the psychopathocracy insists on being feared and cannot stand being mocked...,

macleans | Dieudonné first performed the quenelle—literally, “dumpling”—in 2005 during one of his shows. He did so offhandedly during a stream of consciousness bit about the great mammalian plot against humans. “Today, dolphins look down on human beings. They know they can shove their fins right up our asses,” he said, indicating on his right arm with his left hand exactly how far those dolphin fins could reach. The quenelle was born.

Dieudonné has since used the gesture in his campaign posters in 2009, when he ran unsuccessfully for European parliament. In the posters, which call for a “Liberated Europe,” the comic notably stands next to Alain Soral, a notorious anti-Zionist whose knack for self-promotion nearly rivals that of Dieudonné.

The quenelle has since taken on different meanings for different people: for some, it’s a show of solidarity for the oppressed. For others, it’s a cutesy way to demonstrate one’s displeasure with the political status quo, or a grab bag of apparent sacred cows (including, naturally, the Holocaust.) It’s this last bit that is most troubling: given Dieudonné’s obsession with all things Jewish and Zionist, many see it as a blatantly anti-Semitic gesture akin to the Nazi salute.

Regardless of the meaning, those who perform the gesture are likely all supporters of Dieudonné, which is perhaps the reason why the comic is so gleeful these days: many, many people are doing it. Superstar soccer players, politicians, military members, reality TV stars, and thousands upon thousands of regular Joes: in France, the quenelle is everywhere.

Given the origins of the gesture, you’d think the French government would give the quenelle the attention it deserves—that is to say, none. Yet the French government has long given up on ignoring Dieudonné, and has instead become one of his chief promoters.

Successive French Presidents from Jacques Chirac onwards have attempted to shut Dieudonné up, resulting in dozens of cancelled shows. In 2009, Nicolas Sarkozy’s government attempted to have him banned from running for European parliament. Dieudonné was giddy at the news, going so far as to call Sarkozy spokesperson Claude Guéant “my press attaché” when I interviewed the comic that year. “Attention, buzz, it’s not positive or negative. It just is. I’ll take either. I’ll play the bad guy if they want,” he said.

The current government of François Hollande has only ramped up the anti-Dieudonné offensive. It has put its military and civil service on notice: doing the quenelle is a potential firing offence. French interior minister Manuel Valls successfully urged the cities of Bordeaux, Tours, Orléans and Nantes to cancel his upcoming shows. “It’s a victory for the republic,” said French interior minister Manuel Valls.

Dieudonné’s longevity and burgeoning popularity would suggest, however, that it’s a victory only for Dieudonné. His career has only benefitted from these attempts to silence him. In 2005, the year he first quenelled, Dieudonné “was disappearing from the media spotlight,” as Le Figaro pointed out recently. “His shows were getting cancelled. He was forced to perform his shows on a bus. So he cultivated a counter-culture that bloomed on the Internet.”

It was here where the quenelle went from being a reference to perverse dolphin acts to… well, whatever people wanted it to be: soccer celebration, anti-authoritarian jab, a middle finger to the deeply unpopular Hollande government and, distressingly, ersatz Nazi salute. Absurdly, quenelle hysteria forced a Parisian store to temporarily close it doors. It seems staff received several death threats after one of its mannequins was left in the quenelle position. (The mannequin in question was actually modeling a purse someone forgot to install.)