The Bear Trainers

By Antoine Marquet LC (TE-er)

I have just read with a certain emotion — should I say — the editorial by my comrade and friend Louis Perez y Cid, captain (er) by foreign title, dedicated to the awarding of white kepis to the young recruits who, from this moment on, are legionnaires in the making.

In the mid-1960s, in this same Montlaur barracks, I too received my first white kepi. The ceremony took place in a room of the building known as "la Génoise," so named because it was built by the Genoese in the 18th century. It was the room where we received some French language lessons. On our stools awaited our prestigious caps. In the center, an iron refectory table, covered with a white cloth and simply adorned with a few bottles of beer arranged without fuss.

Our section chief, Sergeant Reinhold Hornung, who recently passed away, explained to us soberly that we would now be granted leave on Sunday afternoons. He then reminded us of the value of the white kepi, the symbol it embodies, and the demand for excellence that is attached to it. Then we had a beer before gathering in the courtyard, wearing white, to sing our "Adieu vieille Europe".

In 1984, General Jean-Claude Coullon, following the dissolution of the 31st Brigade he had commanded in Beirut, obtained the creation of the Foreign Legion Command. Shortly after, he developed the Legionnaire's Code of Honour in collaboration with the regimental commanders, with the ambition of establishing a common code of conduct. He confided to Christian Morisot and me during an interview that he had sought: "The establishment of a common 'legionnaire' code of conduct, which I call the 'legionnaire's code of honour.'" The adoption of this code seemed necessary to me to combat the slow but continuous degradation of the moral sense of our young recruits, a part of whom, it must be said, were the by-products of an urban civilisation increasingly lacking moral benchmarks. I have the immediate support of all my colonels for this endeavour, to which they will significantly contribute. Each regiment sends me its proposals. I entrust the final adjustments to the 4th Foreign.

In addressing the "finished" product to all units, I write in my directive: "I would like to clarify the general framework within which you will teach it, which excludes any solemn or ostentatious proclamation." Indeed, one must never confuse ethics with folklore. Until 1998, the Legion will remain the only unit of our army with a code of honour and moral training included in the curriculum of its training regiment.

However, as Louis Perez y Cid masterfully points out, the public presentation of the white kepis has turned into a folkloric communication operation. We choose prestigious settings, summon the public, take care of the image, and stage the moment. What was once an intimate and foundational act is now delivered to the consumption of the masses. The image prevails over meaning; the decor over substance. The legionnaire becomes, against his will, a kind of forced actor, unceremoniously displayed in a staging reminiscent of the "bear trainers" of fairs from yesteryear. Tradition is invoked to justify what is in reality nothing but a renunciation, and ironically, this essential principle of the legionnaire's anonymity is trampled without scruple, exposing these young men to the gaze, the lenses, and the comments.

This drift is not aesthetic, it is moral.
It reveals an Institution that doubts itself enough to feel the need to show off and, in doing so, forgets that the strength of the Legion has always resided in what it did not say, in what it did not show, in what it demanded in silence. A mystery!

Transforming these committed young people into actors in a spectacle is betraying them from the very beginning. It is to substitute the meaning of commitment with a logic of appearance. It is, very precisely, to confuse – in disregard of General Coullon's warning – ethics and folklore.

Old legionnaire, I feel here neither nostalgia nor mere bitterness, but a deep indignation, a shame at seeing our young successors displayed before the crowds without having proven anything, without having been shaped by the trial, these men are already being used, exposed, instrumentalised. And this, for those who have known what the Legion was – and what it must remain – is not just regrettable. It is unacceptable.

A legionnaire does not show himself. He trains, he remains silent, he serves with honour and loyalty, and if necessary, he dies for France.