Giscard Runs Scared

By Frederick Painton

FRANCE

In a close election, the President is the issue

The scene seldom varies wherever the campaigning candidate appears. The lights dim in the hall. Thunder rolls from stereophonic speakers. Jagged streaks of lightning flash on movie screens. Then comes an apocalyptic parade of images depicting a world in crisis. Ayatullah Khomeini, mobs and mullahs. Soviet troops in Afghanistan. Pillars of black smoke from the Iran-Iraq war. Scenes of terrorist violence in Italy and Spain. "There are wars you can see," a narrator intones. "And others that are devious." Japanese-built motorbikes in front of a Paris dealership make a point about trade war. A shot of Middle East oil wells suggests the energy crunch.

Then, as the backdrop shifts to fluffy clouds against an azure sky, the voice says, "But France remains calm." A series of happy scenes shows Frenchmen picking grapes, at work in modern factories, riding horses, playing soccer. A crescendo: French-made washing machines, Renault cars, film stars and ballet scenes spell out progress and the good life. Then comes the man who claims responsibility for this idyllic island of well-being in a time of global torment: President Valery Giscard d'Estaing, 55, pictured at his desk in the Elysee Palace, meeting foreign leaders, affably mixing with ordinary citizens. "France has found its face," concludes the narration. "With this face it is at peace with itself," The audience cheers. The lights go up--and Candidate Giscard, accompanied by his wife Anne-Aymone, rises smiling to the podium.

It is magisterial theater, and a forceful part of Giscard's campaign for a second seven-year term when presidential elections are held in two rounds of voting, on April 26 and May 10. But the aura of confidence is deceptive. Giscard is no longer the certain victor he once appeared to be; with only days to go before the first round, he is on the defensive.

He is being effectively challenged from both the left and the right. On the left, his closest rival, perennial Socialist Candidate Franc,ois Mitterrand, 64, a narrow loser in the presidential election of 1974 and parliamentary vote of 1978, has been gnawing away at Giscard's centrist support. Behind him, Communist Candidate Georges Marchais, 60, is fighting to improve on the 20.55% his party obtained in 1978. On the right, Paris Mayor Jacques Chirac, 48, leader of the Neo-Gaullists, has made surprising advances among conservatives and suddenly emerged as a still unlikely, but just possible, second-round challenger to Giscard.

The political erosion is apparent in the opinion polls. Five months ago, Giscard was expected to take 35% of the vote in the first round and 59% in the second-round runoff between the two top vote getters. Now four polls give him only 27% to 28% in the first round. For the decisive second round, two polls showed Mitterrand winning with 51% and 54%. Another saw Giscard gaining a sum victory, while a fourth predicted a dead heat. Giscard appeared to acknowledge that his campaign was in trouble by calling his top strategists to the Elysee Palace for a presidential dressing down.

The striking paradox about Giscard's slump is that under his leadership France in 1981 is one of the world's most prosperous nations. The French standard of living has risen more in the past seven years than that of any other country except Japan. Slums are rare. The world's most ambitious nuclear energy program is well under way, making France the only nation in Western Europe capable of reducing significantly its dependence on ever costlier oil. "The country looks good," says a Western diplomat in Paris. "The quality of life is marvelous."

The trouble is that French voters, like those everywhere, do not compare their lot with that of other nations. After seven years under Giscard, the electorate is restless, irritable, uneasily calculating the risks of change. Unemployment has risen from 441,000 in 1974 to 1.66 million, and many voters hold Giscard responsible. Finally, it is Giscard--his style and his performance--who has become the primary issue in the campaign.

It has been difficult for Giscard to counter a steady stream of attacks against his presidential style and personality. He remains a surprisingly enigmatic figure for many Frenchmen. Is he a liberal reformer or a conservative? Even his supporters disagree. Does he favor firmness or conciliation toward the Soviet Union? The answer is not clear; some of the President's policies seem refined to the point of ambivalence. Mitterrand accuses him of a monarchical style of government. Chirac, Giscard's former Premier, snipes away at what he sees as Giscard's vacillation and weakness in foreign affairs Michel Debre, a Premier under Charles de Gaulle and a marginal presidential candidate, accuses Giscard of "anesthetizing" France with reassurances instead of inspiring it to greater efforts.

Giscard's aloof and occasionally haughty personality clearly has not endeared him to many of his countrymen even if they respect his intellect--and, at times, his courage. Last week, as 'he stepped from a jet in Ajaccio, Corsica a bomb blast ripped through the airport terminal. An emotional Giscard denounced the attack as "cowardly" and vowed not to waver from his schedule. Such rare passionate moments aside, however, even one of the President's most trusted aides admits that "he has not won the hearts of Frenchmen. Giscard is from the Auvergne region, where the people are known for holding in their emotions " Indeed, the President rarely seems genuinely comfortable with crowds while campaigning. "He's not a speaker for the masses," notes Harvard University Professor Stanley Hoffmann, a longtime observer of French politics. "He's not exactly the warmest person either." Even on television--where his confidence and lucidity come across best--Giscard cannot shake what many see as a handicap-a quasi-aristocratic background, suggested by the "d'Estaing" suffix borrowed from an extinct noble family. "Two centuries after the revolution, the French still don't like aristocrats," says a Paris banker.

