The Squad’s latest podcast is now available at Pajamas Media.
Dr. Sanity, Shrink, Siggy, and I discuss the Mufti of Australia’s remarks likening immodest women to uncovered meat left out in the street (oh, what a charmer that Mufti is!), as well as the logistics of the election and why voting reform is so difficult.
And please wish Dr. Sanity well with her upcoming knee replacement surgery.
I’ve been quite happy with John Kerry’s relative absense from the political scene ever since a certain November day two years ago.
On the other hand, that joy is tempered with just a teeny bit of sorrow at not having him to kick around any more. But like Nixon, he’s back, if only for a little while (please, please, let it be for only a little while).
By now you probably know what happened: first Kerry dissed members of the military, saying they’d ended up in Iraq because they hadn’t done well in school. Then he refused to apologize and released an over-the-top attack on Republicans for playing politics with his flatfooted remarks. He said the whole thing was a misfired joke in which he’d meant to say that it was Bush who hadn’t done well in school and therefore had led us into a stupid venture such as Iraq.
Kerry’s the talk of the blogosphere, leading me to believe that he might be a poster boy for the contention that to narcissitic people, bad attention is better than no attention at all. The Democrats might well wish they’d never seen the man; it’s hard to believe he ever was nominated for President and actually almost won but for a few votes in Ohio.
What strikes me about Kerry’s remarks is what’s struck me so many times before: something about this man is very, very weird.
I didn’t open this post with a comparison to Richard Nixon for nothing. Nixon was another man in public life who always struck me as profoundly weird on a personal level. Most politicians have a sort of ease with people, and even charm–for example, both Bill Clinton and George W. Bush possess it, although in very different versions, as did JFK and FDR.
Kerry is (and Nixon was) profoundly ill at ease within himself. With forced and awkward affect, it’s as though he’s studied what real people look and sound like, and is desperately trying to imitate it but can never get it quite right.
Both Kerry and Nixon seem(and seemed) to have trouble telling jokes, for example. If this recent fracas was a joke that backfired, as Kerry has claimed, then it’s another example of his tin ear for humor. And even if he’d delivered the lines right, the joke just isn’t funny. Stranger still is his overwhelming self-puffery and self-righteousness, almost to the point of caricature.
It’s as though Kerry’s a very bad actor playing the part of–himself.
Here are some excerpts from his response. Let’s begin at the beginning, with a classic opening line that’s funnier than any of Kerry’s intentional jokes:
Let me make it crystal clear, as crystal clear as I know how.
Which is, of course: not very.
Kerry follows with:
My statement yesterday–and the White House knows this full well –was a botched joke about the president and the president’s people, not about the troops. The White House’s attempt to distort my true statement…
Now, how on earth could the White House have known full well that it was a botched joke? And how could Kerry know full well that the White House knew full well? It’s one thing for Kerry to claim ex-post-facto that it was a botched joke, and to let people decide for themselves. But to contend that it’s botched-jokeness was so exceedingly obvious that the White House knew it “full well?” Bizarre, absurd, and nonsensical.
But Kerry doesn’t even seem to understand this; all he knows is he must go on the attack. It’s a mark of his narcissism that he’s incapable of stepping outside himself, of hearing his own words as others hear them, of putting himself in their places and trying to imagine what meaning they’d glean from what he originally said.
And then there’s the odd phrase (Kerry specializes in odd phrases, and they’re often the most telling part of his utterances): The White House’s attempt to distort my true statement [emphasis mine]. Any other person would have said, “my statement.”
Which “true statement” is Kerry talking about? The joke about the President doing poorly in school and thus leading us into Iraq? That “true statement?” Or is Kerry referring to the other “true statement” (we’ll call it the true true statement) the one that seems to have been the original meaning of his remarks, that only stupid people who did poorly in school go into the military? Will the real “true statement” please stand up?
It goes on and on. The allegation that McCain, as well the White House, knew full well what Kerry actually meant by his little joke. The macho posturing. The swagger that he can’t quite pull off. The accusation that the Republicans are about politics, whereas he isn’t. The reference to how America knows his “true feelings” about veterans. This from the man who launched the controversial Winter Soldier investigation, and whom many veterans detest because they feel he told defamatory lies about their service in Vietnam, all for the sake of his own glory.
Kerry knows–he must know, unless he’s even more delusional than I think he is–that he’s vulnerable on the issue of his Vietnam service and his criticizing veterans. And I fear he doth protest too much.
Smart Democrats are distancing themselves from Kerry, saying “thanks but no thanks” to his backing on the campaign trail. Perhaps if enough do so, even a narcissist like Kerry will finally get the hint.
But I wouldn’t lay money on it. A while back, Roger Simon pointed out Kerry’s remarkable resemblance to a stock commedia dell ‘arte figure known as “il Capitano,” or the braggart soldier.
