To where would Le Pen's France return? Would it be sovereign again? White again? French again? Ruled by absolutism again? She has blurred enough lines to seduce voters her father never could – the young, the gay, the left-wingers. At the end of his speech, under the rebranded banners, Philippot invited the audience to sing La Marseillaise with him. And in one voice they did: “To arms citizens! Form your battalions! March, march, let impure blood, water our furrows...” The song is the same as the one I knew growing up. But it seemed to me, this time, a more sinister tune.