It is fascinating to see how France, time and again, insists on sticking its refined nose into the affairs of others and preach wisdom to them, instead of dealing with the boiling kettles on its own stove. The law against deniers of the massacre of the Armenian people is still provoking a lively debate in the French press. (France approved the law about two weeks ago by a narrow majority, following an internal debate over the severity of punishment.) In Turkey, the French law pushed intellectuals and writers oppressed by the regime into a corner, compelling them to defend their country.

A day after winning the Nobel Prize, the author Orhan Pamuk hurried to declare that the French law constitutes "a blow to the principles of freedom of expression that France itself instilled." It is a shame, Pamuk said, that France does not leave the Turks to do their own soul-searching, which is occurring in any case. Another Turkish writer, Elif Shafak, was recently brought to trial in Istanbul for allegedly "denigrating Turkish national identity" in her latest novel, "The Bastard of Istanbul," which tells the stories of two families, Turkish and Armenian. In an article in Le Monde, Shafak asked the French to allow her nation to "heal the wounds of its history by itself." Sinan Ulgen, the president of the Turkish think tank Economics and Foreign Policy Studies (EDAM), argued in an article in Le Figaro, that "France is weakening democracy in Turkey."

This phenomenon is familiar to Israeli writers and intellectuals, veterans of the fight against the occupation, who stutter in an attempt to defend their country in the face of a buttressed, superficial, arrogant and self-righteous European stance. And like the French left's attack against Israel, which places doubt on the legitimacy of the state of the Jews, the new legislation derives from a combination of factors: a historical connection (some of the Armenians who were murdered during World War I were accused of spying for France), an elitist lobby of anti-Turkish Armenian immigrants in France, a desire to embarrass Jacques Chirac and weaken the right, and - at least among some of the legislators - an innocent aspiration, though somewhat self-righteous, for tikkun olam [making the world better].

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The ones seeking to improve the world argue that the Armenian people have suffered a hardship for 90 years, in addition to what they experienced during World War I. The denials of the massacre are indeed an open wound. Turkey is not only to blame. Most of the world is responsible for belittling the tragedy and shunting it aside. In the soul-searching that has yet to occur here, the children of Holocaust refugees will have to examine why it was uncomfortable for them to recognize the magnitude of the suffering of others. In this sense, the law ostensibly does justice. But this is misleading, and not only because the measure was essentially an internal-political one, but also because even when the French left is correct, it is definitely not smart.

In the introduction to the Hebrew edition of Raymond Aron's "The Algerian Tragedy," Professor Emmanuel Sivan analyzes this symptom: In France, he explains, politicians tend to be "frighteningly cynical - even, and primarily, when speaking loftily about morality - while the intellectuals tend to be detached 'moralists'." (This brings to mind, in particular, Albert Camus and his denial of oppression in Algeria and Jean-Paul Sartre and his support for the USSR in 1956 - A.G.) Thus, the moralists of the French left had little impact on the war crimes perpetrated by France in Algeria, while Aron, a centrist who spoke in the name of realpolitik, significantly contributed to the effort to convince the French to end the occupation.

In the case of the law against deniers of the massacre of the Armenian people, the French left is again ignoring realpolitik. This only serves to muffle the internal Turkish debate that finally began to awaken after years of silence. The French should demonstrate sensitivity for denials. After all, it has only been a few years since they allowed references to the "war" in Algeria and lifted censorship from Gillo Pontecorvo's 1965 film "The Battle of Algiers." Why now of all times, when France is in a tumult over a film exposing a new affair - the (denied) colonial use of North Africans as soldiers in World War II - is it so urgent for the left to focus on the Armenians?

Perhaps it is because of another, concealed motive related to the fear of Turkey's entry to the European Union: the fear of Islam, which the Pope expressed in his native tongue during a visit to his homeland. This fear is the strongest thread motivating politicians in Europe today. The French, who are waging a desperate battle against head scarves and the teenagers in the suburbs, are on the eve of a dramatic election campaign and its perennial X-factor, Jean-Marie Le Pen, who threatens again to conjure up the dark ghosts and fears simmering on the republic's ideological periphery.

An Islamic Turkey frightens the French, and the fear makes them forget smart realpolitik. If Raymond Aron were alive today, perhaps he would explain to the citizens of his country that the order of the day is actually to bring Turkey closer, help it prosper, encourage its democracy, and reinforce the voices of Pamuk and his colleagues. The insult and enmity now engendered in Turkey as a result of the French legislation were unnecessary.