Showing posts with label Cécile Duflot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cécile Duflot. Show all posts

Sunday, November 3, 2013

France unites against François Hollande

Even the Left is turning hostile to the president, says Anne-Elisabeth Moutet
President breaks records of unpopularity as even the French Left turns hostile
Francois Hollande has built his career on being a canny political manoeuvrer Photo: Reuters
As he stood at a military airport last Wednesday to greet four French hostages released by al-Qaeda militants in Niger, François Hollande could have been forgiven for thinking his disastrous run of bad news in the past months might finally be coming to an end. 

Having announced an assortment of taxes the previous week, Mr Hollande suspended most of them over the weekend after widespread popular protests. He had managed to unite unlikely bedfellows, more often at loggerheads against one another, in the fiercest demonstrations seen in Brittany in a decade.

A proposed green tax on lorry fuel that would raise transport costs by 4 per cent had brought out farmers and supermarket owners as well as labourers and trade unionists, brandishing the black and white Breton flag as a symbol of their outrage against the cluelessness of Parisian technocrats, of whom Mr Hollande is a central member. This was the face of a future French Tea Party, a political development that seems increasingly likely.

Mr Hollande also had to “suspend” — a word that fills the French with unease, as it promises a stealthy return of the same measures whenever the fracas dies down — a 15.5 per cent retroactive tax on savings schemes that seemed tailor-made to infuriated his most natural voters.

A Parisian barrister, himself not a Hollande voter, told me that his Portuguese-born cleaning lady, a single mother of five children, had sworn never again to cast her ballot for the president, as she did last year. “You work hard all your life, you do what’s right, and then they come after the little bit you’ve managed to put aside for your retirement age?” she said. “What kind of a Left-wing government is that?”

Once again, the government’s “method”, if it can be called that, seemed to be to first float the idea of a new tax for a few days, then back down if the outcry became too loud. “It’s probably the worst way you can run a fiscal policy,” says Erwan Le Noan, a competition lawyer and international consultant. “The amateurism and uncertainty alone mean businesses have no visibility, and will defer investment — and hires — as long as they possibly can.”
 
An insider suggests that the ministry of finance mandarins at the Treasury and budget departments, held in check by their previous bosses, have been trying out all their pet tax plans, even the most outlandish, on Pierre Moscovici, the finance minister, and Bernard Cazeneuve, the budget minister. “Moscovici believes the tax burden is as high as it can go, but he has little authority,” says the insider. “Cazeneuve, his junior, is a hard-working realist, but he suffers from having been an exemplary European affairs minister. He is convinced that France must abide by her European Treaty obligations, which means reducing the deficit. Since the spending ministries do not really want to make hard cuts, the only way — or so he thinks — is through more taxes.” The Laffer curve theory (too much tax kills tax revenue) does not seem to have made it to Bercy, the massive brutalist fortress built 20 years go to accommodate the finance ministry’s plethoric troops.

An unchecked French civil servant can think up some pretty outlandish tax ideas. The French property market is under threat of a new rent control law. This is the pet project of Cécile Duflot, the housing minister and a canny Green ideologue who believes, against all concrete evidence to the contrary, that it will make rents more affordable. Paris estate agents reply that this, alongside the heap of protective regulations skewed towards renters, has already convinced many landlords to just sell and get out, even though the law has not yet been passed.

This is, however, small beer next to an earlier proposal, last June, by the Conseil d’Analyse Économique, the prime minister’s office’s forward planning think tank, advising the creation of a “virtual rent” that all property owners would pay, in order to restore more equality between households burdened with rent and the other, rent-free ones. After the CAE report came out, the subsequent fury caused the virtual rent proposal to be shelved, “but that shows you how they think”, says Mr Le Noan. “People remember this. They have no trust at all in this government.”

