The French Way (24 page)

By 1991 Mitterrand could only try to salvage what was left of his plans for post-Cold War Europe by turning his attention toward the major EC summit at Maastricht and nursing his hope for constructing a European defense capability. The Americans had had their way in expanding the scope and functions of the Atlantic Alliance, embedding the Germans in it, maintaining U.S. primacy over European security, and subverting both the CSCE and the pan-European confederation. But the French, the Germans, and the rest of the EC would adopt the EMU, which defined the process for instituting a common currency and a European central bank. A united Germany would remain firmly anchored in the EC and reunification would occur without damaging Franco-German relations. And France had several lesser achievements in determining the outcome of unification. If Mitterrand could have been proud of some results of the process, he proved unable to steer it away from the Atlantic Alliance. In the end the United States imposed its Atlanticist vision, subverted Mitterrand's alternative European encadrement, and frustrated his hope of pushing the United States to
the edge of the new European map. But accelerating the construction of Europe that transpired at Maastricht was compensation.

The reverie of the 1980s that featured the French public's approval of the United States and amiable relations between Presidents Ronald Reagan and George H. W. Bush on the one side and Francois Mitterrand on the other was fading as the Cold War ended. Strains between Paris and Washington became apparent from the mid-1980s with the quixotic and incoherent diplomacy of the Reagan administration and the advent of Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. The demise of communism in Europe and the collapse of the Soviet Union brought the Franco-American rivalry over the shape of a new European order, a rivalry that had been barely suppressed, into sharp relief.

Transatlantic harmony, or its appearance, reflected an eagerness for comity, shared interests and values, and extensive cooperation. But the show of cordiality concealed continuous disputes, mistrust, and occasional explosions of anger by the presidents of both countries and their staffs. This tension was not always visible to the public because statesmen wanted to behave as good allies and cover up altercations with smiles and conciliatory press releases. And the media was often complicit in reporting flattering accounts of summits. What accounted for the prickly relations behind the apparent reverie ?

From one perspective France and the United States occupied separate places in the global political order. They had dissimilar national interests, endowments of power, historical experiences, and approaches to many international issues. These differences were exacerbated by the sharply contrasting political ideologies, styles, and personalities of Mitterrand and Reagan (and to a lesser extent Bush). Such differences help explain certain episodes in this rivalry. For example, given limited resources for foreign aid, the secondary priority and absence of historical ties to Central America, France abandoned the Sandinistas and the cause of tiers-mondisme to the mercies of the superpower. Or, in contrast—given the importance of developing a new energy source
for Western Europe, the strong historical and economic links with Eastern Europe, the unwillingness to use trade for political ends, and the preference for detente with the Soviets—France, with the help of other Europeans, forced the superpower to stand down over the Siberian pipeline.

Disparities in power and distinctive experiences and perspectives, however, do not entirely explain how, during the denouement of the Cold War, the two nations addressed important issues. There is an alternative interpretation, the one that this study stresses: as the Cold War waned, U.S. policies and unilateralist tendencies became the principal obstacle to French and European independence. The French tried, without much success, to assert their autonomy within the Atlantic Alliance—very few in positions of authority harbored the more extreme aim of excluding the United States—for several reasons. First they believed their nation was more secure when making decisions and defining policies for itself. Or, as a corollary, independence, according to Stanley Hoffmann, served as “a kind of
tous azimuts
insurance policy against future perils.”
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Second, France was uneasy about both the U.S. commitment to Europe's security and Washington's leadership, which, as the superpower rivalry faded, seemed to veer between unilateralism and withdrawal. Third, overcoming history drove the quest for autonomy. By the 1980s, the past to be exorcised was the shadow of Yalta, the superpower condominium, and the division of Europe. Finally, the French sought greater freedom from the United States as an end in itself. Separation from America expressed French status as an important player in international affairs and confirmed national selfesteem. A sense of cultural and diplomatic superiority, corroborated by a perception of Reagan's ineptness in international affairs, nourished this pride.

For the most part Mitterrand's transatlantic policies enjoyed wide domestic support—more so after he turned away from his early Atlanticism. Public opinion was not, generally speaking, in an Atlanticist mood in the 1980s: it did not favor moving closer to the United States,
or desire leadership from Washington, or accept a greater role for the alliance. It was anxious about American domination. At most the public tolerated Mitterrand's flirtation with the alliance because it appreciated a strong posture from Reagan during the early 1980s toward a Soviet Union that had disturbed the equilibrium between East and West. It also preferred the Americans' tough stand on terrorism compared to that of their government. And the French public displayed a passing infatuation with the amiable Reagan. Otherwise its preference was for detente, for avoiding confrontation with Moscow, for arms control, for a mediating role between the superpowers, and for French independence. Mitterrand was largely in sync with his voters.

