A comic diatribe has led to a public apology by the head of Radio France, writes RUADHAN MAC CORMAICin Paris
STÉPHANE GUILLON has done it again. The resident satirist at France Inter radio, wildly popular among listeners and passionately loathed by the targets of his caustic humour, thrives on controversy. But after making his name for skirting the boundaries in his slot on the public station’s breakfast show, has he finally gone too far? It’s a question that’s getting plenty of debate this week.
On Monday morning, Guillon turned his unforgiving eye on immigration minister Éric Besson, a former Socialist who defected to the centre-right government and cemented his status as a hate figure on the left for leading a contentious debate on national identity. As Besson waited outside the studio to be interviewed on France Inter’s equivalent of Morning Ireland, Guillon tore into the minister with trademark ruthlessness.
Crediting Besson with the National Front’s high score in last week’s regional elections, Guillon described him as “the Mata Hari of politics”, a long-time “mole” for Jean-Marie Le Pen’s far-right party who had infiltrated the government to do his bidding. Then he got personal. Besson was ideal for the job, he mocked, with “his disagreeable physique, the weasel eyes, his receding chin, the real profile of Iago, ideal for betrayal”. He then referred to Besson’s origins: “his birth in Morocco, Lebanese mother, ideal for expelling foreigners without appearing to get his hands dirty”. Besson wasn’t amused by the routine. The piece was racist, he said, and since the comedian had sole control of the microphone, it would always be an “unequal match”. Later that day, the head of Radio France, Jean-Luc Hees, made a public apology to the minister, which in turn brought criticism from staff unions who saw the apology as a “dangerous threat to free speech”.
Morning shows on France Inter’s rivals have their own in-house comedians, but none provokes quite like Guillon, whose creative energy, gift for mimicry and penchant for pushing boundaries have made him a big audience-puller. In one of his most famous skewerings, last year he took aim at Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the head of the International Monetary Fund, who was about to give his first French radio interview since causing a scandal by admitting he had an affair with a woman on his staff.
“In a few minutes, Dominique Strauss-Kahn will penetrate . . . this room,” Guillon began. “Obviously, exceptional measures have been taken . . . Female members of staff have been ordered to wear long, dark outfits, totally anti-sex. Leather, high heels and chic underwear have been forbidden.” The woman assigned to greet Strauss-Kahn wore a burka, Guillon claimed. If a siren sounded, women were to head for the lifts and evacuate to other floors, “because we don’t want to have a bunch of women out on maternity leave in nine months”. Strauss-Kahn was visibly shaken when he went on air a few minutes later.
But Guillon’s critics say he has gone too far and speculation is rife that Hees – who was appointed by President Nicolas Sarkozy – will not renew Guillon’s contract after the summer break.
Some of the comedian’s critics hear Nazi overtones in the imagery he used.
Others accuse him of being a coward, pointing out that he never goes face to face with his victims, and say that mocking someone’s appearance is the last resort of the schoolyard bully.
And yet Guillon’s many fans have been quick to his defence. Among them is journalist Nicolas Demorand, who presents the morning show on France Inter and who hopes Guillon stays put.
“The anti-Semitic caricatures of the inter-war years or those of the Nazis are one thing,” he says. “We’re very far from that. We’re in another place entirely. That said . . . I prefer when Guillon does his mimicry. It’s about personal taste.”