Echoes of Vichy

With France back to business after the August break, politicians of the right are once again leaping

It's the rentrée politique in Paris and Nicolas Sarkozy, son of a once-impoverished Hungarian immigrant, is glowing tycoon amber after spending the whole of August in Cap Nègre, at the vast home belonging to the family of his Italian-born wife, Carla Bruni. The president and first lady had an entire stretch of the security-scanned Riviera to themselves throughout their long holiday, providing evidence that not being wholly French need not be a barrier to living the leisured Gallic dream.

It was particularly disturbing, therefore, that Sarkozy should have aimed his sternest pre-vacation rant at those of us who share a similarly cosmopolitan background. In a speech in Grenoble, he suggested that all immigrants, as well as French citizens of "foreign descent", should have their nationality withdrawn if they are caught breaking the law. The trigger for the proposal was rioting in the city in mid-July, mainly by Muslim youths, who had taken to the streets after one was shot dead by the police following a failed robbery of a casino.

Ignoring the death in Grenoble and concentrating on the acts of car-torching that have blighted his entire presidency, Sarkozy said: "We are suffering the consequences of 50 years of insufficiently regulated immigration, which has led to a failure of integration."

He also failed to mention the shooting dead by gendarmes of a gypsy in July in Saint-Aignan, central France, after which a mob stormed the town's police station. Instead, he ordered the razing of dozens of Roma travellers' camps and pledged to deport thousands of them back to Bulgaria and Romania.

The former Socialist prime minister Michel Rocard has accused Sarkozy of mimicking the Nazi puppets of the wartime Vichy government. The collabos stripped "undesirables" of their nationality and later deported them to Nazi-occupied eastern Europe - albeit by train, rather than budget airline.

“Round-ups" was still an emotive phrase among the largely French-Algerian residents of the south Paris estate where I grew up and where "Sarko" was a byword for repression. As minister of the interior, he forged his reputation as "Le Top Cop" of the banlieues, reacting to trouble by sending in the paramilitary police. I often saw neighbours stopped and searched up to ten times a day; those who protested at such treatment were frequently detained.

Other deeply sinister measures in his law-and-order initiative include slashing welfare payments to those without official papers and increasing prison sentences for convicted immigrants. Sarkozy even wants to deny citizenship to alleged juvenile delinquents who were born in France to foreign parents.

If there was any doubt that Muslims might follow gypsies in future deportations, it was put to rest by Sarkozy's own interior minister, Brice Hortefeux, who has added polygamy and the practice of female circumcision to a list of offences that he believes should merit removal of French citizenship.

This is of a piece with Sarkozy's recent national identity debate. Intended to revive patriotism, it has instead become a forum for thousands of overt racists, who seek to connect the Muslim population (there are five million Muslims in France) with every crime imaginable, from shoplifting to terrorism.

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Foremost among the bigots are, naturally, members of Jean-Marie Le Pen's Front National, whom Sarkozy is courting as his own electoral fortunes decline. Never mind that Article 1 of the French republic's constitution states that everyone is equal before the law - demonisation of immigrants is now viewed as a major vote-winner. As Sarkozy's government becomes increasingly unpopular, what better scapegoat for society's ills than the menacing "newcomers"?

Associating people of "foreign origin" with violent crime is a favourite Sarkozy tactic. Consider the way he has successfully portrayed the burqa and niqab, face-covering garments worn by no more than a few hundred women in France, as symbols of all that is wrong with the country's Muslims. Sarkozy's crude arguments are presented in black-and-white terms, often literally. Just as views on a "burqa ban" have been transformed into a simple choice between Islam and secular France, so definitions of modern French citizenship may soon exclude Muslim lawbreakers.

There are more expedient political reasons for the stigmatisation of aliens, too. The Liliane Bettencourt scandal has - like Sarkozy's administration - resumed after a summer break, with the president and his lieutenants still accused of accepting cash from France's richest woman in return for "overlooking" suspected tax avoidance. Allegations, strongly denied, about a coterie of compliant politicians in effect dedicating their careers to serving the super-rich have certainly livened up this year's rentrée, no matter how much Sarkozy tries to draw attention away from them.

In the meantime, the president's image as a mould-breaking conservative of the Thatcher sort is fading as fast as his "bling-bling" suntan. As there are so few policy successes to support his campaign for re-election in 2012, many of us hope that Sarkozy will soon be allowed to spend even more time with his former supermodel wife at her family seaside villa.

Nabila Ramdani is a Paris-born journalist and commentator

This article first appeared in the 13 September 2010 issue of the New Statesman, France turns right

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An English hero for the ages: Ian Botham at 60

Botham blends his sportsmanship and deep-seated passion for cricket with a lust for life.

