International

A 9/11 tribute from abroad

Upon waking this coming Tuesday, I will think aloud: "Today is 9/11. Today is a sad day. Today is the saddest day of the year." That fateful September 11th six years ago, at about four in the afternoon here in France, I remember getting into my car to go home after an uneventful day’s work. The radio was on and I was half-listening to a news program on the BBC World Service as I leisurely made my way home. I remember being suddenly yanked out of my comfortable daydreaming into a reality that my mind initially failed to grasp when the announcer reminded listeners that “at least 1,500 people were now feared dead in the New York attack”. I immediately reached for my cell phone to ask my wife to turn the TV on to find out what was going on. When she sketchily told me that a jumbo jet had ploughed into the World Trade Center, that the Pentagon had been hit and that a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania in mysterious circumstances I ended the conversation with words to the effect that this was nothing less than a declaration of war and rushed home to appalling pictures of a world in ruins.

Three years later, when the first opportunity came, my wife and I flew to the United States for a summer vacation on the East coast. I must admit that my very first encounter with an inhabitant of the New World turned out to be a little awkward. When I stepped up to the customs officer to show my passport, he asked me what the purpose of my visit to the U.S. was. I hate cheating so the answer I gave came from the heart: “Because I love America.”

The officer looked at me as if something was wrong with me, my sanity, or my mental age, and gave me a second chance when he repeated: “The purpose of your visit to the U.S. is because you love America??!!” I sheepishly said it again: “Yes, because I love America.” Still sizing me up incredulously, the officer eventually gave up and wished me a pleasant stay nonetheless, and I walked into a world that since then has never failed to amaze, fascinate, energize and inspire me.

What is so unique and awe-inspiring about America that still deserves praise and profound deference six years after that horrific attempt to throw us “into a thousand years of darkness”? Paradoxically “universality” encapsulates the essence of America’s uniqueness.

The genius of the Founding Fathers was to devise a system of government that not only worked well for thirteen colonies but also proved adequate and successful for thirty-seven more states. How could the rest of the world deny the potency of a simple formula based on individual freedom from government, constitutional checks and balances, and federalism?

The maverick vision, determination, and dauntlessness of men like Barry Goldwater and President Ronald Reagan to face down enemies morbidly bent on spreading collectivist Utopias, led to the triumph of the free enterprise system. How could the rest of the world deny the morality and efficiency of the most emancipatory economic system the world has ever produced?

None of this would have happened without America’s faith in the individual’s transcendent destiny and in the restraining mechanisms that Tradition has passed on from one generation to the next. How could the rest of the world deny that life is not an outlet for secular instincts? In all these areas and in others, the duty of America is to lead the world by example.

Although America’s image abroad has suffered even more since 2003, Americans should never be ashamed to be Americans. Americans should always be proud of their achievements as a nation since 1776. Americans should always be proud of their investment in freedom and democracy at home and around the world.

On this September 11, 2007 -- and eternally --the duty of America is to keep that French-given beacon in New York Harbor illuminatingly bright to give hope to the “huddled masses” who silently, awkwardly perhaps (as I did), but tenaciously always, proclaim “God bless America!”

Environmental follies in France

"To arms, oh citizens! Form up in serried ranks! March on, march on! May their impure blood / Flow in our fields!" When it was first heard in 1792, the chorus of La Marseillaise, France’s national anthem, left no doubt whatsoever about the determination of French revolutionary troops to win the war their national assembly had just declared on the King of Austria purportedly in the name of freedom. The same kind of Jacobin take-no-prisoners approach has been favored by latter-day French authorities in their latest revolutionary expedition against environmental damage. Too bad if Baby Freedom is being thrown out with the bloody bath water.

The war on environmental recklessness started back in February 2005 when then President Jacques Chirac, otherwise known as a peace-loving world leader, convened all 907 French deputes et senateurs in a special parliamentary session which was held, of all places, in regal Versailles and in which a so-called Charter for the Environment was ratified almost unanimously as an amendment to the French Constitution. Representative government can undoubtedly work wonders when a majority might produce a different outcome at the ballot box in a referendum.

