François Hollande feels the squeeze in the town where he was once idolised

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/mar/23/francois-hollande-tulle-elections-france

Version 0 of 1.

The bucolic backwater of Tulle – François Hollande's remote country fiefdom where he will vote in today's municipal elections – has many claims to fame. Accordions are one of them.

Locals say the instrument, known colloquially as the squeezebox, is part of their genetic makeup. "There are no accordions without Tulle and no Tulle without accordions," they tell visitors, with a certain grandiloquence. Thus the instrument – specifically those made by local company Maugein – has become emblematic of Tulle, where a celebrated accordion festival is held every year.

Tullistes, as they are known, might have added the phrase "no accordions, no votes" on the day that France is expected to show its disapproval of the president and his Socialist government in what polls suggest will be a historic defeat for the left .

The fate of Hollande's heartland, where he was mayor for seven years, and the president's reputation, is inextricably tied to a small factory employing just 11 people on the outskirts of a town of 15,000 souls in the sticks of south-central France.

In the 2012 presidential elections, 75% of locals voted for Hollande. As the new president and his then partner, Valérie Trierweiler, were serenaded on the steps of Tulle's 12th-century cathedral by an accordionist playing La Vie en Rose, it was unthinkable that the opposition right could gain a significant foothold here. Today, in Tulle, as elsewhere in France, a growing sense of disappointment has meant the unthinkable has happened.

Municipal elections are traditionally a means for the French to express their discontent with the government, but with Hollande's popularity at rock bottom, today's first-round vote is expected to be painful, with worse to come in May's European elections.

The biggest fear is of a massive swing to the right – even the far right – or rampant voter abstention. Opinion polls show that the ruling Socialist party is likely to trail eight points behind the centre-right UMP, despite the opposition being in leadership disarray.

Although unemployment in Tulle hovers around 6% – well below the national average of just under 11% – and the town has benefited from its presidential connections, it has not escaped the general pessimism infecting France.

Amid the gloom, the threatened closure of Maugein – France's last accordion maker – emerged as a metaphor for the country's economic challenges and its valiant attempts to preserve industries that are part of what is seen as the country's tradition and cultural identity.

Founded in 1919, shortly after the first world war, Maugein employed around 300 workers by 1939 and was producing hundreds of accordions every year. Its apogee came after the second world war, when the emergence of jazz and swing from America created a boom in demand for the instrument. This lasted until the 70s, when the company began a slow but inexorable decline. When Maugein went into liquidation in December last year, it seemed that accordion making in Tulle, and in France, had had its day.

Despite much public lamenting over Maugein's seemingly inevitable closure, the company received only one offer; from a pair of hard-headed business directors who recapitalised it with help from Arsenal footballer Laurent Koscielny, who was born in Tulle and contributed to a €600,000 (£500,000) recapitalisation package.

In a less than picturesque prefabricated factory on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Tulle, Marie-Christine Dubart, Maugein's new co-director, receives visitors in a room lined with shelves of the most beautiful hand-crafted accordions. There are all shapes and sizes, some with rows of buttons, others with keyboards, some older models with mother-of-pearl (now banned) inlays and ornate silver or wooden grilles, others with layers of polished glittery lacquer.

As Dubart rattles off the figures, she is accompanied by the repetitive strains of an accordion being tuned in a distant room. Each instrument consists of up to 5,000 parts and takes 45 to 70 hours to make. They sell for as little as €1,800 and as much as €50,000.

Dubart's role was to knock the company into shape. She came up with a business plan, but ended up investing her own money and moving to Tulle. "Nobody wanted to take on the monstrous job of rebuilding it. It didn't just need money poured into it, it needed to change," she said.

"Sometimes the French don't seem to understand that the Siècle des Lumières [the age of enlightenment] was a long time ago. They're good at inventing things, but once they've made the invention they don't know what to do with it. My decision to get involved in the first place wasn't emotional or idealistic, it was a business project. But it's become my baby; I talk about it all the time and it gives me sleepless nights. I believe we have done something here that could be applied more widely in France. And we did it largely without the politicians. I'm sure the president knew what was going on, but we didn't contact him and we didn't ask for help."

Back in the town, Pierre, a pensioner, insisted that local disenchantment with Hollande and the Socialists had been exaggerated, but admitted: "We had such high hopes that even though François Hollande sold himself as Monsieur Normal, he would be more than that. In fact, we didn't want normal, we wanted a leader, someone decisive. Hollande is a good man, he's a clever man, he has ideas, but the problem is he seems to be wavering all over the place, when he should be heading straight. This is his fault and the fault of his advisers. He's not coming across well."

Across town in Le Central restaurant, nicknamed Hollande's canteen, the atmosphere is jovial. Owner Jean Poumier, 87, who has known the president for 30 years, expects him to dine there after voting on Sunday and describes Hollande as brilliant and adorable. Over lunch, journalist Alain Albinet, from the local La Montagne newspaper, said he believed residents would probably abstain rather than vote against Hollande. "There is a sense of disappointment in him. It's partly Hollande's fault because he seems to go this way and that instead of straight ahead," Albinet said. "But it's also partly because everyone had such unrealistically high hopes in him, because he was our local man so they were bound to be disappointed.

"The French think they want someone normal, when really what they want is a Napoleon or a de Gaulle."

Tulle's mayor, Bernard Combes, a close friend and adviser to Hollande, who is facing an unprecedented challenge from a UMP candidate, is in no doubt that his future is tied up with that of the accordion makers. "If I had not saved Maugein, the people of Tulle would have lost a gene and it would have been a very symbolic sign of despair," Combes told the Observer. "In fact, if the company had closed, I would not have been able to bring myself to stand for re-election."

In his office, Combes has a framed copy of the front page of La Montagne from May 2012, showing the newly elected Hollande, with Trierweiler – now the ex-first lady – at his side, under the headline: "President".

He refused to be drawn on predicting the outcome of today's vote in Tulle, but admitted he would be "mortified to lose". He conceded that the president has not been as clear about his goals as he could have been, which had led to local – and national – disenchantment, but added: "Let's not exaggerate the discontent, let's see."

Combes and Dubart may disagree on who was responsible for saving the emblematic Maugein, but they are in tune on one issue. "The message from Maugein is that if you really want to save something, if you have the energy and the savoir faire to get out of a dead end, then you can. And with Maugein, we have," Combes said.