How to really upset the French

Consumer boycotts aren't easy in the new global market, finds Brian Cathcart; Avoiding buying their wine is a gesture of dissociation as much as economic pressure - more visceral than political

IT IS day one of your total boycott of French goods and produce. You wake up determined to make France and President Chirac pay for their nuclear lunacy in the Pacific. Don't turn the light on; Britain imports electricity - and nuclear electricity at that - from France by undersea cable. Be careful about turning the tap on too; no fewer than three French firms have big stakes in the water industry over here. Don't take the morning-after pill; it is made by the French company Roussel-Uclaf. And have a look at that glass you were going to drink from; is it made by the French company Saint-Gobain?

Dressing: there is no question of wearing anything from Saint Laurent, Chanel, Cardin. Forget the Robert Clergerie shoes and the Jean-Paul Gaultier perfume.

Downstairs: those coffee beans, were they roasted and packed in France? The milk? None of that French UHT. The Yoplait yogurt drink you are so fond of is obviously banned, as is the fruit-flavoured creme fraiche. That apple may not be Golden Delicious but it is still from a French orchard. Spit it out.

What about getting to work? The Renault obviously stays in the garage, out of sight; so it's the Ford Fiesta down to the station, and the trusty train from there. But hold on. The Fiesta has Michelin tyres and its gearbox was made in Bordeaux, while the railway locomotive engine is French-made as well. And don't dare pick up the telephone to tell the office you will be late; that cheap cable company you have just signed up to is French- owned.

So there you are, hungry, thirsty, half-dressed and stuck on your doorstep, and the day has only begun. It is beginning to look as though wiping that smug look off Jacques Chirac's face may be harder than you expected.

In the modern world, the world of the Single Market and the global market, the consumer boycott is a blunt instrument. International trade delivers a great deal of what we eat, drink, wear and otherwise spend our money on and France, being Britain's third-biggest trading partner after Germany and the United States, is extremely well represented in our shops and homes.

But if you are trying to stay ethically clean, these are muddy waters. A Peugeot can be made in Coventry, while Meccano comes from Calais. Brie is as likely to originate in Somerset or Ireland these days as in France (if you want to boycott a cheese you might be better off choosing feta, much of which comes from France instead of Greece). Similarly, if you are tempted to shun those French Meridien hotels with names like "Le Piccadilly" think again - they happen to be owned by the Forte company. This is not to say that you cannot or should not vent your feelings in the way you shop. There is, after all, a helpful precedent: the consumer boycott of South African goods in the days of apartheid undoubtedly made a difference, and that began - in this country at least - when a priest called Trevor Huddleston looked at a can of South African pilchards and said "No thanks".

But there are big differences. Huddleston made his gesture in the early 1960s, but more than 20 years passed before the anti-apartheid boycott campaign really took off. Then, it is thought to have knocked about 10 per cent off the sales of South African fruit, for example, while many companies were persuaded or forced to reduce their investments in the country.

All this was backed by United Nations resolutions, full-time campaigners conducting research into South African exports and an effective propaganda machine. It also enjoyed the support of leading black organisations and individuals in South Africa.

None of these conditions prevails in the case of France and the campaign against the testing. And France is, as we have seen, much more closely intertwined in international trade and multi-national business than South Africa ever was.

This is why the British Nuclear Test Ban Coalition, which is promoting the idea of consumer action against France, is concentrating its fire on French wine. It has produced a striking advertisement showing a sniper's gun finding its target on a French restaurant terrasse. The gun is fired and a wine bottle on the table explodes, showering the diner, a Chirac look-alike, with blood-red wine. "Drop a bomb on Chirac's plans. Boycott French wine" is the slogan.

Though its impact is difficult to quantify, it is clear that the wine boycott is proving effective. Manyconsumers in Britain and around the world are switching to wines from other countries. And yet wine, too, is part of the global market. You may spurn the Cordon Rouge champagne at your off- licence and turn instead to that very agreeable - and rather cheaper - Cuvee Napa from California. But look again at the label: Cordon Rouge and Cuvee Napa are produced by the same company, Mumm, which is very French. Australia's Jacob's Creek wines are owned by Pernod Ricard of France.

It works the other way, too. For the past few years an Englishman, James Herrick, has been producing a Chardonnay in the Minervois region of southern France. He holds no brief for the French government's policy on nuclear weapons, yet he reckons the boycott has cost him about pounds 200,000 in lost sales. Herrick is unusual, but he is not alone: Penfolds of Australia has also invested in the region. And anyway, how fair is it to penalise even the full-blooded French wine producers for the actions of President Chirac?

But we are being too rational, too pragmatic here. Most of those boycotting French wine are doing so as a gesture of dissociation as much as an attempt at economic pressure - it is more visceral than political. That was usually the way, too, with the South African boycott. Huddleston didn't want to destroy the South African pilchard fishery; he just didn't want to eat South African produce or let his money end up in the apartheid state. There are some, in fact, who are still anxious to dissociate themselves. Veteran anti-apartheid activists are occasionally asked whether it is safe to drink South African wines bottled before white rule ended.