The braggart soldier doesn’t ever get it. Next thing we know, Kerry will be offering the classic excuse il Capitano offers for his lack of an undershirt:
I used to be an exceedingly fierce and violent man, and when I was made angry the hair which covers my body in goodly quantity stood on end and so riddled my shirt with holes that you would have taken it for a sieve.
The New York Times has tackled a subject near and dear to my heart.
In this article that appeared Sunday, October 29, called “The Elephant in the Room,” Anne E. Kornblut faces the fact that politics has become the untouchable third rail of conversation at the dinner parties and the book clubs and the mothers’ play groups that form the glue of our social interactions these days. Even families aren’t immune to the cold chill that descends when the topic comes up (tell me about it!).
Judith of Kesher Talk has a masterful and heartfelt post on the subject. She’s been there–oh, how she’s been there!
The Times article, which is well worth reading in its entirety, is a curious document indeed. It describes behavior–the social shunning of those who disagree, mainly on the part of liberal Democrats–that is neither liberal nor democratic. It’s not even civil. And yet I can only assume that much of the Times’s readership is in basic sympathy with that behavior.
I’ve never had the experience of being in a group of Republicans as the lone liberal Democrat, even back when I was a liberal Democrat (I still consider myself a liberal–of the classic variety–but not a Democrat). Maybe it’s because liberal Democrats (and conservative Republicans?) tend to hang out with their own kind, not by design necessarily but by confluence of interests and activities. Perhaps conservative Republicans are just as nasty to their liberal friends and family members; I really wouldn’t know (although if one of the commenters to Judith’s thread is to be believed, in Utah the Republicans are quite nice to the liberals in their midst).
But I do know that conversos, neo-neocons such as I, reprobate traitors to their political roots, are probably exposed to this sort of intolerance for differing opinion most often, for the simple reason that we still tend to socialize with liberals. After all, we didn’t make a bunch of neo-friends to go with our neo-neocon status, nor did we get adopted by a neo-family. The fallout and the flak has been difficult, although most of the time, by now, we do the “agree to disagree” thing and it works out okay.
I know people whose marriages have suffered greatly from differences of opinion that previously were something to joke about. Now–as the article points out–viewpoints have hardened and the other side has been demonized to the point where the Other has become the Enemy.
It’s a reflection of what’s happened in Congress, as well. As districts have become more rigidly fixed along polarized lines, and members of Congress have become more extreme on both sides, collegiality has gone out the window.
But let’s look at that Times article more closely. It features a liberal woman of thirty-seven named Sheri Langham, whose parents are Republicans. It never used to be much of a problem for Sheri before, but now she says, politics “became such a moral litmus test” that she stopped speaking to her 65-year-old mother for a month.
Sheri again, on her mother: she became the face of the enemy.
To her credit, Ms. Langham came out of her funk and started talking with her evil Republican mother once again, only this time they’ve agreed not to discuss politics. But Ms. Langham puts her finger on the source of much of the hatred on the Democrat side: Bush supporters have become “the enemy.”
American politics have always been contentious. I grew up with fierce political disagreements among family members, and arguments whenever the group got together, which was often (the sides in question were liberal, left, and far-left, by the way). But if people stopped speaking over politics, it was the rare exception. Now it seems, if not the rule, certainly a fairly commonplace phenomenon.
And even in the Times article, it seems to be the liberals doing most of the outright shunning.
The article reports, however, that many people in both parties are choosing to be among friends who agree with them rather than deal with the contention of differing views. As Judith mentions in her post, political discussions among the liberals with whom she hangs out (or used to hang out) seem to have evolved (or devolved?) into support groups:
In other words, they brought up politics, but they are the only ones who get to play. If you join in, you are the one who soured the conversation by bringing up politics. Because they weren’t trying to start a political discussion, they just wanted to commiserate with friends. You party pooper.
Yes. And the shock of learning that someone who somehow looks liberal (whatever that might mean; I don’t wear Birkenstocks) and sounds intelligent and even likes the arts and isn’t into Nascar racing might actually disagree on political issues is so profound it sometimes can’t be processed properly.
I recall being at a party where a political discussion was being held–actually, it was more of a political support group, until I made the mild comment that I agreed with Bush on that particular issue (I don’t recall any more what it was).
The woman closest to me asked, “What did you say?” I repeated my response. She asked again; this happened three times. She wasn’t being sarcastic. And she wasn’t hard of hearing. She simply was having trouble assimilating the information; it did not compute that someone like me could agree with someone like him.
I’m reminded of the famous remark attributed to film critic Pauline Kael, to the effect that she could hardly believe Nixon had won in ’72 because no one she knew had voted for him. And since I so love to do research, I looked up the remark and discovered this slight correction; it turns out Ms. Kael was misquoted. She actually seems to have refused to comment on Nixon’s election when questioned by a reporter, and gave as her reason the fact that she didn’t even know anyone who voted for him.
