What lies beneath

If Sarkozy banned the burqa, he himself would be oppressing the women who wear it. Making something

After reading the latest sunbed scare story in the papers, I did something out of character: I went out and bought a copy of Grazia, its glossy cover resplendent with the pneumatic – and suntanned – Victoria Beckham. I believe a society gets the magazines it deserves, and I wanted to understand what has changed in our perennially complex attitude to appearance.

The obsession with beauty is at least as old as creation; so is the equation of a wholesome outside with a wholesome inside. That’s why Shakespeare has us all believing that Richard III was a hunchback, despite the paucity of evidence, and why the 18th-century philosopher Johann Lavater managed to convince most of western Europe that physiognomy was the key to personality. But these writers were trying to read, or in Shakespeare’s case to malign, the soul: they were using the surface to signify the depths. Grazia, however, signals a new style of beauty obsession: pure form, seemingly without content. Nobody cares about Posh’s soul – nobody believes that she has one. She’s all surface and silicone.

When did our admiration for human beauty and our joy in beautiful objects curdle into an obsession with appearance that seems to leave room for little else? We will risk cancer to look healthier – well, that’s nothing new: Victorian women used acid as a facial peel, and don’t tell me it didn’t occur to at least some of them that this probably wasn’t going to serve them well a few years down the line. In an era when 30 was middle-aged, these women wanted to look youthful. Now we sit inside all day staring at small screens, but we want to look outdoorsy and sun-splashed, and despite the ubiquity of fake tan we are willing to endanger our cells in pursuit of a glossier cover. Appearance has always been a conjuring trick: women wanting to look younger, men wanting to look richer. Now the gender boundaries have blurred, but we’re still all busily using every visual swindle in the repertory to convince each other that we are shiny, flawless – desirable.

Which is fine, except for one thing: there is more to us than meets the eye – yes, even you, Victoria Beckham. Yet that “more” seems to merit less and less attention. The other news story that worried me this past week was Nicolas Sarkozy saying that France should ban the burqa because it is “not a sign of religion, it is a sign of subservience”. Let’s push aside, for a moment, the irony of trying to ban a full-body covering because of what it supposedly displays (subservience), and of the head of a vocally secular republic claiming that this infringement of his people’s rights is not about religion (then what is it about?), not to mention the irony of a Frenchman telling women what to wear. What exactly does he think he is going to achieve? Is Monsieur Sarkozy, denizen of a great culture but also, let us not forget, a man married to a Grazia favourite, really so in thrall to the power of appearance that he believes that if he bans something from sight he will make it go away? Will all these oppressed women (and, if they are not oppressed by men making them cover themselves, they are now oppressed by their president telling them they’re not allowed to) simply shrug off the floor-length cloth and bound joyously towards Topshop?

Martine Aubry, head of France’s Socialist Party, suspects not. “If a law bans the burqa, these women will still have [it] but will remain at home,” she said. “They will no longer be seen.” So, to avoid offending the secular Frenchman’s perception of what should and should not be visible, Sarkozy plans to make a whole segment of the population vanish. They will no longer be seen: they will swap the burqa, sometimes called a mobile prison, for an immobile prison, and if those who exercise power over them there are indeed their jailers, they will have even less chance of parole than they did before. But that’s all right, because Sarkozy won’t have to look at them.

A democracy is very much about visibility: casting a vote is a way of being seen, even if secret ballot means we no longer take that prerogative as literally as we once did. And capitalism runs, at least in part, on conspicuous consumption – although it must be said that when, as at present, that consumption turns out to have been facilitated by money that was as visible as a freshly waxed WAG but wasn’t actually there, we have a hint that something may be wrong.

The credit crunch can be seen as a warning against our love affair with appearances, with things that look beautiful but have nothing inside, like a sun-kissed celeb, a jewelled Damien Hirst skull – or a housing bubble.

We have never had such a pernicious addiction to surface, to glossy appearance and Photoshopped perfection, as we do at the moment. The Victorians have the reputation of being hypocrites: look beneath that acid-fresh surface and you found all kinds of interestingly toxic darkness. Our society, however, appears to aspire to being surface all the way through: even much contemporary art (Hirst, Jeff Koons, Banksy) shies away from interiority. Peel off the suntan and you’ll find nothing at all, neither reason nor imagination nor moral shoots sprouting in the dark. In this, hardline Islamists have western liberals beat: they fear and mistreat what lies beneath the shroud, but at least they admit that it’s there.

Nina Caplan is arts editor of Time Out

Nina Caplan is the 2014 Fortnum & Mason Drink Writer of the Year and 2014 Louis Roederer International Wine Columnist of the Year for her columns on drink in the New Statesman. She tweets as @NinaCaplan.

This article first appeared in the 06 July 2009 issue of the New Statesman, HOWZAT!

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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.