It’s been
ten days since the terrorist attacks in Paris. A week and a half in which
something approaching life has continued, but people have become variously
scared, defiant, distrustful.
The present
concerns are whether the political response of bombing the hell out of Syria is
wise, and resistance to the French government’ s move to constrain personal
freedoms. For the French, Liberté is a very serious tenant, even in a state of
emergency.
On a daily
basis these things concern me much less than my neighbours. Je suis Paris, but I have long since
given up on active political engagement as it does no good to my health. I
cannot over-fill my mind and heart or they will break completely. That’s why I
will not be going to Place de la
Republique to look at the growing shrine to the dead. It’s the reason why I
do not join the collective mourning.
My only
contact with public expressions of grief and outrage was the floral tributes at
the school gate next to my apartment building
It was hard to avoid the white flowers, candles and messages from the
pupils for their murdered music teacher. And impossible to side-step the girl
walking towards me one morning last week, carrying a perfect rose, her expression
of sadness not one any child should know.
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