Anyway the charter duly strikes a balance between the singular right of French citizens “to live in a healthy environment” (Article 1) and their plural duties to protect the earth (Articles 2, 3, and 4). Just as importantly, the document democratically goes on to point out in Article 8 that “education and training will have to contribute to the fulfillment of the rights and duties described in the Charter”. Mercifully no mention is made of reeducation camps for recalcitrant green fellow travelers -- but those in France who still believed that representative government and propaganda did not mix have now been warned to think again.

Whether these skeptics like it or not, even French meteorologists will patriotically make sure they put on their green thinking cap by “educating” and “training” viewers, at the end of their televised forecasts, about the various potential environmental dangers of turning on the heat when it’s cold or the air-conditioning when it’s too hot, of performing prolonged ablutions and cooking gargantuan meals. (Now you know why the French are so slim!) For good measure, the democratically naïve will afterwards be treated to three or four segments in the nightly news on environmentally-friendly anchors for fishing vessels, writing materials for school children, and preposterous whatnot.

Of course, French environmental education would not be complete without fiscal illustration. Since November 2006, the French have had to pay a new euphemistically called “eco-participation” (read, “eco-tax”) to help with the costs of recycling electrical and electronic waste.

Finally, early this week, even President Sarkozy, Jacques Chirac’s successor, “trained” his fellow countrymen by lambasting his new American friends with words to the effect that while the U.S. once (can anyone remember when?) couldn’t resist the temptation to use force unilaterally, it now “unfortunately” does not show the same kind of unilateral commitment in the war on global warming.

There is one little inconvenient truth in all this, though. French authorities have actually been too doctrinally successful in their green revolutionary drive. Indeed, this has been one of the coolest and wettest summers in France in almost half a century, and French citizens have apparently been voting with their feet lately: record numbers of them traveled abroad in July and August. The most popular destinations? Sun-drenched resorts.

Time to close the borders?

Note: "Paoli" is the pen name, or should we say nom de plume, of our French correspondent, a close student of European politics and a well-wisher to us Americans. He informs us the original Pasquale Paoli, 1725-1807, was the George Washington of Corsica.

Sarko should read Goldwater

(Lyon, France) Was I too uncompromising in last week's piece about the challenges facing Nicolas Sarkozy as he embarks on his first term as President of France? Some readers, drawing on their own experience of France and French people, may have thought so. However, today, as I perused material on the US presidential election of 1964 as part of my doctoral research, I came across something that makes me think not. It's an article written by Alan L. Otten and published in the Wall Street Journal on September 16, 1964, which quotes extensively from a statement Senator Barry Goldwater “prepared for a 1962 Encyclopaedia Britannica volume on ‘Great Ideas Today’.” There Goldwater gave his definition of the people whom he called “the Forgotten Americans” and whose concerns he endeavored to articulate in the 1964 campaign. He wrote:

    “The forgotten American is that dragooned and ignored individual who is either outside the organized pressure groups or who finds himself represented by organizations with whose policies he disagrees either in whole or in part. Big power-blocs and lobbies, labor unions, farm organizations, racial groups, civil liberties groups, consumer groups, nationality groups, cooperatives, educational associations, and even cultural and artistic groups have used their pressures to obtain through Government large benefits for their members, or, at any rate, what the leaders of these groups say are benefits. But the average citizen of the United States, a member of the real majority, pays the price of such pressures, and often is adversely affected.”

Goldwater went on to point out that:

    “Though most of [the forgotten Americans] are patient men and women, they are beginning to get their backs up, and no wonder. Every special interest or “minority” has powerful backing in Washington but the forgotten American, who pays the taxes and fights the battles and does the work of the nation, feels that he has been left out. Minorities have real rights which must be protected. But majorities also have rights, and the people outside the pressure groups actually constitute the American majority.”

And the senator said in conclusion:

    “[The forgotten American] is annoyed at certain welfare measures that seem to put a premium upon indolence and fraud. He does not like being pushed around. He thinks he has some things worth conserving -church and family and home and constitutional government and property and freedom of opportunity.”

It is quite clear that parallels may legitimately be drawn between the situation described by Sen. Goldwater in America in the early 1960s and the state of affairs in France today, after decades of government expansion. The only exception may be that, at least prior to the 2007 Presidential election, “the Forgotten Frenchman” was assuredly in the minority. Be that as it may, what “the Forgotten Frenchman” now hopes for in the very near future is a conservative revolution of Goldwaterite proportions.

