Buzzing from red wine and energized by the excitement of the City of Light, I sat with a group of my classmates at a café on the edge of Paris’ left bank. None of us knew that across town the first of three suicide bombers had detonated their deadly payload outside of the Stade de France. Veiled in the safety of our ignorance, we decided to make our way back to the hotel for one last drink before making the twenty minute walk towards the Bastille neighborhood. We had no idea that this area was already in the midst of a grizzly attack. In twenty minutes, gunman would kill forty-nine people at five bars and restaurants.
Back at the hotel, the Wi-Fi was barely functional, and most of were embracing the opportunity to disconnect from our phones. At this same time, a little over a mile and a half away, three attackers stormed the Bataclan concert hall, killing 89 people. Just as we began to leave one of my classmates shouted, “There’s been a terrorist attack in Paris!” Shock surged through the room, with disbelief following close behind. As we silenced the music, the sound of sirens wailed through the open window. I ran down to the tiny lobby of the hotel, where a French news station was already blaring reports of the devastation. Watching the bustling street outside, I saw news of the attack spread like a virus. Fear and confusion gripped everyone, shattering the beautiful ease of Paris. I stayed in the lobby until the early morning, slowly suffocating on the realness of it all. Amazingly, the next morning the French people were back to work, as if each individual act of normality was a victory in itself.
I find myself constantly reliving this chain of events. I’m struck by the unconceivable randomness, and the possibility of what could have been. We had been seated an hour after our dinner reservation, and without this delay we very well could have been right where the attacks took place. Arbitrary decisions on time and place put some in the line of fire, while sparing others. This is what makes these attacks so terrifying. The utter randomness allows you to recognize a piece of yourself in each of the victims. I am incredibly grateful for my safety and feel immense grief for the victims. My initial impulse was towards revenge, but I feel moved to find some semblance of greater meaning in the barbarity.
Paris was a fully conceptualized exercise in inciting fear. The killing was indiscriminate, but the intended target was not. Daesh aimed not only to destroy life, but to erode our very perception of what it means to live in a free, secure and value-based society. In the West, the potent impact of the Paris attacks stems in part from the existence of common experience. Our fear is so profound because we can envision ourselves in that exact situation. However, the tragedy in Paris also provides an opportunity to build a sense of common experience with all of those who have experienced violence at the hands of Daesch. This is why is it especially painful to see the spread of Islamaphobia in the wake of these attacks, especially in regards to Syrian refugees. This moment should offer an opportunity for reflection on how we see safety as a fundamental human value. Xenophobia, racism and fear-mongering are rooted in a lack of empathy, and these are exactly the sort of divisive reactions that Daesch wants. To let fear govern our actions is to give in to the terrorists’ demands. After seeing the devastation in Paris, how can we not sympathize with those who have lived through this sort of violence on a daily basis? How do we expect to be a bastion of human dignity when we refuse solidarity out of fear?
Burger is a senior Prindle Intern