The beginning of the week saw Mr Hollande’s ratings plunge even lower than before, breaking records of unpopularity. Two separate polls have given him the worst ratings of any French president. Their breakdown shows, perhaps predictably, implacable, near-total hostility (93 per cent for one, 97 per cent for the other) on the Right; but opinions on the Left and within his own Socialist party are solidly negative too. He is perceived as “lacking courage”, “indecisive”, “incompetent”, “weak”, even “incoherent”.

To the French who elected him in May last year, Mr Hollande controls nothing and has no authority anywhere. Not in his own home, not in his party, not in his Cabinet, not in the country, and not — after Barack Obama eventually spurned his offer of military help in Syria — in the world.

The one bright spot in which he received across-the-board support was the French intervention in Mali, back in January. In two weeks, French troops, called by the Malian president Dioncounda Traoré to help the country fight an Islamist invasion in the north, pushed back the rebels, liberated Timbuktu and stabilised a country whose fall to al-Qaeda affiliates would have been a disaster for several French allies, from Algeria to Sudan. This was perhaps the model of a foreign expedition done well: experienced troops knowing the region, limited and clear aims, regional and local support. Mr Hollande, quite rightly, saw his popularity edge back up. Visiting Bamako, the Malian capital, in early February, basking in popular adulation, he told an enthusiastic rally that this was “the most beautiful day of his political career”.

And one he’s seemingly tried to replicate ever since — it’s probably the reason why he was so gung-ho on a Syrian intervention, even though French intelligence is perfectly aware of the complexity in which the Syrian rebellion is mired. It was therefore difficult not to wonder at the timeliness, in political terms, of the four hostages’ liberation. Questions about a ransom were raised immediately. Mr Hollande denied any payment had been made.

For one moment, it seemed as if Mr Hollande’s luck might turn: Marine Le Pen commented on television on the look of the head-covered and bearded hostages, implying they might have been “Islamicised” in captivity. It was tactless and crass — a boon, you might think, to the mainstream political class, who duly grabbed the ball and ran with it in their hurry to re-demonise the Front National leader.

Their moment of good, clean fun lasted only for a couple of hours. That very afternoon, Le Monde came out with an authoritative piece of reporting laying out the different stages of the negotiations that succeeded in getting the hostages back, complete with payment of €20 million (£16.9 million) to the kidnappers and Malian intermediaries. Intelligence experts in Paris agree that the article was completely accurate, “with great chunks taken under dictation, I should say”, one jokes.

They explain that Mr Hollande took the negotiations off the hands of the French intelligence service, DGSE, to give them to a series of local intermediaries and presidency advisers, exactly the same type of associates that Mr Hollande, in opposition, criticised Nicolas Sarkozy for using. The implication is that DGSE leaked the entire story to Le Monde, furious both at this and because the ransom, of which they disapprove, seems to have been paid out of their own budget.

You can get away, in French politics, with lying, or looking extremely likely to have lied, to the nation. Mr Hollande’s job is as safe as the Fifth Republic constitution makes it, which is very safe indeed. But as for the hoped-for reprieve in the polls? That is not happening.

How long can this last? Normally, until the next presidential and general elections, which are in 2017. There are no provisions for getting rid of the president, unless he resigns or calls for an early general election, which will not happen. Nationwide municipal elections will take place in March, and European Parliament elections are scheduled for May. The municipal elections, and local deals for the second round, explain why Mr Hollande has been pandering so much to the Greens and the Left of his party. Voting in the European elections, on the other hand, is full proportional representation, which makes them, in effect, a life-size poll.

Ms Le Pen’s party is expected to poll somewhere between 25 per cent and 30 per cent, and, as an MEP herself, she has already been busy making European alliances for the day after. Her platform, in many ways, is indistinguishable from that of the hard-Left: protectionist, anti-euro, anti-capitalist, pro-national regulations, supportive of Bashar al-Assad’s Syria. She is hoping to steal from Mr Hollande many of the disenchanted voters on his Left.

