If you’ve been following the news, you’ve probably heard about the political unrest in France. No, there are no terrorists blowing up malls or kidnapping Americans (thanks for your concern, Penn State, but I think I will be safe if I step out to buy some milk); But there have been multiple strikes, starting from the day I arrived in France. Once in a while, sure, everybody goes on strike. However, when it happened for the fourth time in a month, can you blame me if my reaction was as follows?

“ANOTHER gr�ve?! This time, I’m going on strike too.”

So I did, just for a day, and what a luxurious day it was. (It was a Saturday, so there was no skipping class and the like. I’m not totally irresponsible. In case you were wondering, mom) Now obviously, me going on strike is slightly different from when transportation companies and labour unions go on strike, in the sense that no one really cares what I do, and it doesn’t affect anybody else. However, when the organisational framework of an entire city is dependent on something to function normally, the stakes are much higher. Everyone knows (or has learnt by now from experience) that in France, all you need is one small chink in the system and the whole system comes crumbling down like a house of cards.

Cynicism aside, it really is a frustrating ordeal. I was downtown last week, catching up with some friends at a bar. Imagine our surprise when we started to make our way back home, only to realize there were no more buses! Since it was well after midnight, another strike was already underway! While we were lucky enough to find a taxi after forty minutes of searching, some of our friends were not as fortunate and had to resort to making the hour-long  trek uphill, all the way back to the dorms in the middle of the night.  Add rain and cold winds to the mix, and you have yourself a pretty awful situation.

Flights were cancelled without warning and trains were delayed, to the chagrin of people whose weekend travelling plans turned sour right before their eyes. Friends who live downtown were forced to miss classes, tests and presentations. It got so bad at one point that my French class was even cancelled because the teacher was unable to make it to school on time! Now, as welcoming as the break from the monotone of French class may have been for a day, I would much rather sit through three classes than have to deal with another strike. And if you have ever sat through one of my French lessons, you know exactly how banal and unappealing that choice is, and what a grand sacrifice it would entail on my part.

I understand that they are striking for their rights, but I’m not entirely convinced that this is the most effective way to go about it. I am no stranger to strikes, having witnessed several in the past few years when petroleum prices have shot up unexpectedly. The difference is that in New Delhi, one goes on strike continuously for a few days, so that by the third day, when the situation is at the peak of crisis, an agreement is reached and the strike is suspended, the terms having been settled. In France, one goes on strike for a day, and everything is normal the next day. And this happens over, and over, and over. Yes, eventually, they may get their demands met, but at the expense of the citizens. Monsieur Sarkhozy, we are unhappy that things must resort to this. Are you listening?!?

Location: Mont Saint-Aignan, Rouen