The French still excel in political theatre. And for weeks the greatest show in town has been the debate over Oui or Non on the EU constitution, to be decided tomorrow. The greatest political actor is interior minister Dominique de Villepin - matinee idol looks, romantic nationalist, scourge of the Anglo Saxons, best known for his emotional opposition to the US-led war in Iraq. In the Theatre du Rond Point, just off the Champs-Elysees in Paris, one fine spring evening last month - when public opinion was still showing a majority Non - he was showcased to great effect.
Edwy Plenel, outgoing editorial director of Le Monde and champion of investigative journalism, was in the role of chairman, his black and mobile moustache and eyebrows perfectly suited to signalling suspense and surprise. By way of a prologue, Plenel interrogated a pollster, who explained that the No camp had succeeded brilliantly in muddying the debate and identifying “liberal” Brussels as a threat to France’s much-loved public services.
Plenel then invited on stage the hero, de Villepin, and Francois Hollande in the supporting role. Hollande is leader of the opposition Socialist Party, which would dearly love to oust de Villepin’s government. He was miscast.
De Villepin is simply too elegant, too passionate, too handsome. With his coiffed silver hair, gangling arms and outstretched fingers, he bore more than a passing resemblance to an eagle in flight. Sometimes his rhetoric soared into the rafters; occasionally it flew right over the audience’s heads. “We are at the dawn of a great European century, of a century in which Europe can change the course of history,” he cried. Europe was a means of humanising globalisation. The constitutional treaty would deepen Europe’s democracy, allow its 25 member countries to act more cohesively and enable the EU to project its influence abroad.
Hollande looked piqued at de Villepin’s rhetorical excesses, then launched his own spirited plea. But he is pudgy, rumpled and sweaty. He grew redder and redder. His passion came over as a lather of righteousness, never attractive. He argued that the constitution added a vital political and social dimension to European economic and monetary integration. Angry French voters should punish President Jacques Chirac at the presidential elections in 2007. And they should not let their frustration jeopardise Europe’s construction.
The No campaigners then made their entrances. Marie-George Buffet plays the role of the general secretary of the French Communist Party, and does it with severity and charmlessness. Her rejection of the constitution was motivated by her love for a more socially oriented and more democratic Europe, she argued. Every inch the prim schoolteacher, she lectured about “liberal” Europe’s deficiencies. Europe was being built without reference to its peoples. “The No is a reflective and intelligent No,” she said.
Jean-Pierre Chevenement, a “sovereigntist”, is sometimes described as Mr Bean’s father because of his striking similarity to an older Rowan Atkinson. His role was the comic one as he skewered the “ouiouistes” and floridly defended all the “cretins, poor souls, imbeciles, lunatics, cowards and downtrodden and huddled-up” masses who opposed the constitution. Yet his argument was among the most telling: that the constitution threatened the independence of its member states.
In the free-flowing debate that followed, de Villepin lamented that his compatriots always imagined they would be the losers of Europe’s liberalisation. Hollande asked the audience to reflect on the asymmetric risks of a Yes or a No. Buffet rubbished this argument, saying it would be possible to renegotiate the treaty on better terms.
Four outside experts were then invited to pass judgment. While waiting to speak, Olivier Duhamel, constitutional specialist, removed his spectacles and began a furious polishing routine. The dramatic effect was somewhat ruined when he repeated the exercise minutes later. Building on this he came out like a lion, arguing that France was suffering from “institutional, social, political and moral sickness”. The Fifth Republic had failed to tackle mass unemployment or the rise of the neo-fascist right. Scrap it, he said, and move on to the Sixth. But - lapsing into a lamb - he said things would be no better if France rejected Europe’s constitution, which was a perfectly sensible document.
The final words were left to Edouard Glissant, a poet from Martinique, who said he understood what it was like to be a “black sheep”, alluding to Chirac’s warning that France would be isolated in Europe if it rejected the treaty. As the only black person on stage, and someone who lived 7,000km away, Glissant said, he had a different perspective. Europe was an idea rather than a power and the world needed that idea. “Utopia is not a dream. It’s what we lack in the world.” As an epilogue, it had dignity, and a kind of transcendent vagueness suitable to the occasion. Next week, we’ll see how the audience took it.
