In the following clip from RTL, the popular French commentator Eric Zemmour discusses last Sunday’s election of Emmanuel “Boy Toy” Macron as the next president of France.
Many thanks to Ava Lon for the translation, and to Vlad Tepes for the subtitling:
Video transcript:
| 00:00 | RTL Morning — We Don’t Necessarily Agree | |
| 00:04 | 8:16am; good morning to all the listeners. We Don’t Necessarily Agree. | |
| 00:08 | This morning with Eric Zemmour. Good morning, Eric. —Good morning. —During the ceremony on May 8th, | |
| 00:12 | yesterday, François Hollande welcomed his successor very warmly, an accolade, | |
| 00:16 | which was of course very much noticed. —Well yes, it’s the accolade that says it all; an accolade | |
| 00:20 | that is warm and modest. An accolade of a father towards a prodigal son | |
| 00:24 | who returns home after a truancy of a couple of months | |
| 00:28 | to take over the paternal business. Macron is the Peter Pan in Elysée.[presidential palace]. | |
| 00:32 | It’s the syndrome of eternal youth, the god of the consumer society. | |
| 00:36 | His age, of course, under forty, but also his slight lisp, | |
| 00:40 | and his wife who is old enough to be his mother. Our president | |
| 00:44 | is the product of an egalitarian society where the fathers of yesteryear, respected, feared | |
| 00:48 | and sometimes tyrannical, became buddies in the worst case and | |
| 00:52 | second mothers in the best case scenario; or an additional son. The voters haven’t really voted | |
| 00:56 | for him, but against Hollande, against Fillon, against Le Pen. | |
| 01:00 | Macron imposed himself in opposing himself. Like a teenager. General de Gaulle | |
| 01:04 | created the institutions of the Fifth Republic in order to put a king back at the head | |
| 01:08 | of the country. A father of the nation. A father elected by his children. | |
| 01:12 | General de Gaulle was the last father of the nation. “After his death | |
| 01:16 | came the time of stroller-daddies,” wrote the great writer Philippe Muray. | |
| 01:20 | We arrived there, step by step. With Pompidou we still had a father, | |
| 01:24 | but a little more relaxed. De Gaulle was a father who didn’t forget | |
| 01:28 | that he was a grandfather. Pompidou didn’t forget that he was a husband. | |
| 01:32 | And then came the trilogy of uncles: Giscard, an uncle who interrogated his nephews | |
| 01:36 | about their grades; Mitterrand, the uncle who bought them books and explained how | |
| 01:40 | to multiply mistresses without choosing any of them. And Chirac, the uncle | |
| 01:44 | who told them salacious stories when their mothers weren’t listening. The three uncles | |
| 01:48 | were respected by the family, but none of them —by coquetry, by a wish of being loved — | |
| 01:52 | Assumed the paternal role. And then the cousins arrived. | |
| 01:56 | Sarkozy, the cousin from America, who brings his nephews to Fouquet’s, promises them a Rolex | |
| 02:01 | if they pass their baccalaureate. And Hollande, the cousin from the province, his tie always askew, | |
| 02:04 | never hogging a good joke during weddings or funerals. | |
| 02:08 | It’s not because they don’t want to be fathers, oh, no! They can’t, they don’t know how anymore. | |
| 02:12 | The mold is broken. —Well, I’m summarizing. If I understood correctly, Emmanuel Macron would thus | |
| 02:16 | be the scion of the Elysée Family. —Why yes, already Macron is being called the French Kennedy. | |
| 02:20 | Another daddy’s boy, but mainly mommy’s boy. A perpetual student | |
| 02:24 | who slaps his counselors on the shoulder, wears a shirt but no jacket when he receives people. | |
| 02:28 | He’s called by his first name; he puts his hand on his heart while the national anthem plays; | |
| 02:32 | he never walks without holding his wife’s hand, like a habit from his childhood. | |
| 02:36 | France is no longer an old nation afflicted by its history, | |
| 02:40 | an old man tested by adversity, but a start-up nation | |
| 02:44 | of a wonder-boy. During the first round of the elections, | |
| 02:48 | the richer a community was, the more it voted for the future winner. | |
| 02:52 | Macron is the France of spoiled children, who don’t know that history is tragic. | |
| 02:56 | Who talk all the time about love, when their fathers talked all the time about their wars. | |
| 03:00 | Who say, “you won’t have my hate” — to those who assassinate their loved ones. | |
| 03:04 | Macron also gives love to everybody: to his wife, to her children even if they aren’t his, | |
| 03:08 | to his constituents, even if they didn’t vote for him. | |
| 03:12 | The great psychoanalyst Lacan warned us: “Love is giving something | |
| 03:16 | you don’t have to someone who doesn’t want it.” | |
| 03:20 | Eric Zemmour, for We Don’t Necessarily Agree |
Yes, Peter Pan is the right name. Let us not forget that Peter Pan in the book was rather a cruel boy.
