Kelly At Large #127 May Day Edition, Illustrated
In which I get caught up in the violence in Paris. Plus bonus cat photos.
Hello from Paris!
After a somewhat peaceful week spent writing and feeding a friend’s cat, I inadvertently celebrated Beltane eve, watering my plants, burning toast, and spilling the salty remnants from a bag of chips in front of our doorway to keep out mischievous and wicked fairies taking advantage of the thinning of the layer between our world and theirs.
I stood have taken the hint and stayed safely at home during May Day. Instead, I had the terrible idea of going to the traditional union march and protest marking International Labour Day. A picture worth a thousand words for the newsletter. LOL.
First, trying to find a good place to see the beginning, I got caught in a hailstorm, and had to find shelter, not so much worried about getting soaked as the thousands of stinging little ice pellets that felt a lot like BBs from a gun.
Then, when I finally identified a sheltered bus stop right on Boulevard Voltaire… nothing happened. That’s what it seemed like to me, anyway. Eventually a skinny older woman came by with an armband saying security, saw my eager face, smiled and said, “Not much longer, now.”
She was right. A couple minutes later there were a bunch of police vans and finally a line of armored cops that almost outnumbered the small boisterous group behind them. They were mostly men, some in yellow vests, others in firemen’s coats and silver helmets. And again things just stopped. Nobody in front or behind them.
While they waited to be allowed to continue, they mostly drank beer and smoked cigarettes and talked earnestly, and importantly, visibly happy to be on the streets and together drinking and smoking and taunting the cops, and I remembered my years of dyke activism and thought, “Okay, I understand that.”
But then, after twenty minutes or so of that, the cops allowed them to move, and in the distance I could see the main part of the march start to come my way with colorful banners. Straggling in between were small groups of young white guys in back hoodies and black pants, and I thought, “Is that them?—the fiercesome Black Block?”
They looked so aimless I didn’t pay them much attention, and kept standing on the bench at the bus stop, hoping for some shots of posters or banners. But then I saw a movement to my left, and something exploded right the fuck under me, and somebody else casually smashed the nearly unsmashable bus stop glass just a few feet behind me.
It’s a good thing I don’t have a weak heart. I mean. Imagine. A big BOOM right underneath me complete with smoke, then BOOM behind me. And yes, they knew I was there because I was wearing an offensively bright green high visibility raincoat and a red biking helmet.
And I thought, “Fuck this, I’m leaving,” jumped down, and headed towards a side street that would take me home—eventually. And had the misfortune to pass in front of a couple of fuel pumps just as one of the firemen in his silver helmet tossed one of those little explosive devices into a pool of liquid just in front of it, before smoothly blending back into the crowd right in front of the cops just like nothing at all. And thank god that liquid was just rainwater or the BOOM that followed shortly thereafter would have blown me apart because I just stood there gaping like an idiot instead of running away.
It would have made a great video but I’d put away my phone by then.
I mean fucking fuck. Firemen throwing sparking smoking things at fuel pumps, casseurs smashing and blowing up things a few inches from an actual human person? The only conclusion you can draw is that violence is growing at these demos and anybody who doesn’t think it’s a problem is a fucking idiot. Somebody is going to end up dead.
I found a bike, pedaled home, wrung out my socks and saw on TV that things elsewhere were far, far worse with casseurs busting up everything they could find, and setting plenty of other things on fire in a sort of anti-Beltane in which the fire doesn’t invoke the sun, or fecundity, or life, just destruction for the sake of it. For the sheer entitled power.
Bonus Calming Cat Photos
That’s it for this time. Think about hearting or sharing or subscribing or saying hello or something.
Disgruntledly yours,
xoxo K