When militants massacred the editorial staff of Charlie Hebdo in Paris in January last year, it hit David Charles so hard that he could not return to work for three weeks. Feeling shocked and helpless, David and his wife Audrey joined the mega-march that took place Place de la République a few days later.
By last November, when Paris was again targeted by radical Islamists, the young couple had moved with their two young children to Nice. It meant a quieter life, and a safer one. Or so they thought.
“Charlie Hebdo was such a shock – it was the first attack, it was organised, it was new,” says Charles, looking on as Audrey places some flowers at a makeshift memorial surrounded by candles and tricolours on the Promenade des Anglais on Saturday morning. “Now we have seen this a few times. Nobody is safe.”
The family had planned to go along to the Bastille Day fireworks display on Thursday night, but both their children were sick that day so they stayed at home. “We’ve been telling ourselves that we’re lucky, but it’s so sad,” says Audrey.
“We’re very angry. How could a lorry get onto the promenade when it was supposed to be secure? It’s the third tragedy to hit France recently. That’s a lot. All those people dead. All those children dead.”
Crowds congregated all morning at similar memorial sites along the promenade, most of which had re-opened for pedestrians. Many of those paying tribute left brief notes on the grass, leaving a carpet of multilingual messages of love and support. “There are no words to describe the hell of bringing one’s child to the cemetery,” one note, signed by ‘Emilie’ read. “All my thoughts go to those souls lost for no reason. All my prayers for those who are fighting for life.”
As she read some of the messages, Sarah Boulmane, a Moroccan who has lived in Nice for 32 years, held her hand to her mouth, trying to hold back tears. “It’s a nightmare,” she said, a note of anger in her voice. “The government has to do something. Every six months we’re burying children. It’s time to do something – not politics, security.”
Boulmane believes the current government is “not up to it” and says she will consider voting for Marine Le Pen’s National Front in next year’s presidential election. “We don’t want policemen checking seat belts. They have to do something tough. All the foreigners who come here end up staying. France has to do something.”
Asked what should be done, Boulmane reflects for a moment and replies: “The government could deal with this. We could start by closing the borders.”
As a native Moroccan, she feels “ashamed” that “every time this happens, it’s a Maghrebin.” She knew one victim of the lorry attack: a fellow Moroccan woman aged around 40. “We want to cry, but we can’t, because we’ve already been crying for two days.”
Jean-Pierre Lodetti, a pensioner and native Nicois, left a message of his own (“Solidarity with the families, fight hatred”) alongside some candles before stepping back and saying a quiet prayer. The attacks had left him shaken, Lodetti said, but it was vital that people continued to live their lives. “We have to keep going and not allow ourselves be intimidated. That’s Daesh’s goal. It’s normal to feel fear, but you can’t stop going out.”
He came to the re-opened promenade, Lodetti said, to “honour the memory of the dead, to show fraternité”. In recent days he has also been trying to remind himself of all that’s good in life. “Think of the Irish supporters,” he says, referring to the Northern Ireland fans who celebrated in Nice during Euro 2016 last month. “They were wonderful. Since the attack on Charlie Hebdo, the atmosphere in France has been heavy. The Euros were such a pleasure. When they were on, just a few weeks ago, nobody could have imagined something like this here.”
