 |
| author Carol Rose |
My May 1968 Part One
by Carol Rose
Today it is May 1998, my hourly companion,
the faithful France Culture radio
station, has begun to speak of May 1968 in reverent tones; an historical event,
without any doubt, which had changed France irrevocably.
First of all the awareness of time having
passed likitysplit’ — thirty years had gone by — then it hit me that the manner
I had lived this string of events did not jibe with the reverence in the
speaker’s voice. It struck me as odd as
I had not been particularly aware at the time of having lived closely through
any major event and yet there I had been in the midst of things I barely
understood.
I understood the excitement
of the daily marches taking place on the Avenue in front of our courtyard. I longed to be out there to join in the
upsetting fun. The pharmacist at the
corner on the Place Denfert Rochereau was very mocking of me for he realized
how I was longing to be free to join the crowd.
He was appalled by the chaos, the total disorder of the meetings of
workers and students which usually originated or ended in front of his
shop. People shouting slogans would
climb up onto the Lion de Denfert and wave red anarchist flags.
Meanwhile, in the courtyard where we occupied
an old house with two little children, the concierge, Madame Libé, was fearful
and scandalized by the goings-on. We
would stand on the sidewalk of the Avenue, she dressed in purple, wringing her
hands at the events taking place before us.
I, a little child on each hand,
was not seeing any danger whatsoever in the quite orderly demonstrators
marching by with their slogans and banners.
One child wanted to know where all the people were going..
