LIBERTE, EGALITE AND FRIES

Andrew Jack discovers that the French

are yielding to perfidious Anglo-America

IT'S probably a good idea not to speak English too loudly if you're planning to visit the south-west of France over the next few weeks. The peasants are revolting again, and you may not have the time to explain the finer distinctions between the British and the Americans before finding yourself on the wrong end of a pitchfork.

In revenge for high US tariffs on Roquefort and foie gras (themselves tit- for-tat victims after the EU clamped down on hormone-enhanced American beef), a McDonald's nearing completion in the region was comprehensively vandalised last month. Now the perpetrator is busy being canonised. Meanwhile, the FNSEA, the country's main farming union, can- celled its annual conference booking at Disneyland Paris in solidarity — although you might have thought they would have noticed beforehand that they risked fraternising with the enemy.

In other words, it's time for another out- break of that French reflex against the dreaded mondialisation. Cue the disruptive but highly ritualised protests we haven't seen since the air-traffic controllers during the summer, the train drivers in the spring and last year's blocked roads caused by pigs let loose, disgruntled truck drivers and cauliflower-wielding Breton farmers.

At first sight, it all looks like the same old history of French exceptionalism hold- ing out against the dominant Anglo-Saxon ultra-liberalism. We've seen it regularly since the students took to the streets of Paris in 1968 in search of sexual liberation and ill-defined revolution, proud in the knowledge that they were maintaining the traditions of 1789, 1848 and 1871.

But the latest outburst also shows how much, under the veneer of corporatist immobilism and Luddism, France is changing. Its sporadic shows of dissent owe more to the death throes of the ancien regime than to any serious chal- lenge to the free-market economic ortho- doxy. After all, Jose Bove, the moustachioed farming militant who drove Ronald McDonald out of town, is in cus- tody for his sins. That marks a consider- able advance for a country which has traditionally seemed too petrified of its citizens to mobilise the police to prevent, or at least prosecute, protesters who indulge in criminal damage.

And while the intellectual elites may join with rural workers in sneering at McDon- ald's, they should remember that the rest of the social spectrum has turned the US fast- food chain into France's largest restaurant group. French managers and employees serve food purchased in France to predomi- nantly French clients in more than 700 out- lets across the country.

Disneyland Paris (which is no longer even called Euro Disney) might have been dismissed as a cultural Chernobyl, but it now attracts more than 12 million visitors a year, almost half of whom are French. That makes it the most popular paying tourist attraction in Europe. After initial losses under an American chief executive, it has turned a profit under his two successive French replacements, whose fellow citizens own a high proportion of its shares.

In spite of all this, a tough rearguard action is being fought. No aspect of French life better symbolises the tremendous tur- moil taking place than the attempt to pre- serve Gallic cinema against American blockbusters, and to protect the language from the souring influence of English. Jack Lang, the Socialists' long-standing culture minister, did much to introduce a dose of protectionism. But it was the Gaullist Jacques Toubon who clinked the linguistic ball and chain firmly into place with a law passed in 1994 — a sign of just what a cross-party issue this is.

That was why Edmond Delpal, the owner of the Body Shop franchise in Chambery, `Page 97 of the owner's manual, Sir – "How To Plan Your First Military Coup".' found himself pursued by government inspectors — not because he was selling banana ear-lobe salve, but because the bot- tles were labelled in English. That was why an offshoot of the Georgia Institute of Technology, based in Lorraine, had to go to court after an enthusiastic linguistic watch- dog spotted connections on its website that were written in the language of Shakespeare and not Moliere. In 1997 alone, the French authorities carried out nearly 8,000 linguistic inspections, issued 713 warnings, sent 390 cases to the public prosecutor and won 127 legal rulings. And the figures are rising fast.

The greatest dictator of them all, howev- er, is the Academie Francaise, which has been at the same game since 1635. But how can you take seriously an institution that has been working on the ninth edition of its supposedly authoritative dictionary since 1935, and has so far reached only the word milice? It might reach millennium just in time, but it can hardly expect its conclu- sions to be heeded.

Who can fault the wish to retain rich aspects of Gallic culture against a dull tide of uniformity? It is far too easy for English- speakers to mock others just because the twists of history have given us a certain lin- guistic hegemony. But the problem is that the work of the Academy and its fellow regulators symbolises that relentless French reflex of legislation at all costs, a belief that everything from the length of the working week to the number of women in politics can be determined by rules.

The fact is that the French are unsur- passed at getting around such restrictions. The government has imposed quotas to ensure that at least 40 per cent of all broadcast music is French. The result is that radio stations play unclassifiable instrumental or techno songs, or squeeze in all the discs they are forced to air into late- night Sunday slots when no one is listening.

Preserving the traditions of Truffaut or Rohmer seems fine on paper, but a French film is defined as one with official funding from the state's cinema agency. Which cash- strapped Polish or British film director would not be happy to throw in a token French actor or scene, and gladly assume the label, if he can get a few francs in exchange?

The authorities might do better to tap the ingenuity shown by its citizens rather than become obsessed with futile and unneces- sary attempts to protect them from evil out- side influences. For the French do not just attack American symbols like Disneyland. They take them over and improve them. A McDonald's in Agen even threw out the usual ingredients this week in favour of burgers filled with duck and Roquefort. Come to think of it, who invented French fries in the first place?

The author's book The French Exception is available through The Spectator Bookshop for the special price of £14.99, post free in the UK To order, please call 0541 557 288, quoting reference PT429.