It’s been about one month since I landed, so I thought it would be nice to send a dispatch from my exile in France. The question is, what can I do from here that would seem genuine but wouldn’t involve getting any work from there?
I was sitting at my favorite dive, Le Progrès, contemplating this conundrum, and it hit me: Why not join the deans’ meeting to say hello? After all, the one thing I can still do that will be immediately recognizable by everyone who knows me and won’t land me any work is to be disruptive. So, I thought, Why not disrupt Gaye Lynn’s meeting?
Unfortunately, my clever plan to be recognizably disruptive while avoiding any work was thwarted — I’m assuming by the weather, but it could be that Gaye Lynn took me off the invitation as an act of mercy (or alternately, knowing me as she does and anticipating this train of thought, as an act of sabotage). Either way, I didn’t have the link.
My first month here has been lovely; restful, but also productive — in a variety of ways. I don’t know how much you’re following EU news, but we’re having nation-wide protests against Macron’s plan to raise the retirement age to 64. Now, there are two interesting things about this proposal and the ensuing unrest. First, by current French standards — not Macron’s new plan — I am already past retirement age. That’s something to think about.
The next day after the protests, in fact, I was chatting with one person in the bar (which I try to visit daily), and I mentioned that, in the US, people born after 1960 don’t get their full social security benefit until 67. I thought she was going to have a stroke. She was barely able to shake her head in dismay and force out, “Métro, travaille, tombe” (“Subway, work, grave”), which was the protesters’ chant du jour. She obviously got it wrong: We hardly have any subways.
Second, it’s invigorating to be in a country in which people are still pretty serious about democracy, a seriousness that extends to striking and marching as a civic duty alongside voting. As an aside, I have long thought that the real French motto shouldn’t be Liberté, Fraternité, Egalité but the much more accurate Liberté, Egalité, Faire-Grevité. I haven’t offered this opinion too publicly here, but I’m confident that, after a certain amount of protesting, it would catch on. Which appears to be Macron’s strategy, incidentally.
It’s even more invigorating to be personally involved. On the day of the first retirement reform protest, I had planned to drop off my recycling and have a café allongé at my favorite coffee shop, Mokka (not to be confused with my favorite bar, Le Progrès). Rennes had basically shut down — and I don’t mean by the protesters; I mean for the protesters. It was like Mardi Gras: People were either marching and chanting and waving signs and colorful banners, or watching — and mostly cheering — the marching and chanting and banner-waving. Many businesses had closed to give employees time to march or watch. Yes, sadly there was a good bit of random, senseless violence — mostly breaking the windows of important symbols of malignant capitalist hegemony, like banks, police stations, and Starbucks — but for the most part, the protesters booed the vandals and generally policed themselves.
As I was walking to the recycling center, more or less in the middle of the protest, someone in the crowd set a Tesla on fire directly across the street. The crowd generally expressed disapproval, but someone — possibly the police, it wasn’t clear — set off several tear gas canisters. So there I was, dutifully sorting my glass and paper recycling in a cloud of tear gas, like a misplaced German soul. How exhilarating! The coffee and croissant were even better that morning.
Obviously, I’m doing fine. I love just about everything about France, and especially the people. One of my very few complaints is that, for some unfathomable reason, Rennes has not seen fit to import Hippeas Chick Pea Puffs, which, following the lead of Eric “Respect My Authoritah” Cartman, I call “cheesy poofs.”
On a possibly related front, I’m making great progress on my sabbatical projects (and reading Aristotle in German).
I’d like to say that I miss ACC, but I would have to lie, and I generally avoid lying where there’s a viable alternative (like telling the truth). I can say without resorting to pseudo-lying or related forms of deception that I miss you, my colleagues. You make rolling ACC’s boulders up the mountain tolerable — at least I have interesting company.
Take care and have a great spring!
Matthew,
Dean In Exile
Source: Auto Draft