“When they manage their national interests, the Americans become hard to bear,” one French diplomat has noted, “and [they] don't hesitate treating us as vacuum cleaner salesmen.”
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Fundamentally the problem for Mitterrand's France was how to redirect the energies of its overbearing ally. Trying to curb American domination, France attempted three not entirely distinct strategies. None worked. The Mitterrand administration attempted to cozy up to Reagan and Bush, to play down differences and act as loyal Atlanticists, and then exploit its access to persuade or cajole its big brother. This failed because the United States then took the French for granted, manipulated them, or ignored them. For example, at the Reykjavik Summit Reagan and Schultz simply overlooked their allies. Similarly the Bush-Baker team assumed that the French, despite their misgivings, would eventually accept the U.S. approach to negotiating German reunification. The French discovered that acting as Atlanticists they had lost, not gained, leverage. An alternative, which was used when the Americans pushed too hard, was to just say “no.” This was the Gaullist obstructionist posture. But this tactic only worked if France could control the situation, as it did in refusing fly-over rights for the attack on Libya, or if, as in the case of the Soviet pipeline, it enjoyed the support of other major allies like the West Germans or the British. When France found itself isolated, as it did at several summits, it was embarrassed and had to
back down. The third, or “official,” option was for the French to declare simultaneously that they were loyal members of the alliance yet independent. But they learned that by trying to straddle the problem they would still lose most battles with the Americans and end up appearing like inveterate troublemakers and whiners—or, as Schultz described Mitterrand at Williamsburg, looking “sour and imperial.”
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Unwilling to act either as a true Atlanticist or a Gaullist, Mitterrand often had to settle for being ineffectual and resentful.

France measured its security and its status by the degrees of separation from the United States as much as it did by its partnership with it. Thus Francois Mitterrand, when convened by Ronald Reagan for a conference in New York, responded much like Charles de Gaulle had when summoned by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt to Casablanca during the Second World War. Mitterrand in 1985, like the general four decades earlier, protested that “one doesn't summon France” and stayed home.
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When President Bill Clinton visited Lyons for a G7 meeting in 1996, local schoolchildren designed posters presenting their impressions of America. Their drawings featured Mickey Mouse, McDonald's Golden Arches, Coca-Cola bottles, and the World Trade Center. American businesses—in particular, Disney, McDonald's, and Coca-Cola—functioned as private ambassadors of the United States. One way to understand how America functioned in France at the fin de siecle is to examine the experience of these companies looking closely at the selling of American forms of entertainment, food, and drink.

The setting of this narrative is the final two decades of the twentieth century, the moment when these businesses, which had been present for some time, changed strategies and moved into high gear. It was also the period when the French response was most dramatic. For example, opponents of Euro Disney threw tomato sauce and eggs at Disney's CEO; farmers sprayed a government building with a fusillade of Coca-Cola; and antiglobalization militants trashed a McDonald's site. I use the word
adventures
to describe the story of Mickey Mouse, Big Mac, and Coke in France because the term suggests tales in which the protagonists, in their quest for fortune, faced perilous predicaments and suspicious, and at times even hostile, natives in a foreign land.

The basic plot is this: even if these Americans encountered serious difficulties in expanding their businesses; even if they had to face
scorn, denunciations, and public demonstrations that destroyed their property; and even if they encountered interference from government regulators, in the end the French came to accept Mickey Mouse, Coca-Cola and McDonald's. In spite of their troubles the Americans were successful; the French were seduced by these iconographic American products.

My account of these American enterprises addresses three issues. First, did Coca-Cola and the others directly export their products, techniques, and strategies to France, or did they modify their ways to suit the locals? Did they impose or adapt? A second issue is an assessment of the impact of these American multinationals: What kind of reception did they get from French consumers, and what effects did they have on their French competitors ? These questions lead toward a third and more general issue—the importance of culture and identity in determining French reaction. Were the perils of these outsiders caused by American managers' misunderstanding or disregard of French values, traditions, and sense of identity? Did culture hamper American business or did it prove so supple that it was of little consequence?

If these are the general interpretive issues, one might fairly ask—given the vast number and variety of American enterprises operating within the Hexagon at the end of the century—Why select Disney, McDonald's, and Coca-Cola? There are several reasons.

