Yoshiko and I were in Paris during the terrorist attacks November 13, 2015. We stayed with an old friend who is a Soka Buddhist leader in the area of Paris that was attacked.
The attacks were all in Paris’s north east neighborhoods. This is the area our friend Annie lives in, the area we stayed. We love this area - it is working class, filled with immigrants from Africa and the middle east, younger and culturally progressive and cosmopolitan. It is not the Paris of high fashion, Chanel #5 and tourists. It is the Paris of street art, arab bakeries, middle aged Chinese prostitutes and struggle. We love it.
The terrorists did not attack the famous monuments or tourist areas. Perhaps you have seen pictures of hundred of tourists lined up outside the Louvre or the Eiffel Tower. You would think those people would be perfect targets for terrorism - they are vulnerable and out of their element. The terror would be felt in every country. The long term effects would destabilize France’s tourism industry.
But no. The attacks were on the east side of Paris, where Parisian live, work and play. Parisians of all nationalities, colours, and lifestyles. Coincidentally, Yoshiko and I were also in Paris in January, exactly one week after the terrorist attacks on Charlie Hebdo and on the Kosher supermarket. The January attacks were also in the north east. The supermarket is a few blocks from Annie’s apartment.
This time we were in Paris because we were invited to an Airbnb global conference. Six thousand Airbnb hosts attended from 110 countries, 125 hosts from Canada.
Friday, November 13th was the next to last day of the conference. The 125 Canadian hosts still hadn’t all met each other so a meeting and party was scheduled for Friday night. The meeting was planned for a cafe in the northeast. The cafe is about a five minute drive from the restaurant La Petit Cambodge. At 9:25 (2125) Gunmen with Kalashnikovs would attack La Petit Cambodge, killing 15.
Yoshiko and I wanted to go to the cafe, but one of the hosts from Calgary had been sick in her apartment for two days. It must be the worst to dream all your life of going to Paris and spend your time alone, sick in a tiny apartment.
So Friday evening, as soon as we could get free, we called an Uber, not to go to the party but to our sick friend’s place.
Another guy from the conference was also waiting for an Uber. He asked me, why don’t the Ubers here have logos on their windshields. Every other town the Ubers have the ‘U’ clearly marked. I told him, the taxi drivers in Paris are not a friendly lot and they don’t like Uber. If they see the logo they will break the windows with bats and pour dog shit on the customer’s head.
The Uber took us from the conference centre to our sick friend’s apartment in the Jewish quarter. Along the way we passed the Place du la Republique. It was filled with Parisans enjoying the fall evening. Yoshiko and I looked at each other, smiling. So many people, we said, they are having a good time. About an hour and a half later the Place du la Republique would be filled with blood and bodies. About a day later a man from Germany would pull a grand piano into the Place de la Republique and play John Lennon’s Imagine.
We found a pharmacy and bought a bunch of medicine and after a search found the apartment.
Our sick friend is an amazing young woman. She is a full time musician with the band Sidney York. She is a marathon runner and a sailor with the Canadian Forces, a flight attendant with WestJet and she hosts with Airbnb.
So we dropped off the medicine and told her the instructions the pharmacist gave us.
By now we were hungry and tired and did not feel like searching for the party, so we grabbed a falafel to eat then went home.
Back at Annie’s place we conducted our evening prayers and chanted. At 9:20 the attacks began. A few minutes later Annie’s daughter interrupted us. She had many messages from friends and social media. The messages said violence and gun fire was in many places in eastern Paris.
I moved everyone away from the windows, closed the curtains and turned off the lights. Annie’s daughter turned on the news on TV.
Now, some people ask, why do you go to Paris after Charlie Hebdo, aren’t you afraid. The answer is not complicated or heroic. When your lover is hurt you want to be with them. We wanted to be there.
The 100 or so Canadians were locked in the cafe until 3 AM. Finally the police said they could leave in groups of five, each group with an Airbnb staff to walk back to the conference centre. They left in one minute intervals. The last group did not get back until about 4:45 am.
