I have been asked many times what it was like the night of the attacks. But it’s hard to put into words exactly what it felt like, exactly what every single Parisian went through on that terrible night. But I will try because the story should be told. People should know about the burden that we all carry after that cold November night.
It was a Friday, the day was overcast and I had spent the afternoon watching Downtown Abbey after work. I had a party that night near Place de la République, but it wasn't until late. I did not plan on arriving until 8:30 or 9pm. I remember worrying about what I was going to wear, I tried on three or four different outfits until I settled on a short black skirt and blue shirt with Knee socks and oxford heels. I sent a quick text to a friend to make sure the knee socks didn’t make me look slutty. Then I shrugged and realized I didn’t really care that much. I left the house around 8:30 and I knew it would only take me 15 minutes to get there by bike. So I grabbed a Vélib and headed out. It was overcast, but the cold air was refreshing as I rode my bike through the northeast districts of Paris until I reached République. The city was what it usually is on a Friday night, work weeks were over, there was that Friday excitement in the air but the city was calm. As calm as a city can be before a storm. As I rode through République I noticed La place was pretty empty, there were not as many people around as usual and later I realized this was a good thing.
When I arrived at the party I did the typical things I do at a party. Say hi to everyone, drink, eat and then find one person that I am glued to the rest of the night. This time that person was my friend Monica. An Australian girl that had arrived in Paris in September we were instant friends. She is one of those people you connect with on a deep soul level and even though we had only been friends for a month or so, it seemed like it had been ages. So after saying hi to everyone else, I pretty much stayed glued to her for the duration of the Party until things started to get weird.
Around 9:30 two friends arrived claiming they had seen a couple of people get shot. At first, I had thought it was just a gang shooting or something. Nothing too serious, I am American so I am a little more accustomed to hearing about random shootings than the French. But things got serious when I received a text from a friend.
« FIND COVER JAMI » is what it said. I was confused at first but then I got another text saying
« 18 dead » I started asking around to see if anyone knew what was going on, then I got another text
« 30 dead »
At that point, people started getting scared and the hosts of the party started texting and calling friends that were on their way telling them not to come. We had heard that the attacks were near La Place de la République, and that the métro in the area was starting to shut down. At this point, my only concern was how to get home before things got worse.
Monica lived in the south of Paris and had no way of getting home without catching the Métro so I offered to let her stay with me for the night. I didn’t want to be alone, I didn’t want her to be alone. We found a ride from an Italian lady that I had never met before who was going in the direction of my apartment. As we were leaving the party we could hear shouting and there were people running in the streets. Luckily she was parked just in front of the apartment building, so we were able to jump in and drive off quickly heading in the opposite direction of the attacks.
Looking back, we never should have left the party, everyone else had stayed and ended up spending the night and I found out later that one of the attacks was a block away from the party and that we drove past the street it was on while leaving. We got home safe, a little shaken up, but we were safe.
At the time I was living with my uncle's cousin, a bourgeois French lady named Annette in her 80’s that I call my great aunt because it’s easier than explaining how we are actually related. We arrived at the apartment wide-eyed and wondering if she had heard the news. She hadn’t so I started relating to her what happened. Fear was in my voice, and I was clearly shaken up. She turned on the news and that’s when we found out that there was a bombing attempt at Stade de France and an attack at Le Bataclan, a concert venue. I was obviously scared wondering if we were safe even at home. That is when Annette turned to me and said something I will never forget, something that only those that have survived a war can understand. She said, « Jami, fear is what they want you to feel, if you lose your courage, they’ve won. » She was right. The terrorists, they wanted us to be scared. They wanted us to hide and cower and fear wonder if we would be next. But I wasn’t going to let that happen to me.
We couldn’t sleep, we stayed up until 3am watching the news and texting our friends to see if they were okay. I clicked the « En Securité » button on Facebook and skimmed the list making sure everyone I knew was on it. I sent a quick message to my parents telling them I was OK and that I would call them in the morning. Monica and I stayed up talking, worrying, wondering. I couldn’t help thinking how glad I was that she was there. We comforted each other, felt small and helpless together and survived together that night. A year later. My friendship with her is one of the strongest friendships I have.
By 2am everyone had been evacuated from Stade de France and the attack at Le Bataclan had been neutralized. Things had started to calm down, but I still remember the ever-rising body count. 30, 53, 68, 80, 98, 115…When I went to sleep, the body count was at 118, when I woke up. 130. I will never forget that night.
The next morning we wake up tired and lethargic. That feeling you get after you have been crying all night because something terrible had happened the night before. The details of that night were a little clearer. There had been 6 attacks, 5 in the area of la Place de la République and 1 at stade de France. 130 total dead. The culprit, ISIS. I remember wondering why someone would do such a terrible thing. Why innocent people had to die in the name of hate. I had heard about ISIS, but it was a far away distant reality until that night. The Islamic state claimed responsibility for the attacks in this letter containing Islamic religious rhetoric. What shook me, is that they believe they did this in the name of the religion, and they used words that as a Christian, I use often in an entirely different context. Here is an excerpt.
In a blessed attack which Allah facilitated the causes, a group of believers from the soldiers of the caliphate to whom Allah has given strength and glory targeted the capital of abomination and perversion, the one who lifts the banner of the cross in Europe, Paris.
This letter has stuck with me since that night. It describes an unfaltering conviction that they are doing what « Alla » had instructed. They did this in the name of their religion. A ruthless crime in the name of their God. Religion is meant to spread Love and Peace and Tolerance. What ISIS did was not an act of Faith.
When people ask me about the attacks, I tell them about that night. But the attacks were much more than a terrible one-time event. That night, our freedom was taken away and we were given the burden of fear. The weeks and months following the attacks were spent in a constant state of stress and anxiety. Going to work and wondering if someone was going to walk in and start shooting everyone with a machine gun. Taking the metro and when and wondering if a bomb was going to go off with every bump or delay. Creating scenarios in our heads on how we would react in the face of a terrorist. Living life as it could be our last day. That is our burden. Our freedom and security were taken away that day. Our trust in humanity. Our way of life was challenged.
I still suffer from the after-effects. I was in a restaurant the other day and an emergency door alarm went off and my first thought was that some sort of terrorist attack was happening and it triggered an intense emotional response. I am also startled easily and I am constantly looking around observing people and watching my back. This is the weight that we must carry for the rest of our lives. Those of us that lived through the attacks that night have a deepened awareness of the ephemerality of life. The moments I do have are even more precious and the reality of pain is all the more acute because of the suffering we have seen. We all lost that night. Freedom is what we lost. Freedom to live and go about our life in blissful innocence and unawareness of the evil all around. We lost some of our hope in humanity. We lost people, husbands, wives, children. We all lost.
The burden of fear ways heavily on our shoulders. But what we can’t do, what we shouldn’t do, is let that fear control our thoughts and actions. Our fear cannot be put before our mandate to love and respect and protect the people in this world. If we let our fear control us. They have won. And they can’t win. Not on November 13th in Paris, France, not in our hearts and minds. Not any other time, not any other place. They can never win.
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