Somebody order a copy of The Conscience of a Conservative for Mr. Sarkozy, Elysee Palace, please.

Note: "Paoli" is the pen name, or should we say nom de plume, of our French correspondent, a close student of European politics and a good friend of America. He informs us the original Pasquale Paoli, 1725-1807, was the George Washington of Corsica.

Challenges for President Sarkozy

Going back to France after spending a year in the western United States brings the ills that stubbornly plague French society into even sharper focus. If Mr. Sarkozy, the new President of France, is to break with the past, as he promised during the campaign earlier this year, and revitalize a sclerotic nation, he will have to take up one formidable challenge: initiating a genuine cultural and psychological revolution in a country where l’exception francaise precludes national self-criticism. Described in very basic terms, France is a socialist country where Thomas Hobbes’ theory of man’s natural state has been fully objectified not despite, but with the full complicity of, Leviathan, leading the nation to decadence.

To put it differently, successive French governments, equally from the center left and the center right, have, in stark and willful contrast to some of their more enlightened Anglo-Saxon counterparts of the early 1980’s, traditionally resorted to the power of the state to insure that all members of society, regardless of merit and abilities, have access to material well-being, fostering irresponsibility and an entitlement mentality in the process.

Egalite in Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite has maddeningly come to be expected to mean equality of outcome.

Cajoling or shoving the French into thinking in terms of self-denial, discipline, self-regulation, and independence will assuredly take more than mere campaign rhetoric. President Sarkozy has shown himself disappointingly conscious of the risks: he has so far basically taken the bite out of his promised reforms in higher education and trade union laws in order to rumple as few feathers as possible.

No wonder the French claim to be happy with President Sarkozy’s elaborate window-dressing so far, as a recent opinion poll shows. Even more ominous is their disapproval of Mr. Sarkozy’s already diluted plans to reduce the number of public employees. Cutting a bloated bureaucracy down to size was counterintuitively not what French citizens expected from their new President when they voted for him back in May.

The reason? The French generally much prefer the law of the jungle to more civilized methods of government. How much more convenient and rewarding for many of them to selectively get together as a group and blackmail a subservient government into extorting for them a share of a pie that others have painstakingly and legitimately prepared and cooked by and for themselves!

Large battalions of selfless bureaucrats are only too happy to oblige. How much more mature of lookers-on to throw tantrums at that particular group’s audacity and success and to blubberingly vow to do the same! How much more electorally worthwhile for Leviathan not to guarantee the rights of the weak against the strong as Hobbes theorized but to cowardly crush the weak in the stampede started by the deceptively strong!

Do the weak really mind? Not a bit! After all, they know they can band together some day too and ransack the nation with a nod and a wink at the only reaction the government can summon enough courage and strength to have. In this context, no one should be surprised that the French word for “qualms” should, to all intents and purposes, have disappeared from the French language.

The importance of social cohesion based on such ideals as responsibility, character, charity, the work ethic, the sanctity of individual freedom consistent with order, free enterprise, and constitutional checks and balances sounds terribly passé, if at all intelligible.

In the five years ahead of him as President, if Mr. Sarkozy is to reconcile the French with each other and steer the country back in the direction of civilization and a constructive role in world affairs, he will have to spend many more summer vacations in Wolfeboro, N.H., … and read John Locke.

Note: "Paoli" is the pen name, or should we say nom de plume, of our French correspondent, a close student of European politics and a good friend of America. He informs us the original Pasquale Paoli, 1725-1807, was the George Washington of Corsica.

Postcard from Turkey

By Krista Kafer (krista555@msn.com) Oppressive heat and lack of sleep soften the edges of consciousness and blur the colors of memory. I have dreamy impressions of the four days I spent in Turkey this month, bordered on either side by the hard lines of travel. Together with four other Americans – one international expert and his wife, a retired educator; an education expert; and a representative from a higher education council – I arrived in Istanbul after four flights and little sleep.

