By chance, my wife and I found ourselves in Paris on the morning of January 7, in an apartment overlooking (as we would soon learn) the offices of Charlie Hebdo, the satirical weekly. We heard the shots, and witnessed the escape of the gunmen, and spent the rest of the day hosting a horde of journalists who found their way to the apartment, which they used as a vantage point for filming the police and ambulances. On Sunday, we participated in the Great Republican March. Our experience and reflections may be of interest; please follow below the fold. (The picture shows where a bullet struck a mirrored window on the ground floor of our building.)
We heard gunfire -- extremely loud and impossible to mistake. I went to the window and saw a man with a submachine gun (not a Kalashnikov, by the way) getting into a small black car. My wife cautioned me to get away from the window, which I did, as the car drove off, firing as it went; the noise of the shots became fainter as the car receded.
At the time, it was not obvious to me that a terror attack had occurred; I thought (probably due to my American conditioning) that a drug-related vendetta was at least as likely. It was not until some minutes after the shooting (20 perhaps?) that internet news sites began reporting that the satirical weekly Charlie Hebdo had been the object of the attack; this was the first I had ever heard of Charlie Hebdo; but at that point it didn't take a genius to suspect terror as the motivation. Looking back, I also realize that the distant shots we heard were those directed at the gallant police officer Ahmed Merabet, who was killed while trying to stop the getaway, and in whose memory a shrine was soon established on Boulevard Richard Lenoir.
Our apartment (a vacation rental) had large windows, and offered an excellent view (below) of Rue Nicolas Appert, on which were located the offices of Charlie Hebdo. The gap between the two buildings (at the center-left of the photograph) is Rue Gaby Sylvia, down which the gunmen escaped. Police and ambulances are already visible in this picture; many more were soon to arrive.
Not surprisingly, members of the Press soon found their way to our apartment, and requested permission (which we granted) to take photographs from our windows, and from a small balcony outside, as well as to interview us. I was interviewed in French and in English by the network France 2, and and in English by Dubai TV. The France 2 correspondent wanted to know if I suspected terrorism from the outset (I did not), and I am reasonably confident I got zero air-time. The last cameraman departed at 7:00 that evening.
Thursday I visited the open-air market at Place de la Bastille; it was open but comparatively deserted; the vendors were taking care of business and (on the whole) not discussing the news with customers. It was nonetheless impossible not to know that a massive manhunt was in progress; I believe it was Thursday that I learned that the identity of the shooters was known.
On Friday my wife and I visited the Musee Picasso; we had thought to eat at a falafel joint in the nearby Marais (the historic Jewish quarter), but we quickly learned that 'Toute le quartier est fermé' (the whole quarter was shut down). On the whole, not surprising. We dined eventually at a Lebanese cafe, where the television news was playing throughout, and the boss came to our table to inform us that the brothers Kouachi (the Charlie Hebdo shooters) and Amedy Coulibaly (the hostage taker at a kosher superette) had been tracked down and shot dead in gunfights with the police.
Saturday was another museum day, at the end of which we had decided, with no discussion whatever, to join the Republican March on Sunday, to (so to speak) add our presence to that of many foreign heads of state, including Angela Merkel, David Cameron, and Benjamin Netanyahu. By then the slogan "Je suis Charlie" (I am Charlie) was well planted in everyone's mind, and the Hotel de Ville (City Hall) was embellished with huge banners to inform us that "Paris is Charlie." No doubt we imbibed prevailing spirit, which influenced our decision.
The easy part on Sunday was getting up to Place de la Republique (PDR), where the march was to start--about 15 minutes walk (in normal circumstances) from our apartment. The march was to begin at 3:00 pm; by 1:30 (when we set for PDR) there was already a considerable crowd flowing in that direction. Among the many excellent signs and banners, I particularly enjoyed this one, which says (among other things), "Fuck Hatred -- I have lost my crazy guardians -- Charlie Atheist, Muslim, Catholic, Jew, Gay, Free."
