Study Abroad Student Blogs

By now, I’m sure that all of you have heard about the terrorist attacks that have hit our city. I’ve spent the last week mulling over everything that’s happened, trying to come to terms with the fact that for the first time in my entire life, I was less than two miles away from a terrorist attack. I’m still in shock over what’s happened. Even though I was relatively unaffected by the attacks, it’s been extremely difficult to concentrate on my homework or stop thinking about what’s happened. I’ve spent nearly my entire life in small town Ohio, where the big events of the world were nothing more than a ticker tape running across the TV screen. I am too young to remember 9/11, but somehow I imagine the shock, the horror, the fear was something like this.

On Friday night, I was out to dinner with a friend. We were at his apartment when I found out about the attacks. My first warning was the insistent buzzing from the phone—but, as millennials, that’s an all too common occurrence, so we ignored it. A little while later, my friend picked up his phone.

“There’s been an explosion,” he told me. “And shootings.”

My stomach turned. I can’t explain the fear that flooded through my stomach. Shootings? Here? In France? That was one thing that was not supposed to happen here. I felt safer walking in Paris than I ever had in Chicago, because I knew guns were so rare.

The explosion was what tipped me off. “Was it a terrorist attack?” I asked. Explosions, and shootings, so close together? It couldn’t be a coincidence. My friend didn’t know. Neither did anyone else. It was still too early at that point. Even the news hadn’t yet picked up on it. For the first time in my life, I was on the front line of an event that would make history—and I hated every second of it.

We kept our phones close to us the entire time, constantly checking for updates. I called my parents immediately, before anyone in the United States had heard about the news, to reassure them that I was safe—and partially just to hear their voice. There were false reports of shootings in Les Halles, only a few blocks from the apartment. I clung to my friend, trying to take comfort in his presence.  Shortly after midnight, the phone calls, Facebook chats, and text messages from the US began flooding in. Everyone wanted to know, “Are you okay? Were you near the attacks? Is there anything I can do to help?”

I appreciated their support, and it helped me to know there were those in the US who were thinking about me. After a while, I calmed down. It helped that I had been in my friend’s apartment the entire time the attacks were going on. Others were not so lucky. One friend had been walking meters away from the shootings, listening to music. There were several at the Stade de France, where suicide bombers had originally planned to set off their explosives inside the stadium—instead, they were prevented from entering. Another had a flatmate who had seen the shootings from her apartment. Worst of all, as I found out later, a classmate had been present at one of the restaurants where the shootings took place—she survived, but her friends were not so lucky.

It was only in the next few days that the implications of what had happened began flooding in. I was lucky—but that’s all it was, plain dumb luck. What if the shooters had chosen the sixth or the first arrondissements instead of the tenth and eleventh? It could have been me in those restaurants. It could have been any one of my friends. 129 people had their lives cruelly cut short that night—and it would reverberate throughout France, the United States, and beyond.

A week has passed since that day. It feels more like a lifetime. There are so many things I could say about this attack. I could talk about the fear that we still feel walking down the street. I could talk about the anger I felt at the response by certain classmates and politicians—how disgusting to use this crisis for your own political opinions. I could talk about the bewilderment, the confusion, how anyone could possibly do something like this. I could talk about the sadness I felt, from teachers and classmates who had lost someone they knew and cared about. I could talk about the 129 lives that were ended that night, and the countless physical and psychological wounds that were inflicted.

Or I could talk about something else. I could tell you about the love I felt when so many contacted me, insisting that I “stay safe,” even though they knew there was nothing I could do. I could tell you about the hope when I saw the Eiffel Tower, and monuments throughout the world light up red, white and blue in support of France. I could tell you the bravery of this city, the city that I’ve fallen in love with, against my own expectations. Parisians will carry on. We continue to eat outside. We continue to go to concerts. We continue to fall in love, and live our lives. We must continue, despite the fear that surrounds us. Above all, we must value our liberty, our openness, our pluralism and our tolerance, and we cannot let this attack force us to close our society off to others. The true war against terrorism isn’t fought on the battlefield or with guns; it’s fought in the hearts and minds of human beings. So, do not respond with fear, anger, or hatred; respond with openness, love, and tolerance. Do not forget those who died that night, and let their memory inspire you to carry on. It’s the only way we can truly win.

Never Forget. 11/13/2015.

Lots of love,

Lauren