That seems to me to be a sort of comment, as well. But it’s not the same comment as “How could he have been elected? No one I know voted for him!” which strikes a note of arrogance and insularity astounding even in a woman who probably moved in rarified circles.
Her actual comment, however, is just as good for the purposes of this essay; I have no trouble whatsoever in believing that Kael had no friends who voted for Nixon.
Actually, I’ll amend that: I have no trouble whatsoever believing that Kael had no friends whom she knew had voted for Nixon, who talked about it openly in the liberal circles of literary New York. But perhaps–just perhaps–she knew someone who was a Nixon supporter, and who was in the closet about it.
We don’t know what we don’t know–although we may think we know–and if people don’t speak up, we continue not to know. And, believe me, if I were voting for Nixon in the liberal New York of 1972, I’d probably keep my mouth shut about it, too (but yes, indeed, I was one of the 38% of the country who voted for McGovern).
[NOTE: Part II of the Lurécat trial planned for tomorrow.]
Back when I did that post on fall photos of New England, I unaccountably forgot to include this one, which is perhaps my favorite:
Here’s Alice, called as a witness at the trial of the Knave of Hearts in Wonderland (otherwise known as France—minus the jury, that is):
What do you know about this business? the King said to Alice.
Nothing, said Alice.
Nothing WHATEVER? persisted the King.
Nothing whatever, said Alice.
That’s very important, the King said, turning to the jury. They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White Rabbit interrupted: UNimportant, your Majesty means, of course, he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.
UNimportant, of course, I meant, the King hastily said, and went on to himself in an undertone, important—unimportant—unimportant—important–as if he were trying which word sounded best.
Some of the jury wrote it down important, and some unimportant. Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates; but it doesn’t matter a bit, she thought to herself.
Why am I so incensed over the second France 2 trial, when the verdict hasn’t even been rendered yet? And why am I close to certain that I know what the verdict will be (hint: the same as the first trial—victory for France 2), although I’d be happy to be proven wrong?
Remember, the issues in this trial are enormous: a famous journalist disseminates a story that’s seen around the world, complete with inflammatory photos derived from the video. The story and photos spark many retaliatory murders in the name of the martyred boy. Although many other photographers are present that day at the spot where the event is alleged to have happened, the story is substantiated only by a single tape filmed by France 2’s Palestinian stringer Talal (journalist Enderlin was not present). The video doesn’t show what it purports to show, although the journalist alleges that it did. Later, forensic evidence contradicts what the journalist has claimed.
Now that same journalist and his state-run TV station are suing three French citizens who have accused them—rather mildly, at that, by internet standards—of lying.
One would think these trials ought to take more time and effort than the run-of-the-mill traffic violation. And in fact, they have—but just a little bit more. Each case so far has lasted just a few hours.
That is peculiar, to say the least. I’ve been told that in France trials tend to be much shorter than in the US (where, if truth be told, many of them are too long). But the facts of this case, and its importance, should certainly have dictated far more attention and care than I saw demonstrated in that Palais de Justice courtroom last Tuesday. And, in fact, a run-of-the-mill traffic case in the US does generate more attention and care than I saw in that French courtroom.
For example, the head judge (who happened to resemble Dennis Miller with a two-day growth of stubble—and that’s not necessarily a bad thing) announced early on that, although witness Richard Landes had been slated to show a videotape, this particular courtroom wasn’t equipped with a functioning video player, and so it wouldn’t be shown.
Oh, yeah; whatever.
My Eurocentric trolls probably won’t like me for making the following contention (but they don’t like me anyway, so what the hey?), but it’s my impression that in the dinkiest courtroom in the smallest podunk town in the USA, if something like that were to happen, a functioning machine would either be obtained or the court would adjourn until one could be located.
But that was only the tip of the iceberg. I’m certainly not an expert in French law, and I only had a chance to ask a few questions of the lawyer after the trial, but the whole issue of evidence seems to be a very lax one in the French system. In other words, there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of attention paid to evidence at all.
Nor to logic, actually. The whole thing played like a version of “he said, she said,” only with nifty costumes—black robes and white cravats for the judges and lawyers. blue T-shirts for the gun-toting gendarmes.
The trial opened with the judge describing the charges, ascertaining that the defendant was indeed whom he purported to be, and stating the supposedly defamatory words. So far, so good.
The defendant was Pierre Luré§at, 39, a Frenchman who is a Jerusalem resident. Luré§at is the president of an organization called “Liberty, Democracy, and Judaism,” and is listed as the legal operator of a Web site, www.liguededefensejuive.com, that urged readers in 2002 to demonstrate against “the lies of France 2,” suggesting that France 2 and Charles Enderlin be given an award for disinformation.
Unlike Karsenty, who’d been a presence at his defamation trial (the first one, a month ago), Luré§at didn’t attend. Neither Enderlin nor any representative of France 2 has been at either trial, and I doubt they’ll go to the third one, either.
