Fraternite fail

AIX-EN-PROVENCE, France - Liberte, egalite, fraternite.

Not all three-thirds of the French motto were created equal, apparently.

Liberte, for one, takes a bit of a beating when one examines the ban of ostentatious religious symbols in schools – in the name of egalite and fraternite.

But you need not be well versed in French current events to see the love the French have for the other two-thirds of the motto.

You need only listen to them speak – after all, fewer things are more telling of the values of a country than the bits of its history to which it holds fast.

France is no exception.

I heard, in one week, on three separate occasions and in three totally unrelated contexts, three mentions of the Dreyfus Affair.

The first was, innocently enough, during the grammar section of our intensive course, the instructor demonstrating the use of the suffix “–ard” as a method of constructing nouns – as in, she told us, Dreyfusard and anti-Dreyfusard.

I overheard the second reference in the next day’s civilization class, in the middle of a discussion on the historical significance of Aix’s street names – including Boulevard Francois et Emile Zola, named for a writer famous for his risky activism in support of Alfred Dreyfus.

The double mention did stand out to me as a bit odd, something I shrugged off rather quickly, chalking it up to subconscious excitement or relief at being able to grasp at least one of the cultural references my instructors were making.

Then came mention No. 3, whose context I don’t entirely remember. I was spacing out during a bus tour of Marseille, distracted both by my struggle to keep my eyes open after waking up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday and the beauty of the city we were driving through.

But then, clear as day, I heard the smooth-voiced man with the microphone say it:
l’affaire Dreyfus.

Something was up.

My mind wandered from the Mediterranean and Notre-Dame de la Garde basilica to a few days of lecture in my Jewish history class the last semester.

Alfred Dreyfus was a French Jew accused of treason and sentenced to life imprisonment in 1894 for his alleged betrayal of French military secrets to Germany during his time as a captain in the French army.

Two years into Dreyfus’ sentence, the army uncovered evidence that another officer committed the crime. But the evidence was suppressed by the army, the man was acquitted after two days of trial and Dreyfus’ guilt was reconfirmed via falsified documents.

Everything was almost sunshine and puppies (well, except morally, ethically and from Dreyfus’ perspective) until l’Autore, the Parisian daily, published Emile Zola’s “J’accuse” (literally “I accuse”), accusing the French army of anti-Semitism and obstruction of justice – a move that risked Zola’s career and life.

Then France went bazonkers, splitting into the aforementioned Dreyfusards and anti-Dreyfusards – and suffered quite the blow from the failure of its precious egalite and fraternite.

And as evidenced by the discourse among the French, it’s a blow they’re still reeling from today.