Manifesting

Fun fact: the french word for “to protest” is “manifester.” As in,”je vais manifester cette glace” (I am going to protest this ice).

It really brings new meaning to the term “I’m manifesting it.”

One of the reasons we picked France as our european country of choice is that they have a healthy culture of political discourse and protest. Obviously, they have their share of problems (stares in Marine Le Pen). But, the French generally take poorly to having any of their rights taken away. I like that it’s not considered rude to talk about politics.

Back in September, there was a “Block Everything” protest. It was organized in response to inequality and austerity measures. It was our second strike in France (a couple of days earlier, most of the public transit units went on strike). It was also my first time getting a whiff of tear gas, as riot police dispersed protestors at the end of the day.

Things were relatively calm, however (even with the riot gear). Protest is a fact of life here, people treat it like traffic or the weather. The tramline is shut down because the students put burning trash cans in front if it? That’s ok, we can take a metro line that will get us there via an alternate route (this is an actual example from Lilian’s commute to school).

Honestly, if they truly wanted to block more things, they’d import American-style dumpsters. There’s so little garbage generated here, it’s hard to get a good fire going in any of the trash receptacles.

Last week, I walked by a protest in front of the local prefecture. A group of farmers were protesting an EU trade agreement that they are worried will undercut the price of produce (via cheap imports from South America). They registered their displeasure by dumping bales of hay and butternut squash in front of the gates. Which really changes the meeting of “you must be out of your gourd.”

(I’ll see myself out).

Seriously, though, you haven’t truly lived until you’ve seen a street blocked off by heavy-duty farm equipment. It’s epic AF.

All of this is to say, I have some complicated feelings about watching what’s going on in America from my position of European privilege. We’re immigrants here, after all.

Mostly, I feel sad and angry and frustrated. I wish that there was more that I could do. I feel guilty that we got away when we did. That we didn’t stay and stand up for our friends and neighbors. I feel relieved that my kid is safe here. I worry about all of the kids that I care about back home. I picture a little five-year-old boy wearing a floppy blue hat and being used as a pawn, and my heart breaks a little.

So, for the time being, I’ll be over here.

Manifesting.