Mr Hollande may not be a very successful president, but he has built his career on being a canny political manoeuvrer and, like a rabbit in a Citroën’s headlights, he understands this, without being able to change his essential nature. He is currently pondering a Cabinet reshuffle — from all accounts unenthusiastically, as it means a complete rebalancing of his majority such as it is, for less than game-changing results. He is therefore likely to keep trudging on, earning himself a place in the Guinness Book of Records in the chapter on unloved political leaders.

© Telegraph Media Group & Anne-Elisabeth Moutet, 2013

Sunday, October 14, 2012

François Hollande and the bedroom farce paralysing France

As a new book scrutinises French president François Hollande’s unique personal life, Anne-Elisabeth Moutet reveals how his inability to stand up to his love interests is now threatening his administration
Francois Hollande and Segolene Royal
French president Francois Hollande and his former partner Segolene Royal Photo: REX FEATURES
It started off like a French farce. Will it end up like a Greek tragedy? France’s “First Girlfriend”, Valérie Trierweiler, may well cause the political downfall of the man she fought so bitterly to catch – and still can’t get a marriage commitment from.

Five months after he was elected, François Hollande’s popularity figures are the lowest of any French president since Charles de Gaulle signed the 1962 treaty acknowledging the independence of Algeria after a bloody anti-colonialist war.

The general consensus is that Ms Trierweiler is one of the chief reasons why the Fifth Republic’s seventh president is seen as henpecked, inefficient and vacillating – in short, not in charge.

“The five women who make his life hell” was last week’s headline on news magazine L’Express. First on the list were the president’s partners, past and present: Ségolène Royal, the former presidential contender and mother of Hollande’s four children; and Valérie, the Paris-Match journalist who won Hollande from Royal.

The other three were former Socialist leader Martine Aubry, Green leader Cécile Duflot, and Angela Merkel: they would never have been qualified by gender if Hollande’s chaotic private life wasn’t the first subject of gossip and conjecture these days.

In this toxic environment came the revelations in La Frondeuse (“The Troublemaker”), a new biography published last Thursday by journalists Alix Bouilhaguet and Christophe Jakubyszyn, that while she was busy prying Hollande away from the home he’d been making with Royal for more than two decades, the (still-married) Trierweiler was three-timing – or should it be four-timing? – him with Patrick Devedjian, a former Sarkozyste cabinet minister.

The book also recounts how, around the same time, a spitting-mad Ségolène accused Hollande of cheating on her with Anne Hidalgo, an elegant brunette Socialist politician, now Deputy Mayor of Paris, and expected to run for City Hall herself in 2015.

If, by this stage, you’re getting confused, let’s take a deep breath and plough on. Hollande and Royal meet while students at ENA, the top government school that in France guarantees you a network and a career Oxbridge graduates can only dream of. They became one of France’s Left-wing power couples, seemingly unmarried because it was so un-bourgeois, so much, well, cooler. Assigned to cover them for Paris-Match was a young and elegant political reporter, Trierweiler, herself twice-married. When, in 1992, Royal, then minister for social affairs, invited the press to the maternity clinic where she’d just had her daughter Flora, it was Trierweiler who covered the birth, in breathless prose. The fact that a woman minister would admit the public to such a personal event was treated as a feminist breakthrough.

Hollande and Trierweiler didn’t get together then; but in La Frondeuse it is alleged that they had linked up by 1997, far earlier than the official version which dates it back to 2005. Meanwhile, Trierweiler was making a name for herself in the old style of French women political journalists: getting inside information with, let’s say, allure and poise.

If this sounds distasteful, that is because it is. And for this (happily receding) journalistic tradition, we have to thank one of France’s great magazine editors, the late Françoise Giroud – later Valéry Giscard d’Estaing’s minister for women’s rights – who, when she headed L’Express in the Sixties and Seventies, sent out a large number of personable female reporters to “charm” the largely male political class and get good stories.

Giroud, herself a hugely gifted writer, but also the mistress of the flamboyant politician and L’Express proprietor Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber, would teach her young reporters how to dress and give them social deportment tips.

All of her alumni were talented in their own right; most of them later became top executives in television news or newspapers. Still, acceptance and access was given to them because of their youth and looks rather than their competence – and most of them had quite public affairs with (married) top politicians.

