On the cusp of seven o’clock I arrive at a crowded French bar next
to London Bridge. A low murmur of anticipation is spreading through the compressed
throng of people. Some are standing on chairs and tables, precariously balanced,
a glass of wine in hand, ready for the celebration. Everyone jostles for
position, necks craned to catch a glimpse of a stuttering projection of French
television. At the front, they are complaining about the technological issues
the venue is experiencing. There is something about the sense of unfairness in
the bar’s disorganisation being discussed, as they are making rather a lot of
money from the occasion. It is so befitting of the event, it is difficult to
witness this and resist a smirk at the irony, and the fact that it is
apparently escaping them.
It is election night. This is the Parti Socialiste in London. In a
Europe plagued by right-wing governments, tough austerity measures and rising
unemployment, the people gathered here are hoping that the result of the
evening can pave the way for change; not just in France, but throughout the
continent, by electing their candidate, François
Hollande, to the presidency. There is a feeling of genuine hope amongst them.
Overwhelmingly, it is a young crowd, too young
to remember a time when the French last had a socialist president. As is
pointed out to me, it has been seventeen long years since Mitterand, and as an
outsider, I am slightly surprised to be rather taken by this notion that I am
about to witness something historic and triumphant.
Being used to general elections in the UK, where the nation
collectively attempts to stay awake at 3am, as a blurry David Dimblebey finds
new ways to tell us that the results are inconclusive, I am caught out at the
immediacy of the announcement. A big cheer erupts from the front, next to the misbehaving
projector, quickly making its way back to the masses gathered outside. There is
jubilation. People are throwing their arms around each other as supporters of a
football team might celebrate a last minute goal in a cup final. Chants of “On
a gagné , on a gagné!” (We’ve won, we’ve won!”) and “François
– President!” ring out. Some are more discreet about the victory, but grin at
each other in spite of themselves; an expression which seems to be contagiously
developing. One girl stands with her back to me after I’m introduced to her,
staring into the middle distance; not through a stereotypical French antagonism
for the Englishman turning up, as I first fear, but in what appears to be a
pensive relief that the campaign she has been helping to run has ended in
victory. It is a glazed look of someone who hasn’t quite taken in the news. My
‘congratulations’ sounds rather vacuous; the sentiment of an outsider. She
pauses. “Thanks, I’m just a bit emotional.”
The conga begins. There’s unbridled joy. “Tous ensemble, tous
ensemble; so-cia-listes!” (“All together, all together; Socialists”) and
“Sarkozy, c’est fini” (“Sarkozy, it’s over”) are the popular chants, rising to
a peak when Axelle Lemaire, the legislative candidate for the French socialists
in Northern Europe turns up.
The relief is well founded in a France that has seen nothing but misery since the now former president, Nicolas Sarkozy took office in 2007, deemed as ‘unapologetically bling-bling’ by his adversaries, whilst they watched him parade around with his ex-supermodel wife Carla Bruni. With rising unemployment, tax cuts for the rich and dramatic slashes in public spending dominating his presidency, it has served to isolate the poor and create divides and a sense of unrest throughout the country.
The election wasn’t all about a return to the left. Rather
alarmingly, the far-right candidate, Marine Le Pen of the Front National scored
highly in the first round, amassing 18% of the overall vote, and coming in
third place. This is serving as a warning call to the French socialists that
managing to get their man elected for president is just the beginning. With
many of Le Pen’s votes coming from disaffected and poverty-stricken young
people living in the suburbs, it is François Hollande’s
post-election promise that “no child of the Republic will be neglected,” that is
a major focus. The abandonment the poor have experienced has led to feelings of
xenophobia and anger, and the socialists know that there is a long way to go
before France, and indeed the rest of Europe, can stamp out such abhorrent judgements
from these sections of society. A return to the left is something to be
celebrated, but France is now leading the way, with the responsibility to
show the rest of Europe that the values and economics of the left can work.
The elder people speak cautiously, celebrating with more
restraint, and happy to talk about other things, such as London pubs and how
incredible The Shard looks by night. People in their twenties, who canvassed
extensively throughout London for the last two months, are less
self-controlled. A young French socialist in spectacles and a tartan shirt with
red braces breaks into an explosion of joy every ten minutes, jumping up and
down and occasionally managing to make people join in with his chants.
The party continues into the small hours, until almost every
bottle of wine in the house has been consumed. Everyone seems to be aware that
this is only the beginning, but for now, as a rousing second rendition of the
national anthem, “La Marseillaise” breaks out, causing an Englishman to shiver
slightly with goose bumps, it is hard to begrudge them their victory.
