Machine Guns and Armed Patrols
When I arrived in Paris on September 4, 2015, to see if it was a town in which I might want to hang my hat for a while, the streets looked different. Now, no matter the neighborhood, be prepared to see a group of 3 to 8 armed soldiers strolling down the sidewalk, their machine guns held loosely in front of them. This is the military, not the police. And it is one of the residual stains left by the blood shed on November 13, 2015.
November 13
I didn’t happen to be in Paris that day, though I was based here already. I’d taken a 5-day holiday to Florence (one of the perks of living in Europe — all the magical cities of the continent are easily, and affordable, accessible!). Friday, November 13 was my last day there, so I’d turned off my phone to soak everything in a bit more deeply.
But, in Paris, chaos erupted on the streets. (To get a visceral sense of it, I recommend the Netflix documentary series: “November 13: Attack on Paris.”)
I was only made aware of the evening’s events from the onslaught of messages, voicemails and pings that greeted me when I turned my phone back on just before crawling into bed. It was the first time Facebook’s Check-In feature was used. Such an odd sign of the times (and now ubiquitous).
One of the lessons you learn, as an expat, is to do your own research before responding to the frantic queries of friends and family Stateside. The U.S. media loves a good drama. And, more often than not, they manufacture a Greek tragedy out of the equivalent of a stubbed toe. In this case, however, they got it right.
Or, sort of.
Fear and Sadness
When I landed in Paris the following morning (because, no, flights were not halted across Europe), I was struck by the sobbing skies. The hardest rain I’d yet witnessed in the 3 months I’d been here was drowning Paris. (You always notice the weather in these situations.) And this, after a gratifying and unseasonably warm and sunny autumn, was eerily apropos. It reminded me of all the comments about the blue skies on 9-11. But that’s where similarities ended, for me.
Fear is a hustling, scavenging son-of-a-bitch. It quickly turns to rage and violence for those who are lazy. It makes people support stupid shit like unjustified wars and criminal elections. But I didn’t see that in the streets of Paris. Instead, I saw transparent grief and resilience.
And I still felt safer than on any given day while living in Los Angeles.
But a state of emergency was activated. And the machine gun-wielding military showed up on the streets.
Big Guns
The police in France don’t carry guns. That’s why the military showed up. And seeing the military wander the streets of Paris isn’t actually a new optic for the French. This is a country across which many military squads have traipsed over the decades and centuries. They come and go. Nothing to really write home about.
The only difference is that, this time, they don’t seem to be going away. And they are known to startle (ironically and particularly) American tourists, when seen chatting with young school kids who nonchalantly hover and grin while eye-level with gun muzzles.
Caution as Routine
Announcements in the metro — warnings against abandoned bags and reminders about random search powers — are now part of the daily public transportation experience. Just three years ago, they were rare.
Purse and backpack checks at every public and commercial building entry are now automatic. Just three years ago, they were non-existant except at football matches.
But there aren’t any metal detectors at school entrances. And when something happens, you don’t hear immediate demands to go bomb the shit out of a foreign country.
Remembering, in Historical Context
I can sound like a broken record when discussing how everything here is filtered through a historical context. It is because the depth and nuance of this context is a truly foreign concept in my native culture.
November 13 was a tragic event. In a (very) long line of tragic events. Going back to the massacre of Parisii in ancient Gaul, on the Champs de Mars, by Roman conquerers. And balanced against the (equally long) line of triumphs.
That balance is one of the most remarkable components of French culture that consistently awes me. There are bullet scars left over from the November 13 attacks. Just down the street from those left by attacks of one sort or another from 50 years ago, 100 years ago, 200 years ago, and onward. Back into an ages-old tapestry of power struggles.
Yet all of this is tempered by astounding beauty, creativity and community. So I anticipate that one day museum goers will stand in front of a painting that features a group of soldiers strolling the Tuileries. And they will remark on how the background looks exactly the same as in the Manet painting hanging nearby. And as in the photograph they, themselves, just took a few hours earlier while exploring the very same pathways.