A wooded hillside. At its summit sits a compact stone church, its bell tower a beacon since the 11th century. Below the church, a road spirals around the hill; a row of low stone houses hugs the edge.
At the foot of the hill, only a few hundred feet from the church and this postcard image of rural France, semi-trailer trucks and cars block a traffic circle bordered by a commercial zone of parking lots and discount stores.
This is where the “Yellow Vests” (they’ve named themselves after the yellow safety vests all French drivers must carry in their glove compartments) have set up camp, on a grassy slope between the church and the highway.
This is where some of them are celebrating Christmas and ringing in the New Year: three tents, a meeting space, a canteen and a “backroom” reserved for cots and food supplies. The place is Margon, a village in le Perche, near my country home in lower Normandy.
Margon used to be an isolated village perched on a hillside. Today it is the far end of a sort of strip-mall, with, at its heart, Centre Leclerc, France’s answer to Walmart. At the other end is Nogent-le-Rotrou, a town of 10 thousand inhabitants dating back to Gallo-Roman times, with high unemployment, an aging population, and lower than average incomes.
The day I visit the Yellow Vest camp, rain thrashes against the tents and the sky is dark, but the Yellow Vests are in high spirits, determined to stick it out on this muddy patch of earth till their demands for social justice are met.
Who are they? Why are they celebrating the holidays here? What do they want?
They want to be heard. They are ready to talk, to tell their stories, if necessary, to the world.
Jacques Roussel, 67, tried to reach out to President Macron, responding to his call to turn France into a start-up nation. Jacques began working in a factory when he was 14 and lives today on a pension of less than $1,000 a month. Looker younger than his age, obviously in good shape, he is a fervent cyclist and his idea for a start-up is to create a professional cycling school for girls and women in this region of hills and valleys, the perfect terrain for the sport. As of today, no such school exists in France.
He wrote to President Macron and his wife Brigitte. He got no answer. Now he is ready to go international. At a time when US-French relations are at a low point, he is looking for an American partner who would like to invest in his start-up and contribute to a positive form of cooperation between the two nations.
Of course, that’s not why Jacques is with the Yellow Vests and he wasn’t expecting to meet an American in Margon, but he believes start-ups should be for everyone and can’t understand why his government ignores people like him.
The rain is getting worse. We duck inside the canteen. Valérie, aka Mamy, graciously offers me a hot chocolate. She is here to take care of the canteen, receive the many donations dropped off at the site and make sure the Yellow Vests have hot drinks and food.
She comes daily because she and her husband, a self-employed painter, can no longer make ends meet. Usually she stays at home, takes care of the children, and does her husband’s paperwork. Watching over their finances, she fears they’ll soon not have enough to survive. She first put on a yellow vest out of frustration. Now Valérie keeps coming back because she has discovered a community of friendship and solidarity.
Sylvie agrees. She and her husband lost their business in a court-ordered liquidation. She is proud to have a daughter who attends university but, as in Valérie’s case, money is tight. The more we’re taxed, the poorer everyone becomes, she tells me. And then, she’s fed up with seeing people over 60 rooting in dumpsters because they don’t have enough to eat. That’s why she keeps coming back, for the people who’ve worked all their lives and can’t even pay the grocery bills.
Though he’s only 30, Nicolas too feels for the retired. He can’t understand why President Macron, while giving tax breaks to the rich, has increased the tax burden on retirees. That’s why, in late November, he left his village and joined the Yellow Vests. He has stayed and become the camp’s night watchman. In the early morning, he greets motorists with what may be their first smile of the day.
Jean-Marc Cipoire stops by daily to document events for Le Perche Web-TV, a site he created to give greater visibility to the region. He is on disability and lives on about $700 a month. He never goes to a restaurant, but nothing could keep him away from the 24 Hours of Le Mans, where he follows racing events for his web-TV. Spending as little as possible, he and his companion Sylvie pitch a tent and cook their food over a fire.
Sylvie has never been to Paris, less than 100 miles away. Nor has Magaly, 63, who, like Jacques Roussel, began working at14. She worked in a local auto parts plant, but somewhere along the line there was an accident, disability. Today she lives on about $600 a month. She owns a house, but the roof is about to collapse. She lives with her brother. He once worked as a locksmith but ended up in the streets of Paris. Magaly has taken him in.
Magaly’s dog Doudou, a black cocker-spaniel mix, is the site’s mascot. And like Nicolas, Magaly plans to stay as long as it takes, ready to start 2019 at the edge of the highway. Among all Yellow Vests to whom I spoke, she is the only one to express hostility to immigrants. Otherwise, the message is “everyone welcome.” Immigrants, the unemployed, workers, the retired, people of all races and religions, we’re in this together.
Leaving the camp, I feel buoyed up by the “Yellow Vest spirit,” warm acceptance of outsiders and generosity towards all, the “Christmas spirit,” in other words.
Recent events in Paris have made it all too clear that some Yellow Vests are ready to resort to destructive violence to get their message across. But the movement is about much more than anger or hatred. In places like Margon, people are creating spaces where they can speak up and be heard.
To quote one of the Yellow Vests, Jean-Michaël Verrier, a young landscape gardener, “Macron has accomplished at least one thing: he’s got us all talking to each other,” an excellent way to begin 2019.