Perhaps Luré§at had read the writing on the wall from Karsenty’s trial where, despite the recommendation of the special court reporter (a figure in French courts who represents the interests of the people) that the court find for Karsenty, the judges took the unusual step of going against her suggestion. At any rate, not only was Luré§at a no-show, but one of his defenses appeared to be that he hadn’t actually written the words in question on his website; someone else had.
Richard Landes, who is one of the few people outside of France 2 who’s seen Talal’s tape, testified for the defense, based on his study of the al-Durah incident (you can see some of his reasoning at his blog and his website, if you’re not already familiar with his work).
Although the plaintiff’s lawyer asked not a single question of Landes (she appeared, rather, to be engaged mostly in admiring her own nifty high-heeled black boots during his testimony–I had a good view of her from behind and across the rather small courtroom), the head judge seemed to perk up during it. The judge actually showed some affect then—something I hadn’t seen him demonstrate till that moment. He seemed interested and concerned.
Perhaps he was merely concerned with the fact that the trial was already lasting longer than he wanted it to. But perhaps he was genuinely interested. and genuinely distressed by what he was hearing: missing footage, no blood when the child was supposedly shot, no bullets shown from the Israeli position.
In the first trial, this sort of judicial interest (on the part of a different judge) had been taken by many of Karsenty’s supporters to actually mean something in terms of the decision. But this time no one was that naive.
The prosecutor called not a single witness, nor did she ask one question of either of the two witnesses called by the defense, the second of whom was French journalist Luc Rosenzweig. The witnesses in this courtroom were required to stand and face the judges, so the audience was unable to see their faces from the front. But I was impressed nevertheless by Rosenzweig’s controlled outrage. Rosenzweig, a man in his early sixties who is a former chief editor of Le Monde, fairly vibrated with contempt for what Enderlin and France 2 had done, were doing, and might do again.
My sense is that some of his sense of outrage came from the fact that he thinks they have defamed the honor of journalism. He mentioned that Enderlin’s acts—lying about what was in Talal’s rushes, refusing to disclaim footage that even Enderlin himself had privately admitted was mostly staged–go against journalistic ethics.
Rosenzweig, like Landes, happens to be one of the few people on earth outside of France 2 employees who have seen the Talal tapes. The court, of course, didn’t see fit to count itself among them; shockingly, the tapes have been released neither to the court nor to the public.
I could not get a straight answer from anyone as to how the trial was able to proceed without the court or the defense compelling a viewing of the tapes. But perhaps the attitude towards the missing/broken video machine is a clue—the French court simply does not care about evidence, the mainstay of our legal system What does it care about? As best I can tell: power, prestige, and reputation; and saving time, money, and effort.
It’s a bit like another of my favorite trials (the source of the excerpt that began this post): that of the Knave of Hearts in Alice in Wonderland, where Alice muses at the outset: I wish they’d get the trial done, and hand round the refreshments!
One of the highlights of the trial—in fact, it may have been the highlight of the trial for me—was when Rosenzweig snorted, “I’ve said a lot worse [than Luré§at did] about Enderlin lying, and he never went after me! Enderlin lied repeatedly in the affair.” Rosenzweig was emphasizing not only that Enderlin is a liar, but that Enderlin and France 2 have been very careful in their choice of targets; I think I’m safe in predicting that they’ll not be coming after Rosenzweig next.
No, it’s pretty clear they want these trials to remain low profile—and in fact, until now, they have.
[Part II here.]
French Foreign Minister Philippe Douste-Blazy declared last week he has changed his opinion on Israel’s controversial separation barrier in light of its drastic effect on terror…”I have significantly evolved on the matter of the separation fence,” said Douste-Blazy on French Jewish television TFJ on Thursday. “Although the wall was a moral and ethical problem for me, when I realised terror attacks were reduced by 80 percent in the areas where the wall was erected, I understood I didn’t have the right to think that way.”
On the one hand, it’s good to hear that Douste-Blazy has evolved so very significantly.
On the other hand, what had he originally thought was going to happen when the Israelis built the wall? Does he understand the principle of cause and effect? Did he lack the capacity to understand the reasoning behind the wall? Did he understand it, but didn’t believe it, because his kneejerk reaction was to discount everything Israelis say? Is he speaking on his own now? Or did he get the okay from the higher-ups (almost certainly the case)? And, if so, why? Is this an actual change of mind, some sort of signal that France is softening its stance towards Israel, if only un peu?
Hamas wasn’t all that happy with Douste-Blazy’s evolution:
“It is the Palestinian nation which is suffering from the separation fence, not the French nation,” said Hamas spokesman Fawzi Barhoum. “Our nation is paying a high price for the separation and he [Douste-Blazy] must understand that the wall is the symbol of racial segregation and isolation.”