Deliriously brilliant wit, full of unacceptable truths bursting with Swiftian indignation. It reminds us of that great nation France that has – yet again – been spurned and betrayed.
Would that this level of blazing intellect could be unleashed on British media! Such deadly bursts of rapid-fire wit could take out the anti-British collaborators better than any Kalashnikov!
This is brilliant commentary.
Those of us who have been to France, and loved, it require this sober and serious analysis.
This too is worthy of a read and some sober thought:
http://www.chroniclesmagazine.org/2017/June/41/6/magazine/article/10839550/
There will be blood in France.
Still deep within the souls of a majority of Frenchmen is a patriotic love just waiting for a leader who will call it out of the souls of Frenchmen and set it marching to war against the Mahometans.
Catholic prophecy forsees civil wars in Italy, England, and France and it tells of a time when the Monarchy will be restored in France and that great King will act in unison with a Great Pope and defeat the Mahometans and, later, defeat Russian troops in Cologne, Germany against t impossible odds.
These victories will show the world that the hands of Christ the King are neither atrophied nor paralysed – just restrained so as to make use of the False Religion of Mahomet to chastise we faithless men of the west.
[A re-imagining of M. Zemmour’s broadcast script, as a way of reflecting on it. No literary larceny of the brilliant original is intended – I merely indulge in some presumptuous flourishes of my own to embroider upon his wonderful squib.]
During the inauguration ceremony on May 8th, 2017, François Hollande welcomed his successor very warmly, an accolade, which was of course very much noticed. Well yes, it’s the accolade that says it all; an accolade that is warm and modest. The accolade of a father towards a prodigal son who returns home after a truancy of a couple of months to take over the family business.
Micron is the Peter Pan of the Elysée It’s the syndrome of eternal youth, that Mammon of the consumer society. Note his age, almost forty but emotionally adolescent, also his slight lisp, and a wife who is old enough to be his mama. Our new President is the offspring of an egalitarian society where the fuddy-duddy father of yester-year was respected, feared and sometimes tyrannical – in the last resort trying to be buddy-buddy, but preferably liberated as a second mother; and perhaps even an additional son would appear out of immaculate insemination – – –
The voters didn’t really vote for him, but contra-Hollande, contra-Fillon, contra-Le Pen. Micron made a stand by rebelling against all the old causes. Like a teenager, floundering in disillusion and creating a cult of self.
General de Gaulle created the institutions of the Fifth Republic in order to restore a king as head of the body-politic: ‘la France, c’est moi et moi seul.’ A father acclaimed and looked up to by his children. The last Father of His Nation. “After his departure came the time of Dad the Baby-minder,” wrote the great Philippe Murray.
We got here by little steps.
Pompidou was still a father-figure, but we were less in awe of him. De Gaulle never forgot that he himself was the granddaddy, and didn’t allow his junior to forget that he was a ‘husband’ in name only. So Pompidou couldn’t be crowned because he was ‘cornu’. Not really Presidential material.
Then we saw the coming of an avuncular Trinity: Ton-Ton Giscard, the Uncle who catechised his ambitious nephews to improve their grades, but fell for an African strongman who gave him diamonds; Ton-Ton Mitterrand, who bought them improving books, and also explained how to keep their two-faced accounts straight when multiplying mistresses; and then there was Ton-Ton Chirac, the uncle who told them dirty stories when their mothers weren’t around. This triune Ton-Ton was looked up to by the Elysée family, but – since they were naughty uncles who only trifled with love for sex and money – these persons could never assume the role of ideal Father. And then one day the cousins turned up.
