The Man Who Would Be King

By Janice Castro

Giscard's regime gets tough with critics of "the Monarch

When French President Valery Giscard d'Estaing took office in 1974, he promised to loosen the tight control that the Elysee Palace had maintained over French life, especially the press. Battle-weary French journalists looked forward to a new era of peaceful coexistence. As Finance Minister under President Georges Pompidou, the accessible Giscard had long been a favorite with reporters covering an otherwise chilly Elysee government. As President, he brought a refreshingly relaxed approach to the office, dining with workers' families and playing tennis. But after six years, a markedly different Giscard has emerged.

Where he once delighted in gunning his Citroen through Paris traffic to lose his police escort for the evening, Giscard is now nearly as distant and imperious as Louis XIV. He has, for instance, decreed that when he dines, no one except a head of state or Mme. Giscard may sit opposite him. The President, now openly referred to as "the Monarch," and his family are served before any of the guests.

His relationship with the press has shifted just as sharply. Giscard is considered a sure bet to win a second seven-year term in the presidential election next spring. Yet a relatively minor scandal has prompted the President to launch a war against journalists. They have responded with angry resistance, but the artillery at Giscard's command is formidable. The three French television channels and the national radio network are all state run. The government appoints their directors, who appoint their news editors, who make sure that little is broadcast that might displease Giscard. Lately the President has taken to referring to "my television," in the manner of Charles de Gaulle, who considered the French broadcasting industry to be his private preserve. Says French Press Law Expert Robert Badinter: "The President has very well understood that what is truly important in a modern state is control of the media."

Giscard has acted adroitly to increase that control. Besides appointing close associates to head the broadcast networks, he has helped Political Ally Robert Hersant get government-facilitated loans to acquire control of three Parisian newspapers, France-Soir, Le Figaro and L 'Aurore. Their combined circulation of 1.06 million makes "Citizen Hersant" the most important press magnate in France. Commercial publish must still depend on the state-run advertising agency Havas to help them contract for major advertising. Moreover, under Giscard, a bewildering catalogue of government subsidies for such publishing costs as paper, telephone and telex communications has drawn financially pressed newspapers into an ever closer dependency on the Palace. Says Roger Fressoz, editor of the outspoken satiric weekly Le Canard Enchaine (circ. 640,000): "Everything was put in place so that the major media. . . are controlled by the President's men, who regulate carefully and severely all the wheels, leaving nothing to chance."

For all that, Giscard's control has not been total. The present trouble began in the autumn of 1979 when Le Canard reported that the President had, as both Finance Minister and President, accepted gifts of diamonds worth more than $240,000 from the tyrannical Central African Republic "Emperor" Jean-Bedel Bokassa, who was deposed last year with the help of French troops. Le Canard also published Giscard's 1978 income tax return, pointing out that he continued to be an active shareholder in the Paris Bourse while making decisions that presumably could affect his stock prices. Then Le Monde (circ. 550,000), France's most reputable and independent journal, added an analysis of the Giscard family's business dealings in Africa.

Last September, Le Canard reported that Bokassa had hired a journalist named Roger Delpey to write his biography. He turned over to Delpey some 187 documents, many believed to be embarrassing to Giscard. Delpey was arrested on charges of "compromising the external policy of France" and jailed without trial. The documents were seized. Later, several that were considered crucial to Delpey's defense were removed.

After Le Monde cast doubts on the legality of these moves, Justice Minister Alain Peyrefitte ordered charges brought against Editor Fauvet and Chief Editorial Writer Philippe Boucher under an obscure 1958 law that protects the legal system from "acts, words or writings" that may undermine the authority or independence of the judiciary. The penalty if convicted: up to six months in jail. Two of France's principal judicial associations promptly took the journalists' side. One magistrate noted that he felt "better defended by a free press." A number of French publications, including Hersant's usually approving France-Soir, have questioned the government's actions. Complained an aide to Giscard as the furor mounted: "They want their Watergate."

Delpey, released from jail a week ago, announced that his book on the "Giscarat affair," as the diamond incident is now known, will be out before next spring's balloting. Giscard's political opposition is scattered and demoralized, and there is little chance that a Gallic Watergate will prevent his reelection. So far, no one is accusing the President of breaking the law. But some members of Parliament are now insisting that his sweeping power over the media should be reduced. With the Le Monde case pending, and with the French press united as never before against him on the issue, the President may do well to remember a lesson of history: the original Watergate did not prevent an American President from being re-elected either --but the matter did not end there.

--By Janice Castro.

Reported by Sandra Burton/Paris

With reporting by Sandra Burton

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.