On September 11th, I was in my school cafeteria when the first plane struck the North Tower. When the Boston Marathon bomb went off, I was on Twitter, watching tweets devolve from frivolous to frantic, the story unfolding before my eyes in real-time. And as the calamitous events in Paris on Wednesday terrorized the city, I again sat rapt before my social feeds as every shot, cry, tear and expression of fear distorted France’s narrative. Never will I forget. The week of Galette des Rois became a week of national questioning and grief so mighty that perfect strangers gripped one another in hysterics, aching with loss. I live but a ten minute walk from the Charlie Hebdo office in the 11th arrondissement. As much as I felt heartache for America as innocent lives were shaken and lost in Boston, I was completely inert, thunderstruck by what was happening in my neighborhood.
With my colleagues, we sat slack jawed all day as the story developed. The atmosphere was heavy and grim but we watched intently as the #jesuischarlie sentiment took form and mushroomed into a veritable movement. By that evening, 35,000 people gathered at Place de la République for an improvised vigil and the fear and panic, which were unquestionably present, were quelled temporarily by immense love and national pride. Never have I felt more French than this week nor more saddened by the venomous hate that continues unabated to infect the world.
Some insightful articles have been published since Wednesday, analyzing what this attack symbolizes for France, for the rest of the world and for Muslims who disavow violence in the name of religion. I commend the journalists and cartoonists, many of whom were in paris to experience this pain firsthand, for their ability to articulate the larger economic, geopolitical and religious implications of the catastrophe. I’ve even seen opinion pieces questioning the morality of Charlie Hebdo’s work – pure satire or racism girded by free speech? Then followed the articles insisting that France’s barely-veiled contempt of immigrants and their French-born children is equally at fault- after all, jobless, disenfranchised citizens are more susceptible to the brainwashing and recruitment tactics of religious extremists.
But I believe I speak for many when I say that kind of acute discussion feels premature at a time when most of us are still trying to make sense of the tragedy. The conversation is meant to be focused on wanton acts of violence and lives lost. I can’t allow myself to actively engage in much more than that right now.
However, what this week has revealed (and a fact we must accept in today’s world), is that no place, no matter how small or historically peaceful and tolerant, is safe from blind hate and ideologies in which death and destruction are a barometer of sanctity.
An unprecedented 3 million people marched in the streets all over France in peaceful protest of terrorism today. The day’s events, even the bits that were politically charged, were moving and truly unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed in my life. But what made me most proud to be French was the moment the crowds erupted into song, singing the ‘Marseillaise’ in unity. Even those whose nation the anthem may not represent sang wildly and in collective support for a touching conclusion to a horrific week. Millions marched to piece back together the fragmented shards of hope and send a message that we will not allow fear to define our future.
There are deeper conversations to be pursued and should not be taken lightly. But for now, let us feel the jumble of emotions we need to feel and mourn, not only France but to all those who have been silenced.
** All photos by friend and photographer Jesse Morgan. For more of his photos from today’s march, visit Instagram.
There are deeper conversations to be pursued and should not be taken lightly. But for now, let us feel the jumble of emotions we need to feel and mourn, not only France but to all those who have been silenced.
** All photos by friend and photographer Jesse Morgan. For more of his photos from today’s march, visit Instagram.
