By Mathis Bitton
Thursday, July 02, 2020
Three weeks ago, French philosopher Michel Onfray
announced the creation of Front
Populaire, a political magazine whose objective, in the words of its
founder, is to “bring together anti-EU sovereignists from the left, the right,
the centre, nowhere and everywhere.” This simple mission statement is more
controversial than it may appear. In France, “sovereignism” is a word that has
acquired a slew of negative connotations. Since it refers to an aspiration to
preserve and defend the independence of nation-states, the term should not
frighten anyone but the most ardent cosmopolitans. And yet, its proponents often
find themselves portrayed as demagogues, as populists, as pseudo-charismatic
leaders who channel the infernal passions of the unintellectual populace.
Onfray is no exception. Since Front Populaire’s
inception, major French newspapers such as Le Monde have accused the
philosopher of “flirting with the alt-right,” “galvanizing identitarianism,”
and “flattering reactionaries’ darkest instincts.” Journalist Jean-Luc Mano
went as far as to call Onfray a “rouge-brun,” a derogatory term traditionally
used to describe the dreadful combination of fascist and Communist ideals.
Interestingly, Mano’s remarks were written before the publication of Front
Populaire’s first issue, which means that without deigning to read a single
article, Le Monde’s journalists knew a priori that an anti-EU
publication could not be anything but the calamitous enterprise of myopic
chauvinists.
Yet Onfray is far from an obdurate arch-conservative. In
more than a hundred books, the philosopher has successively satirized the
Catholic Church, praised the virtue of hedonism, defended Pierre-Joseph
Proudhon’s anarchist politics, and even written an enthusiastic treatise on
libertine sexuality. An avid admirer of Albert Camus, Onfray is a
self-described left-winger and “libertarian socialist.” He does not, let’s say,
fit the profile of an alt-right cult-leader.
In fact, far from posing a threat to France’s political
order, Front Populaire represents the culmination of a strange alliance
that started with the birth of the fifth French Republic. In the aftermath of
World War II, Charles de Gaulle united conservative and Communist members of
the Résistance to form a government that would uphold national sovereignty,
limit foreign interference, and celebrate French culture after four years of
German occupation. A similar coalition resurrected itself in 1992 with the
referendum on the Maastricht Treaty, the treaty many view as having marked the
beginning of European federalism. Then, a surreal partnership between convinced
socialists such as Jean-Pierre Chevènement and conservative leaders such as
Philippe Séguin emerged. Despite their colossal ideological differences, the
two men shared the stage to fight against what they perceived to be the end of
France as a nation-state.
But the most important date in the history of this
peculiar alliance is May 29, 2005. On that day, and against all odds, the
French people voted against the ratification of the Treaty of Rome, which
extended the powers that Maastricht had already delegated to transnational
European institutions. For the first time, the cause of national sovereignty
had united a majority of voters, ranging from disillusioned Communists to
committed nationalists. Naturally, the French government did not respect
the popular vote; two years later, a repackaged version of the Treaty of Rome
was signed by the French president without any form of public consultation.
This betrayal of democratic norms has ever since fuelled the determination of
anti-EU parties; but never have sovereignist political forces been able to
unite beyond occasional referenda.
The reason for this is a simple one: Apart from their
rejection of the EU, French conservatives have had very little in common with
socialists, Communists, and even reactionaries. At least, until now. Onfray
claims that the common enemy that is the EU is sufficient to launch a real
political movement. American observers may find this development familiar. When
future president Ronald Reagan and Republican fusionists built an anti-Soviet
coalition in the 1960s, they brought together a panoply of libertarians and
traditionalists who did not share much philosophically. What did unite
them, however, was a threat so immense as to dwarf their differences.
Naturally, Onfray by no means implies that the EU is somehow analogous to the
U.S.S.R. But he does argue that the circumstances may be similar enough for a
new kind of fusionism to arise.
The present response to the coronavirus provides an
excellent case-study for Onfray’s analysis. Ostensibly, a global epidemic seems
like the ideal time for international partnerships and organizations to
exercise power and influence. But this is simply not what has happened. Since
the WHO has no enforcement mechanism, its advisory guidelines have been virtually
ignored. Meanwhile, EU member-states that rely on imports for basic necessities
and elementary medical supplies have found themselves powerless after the
German government, which controls a large proportion of the region’s medical
equipment, announced that production would first meet the needs of the German
public before starting to support others.
The consequence: That France joined the ranks of the
helpless. As Norimitsu Onishi and Constant Méheut have observed in the New
York Times, “international outsourcing has left [France] scrambling for
masks, tests and even pain pills.” Thus, the paradox: Precisely when France
needed the EU to enforce transnational solidarity and defend free trade, the
institution fell silent and European governance appeared analogous to an
orchestra whose performances are immaculate in rehearsal, but horrendous on
opening night.
For Onfray, national sovereignty is not a political
project so much as it is a prerequisite for all politics. France has not
suffered during COVID-19 because of the choices that were made by its
government. France has suffered from COVID-19 because its government simply
could not make any real choices, because its authority has been
gradually usurped. This dire state of affairs, Onfray believes, augurs the
founding of his long-awaited anti-EU coalition. As he puts it in Front
Populaire’s inaugural issue, “sovereignists need not agree on political
solutions so long as they agree that we should be the ones to decide
what these solutions ought to be.”
Onfray applies this simple formula to every aspect of
policy-making. Economically, he argues, France needs to relocate its production
of necessities, medical supplies, and technology. Internationally, France
should distance itself from NATO and regain the independence it enjoyed under
the iron hand of de Gaulle. Politically, France ought to liberate itself from
the anti-democratic grip of the EU and make a more extensive use of referenda.
For the French philosopher, these three principles are enough, and he may not
be the only one to think as much. Given that Front Populaire has raised
an unprecedented one million euros from small donor contributions in less than
two weeks, Onfray’s burgeoning movement has evidently proven attractive to many
who think that anti-EU fusionism represents the future of French politics.
The impact of Onfray’s initiative could extend well
beyond France’s borders. All across Europe, anti-EU parties have historically
struggled to come to power despite the popularity of their ideas. The cause of
this failure is twofold.
First, while anti-EU political forces have not yet
showcased an ability to build alliances bridging ideological divides,
Europhiles have always managed to form coalitions when needed — be it before or
after elections. In Germany, for example, the conservative Christian Democratic
Union (CDU) has been allied with the liberal Social Democrats (SPD) for several
years, and this asymmetry has prevented isolated anti-EU parties from even
attempting to get a parliamentary majority.
Second, a lot of anti-EU parties are led by controversial
figures. In France, for instance, a 2018 poll showed that while a third of
French voters agree with Marine Le Pen’s ideas, only 15 percent stand ready to
cast a ballot for her or her party. Like other nationalist parties, Le Pen’s
“Front National” suffers from its more than problematic history. Le Pen’s
father, who created the party, helped one of the perpetrators of a terrorist
attack against Charles de Gaulle run away in 1963. He was also repeatedly
condemned by Parisian courts for inciting racial hatred and calling the
Holocaust “an insignificant detail in the history of World War II.” With this
kind of troubled past, traditional anti-EU parties lack the necessary
legitimacy and respect to convince large portions of the electorate.
In theory, Onfray’s initiative addresses both these issues. Not only does it bring sovereignists together, but it also distances concerns for national independence from the toxic image of extremists. Unlike Le Pen and others, Onfray and his allies — who range from former socialist minister Jean-Pierre Chevènement to economist Idriss Aberkane — benefit from their intellectual repute and untroubled past. If more coalitions of this kind emerge, anti-EU fusionism might well reshape European politics — possibly forever.
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