Je Suis Charlie (08/01/15)
Lots of inspiring words have been written in the wake of the murderous attack on the Charlie Ebdo offices in Paris, but this report by Matthew Holehouse in The Telegraph hits exactly the right note - of people's quiet determination not to be cowed by the barbaric acts of Islamist terrorists.
Paris Charlie Hebdo attack: In London, silence, defiance and a lone violin
'It is an attack on our democracy, and on freedom of speech, and everything we fought for'
People raise pens and signs during a vigil to pay tribute to the victims of a shooting by gunmen at the offices of weekly satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris, at Trafalgar Square in London
Photo: REUTERS/Suzanne Plunkett
By Matthew Holehouse - The Telegraph
The grim familiar cliché of a terrorist attack: meaningless, senseless, victims and by-standers left grasping for a motive and a response.
For the crowd in Trafalgar Square, no such doubts.
They stood in a near-perfect silence, perhaps more than 2000, and formed a near perfect circle around a small heap of pens assembled on the ground.
Perhaps more than half were French. With more than a quarter of a million expats, London would be France’s six largest city.
They had gathered within an hour, the word spread by social media. They spoke of grief and horror, a desire to show solidarity with friends at home, and for the comfort of strangers.
And, above all, a quiet, determined fury.
It was not a memorial, but a protest in defence of the values of a Republic that owed its birth some 230 years ago in part to the gutter press and its vicious, pornographic cartoons that slashed at the ankles of the king and his bishops.
The crowd clutched biros above their heads, and bunches of white flowers, and copies of Charlie Hebdo.
“If God exists, he does not kill for drawing,” read one poster.
“Keep Calm and Charlie On,” said another.
Behind the crowd stood two monuments to the entente; Nelson's Column, and Hahn/Cock, the giant jaunty blue cockerel.
Jean Cabut, the magazine’s chief cartoonist murdered in Paris, achieved fame on the 1970s children’s television show, Recre A2.
“I have known him all my life,” said Esteban Declercq, who works in the energy industry in London. “I feel like it is a nightmare. I cannot believe it is real. They have murdered a kid’s TV presenter.”
“The cartoon, it’s part of the French tradition,” he said.
“I know Muslim leaders in France are going to condemn the attack, but they must now say this: that we are free to mock religion.
“And if you are offended don’t buy the newspaper. We must not stop, or we will go back to the Dark Ages.”
He fears the attack will stoke the resurgent Front National. “It’s what they want.”
Vincent Minzer went to school around the corner from the Charlie Hebdo office, and recognised the route he had walked each morning as it flashed across news bulletins.
He stood with an English friend, a Tricolor draped across their backs.
“It’s a cartoon. Who is being harmed?” he said. “It has exposed the insecurity of the savages; they cannot take criticism at all.”
AC Grayling, the philosopher, arrived, like hundreds of others holding a poster reading “Je suis Charlie”.
He fears a new raft of terrorism legislation. “They can’t kill us all, and our ideas, but we can do it ourselves,” he says. “To be free is to take risks.”
Oliver Cardigan, a city worker clad in yellow cycling lycra who had broken off his commute home to join the protest, disagreed.
He had read Charlie Hebdo growing up in Belgium.
“It is an attack on our democracy, and on freedom of speech, and everything we fought for. It’s an attack on our fundamental rights," he said.
“We need to fight back, as we fought against the Nazis. They will lose, and their ideology will collapse, and we need to accelerate that process. We need to crack down as hard as possible with our police and our security services.”
Over the silent crowd, over the roar of double-decker busses, a violin strikes up La Marseillaise.
“I gave him a tenner and told him to start playing,” says Edward Lucas, a journalist and prominent critic of the Putin regime.
Bar Markovich, an Israeli busker, doesn’t know the tune, and reads off a score brought up on an iPhone held by a passing commuter.
The woman next to me wiped away a tear. To arms, citizens.
By Matthew Holehouse - The Telegraph
The grim familiar cliché of a terrorist attack: meaningless, senseless, victims and by-standers left grasping for a motive and a response.
For the crowd in Trafalgar Square, no such doubts.
They stood in a near-perfect silence, perhaps more than 2000, and formed a near perfect circle around a small heap of pens assembled on the ground.
Perhaps more than half were French. With more than a quarter of a million expats, London would be France’s six largest city.
They had gathered within an hour, the word spread by social media. They spoke of grief and horror, a desire to show solidarity with friends at home, and for the comfort of strangers.
And, above all, a quiet, determined fury.
It was not a memorial, but a protest in defence of the values of a Republic that owed its birth some 230 years ago in part to the gutter press and its vicious, pornographic cartoons that slashed at the ankles of the king and his bishops.
The crowd clutched biros above their heads, and bunches of white flowers, and copies of Charlie Hebdo.
“If God exists, he does not kill for drawing,” read one poster.
“Keep Calm and Charlie On,” said another.
Behind the crowd stood two monuments to the entente; Nelson's Column, and Hahn/Cock, the giant jaunty blue cockerel.
Jean Cabut, the magazine’s chief cartoonist murdered in Paris, achieved fame on the 1970s children’s television show, Recre A2.
“I have known him all my life,” said Esteban Declercq, who works in the energy industry in London. “I feel like it is a nightmare. I cannot believe it is real. They have murdered a kid’s TV presenter.”
“The cartoon, it’s part of the French tradition,” he said.
“I know Muslim leaders in France are going to condemn the attack, but they must now say this: that we are free to mock religion.
“And if you are offended don’t buy the newspaper. We must not stop, or we will go back to the Dark Ages.”
He fears the attack will stoke the resurgent Front National. “It’s what they want.”
Vincent Minzer went to school around the corner from the Charlie Hebdo office, and recognised the route he had walked each morning as it flashed across news bulletins.
He stood with an English friend, a Tricolor draped across their backs.
“It’s a cartoon. Who is being harmed?” he said. “It has exposed the insecurity of the savages; they cannot take criticism at all.”
AC Grayling, the philosopher, arrived, like hundreds of others holding a poster reading “Je suis Charlie”.
He fears a new raft of terrorism legislation. “They can’t kill us all, and our ideas, but we can do it ourselves,” he says. “To be free is to take risks.”
Oliver Cardigan, a city worker clad in yellow cycling lycra who had broken off his commute home to join the protest, disagreed.
He had read Charlie Hebdo growing up in Belgium.
“It is an attack on our democracy, and on freedom of speech, and everything we fought for. It’s an attack on our fundamental rights," he said.
“We need to fight back, as we fought against the Nazis. They will lose, and their ideology will collapse, and we need to accelerate that process. We need to crack down as hard as possible with our police and our security services.”
Over the silent crowd, over the roar of double-decker busses, a violin strikes up La Marseillaise.
“I gave him a tenner and told him to start playing,” says Edward Lucas, a journalist and prominent critic of the Putin regime.
Bar Markovich, an Israeli busker, doesn’t know the tune, and reads off a score brought up on an iPhone held by a passing commuter.
The woman next to me wiped away a tear. To arms, citizens.
