Place de la Republique
Opera
Opera
Carnival Atmosphere
The Protest
Onlookers
The angry mob
The Barricade-those are water cannons on top of the "tank"
My mask
Strike
On Thursday the 29th every single Parisian, except police officers and Sarkozy, went on strike. Needless to say, I participated.
This is how the strike was explained to me by a Frenchman.
"The government is trying to privatize things. Like schools. And hospitals. Like America does. We don't want that. We are striking."
I can assure you the people in the streets were striking about much more than just that. Schools and hospitals were represented but were by no means the majority. In my opinion it was the immigrants who made the biggest show. There were thousands of immigrants in the streets striking for work visas, better rights, fair treatment, benefits, etc.
Robin and I joined Baptiste and several of his friends in the march from the Bastille to the Opera via Place de la Republique. The march was huge. It started at 2pm and five hours later on our way back to the Bastille people were still on their way to the Opera, shouting and banging drums. The whole day was filled with carnival-like atmosphere. There were street performers, vendors, floats with music and skits, lots of banners, lots of flares and smoke, and lots of angry French people. On the whole it was a lively but civil strike. I never saw one act of violence. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but when it was over I felt a bit disappointed. Maybe it was that my feet were frozen solid.
Protest
Two days later I joined Baptiste again, this time for a protest. As it was explained to me by another Frenchman:
"We are anti anti-terrorism. We don't like the government using anti-terrorism as an excuse to take away our liberties. So we are protesting."
This time we marched from the Luxembourg Gardens to the Maison de Sante, the Paris Prison. Along the way there were chants of, "we are all terrorists!" and "free our comrades!"
The people protesting were a crazy mix, young and old, wealthy and homeless, of clear thought and conscious and some downright crazies! A large part of the group wore white plastic masks with "terrorist" scrawled across the front.
In the crowd I saw toddlers with masks on, old men with canes, a man on a skateboard pushing himself along with crutches. I even recognized M. Fournier, the man who lives above me at 5 Rue de Navarre.
When the bulk of the crowd reached the Prison, where the police barricade was set up, hell broke loose...but only on the side of the "terrorists." Fireworks, firecrackers, flares, fruit, vegetables, beer and wine bottles, rocks, anything they could get their hands on were shot, flung, hurled, catapulted at the police barricade. Yet the police barely flinched. When a bottle was headed toward their face they would side-step it calmly and return to formation.
I can understand the point of view of the protesters and the frustration they must feel, but the way in which they carried it out seemed counterproductive.
I won't lie. I was fascinated by the violence, I felt excited, scared, adrenaline. But when it was all over and the protesters had climaxed and subsided, the police were still holding their line, covered in ash, glass, and food. It made the protesters look like petulant children screaming and kicking against a locked door, finally turning away and crawling to a corner to lick the wounds they inflicted upon themselves.
Again, I didn't imagine it being like this. I left with a very peculiar feeling, and numb feet and fingers.
The strikers at the Opera
The drumobile
Look how many rockets are being shot off!!
Listen for the explosion of fire-crackers...
Fire in the hole!
