philippe gresle SOUND OF MUSIC Artists from across the Celtic world perform at the Interceltic Festival

The Bretons, France
	By JAMES GEARY and GRANT ROSENBERG / Lorient

Some 600,000 people turned out last month for the annual Interceltic Festival in the small port town of Lorient in Brittany, the peninsula in western France that juts into the Atlantic. Started in 1971, this mix of music, art, crafts and cuisine brings together people from across the globe to celebrate all things Celtic — specifically, all things related to Brittany's Celts, the Bretons. Festivalgoers browse through a bazaar filled with traditional handicrafts; enjoy authentic Celtic fare like kouign-amann, a butter cake, and chouchen, a honey-based liquor; and listen to bands like Soldat Louis, which plays modern music with a Celtic beat, and Trophée Loïc Raison, which plays traditional Celtic folk. The 10-day event is a chance to enjoy good food, good music and good fun, but for the people who attend it's also something more — a declaration of cultural independence. "There's often a will to homogenize things in France, but not everyone wants that," says Matthieu Serot, 23, a biniou (bagpipe) instructor from Brittany who was at the festival last year. "I consider myself fully French but first and foremost Breton."

That's a provocative statement in France, where the emphasis on La République Française has often meant the cultural suppression of the country's original peoples. But over the past century, successive waves of immigration — first from other parts of Europe and more recently from former colonies in northern Africa and Asia — have compelled the French to recognize that the state can't impose a uniform culture, language and faith. The controversy of the past few years over a law preventing Muslim girls from wearing head scarves in state-run institutions demonstrates that this battle is still being fought.

The Bretons have successfully reclaimed their cultural niche. They have fiercely defended their language and transformed their ancient traditions into thoroughly modern trends. Breton bands like Tri Yann popularized Celtic music in France over the past 30 years with their folksy shanties sung in Breton and French, and composer Yann Tiersen, who wrote the soundtrack for the 2001 hit movie Amélie and played at this year's festival, are big sellers throughout the country. The revival of fest-noz dances, a contemporary take on the ancient Breton end-of-harvest celebrations, is another sign that Breton culture is cool — a lifestyle choice more than a matter of genealogy. "To be Breton isn't about what's in the blood," says Yves Guilloux, 76, a former mayor of the Breton town of Ploërdut. "It's what's in the heart."

Brittany has had a significant Celtic presence since the 5th century, and Bretons have been resisting domination by Paris since the region became a French province in 1532. For years Bretons were ridiculed as hicks — unsophisticated peasants living a largely medieval life on the fringes of French society. As recently as 1902, churchgoing Bretons were forbidden to learn their catechism in their own language, even though half of them didn't speak any French. In the 1970s, a tiny band of Bretons turned to violence to fight for independence.

Some people continue to push for more political autonomy and even independence, but the main battle has moved to the cultural front. Things began to change in the 1970s, when embracing Breton culture was seen as a way of countering Paris. "People who really wanted to rebel went to the countryside, found Breton-speaking peasants, and started to speak Breton to make statements about their opposition to the French government, centralization and capitalism," says Cambridge University's Maryon McDonald. Jean-Louis Jossic of the band Tri Yann emphasizes the rustic appeal of Breton culture: "Over the last century, a whole generation moved from the countryside to the cities. Breton culture is a rural one by nature, and those city dwellers, beginning with the social movement of 1968, began to look at their roots and embrace them."

Bretons have kept the language alive, aided by the establishment of the Diwan (seed) school system, the model on which Germany's Sorbs based their Witaj network. More than 2,500 students a year learn Breton alongside French in the Diwan schools, while thousands of other public school pupils learn Breton as a second language. Thanks in part to these academic measures, there are now some 257,000 Breton speakers in France, significantly less than the 1.1 million in the early '50s but enough to keep the language alive and vital. "The shame that existed for so long about our language hasn't been fully digested yet, but it's at least been swallowed," says Anna Vari Chapalain, director of Diwan.

Part of that vitality can be seen and heard on TV Breizh, France's first and only private channel dedicated to the region. Based in Lorient, it was created in 2000 to give a voice to Brittany, but viewing habits forced the station to scale back its Breton programming. Until recently, the nightly newscast even featured a segment in Breton. TV Breizh retains a Celtic flair, even though it mostly broadcasts films, cartoons and foreign TV series, such as Perry Mason, in French, with the option of a Breton soundtrack for some programming. These changes have been good for business: the station is now the third highest-rated themed cable channel in the country. Still, the room for growth is small. "All over Europe you have regional channels," explains TV Breizh founder Patrick Le Lay, a Breton who is also the head of France's popular tf1 network. "But France is a centralized country where the law doesn't allow for regional networks." Consequently, TV Breizh is only available for those willing to pay for satellite or cable.

Le Lay, who says he created TV Breizh to do his part for his roots, sees the channel as an important symbol of the regional culture, even if only a small part of its programming is Breton-related. "With the profits from the channel's success, we can invest in programming more focused on Breton and Celtic subjects," he says. He also sees great potential in the spread of broadband Internet to create "ways to circumvent the national laws and give people more regional programming," providing a cultural richness that isn't as dependent on big ratings.

Cultural richness is one thing the Bretons have going for them, and they savor the national attention. A Diwan school opened last September in Paris, the city's first. But as their culture has become more popular and accessible, Bretons could end up being victims of their own success. If anyone can be "Breton" simply by wearing the right clothes and listening to the right music, does the term have any real meaning? "It's always a risk," Jossic concedes, "but we are a mixed people ourselves, of different origins and influences. Breton identity will continue to change with the times, and be richer for it." And France, like other European countries with minority peoples, will be, too.

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