First, these multinationals, more than most American corporations, carried the flag—they were businesses and products that the world associated with America. For example, according to one corporate official in Atlanta, “Coke is a part of the American lifestyle that people everywhere want to emulate to some degree.”
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As global enterprises these companies exploited whatever positive connotations America may have conveyed abroad to sell their merchandise. Main Street USA in Euro Disney outside Paris offered a fantasized version of America to Europeans. Freedom itself was invoked when Coke promoted its famous bottle alongside a facsimile of the Statue of Liberty. Americans also took pride in these enterprises which, in turn, paraded
their patriotism; for example, Ray Kroc, the founder of McDonald's, insisted that each of his American units erect a flag pole to display the Stars and Stripes.

For the French it would be difficult to identify companies that were more distinctively American than these three. The logos of these globalized firms represented America to the French and to others around the world—and thus have often been targets for anti-Americanism. When French farmers protested U.S. trade policy in 1992, they sealed off access roads to Euro Disney, demonstrated in front of McDonald's franchises, and occupied a Coca-Cola plant in suburban Paris. The French were not alone in using these companies as symbols of what they disliked about corporate America or U.S. policies; people as different as the Swedes and the Koreans have attacked McDonald's for disrupting national culture, and Coca-Cola and Disney have long histories of such troubles in foreign countries.

Exploiting their cultural associations with America was one of several common strategies employed by these companies. They also attempted to appear as local businesses. They tried to balance between acting as indigenous enterprises and maintaining an American allure. The franchise system employed by Coca-Cola and McDonald's lent itself to this strategy. McDonald's claimed it was not an American corporation, but a loose federation of independent local retailers who marketed the same product. A third common strategy employed by these multinationals was to appear as global, as well as American and as local, enterprises. Coca-Cola, for example, created the first global television commercial in the 1970s and for years the
Economist
has employed the “Big Mac Index” as a lighthearted way to determine whether or not the currencies of the world were correctly valued. For its part Disney appropriated national cultural artifacts like fairy tales and presented them as Disney creations. When its theme park came under attack by French critics, one company executive responded, “It's not American, it's Disney.”
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If the products of these American giants became global, so did their profits. Thus, where Coca-Cola received only 25 percent
of its profits from international sales in the mid-1950s, by the 1990s it earned over 75 percent overseas.
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This trio played in all three registers: American, local, and global.

A second reason for selecting these businesses is the fact that they simultaneously expanded their positions in France at the fin de siecle. By the 1980s it was the world market (and that of Europe in particular), not the saturated home market, that became the new frontier. The anticipation of a Europe without trade barriers by 1992, following the adoption of the Single European Act, was a huge incentive for these three firms to expand and invigorate their businesses on the continent. In 1988-89 Coca-Cola acquired direct control over its bottling and distribution network in France, invested in new facilities, and launched an aggressive marketing campaign. In the 1980s McDonald's, after years of virtual paralysis brought on by a dispute with its French franchisee, seized control of its operations, initiated massive expansion, and quickly became the leader in the French fast food industry. Disney, under the leadership of CEO Michael Eisner, negotiated an agreement with the French government in 1987 to construct a theme park outside Paris. The park, called Euro Disney, later renamed Disneyland Paris, opened at Marne-la-Vallee in 1992. (For the sake of consistency I shall, with a few exceptions, refer to the park as Euro Disney.)

A third reason for this selection is that Walt Disney, Ray Kroc, and the founders of Coca-Cola constructed similar reputations for their products. They built their companies by stressing wholesomeness: Coca-Cola began as a tonic that purportedly cured a host of ills; Disney started as a producer of films for children and families; McDonald's made its reputation providing fast food for suburban families. Ray Kroc, intent upon preventing his restaurants from becoming “hangouts,” as was the case for many drive-ins, banned cigarette machines and jukeboxes. “Our theme,” Kroc liked to repeat, “is kind of synonymous with Sunday school, the Girl Scouts, and the YMCA. McDonald's is clean and wholesome.”
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All three of these businesses took pride in offering their customers reliable, predictable, “safe” food or films. Ray
Kroc and Walt Disney were compulsive personalities. Cleanliness was part of wholesomeness. Both men were notorious for personally policing the sites of their businesses. Disney leisure parks became famous for their tidy appearance, which separated them from the bawdy and often tacky amusement parks that preceded them. And McDonald's bathrooms are famous all over the world for their hygiene. Wholesomeness excluded sex or exotica. The Coca-Cola Company featured fetching young women in its ads even before 1900, but there was no hint of sleaze; they were “bewitching sirens who lure us to Coca-Cola.”
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If Disney's theme parks displayed some exotic amusements they were carefully sanitized. The rigorous dress code for its theme park employees—for example, for women no flashy jewelry, no unnatural hair color, no dark or patterned stockings—prompted the snide observation, “The Mormons ask less than this.”
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Children, or at least the young, were the favorite customers of the big three. Disney captured the imagination of many French children with its comics and television shows long before it built its park at Marne-la-Vallee. When McDonald's needed a mascot, management selected a childlike clown named Ronald McDonald. Even the hamburger chain's principal charity is for children: Ronald McDonald Houses provide low-cost or free housing to families with seriously ill children at nearby children's hospitals. And Coca-Cola targeted the youth of the world in its advertising as in its famous hilltop commercial of the 1970s that featured a crowd of idealistic young people dressed in national costumes clutching Cokes and singing, “I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.”

