The deadly Nice attack was a direct hit on France's soul
If you want to get a sense of what happened in Nice on Thursday night, just imagine a 19-ton truck slicing through a festive crowd of families and friends watching the Fourth of July fireworks, maybe in Miami Beach or Santa Monica. Beyond the horror and the almost incomprehensible number of victims (85 dead, 202 wounded), one of France’s most cherished symbols, its national holiday, was shattered.
The driver, Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel, was born in Sousse, Tunisia, in 1985. He was married, had three children, and had been living in Nice for an undetermined amount of time. He was a truck driver by profession, which had allowed him to rent the huge vehicle he used to commit mass murder. He was only known by the authorities because of an altercation with another driver last January. That unremarkable case of road rage had landed him in small claims court, and garnered him a 6-month suspended prison sentence. On Friday morning, his neighbors told France Info radio that he “loved beautiful women and salsa,” and that he was on the outs with his wife, whom he beat on a regular basis according to several reports in the French press.
Even though there has been a few arrests, so far it does not seem that Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel got significant help from anyone. Unlike the November attacks in Paris and the more recent ones at Brussels and Istanbul airports, there is no indication of accomplices so far, let alone a highly trained team of disciplined soldiers on a mission.
That is the most troubling part about Thursday night’s horror: Mohamed Lahouaiej Bouhlel was most likely a lone wolf (although ISIS belatedly claimed responsibility). At last count, he killed 85 people (including 10 children) and injured more than 200 on his own. He managed to do this despite that France had been on lockdown since the Paris attacks last November.
With the state of emergency authorized by parliament, one can see soldiers in full gear, with helmets and FAMAS assault rifles, patrolling the streets of every major French city. Not just at airports, stations and monuments, but also on the plain sidewalks of regular streets. And there are a lot of them (more than 10,000 according to Le Monde, France’s newspaper of record). Sometimes, when sitting at a cafe terrace, your wandering eyes may encounter the muzzle of a semi-automatic rifle. Unless you’ve been raised in Texas, so many guns out in the open are uncanny and disturbing. They’re certainly strange for the French, who have no particular taste or use for guns in their everyday lives.
But everyday life has been upended since the November attacks. The state of emergency was extended several times so as to cover the month-long UEFA European soccer championship organized by France. The more-than-honorable showing of the home team (which lost to Portugal in the final last Sunday), and the absence of any “problem” during the tournament led the government to call the whole affair a success. Fan zones, where people gathered by the tens of thousands to watch the games on jumbotrons, were kept safe. And so were the stadiums. On the morning of the July 14th attack, before everything changed, a visibly relieved President François Hollande announced that the state of emergency would be lifted by the end of the month. No more soldiers, no more heavy guns.
It turns out the major terror attack everybody feared happened on France’s hallowed Bastille Day instead.
Bastille Day is as close to a sacred day as it gets for such a secular country as France. We celebrate the Revolution of 1789 and the birth of our Republic, when our French ancestors got rid of the monarchy and the Church and replaced them with democracy and human rights. July 14th is the day when the Parisian people stormed the hated royal prison, the Bastille, and ushered in the Revolution that turned us all into citizens rather than subjects of an absolute king. It still matters today because it is a collective commemoration of the ideals of the early Republic: Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité.
On Bastille Day, there is a huge military parade on the Champs-Elysées. Tanks, airplanes, and various invited regiments from friendly countries take part in the pageant. For ordinary citizens, July 14th is a work holiday. We go out and hang out in parks and cafes. It is a perfect day for family fun—a casual game of soccer among friends, a few drinks and indulging in the national pastime of complaining about random things. From the small village to the capital, cities organize fireworks displays in the evening as a matter of civic pride.
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