Paris is Calling.
As some of you may know, May 6th marked the day of the presidential election here in France. Good ol' Jaques Chirac has released his throne a top the Eiffel Tower (there really is a throne up there where the presidents of France sit and run the country...) and given it to Nicolas Sarkozy. Sarkozy, being from the right wing political party of the Republic of France, is most commonly referred to as the french Bush, Napoleon, Hitler, Dracula, and Lucifer himself. It is believed that now with Sarkozy making decisions, immigrants with families in France should expect to ripped from the arms of their children and sent back to their original countries. Employees should expect to work longer hours. Small business owners should expect to be hustled out by large corporations. Unions should expect less liberty, allowing their services be required to work during their strikes. And kids living in the ghettos should start getting used to fearing the cops, because they are going to be there, with water cannon like hoses, beat this shit out of anyone who comes there way with mal intentions. I see the terror on the beautiful faces of my young students who live in these ghettos and who come from African countries and I wonder. But this leftist perspective can be compared with those who see Sarkozy as a man of promise and action. A man who plans to better France's economy and international relations. A man who will take to the streets and address France's problems head on. He wants to better the ghettos. He wants to strengthen the work force and the work side by side with the unions to meet their demands. Accepting his new rank in office, he said, "America is our friends, but they must not forget their responsibilities to the environment and their contribution to its destruction." But this was before or after George Bush called him up to giggle a bit. Hmm... This is what I know off the top of my head about Sarkozy.
How do I feel about him? Well, I'm a liberal, yet not quite a socialist. But right wing politics give me a blood wrenching chill in my groin thanks to last seven years of it in my home country of the USA. Seven years of a maggot eaten carcass of bullshit, lies, rape, and murder. Thanks Bushies.
So any ways, May 6th, the polls came in, and the lovely Ségolène Royal lost by 4%. Being that the Bastille quarter of Paris is known for its revolutionary symbolism, the socialists and anarchist tend to convene there to protest. Along with them are Paris' own boys in bleu...and plastic riot gear...and tear gas cannons.
So let me paint the picture. After having a beer at my friendly bar, owned by the bald monsieur who knows me by face, me and my pals decide to see what the Bastille is like now that some time has passed. Armed with a couple cameras (so sorry, didn't have mine, but Henry was armed with his Canon GL1, so we got some goods), we entered a mob of hundreds of people shouting chants against Sarkozy and his regime. Blocking off most main streets were riot cops, storming a rain of stones and red flares falling at their feet. I grabbed my friend Meghan's camera, told my friends to stay where they are no matter what, and ran into the action. But only seconds after I did, a small shower of tear gas bombs fell near me. Unmasked, I took as many pictures that I could see through my watery eyes. I ran back to where I had left the group, but they had fled due to the cloud of pepper spray that now fogged the streets. I searched for clear air. I found in it Meghan and her boyfriend Jean Christophe. Together, we took temporary shelter in the metro station. But even that was gassed. We resurfaced near the Opera, where most people were sitting on the high steps watching the show. The Bastille itself was now covered in anarchists rioters and red writing expressing their contempt (le mépris) for the new president. Other kids were breaking bus stop windows and tearing the metal trash cans from their concrete foundations. We met and mingled with my friend Fanny and her group of left wing peaceful protesters. Shortly after, the gas bombs started to fall closer to us and the police started to advance. To get a different perspective, we moved to the opposite side of the monument. But something felt wrong. I looked around and saw that we were the only few standing there. Turning my head, I saw the reason why: a big fucking police tank armed with water cannons came rolling up right beside us. Like hail, rioter owned rocks began to fall from the sky around us. Tear gas bombs exploded at own feet. So we ran. Don't really run with a mob of people in a riot, just keep your head up, be aware, and move to the side. But run if the shit starts blowing up in your face. I told Meghan to cover her mouth, but it was too late. One french boy said, "Ahh, take it in, its good to feel it. Then give them hell." Hell was what it looked like. The red glow of flare light gas clouds and the flickering flames of starting fires burning in the streets.
Well, we eventually met up with some other friends, Mike and Juliette, who had just arrived. They wanted to stay and get into the action, but we had had enough. And we were hungry. So we made our way down my street, which was now sprinkled with fires, mobs, and an opposing police brigade. We spent dinner talking politics but also had some good laughs, and we all made it home safely.
I went back this morning to see the aftermath. Wow, French cleanup service works fast. The glass had been swept. The Rocks had been cleared. The writing was still there though. And its meaning and intention will probably stay for a long time. Well at least the next 5 years, the term of a French president.
***Truth: The experience was exciting, but I was a little sad to see people acting so savagely. I thought it would of been more powerful if the kids had sat in front of the police and not said a word, but hummed in unison. That is my true San Franciscan heart. I love my little hood and to see it defaced that way was kinda shitty. I thought about the guy who had to clean up the next morning. But this is France, and some of its romantic history lies in the passion of its revolutions and protests. There is a sense of true freedom when a group of people say "NON!" and make themselves heard. But are they always right? Only time will tell in this instance. Oh? The sirens are crying tonight as well. Could it be that they wage another battle? Let's go see.