In other words, Hamas wishes to remind France that it needs to return, and pronto, to the proper leftist multi-culti line. However, in a rare moment of actual grounding in actual reality rather than rhetoric, France appears to be deviating from regarding the wall as a symbol of anything, and is instead noting that it has an actual function in the real world, which is to keep out those Palestinians who are intent on coming into Israel for the express purpose of blowing to smithereens as many Israeli men, women, and children as they possibly can.
How unsymbolic of France.
[NOTE: U*2 at ¡No Pasaré¡n! explains the motive behind France’s change of mind. Makes sense to me. And so, France may be regarding the wall as a symbol after all–a symbol of what France would like to do to its own Muslim population these days.
I’ve added ¡No Pasaré¡n! to my blogroll. I’m sure you’ll see why when you read their self-description: Behind the Faé§ades in France: What expats and the mainstream media (French and American alike) fail to notice (or fail to tell you) about French attitudes, principles, values, and official positions”¦ ]
I’m back, after having gotten an eyeful and an earful of Paris. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
That’s just hyperbole, for the sake of a literary reference; but the truth is that it was both exhilarating and sobering. I plan quite a few more ruminations on topics stirred up by my visit, but right now I’m just glad to be back.
Glad to be back, indeed.
I’ve written before about how, when I was a schoolkid, our teachers made us memorize tons of poetry, much of it with about as much literary merit as a Hallmark greeting card. Due to the idiosyncrasies of my brain, much of this stuff is still with me and pops into my head at the oddest times, unbidden.
When I was in Europe, this was the verse (memorized in fifth grade, as I recall) that acted as a rather mild earworm:
AMERICA FOR ME by Henry Van Dyke
‘Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down
Among the famous palaces and cities of renown
To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings, —
But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things.
So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
It ain’t great poetry, that’s for sure. It was exactly the sort of thing teachers were fond of force-feeding their students back in the 50s. It was a pre-ironic age; patriotism was sincere, and it was considered part of the job of the educational system to inspire it in our young–with second-rate verse, if need be.
We’re all so jaded and cynical now that a poem like this seems hopelessly outdated. But the sentiment is a classic; America really is one of the freest countries on earth, despite Bushhitler and the evil Rove. One feels it even more strongly after only a brief exposure to French justice.
[NOTE: Henry van Dyke, author of “America for Me,” was–suprisingly–a professor of English literature at Princeton, a Presbyterian clergyman, a lecturer at the University of Paris, and Minister to the Netherlands and Luxembourg. I guess he knew whereof he spoke.
Can you imagine these sorts of sentiments emerging–in populist verse, or otherwise–from the pen of an academic similarly situated today?]
I knew that Luré§at’s defamation trial was likely to be a short one.
The first France 2 libel suit, against Karsenty (see this for some background as to what these trials are about), had lasted only a few hours and was heard on a single afternoon. This had surprised me, and sparked a host of questions: why so short? Why hadn’t the defense compelled the release of the France 2 video taken by cameraman Talal on that fateful day at the Netzarim junction? Why had so little evidence in general been heard? In other words, what was going on here?
What I hadn’t realized was how US-centric my questions had been. Yes, of course, I knew that France has a different legal system than ours: theirs was based mainly on the Napoleonic Code, whereas ours was a predominantly common law system of evolving and changing interpretations of previous case law and statutes, under the overarching protection of the Constitution and Bill of Rights.
But surely, as two Western countries purporting to share a love of liberty, the law of France and that of the US shouldn’t be all that different.
It was only when I looked into the law of defamation under the French legal system that I realized the differences were not subtle, as I’d previously thought. They were major, reflecting profound differences in the attitudes of each country towards justice, its citizenry, society–and, in particular, the value and desirability of freedom of speech.
Here is a summary of French law concerning defamation; see pages thirteen and fourteen for the relevant material.
Essentially, France has made it incredibly easy to win a libel suit. Nearly all you need to do is to show that you were defamed (“any allegation or imputation of an act affecting the honor or reputation of the person or body against whom it is made”). I said “nearly all” because yes, there is a defense, and that is truth.
Well, that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? But it is bad, and this is why: the burden of proof in France falls on the defendant.
That’s such a dry, legal phrase: “burden of proof.” But what it means in practice is that it’s up to the person who made the defamatory statement to prove to a three-judge panel (not a jury; this reflects the fact that the French have far less trust in the decisions of its ordinary citizen than the US does) that the defamatory statement was true. Or, if the statement concerned a matter of public importance, he/she is required to prove that he/she conducted a serious investigation before making the statement, and that the statement was measured and objective and without even a trace of personal hostility.
Check out that word, prove. It means just what it says, not “indicate he/she had reason to believe it was true” or “suggest it might be true,” or even “prove it was most likely true.” It places the burden of proof in defending against a libel suit unconscionably— almost ludicrously—high.
