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Why, then, was his case pursued? One reason may be that for a pro-Soviet leftist, Pathé had unusually close links with business and government. His brother-in-law, Bernard Vermier-Palliez, is president of the state-owned Renault autos, which has just agreed to become the principal owner of a U.S. automaker, American Motors. Pathé himself belongs to a group called Movement for the Independence of Europe, whose members have included a number of government ministers. Thus, as the court suggested, Pathé's danger lay not only in his role as a biased small-press journalist, but as a man of important private influence. Moreover, the government may have been looking to set a harsh precedent. French Counterespionage Commissioner Raymond Nart acknowledges that Pathé was punished simply for having contributed to "an operation of orientation of the French public." The Pathé case, one bitter witness told TIME's Sandra Burton, was the state's "warning to the press that it is dangerous to accept information from foreign sources."
The French press recognized the warning—and roundly denounced it. The conservative Le Figaro called Pathé a "scapegoat," and Versailles's Toutes les Nouvelles feared that espionage would henceforth include "confidences and personal analyses of men and political events." Meanwhile, a petition signed by 100 journalists complains that the court's decision poses "a serious threat for freedom of expression and information."
Coincidentally, only days before Pathé was tried, French authorities were beginning to press another case of disinformation. Roger Delpey, a right-wing author, was arrested on the steps of the Libyan People's Bureau in Paris. He was charged with resorting to "technical disinformation" that would "compromise the external policy of France."
Delpey's troubles began shortly after Central African Emperor Jean-Bédel Bokassa was ousted with French help last September. The Paris-based satirical weekly Le Canard Enchaĭné (The Chained Duck) printed a 1973 document signed by Bokassa authorizing a large cache of diamond gifts to his old friend, French President Valéry Giscard d'Estaing, who was Finance Minister at that time. The tale was almost forgotten when Delpey was quietly jailed. Last week Le Canard Enchaĭné ran excerpts of a telephone interview with Bokassa, now living in exile in the Ivory Coast. He not only confirmed the diamond document, but said that he had employed Delpey to write his memoirs and to send letters pleading his case to French and African leaders. Bokassa added that he had given 187 documents to Delpey, some of which are thought to contain further embarrassments for Giscard.
Some French journalists were convinced that Delpey had been imprisoned for acting as Bokassa's personal secretary and accomplice in humiliating Giscard. His biggest crime, noted the left-wing Le Monde, was his "bad acquaintances." Undeterred, the French prosecutor said he would press the case against Delpey, alluding to "technical disinformation which the court has already come to know in other affairs"—namely, those of Pierre-Charles Pathé, who is now in Fresnes prison serving a five-year sentence.