The Corsican Nationalist party achieves historic win in regional election

FRONT COVER PAPERBACKThis is a moment when I desperately wish my novel MOTHER TONGUE: LINGUA CORSA was translated into French. And not just because Yvan Colonna wrote me from prison that he would translate it into Lingua Corsa if I could first get it translated into French. He must feel a great joy today and look forward to the march through many countries that will be held on his behalf (he continues to protest his innocence in the 1998 assassination of Claude Erignac) after the first of the year.

But for all Corsicans who read English and are Nationalist supporters, please consider celebrating your victory with me by reading my suspense novel about the Nationalist movement, set in 1996 at the time of the attack on Bordeaux and many other acts of defiance by the FLNC.

I think you can get the gist of the story from the TRAILER I made for the novel. You can find the trailer, the opening chapter, a synopsis in the best French I can muster, an excerpt about the mazzeri, and read about my initial visit to Corsica in 1963 when my imagination was completely captured by the island’s rugged beauty, compelling politics, and courageous people, who have now found success at the ballot box after decades of marches and acts of separatist violence.

The information below is from report below posted by Europe1.fr on December 13th:

FB video of election celebration:

This Sunday, December 13th, the Nationalist party, led by Gilbert Simeoni, won a historic victory in the Corsican regional elections with 37% of the vote compared to 28.9% for leftist Paul Giacobbi and 25.4% for the candidate on the right. The FN (the Front National radical far right party) had below 10% (8.7%) of the vote even though it was suprisingly successful in many areas of mainland France.

“It is the victory for Corsica and for all Corsicans,” said the nationalist leader Gilles Simeoni, as he announced the results. His victory was hailed with shouts and chants of thousands of supporters and sympathizers waving the white Corsican Moor’s head flag in the streets of Ajaccio, Bastia and other cities on the island.

Dedicating this victory to the “prisoners and those still pursued”, separatist leader Jean-Guy Talamoni said that “it took a long walk of 40 years to get here.” “We will be elected by all of our people,” added Talamoni, stressing that “Corsica is not a single French administrative district, but one country, one nation, one people”.

French report from Europe1.fr:

La liste emmenée par Gilbert Simeoni remporte 37% des voix contre 28,9% au divers gauche Paul Giacobbi et 25,4% à la droite. Le FN est en dessous des 10% (8,7%)

Les nationalistes ont remporté dimanche une victoire historique aux élections territoriales en Corse, battant nettement la gauche sortante et la droite victime de ses divisions. La liste “Per a Corsica” (Pour la Corse), issue de la fusion au second tour des autonomistes (17,62% au 1er tour) et des indépendantistes (7,72%), a obtenu 35,50% des voix. Les nationalistes devancent nettement la gauche conduite par le président DVG sortant de l’exécutif territorial Paul Giacobbi (28,76%), député de Haute-Corse, et la droite emmenée par l’ancien ministre José Rossi (26,69%).

“Nous serons les élus de l’ensemble de notre peuple”. “C’est la victoire de la Corse et de tous les Corses”, a déclaré le chef de file nationaliste Giles Simeoni, à l’annonce des résultats. Sa victoire a été acclamée par les cris et les chants de milliers de partisans et sympathisants agitant des drapeaux corses blancs à tête de Maure dans les rues d’Ajaccio, de Bastia et des autres villes de l’île.

Dédiant cette victoire aux “prisonniers et aux recherchés”, le dirigeant indépendantiste Jean-Guy Talamoni a déclaré qu'”il a fallu une longue marche de 40 ans pour en arriver là”. “Nous serons les élus de l’ensemble de notre peuple”, a ajouté Talamoni, soulignant que “la Corse n’est pas une simple circonscription administrative française, mais un pays, une nation, un peuple”.

They saved the best for last…

Paperback cover finalSo there I am,,,the 101st pin on the Pinterest Board listing this year’s Nominees for the American Library in Paris Book Award which is given to the best book of the year in English about France or the French-American encounter. Scroll to the very bottom of the Pinterest page to see MOTHER TONGUE.

The blurb: Mother Tongue by Karen Stephen. Child advocate attorney, Liz Fallon, desperately needs a break after legal blunders and her own negligence lead to the kidnapping and death of a mother and daughter she represents. Fluent in her mother’s native Corsican tongue, she nabs a job at a Paris newspaper as a lingua corsa translator for Pierre Benatar, whose coverage of the explosive Corsican Nationalist movement has enraged every separatist faction.

As you can see, I am in very good company. France has served as inspiration for generations of authors. It is a country that embraces and preserves its history, revels in its culture, and is one giant picture postcard that you want to take home.

The “long list” will be announced on Monday, June 15thPlease watch my BOOK TRAILER for MOTHER TONGUE as I wait on Pin..terests and Needles for the outcome. And LIKE my FB author page.

