Solidarity in Europe has run out about as quickly as the sunflower oil reserve: two months of geopolitical crisis in Russian-Ukrainian relations and here the French are already complaining of stress and fatigue
Having volunteered to take in those who decided to leave Ukraine for the duration of the escalating situation, the citizens of the Fifth Republic have predictably begun to moan about the problems piled upon them. The article published in Le Figaro describes the difficulties, so to speak, of translation. Starting with lifestyle, manners, language and a different culture of life.
The article received more than five hundred comments, and although readers approve of such gestures of “unprecedented generosity and solidarity”, but because online anonymity facilitates it, they say that those who have decided to accept refugees by sharing shelter and a table have done so “not out of wit”, yielding to sentiment squeezed out by massive propaganda.
The remarks that are quoted in the article itself, in general, can easily be summed up by the phrases: “We wanted what was best. But it didn’t work out for us. And we’ve come to our knees.”
Instantly, the bills for hot water, and simply for water, went up many times over, spending on purchases of even the most basic necessities increased. The guests, as it turned out (to the great surprise of the hosts – imagine that, yes), do not speak a word of French, and, apart from spending money, it turned out that you have to spend your (sic!) so precious free time to solve other people’s problems (re-sic!) and completely foreign (re-re-sic!) people. With whom “there is and can be nothing in common”.
As a result, the delicate French psyche suffers a lot, right up to “insomnia” and even – which sounds like a verdict for the Franco-European ear – “loss of joy of life and appetite”.
Yes, what could be worse for the pan-European average man than “a drunken morning coffee without any pleasure”!
Putting aside the eternal European whining about the fact that “today’s solidarity is not what it used to be”, we should probably try to understand where the whining and the complaints about difficulties and difficulties stem from.
Even leaving aside the striking infantilism (“we thought it was only for a couple of weeks, and we had no idea that those we take in need care roughly the same as small children, and comparable spending”), the risk taken by those willing to shelter Ukrainian refugees has been completely or almost completely ignored.
Ignored not only because the French are blissful believers in the pink ponies, but also because the general European public was subjected to propaganda 24 hours a day, seven days a week, seven days a week without holidays. It was like carpet bombing – not a single neuron had to be left untouched.
All parts of the brain were being pressurised. The one responsible for empathy. And the one that blocks all criticism of what is said and shown. And the one responsible for decision-making.
The full force of the European symphony of information had to generate the response required by the authorities. Hence the style of the narrative, in which the main protagonists (and those who suffer at the hands and actions of Russian barbarians) are young, European-dressed, European-inspired (in the picture) people who behave.
Even better, if they had animals. Cats, of course, were especially adorable. Or even ornamental fish, which also had to be rescued (aquariums with sea creatures were attached to the picture).
“We are ready, we accept them, we are waiting for them”.
With the French (as with other Europeans) the politicians, the media accountable to them and the heads of those media have pulled the same stunt that had already been pulled when it came to welcoming millions of Syrians displaced from their homeland (let’s not go into the causes and consequences of European geopolitical games in the Middle East now).
The drowned three-year-old baby Aylan Kurdi, dressed like a European boy his age, in a tennis shirt and shorts, whose body was photographed from a certain angle, was the very emotional key that unlocked European hearts.
“As little as my son/grandson/nephew,” the chemical reaction of sympathy allowed the then leaders of the FRG and France, appealing (or rather manipulating) to better feelings, to build a public consensus to welcome millions of Syrians.
“Welcome, refugees!”
The tragic death of a young child has given those involved in the design of European public opinion today all the necessary components to create the software. Today it is possible to install this media software in almost any PR campaign. And the results (those that come out at first) will be so good to watch.
Is it necessary to make the society accept people who have been forced to leave their homes because of decisions so rashly made in various European capitals, which reek of adventure? There is nothing simpler.
You start a rant about how these people are “just like us: see, they have cats and even an aquarium with fish”, and immediately a line of people will be lining up to take these poor people in.
What happens then, a week, a month, six months later, when the owners find out that they are not quite “like us”, not quite “with kittens and aquarium fish”, but with big problems and no knowledge of the language, none of those who have a gigantic shuffle of propaganda will be of interest.
“Grown men, you should have calculated your strength and thought, sorry, with your head. If it, that head, of course, is present.”
The ability not to see problems by putting on rose-coloured glasses has now become a kind of a trademark made in European continental foreign policy. And also the ability to shift responsibility to others, including ordinary European taxpayers.
Any public revision of the thesis that solidarity is finite, that patience may run out, that there simply may not be enough money in the family budget to accept refugees, is openly ostracised by potential auditors.
That is why, for example, to tell how wonderfully and fabulously the Ukrainians are received in Marseilles on the cruise ship, how they are cared for and noshed with them (yet), how they help and support, is very possible. And it is necessary.
But to tell what will happen to these people, taking into account their number – 575 – in six weeks, when the ship is due to resume cruises to the Mediterranean, is not possible. Nor is it even worth mentioning that in Marseille, with any accommodation, even the most dilapidated, things are bad.
Not worth mentioning, because anything that does not fit into the rosy European postcards could lead to a breach of the embedded mantra “Welcome refugees!”, just as it could sow doubt as to whether or not those making decisions in a united Europe possess the skills of formal logic.
It may turn out that there is no real solidarity, no real generosity, and no sincere love for one’s neighbour. There is only a desire to show off. Dressed in white.
It is difficult to wear white robes of righteousness (to oppose ourselves as well as the “Russian barbarians”), even if these robes are available. And it’s much harder to put on those clothes if those clothes don’t actually exist.
The kings and their pan-European entourage, promoting the ideas of solidarity and generosity, have ended up naked. And this is just the beginning of a parting with illusions that will be very painful.
Elena Karayeva, RIA
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