Francophobia has long been prominent in America. Its existence is a testament to the virtues of the French. American hatred of the European nation runs deep, extending back to the administration of George Washington. The 1790s were an era of revolutionary turmoil in France, where a clash of political ideas was being fought in the streets. French revolutionaries, imbued with the Enlightenment ideals of democracy and reason, waged a struggle against the feudal order and force of reaction that was the monarchy of Louis XVI. In response, American conservatives like John Adams waged a hysterical ideological campaign against the French menace. Anti-French mania was closely linked to the ultra- reactionary legislation of the period, which criminalized free speech and persecuted foreigners. Amid this McCarthy-like atmosphere, pro-French sentiment emanated from progressive Americans like Thomas Jefferson, who saw the revolution as the triumph of liberal ideals. This ideological divide continued to frame the perceptions many Americans had of their democratic cousin. From Robespierre to Sartre to Iraq, the American right has never been fond of the people Homer Simpson once dubbed "cheese-eating surrender monkeys." American francophobia, then, exists for all the wrong reasons. Conservative Americans disparage France's (relatively) generous welfare state, even as tens of millions of Americans subsist without health care. They ridicule the French fondness for protest, even as American social policies remain the laughing stock of the Western world. And they have nothing but vitriol for French "pretentiousness" (i.e. support for the high arts and intellectual endeavors), even as anti-intellectualism poisons American culture. In short, francophobia is a manifestation of everything that is wrong with America. In this context, the warm reception that the conservative French President-elect, Nicolas Sarkozy, has received from American commentators should come as no surprise. Sarkozy is viewed by political analysts — from both sides of the Atlantic — as an authentically pro-American politician — a rarity in France. His divisive and aggressive style has even garnered comparisons to "America's mayor" Rudolph Giuliani — a distinction of dubious value, to say the least. Sarkozy has become the darling of the American political elite not only because he radiates an American style. His policies also fall in step with America's. For one, he is a neoconservative through and through. He opposed the initial invasion of Iraq (it was political suicide not to do so) but has since expressed regret over "French arrogance" and the unfriendly manner in which his country conveyed its opposition. In a radical departure from French norm, he seems comfortable in making France a junior ally of the United States (in the manner of, say, a United Kingdom). French philosopher Régis Debray noted that Sarkozy's affection for American policy is so strong that it makes him "like a direct flight to Washington, D.C." Sarkozy's domestic policies also taste of an American flavor. One of his chief campaign promises, for example, was a pledge to restore law and order in France. Tough-on-crime rhetoric has always been racist code in the United States, and this is increasingly the case in a diversifying France as well. Indeed, Sarkozy is a notorious race baiter. He seems to enjoy playing off of racial fears, having referred to ghetto youth as "thugs" and "scum" and vowing to clean up the impoverished immigrant areas "with a K?