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words – The Citadelle Corte

Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

Within minutes I dropped down into a valley and entered the outskirts of Corte. Seeing its sleek, modern buildings dispelled the gruesome images. As I neared the turnoff to the university, I slowed to navigate a roundabout and caught my first glimpse of the city’s Citadelle. The ochre fortress rode atop a wave of rock that soared hundreds of feet above the valley floor, casting a long summer-evening shadow which wrapped its dusky fingers around my car.

Citadelle_2_corte

Photo credit: Les photos de Gaël / HDR / Citadelle 2 corte http://www.deficulturel.net

 

The Scented Isle ~ in photos and words ~ Monte Rotondo

Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE by Karen Stephen

By now the sky turned had deep purple and clouds rose like puffs of steam off a pot of boiling soup. Exiting the next tunnel, a rounded peak still dusted with snow in mid-summer loomed into view. I glanced at the map spread out on the passenger seat. It had to be Monte Rotondo. As I passed each road sign, my eyes lingered on the names of destinations written in both French and lingua corsa: Corte and Corti, Ajaccio and Ajacciu, Ile Rousse and Isula Rossa. A few kilometers farther, a graffiti-covered stone wall, spray painted with the words Cuncolta Nazionale, took me back to Fresnes, which, in turn, triggered disturbing visions of Benatar’s son clinging to his father’s leg as he was being dragged across the very lawn where he had kicked a soccer ball to his Dad the day before.

Mont Rotundo

Another shot as I clicked along N193 from Bastia to Corte on Google Maps until I neared Corte. The graffiti says Corsica Nazione Indipendente. Monte Rotondo lies in the distance, still dusted with snow in the summer.

 

They fight…Excerpt from MOTHER TONGUE

Liz doesn’t know whether to fear Antoine Scafani or be fearful for him. A chance meeting after a funeral only confuses her more.

DSC02945For nearly an hour, I wandered Corte’s empty streets. I found a cemetery on the outskirts of town, which, unfortunately, was equally deserted. Almost all the town’s businesses, even family-owned groceries and cafés, were closed, a Corsican flag or a black-edged portrait of Henri Soriano plastered on their doors.

Near exhaustion, I sat down on a high stone curb, holding my head in my hands and letting some well-deserved tears pour out. Maybe it was the curb, like the one I’d sat on as a child, but I hadn’t truly cried since the bombing.

Suddenly two strong hands seized my shoulders from behind and lifted me to my feet. I prepared myself for arrest or worse as my abductor forced me into the shadows of a nearby alley. When I finally managed to twist around, I saw not LeClerc but Scafani. His lips quivered with rage. “What the hell were you thinking? You had no business being there.”

“I just wanted to see what was happening along with everyone else.” My explanation sounded lame, even to me.

Scafani shook his head and released me.

I broke the long silence that followed. “How is Jean Louis?”

Scafani seemed not the least surprised that I had heard of his family’s tragedy. “He is being taken care of. Jocelyn and Pierre are with him.”

“I just—”

“You just didn’t think. You aren’t back in the States. This isn’t some Wild West TV show with cowboys and Indians.”

“If it isn’t a game, why did you bring me into it? I saw exactly what Jean Paul and Carla had stored in their living room in full color on the evening news. And the romantic bit? Please.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You have no idea what I need to understand. But if it has to do with why your uncles were shot, then you need to tell me.”

Scafani pulled over a couple of crates for them to sit on. “Why is anyone shot who stands up for their beliefs?”

“It had to be more than that.”

He glared at me, sarcasm filling voice. “A bit of wisdom gathered on your little lover’s tryst to Cap Corse?”

“How did you know about that?”

“He follows us. We follow him,” he said with a frankness I had not expected.

“And you both follow me. Why?”

DSC02918A police vehicle rolled slowly by. Scafani leapt up and pulled me with him to the darker recesses of the alley. If I was going to get information about Benatar out of him, I had to do it fast before he took off again. I decided to take the sympathetic route. “Shouldn’t you be in hiding? I was worried that you’d been arrested because of that scene at the funeral, the gun salute and all.”

“I was.”

“You were what?” I asked in my most innocent voice.

“Grabbed by LeClerc’s men on the way to the cemetery. Pulled right from under Uncle Henri’s coffin. Got interrogated by LeClerc, or should I say by your lover, Philippe. I was released a half-hour ago. They had nothing to hold me on.”

“I don’t know why you keep referring to LeClerc as my anything. There’s nothing going on between us.”

I sank down onto the back-entrance stoop of a store. Scafani hesitated and then turned a trash can upside down and sat beside me. My usually glib escort seemed to be struggling with his words, so I broke the silence again. I wanted to know more.