Guilty In France [Oct 23, 2002]

Yesterday in Paris, a three-judge French panel found me guilty of "inciting racial hatred through pretentious writing" and sentenced me to ten years of hard labor on an impenetrable island in the South Pacific, where I am to be given the nickname Papillon, or, in English, "he who makes paper." Obviously, I'm not happy about this, because I have tickets for game six of the World Series. But it was perhaps inevitable that I become the predominant free-speech martyr of my age.

My trial stemmed from controversial comments I made in my weekly column in Le Monde, where I said that all Muslims "carried the blood of innocents on their filthy hands" and that "The Koran isn't even worth masturbating into." When a firestorm of criticism singed my ears in subsequent weeks, I amended my comments, making reference to "parsimonious, untrustworthy Jews." I also called the Pope a "cabbage-brained Christ fucker." Unfortunately, that didn't solve the problem. It only exacerbated it.

In sending me up the river, Judge Charles Azanvour said, "we can only hope that this sentence rids us of the Pollackian menace once and for all. Mother France cannot afford to have someone this pretentious on its soil. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go have dinner with the visiting American writer Jonathan Franzen."

The only dissent in my case came from Jean de Florette, a good-hearted but ultimately doomed hunchback, who said, "I believe that Pollack's blog has done more to aid the United States' noble War On Terror than anyone else's. As John Burns' excellent articles in the New York Times have pointed out, Pollack first came up with the idea that Saddam Hussein should release all political prisoners. Without Pollack's writing, we would be lost. I am staggered by his prescience."

Alas, the hunchback was then beaten to death by the large-framed lackey of an uncaring landlord. His beautiful and ultimately doomed daughter Manon looked on, crying silent tears. Then she came to my jail and blew me within an inch of sanity. Phew. I needed that.

Now I rot in a French holding cell, waiting to be freed, but holding out little hope. The Bush Administration isn't going to help me because of Gerhard Schroeder's support for my case. My dear friends Christopher Hitchens and Andrew Sullivan have their hands full defending Orwell from a gaggle of college-aged Communists. So it looks like I'm going to island prison for awhile.

They tell me I only get one blog from here in The Hole, or, as the French call it, L'Hole. So I bid you adieu for now, my friends. Send me nice emails if you get a chance. Try to carry on the good work in my absence. Never forget: We are vigilant soldiers in a war without end. If you slip, I'm watching, and I will nail you to the wall.

Je ne regrets rein,

NP