I received the following question from a reader (whose name I will conceal, this question having been posted on a personal email to my care) in connection with Merde In France (a well deserved name according to Pierre):
The question was : “Has that dirtbag ever even come close on anything he has written or does he miss everything in his efforts to tar and feather France? That’s a rhetorical question by the way.”
It is an embarrassing question. Since we are speaking about rhetoric, it is necessary to distinguish between content and form. The form is nauseating but the content calls for debate. MIF, a bit like Jean-Marie Le Pen, is a very talented acrimonious polemist but his ideas stink.
Billie is an American from Brooklyn. He has been living in France for more twenty years. In 1981, while the wealthy people from Avenue Foch exported their gold in Switzerland panicked by the socialo-communist dictatorship to come, Billie arrrived in this country where a scent of Chile at the time of the Allende’s election floated in the streets. But Billie get used finally rather quickly to the French eighties, when money and free enterprise were fashionable, years when Bernard Tapie was the idol of all ambitious young people. Student at the Sorbonne, he considered going Sciences Po but finally went to CNAM to learn computer science. And while he get used to the French language and culture, his integration was a failure, even if he is still operating his small capitalist company on French soil.
Bill has political ideas, libertarians ideas. The State is evil. The State is a communist idea. Then, de facto, there are only stalinist communists in the actual French goverment (UMP, right) and dangerous leftists at the FN (extreme right). Our jacobinic France, where the State has always been the center of all, and has theorized the fact, is without any doubt the perfect image of hell for libertarians. However, France, from left or right, does not waver on its deep foundations, its single base. It remains hermetic to the liberalism mermaids’ song. And that excites Bill at the point to become a writing rottweiler defending his ideas bitterly with bites and nails.
The last straw was the political opposition of France to the American government on the Iraki conflict. All his recriminations as a sour immigrant tangled up in his schizophrenia, a love-hate relation to France, exploded. Then, inevitably, all Frenchmen became anti-American scums. He was directly in phase with the war-bloggers, intellectual masters of the American blogeoisie. They saw in Merde In France in Paris the equivalent of a Salam Pax in Baghdad and hastened to make him a broad publicity.
During these twenty years, Bill was so impregnated with French culture that it is difficult to say that he is really an American anymore but rather a hybrid beast suffering badly from his interior conflicts.
Through its blog, Bill pours all his bile and his “mal-être”. As for others, his blog replaces a psychotherapy. He shoots in all directions with fury. Sometimes, he hits sensitive spots, real problems or real questionings but his answers are only vitriolic satires or even lewd remarks.
His blog is of nothing close to be productive. It is only design to poke dissensions and hatred. Much of his readers, less intelligent than him take his entries for Gospel’s truth. And, worse, like any predator, he knows his territory quite well and can bite where that it hurts the most. He masters this game brilliantly. He is a tough hard cynic that doesn’t believe in humanism and in friendship between nations, because he is a man in war, in war with the world and with himself. In fact, he inspires me pity. At the day of his death, when God will ask him “What have you made of your talent ?” He could only reply : “I made war. I shit on my neighbours. That was my life !”
Even it is means getting a critical look on the situation in France, a look of an expatriate American, I will always prefer to read Damelon that assumes his writings under his real name. He has more scope with his intelligent and sober entries than that aggressive pooch vomiting on the “Froggies” with an irreducible bad faith.
No, MIF, we do not deserve you ! MIF, go home, and see if grass is greener in America’s great plains.