France and the EU. A severe crise d’identité

Is France, the country that helped to invent European integration, about to undo it?

A LITTLE over six months ago, the French were preoccupied by the usual anxieties of a modern democracy: how to manage stress, stay slim, recover from alcoholism and understand “The Da Vinci Code”. Or so the non-fiction bestseller lists would suggest. Today, as the country prepares to vote on May 29th in a referendum on the European Union's constitutional treaty, trivia have been banished from the French mind. No fewer than five of the top ten, and eight of the top 20, non-fiction titles are about the treaty: from the official “Le Petit Guide de la Constitution europeenne”, which tops the list, to “Cette 'constitution' qui piege l'Europe”, by the far-left lobby group Attac.

France is in the grip of an unprecedented debate about Europe. It divides the country neatly in two: the yes vote, which stood as high as 64% last September, has for the past two weeks slipped back below 50%, pointing to a rejection. But the two lines have already crossed three times since mid-March. An unexpectedly strong result either way cannot be ruled out. In any event, the outcome is too uncertain to call.

Every voter has been sent a copy of the constitution, all 191 pages of it; and in brasseries, over dinner tables, on campuses, everywhere, they have been arguing and agonising about it. Debates rage nightly on prime-time television. Fully 83% of the French told a Paris-Match poll this month that they had discussed the constitution during the past week, up from 26% in February. Top politicians fill auditoriums with thousands. Over 9m tuned in to watch Laurent Fabius, the leading no campaigner on the left - more than watch France's football cup final. One little-known senator tells how 200-odd turn up even to his meetings, with yellow Post-it notes bristling from their copies of the text.

The possibility that France might reject Europe's first-ever constitution appears startling. France has a good claim to have invented European integration. When in 1950 Robert Schuman, its foreign minister, proposed the pooling of French and German coal and steel production, this became the embryo of the future European Union. Since then, France has been a Euro-pioneer, taking part in every project from the common market to the euro, and opting out of none. Its former president, Valery Giscard d'Estaing, presided over the convention that drafted the constitutional text. All mainstream parties - President Jacques Chirac's ruling UMP on the centre-right, the centrist UDF, the Socialist Party on the left - are in favour of a yes.

So why is France so divided? The answer is that the referendum has set off a bout of introspection that is only tangentially related to the text. “The referendum has put France on the couch”, wrote Claude Imbert in Le Point magazine. What might have been an arcane question about constitutional arrangements has morphed into a battle over the future of France. There are three elements. The first is about France's place in the world. The second is about the failure of its economy to create jobs. And the third is about the nature of its political elite.

A la recherche d'une gloire perdue

During his few appearances during this campaign, Mr Chirac has drawn on one of his favourite themes: the need to create “a European power”, strong enough “to count in tomorrow's world” faced with the American superpower, as well as with rising powers such as China. Such a “Europe puissance”, with its own defence capability, would naturally be of French inspiration, not “Anglo-Saxon, atlanticist”. It is a popular theme, which Mr Chirac used to near-universal French acclaim when opposing the Iraq war. And foreign policy is the one area where most of the French still reckon he is doing a good job. Yet, this time, the message has fallen flat.

Why? The answer is that the divisions within Europe exposed by the Iraq war revealed something new and troubling for France. Not only was the country unable to prevent the invasion, but Europe was not even united behind its effort to do so. Differences with Britain were to be expected. Dealing with the instinctive atlanticism of Europe's new members - not then yet even part of the club - was not.

The enlargement of the EU to 25 has been painful for the French, who feel their voice diluted, their language threatened, their vision challenged and their jobs at risk. In the past, Europe represented comfort, reassurance and shelter: from German muscular nationalism, from poverty, from imperial decline. Today, it has become a threat to French identity. Alain Juppe, a former centre-right prime minister, puts it well on his internet blog, al1jup.com: “The problem is that the French, constitution or not, no longer see the European Union as a construction that brings them progress and security in a world full of menace.”

In other words, many of the French do not consider the new Europe, symbolised by the constitution, as a guarantor of Mr Chirac's Europe puissance. Quite the reverse. They have already witnessed his struggle to keep the promise. Moreover, the prospect of Turkish entry, which Mr Chirac supports, is fiercely opposed by French public opinion: 67% are against, next to 55% in Germany and only 30% in Britain, according to an IFOP poll. Particularly on the right, Turkey is a leading reason for voting no. Although the constitution does not deal with Turkish membership, many in France believe that the document paves the way for it. And Turkish entry is seen as further confirmation that the French have lost control to the Anglo-Saxon version of Europe: little more than a loosely connected common market.

