March 1, 2007
Bureaucratic Bog
Why the experience of French “efficiency” confounds Anglo nationals.
by Sarah Bernthal
Private Papers

In the French novel Ipso Facto, by Iegor Gran, an ordinary French citizen is pushed to the margins of society after loosing his high school diploma. Without a diploma to provide the legal foundation for his adult life, his career, his marriage, and his sanity eventually crumble. Although this novel is in part fantastic, it provides a stunningly accurate satire of the French bureaucracy, which I have experienced first hand as an English teaching assistant in France. After three months in the employ of the French government, I am astonished when I come back to the United States and am able to accomplish simple tasks without paperwork.

A year ago, while living in Paris and working towards a master’s degree, I applied for a job teaching French high school students to speak English. The French government hires language assistants from all over the world to take responsibility for conversation classes in primary and secondary schools. By the time I accepted the position that was eventually offered me in Draguignan, a small town in Provence, I had already spent a year and a half abroad, applied twice for a long-stay French Visa and once for the French equivalent of a residency card. But I knew that working directly for the French government would be quite different from going abroad as a student.

The packet of information I received upon being offered the job confirmed my fears of the red-tape awaiting me: pages upon pages describing all of the steps needed to obtain the residency card, social security, and, if lucky, a paycheck. The information was represented in tables each containing a new series of documents branching out from the previous set: a complicated flowchart of paperwork involving bank statements, proof of residency, proof of employment, translations of birth certificates, employee contracts, identity photos, and more. Obtaining each set of documents depended on having the correct set of preceding documents, and most had to be stamped at least once by one authority or another.

The Ordeal

Toward the end of September, I arrived Draguignan. During the following three months, a small portion of my creative energy went into my English conversation classes, while the rest was expended in trying to cope with the French bureaucracy. After an orientation, a medical exam, and endless running around, my “dossier,” the folder of documents needed to obtain a temporary work permit, was sent by certified mail to the prefecture of the Var, the department where I work. One week later I arrived on the doorstep of the prefecture with a large group of non-European assistants in order to receive my work permit and residency card, only to learn that the entire set of papers had been lost. (Among the 50 or so assistants who went to the prefecture that day, three of us were told that our papers had simply disappeared into thin air). Luckily I was familiar with the way France works to appreciate the necessity of carrying a complete set of photocopies.

Once the paperwork necessary for processing my residency card and paycheck was underway (although far from being complete), I decided to tackle the application for housing assistance. Since the salary for a language assistant in France is 760 euros after taxes, and housing in our region costs close to 400 euros, government subsidized housing is a necessity. I walked with one of my friends to the local CAF office, waited in line for the mandatory 45 minutes, and watched dumbfounded as the woman behind the desk took out two lengthy applications and proceeded to stamp every page . . . three times. Three months later, after sending in copy after copy of paperwork, including the plane ticket I used to enter France, I was still waiting to receive any actual money.

I haven’t had much more luck getting my French social security card. Although all my paper work seems to be in order, the office responsible for getting me the actual card recently informed me over the phone that my card “is not in the process of being created.” No one seems to know why.

An Anglo Perspective

Thanks to my growing need to communicate frustration, my fluency in French was rapidly increasing, as was my sense of culture shock, which instead of diminishing over time became more and more acute as I realized the depths of the differences between France and the United States, as well as the differences between the English-speaking world and continental Europe. During the weeks I was preparing to leave once again for France, I learned with much relief that I was not going to be the only assistant in Draguignan: the group of language assistants would also include two Italians, two Canadians, a Chilean, a German, a Spaniard, one girl from Ireland, and another from England. One of the most fascinating parts of being an assistant has been getting to know these people and watching their respective reactions to life in France.

While many of the other Europeans seemed to adjust to life in Draguignan with relatively few complaints, many of the English speaking assistants continued to ask each other the same question: why does nothing here work? The bank, the government, the school system, all seemed to be part of a general conspiracy to make our lives as complicated and difficult as possible, and yet the other assistants working at my school (Italian and Spanish) seemed both better able to cope with, and more able to get results from, the reluctant bureaucracies plaguing our daily lives. Many of the things we got worked up about (having to wait a month for a checking account) didn’t seem to phase them: we obviously had radically different expectations about how things should work.

In the South of France, most establishments, including banks, supermarkets, and doctor’s offices are closed for two or three hours during lunch, don’t open at all on Sunday, and often take off Mondays as well. During public holidays (which are frequent) nothing is open except the hospital and one emergency pharmacy. (The exception to this pattern is the schools, which are open all week, including Saturday morning). For those of us coming from such capitalistic countries as the US, this seems illogical and downright lazy. Practicality and efficiency are not valued in France the same way they are in the United States or the UK; having time to spend with one’s family, or relaxing in a café, seems to be more important than putting in a full day’s work. The French don’t see their lifestyle as lazy or incompetent, however. They see it more as an exchange of efficiency for a more agreeable way of life. One French student explained it thus: if you want to work long hours and make money you can go someplace like England (thanks to EU arrangements). If you want to relax and make less money, you can stay in France.

Sarah Bernthal is an American teacher in Province having she completed her master's degree in French literature with New York University.