None of the conference participants were hurt and no Soka Buddhist members were killed. But many friends of members were killed or injured. Annie’s children lost friends.
One of the Soka women’s step-son was at a place that was attacked. She heard no news about him. Between 1 AM and 6 AM she chanted the daimoku mantra of great power. At 6 AM she heard from the hospital. A grenade exploded behind him, blowing up his shoulder, arm and part of his face. He is alive and filled with gratitude and determination.
Within minutes of the attacks Parisians started the hashtag #porteouverte, open door. They offered shelter to anyone on the streets who could not get to safety.
I am certain if your town were attacked the people would open their doors to strangers. They would not lock their doors in fear.
Within minutes of the attacks the Paris taxi drivers, known for their racism and lack of generosity, united to drive anyone home without charge.
If there were an emergency in your city, I am certain strangers would pick up strangers off the street and drive them home.
Within minutes we received messages and prayers from friends everywhere. But we were fine. I know people were worried and now I feel a bit awkward. It must of been harder on our friends. We were fine. Every minute was a treasure, every second was a gift. Yoshiko said, “we are having a wonderful time every second, even though the situation is so painful.”
The government declared a state of emergency and banned all public gatherings, so the last day of the conference was cancelled and all Soka France meetings were cancelled.
On Saturday Yoshiko and I went to visit people who were alone. People should not be alone the day after a terrorist attack. Of course we did not know it was the day after. No one knew if the attacks would continue.
Yoshiko wanted to donate blood but the line-ups to donate were very long.
We tried to encourage the soldiers and police we met. People were out in the cafes. They were cautious but having a good time. They were not careless but they were not blase. They were alert but they were alive. The media said Paris is gripped with fear. We saw no grip. We saw no fear. So I took pictures of people and sent them to friends to post around the world.
When we arrived back to Annie’s Saturday afternoon a few neighbors had gathered. Parisian’s, it seems, are not good at following instructions not to gather.
Annie was receiving reports minute by minute from women around eastern Paris. She was busy, so Yoshiko tried to encourage the women at Annie’s apartment.
After the women left, Yoshiko and Annie made Quince jam. It was utterly delicious and I declared it “Confiture Quince Anti-terroriste.”
We had many experiences like this but I want to share one experience coming home. We flew from Amsterdam to Calgary via KLM, the Dutch airlines. You know, the Dutch are a strong people, known for being stoic, so what happened surprised me.
Our flight attendant was a tall blonde Dutch woman, very capable, obviously experienced and professional. I was just one fat traveler among hundreds, no one special. But for some reason she started talking with me. She asked if we were visiting Calgary. I said no, Calgary was home. Were we visiting Amsterdam? No. we had been in Spain and France on business. We were in Paris during the attacks. Her face turned grey. She asked me many questions about the attacks. She said you must of been so scared. I said of course it was horrible but we were not really scared. We wanted to be with our friends.
Abruptly she cut off our discussion, “I can’t do this,” she said and ran to the front of the airplane. I started the daimoku mantra furiously in my head. About fifteen minutes later she came back, but this time she was pushing a trolley ahead of her. She crouched behind the trolley so no one could see her. I think Yoshiko was also making daimoku. The flight attendant was crying. She knew her job demanded she not be crying but she could not stop. This was her first flight after the attacks. She had three children, 15, 14 and 9. Before she left home that morning her nine year old had begged her, momma please do not go.
I had no idea what to say. What could I say? What would you say? I told her, It is OK to cry. Obviously we are frightened, we are all frightened, but we can not live in fear. You are clearly very good at your job, helping people relax and getting them safely to their destinations. You must also be a wonderful mother. It is OK to cry. It is not ok to live in fear.
Later we gave her some chocolate loonies we’d brought from Canada to give to her children. Yes, I get the irony of me giving some crappy dollarama chocolates to the Dutch.
Thank you all for your prayers and your lovely messages and your prayers for Paris. But did you know that one of the surviving Charlie Hebdo cartoonists said do not pray for Paris. Drink wine for Paris, kiss and dance for Paris.
