For many in France, Blairism is a dirty word. But since France would not be France without paradox, Blairism is also the driving force behind the two principal—though as yet unofficial—candidates, left and right, for the presidential election next May. So even as Tony Blair bows out, his policies will be reborn across the channel—wrapped as something deeply, traditionally French of course.
French politicians admire Blair's ability to win elections, and France today thinks of little else. Where Tony Blair used to campaign with the third way, Nicolas Sarkozy's keyword is la rupture, Ségolène Royal's la différence, but they mean the same thing, a melting of party boundaries, and are invoked for the same reasons: Sarkozy and Royal scent a desire for change in France, just as Blair did in Britain ten years ago. The skill—and the risk—is knowing how far to push that change without turning desire into fear. Blair was much bolder than either of his French disciples. Sarkozy built his early career as a Blairite free-marketeer: "You take ideas from systems that work." But when he became finance minister in 2004 he veered back to state intervention, protecting national champions. Nevertheless, he has had seven fruitful meetings with Blair and they regularly speak on the phone.
Ironically, it is easier for Sarkozy on the right to admit affiliation with Blair than it is for a French socialist, although Royal has possibly learned more from the British prime minister. "I have no problem admitting I agree with some of Tony Blair's ideas," she told the FT. "He's pushed his country forward. He's done very well against unemployment; university graduates are treated better than in France." Her fellow socialists were aghast, both at her choice of paper and at what she said, for, according to them, Blair's erstwhile "economic miracle" must now be described as Dickensian poverty, greed and lies. But the public are not duped; many have friends and family working in London. Like Blair, Royal is moving away from party stalwarts but nevertheless appeals to voters. The French left sees the Blairite concept of an ordered society, and a balance between rights and duties, as reactionary and—worse—linked to the church. A much-quoted recent papal encyclical claims: "The just order of society… is a central responsibility of politics." Anathema to Socialist militants, but the public, and Royal, like it.
To watch Royal working the French public, I went to her first foray into France profonde. For presidents of the fifth republic, rural France is where you show you think deeply. Both Royal and Sarkozy are townies, and although Royal is president of a rural region, she needed to be seen in, well, Florac, a town of 2,074 inhabitants, deep in the heart of the Cévennes, in a département with just 291 paid-up party members.
About 2,500 were expected on this beautiful September Sunday, the fête des roses—the French Socialist party loves these festivals, which combine street markets, music, a gargantuan meal and communal sing-song.
The hall filled quickly. Country folk, great square shoulders and round, close-cropped heads. I was astonished how many were over 60. The organisers were the same age. "Quite normal," I was told afterwards. "The Socialist party is nowadays mostly OAPs." Which is why Royal (53) calls for la différence—renewal.
The warm-up man was doing a fine job whipping up hysteria: "She'll be here in ten minutes." The heat was intense. Two gleeful 80 year olds stripped off their Sunday best and struggled arthritically into t-shirts adorned with Royal's face, their stout wives beaming approval. "Just another ten minutes." Groans. The airless hall was jammed solid and still people kept coming.
Finally, "She's arrived!" A huge cheer—but nothing happened. We waited. "Louder," yelled the warm-up man. "If she doesn't hear you she won't come." Part music hall, part children's party. The crowd yelled and clapped. Suddenly there was shoving and jostling at the door as five television crews backing into the hall got wedged. The room erupted. The air thick with tricolours, the floor shook with the stamping of zimmerframes. Trying to ignore the five zoom lenses inches from her elegant nose and giving the impression that she was simply admiring the view, Royal was with us.
Through all the opening speeches—mayor, MEP, regional president—she sat alert and eager like a greyhound before the off. While the men's shirts were soaking wet, she merely glowed in her lilac jacket and black trousers.
She spoke well, the audience loved her. The rosy-cheeked girl from the local paper took down every word; the pale Parisian hacks pulled exaggeratedly bored faces. They follow Royal everywhere, in the forlorn hope that they will be present when she makes that major policy statement. Yet again they were disappointed, yet again they say it's the Blair syndrome—the plastic politician. Which is unfair on both. More accurately, Royal won't let herself be bullied by Parisian opinion.