Starting out in the 1980s, I still remember how every politician I was sent to interview seemed to assume that I would be available if they cared enough to ask: after a couple of weeks, I asked my then employers to transfer me to the foreign desk. Nothing untoward had happened, but I hated every single minute it. Getting shot at in southern Lebanon was blissfully uncomplicated by comparison.

The zeitgeist moves on, even in France: while affairs still go on, the relationship between politicians and the press has been “normal” for a while. The Giroud world is as alien to politicians under the age of 40 as to the reporters covering them.

But Valérie Trierweiler is, in many ways, an old-fashioned girl. “She is insecure, jittery, unable to make a choice,” wrote the authors of La Frondeuse. “She wants it all, a career and the job of First Lady – the press pass and the office at the Élysée Palace.”

When her editors at Paris-Match, unwilling to antagonise the Élysée but aware of the conflict of interest, finally summoned up the courage to ask her to cover culture rather than politics, Trierweiler’s very first article last June was a review of an Eleanor Roosevelt biography.

“Well, well, well, a First Lady who’s also a journalist! Obviously in America these things do not cause a scandal,” the piece began, one of many examples of her tin ear. Another was the highly publicised tweet in support of Ségolène Royal’s opponent in June’s general election.

Trierweiler’s friends and critics both explain her many public mistakes, as well as her well-known sudden rages – much feared by Hollande – by her seemingly bottomless insecurity. “She dreams of getting him to marry her, but he’s not the marrying kind,” one of them told the book’s authors, who allege that if Trierweiler finally chose Hollande over Devedjian, at the time a politician with a brighter future, it is because Devedjian would not leave Corinne, his wife of 30 years.

The French are notoriously more lenient on homewreckers than les Anglais – the feeling here is that It’s All More Complicated and Not Just The Woman’s Fault. This, however, plays against Hollande.

Trierweiler is uniquely disliked (less than 29 per cent of the public have a good opinion of her), but the President is seen as commitment-shy. Increasingly, there’s a feeling that he applies the same aimlessness to his management of public affairs.

Political observers recall how under his 15-year stewardship of the Socialist Party, his unique compromise style led the party’s “currents” – a fancy name for the infighting factions more divided by personal ambitions than by ideology – to complete gridlock. Nothing ever got done. When Martine Aubry took over as leader from Hollande in 2008, she said the place was such a mess in every possible way that she even had to unblock the loos herself.

“He’s unable to take a decision,” says a friend of Aubry’s. “It doesn’t do that much harm running an opposition party. But when he negotiates with Angela Merkel, it’s a real problem.”

Just as Hollande tries to hide the occasional contact he still has with the mother of his children – prompting outbursts from Trierweiler when she finds out – he chose recently to gang up with the Italians and the Spanish rather than ask Merkel directly for the concessions he sought in the latest Eurozone negotiations, to the German Chancellor’s outrage.

And just as Merkel is now surprised to find herself missing Nicolas Sarkozy’s more direct style, the French may begin to wonder whether having a “hyper-president” in the Élysée wasn’t a better idea in difficult times than a henpecked figure hiding from the women in his life.

© Telegraph Media Group & Anne-Elisabeth Moutet, 2012

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

France's battle royal between Ségolène Royal and Valérie Trierweiler has the nation gripped

The warring women on the frontline are giving politics a sharply feminine edge.

Valérie Trierweiler: giving France a delightful taste of personal strife - France's battle royal between Ségolène Royal and Valérie Trierweiler has the nation gripped
Valérie Trierweiler: giving France a delightful taste of personal strife Photo: AFP/Getty Images
The French, like most of us, love a catfight. When First Girlfriend Valérie Trierweiler tweeted her support for the opponent of Ségolène Royal, the rival she supplanted in the affections of President François Hollande, in Sunday’s parliamentary elections, the entire nation sank with delight into the bliss of watching the political become personal.