The plaza was filled with people and banners, and soon we were encased in a crush of humanity in which movement was near impossible. Amazingly, an ambulance made its way, inch by inch, through the crowd, and two paramedics elbowed their way towards a building nearby; photographers from the press attempted to follow them, but were shouted down and blocked by the crowd; nonetheless, a woman next to me admonished the assemblage "Shhh…n'oubliez pas pourquoi on est la" (Don't forget why we are here). BTW, that's my arm with the Je suis Charlie sticker, of which more later.
People tended to have come in small groups, and conversations tended to stay within those groups; there was little cross-chatter, during the long wait for the march to begin. According to television reports later that evening, the plaza (PDR) became something of a hotbed of discussion, but such was not the case when we were out.
The striking thing to me was the overall mood, which was of sorrow rather than anger (a truism, but nonetheless true.)
The march started late, about 3:45; and by 4:30 we had advanced perhaps 200 yards. We ducked into a side street, where foot traffic was moving well, and made our way back to the apartment, to scrub it down and pack for our next day's departure home.
***
Well-- recital of the narrative is easy; the difficult part is attempting to make sense of these events. I have not yet even arrived at the means of ordering the questions in my own mind. So far, the arguments seem to present two broad strands: i) how to place the evils of jihadism in the larger context of the twinned evils of the global war on terror, and the occupation of Gaza and the West Bank; and ii) granting that no one deserves death for publishing their opinions, what does one actually think of the typical content of Charlie Hebdo? It is fair to say, that as the author of some scurrilous (but as yet unpublished) political tracts, I have a dog in this fight.
Then there is actually a third strand, which is the future of Judaism in France. This comes particularly to the forefront with the news that Benjamin Netanyahu was in fact dis-invited to the Great March, but forced his presence upon François Hollande, who responded by inviting Mahmoud Abbas. Turkish President Ergodan was scathing in his criticism of Netanyahu, in light of the recent asymmetric warfare in Gaza. This contrasted sharply with the views of many in the mainstream French press, who tended to treat jihad as a phenomenon sui generis and to ignore the possibility of causative links outside. There were other French outlets of lower profile that gave a more nuanced (islamocentric, if you will) view. Beyond this there can be found on the internet some extremely hard-hitting (some would say over-the-top) cartoons expressing outrage over the war in Gaza.
This brings to us to the cartoons in Charlie Hebdo, particularly those mocking the Prophet Mohammed, which are considered to have been the proximal cause of the attack. There is the infamous caricature of Mohammed with his face in hands, lamenting that "C'est dure d'être aimé par des cons", which although usually translated along lines of "It's tough when the people who love you are all schmucks (or morons or blithering idiots)" -- the literal French is "It's hard to be loved by c_nts." Sorry-- that's what it says. Many will argue that 'con' is relatively acceptable and innocuous in much of France, like 'schmuck' in much of the US. I am here to tell you that my dear friend the French grandmother -- a down-to-earth countrywoman, whom it took me nonetheless 15 years to tutoyer (i.e. to address familiarly)-- would absolutely not tolerate such language in any normal social setting. I will confess that I am not myself entirely comfortable with this image and its caption.
Nonethless, the same artist, Charb, who died in the attacks of January 7, produced and published in Charlie Hebdo some work which I greatly admire, and which I here reproduce.
The man at the desk is telling the (non-plussed) couple, "It's going to be necessary for you to reimburse us for the money that you lent us and we lost." The woman is saying, "That's not exactly my idea of a bank."
In this one, the Israeli is saying to the Palestinian, "So, isn't it cool to have your own country?"
Finally, the last cartoon bears the legend "Israel Menaced! The Gaza flotilla shall not pass!"
***
In sum, yes, I think some of the stuff in Charlie Hebdo was over-the-top, but that is highly personal, and based on a American sensibility, which is surely not, and never will be, French. On the other hand, there are plenty of other things to show that the magazine has been an equal opportunity critic, and has not hesitated to brand, to pillory, to excoriate wherever it saw need. So, am I Charlie? The jury is still out on that one. I have oscillated on the question, and continue to do so. One of the interviewers asked me, what did I think of the day's events. My reply was to the effect that he couldn't ask me that question, because it would be weeks before I knew. Oddly enough, I have no difficulty in identifying with the fallen Muslim policeman, Ahmed Merabet, and am perfectly willing (although of Jewish descent) to say "Je suis Ahmed."