There was Sarkozy, the loud cousin from America, who treated his nephews to expensive dinners at Fouquet’s, and always promised them a knock-off Rolex if they passed their baccalaureate; and then there was Hollande, the country bumpkin from the provinces, his tie always askew under a grin like a turnip lantern, so it always looked as if he was enjoying a private joke, even at funerals. You really wouldn’t like to admit either of those characters was your dad!
It’s not because they didn’t want to be dignified and responsible fathers – oh, no! It’s just that they couldn’t do it: Sarkozy kept getting kicked out by the mothers of his children; and then Hollande was kicked out of the house because Ségolène wanted to wear the Presidential trousers, even though hubby hadn’t even had a chance to put them on because they were still under the press! Not the best examples of responsible fatherhood.
So Micron, Hollande’s mini-me, is probably the last male heir to the Elysée Family estate. Apres vous Le Pen (Marine). And yet they call Micron ‘the French Kennedy’ – you’re kidding me! He’s just a perpetual school-kid, always sloppily dressed without jacket or tie, and behaving in a rumbustious manner towards his seniors; he’s called by his first name, Emmanuel (‘Mannikin’ to his detractors); he poses hand on heart when the national anthem plays, but puts it under his jacket as soon as the Ode To Joy’s En Marche; he’s never allowed out of the house without holding tight onto his wife’s motherly hand – a habit from childhood he can’t break. He’s on a flight from reality, this Peter Pan en francaise.
Now France, an old nation afflicted by history, a veteran bowed by adversity, must give way to the start-up enterprise of a bumptious wunderkind. Micron is the leader for immature grown-ups, who don’t know that the Pied Piper of history can have tragic consequences. The good people of France may find that they have exchanged the next generation’s future merely to indulge the arrested development of today’s ageing adolescents –
– who talk all the time about love, when their fathers never spoke about their wars.;
– who say, “You won’t have my hate” with easy forgiveness of those who outrage, torture and kill the loved ones of other people;
– who sententiously aver as the broken bodies pile up, irretrievably transformed from anything beautiful or human, “We will not change our life because you attack us.”
Micron waves his arms signalling love and virtue to everybody: to his hovering wife so she can encourage his first steps with her fierce mothering pride; to another man’s children who must hate him; but most of all his boundless air-embrace encompasses his constituents, even kissing their unconceivable babies as his guarantee of ‘Liberté, égalité, paternité.’
This monstrous ego, God of his own creation, invents himself, dreaming that ‘L’etat c’est moi.’ Mummy encourages him. Fatherhood is superceded by an asexual, vegetative process of replication – as is motherhood. The Micronic State becomes at once universal parent and single dependant member. This nightmare amoebus will vanish with one flash of a winking wormhole, once the slumbering giant within each person stops forgetting, and resumes begetting. Meanwhile, France’s old children are hypnotized by this charlatan into a passionless inertia. Deathless zombie orphans haunt the streets. Culture breaks up in dementia. When memory goes, nations fall – like a burning house around abandoned children.
Across the West – déraciné, uprooted, all our human family scattered to the four winds like smoke, that is how we will die, without a strong Father to save us.
And there’s only our Father in Heaven left to call out to – – –
Word on the street is that Macron is a drug-addicted closet case.
Would not be surprised if both rumors were true.
He certainly has an ethnomasochist air about.
A French President Elect who rejects his own nation’s National Anthem in favour of the EU dirge “Ode to joy” at an acceptance
Rally says it all. Brings back memories of mufti Merkel throwing a Germany flag in the bin a few years ago too.
Mind you they will get on famously though, but she might be a
Little young for him, wouldn’t want to him to be accused of
Cradle snatching would we?
03:04 Macron also gives love to everybody: to his wife, to her children even if they aren’t his, to his constituents,
Is this correct in fact, I think I hear the word “Palestinans” there ? Can somoene kindly correct or confirm please ?