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h； and made their case to the Americans on the podium in their mother tongue。 The Americans； not understanding a word； reacted with friendly； agreeing smiles。 In the end； the French had no choice but to frame their objection in English： Why is this meeting in English when there are Frenchmen present？
Though amazed at so curious an objection； the Americans； still smiling； acquiesced： the meeting would be run bilingually。 Before it could resume； however； a suitable interpreter had to be found。 Then； every sentence had to resound in both English and French； which made the discussion take twice as long； or rather more than twice as long； since all the French had some English and kept interrupting the interpreter to correct him； disputing every word。
The meeting reached its peak when a famous American actress rose to speak。 Because of her； even more photographers and cameramen streamed into the auditorium； and every syllable she pronounced was accompanied by the click of another camera。 The actress spoke about suffering children； about the barbarity of Communist dictatorship； the human right to security； the current threat to the traditional values of civilized society； the inalienable freedom of the human individual； and President Carter； who was deeply sorrowed by the events in Cambodia。 By the time she had pronounced her closing words； she was in tears。
Then up jumped a young French doctor with a red mustache and shouted； We're here to cure dying people； not to pay homage to President Carter！ Let's not turn this into an American propaganda circus！ We're not here to protest against Communism！ We're here to save lives！
He was immediately seconded by several other Frenchmen。
The interpreter was frightened and did not dare translate what they said。 So the twenty Americans on the podium looked on once more with smiles full of good will； many nodding agreement。 One of them even lifted his fist in the air because he knew Europeans liked to raise their fists in times of collective euphoria。
16
How can it be that leftist intellectuals （because the doctor with the mustache was nothing if not a leftist intellectual） are willing to march against the interests of a Communist country when Communism has always been considered the left's domain？
When the crimes of the country called the Soviet Union became too scandalous； a leftist had two choices： either to spit on his former life and stop marching or （more or less sheepishly） to reclassify the Soviet Union as an obstacle to the Grand March and march on。
Have I not said that what makes a leftist a leftist is the kitsch of the Grand March？ The identity of kitsch comes not from a political strategy but from images； metaphors； and vocabulary。 It is therefore possible to break the habit and march against the interests of a Communist country。 What is impossible； however； is to substitute one word for others。 It is possible to threaten the Vietnamese army with one's fist。 It is impossible to shout Down with Communism！ Down with Communism！ is a slogan belonging to the enemies of the Grand March； and anyone worried about losing face must remain faithful to the purity of his own kitsch。
The only reason I bring all this up is to explain the misunderstanding between the French doctor and the American actress； who； egocentric as she was； imagined herself the victim of envy or misogyny。 In point of fact； the French doctor displayed a finely honed aesthetic sensibility： the phrases President Carter； our traditional values； the barbarity of Communism all belong to the vocabulary of American kitsch and have nothing to do with the kitsch of the Grand March。
17
The next morning； they all boarded buses and rode through Thailand to the Cambodian border。 In the evening； they pulled into a small village where they had rented several houses on stilts。 The regularly flooding river forced the villagers to live above ground level； while their pigs huddled down below。 Franz slept in a room with four other professors。 From afar came the oinking of the swine； from up close the snores of a famous mathematician。
In the morning； they climbed back into the buses。 At a point about a mile from the border； all vehicular traffic was prohibited。 The border crossing could be reached only by means of a narrow； heavily guarded road。 The buses stopped。 The French contingent poured out of them only to find that again the Americans had beaten them and formed the vanguard of the parade。 The crucial moment had come。 The interpreter was recalled and a long quarrel ensued。 At last everyone assented to the following： the parade would be headed by one American； one Frenchman； and the Cambodian interpreter； next would come the doctors； and only then the rest of the crowd。 The American actress brought up the rear。
The road was narrow and lined with minefields。 Every so often it was narrowed even more by a barrier—two cement blocks wound round with barbed wire—passable only in single file。
About fifteen feet ahead of Franz was a famous German poet and pop singer who had already written nine hundred thirty songs for peace and against war。 He was carrying a long pole topped by a white flag that set off his full black beard and set him apart from the others。
All up and down the long parade； photographers and cameramen were snapping and whirring their equipment； dashing up to the front； pausing； inching back； dropping to their knees； then straightening up and running even farther ahead。 Now and then they would call out the name of some celebrity； who would then unwittingly turn in their direction just long enough to let them trigger their shutters。
18
Something was in the air。 People were slowing down and looking back。
The American actress； who had ended up in the rear； could no longer stand the disgrace of it and； determined to take the offensive； was sprinting to the head of the parade。 It was as if a runner in a five…kilometer race； who had been saving his strength by hanging back with the pack； had suddenly sprung forward and started overtaking his opponents one by one。
The men stepped back with embarrassed smiles； not wishing to spoil the famous runner's bid for victory； but the women yelled； Get back in line！ This is no star parade！
Undaunted； the actress pushed on； a suite of five photographers and two cameramen in tow。
Suddenly a Frenchwoman； a professor of linguistics； grabbed the actress by the wrist and said （in terrible…sounding English）； This is a parade for doctors who have come to care for mortally ill Cambodians； not a publicity stunt for movie stars！
The actress's wrist was locked in the linguistics professor's grip； she could do nothing to pry it loose。 What the hell do you think you're doing？ she said （in perfect English）。 I've been in a hundred parades like this！ You won't get anywhere without stars！ It's our job！ Our moral obligation！
Merde said the linguistics professor （in perfect French）。
The American actress understood and burst into tears。
Hold it； please； a cameraman called out and knelt at her feet。 The actress gave a long look into his lens； the tears flowing down her cheeks。
19
When at last the linguistics professor let go of the American actress's wrist； the German pop singer with the bla