Compare this to the American standard for defamation, particularly for public figures (and Charles Enderlin is nothing if not a public figure). The burden of proof in the US is entirely on the plaintiff to prove the statement was defamatory, false, and malicious. In New York Times v. Sullivan in 1964, the Supreme Court established the standard: the First Amendment protected “uninhibited, robust, and wide-open” criticism of public officials, at least unless it could be proved that the critic was deliberately lying or showed “reckless disregard” for the truth.
It turns out the US is serious””very very serious””about protecting First Amendment freedom of speech rights. It’s also less concerned than a country like France about the power of insults, or with the need to prevent slurs on one’s honor. “Whatever,” says the US, we can take it; what’s most important is the right to free speech. What’s most important to the French seems to be that society be courteous at all costs, even to public figures. And in making accusations against public figures, even a private citizen must make sure he has conducted a thorough investigation.
Of course, the need for a thorough investigation doesn’t seem to apply to Charles Enderlin or France 2. He’s free to broadcast any charge he wants (at least, as long as it’s PC)””for example, that the IDF murdered Mohammed al-Durah. He needs neither to prove his assertion, nor to defend himself against the charges that he misrepresented the facts, nor to show that he was conscientious in his duty as a journalist when he jumped to that conclusion based on Talal’s tapes—which present a one-minute scene embedded in almost a half-hour of other scenes that are obviously faked, do not show either father or son being hit and bleeding, and give no indication that the gunfire making the bullet holes in the wall behind al-Durah was coming from the IDF position, much less that he was shot by them.
So even if many murders were committed in the name of vengeance for al-Durah’s death at the hands of those nefarious Israeli soldiers, Enderlin knows there is no danger that anyone will call him to account—except, perhaps, the likes of defendants Karsenty, Luré§at, and Gouz. And he knows that he can always sue them with the full force of French law behind him, a law that presumes their guilt and his outraged innocence.
Well, France is France, you might say. It’s gotten along with this crazy system for hundreds of years, right? If they’re so deeply concerned that their sacred honor remain unbesmirched—even by “mere words”—and so unconcerned with the loss of their freedom of speech, what’s it to us?
Just this: we’re all potentially “caught in the crossfire” of the French press and the consequences of its allegations. It seems able to make nearly any assertion it wants with impunity, and fully ready to successfully squelch those French citizens who might dare to question the mighty reputations of France 2 and Charles Enderlin, who in 1988 earned the coveted title of grand reporter (you can look it up.)
The French press is a loose cannon, unable to be successfully challenged by its citizenry. And that’s the way the government wants it; after all, France 2 is owned and run by that government.
C’est la vie, c’est la guerre.
It’s afternoon here, and I’m about to go out and do a bit of unaccustomed sightseeing.
What have I been doing instead? Mostly writing, talking, and eating. So now I’m going to take a few hours and do ye olde tourist thing, and then get back and write a more substantive post in my series on the trial, and on French attitudes and philosophy; I’ve got a lot more to say.
But here are just a few observation of the lighter variety:
(1) French style still exists, but it’s markedly attenuated. On my previous visits here (one in 1963—I was a mere child, of course—one in 1978, 0ne in 1993) there was an air of extreme sophistication, of bred-in-the-bone elegance, especially among the women. Now, walking down the street, if it weren’t for the French language and the beautiful old buildings, one could be in Anytown, USA. Jeans, jeans, and more jeans; sloppy shirts and sweaters of no particular style or shape, and cellphones sprouting everywhere like a new appendage joining the head and hand.
I did see one woman who seemed to be singlehandedly upholding the remnants of French style, like the Statue of Liberty with her torch. I wish I’d had my camera (I’m planning to take it with me this afternoon), because words cannot describe her outfit adequately. It was entirely apple green–or rather, neo-neocon Granny Smith Green—a fitted and stylish suit, and intricately embroidered lacy tights in the same green color. Shoes, as well, and a purse—all apple green. Sounds dreadful, but with her model-thin figure and striking auburn hair, she managed to pull it off.
(2) Every now and then you see a remnant of the old France, tiny old ladies with shopping bags, shuffling along with a baguette in the sack, slow but steady. They saw the Occupation, lived through it, and know that this, too, will pass. All of it.
(3) ATM machines are missing an important step in their English translations. When you get to the all-important “Press the confirm button” prompt—well, of course, there is no “confirm” button, nor is there a translation so that you can determine which one it might be.
And pressing all the buttons doesn’t work, as I can attest. The solution? Cherchez a passing American and get instructions. You’ll be glad you did.
(4) Paris has now joined the modern world and gotten the dog-poop-on-the-sidewalk problem under control. But alas, dogs no longer seem ubiquitous in restaurants.
(5) A lot of “women of a certain age” here have mastered the Jeanne Moreau look: mature, with huge circles under the eyes that somehow seem tres chic–on them. How do they manage it? They won’t tell me the secret—after all, they’re French.
And now I’m outta here. Back with more substantive stuff later.
