Landing Amid Chaos
A few days before my last and final flight from Delhi to Paris, videos and images of a yellow car being chased by two French policemen popped up on my Twitter feed and in my notifications. The posts showed the death of Nahel Merzouk, a 17-year-old boy, who was fatally shot on June 27 while driving away during a traffic stop in a Paris suburb. I did not open the videos which showed two policemen shouting at the driver. One of them appears to have his gun drawn. I usually prefer to spare myself from this kind of violent footage. But from the little that I could see, it made me think: “This could have happened in the USA, but France?”
As soon as the videos went viral, riots began to break in several French cities. People were setting cars on fire and vandalising and robbing stores. All those who gathered in the streets of Paris to protest against Merzouk’s death were severely punished by the police. One of my friends is still suffering due to tear gas; another one got injured while escaping the police.
And then suddenly the situation took an absurd turn. The videos on internet were no longer related to Merzouk’s death, but those of looting. Taking advantage of the chaos, dozens of people were seen vandalising shops and carrying telephones, perfumes, cigarettes and even washing machines. An image showed shattered window of a book store, but the books were untouched. It seemed as if people were driven by an insatiable capitalist thirst, and decided to spare literature.
“I am a Policeman”
A few days after landing in Paris, I met some friends for drinks. There was this man I didn’t know. True to form, we talked about our respective professions. I told him about my life as a journalist, but when I asked him, mechanically, “What do you do?”, he took several seconds to respond. “Policeman”, he said, while giving me a mere glance. I felt sad. Despite my anti-police feelings, I empathised with this man I did not even know. I’ve demonstrated on many occasions, for women’s rights, against the French far Right, against the Macron government, against Islamists after the Paris attacks. As a journalist, I’ve also covered many protests. The police never made me feel safe. I understand why people chant “ACAB” (All Cops Are Bastards) slogans during gatherings. I understand why non-white people fear for their lives at every identity check. I’m outraged to see that in France, victims of sexual violence are still not treated properly by the police.
But the latest riots seem to have lost all meaning. Someone I greatly admire, while we were discussing the ongoing protests, said to me: “These are poor people beating up on other poor people”. And, it’s true. At a time when the police force should be reformed, when salaries should be increased, when communication between the forces of law and order and common people should be restored, the same police are targeting and arresting precarious populations enclaved in the Parisian suburbs, abandoned by the government and the institutions.
Fundraising for a “Murderer”
Once the mourning and anger subsided, political recuperations began. The first act of another absurd tragedy was the fundraising campaign launched in support of the policeman charged with Merzouk’s murder, which has just reached the million euro mark. Behind this support campaign is a radical polemicist, who used to be involved with Eric Zemmour, the former far-Right presidential candidate.
When it comes to racist police violence in France, the extreme Right is never far away. Merzouk was a French youth of North African descent and came from a Muslim family. His death highlighted allegations of racism and discrimination against police force and French institutions. On the other side, people like Marine Le Pen and Eric Zemmour claimed that the riots which followed Merzouk’s death were provoked by immigrants. These are the same political leaders who defend the interests of police officers at all costs.
I felt disgusted. My return to my hometown after a year in India has been tarnished by the current situation. This kind of violence is repulsive, but the sense of horror multiplies manyfold when it takes place around us.
Victoria Lavelle is a French journalist shuttling between Paris and Delhi