These concerns do not add up to Euroscepticism a l'anglaise. Although France has its own nationalist fringe, ranging from Philippe de Villiers to the far-right Jean-Marie Le Pen, combined with elements of the hard-left, these voices, even together, remain a minority. What has tipped the balance is the mainstream “pro-European no”, advocated by Socialist rebels and led - and lent credibility - by Mr Fabius, another former prime minister, along with assorted revolutionary Communists, Trotskyists and anti-globalisation groups. They do not advocate, as their British counterparts do, pulling France out of the EU. Rather, their plea is for “a different constitution for a different Europe”.

Economic headaches

This promise of renegotiation, as a means of securing that other Europe, may be wishful thinking. It is unlikely that France would secure a treaty any more to its liking if talks were ever to start again. But as many as 69% of the French believe it would, according to a BVA poll. This quest for “another Europe” is not just about diplomatic clout: it is a last cry to protect France's social system.

In the campaign lexicon, France's central economic fear is delocalisation: the loss of jobs to low-cost central and eastern Europe. Since the EU directive on liberalising services was debated earlier this year, it has been accompanied by a fear of low-wage workers - embodied by a mythical Polish plumber - flooding to France to undercut its wages and steal its jobs.

Concern about job losses has some basis: low value-added manufacturing, in some sectors, is slipping out of France, as it is from all high-cost industrial economies. Yet the prospect prompts such panic in France because its own unemployment is so stubbornly high: 10.2%, only a shade below the 11.3% it was when Mr Chirac took over as president in 1995. Among the under 25s, it is nearly one in four.

France's private sector boasts some of the world's leading companies, in industries such as cars, handbags, shampoo, yoghurt and insurance. Yet these firms tend to manage by employing relatively few people. Jobs are so thickly protected that employers hesitate to create them. Many resort to temporary or short-term contracts, or to interns. The upshot is a two-tier labour market: sheltered jobs for those who have them, and precariousness or joblessness for the rest.

This is why so many young people feel so anxious. Their pessimism was exposed dramatically during a TV debate in which 80 of them confronted Mr Chirac with their despondency. “Frankly,” he replied, “I don't understand it, and it pains me.” His bafflement only deepened their gloom. “Unemployment is the principal anxiety that has mobilised the no on the left,” says Brice Teinturier, political director of TNS-Sofres, a polling agency. “We haven't seen such levels of worry for 20 years.”

With such insecurity, it is easy to whip up fears. For the no camp, the most reliable panic button is the word liberalisme or, better, ultra-liberalisme. The constitution, says Attac, “is a text of ultra-liberal inspiration”. The EU services directive, it argues, “revealed what is hidden in the constitutional treaty: a veritable liberal project of delocalisation, an end to public services, the dismantling of the right to work.”

It is not just the hard-left that makes such claims. The “Socialist No” group condemns the text as the unacceptable expression of “free and unbridled competition”. Mr Fabius, a former centrist finance minister who has now teamed up with the likes of José Bove, an anti-globalisation sheep-farmer, rails against a “Europe dictated by finance”. These claims can be surreal. Some no campaigners trumpet the fact that the document mentions the word “competition” 27 times. Yes campaigners, hitting back, claim there are 89 mentions of the word “social”.

Illuminating for voters or not, the debate is no bad thing for France. The country's high-cost, state-heavy model has served it well in the past, but has become a drag on growth. It has not escaped the French that Britain has less than half as much unemployment, that British income per head overtook the French back in 1995, and that French growth has been more sluggish. Last week, GDP growth for 2004 was revised downwards to 2.1%, and annualised growth in the first quarter of this year fell to just 0.8%.

Yet very few French voices are advocating a more liberal approach. France's political centre of gravity sits well to the left of other European countries. Mr Chirac himself often uses the language of the left. The influence of France's communist intellectual heritage lingers, on campuses and in political rhetoric. “Competition” and “profit” remain dirty words. The Communist-backed CGT is the country's most powerful union. Francois Bayrou, the UDF leader, puts it well when he says that “France has never been demarxise”.

Yet, faced with the evidence of successful reforms in countries such as Britain and Spain, France is beginning at least to look at alternatives. In particular, Nicolas Sarkozy, Mr Chirac's chief rival on the right, has begun to speak out. “The best social model is the one that gives work to everybody. It is not, therefore, our own,” he said at one rally. “It is not ideological mimicry to want to draw inspiration from those in Europe who have found the path to full employment and to turn our backs on the methods of those who end up plunging us into mass unemployment.”

Langue de bois

The circular debate over the constitution, as to whether it is liberal or not, is only partly due to the ambiguous nature of the text. It also exposes the third source of popular disaffection. “The revolt against the constitution”, says Andre Kaspi, a historian at the Sorbonne, “is also a revolt against the political elite, on the left and the right. And, since the elite has always said that, whenever anything goes wrong, it's the fault of Brussels, the elite has contributed to this revolt.”

