Life In Deepest France: Et tu, you brute

SAVIGNAC-DE-MIREMONT, France, April 23 (UPI) -- The question of how to address people, of how to say "you," when speaking French can be a social minefield, even for native-speakers of the language, let alone an English-speaking foreigner.

When to use the singular "tu," as opposed to the traditionally more respectful plural form "vous?"

The rules, if there are any, about which to use and to whom, operate on a basis that is more intuitional than anything else. I suspect it may have been easier in the past, when social and other lines were more clearly drawn and everyone "knew his station."

A fine example of possible confusion over when to use tu happened once when French President François Mitterrand was visiting a steelworks during his campaign for re-election in 1988. As he shook one worker's hand, the man, in good Parti Socialiste tradition, asked: "Monsieur le président, on peut se tutoyer?" -- Mr. President, can we address each other with 'tu?"

Mitterrand was a good crowd worker, and could take most things in his stride. There was only the shortest pause before he replied: "Si vous voulez" -- "if you wish," but with the formal "vous" that the man was specifically asking permission not to use -- and moved on.

French children have almost always been called "tu," by adults including their teachers, and of course by each other. There are still remnants of old-world aristo-behaviour in such posh places as Paris' 16th arrondissement, where a handful of parents still call their children "vous." These are the kind of kids that get sent to exclusive boarding schools. Their parents might even call each other "vous," in an echo of the elegance of a bygone era.

There are some groups -- France's Socialist Party and the teaching profession are two that spring to mind at once -- where even complete newcomers are at once called "tu" by everyone else and are expected to reciprocate immediately: refusal indicates not wanting to belong to the group -- not something any teacher or party activist with his head screwed on properly would choose to be caught doing on day one in the teachers' common-room or party headquarters.

For socialists, "tutoiement" is an easy expression of political camaraderie, and they often speak of themselves as "camarades," comrades.

The teaching profession, in France long a socialist stronghold -- current Prime Minister Lionel Jospin was François Mitterrand's longest-standing education minister (and, like the others, he promised lots of reforms but actually implemented very few) -- seem to regard themselves as classmates. And they often have been quite literally, all the way through teacher-training college and into the profession.

Work colleagues often tutoie (as opposed to vous-voie) each other, especially at the lower levels: the laddish spirit of "all-in-this-together"again).

Hierarchical superiors may tutoie underlings as a way of reminding them of their station, and be tutoied in their turn by their own bosses. There is a delicate line to be observed from the lower rung: at what point, and cued by what signals, might one consider trying a tentative "tu" to a superior, perhaps concealing it in a cough the first time or two to be on the safe side?

The police are notorious for using tu with people they don't like the look of or want to intimidate. They aren't supposed to; but someone with an olive or dark skin and curly hair has little hope either of calling them tu back and getting away with it, or of making an impoliteness charge stick.

Some teachers tutoie their pupils. I do, but as a foreign-language-teaching foreigner I'm in a privileged position. In what I am told is my charmingly accented but good French, I announce on day one that I intend to tutoie everybody without distinction and will that be OK? So far no one has ever said they mind.

A colleague of mine is an elegantly mannered Latin teacher. Shy by nature, he is married with three children. But that doesn't prevent him from turning bright pink every time he addresses a woman or even the young girls in his classes. He vous-voies all his pupils because he thinks it's the courteous thing to do, and after the initial surprise they respect him for it.

He doesn't vous-voie his colleagues, though: they would be offended if he did, even though they know his foibles. He addresses each girl after her 12th birthday as "Mademoiselle." But he waits until the boys are 16 before calling them Monsieur: he rightly thinks any earlier would be preposterous. Nor does he ever use the dreadful expression 'jeune homme,' (young man) a favorite of haughty adults who think it best to keep any adolescents, especially a male one, firmly in his place from the outset.

But things may be moving on the automatic tutoiement front. So far, I've deliberately talked about all this as though it involved only men. The habit of tutoiement between workplace colleagues certainly grew up when most of one's colleagues were men. It's no longer the case today. Women have gone along with the all-in-this-together spirit, at least in the education and socialist party hierarchies.

But in offices it's not so automatic. These days, a boss who tutoies the new woman secretary on her first day may be on a sexual discrimination or harassment charge before he can say, as Jean Gabin famously did on-screen, "Tu as des beaux yeux, tu sais," -- "You've got nice eyes, you know that?"