If I was cautiously asking friends about the election, worrying that perhaps doing so – like diving for a hug – I might make some terrible mistakes in introducing politics into the debate, the most common answer was a grimace, an enigmatic smile. a shrug of the shoulders, an unbound “We’ll see”. One of my friends, a supporter of Jean-Luc Mélenchon, the veteran leftist and leader of La France Insoumise (France Unbowed), admitted that she would hold her nose and vote for Macron in the second round. And that was so deep. I kept my wooden spoons to stir the soup. Then I thought it was quite possible that everyone was discussing politics – just not with me. And not just because they thought my French was not up to par. Just like in post-Brexit Britain, some friends and families kept their relationships intact, agreeing tacitly or explicitly not to mention the word B to prevent disturbances that would jeopardize all future family birthdays and Christmas, perhaps the young my neighbors were shielding me from political embarrassment. When we moved to France last September, to this dreamy village with its pink sunrises and apricot sunsets, its boating harbor, its flaming lagoon, its spruce skies, its bakeries, its vineyards, and church bells, there is One thing I knew for sure then, but since then I had pushed it into the back of my mind. In the 2017 presidential election, almost 55 percent of the vote here went to Marin Le Pen. Far from the smart harbor and the big houses of the winemakers that frame the best boulevards, our village and the surrounding countryside, like many rural areas in France, have a share of poverty. People are afraid of declining public services, stagnant employment prospects, rising costs of housing, fuel and groceries. Paris feels very far away. Neat and tidy, Macron appears majestic and disliked. Under these circumstances, it is easy to see how, for some, Le Pen’s populist bathtub resonates. And so for a variety of reasons, from politeness to embarrassment, clumsiness, and in some cases even shame, I can see how difficult it is for some of my neighbors to look me in the face and admit that they favored Marin Le Pen, the hardcore, an anti-immigrant nationalist who, if ever elected, would almost certainly introduce legislation that would affect the lives of people like me. In the run-up to the second round, there was a lot of gossip on Facebook groups about British immigrants, some of whom call themselves expatriates, that a Le Pen victory would not affect us at all – the subject is that it affects I do not really mean us, we are not brown enough. This ignores the slogan of its election campaign, “Rendre aux français leur pays et leur argent” (Give the French back their country and their money – America first, anyone?), And its promise to give priority to the French people. for housing, work and welfare payments. . It is a strange and uncomfortable feeling to live in a country where I can not vote, but elections have the potential to affect my future. Of course, almost all my life I met people who were in this position. Being in this position now adds an element of uncertainty and fear to the empathy I felt before. Last Sunday, our village voted 58.63 percent in favor of Madame Lepen, although our county, Ero, voted in Macron with a creak, at 52.57 percent, which reflects votes in the most affluent areas. to our north, such as Montpellier. The election posters are down now, the treasures are whitewashed. Undoubtedly more ads will soon fill the empty space, colorful car rally images, brocantes, festivals and concerts. Normal life in port de plaisance resumes. We do our daily routines, the regular weekly tour with shopping and meals on terraces and walks by the water. People say good morning, pet the dogs. The spring season is now in full swing, with visitors arriving from all over France, from all over the world. The cottages are opening. People with wheelchairs forge code numbers in key boxes and search with unknown locks to open doors on weekends, weeks, months of holidays. More boats arrive every day. While its policy may be insular, protective, cautious, the village economy travels with strangers who come every year to buy local oysters, picpoul de Pinet, Noilly Prat vermouth. Sometimes, like us, they also buy houses, and lie down, watch carefully and wait to see what happens next.