Begging W H Auden’s pardon, it is possible both to honour and to value the vertical man, and in the case of Ian Botham, who turned 60 on 24 November, it is our bounden duty. No sportsman has given Britons so much to enjoy in the past half-century and no sportsman is loved more. Two decades after he retired from first-class cricket, his reputation as one of life’s champions remains unassailable.

No mere cricketer is he, either. Botham is a philanthropist, having raised more than £12m for various charities, notably Leukaemia and Lymphoma Research. In December, 30 years after his first walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End, he will set off again, in South Africa, where England are on tour. And he really does walk, too, not amble. As somebody who accompanied him on one of his dozen walks said: “You can’t keep up with him. The man is a phenomenon.”

Of all postwar sportsmen, only Bobby Charlton and, at a pinch, Henry Cooper come close to matching Botham’s enduring popularity. But Charlton, a shy man who was scarred by the Munich plane crash of 1958 (and may never have recovered from its emotional effects), has never comfortably occupied a public stage; and Cooper, being a boxer, had a solitary role. Botham, by contrast, spoke for England. Whenever he picked up his bat, or had a ball in his hand, he left spectators in no doubt.

Others have also spoken for England. Bobby Moore and Martin Johnson, captains respectively of England’s World Cup-winning football and rugby teams, were great players but did not reach out to people as naturally as Botham. Nick Faldo, Lester Piggott, Sebastian Coe and, to bring us up to date, Lewis Hamilton have beaten the best in the world, but they lacked those qualities that Botham displayed so freely. That is not to mark them down. They were, and are, champions. But Botham was born under a different star.

It was John Arlott, the great cricket commentator, who first spotted his uniqueness. Covering a match at Taunton in 1974, he asked the young colt to carry his bags up the rickety staircase to the press box, where Arlott, wearing his oenophile’s hat, pulled out a bottle of red wine and invited Botham to drink. Forty years later Botham is a discriminating wine drinker – and maker. Along with his friend and fellow England great Bob Willis, and their Australian wine­making pal Geoff Merrill, he has put his name to a notable Shiraz, “BMW”.

Arlott, with his nose for talent and good company, saw something in the young Botham that Brian Close, his captain at Somerset, was beginning to bring out. Later, Mike Brearley, as England captain, drew out something even more remarkable. As Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote, you’ve got to be carefully taught. And Botham, a fine team man as well as a supreme individual performer, has never withheld praise from those who enabled him to find his voice.

If sport reveals character, then cricket is the game that reveals it most clearly. In no other sport is the individual performance rooted so firmly in a team context. Every over brings a contest of skill and intelligence between batsman and bowler but only a team can win the match. “A cricketer,” as Arlott said, “is showing you something of himself all the time.”

Cricket also reveals national character more than any other sport. Football may be the most popular game in the world but cricket, and cricketers, tell us far more about England and Englishness. It is instructive, in this regard, to hear what Philippe Auclair, a French journalist and author long resident in London, has to say about Botham: “He is essentially an 18th-century Englishman.” In one! It’s not difficult to sense a kinship with Tom Jones, Fielding’s embodiment of 18th-century life, who began his journey, as readers may recall, in Somerset.

A country boy who played for Worcestershire after leaving Somerset, and who lives by choice in North Yorkshire, Botham is an old-fashioned Englishman. Although nobody has yet found him listening to the parson’s sermon, he is conservative with a small and upper-case C, a robust monarchist, handy with rod and gun, and happiest with a beaker in front of him. He represents (though he would never claim to be a representative) all those people who understand instinctively what England means, not in a narrow way, but through something that is in the blood.

Above all, he will be remembered for ever as the hero of 1981. Even now it takes some believing that Botham bowled and batted with such striking success that the Australians, who were one up after two Tests, were crushed. Some of us who were actually at Headingley for the famous third Test – thousands who claim to have been there were not – recall the odds of 500-1 on an England victory going up on the electronic scoreboard that Saturday evening.

Botham made 149 not out as England, following on, beat the Aussies by 18 runs. For three hours the country seemed to stop. In the next Test, at Edgbaston, Botham took five wickets for one run as Australia fell under his spell. Then, at Old Trafford, on a dank Saturday afternoon, he played the most memorable innings of his life and one of the greatest innings ever played by an Englishman: 118 magnificent, joyful runs. Joy: that’s the word. Botham brought joy into people’s lives.

Yet it was the final Test at the Oval, which ended in a draw, that brought from him a performance no less remarkable than those from before. He bowled 89 overs in that match, flat out, continuing to run in when others withdrew with injury. That was the team man coming to the fore. Little wonder his comrades thought the world of him.

Modest, loyal, respectful to opponents, grateful to all who have lent him a hand, and supported throughout a turbulent life by Kath, his rock of a wife, and their three children, this is a cricketing hero to rank with W G Grace, Jack Hobbs, Wally Hammond and Fred Trueman. A feature in the lives of all who saw him, and a very English hero. 

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State