Paris (Feb. 10, 2007) -- In the middle of December, my taxi home from the airport turned a corner heading to my apartment, revealing scores of red camping tents lined up along the nearby canal.
"What is this?" I asked the cab driver. That's an important thing to know how to say in French.
He replied with a slew of cursing.
"That's fine," I said. "That's France."
He did not agree.
And now, two months later, I don't either.
This collection of tents and the people in them, I found out not long after getting out of the cab, was a protest against the fact that some people in France don't have a dwelling of their own.
The tents, by now, have slowly decreased in numbers. There were 250 at their peak, lined up for a mile or more along the side of Canal St. Martin.
Now there are maybe one hundred. Their existence has proven to be a illuminating journey into the French mind when it comes to the state's responsibility toward the population.
For an American, the most stunning thing is to see a government give in to media savvy protests; as happened in the case of the tents and a few others in the past two years.
And for a liberal American, arguing against helping everyone was another strange experience.
A lot about the group behind the tent protest can be understood by their name; The Children of Don Quixote.
I figured that naming your group after the insane character in a Spanish book that laid the foundation for the modern novel was a good omen in my hopes that the tents would disappear quickly. A doomed quest, for sure, I thought.
"How long are they going to be out there?" I asked my neighbor Thomas.
"A long time," he replied. The group, Thomas told me, had initially wanted to camp around Place de la Concorde, a location bustling with tourists near the Ritz Hotel. The police said, um, no. So the canal was chosen instead.
My obvious displeasure with this protest ruining a nice view from my apartment sparked a lively
discussion between me and Thomas.
I argued that people who live on the streets doing drugs and drinking bad wine right out of the bottle are beyond the reach of help. For example, the crazy, singing guy outside my gym wouldn't really fit in at an office, even a French one.
Thomas took the other side, saying that most of the people on the streets had violent childhoods and, as such, could not overcome those scenes to lead productive lives -- ones that involve paying rent.
Of course, being a native, he knows this from talking to numerous homeless people and hearing their stories.
"They are people, not garbage."
"Are there any programs in France for homeless people who need help?" I asked, knowing full well that this welfare state -- indeed, not far from communist -- has lots of help available.
("I don't like rich people," said the husband of Segolene Royal, the socialist candidate for president. Her main opponent, Sarkozy, has floated the revolutionary idea that you should get more money if you work more. Elections are this spring and the race is a dead heat at this point.)
Thomas conceded that there are lots of programs for people seeking help before falling back on the excuse of violent childhoods where parents were fighting in front of the kids.
The question that finally stumped him was what he would do about the problem if he were president. In America, it seems like everyone finds the highest office in the land a possibility. Not so much in France.
Commercially, the collection of tents created more friction. Chez Prune, the nearby restaurant that is known for quick service, immediately made it clear that the homeless wouldn't be tolerated if they tried to hang around.
Across the canal, another restaurant, more traditionally French (read slower service with a side
of arrogance) immediately became the hangout for the homeless people and their supporters. My allegiance to Chez Prune is that much stronger now.
One day, Thomas said that he had talked with the head of security for the protest. One of the homeless people had proposed to the security official that protesters should jump off one of the bridges and into the canal (a fall of 20 feet or so) when the TV cameras were around. The official dismissed the idea.
I'm not sure that was wise. For the sake of publicity, that would have certainly worked. The fictional Don Quixote would have approved the plan.
About a month into the protest, President Chirac announced that 70 million euros would be budgeted over the next few years to provide free housing for anyone would needs it. That seemed to satisfy the group and so the press coverage died down.
But the tents remain. I'm not sure how much longer they'll be out there -- assuming they ever completely leave. I've stopped trying to predict events in such a strange culture.
But I suspect that there was unintentional truth in my initial comments.
That's France.
Take care,
Brett
