Is George Clooney finally going to ditch that godawful capsule coffee he’s been peddling for years and start shilling proper French pastis and tapenade instead? Because nothing screams “genuine” like an American A-lister hawking our beloved Provençal staples.
The French naturalization of George and Amal Clooney—along with their two cosseted twins—is nothing short of an outrage, a thick, deliberate gob of spit straight into the faces of countless honest aspirants who actually yearn to become French.
These are the people who have lived here legally for years, who grind away, who dutifully cough up their taxes every year, and who still wait in endless limbo for the precious decree that the Clooneys apparently snapped up like a bottle of vintage Château Margaux.
One rule for the glamorous, tax-optimizing celebrities who parachute in with their multimillion-euro Provençal domaine, and quite another for the ordinary mortals who keep this country running. Bienvenue aux Clooney—enjoy the passport perks while the rest of us mere citizens swallow the insult.
Becoming a naturalized French citizen requires meeting a number of conditions. The first of these is residence in France:
Minimum duration: you must have been resident in France for at least five years at the time of your application and must have paid French income tax—meaning, plainly, that France must be your tax home.
Continuity: your residence must be stable and must constitute the center of your family ties and material interests (work, income).
Residence permit: you must hold a valid residence permit at the time you submit your naturalization application.
Neither George Clooney nor his wife, to the best of our knowledge, pays income tax in France. They reside in France for fewer than 180 days per year and, again to the best of our knowledge, pay income tax in the United States, as provided for under the tax treaty between France and the U.S. On the face of it, they do not meet the conditions required for naturalization.
So on what grounds were the Clooneys granted French nationality? The answer is simple: the whim of the prince—Emmanuel Macron. Just like Pavel Durov, the ever-so-charming head of Telegram, who has never lived in France. Just like Evan Spiegel, the boss of Snapchat, who has never lived in France either. Just like countless others who have acquired French nationality at the pleasure of those in power, thereby hollowing out the very meaning of becoming French—something that is not, or should not be, a mere matter of paperwork.
We would do well to take inspiration from our Belgian neighbors, who consider becoming Belgian a privilege granted by the sovereign Belgian people alone, through the voice of their representatives, who each year vote a law conferring Belgian nationality on foreigners who have lived in Belgium for more than five years and who meet the required conditions.
George Clooney, his wife, and their children are French on paper—nothing more. They are in no sense our fellow citizens.
What might perhaps entitle us French to excuse George Clooney—an “operator” for what the American Democratic Party has to offer at its most plastic, the Clinton strain—is his aunt, perhaps, who at least could sing well.
Actually, no. My apologies. His aunt had some. Vocals cords.
