Cicilie among the Parisians

The playground 10 days ago, before spring came for real

Le square français was the second post I wrote on this blog, but as I've spent a sunny spring afternoon on one again, I just have to share my enthusiasm once more.

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Another warm night, and it seems like insomnia strikes again despite however little storm and poèsie infused sleep I had last night. I’ve been too snotty to go to the jazz concert in Parc Floral and hang around somewhere in East Paris until the early hours, as would have been suitable for this hot Saturday. And I regret it a lot, especially since it’s my second last weekend here (and only three more jazz concerts to go, amongst all the other things I’ll be missing...). Instead I make use of my sleeplessness to finish a blog post I’ve been planning for months.

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Clearly this sunny Sunday is not made for sitting at home writing blog posts (nor is my head today, I notice as I try to express myself in English…), so I’ll just be very brief before I head off to my “office” in the shade of a tree in Parc Floral (Vincennes). (It’s a beautiful park in itself, and every Saturday and Sunday there are excellent and free jazz concerts there all summer, which makes it a perfect place for sitting down with a notebook and reflect on the last days’ events).

But before I go, I just have to share this video I just came across (as usual via Paris.Indymedia). Someone had already told me to check out the young rapeuse Keny Arkana from Marseille; - and her La Rage du Peuple (now with English subtitles!) is certainly great indeed. This video, with its' lyrics and aesthetics capture so much of what’s going on in France (and the world) at the moment. I know this sounds a bit strange, exotic and perhaps even slightly ridiculous to Norwegian readers (oh, please someone, tell me that I’m mistaken... ), but I’m not getting the least surprised when someone is starting to talk about la revolution mondiale (global revolution). But that’s it for today, now I’m off to the park with my notebook, to do some writing on the previous nights’ discussions on, amongst other things, the rage of the people.

Blonde and blue-eyed as I am, I’m not treated as an immigrant here. I often think of my privileged position and how much better I’m treated than many of the locals. While the kids in Clichy-sous-Bois, and elsewhere, are asked for identity papers up to four times daily, I’ve never ever been asked for mine. That’s really lucky, because it’s actually obligatory to carry an id card here, and I always forget mine…

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I couldn’t believe my ears when I head a sociologist saying on a seminar a while ago that the car burning and riot delinquency going on regularly in this country is apolitical. According to him, these riots had neither symbols nor slogans. I can agree that “fuck Sarko” isn’t the most creative slogan you can come up with, but it’s still sort of a slogan. And if the CRS riot police is not a symbol of a certain securitarian policy, well, then, what is? The same goes for the republican schools that were set fire to in the autumn. (I shall agree that it’s not that easy to find the symbolic content in the act of burning your neighbour’s car).

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1st of May, in the morning, I cycled through the quiet streets to a bridge by the Louvre Museum. At the Pont du Carrousel, there is a commemorative plate for Brahim Bourram, who 11 years ago, on this day, drowned after he was thrown into the river Seine by skinheads coming from the annual Front National demonstration. Paris Major Delanoë had put down flowers, and every year MRAP – (Movement against racism and for the friendship between the peoples) – arrange a commemorative ceremony. General secretary Mouloud Aounit didn’t have a microphone, and I was too far away to hear what actually was said, but MRAP has posted a statement on their webpage, which I shall quote from as it speaks directly to the current situation in France:

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Today’s most important event is probably what I’m watching right now; the French cup final described as the dream final for the supporters and the nightmare for the forces of order. Since it’s between my two and only favourite French teams, it’s a dream final for me as well. After I’ve settled my little foldable bike import firm in Marseille my loyalties will probably settle for the Mediterraneans, but until then I’ve spent too much time in the capital to not have divided loyalties. There goes La Marseillaise… All the 80 000 (with tickets sold out weeks ago and reaching 400€ at the internet) are not singing, but quite a few are. The President arrives and shakes the hands with all the players…

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