As someone of French ancestry I have
mixed feelings about what is going on in France these days. As we’ve all seen,
things can get ugly when feelings of oppression result in spontaneous uprisings
by the people. The yellow vests (gilets
jaunes) are not the first to revolt in France; it seems part of the nature
of Frenchmen to take to the streets in protest. The country’s history is
punctuated with scenes of guillotines and barricades replayed spectacularly by
Hollywood and Broadway (ex. A Tale of Two
Cities, Les Misérables). That’s a pity, because the French can be so
charming and lovable. Here are two examples.
On my last visit to Paris I was
walking along the Quay d’Anjou one day on my way to Notre Dame when I decided
to cross the street to get a better view of the Seine. But my foot caught on
the edge of the curb and I fell headfirst into a stone wall. I lay there
stunned, when out of nowhere came two ladies to my aid. They knelt by my side,
worried I was badly hurt. They offered to call for help. I said I was OK, but
they waited until I was able to get back on my feet before leaving me. I’ll
never forget their eyes: they were the eyes of angels.
A few days later I was coming out of
La Madeleine, the vast neo-classical church dedicated to Napoleon’s glories,
when I saw two policemen across the street. Not unusual in Paris, except that
these two were armed with automatic weapons. I didn’t know what was going
on, so I asked them, half expecting to be told to mind my own business and move
on. Instead I ended up having a pleasant conversation with smiling
law-enforcement officers who were part of a detachment anticipating a
demonstration by a group of bikers. These officers may have been among those wielding
batons and arresting looters on the Champs-Elysées last month. But to me, they
are just one of the many memories I have of my favorite city and its wonderful
people.
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