Politics is an art built on language, which is fundamentally a tool for transmission. The language of politics differs from the politics of language. The former offers more ambiguous space for imagination, while the latter points directly and incisively to the core. Political rhetoric often involves forceful sophistry. The language of politics favors vague breathing and murky fishing; ambiguity is its core, leaving right and wrong uncertain like riddles, using self-contradiction to hide the truth and avoid trouble. All positive answers in the politics of language seem fatal; that fatality is not the language of political art. Language under artistic treatment is often wrapped in gorgeous vocabulary and conducted through clever, serpentine forms of impossible dialogue. Dialogue exists merely for dialogue’s sake, even if mismatched, showing off hidden meanings. Artistic discourse is both virtual and real; everyone knows this well.

France’s current politics, under President Sarkozy’s open policy, recruits leftists into the cabinet to divide the leftist leadership core. No wonder Sarkozy joked about becoming a leftist leader. Power is so bewitching; birds die for food, yet people go mad for power. Is recruiting leftists intended to build a new welfare society? Or does power corrupt their hearts? Under right-wing leadership, what political effect can leftists exert? Will joining the cabinet mean submitting to right-wing paradigms or adapting to local customs for personal gain? Of course, the beautified “open government or politics” is open to individual ideological interpretation.

Recently, French society has been shrouded in the storm over the right-wing’s “genetic testing” immigration legislation. Leftists and human rights groups have raised serious protests, sparking public debate. Fadela Amara, the metropolitan political secretary of Arab descent in the cabinet, expressed strong dissatisfaction with Interior Minister Brice Hortefeux passing the law in parliament. In an interview with France Info, she stated bluntly: “I’ve had enough of institutionalizing immigrants every time. I think it is despicable.” (Of course, other cabinet members like Martin Hirsch and Jean-Pierre Jouyet also explicitly opposed the law, but their tactful language did not cause a stir.) Her words immediately triggered criticism from society and politics, arguing that as a minister, she should use more refined terms. However, facing injustice no more despicable than racial discrimination, how can perfect, gorgeous language convey direct emotions? Politicians began questioning the freedom of speech of recruited leftists. Both sides attacked each other. Patrick Devedjian, a heavyweight of the ruling UMP, called it unfair (“rats gnawing the sack”) and declared, “Fadela Amara insulted the majority of MPs.” Socialists invited her to resign. Facing conservative criticism, Amara said, “This is normal democratic debate; we must avoid boring arguments.” She added to the Socialists, “I am a free woman. I never forget to speak when I must, very directly. If one day I truly cannot bear it or it becomes too difficult, I will leave automatically.” The next day, the President and Prime Minister stepped in to quell the fire. The President asked all ministers to maintain dignity; the Prime Minister met her to ensure his trust. Other ministers noted Amara has her proper place in the cabinet. Bernard-Henri Lévy of the French intelligentsia applauded, saying the phrase was excellent and could end the “genetic testing” law. Thus, the language of politics and the politics of language are so different. In today’s reality, which language do you choose to transmit your information and communicate with others?