We began our journey with a boat ride on the Bosporus, the river that bisects Istanbul into the Asiatic and European sides. Istanbul is the only city to occupy two continents. Elaborate stone mosques with slender minarets, Victorian-style mansions, palaces, and hip restaurants passed us on the European side. Hills rose on the more distant Asian shore where the golden light of near-sunset burnished the pale facades of apartment buildings with red clay tiled roofs. After the requisite glass of fresh fruit juice, our hosts led us to the buffet on the lower deck where we had our first taste of Turkish food. Our palettes were unprepared for the delights of the cuisine with its fresh vegetables, savory meats, and delicious fish. Turkish food rivals French food, my favorite, in terms of sheer yumminess. Later, we finished the evening at a famous patisserie eating baklava on the roof terrace. Minarets, swathed in pale moonlight, rose above the still busy streets. Above the murmur of conversation, the call to prayer, like a strange song spilled forth.

In wee hours of the morning we boarded another plane taking us to the capital city of Ankara. Ubiquitous construction projects signal rapid urban growth. The city is modern and attractive yet distinctly Turkish. The new apartment buildings are decorated in beautiful tile mosaics. At a highrise office of a prominent businessman, we were treated to a hands-on lesson in ebru – traditional Turkish painting. The artist literally paints on water with horsehair brushes. When satisfied, he lays a sheet of paper upon the water which absorbs the paint. As with other meetings, we left with gifts under our arms. We received so many gifts during our stay I had to borrow another travel bag to bring them home.

Here while entertaining an endless stream of meetings with dignitaries, educators, and business leaders; I received my first impression of Turks. Turks seem both European and Asian. Sophisticated and secular like Westerners, they are also warm and generous like the Arabs to the south.

While the modern state of Turkey dates to 1923, the Turkish people are of much older origins. Migrating from central Asia, Turks gradually conquered Anatolia from the Byzantines who ruled the eastern Roman Empire after the fall of Roman civilization in the west. In 1453, the Turks took Constantinople, breaking through the massive double wall that had long shielded the city. The crumbling ruins, visible throughout the modern city, testify to the strength of the Ottoman army. At their height, Ottoman rule spanned Anatolia, the Middle East, North Africa, and Southeastern and Eastern Europe. Only the combined efforts of the European powers stopped the Turkish military juggernaut at Vienna. The powerful empire lasted until its alliance with Germany in World War I led to its demise. Carved up by the victors, the Turks retained essentially the borders they have today.

Modern Turkey is a democratic republic. Like many states founded in the 20th Century, it suffers from the statist economic policies popular at the time of its inception. The government regulates everything. In the field of education, bureaucrats in Ankara place teachers and write curriculum. Even private K-12 schools, tutoring companies, and universities are regulated.

In this year’s edition of the Index of Economic Freedom produced by the Heritage Foundation and the Wall Street Journal, Turkey ranks 85th in the world in terms of the level of government coercion in the marketplace. Rated on such variables as trade policy, taxation, property rights, wages and prices, regulation, and other factors, the Index rates Turkey among the “mostly unfree countries” of India, China, and others in Africa and central America. The vast authority of the government became clear when I asked the head of a private university what freedom and flexibility the university has compared to public universities. He responded that other than the freedom to raise their own money, they are regulated the same. Basically they receive less money but bear the same burden of regulation – what a deal.

Other problems persist. The Economist reported recently that only 40 percent of Turkish youths have a secondary school diploma. A third of school aged girls are not even in school. Among the Kurdish minority, statistics are more dismal. An adjacent article reported that 47 of the country’s writers face criminal charges for insulting the country and other controversial writing.

In spite of the heavy hand of government, the country seems to be prospering. An exporter of agricultural products, textiles, and minerals, the country is experiencing a growth rate of 8 percent. Turkey is currently seeking admittance into the European Union. It must first satisfy the demands of entry including resolving its ongoing conflict with Greece over the island of Cyprus. If admitted, Turkey will be the first predominantly Muslim country to enter the union.

Although the citizenry is 99 percent Muslim, the government is strictly secular. As in the rest of Europe, the influence of religion is waning. About half of the country is nominally Muslim. We saw women with and without head scarves and nearly all in very chic outfits. A Turkish mall in Istanbul featured hip clothes, modern electronics and of course, giggling teenage girls. The mall could have been anywhere in the world.

To be sure, the countryside is certainly more conservative and distinctively Turkish than the cosmopolitan city of Istanbul. After another hot, near sleepless night, we flew to Izmir, a city on the coast of the Aegean Sea. Dozing in the van on the way to Ephesus, I awoke to a stunning, sun-scorched Mediterranean countryside. Mountains covered in pine trees and orchards of peaches, olives, and figs, blurred past my window. The figs, sampled at a fruit stand, were luscious.

