Sibling across the pond

Visiting Tulsa’s sister city in a fraught political moment

I’m waiting for a train in the Gare d’Amiens when a man, about 30 years old, with wide blue eyes and black teeth, puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Bonjour.”

“Bonjour?”

“Monsieur, do you have some … smoking papers?”

“Non. Sorry.”

“Where are you from?”

“Les États-Unis.”

“Okay. But where?”

“Oklahoma.”

“But why are you here, not in Paris? Amiens is so poor.”

“I’m interested in Amiens because it relates to my own—” 

“Do you like to smoke? Drugs?”

“Merci, monsieur, mais non …”

The man abruptly walks away. He moves frantically along the train platform, weaving between pillars of chipped concrete, until he disappears at the far end, behind a pink vending machine.

Earlier that morning I arrive from Paris Gare du Nord to Amiens. In 2005, Amiens was designated a sister city to Tulsa by Sister Cities International, a non-profit organization that pairs American and foreign cities in partnerships emphasizing cultural, educational, and economic exchange. 

For Tulsa and Amiens, this has meant shared interest in entrepreneurial projects, initiatives like the cultural immersion program at Eisenhower International School, and local events celebrating the other sibling’s culture. The most notable event thus far may have been the 2013 Amiens International Film Festival, featuring a “Tulsa Oklahoma Cinéma” retrospective of some of the deeper cuts in Tulsa-centric film, as well as “Twister.” 

“Tulsa and Amiens have taken diverse historical paths,” said Stéphanie Dapsance-Dixon, Directrice of European and International Affairs for the Amiens Municipal Office. “But these paths are intense and present in our respective heritages—for one, Gallo-Roman history, flamboyant Gothic style, and wars of the 20th century, and for the other, Cherokees, Creeks, the discovery of oil, and art nouveau. Nothing which leaves one indifferent, but, on the contrary, only heightens further interest.”

Though the logic here is debatable, Tulsans should take note of their sister city during this fraught moment in global politics. In France’s current presidential election, a win for the Front National’s Marine Le Pen could lead to the splintering of the European Union and another would-be autocrat stoking instability at the highest levels of world government. The tipping point in Le Pen’s success could be Tulsa’s own sister city, Amiens, and its economically depressed region, Hauts-de-France, which stretches from just above Paris to the English Channel. Recently, this part of France has come to represent the same industrial, working-class demographic that elected Donald Trump.

France elects its presidents in a two-round system. This year’s first round took place on April 23, and was widely seen as a toss-up between four candidates. Le Pen emerged as one winner and the other was Emmanuel Macron, a 39-year-old former investment banker who founded his own political party, En Marche!, last year. 

Macron, who has never held elected office, is a centrist. Though his message—investment in high-tech jobs, streamlining of France’s social benefits system—doesn’t fit naturally with the rural-industrial demographic in Hauts-de-France, Macron is a son of Amiens, born and raised. His potential for success here has been viewed as a gauge for possible support in other industrial and rural parts of France.

Le Pen, a savvy career politician, has polled high in and around Amiens; since 2011 she’s collected support by demonizing immigrants and pushing an agenda of national security and “economic patriotism.” In Amiens, a factory operated by the U.S. appliances manufacturer Whirlpool has become Exhibit A for the decline of French industry—the plant will close next year, with 286 jobs moving to Poland. In interviews with the press, several workers at the factory have said they will vote Le Pen, or not at all.

In the first round in Amiens, Macron took 28 percent of the vote; Le Pen got 18 percent. The entire region, however, shows Amiens as an outpost of Macron support in a sea of Le Pen. Unlike Oklahoma’s electoral map from last year, with red Trumpian hellfire scorching all 77 counties, there were outliers among right-wing dominance, foremost among them Amiens.

The second round of the French election is Sunday, May 7, and polls favor Macron. Posters hanging throughout Paris read “Emmanuel Macron président” in a blocky, youthful, light-blue font resembling the one Hillary Clinton used in her campaign last year.

In Amiens, I notice a bookshop displaying a graphic novel with Marine Le Pen, Donald Trump, and Vladimir Putin, all blond and blue-eyed, on the cover. Its title is La Vague, “The Wave.” A woman working inside explains that it’s the third in a popular trilogy dramatizing a future with Le Pen as présidente. 

“Is she very popular in Amiens?” I ask.

Her face tenses. “There are people who support her.”  

“What about the surrounding area?”

“Of course. In Amiens, Macron has some support, but further out, they will vote for her.”

I recognize the tension in her face—simultaneously a pride in one’s home and an embarrassment at what it may represent to others. For the first time I feel a sort of sibling bond with Amiens.