A fourth reason for examining these corporations is that they eventually developed informal business alliances to promote faster growth especially in global markets.
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These interlocking relationships were usually marketing arrangements. Coca-Cola has been the sole supplier of soft drinks to Disney theme parks since 1955, including Euro Disney, and the two companies initiated a general marketing alliance in 1985. And Coke and McDonald's have worked together for decades. When Ray Kroc began his burger business in the mid-1950s
he persuaded Coke to supply his restaurants. And since Coca-Cola was sold in far more countries than McDonald's, the Atlanta giant helped its partner set up restaurants around the world. McDonald's, like Coca-Cola, was a major sponsor of Euro Disney. McDonald's also had a formal arrangement whereby the hamburger chain had exclusive rights to use Disney film characters in its promotions. In exchange it promoted Disney productions. Thus, a French customer was likely to encounter all three brands simultaneously. A visitor to Euro Disney might be transported around the park on a railroad sponsored by McDonald's and eat at Casey's Corner restaurant hosted by Coca-Cola. A stop at a McDonald's in Paris would acquaint a French customer with the latest Disney movies while he or she ate a Big Mac and downed a Coke.

A final, if less serious, reason to select this trio is that they claimed to have some special links to France. Walt Disney and Ray Kroc served as Red Cross drivers in France during, or just after, the First World War and may have even met there. Moreover, according to company lore, Walt Disney received his inspiration for
Snow White
at a Paris cinema in 1935 where he first saw his short subjects shown independently; this gave him the idea of producing the first full-length animated feature. Productions like
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
later won him France's Legion of Honor. There may even be some Gallic blood in the Disney family. In the early 1990s, when the company's theme park in Marne-la-Vallee found itself in trouble, Walt Disney's nephew claimed ancestry from the town of Isigny-sur-Mer in Normandy.
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Coca-Cola also has a Gallic flavor, or at least some background: the predecessor of the modern soft drink was Pemberton's French Wine Coca, which itself was modeled on Vin Marinari, a concoction of Bordeaux wine and extract from the coca leaf. Dr. Pemberton later modified his drink, removing the wine and adding other ingredients, and it thus became Coca-Cola.

As a preface to these adventures it may be useful to recall these companies' histories and their entry into France. McDonald's was founded by Ray Kroc, a salesman from the Midwest, who bought the
rights to a rationalized hamburger operation from the McDonald brothers in California. Kroc built his first restaurant in Illinois in 1955 and established his headquarters in the Chicago suburb of Oak Brook. He proceeded to sell franchise rights to other small entrepreneurs who bought the assembly-line methods of food production and the company logo. Oak Brook provided certain services like designated suppliers, management training, site selection, and detailed instructions for operations, while the franchisee expended capital, added local initiative, and paid fees.
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Relying on this franchise system and extensive advertising, McDonald's rapidly became the number one hamburger chain in the United States during the 1950s and ‘60s.

Coca-Cola, compared to Ray Kroc's chain, was much older, dating back to the 1880s, when Dr. John Pemberton introduced a new cola tonic in Atlanta. The Coca-Cola Company also employed a franchise system for its bottlers and relied heavily on advertising to sell its soft drink. By 1900 this regional enterprise had become a national company, making its owners and bottlers rich.
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Walt Disney, like Ray Kroc, was a small-time Midwestern entrepreneur with an idea. He founded a film company producing animated short subjects in the 1920s. Within a few years the Walt Disney Company, located in Burbank, grew into a major movie studio and by the late 1930s it had become a wildly successful producer and distributor of full-length animated films.

These enterprises were established, profitable, high-profile companies at home before they ventured abroad. Coca-Cola entered the international market in the 1920s, but waited (except in Germany) until after the Second World War to expand operations in Western Europe. In France the soft drink had been sold in a few cafes as early as 1919, but it only became a major competitor in the soft drink market during the 1950s. Walt Disney tentatively entered the overseas market in the 1930s. A few Parisian cinemas were showing his movies during the Depression, but the French became familiar with Disney films, comics, and television programs only after 1945. McDonald's was the last
entrant into overseas markets. It opened its first restaurant outside the United States in 1967 and the Golden Arches first appeared in France in 1972. All three companies became major players in France only after the Second World War.