To be fair, Giscard tried, at least at first. In 1974 he played the accordion in public, dressed in a V-neck sweater, rode the Paris Metro--a formidable effort at creating a sense of California-style informality. He walked instead of riding in state down the Champs-Elysees for his inauguration On one occasion he invited a group of Paris garbage men to the Elysee Palace for breakfast. Such superficial tokens of change may have pleased the young but they were too much for tradition-minded Frenchmen who greeted the new style with ridicule. Explains a Western diplomat in Paris: "The French don't want a Jimmy Carter-like President." Wounded Giscard dropped his experiments and withdrew to the dignity of his office.

In his revised vision of the presidential role, Giscard can be haughty and even arrogant. No better example exists than the furor aroused by a gift of diamonds he received from former Central African Despot Jean-Bedel Bokassa. When the issue was first raised in October 1979 Giscard stubbornly refused to divulge details. Last month the President disingenuously justified the delay in facing the issue by saying that "no one ever asked me the question." He said that the diamonds had been sold, and the proceeds donated to charity. That donation, it turned out was made only a month before Giscard's explanation--and a full 15 months after the issue was first raised. Giscard's Olympian conception of his office reaches even into the protocol of the Elysee Palace. At state dinners he has been known to insist on the regal deference of being served first even when his guests include national leaders and women. One guest happened to be both: British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. Giscard claims that he ordered his staff to follow the same rules of protocol as in the era of Charles de Gaulle but in fact De Gaulle was always served last at table.

Another voter concern focuses on the power he has accumulated during his term. Few disagree that he has concentrated presidential authority to a greater degree than either De Gaulle or Georges Pompidou, his two Fifth Republic predecessors. "France is governed by an elected sovereign, a republican monarch, almost an enlightened despot " writes French Journalist Alain Duhamel [Giscard] is at the same time the Queen of England and Her Majesty's Prime Minister."

In Giscard's France, parliament has relatively little power. It has managed to discourage Giscard from pursuing some of his legislative projects. Since only 119 members of his 274-seat ruling parliamentary coalition are formal Giscard supporters, he has on occasion tactically withdrawn from a potential fray. Giscard's Premier, Raymond Barre, however has used special constitutional powers to ram through government budgets over the grumbling of Gaullist allies. Says Giscard: "I have exercised my powers as they are conferred by the constitution. These critics are trying to weaken power. I say it bluntly: those who want weak power in France should not vote for me."

For a man endowed with such powers, Giscard has conducted a foreign policy more notable for subtlety than clarity. At heart he remains loyal to Gaullist traditions: independence and a strong French presence on the international scene. Where Giscard differs from De Gaulle, says Hoffmann, is in his desire to be "the universal Mister Nice Guy--a thankless task."

Well before the campaign officially began last week, Giscard was coming under heavy fire for what many considered to be lapses of diplomatic judgment. Chief among them was his sudden decision last May--taken without consulting his allies--to fly to Warsaw for an impromptu meeting with Soviet President Leonid Brezhnev. Giscard now says that the purpose of his trip was to tell Brezhnev in no uncertain terms that "detente would not survive another blow similar to the invasion of Afghanistan." His critics charged that he looked like an appeaser. "It was a serious diplomatic blunder," Mitterrand said.

The same ambiguity has hampered Giscard at home. He began his mandate with a bold series of reforms. Within 26 months he lowered the French minimum voting age from 21 to 18, liberalized divorce laws and legalized abortion. Then his zeal flagged. Giscard has not changed a tax system that he once denounced as favoring the rich. Nor has he reformed the notoriously centralized French government. A close confidant of the President explains that "Giscard simply has become more realistic about the speed with which change can take place."

The economy was another question. "Given France's problems and limits, Giscard probably has done as well with it as anyone could," says Hoffmann in a judgment that is widely shared by foreign observers. Yet Giscard faltered at the start. For the first 27 months of his term, the government failed to react adequately to quadrupled international oil prices. Resorting to classic pump-priming methods, it fueled inflation while the franc weakened. The President then turned to hard-nosed Premier Barre, a decision that has been described as "the best Giscard has made in seven years."

Barre applied strong medicine: austerity, tighter credit, cutbacks in social spending. At the same time, he and the President tried to restore a greater measure of free enterprise to the centrally controlled French economy. The treatment won admiration abroad, but not much love at home. Polls show that 65% of Frenchmen have no confidence in Barre's performance. On the other hand, only 52% hold the same view of Giscard.

No one in Giscard's entourage has any doubt that a disgruntled electorate will punish the President in the first election round. In next month's runoff, though, his advisers are counting on French apprehensions, rather than gratitude or affection to win Giscard another seven years in the Elysee. "Where Mitterrand represents adventure," says one aide, "Giscard stands for security. He may be cold, but he's a pilot." That reasoning is an appeal to Gallic logic at a time when many voters seem tempted to exercise their equally French passions.

--By Frederick Painton. Reported by Henry Muller/Paris

With reporting by Henry Muller/Paris

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