Remember the things that used to make us anxious?
Ahead of a nearly two-week trip to France in July 2024, I texted a friend who was heading to the same conference—she promised me that we’d stick together, that we’d keep each other safe.
Looking back, my worry feels misplaced, even a bit foolish. But on the eve of our trip, Emmanuel Macron had called for legislative elections and I was on edge. Progressives everywhere watched in horror as poll after poll showed the far-right Rassemblement National leading the race with anti-immigration rhetoric buoyed by a 28-year-old baby-faced party leader and the intransigence of a president who thought himself king.
We had visited Ireland in the lead-up to the European elections earlier that summer, and while we didn’t experience any trouble ourselves, I had never seen so much openly racist and anti-immigrant graffiti and political signage. And with the United States’ presidential election on the horizon, it felt a bit like a net closing in around us, trapping us in a global game of bigotry aimed at keeping us distracted from the real issues facing us: climate catastrophe, massive wealth transfers, and the ongoing genocide in Palestine.
We arrived in Paris the night before the election—and just weeks ahead of the Olympic Games. So much effort had been invested in the preparations to welcome the world: new signage, Metro cars nicer than the ones I remembered from my last visit a decade ago, temporary stadiums, corporate event suites from sponsors, Olympic souvenir shops. And now, on the brink of the games, the city was preparing for it all to get torn down. In the late afternoon of July 7, shops near the Arc de Triomphe boarded up, police barricades already in place.
We made it back to our Airbnb ahead of the election results. Just in case.
Eight o’clock arrived, signaled by people gathered in the bar across the street emerging, banging pots and pans in celebration as early projections made it clear that the RN had been defeated—for now. What felt like an impending storm disappeared in a puff of smoke. Streets braced for violence opened their arms in embrace.
Totally by accident, we found ourselves at the Place de la Republique where thousands had gathered to celebrate. Political commentators knew as much as we did about what this meant for France’s political future. But in the street, we understood what it meant to the rainbow of humanity gathered in jubilation. France hadn’t been broken through dishonest appeals to the underbelly of people’s prejudice.
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