It was 110 degrees in Ephesus. The sun, reflecting off the marble ruins, was blinding even with a hat and sunglasses. We walked in the footsteps of Apostle Paul -- listening to the strange Irish brogue of our Turkish tour guide who had gained his language skills from Irish and Scottish friends. Half blinded by the reflected sunlight, I stood in the great theatre facing rows of stone that could seat an audience of 24,000. It was as if I could hear the roar of the angry crowd roused against the apostle. Incited by the sellers of idols who stood to lose money, the mob shouted “Great is Diana!” condemning Paul as he stood before them. For a second I could hear their voices. I turned to go. A short distance later, I came to gift shops selling Christian souvenirs.

Back in Izmir we enjoyed a quick cup of hot, sweet tea. The café’s awning could not protect us from the swelter. It was 105 degrees at least and humid. After another doze in the van, we arrived at a friend of a friend’s house. The house sits on the edge of a lake ringed by olive trees. On the walkway to the house we passed three terraced gardens full of ripening tomatoes, egg plants, beans, herbs, and strawberries. Behind the house, the family keeps an orchard. The house has about same square footage as a large middle class home in the United States. The walls are painted but there are no pictures, typical for Muslim homes. The living room features a traditional room with sitting pillows and a low table, as well as a modern room with chairs. Our host is a judge and wealthy by Turkish standards.

My colleague Shahnaz and I were seated with the women. All but one wore colorful head scarves and long sleeves. I admired their endurance; it was at least 100 degrees in the house. We sampled the chewy, semi-sweet candy that is known as Turkish Delight. Joining the men on the balcony we ate an exquisite meal overlooking the orchard. As the sun set, the song of cicadas faded to the chirping of crickets. After the meal, the sexes separated again. The women languished on pillows fanning themselves and drinking thick, sweet Turkish coffee in small, china cups. The host’s daughter and her friends translated for the group. The sounds of Turkish and English flowed back and forth flavored with laughter. Everyone was smiling. Deeply relaxed from heat and sleep deprivation, I thought this might be one of the loveliest moments of my life.

Back at our hotel in Izmir, the power went out in the middle of the night leaving our room at 95 degrees, possibility higher. I was beyond sleeping. A final plane ride brought us back to Istanbul for some sightseeing. Hopped up on sweet tea, we wandered from the Sultan’s palace to Hagia Sophia, the Byzantine cathedral turned mosque turned museum, to the Blue Mosque, a sublimely beautiful building with thousands of blue ceramic tiles. The visit to Hagia Sophia left me with a lingering sadness. It was once the marvel of the Byzantine capital. Its high gold dome floats above rows of grand interior arches and windows. Despite its structural grandeur, its paint is flaking. While some of the original Christian mosaics remain, Islamic calligraphy covers part of the interior walls. One can see where the cross was removed from the great church door. Like a smoldering ember left after a great fire has been quenched, the church is but a shadow of its former self.

We boarded the van again to head to the suburbs of Istanbul to a businessman’s summer home. Along with gardens and orchards, he keeps peacocks, turkeys, hens, pigeons, Anatolian shepherds, and a horse. As in Izmir, the family is joined by friends for the evening. We devour the most delicious grilled meats, stuffed peppers, and chopped cucumber, onion, and tomato salad, flat bread, and other sumptuous bites. It seemed impossible to eat more until the bowls of fresh fruit were set before us – perfect apricots, a kind of dried fruit roll-up, dried white mulberries, nuts, and of course delicious coffee. The conversation ebbed and flowed in Turkish and English. These men and women, like everyone we had met, are deeply concerned about the future of their country. Their philanthropic giving supports schools, colleges, and hospitals around the country. When the government flounders, their institutions are laying the ground for future prosperity. We are honored to know them.

On our final day, we have two more meetings plus a few hours of shopping. Our bags grow heavy with hand painted pottery and exotic textiles. After a final dinner at a local university, we held back to the hotel. Enjoying the balmy evening by the pool, our small group chatted about the whirlwind trip. Since we had to be at the airport at 3 am we decided to stay up rather than sleep. Somehow it seemed a fitting end to four and a half days in Turkey.