Friday Political Update
An old letter has been making the rounds on French social media in the last week or so. It’s not written by anybody French, quite the opposite, but its invective suits the present mood in the capital and many parts of France. Call it masochism or self-laceration but the endless reposts are frequently headed with an exasperated, ‘You see ! Nothing has changed.’ Strange lead-in for a political essay but it’s one of the mysteries of language that something written in a different time can reverberate in another context almost a century later. The letter goes back to the days of handwritten correspondence; shortening it to the juicy bits would kill most of the fun; grammar and spelling as in original.
My adorable Nick mi niño
I am writing you on my bed in the American hospital. Yesterday it was the first day I didn’t have fever and they aloud me to eat a little, so I feel better... and next Monday I will be out of this rotten hospital....Besides this damn sickness I had the lousiest luck since I arrived. In first place the question of the exhibition is all a damn mess. Until I came the paintings were still in the customs house because the son of a bitch of Breton didn’t take the trouble to get them out. The photographs, which you sent ages ago, he never received – so he says – the gallery was not arranged for the exhibit at all and Breton has no gallery of his long ago. So I had to wait days and days like an idiot until I met Marcel Duchamp (a marvelous painter) who is the only one who has his feet on the ground in this bunch of coocoo lunatic sons of bitches of the surrealists. He imediately got my paintings out and tried to find a gallery. Finally there is a gallery called « Pierre Colle » which accepted the damn exhibition. Now, Breton wants to exhibit, together with my paintings, 14 portraits of the XIX century (Mexican), about 32 photographs of Alvarez Bravo and lots of popular objects which he bought on the markets of Mexico - all this junk, can you beat that ? For the 15th of March the gallery supose to be ready. But the 14 oils of the XIX century must be restored and the damn restoration takes a whole month. I had to lend to Breton 200 bucks (dlls) for the restoration beause he doesn’t have a penny (I sent a cable to Diego telling him the situation and telling him that I lended Breton that money – he was furious but now is done and I have nothing to do about it) I still have money to stay here until the beginning of March so I don’t have to worry so much. Well after things were more or less settled as I told you a few days ago Breton told me that the associated of Pierre Colle, an old bastard and son of a bitch, saw my paintings and found that only two were possible to be shown because the rest are too « shocking » for the public !! I could have killed that guy and eat it afterwards, but I am so sick and tired of the whole affair that I have decided to send everything to hell and scram from this rotten Paris before I get nuts myself. You have no idea the kind of bitches these people are. They make me vomit. They are so damn « intellectual » and rotten that I can’t stand them anymore. It is really too much for my character. I rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas than to have any thing to do with those « artistic » bitches of Paris. They sit for hours on the « cafés » warming their precious behinds, and talk without stopping about « culture « art » « revolution » and so on and so forth, thinking themselves the gods of the world, dreaming the most fantastic nonsenses and poisoning the air with theories and theories that never come true. Next morning they don’t have anything to eat in their houses because none of them work and they live as parasites of the rich bitches who admire their « genius » of « artists ». Shit and only shit is what they are. I never seen Diego or you wasting their time on stupid gossip and « intellectual » discussions. That is why you are real men and not lousy « artists ».
I rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca and sell tortillas than to have any thing to do with those « artistic » bitches of Paris.
Gee weez ! It was worthwhile to come here to see why Europe is rottening, why all this people – good for nothing – are the cause of all the Hitlers and Mussolinis. I bet you my life I will hate this place and its people as long as I live. There is something so false and unreal about them that they drive me nuts. I am just hoping to get well soon and scram from here.... To hell with the exhibition in London. To hell with everything concerning Breton and this lousy place. I want to go back to you. I miss every movement of your being, your voice, your eyes, your hands, your beautiful mouth, your laugh so clear and honest. YOU. I love you my Nick. I am so happy to think I love you – to think you wait for me – you love me.
My darling give many kisses to M on my name. I never forget her. Kiss also Ana and Lea. For you, my heart full of tenderness and caresses. One special kiss on your neck, your Xochitl
Why did this passionate letter from February 1939 shoot like a flare across social media in France ? It seems a curious choice for those politically inclined but its depiction of the unreality of life in the capital has struck a nerve. Parisians are no longer talking to the world but arguing among themselves over linguistics and pronouns. Some things are too shocking to say - a first in France. No Gilets Jaunes at the moment, no farmers’ tractors on the highway but now, ever wider circles of people are fed up with the endless voguing of politicians, and this letter captures the mood. Which may explain why certain of its more pungent lines are making the rounds.
Taking the top items from today’s menu of French misery: the current administration’s silence about the tragedy in Gaza, its unwillingness to recognize that Israel has suffered a terrible defeat on the world stage; the tiresome advocacy of out-of-date ecological mandates pushing farmers to the brink; the fatal dream song of the Ukraine war where Macron wants to or doesn’t or has already troops on the sly. (Meanwhile he’s ‘losing’ Africa country by country.) That’s the short list.
For the Left (or the splinters of what’s left), much the same applies, but add transgenderism, meat is machiste and every other hip lifestyle vibe, the catastrophic Paris Olympic remake, endless empathy for those immigrants who don’t give a damn that they’re living in a non-confessional (i.e., non-religious) republic, all at the expense of the French themselves. Frustration with the EU and NATO is at an all-time peak but you wouldn’t know that from mainstream discussions or the news, so only bellicose right-wingers profit from the moment. Elections are looming, and both left and libs are going to take a drubbing.
Who wrote that sulferous, tender letter ? You’ve already guessed: Frida Kahlo, fed up with the troubles that plagued her first Paris exhibition. Diego is Diego Rivera and Nick is Nicholas Muray, whose photographs of Kahlo everyone knows. Alas, Muray wasn’t the only one to get missives like that, and yes, it’s silly to think that Breton’s Army of café clowns made the world safe for Hitler and Mussolini but the depiction of self-involvement and inertia is telling.
But what a letter ! Does anyone still write like that ? If so, they’re doing it on unlined pages, with a paper or pen, without Big Brother looking over their shoulder. The screen is killing our imagination, auto-correct our naked, fumbling originality, the hive mind our willingness to say what we feel. Kahlo’s letter is the kind people wrote before the internet turned us all into harried businessmen on the American model.
Kahlo also said, ‘I drank to drown my troubles but the damn bitches learned how to swim.’ You can read about Frida and Nicholas here…. and lest you think that sidewalk table is reserved for tourists or phonies, French writers continue the tradition of writing in the convivial cafés scattered around town off the main thoroughfares. I do. Maybe I’m just lucky and haven’t met any impecunious surrealists lately…
And that’s enough politics for Friday night. Bon week-end !
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Interesting paper. Especially the last paragraphs.
Frida's outspoken opinion of the arrogant but totally off the mark lefty, artistic and intellectual sons of bitches of Paris is worth a visit!
Making a connection between guys like Breton and the Hitlers and Mussolinis isn't that silly..
Many lefties today are constantly moaning 'the return of the 1930's'. But they are also denying the role played by the lefties during the 30's in the advent of the 1930's. So as their own role in the return of the 1930's today.