As They Say in France

“There are two subjects one must never discuss when conversing with the French.” I was late getting out of the classroom after Oral Comprehension and Expression at CIREFE, but the professor was willing to postpone locking up because it gave him the opportunity to discuss the French. “Two subjects,” he repeated. He paused dramatically, but I could guess where he was going. Other professors, my host parents and their friends, the books I’d read on France and the French – they all said the same thing. “Never discuss how much you earn,” he warned, as if I’d been guilty of doing so myself, “and never discuss politics. Especially at lunch.” Sound advice. I’d never brought either of them up, myself. They weren’t subjects I discussed much in the US anyway. And yet …

Have you ever asked a study abroad student what they like about France? It’s an enlightening experience. Most of them mention the food. Some of them say, “Everything but the strikes and the toilet paper.” And a lot of them say they like how freely they can talk with the French about politics. Wait, what? I’ve heard the comment often enough from students around the world, but the American students say the same thing too. Especially the Americans, because what we call arguing about politics (which is largely just commiserating with like-minded company) is as American as the honorable tradition of slicking back your hair with bear grease (a fashion that has sadly died out in the last couple centuries, possibly due to the invention of hair gel). So who’s right and who’s deceiving themselves? Do we have a case of naïve American students unwittingly offending their host nationals while reveling in an imaginary freedom of speech? It’s an entertaining thought, and I wouldn’t rule out the possibility.

But then again, my own experience suggests my professor’s advice, however sage, isn’t strictly followed by all his countrymen. Once, for example, I accompanied my host mom to the greenhouse in search of a palm tree for her front garden. As she waffled between the smallish medium-sized palm and the more medium-ish medium-sized one, a store rep noticed her dilemma and, thinking he could resolve the question by giving her more options, led us away to a counter where he pulled out an enormous binder listing every kind of shrub known to man. That was when my host mom made the mistake of asking me a question about gardening in Michigan, and our personal shrubbery expert jumped on the opening. I came from the US? Did I know what the French thought of Trump? We had to cut short his reflections on the insanity of the wall twenty minutes later, because we noticed someone walking away with my host mom’s medium-ish medium-sized palm, thus making up her mind for her. We left with the smallish one.

Another time, while driving to a Fest Noz with my host mom and her cousins, the conversation turned once again toward Trump and then, inevitably, towards Obama, who always rates higher among my French acquaintances. “You’re so unfortunate with Trump,” said a cousin, “but I much preferred the previous one. Oh, he was so beau, that man!”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I hoped she meant beau to mean good or honest, but I couldn’t be sure. I went purposefully vague myself, saying, “Well, even he wasn’t perfect, you know.” I’ve always considered it a self-evident truth that no human being is perfect, but my casual comment shocked everyone in the car. We didn’t actually screech to a halt, but the conversation did. The cousin peered around from the front seat to get a good view of me. “Obama?” she said, to be sure I wasn’t confusing him with someone else.

“Yeah, that’s who you were talking about, isn’t it?”

“But – but what can you reproach him with?”

Evidently, Obama is flawless until proven human, and though I tried to explain that his philosophy and actions aren’t universally approved in the US, the cousins remain unconvinced.

I asked my host parents about the apparent inconsistency between the Two Taboo Rule (a name I’ll coin myself for the sake of catchiness) and the comments I’ve heard from other students. They told me it depends on who you’re talking to. Naturally, you can say things among family you’d be wise not to say among strangers. More importantly, my host mother explained, “If you’re talking with someone who agrees with you, it’s okay, but otherwise people can get upset.” (It’s worth noting that my host mother is the least confrontational person on the face of the earth, so her opinion may not represent the general population.) The theory makes sense. But how to explain the incident at the greenhouse? Or, indeed, any of the other occasions I’ve experienced when comparative strangers have felt free to analyze US policies, perspectives, and, of course, personalities, all before knowing the positions of those present? It doesn’t bother me, but it’s a curious phenomenon.

A couple things before drawing any conclusion. First, both of the above examples involve criticism of the US, not France or Europe. And in general, most of the impromptu political free-for-all’s I’ve encountered have been, in fact, about the US. Sure, my host family discusses Macron’s work code reforms and such, but strangers in shopping centers? I haven’t experienced that yet. Maybe the taboo is a little more real when the subject is close to home. And what about money, the other forbidden topic? There, I don’t know. At a recent get-together, my host family spent a solid twenty minutes comparing the salaries of my host brother and his cousin (who was actually his fourth cousin fourteen times removed or something). The consensus was that both of them were sadly underpaid and that the world is a grim place. But don’t forget, that was among family members. On the whole, my professor’s maxim (with my host mom’s qualification) seems to hold truer here. And in any case, I’ve met a lot of people here who’ve never brought up politics or money. As is usually the case, the matter is a personal one. It’s hard to gage a cultural tendency because, in the end, we all have our own tendencies that sometimes contradict those of the people around us.

While it’s an interesting to investigate generalizations like this, particularly generalizations the French make about themselves, all this only touches the surface of the French culture. Standards about what makes an acceptable conversation topic sometimes reveal a culture’s or even an individual’s deeper underlying beliefs about right and wrong, about the core truths of life. Why do some people believe the two topics are forbidden? Why do others talk about them anyways, with varying degrees of freedom and comfort? What about religion, always a delicate topic, or cuisine, a French specialty? Questions for another time, another day.

Cecily Lahey

Alma College