July 14th is called Bastille Day in English. For the French, the date alone says it all: le 14 juillet, Independence Day, the storming of the Bastille on July 14, 1789, an end to the tyranny of monarchy.
On the US side of the Atlantic, July 14th, 2019 also marks the first attack of “the Garbage Wars,” as I call them. Here in France, on a much smaller scale, a fierce “Garbage War” has been going on for some time.
Since July 14th, I’ve been following presidential tweets as he attacks “the Squad,” four young first-term congresswomen of color who, according to President Trump, should “go back” to their countries. Graciously, the President has offered to take care of travel costs. I don’t know exactly know how to interpret this, as three of the four congresswomen are US-born.
As the week of July 14th progressed, things got uglier, as more “garbage” was tossed around. On Wednesday the 17th, a crowd of Trump-supporters in North Carolina chanted “Send her back,” attacking Somali-born Representative Ilhan Omar, as the President looked on approvingly.
On Friday the 19th, Trump protested to reporters that neither Omar nor Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, another member of the Squad, have the right to “call our country and our people ‘garbage’.” Fact-checkers were quick to point out that neither used the term ‘garbage’ to refer to their fellow citizens.
I always try to send off my monthly article to The Republican Herald on the Monday preceding its last-Sunday-of-the-month publication. As you read, much of what I’ve just written may already be “old news.” A lot of presidential tweeting can go on in one week and who knows how “the Squad” may respond?
In general, who knows how the world will turn?
One thing is certain, the President’s attacks against the four congresswomen have struck a nerve in me because, here in France, for over a year, I’ve been caught up in my own “garbage wars.”
My story may appear trivial in comparison to national or international events, yet it contains elements common to all wars.
First of all, it’s about territory: who has the right to control it? Who has de facto control? In my case, we’re talking about a wide cement passageway that separates my home from the local superette. This is what the French call “une cour commune,” a shared courtyard, a co-property, where each owner shares rights and responsibilities.
For years, the manager of the local superette, a feisty woman in her 40’s, considered this space her own. One house in the passageway was owned by an absent Parisian. Another, by a taxi service using it as a business address.
Then there was what became my house, with its roof and living room floor about to collapse. You’d have to be a fool, locals believed, to buy such a place.
Such a fool—me—showed up, bought the place, fixed it up, turned it into a home, and presto, the manager of the superette was no longer alone—which did not mean she was ready to relinquish sovereignty.
To approach my house, you must descend an incline. The manager of the superette had given local boys the right to use the slope to pop wheelies and then execute fancy turns in the courtyard. I protested, especially as a reckless stop sometimes sent their bikes crashing into my front door.
“Corinne (I’ve changed the manager’s name) told us we can ride here,” the boys said. And they continued till the day I got out my phone and took photos of them in the act. I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if, instead of asking first, I had simply flashed my phone in their faces—that gesture sent them running and they never came back.
That was a minor battle won, but one battle does not win a war. Corinne still did not want to share and to prove it, she piled the store’s garbage a few feet from my front door. This was, to put it mildly, too much.
Since moving in, I had learned that Corinne managed the store but the building and the courtyard belonged to city hall. I went there, met the mayor, and recounted my plight.
He was on my side, I could tell, but my predicament made him uneasy. Grocery stores like Corinne’s are essential to rural life. He—and Corinne—knew her business was the lifeblood of the village. That did not stop him from finding a solution: an enclosure to hide the garbage cans. I was delighted and wrote a letter of thanks. I had won a major battle and had my say about our common space.
Naively, I believed my troubles were over. I had not bargained for the ideological side of warfare, which, as President Trump well knows, has a lot to do with false accusations and name-calling.
The garbage cans were out of sight, but the war continued by other means. One evening as I was walking home, the manager’s husband approached me and began insulting me. I had “no values,” how could the French educational system allow someone like me to teach? I was sneaky, “false.” I went behind his wife’s back, addressing myself to the mayor. Such behavior was not “French.”
When attacked, I rarely strike back and that evening I remained calm. I even thought about what Corinne’s husband said. His insults were nasty, but perhaps he had a point about speaking directly to his wife. The next time there was a problem, I’d give it a try.
And that’s what I did, diplomatically, I believed. Still concerning those garbage cans, I asked her if they could be cleaned (they never were). In response, she lashed out at me with such verbal violence, all I could do was back away.
The war escalated and Corinne once again began piling garbage outside my door. When I protested, she made fun of the way I speak French. This last incident happened only a few days ago, while the US Garbage Wars raged.
Though no one has yet told me to go back to where I came from, I know I am neither liked nor wanted by villagers like Corinne who reject me without knowing me: I am a woman, a foreigner, and that’s enough.
My greatest crime? I exist. I take up space and have rights. These are also the “crimes” of the Squad of four. And I have the feeling, Mr. Trump and Corinne, that you’d better get used to sharing because none of us “criminals” are going to go away.
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Below, the French take on Trump and the 'Squad of four': Toujours l'amour!
Translation: Trump goes after four elected officials
Speaker 1: But why only pick on women with foreign backgrounds?
Speaker 2: Melania must have kicked him out of the bedroom again.