This experience is going to take a while to digest. So please bear with me, and don’t expect today’s post to bring you the definitive and complete reckoning of yesterday’s courtroom events and the larger meaning I draw from them, although that will come. This is more of an impressionistic first take.
First, some photos of the Palais de Justice, where the trial was held. Here’s the impressive gold-gilded imperial facade, even more imposing in person:
There isn’t a courthouse in the United States built in this particular style. That’s because there isn’t a courthouse in the US that could possibly have had this building’s aristocratic legacy. Furthermore, the American conception of the role of a courthouse, and the legal system it contains and facilitates, is quite different, as well.
You may think I’m speaking of architectural esthetics, but I’m not. I’m talking about how architecture can reflect an entire ethos, and symbolize in concrete (get it, concrete?) form the philosophy behind the building itself. And in this case the Palais de Justice seems an almost perfect paradigm of French justice, even though it was originally built for another purpose.
So we have a wonderful and intricate facade that attempts to impress with its splendor and glory (in this case, the aristocratic glory of yesteryear). Carved above the main entrance is the rallying cry of the French Revolution (minus the original “or death” addendum):
Yesterday we entered though a side door after a long wait in the line to have our bags searched. That meant we were a bit late, and so we began racing through the building too fast for me to even think to take photos of the inside of the building.
But I should have. Because despite my mad dash around the courthouse (a maze in which there was no direction, no order, no guide to where the numbered rooms might be, and no one interested in answering directions or expediting matters, as well as no one caring if we wandered in and out of offices and random judges’ chambers) I could still register with shock that the place was a shambles, in disrepair and disorder.
Some of the disorder was the result of the fact that they are renovating. But some of it was just the worn-out shabbiness of an interior that’s been neglected way too long.
Who were this “we” of which I speak? Myself and my interpreter, a young woman who’d graciously offered to translate the proceedings for me by whispering the English into my ear as events unfolded. She was the one who kept asking directions and getting them, as we circled inside the huge structure, raced up and down staircases and down hallways, opened doors and closed them, and came back to our starting point beside a broken x-ray machine that had taken up residence in the hall.
When we finally entered the courtroom it was small, with unattractive but ancient wood paneling and uncomfortable benches. The set-up told a tale, as well. There are three robed judges in a French court, almost never a jury (fraternite, my foot!). The lawyers and the witnesses address them, standing and facing the court with their backs to the proletariat spectators.
A gilded exterior and a hollow heart; that’s my impression of French justice after this trial (more about that, of course, later). And I discovered, while doing a little research, that this building has another history, one that reflects especially ironically on the failed promise of the slogan carved outside its portals.
The Palais was long the residence of French monarchs and aristocrats (and it’s appropriate, as you will see, because present-day French justice is loaded with respect and recognition of the newer aristocrats, those movers and shakers of influence and power).
But the Palais has an even darker (and to me, more relevant) past. It was the seat of “justice” during the Reign of Terror, that post-revolutionary phase that featured purges of nearly everyone who had offended anyone, without much benefit of trial or the ability to mount a defense:
Try to envision a sharply dressed, prosecutor, Fouquier-Tinville, who would arrive daily at 8:00 to his offices located in towers. He would have his daily conference with Sanson, a.k.a. Monsieur de Paris, the executioner. Together they would make up the hit-list du jour, and order the corresponding number of wagons.
The accused would then meet before the prosecutor, plead their cause, and await the verdict. Although a goodly number were acquitted or given lesser sentences, over two thousand were condemned to the “national razor”.
Despite the efficiency, Robespierre, the leader of the revolutionary government, became increasingly impatient and prodded Fouquier-Tinville to pick up the pace. To do so, a few formalities were dropped such as providing for defense. Soon, sentence was pronounced when the prisoner appeared in court.
The French no longer behead people—in fact, capital punishment is a definite no-no. And of course they don’t pronounce sentence when the prisoner arrives; the sentence for yesterday’s trial, for example, won’t officially be handed down till Nov 28. And, of course, this defendant had a lawyer to plead his case, and even if he is found guilty the fine will be very light.
But make no mistake about it: this appears to have been a show trial nevertheless. Everything about the demeanor of the judges and the plaintiff’s lawyer conveyed that thought: the lack of seriousness in the courtroom, the boredom and inattention of the judges, the paucity of evidence (or even interest in what meager evidence there was), the sloppy disregard of detail, the almost palpable absence of a spirit of inquiry.
Unlike the Reign of Terror, the facade of a fair system remains. But, at least to my eyes and ears, the interior of that system—the heart of the matter, which is the dispensation of justice—is shabby, faded, and dysfunctional.
I say “dysfunctional,” but I suppose judgment on that score would depend on what is perceived as the function of the system. If the goal is to defend liberty (freedom of speech, for example), all seems lost: “abandon hope, all who enter here.” Likewise, if the goal is equality.
If the goal, however, is to preserve the status and reputation of those with influence and power—the mandarins of France—then all is well. The facade is intact; on with the show, vive le république!
