I can't help but feel a certain admiration for Manuel Valls. Here he is at the MEDEF Summer School, receiving a standing ovation from the captains of French industry a day after purging his government of 3 recalcitrant soi-disant gauchistes. He is the opposite of François Hollande, at whose pleasure he serves. Instead of seeking a soft consensus, he divides to conquer. He has made his choice, and now he will run with it. And since, unlike Hollande, he recognizes that a government held up du bout des lèvres cannot stand, he has sought more tangible support where he knows he can find it: with the interests his policies will serve. His choice may not be socialist, but it's forthright and openly assumed.
On the other hand, Valls isn't really my kind of guy. I felt that last night ever so strongly as I watched him bat away David Pujadas's softball questions on the evening news. He is in a perpetual state of dyspepsia. He's a man in too much of a hurry to tarry with doubt, or even thought. He's all instinct, a Spanish toreador who knows that everyone has come to see how close he can get to the bull's horns without getting himself gored. To worry about the details of policy he's got people like Macron. His job is to embody the political world as will; the idea (pace Schopenhauer) is left to the énarque.
I've long thought the future of the Socialist Party was in the center, but Valls seems to have leaped over the center to plant his flag on one of the main bastions of the right. The alacrity with which Gattaz et cie. have embraced him is arresting. It's as if they've utterly lost confidence in their own camp since the Copé fiasco, and as if they've judged Sarkozy too heavily burdened with legal handicaps to run another race. It's an alliance that makes a certain kind of sense. Valls can deliver a lot in the short term, and if he flags in the longer race, the MEDEF can easily switch its bets. But for now he's their man, and they are his constituency, for want of any other, unless it's the vaguely progressive middle, the cadres and the jeunes loups and the bankers and the bobos, the electorate of the US Democratic Party without the minorities. That's nowhere near a majority, but in France, you don't need a majority to make it to Round 2 of the presidential election, you need 25-30 percent of the vote, and it's not out of the question that Valls could get that much even if he cedes the entire working class to Le Pen and peels off 5 percent or so of the UMP's social liberal wing. It could just work, with a little help from the gods (although Paul Krugman promises to tell us in tomorrow's column why the gods won't be smiling on France anytime soon). In any case, it's the only game left in town on the left side of the screen--if the distinction between "left" and "right" still means anything.
At least he's not Hollande, the sight of whom fills me with pity. And would we be here, I can't help asking myself, if DSK hadn't gone to the Sofitel that night? What's that you say about Cleopatra's nose?
Two more takes: Ron Tiersky and Arun Kapil.