-A
As some of you may know, May 6th marked the day of the presidential election here in France. Good ol' Jaques Chirac has released his throne a top the Eiffel Tower (there really is a throne up there where the presidents of France sit and run the country...) and given it to Nicolas Sarkozy. Sarkozy, being from the right wing political party of the Republic of France, is most commonly referred to as the french Bush, Napoleon, Hitler, Dracula, and Lucifer himself. It is believed that now with Sarkozy making decisions, immigrants with families in France should expect to ripped from the arms of their children and sent back to their original countries. Employees should expect to work longer hours. Small business owners should expect to be hustled out by large corporations. Unions should expect less liberty, allowing their services be required to work during their strikes. And kids living in the ghettos should start getting used to fearing the cops, because they are going to be there, with water cannon like hoses, beat this shit out of anyone who comes there way with mal intentions. I see the terror on the beautiful faces of my young students who live in these ghettos and who come from African countries and I wonder. But this leftist perspective can be compared with those who see Sarkozy as a man of promise and action. A man who plans to better France's economy and international relations. A man who will take to the streets and address France's problems head on. He wants to better the ghettos. He wants to strengthen the work force and the work side by side with the unions to meet their demands. Accepting his new rank in office, he said, "America is our friends, but they must not forget their responsibilities to the environment and their contribution to its destruction." But this was before or after George Bush called him up to giggle a bit. Hmm... This is what I know off the top of my head about Sarkozy.
How do I feel about him? Well, I'm a liberal, yet not quite a socialist. But right wing politics give me a blood wrenching chill in my groin thanks to last seven years of it in my home country of the USA. Seven years of a maggot eaten carcass of bullshit, lies, rape, and murder. Thanks Bushies.
So any ways, May 6th, the polls came in, and the lovely Ségolène Royal lost by 4%. Being that the Bastille quarter of Paris is known for its revolutionary symbolism, the socialists and anarchist tend to convene there to protest. Along with them are Paris' own boys in bleu...and plastic riot gear...and tear gas cannons.
So let me paint the picture. After having a beer at my friendly bar, owned by the bald monsieur who knows me by face, me and my pals decide to see what the Bastille is like now that some time has passed. Armed with a couple cameras (so sorry, didn't have mine, but Henry was armed with his Canon GL1, so we got some goods), we entered a mob of hundreds of people shouting chants against Sarkozy and his regime. Blocking off most main streets were riot cops, storming a rain of stones and red flares falling at their feet. I grabbed my friend Meghan's camera, told my friends to stay where they are no matter what, and ran into the action. But only seconds after I did, a small shower of tear gas bombs fell near me. Unmasked, I took as many pictures that I could see through my watery eyes. I ran back to where I had left the group, but they had fled due to the cloud of pepper spray that now fogged the streets. I searched for clear air. I found in it Meghan and her boyfriend Jean Christophe. Together, we took temporary shelter in the metro station. But even that was gassed. We resurfaced near the Opera, where most people were sitting on the high steps watching the show. The Bastille itself was now covered in anarchists rioters and red writing expressing their contempt (le mépris) for the new president. Other kids were breaking bus stop windows and tearing the metal trash cans from their concrete foundations. We met and mingled with my friend Fanny and her group of left wing peaceful protesters. Shortly after, the gas bombs started to fall closer to us and the police started to advance. To get a different perspective, we moved to the opposite side of the monument. But something felt wrong. I looked around and saw that we were the only few standing there. Turning my head, I saw the reason why: a big fucking police tank armed with water cannons came rolling up right beside us. Like hail, rioter owned rocks began to fall from the sky around us. Tear gas bombs exploded at own feet. So we ran. Don't really run with a mob of people in a riot, just keep your head up, be aware, and move to the side. But run if the shit starts blowing up in your face. I told Meghan to cover her mouth, but it was too late. One french boy said, "Ahh, take it in, its good to feel it. Then give them hell." Hell was what it looked like. The red glow of flare light gas clouds and the flickering flames of starting fires burning in the streets.
Well, we eventually met up with some other friends, Mike and Juliette, who had just arrived. They wanted to stay and get into the action, but we had had enough. And we were hungry. So we made our way down my street, which was now sprinkled with fires, mobs, and an opposing police brigade. We spent dinner talking politics but also had some good laughs, and we all made it home safely.
I went back this morning to see the aftermath. Wow, French cleanup service works fast. The glass had been swept. The Rocks had been cleared. The writing was still there though. And its meaning and intention will probably stay for a long time. Well at least the next 5 years, the term of a French president.
***Truth: The experience was exciting, but I was a little sad to see people acting so savagely. I thought it would of been more powerful if the kids had sat in front of the police and not said a word, but hummed in unison. That is my true San Franciscan heart. I love my little hood and to see it defaced that way was kinda shitty. I thought about the guy who had to clean up the next morning. But this is France, and some of its romantic history lies in the passion of its revolutions and protests. There is a sense of true freedom when a group of people say "NON!" and make themselves heard. But are they always right? Only time will tell in this instance. Oh? The sirens are crying tonight as well. Could it be that they wage another battle? Let's go see.
-A
posted by Alexander at 1:59 PM
1 Comments:
ignoring me? or busy. or both?
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