ismael chang ghalimi

Pride and Shame

I just flew back from London to Paris. On my way to the hotel, I am listening to the radio while the French soccer team is playing against Portugal. Cafes and restaurants are full of people watching the game on TV, waiters among them. The streets are empty, silent. It’s as if 60 million people are suspended in the air, waiting for the referee’s signal that the game is over. Then, the signal comes, France won, and the streets fill up with a delirious crowd, proudly wearing Zidane’s jersey or the French flag. I check in, drop my bags, and head toward the Auberge Dab, where I get a steak, some French fries, and a pint of the locally-brewed beer. On my way back to the hotel, a tourist gets hit by a car and falls on the pavement, unconscious. Immediately, a couple of teenagers on a scooter stop next to him, steal his cellphone, and ride away from the scene. Effroi ! As pedestrians take care of the victim and call for help, I get mixed feelings of pride and shame. Pride that my French compatriotes can finally gather around a common goal, shame that a victory in a soccer game could give them license for reckless driving and mugging in public. I’m really sad tonight.

Christine a vécu également les débordements inadmissibles le soir du même match. Elle est sortie prendre sa voiture à la fin du match et elle a vu déferler une bande de jeunes excités, montés sur les voitures et taper dessus ; ils se sont dirigés vers sa voiture avec des drapeaux et ont essayé de s’en prendre à sa carrosserie. Heureusement, le feu s’est mis au rouge et terrorisée, elle a pu s’enfuir. C’était à Neuilly !

C’est vraiment navrant…

Cela dit, transmets-lui mes amitiés.