Popular disillusion with the political class runs deep. It was one reason that Mr Le Pen outdid the Socialist candidate, Lionel Jospin, in the 2002 presidential election: besides his xenophobic message, he denounced the duplicity of the political establishment. The problem is symbolised by what the French call langue de bois: a failure of the political class to talk straight.

Partly because of the country's leftist bias, there has for years been a tendency to reform by stealth. Rather than explain the need for France to adapt, politicians have carried out (albeit minimal) reforms while either concealing them, or by blaming outside forces, usually Brussels. Mr Jospin's Socialist government, for instance, privatised more than any previous government, without ever using the word. Whenever a company such as France Telecom is prepared for sale, the government first sells a small stake and promises it will keep a majority holding - but the firm ends up privately owned all the same.

The trouble is that, at some point, the truth catches up with the politicians. One of those points is now. The enlarged EU, which was never put to a referendum in France nor debated widely, is belatedly discovered to be a fait accompli. It hardly matters whether the promises were sincere. Politicians - and many economists - said that the euro would bring down prices; yet the French feel that their weekly bills have gone up. The devaluation of the politician's word means that current pledges, such as the one to consult the French on Turkish EU membership, or the claim that the EU services directive has been shelved, or the idea that “there is no Plan B”, are not believed. Mr Chirac himself, whose popularity is at an eight-year low, has veered back and forth on Europe so many times that nobody knows what he really thinks.

The upshot is confusion. Mr Fabius says the text is liberal. Mr Chirac says it is social. The no camp says the text will end the right to abortion. The yes camp says it extends women's rights. Whom should the French believe? “Many people don't understand the text, but nor do they trust politicians to explain it,” says Sylvie Goulard, author of a recent book on Europe and Turkey. If you don't trust the political class, a no vote becomes a refuge of certainty; a yes, a venture into the unknown.

In some quarters, distrust is amplified by militancy. The no campaign has acquired a certain element of rebellious cool. In fine revolutionary tradition, some no campaigners see themselves as Europe's vanguard, out to demonstrate that France can still turn the tide on a Europe of the elite. “Two hundred years after the Bastille,” cried Mr Bove last weekend, “the people of the left are today going to wreck this constitution.”

Furthermore, running through this referendum campaign is a parallel race for the 2007 presidential election. The French know that personal political interests overlie national ones. How is it that Mr Fabius, a tax-cutting former finance minister, is now courting the anti-marketeers? Why has Mr Sarkozy carefully not campaigned too hard, for fear of tarnishing his own brand in the event of a French no? The answer is that each man's presidential campaign is also at stake in this referendum - as are those of Francois Hollande, the Socialist leader, and of Mr Chirac himself.

On the right, a French no would seriously weaken Mr Chirac and probably exclude him from standing for a third term. He will not follow de Gaulle and resign: he has already ruled that out. With either a no or a narrow yes, he will almost certainly, though, replace his unpopular prime minister, Jean-Pierre Raffarin. Candidates to take his place include Dominique de Villepin, the impulsive interior minister, and Michele Alliot-Marie, the loyal defence minister. But Mr Chirac is a master of the political surprise. He could pick, say, Jean-Louis Borloo, the likeable jobs minister. Even Mr Sarkozy, despite Mr Chirac's distrust of the man who deserted him in the past, cannot be discounted for the job. Prime minister or not, a French no would strengthen Mr Sarkozy's chances of emerging as the single UMP candidate for 2007.

On the left, a no would kickstart Mr Fabius's presidential campaign, but also divide the party. Many in the Socialist yes camp will never forgive him for splitting the party and ignoring its internal referendum, held among all members last November, which resulted in a yes. “He will never become the party's official candidate,” insists one bitter Socialist figure. Even among the Socialist no campaigners he draws contempt, and would struggle to unite the left. Whatever the outcome, the party is likely to hold a fresh congress to try to thrash out its internal differences and settle scores. Many top Socialists will fight hard to keep Mr Fabius from taking control. A wrenching internal battle would ensue.

And policymaking? Even under a new prime minister, and even with a narrow yes, a Chirac government is unlikely to try big domestic reforms ahead of 2007. Mr Chirac has never had an appetite for radical change. Moreover, demands for more socially minded government will be strong. The unions will probably take their discontent to the streets. If anything, Mr Chirac will veer to the left.

If the French do vote no, the president will doubtless try to rally the country with statesmanlike talk of respecting the will of the people. There may well be an effort to blame the left. But the ultimate humiliation will be his. Within Europe, Mr Chirac's authority would be weakened, leaving him vulnerable on both sides. At home, he would face pressure to demand more social concessions from Brussels. Yet it would be hard for him to make demands of fellow Europeans who felt that it was France that had let down the cause.

Article asks: Is France, the country that helped to invent European integration, about to undo it?

• Primary Source