The latest Sanity Squad podcast deals with two issues: can there be a moderate Islam? And what’s with Ted Kennedy’s appeal to the Soviets for campaign help back in 1983?
If you want opinions, the Squad’s got em, and isn’t especially shy about expressing them.
I’m off to the Palais de Justice, and I’m not just sightseeing.
Today is the occasion of the second al Durah/France2 defamation trial, that of defendant Pierre Luré§at :
Luré§at, 39, a Jerusalem resident and president of an association called Liberty, Democracy and Judaism, was sued because he is the leader of an organization listed as the legal operator of a Web site, www.liguededefensejuive.com, that urged readers to attend a planned demonstration against France2 in 2002: “Come demonstrate against the lies of France2,” it said, “and the gross manipulation with an award for disinformation to France2 and Charles Enderlin.”
Those of you who are used to the free-for-all that is the internet are probably more than a bit perplexed as to what the big deal is here. That this sort of statement could be a cause of action in any court in a country that considers itself to be a modern, developed, progressive nation—not to mention a bastion of liberty—is ludicrous.
Let’s put aside for the moment the question of whether the accusations this defendant made against France2 and Enderlin are true, as blogger and historian Richard Landes (and, in the interests of full disclosure, acquaintance and friend of mine) has suggested at his website Second Draft and his blog Augean Stables.
Forget it? Isn’t it of the utmost importance? Absolutely of the utmost importance. I happen to believe the evidence is strong that both France2 and Enderlin may have done exactly what Luré§at and the other two defendents have accused them of doing (at the very least the plaintiffs almost certainly lied in their original allegations that the Israelis deliberately killed the boy, and about the amount of footage they had and what it showed; I’ve written at some length on al Durah/France2 before, here and here.)
I’ll be writing more about the many issues involved in these cases (Landes has written a piece on the “justice” involved in the verdict from the first trial, that of Karsenty; he rightly calls it “aristocratic justice”—which, of course, is an oxymoron—and likens it to that initially extended to Dreyfus). But for the moment, I merely stand in awe of the colossal arrogance of France2 and Enderlin, and the contempt they show for freedom of speech and for the right to demonstrate peacably, by the mere act of bringing these lawsuits.
Can you imagine a similar lawsuit brought by CNN, for example, or NPR, in the US? I’m not a fan of the journalistic standards of either organization, but that low they would not go.
Of course, one of the reasons is that US law would not let them; defamation, especially of a public figure, is exceptionally hard to prove under common law rules such as that of NY Times vs. Sullivan, which established the standard that:
The First Amendment protects the publication of all statements, even false ones, about the conduct of public officials except when statements are made with actual malice (with knowledge that they are false or in reckless disregard of their truth or falsity).
France’s justice system has a very different standard, as France2 and Enderlin were well aware before commencing these particular suits. It’s also of note—in a sort of poetic, metaphoric way—that in France the trial is being held in a building known as a “palace” (there’s that aristocratic echo being sounded again), while Luré§at’s association is called “Liberty, Democracy, and Judaism,” in what I imagine might be a somewhat ironic commentary on the famous sentiment of the French revolution “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.”
What sort of liberty is it that produces a legal system that allows a well-known reporter a cause of action against a private citizen for calling his news report a lie? And what sort of liberty is it that produces a legal system that does away with the presumption of innocence for that defendant? (See pages 13-14 of this document for clarification; it appears to be up to the defendants here to prove Enderlin lied rather than for Enderlin to prove he told the truth and that they acted maliciously, as in the US.)
It’s been raining off and on in France ever since I’ve been here. I’ve had an excellent trip thus far, absorbing the beauty of the buildings, the people, the fashion, the food (ah, above all the food!) and the general ambiance.
But I can’t ignore the chill that’s in the air here, and I’m not talking about the weather. That a news organization cannot be criticized by a private citizen such as Luré§at (or previous defendent Philippe Karsenty or upcoming defendant Charles Gouz) without such citizens being afraid of being slammed with a lawsuit should rightly send a shiver down the spine of every freedom-loving citizen of the world.
It’s no accident, of course, that the law under which Karsenty, Luré§at, and Gouz are being prosecuted is the same one that was used to convict Emile Zola of defamation for his critical role in writing about the Dreyfus affair.
Zola declared:
In making these accusations, I am fully aware that my action comes under Articles 30 and 31 of the law of 29 July 1881 on the press, which makes libel a punishable offense. I deliberately expose myself to that law.
Zola was convicted of libel in 1897; he fled the country but ultimately returned and the charges against him were dismissed. He died a few years later under “mysterious circumstances” and never lived to see Dreyfus exonerated.
But I’ll give Zola the final word today. What he said was true then, although the wheels of justice ground slow. I hope his words are as true now as they were then, and that events will move far more quickly toward that desired end:
The truth is on the march, and nothing shall stop it.