Moussa wears a paper hat at work. He is a butcher and the headgear is part of his uniform. Today, he has written "Je suis Charlie", I am Charlie, on his hat. "All this matters to me, it's a matter of our freedom. I didn't read Charlie Hebdo, but I'll be there tomorrow," he tells me with a determined look.
Moussa is French. He is also a Muslim, of Senegalese origin. On Sunday afternoon, Moussa and around two million people are expected to gather at a massive rally in Paris. Similar marches will also take place in other parts of the country, in large cities, in smaller towns and even in villages. These rallies will provide the occasion for collective catharsis in a country gripped by grief after the deadly attacks by Islamist terrorists on the satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo and a kosher supermarket. They will also enable the participants to start putting together the broken pieces of our body politic by standing shoulder to shoulder.
The torment about the attacks was evident on Saturday on the streets on my neighbourhood, the quartier d'Aligre. It is largely gentrified commercial hub where the main landmark is a large open market, operated mostly by Muslim and Jewish salesmen. The market is generally extremely busy on weekends but was exceptionally quiet on Saturday. As they bought their vegetables, the few customers discussed the horror of the recent days. It seems they need to talk more than they usually do.
Gratitude to the police
At the corner coffee shop, a nondescript place where more ordinary folks meet for a drink, the consensus was that people felt safe and that the police is largely to be thanked for that. This kind of gratitude for the police, who are generally criticised for discriminating against visible minorities during ID checks, is not often voiced here and one could sense the extraordinariness of the situation.
Two words keep coming up around the counter: confusion and "instrumentalisation" ‒ appropriating the tragedy to achieve political goals. Both are feared in equal measure. Mohammed, a 52-year- old hair-dresser who holds both French and Algerian nationalities, looked worried. "We're at risk of being lumped together with the fanatics who give Islam a bad name," he said. "People will look at us with suspicion." Murielle, a secretary, agreed: "It's not going to be easy for French Muslims, we'll all have to be careful to distinguish between the good and bad. And there are many bad…". Mohammed nodded in approval but looked a bit uncomfortable. "Not that many bad ones really," he added.
Islamophobia and racism have been festering as the wounds of our colonial past and have never been given the chance to fully heal. Mohammed and Murielle are justified in their fear. The 22 mosques vandalised in France in the 72 hours following the attack could be viewed as signs of an impending backlash.
Another concern is the political instrumentalisation of Sunday's rallies and more generally of the terrorist attacks by all political parties for electoral purposes. Many are uneasy about the fact that French president François Hollande, who will attend the rally along with all European leaders – an unprecedented occurrence – has urged the French to participate. Many are also angered by the attendance of Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and right-wing Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan, neither of whom are champions of human rights and the freedom of expression in their home countries.
Some discomfort
The hypocrisy of Charlie Hebdo's new-found friends is hard to digest. According to Philippe Mischokowsky, a Paris-based journalist covering the Middle East, "This is the surest way to spoil things." Others feel awkward about singing the national anthem or waving the flag in the name of Charlie Hebdo, an anti-consensus, anti-majoritarian newspaper with an anarchist background.
The French like to disagree, protest, complain, debate and many have a very strong mistrust for nationalist parades. But regardless of the unease about the appropriation of popular grief by politicians and heads of government, lakhs of people will peacefully take to the streets of France on Sunday. The crowds will be formed by men and women of different political, ethnic, religious, economic groups and often in strong disagreement on a wide array of issues but nonetheless standing together in defence of the core values upon which the French Republic was founded.
Among them, somewhere in the rainy winter streets of Paris, there will be Moussa, Mohammed, Murielle and Philippe. And me.
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Moussa is French. He is also a Muslim, of Senegalese origin. On Sunday afternoon, Moussa and around two million people are expected to gather at a massive rally in Paris. Similar marches will also take place in other parts of the country, in large cities, in smaller towns and even in villages. These rallies will provide the occasion for collective catharsis in a country gripped by grief after the deadly attacks by Islamist terrorists on the satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo and a kosher supermarket. They will also enable the participants to start putting together the broken pieces of our body politic by standing shoulder to shoulder.
The torment about the attacks was evident on Saturday on the streets on my neighbourhood, the quartier d'Aligre. It is largely gentrified commercial hub where the main landmark is a large open market, operated mostly by Muslim and Jewish salesmen. The market is generally extremely busy on weekends but was exceptionally quiet on Saturday. As they bought their vegetables, the few customers discussed the horror of the recent days. It seems they need to talk more than they usually do.
Gratitude to the police
At the corner coffee shop, a nondescript place where more ordinary folks meet for a drink, the consensus was that people felt safe and that the police is largely to be thanked for that. This kind of gratitude for the police, who are generally criticised for discriminating against visible minorities during ID checks, is not often voiced here and one could sense the extraordinariness of the situation.
Two words keep coming up around the counter: confusion and "instrumentalisation" ‒ appropriating the tragedy to achieve political goals. Both are feared in equal measure. Mohammed, a 52-year- old hair-dresser who holds both French and Algerian nationalities, looked worried. "We're at risk of being lumped together with the fanatics who give Islam a bad name," he said. "People will look at us with suspicion." Murielle, a secretary, agreed: "It's not going to be easy for French Muslims, we'll all have to be careful to distinguish between the good and bad. And there are many bad…". Mohammed nodded in approval but looked a bit uncomfortable. "Not that many bad ones really," he added.
Islamophobia and racism have been festering as the wounds of our colonial past and have never been given the chance to fully heal. Mohammed and Murielle are justified in their fear. The 22 mosques vandalised in France in the 72 hours following the attack could be viewed as signs of an impending backlash.
Another concern is the political instrumentalisation of Sunday's rallies and more generally of the terrorist attacks by all political parties for electoral purposes. Many are uneasy about the fact that French president François Hollande, who will attend the rally along with all European leaders – an unprecedented occurrence – has urged the French to participate. Many are also angered by the attendance of Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu and right-wing Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan, neither of whom are champions of human rights and the freedom of expression in their home countries.
Some discomfort
The hypocrisy of Charlie Hebdo's new-found friends is hard to digest. According to Philippe Mischokowsky, a Paris-based journalist covering the Middle East, "This is the surest way to spoil things." Others feel awkward about singing the national anthem or waving the flag in the name of Charlie Hebdo, an anti-consensus, anti-majoritarian newspaper with an anarchist background.
The French like to disagree, protest, complain, debate and many have a very strong mistrust for nationalist parades. But regardless of the unease about the appropriation of popular grief by politicians and heads of government, lakhs of people will peacefully take to the streets of France on Sunday. The crowds will be formed by men and women of different political, ethnic, religious, economic groups and often in strong disagreement on a wide array of issues but nonetheless standing together in defence of the core values upon which the French Republic was founded.
Among them, somewhere in the rainy winter streets of Paris, there will be Moussa, Mohammed, Murielle and Philippe. And me.