FRANCE:France's socialists are struggling in the wake of the presidential poll, but in the end all politics is local, writes Lara Marlowefrom Laon, Picardy.
At election time French open-air markets become the stage for a recurrent political theatre. Against a backdrop of vegetable stands and fishmongers, plastic toys and cheap clothing from Asia, candidates distribute fliers, shake hands, kiss babies and keep a wary eye on their rivals.
At the market in Laon, the administrative "capital" of the department of l'Aisne, left- and right-wing candidates greet each other cordially, but are frosty with like-minded politicians. Before the first round of legislative elections tomorrow, the real enemy is the rival from one's own camp.
Following President Nicolas Sarkozy's election victory on May 6th, the only uncertainty about the poll tomorrow and the June 17th run-off is the size of Sarkozy's majority in the National Assembly.
One month after his election, the new president enjoys a 67 per cent approval rating. The opposition socialists have postponed the urgent renewal of their party until after their inevitable defeat, and commentators talk of a "blue tsunami". The right-wing UMP may win up to 80 per cent of 577 seats.
L'Aisne is the poorest of France's 96 departments, a beautiful but rain-soaked countryside dotted with medieval cathedrals, first World War battlefields and abandoned textile and sugar factories. Unemployment is 13 per cent, almost five points above the national average. Though l'Aisne was traditionally on the left, 51 per cent of its inhabitants voted for Sarkozy.
Only two of the 14 candidates standing for one seat in the first constituency of l'Aisne are likely to make it to the run-off (only candidates with more than 12.5 per cent). The incumbent socialist deputy, René Dosière, is fighting Fawaz Karimet, the Franco-Lebanese veterinarian who "stole" the party's nomination from him. Though she is from a political family, many consider the UMP candidate Gaëdic Blanchard-Douchain too inexperienced to win.
In this de facto "third round" of the presidential election, the most prized campaign asset is a photograph of oneself with Sarkozy or the defeated socialist candidate Ségolène Royal.
Blanchard-Douchain saw to it that a right-wing rival who claims to represent the presidential majority was expelled from the UMP. And in a move symbolic of the fragmentation of the Socialist Party (PS), Dosière, a former mayor of Laon, three-time deputy and one of six vice-presidents in the outgoing National Assembly, has been expelled from the Socialist Party for refusing to accept Karimet's election by local activists.
Karimet won the nomination by one vote, in a poll which Dosière says was rigged. So he decided to defy the PS and stand for re-election anyway. "The party will have so few seats left that they'll welcome me back if I win," he laughs.
Dosière has built up a reputation as an expert on financial waste in the French government - a topic he lectures on at the University of Reims. Ms Royal used his book, The Hidden Money of the Élysée, in her campaign. In it, he describes how the presidential budget increased almost 800 per cent under Jacques Chirac. As the PS rapporteur for French Polynesia, Dosière brought down Chirac's ally there. If he loses the election, rumour has it he'll avenge himself by investigating local government finances.
The case against Dosière is summed up by Nicolas Trevillot, the expelled UMP member who is challenging Blanchard-Douchain. "It's time to make room for younger politicians," he says. Dosière is 65, Karimet 49. "What Dosière did with the Élysée and Polynesia was fine," Trevillot continues. "But it didn't help people here."
Dosière thinks Karimet should not be so chummy with the UMP mayor of Laon. "Just because we're not from the same party doesn't mean we can't be friends," Karimet retorts.
He calls Dosière arrogant and says he lost the support of local militants because he neglected his constituency.
Like Dosière, Karimet uses a photograph of himself with Ségolène Royal on his campaign fliers.
He accuses Dosière of dividing the party, and of misleading voters by using Royal's image. "I don't want any more mosques around here," says a woman who cleans schools for a living, "so I'll vote for Monsieur Dosière."
Karimet, who describes himself as secular, accuses Dosière of dwelling on his Arab, Muslim origins.
He has filed a lawsuit against unknown parties for defacing dozens of official campaign posters with the words "Karimet equals Islam".
Depressed Picardy looks enviously across the regional divide at prosperous Champagne. "Cultural and economic life, medical care, it's all in Reims," 50km (31 miles) to the southeast, Dosière explains.
One of the poorest neighbourhoods in Laon is called "Champagne", because it stands on the road to Reims.
The balconies of the ugly high-rises are covered with laundry and satellite television dishes. For security, or to fill some emotional void, every apartment seems to have a dog.
It is here, in the housing projects of "Champagne", that competition between Dosière and Karimet is most vicious. A distraught woman passes Dosière in the stairwell. "My mother died last week," she explains. "My father is 80, and we need help for him to stay in his apartment." The candidate gently directs her to his downtown office.
French deputies don't have a lot of money to spread around, Dosière says, but they can do personal favours. "If you need planning permission and your deputy writes a letter, it goes a little more quickly," he explains.
"We can help correct administrative errors . . . People here are lost. They don't know the legislation. Sometimes they don't even know how to read."