The rest is silence

I don't know what to say. 

I am truly at a loss for words.

Once again, Paris has been the target of an abhorrent, despicable attack. The scenes that flickered across TV screens last night have burned themselves into the minds of all those watching, and the horror of the events at the Bataclan music club and at other sites throughout the city will probably never leave those poor souls who had to live through them. I will not go through the numbers here, nor will I show any images of the carnage of last night, this has been well covered by other media.

If you look at it from a distance, with a certain detachment, you would think that we would have gotten used to this kind of attack. After all, it hardly is the first. New York, Madrid, London, Bali, Mumbai, and just this winter the attacks on the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris. However, this attack feels different. It seems to have struck much closer to home. This wasn't some far-away place, or some newsroom, this has hit venues of the kind that I visit myself. Granted, in a different city, but still, going out to have a beer or two with friends, meeting them for dinner, or going to a concert, that is the kind of life I live here. This has hit far closer to home than any other attack so far. Not least because I've had the honour to meet, and work with, some amazing people from France since moving to Ireland, some of whom I would consider friends.This attack feels personal.

Still, what can you do? Social media are already filling up with hastily generated memes mocking those who have changed their profile pictures or avatars to represent the french tricolore, and I can certainly see where they're coming from. However, there will be a time and place to discuss the sense or nonsense of doing this, but today, the day after this atrocious attack, the rest is silence.

Not quite. Today, quite spontaneously, and without much planning, a march of remembrance took place here in Cork, a city that has an unusually close connection with France, both from historic times and in present times, with lots of french citizens living, studying, or working at one of the numerous international companies in the Cork area. The moment I found out about it, there was now question for me whether I would attend. I felt like I had to be there. Seeing a colleague and friend of mine, her face marked with sadness, lined with worry for a friend who she hadn't been able to contact yet, really drove it home, that this was real, and not just some far off news story.

The march streamed down Grand Parade, and along South Mall and to City Hall, the low hanging grey clouds reflecting the mood. Once again, it was silent, only a few muted words during the vigil being carried off by the stormy gusts buffeting the city. The Marseillaise, France's rousing national anthem, sounded sad and muted today, it's lyrics about calling for the blood of the country's enemies ringing hollow, as a friend of mine pointed out. 

Over the coming weeks, these attacks will become a rallying point for all kinds of unsavoury individuals that will try to exploit this terrible attack for their own nefarious purposes. Even now, they are crawling out from the undergrowth of the internet. They will need to be dealt with just as sure as the perpetrators of this attack, the real ones behind the scenes, will need to be dealt with. 

For the rest of this weekend, let there be silence. Let us remember the victims of Paris.