I spent the first 18 years of my life in France. In a way, it was an accident. Born in Iran, my father, who had spent the war years in Beirut, took up with enthusiasm the opportunity to pursue his engineering studies in Grenoble after the war. He married my (Iraqi-born) mother in Israel in 1961; at which point they decided to return to France, where my father rose to become a "cadre," indistinguishable from any of his French colleagues.
I always considered myself privileged: to have been born in France; to have attended the same Parisian lyc?e as Val?ry Giscard D'Estaing and George Steiner; to have had the friends I had. Through my school years, I felt-as a Jew-no different from my schoolmates.
Life as a Jew in France was not without its contradictions. France prides itself on its universal egalitarian principles. But this comes at a price. Equality could only be achieved if you were prepared not to flaunt your differences. Thus, my parents never placed a Mezuzah (a parchment with holy writing) on their doorpost; it was kept inside the house. And they advised me against wearing a necklace with a Star of David. This was not only because of fear of anti-semitism. It was also in the spirit of "good citizenship." (These same "egalitarian" values were invoked by those who opposed the wearing of veils by Muslim pupils in French schools.)
The French model of tolerance could not be more different from what I saw when I moved to London: young women wrapped in veils attending state schools; policemen wearing turbans; a Mezuzah on the doorposts of Jewish homes. Today, I take these freedoms for granted. But that does not mean that I experienced the French model of integration as oppressive. It was simply different. And it suited me fine.
France was the first European country to grant emancipation to its Jews, under Napoleon. For France's Jewish community, the largest in western Europe, this country of Libert?, Egalit?, Fraternit? also proved to be a country of opportunity. I was aware of France's darker side: its Dreyfus affair; its Vichy past; the ebb and flow of anti-semitic incidents; the presence of the neo-fascist right. But I grew up with the certainty of my post-war generation that history would not repeat itself; that the political project embodied in the European Union would forever contain nationalism, without abolishing it.
So I was surprised when my father asked me in 1995, shortly before cancer took his life: "Have you ever thought of applying for British citizenship?" I had not-I had been living in Britain for almost ten years, but culturally, emotionally, I continued to feel French. And what difference would it make? A passport from another EU country meant that you had the same rights as any other citizen (with the exception of the right to vote in my country of domicile).
But I knew why my father had asked me. In the 1988 election, Jean-Marie Le Pen's score had risen to 14 per cent. In 1995, Le Pen nudged up to 15 per cent, confirming that his original score was not a fluke. But I refused to view these scores with the same gravity as my father. I did not apply for British citizenship as a kind of "insurance policy."
For me, then, the French election on 21st April this year came as a shock: might my father have been right? Calm analysis suggests not: there are reasons to explain Le Pen's success: a low turnout, owing partly to the fact that the first round coincided with the school Easter holidays (an oversight from France's ?narques?); a lack of differentiation between the centre left and the centre right; a fear of globalisation; unemployment; a heightened demand for law and order, especially after 11th September; the lack of a strategy for integrating France's immigrant population (now that the old model no longer works)-something which France shares with its neighbours; and, finally, the years of cohabitation which have left French voters with the impression that only extreme parties (whether left or right) can represent the opposition.
All true. But something that I thought could not happen occurred on 21st April. A barrier was broken. True, Le Pen only managed to get to the second round thanks to the disarray of the French left, and he only improved his 1995 score by a few hundred thousand. But a couple of years ago, amid intra-party splits, Le Pen's party looked dead. Today, it has shown itself capable of occupying the mainstream. It happened once; it can happen again.
Le Pen Pr?sident? I decided to call the home office to ask for an application form for British citizenship. I have spent most of my adult life in Britain; I admire its multicultural tradition, its parliamentary system and the game of cricket (which, true to my French roots, I still cannot understand).
But unforeseen events have unforeseen consequences. As I arrived on bank holiday Sunday at the Lyc?e Charles de Gaulle in London to cast my vote for the second round, I felt more French than ever. The British are well accustomed to the argument that if you want to shape the future of Europe, you have to be a fully participating member; likewise if you want to shape the future of France. I got home that evening, took a final look at my application form, and tucked it away in a bottom drawer.