Barely a month ago, the day after her partner was elected President of the French Republic, Trierweiler confidently told Agence France Presse how much better suited to the job she was than her predecessor, Carla Bruni, Nicolas Sarkozy’s third wife. “Carla Bruni comes from a world entirely alien to politics: fashion, showbusiness. She doesn’t know its codes.” She, on the other hand, Trierweiler explained somewhat smugly, had been a political journalist for 20 years. “I know politics, I know the media.”

The woman many of the French are calling “Rottweiler” then illustrated the shortest way to link the words “pride”, “goeth”, “before” and “fall”. Nicolas Sarkozy had been kicked out of office chiefly for having paraded his private life with ostentation. Demurring that she would play “no political part whatsoever”, Trierweiler made it difficult to forget her existence for one minute. Whether she was bemoaning that she didn’t like the title “First Lady” and inviting the public to think up a new one, or insisting that she could remain a working Paris Match reporter “in all independence” while maintaining a staff and office at the Élysée Palace, she was hardly ever out of the news.

Scenting a rich vein, the political puppet show Les Guignols de l’info hastily recycled the puppet they’d used for Jacques Chirac’s spin-doctor daughter Claude, slapping on a new wig and redoing its make-up to rush their Valérie on air. They now portray Hollande as a bumbling, henpecked husband. Deferring to She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, the President is depicted fleeing to the comforting arms of a softer, sweeter, more understanding female – Angela Merkel.

But in real life, the woman Trierweiler has been obsessing about for nearly a decade is Ségolène Royal, Hollande’s former partner of 23 years and the mother of his four children. Trierweiler admits to having started her affair with Hollande in 2005. He was then Socialist Party leader; she had been covering the Left as a Paris Match political correspondent for years. But they’d met years before: it was a young Trierweiler who reported from Royal’s maternity ward after she gave birth to her and Hollande’s last child, Flora, in 1992. She’d remained friendly with Flora’s father ever since.

Royal, who had gradually become aware of her partner’s betrayal, kept silent until the night of her 2007 defeat against Nicolas Sarkozy. Then, minutes after the result, she announced that the doors of her house were “now closed to Hollande” – who, while still officially living with her, had in fact moved into Trierweiler’s flat. It transpired that Trierweiler had egged him on to sabotage Royal’s presidential bid during the campaign.

Having lost her bid for a second presidential try in last year’s Socialist primaries, Royal immediately gave her support to her children’s father. Meanwhile, Trierweiler went to absurd lengths to sideline her. In rallies, Royal found herself seated away from other party bigwigs, and excluded from pictures. The children, who also were involved with the campaign, tried to intervene with Hollande, but to no effect; instead he often remonstrated with his advisers that they should “support Valérie: she’s so insecure”. Royal was excluded from Hollande’s Élysée swearing-in, but he did give her his official support in her bid for the La Rochelle seat, in the region where she has been council president for eight years.

This infuriated Trierweiler and led to this week’s tweeting extremes, igniting the kind of nationwide ruckus which is still in full swing. She has dug her heels in, refusing to recant her tweet. Meanwhile, several former Royal adversaries, all women, including Socialist leader Martine Aubry and Green leader Cécile Duflot, have very loudly sided with her. “I hope this tweet gets [Royal] elected,” Aubry said yesterday.

Feminine solidarity is relatively new in France, in politics and elsewhere: it was really only seen last year, at the height of the Strauss-Kahn affair, when women politicians from Marine le Pen to a Trotskyite, including two then Cabinet ministers, denounced casual sexism and double standards. Earlier, Rachida Dati, Sarkozy’s glamorous justice minister, found relatively little support when she chose to become a single mother in office, then got sidelined partly because she’d been a friend of her boss’s second wife. But all signs are that Trierweiler’s latest outburst may have triggered unintended consequences. “You started missing Sarkozy, now you will miss Carla,” Nadine Morano, a former Sarkozy minister, tweeted yesterday.

© Telegraph Media Group & Anne-Elisabeth Moutet, 2012