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The NS Interview: Precious Lunga, epidemiologist

“When I say I’m a scientist, you can see people blinking.”

Do you ever feel in a strange position because you're a woman in a male-dominated field?
It's more the reaction of other people. When I say, "I'm a scientist," you can see them blinking. I did an outreach event at a school in Camden, where I dressed up as a scientist and explained the whole point of science and a girl said to me, "Wow -- you're a woman and you're a scientist!" And that's in London.

How did you get involved in Aids research?
In a roundabout way, because I trained as a neuroscientist. I enjoyed it and yet there was always a niggle that I wanted to interact with women and children and be out in the field.

So what's your job description now?
I'm an epidemiologist, working as a consultant for a children's foundation.

You've been involved with antimicrobial gels to combat HIV. Why are they important?
It's almost a kind of chemical condom that will allow women to protect themselves against HIV but also keep options open for them. So if they want to have babies they could do so with far less risk of catching HIV, because most women catch HIV in long-term relationships and they can't always negotiate condom use. It gives women that agency in their lives.

And when you talk about your fieldwork, which countries have you been to?
Uganda, Tanzania, Zambia, Mozambique. I've done a lot of work in South Africa. That's where the burden, the bulk, of the epidemic is.

What's that experience like?
You don't get that many African women travelling around on their own, staying in hotels, so people often come up to me and ask me what I'm doing. I went through Johannesburg [airport] so often that I got to know some of the people there. There was a woman and I told her what I do. I noticed she didn't look very well. She said: "I have a friend who might have HIV. Is it true people die of that?" I said yes but it doesn't need to happen now; tell your friend to go to the hospital for drugs. A couple of months later, I walked through the airport and saw her and she looked so well. We had this interaction and I just hugged her. It was as if I knew her.

Because presumably the drugs were for her?
Yeah, it was a way of having the conversation with her. And when you see that, you see the fruits of the research.

Did any other individuals you met stand out?
The community stood out. You ask the women why they do this and they come out with all sorts of reasons. One of them might say: "I'm doing it for my sisters and my children."

Why are we so bad at dealing with Aids?
It requires a lot of commitment. It requires an investment. It goes beyond an election term. The time and effort haven't quite matched up to the scale of the problem.

Have we avoided an "Aids epidemic" by making HIV manageable rather than fatal?
There are countries such as Zimbabwe, which is where I'm from, where you can see declines in the epidemic because fewer people are getting [infected]; more people are getting treatment. But we can treat HIV yet we can't cure it. We need to find new methods of prevention.

What was life like in Zimbabwe?
I grew up there until I was 17, then I came to the UK to do my studies and I stayed. I went to a convent school; most girls didn't do science. When I was at school, I loved history and all these other subjects. I remember one of the nuns saying to me, "You're good at science, so you must do science." And my parents always encouraged me.

How is the situation in Zimbabwe now?
Things are in flux. People are hopeful that it will get better. In terms of HIV, I think it's a good sign that fewer people are dying than five years ago but it's anybody's guess what's going to happen next.

Since your marriage to the Channel 4 News presenter Jon Snow, has the focus on your personal life overshadowed your work?
Only in the past year, because if you'd googled me ten months ago, you'd have seen all my professional stuff. But when I'm interacting with people, it doesn't come up. Perhaps they're all very polite and don't mention it. I don't google myself so I don't know.

Will you always be a scientist?
Yes, but what sort of science I'll be doing in ten years' time, I don't know.

Is there anything you'd like to forget?
Loads. But when you try to forget something, you remember it.

Are we all doomed?
No. Saying we're all doomed is fatalistic and, by nature, I'm an interventionist. If I think something is not going well, there must be a way of fixing it: that's my approach to life.

Defining Moments

1974 Born in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe
1998 Gains first-class degree in neuroscience at Edinburgh University
2003 Is awarded PhD in neuroscience at Cambridge University, where she captained the women's karate team
2005 Starts work for the Medical Research Council, focusing on HIV/Aids
2008 Becomes a Yale World Fellow
2011 Joins the Children's Investment Fund Foundation

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

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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 Nicolas Sarkozy 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 hopep 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.