An Irishman’s Diary about solidarity and defiance in Paris

The much-quoted motto in Paris since last month's attacks has been même pas peur, which roughly translates as "not a bit afraid". It's draped on the base of the magnificent statue of Marianne, symbolising the French republic, on the Place de la République, in the midst of countless floral tributes, candles, hand-written messages and posters signifying people's defiance of terrorism.

But même pas peur is a fervent aspiration, rather than a statement of how Parisians really feel, deep down. The city has been shaken by the terrible events of Friday, November 13th, and it may take a while to recover its traditional joie de vivre. That's hardly surprising, given the enormity of what happened and the death toll wreaked by French-born jihadists.

Restaurants, in particular, have been badly hit. During the COP21 climate summit, two of us visited Les Trois Crabes, a small, family-run Vietnamese place in the 12th arrondissement, after reading enthusiastic TripAdvisor reviews. Only one of the eight tables was occupied when we arrived, although a group of five came in later and took a table at the rear, next to the kitchen.

The proprietor from Hanoi asked us where we were from and whether we we weren't afraid of being in Paris in the wake of the attacks. Pas du tout, we said. It was almost an issue of showing solidarité. Had business been affected since? we asked. Yes, she said, it was down by about 70 per cent. Which is pretty devastating for any restaurant in a side-street location.

She travels to work from Ivry-sur-Seine, on the southeastern outskirts of the city, and says she would open up the restaurant “even if there was only one customer”. Quite heroic, really. Significantly, nearly three-quarters of the regular customers were from the neighbourhood; they were just not going out as much any more, after the carnage along Boulevard Voltaire.

I’ve been to Paris at least 40 times since my first visit, when I was only 18. One thing I noticed this time was the appearance of French flags hanging from some windows or fluttering in flower-boxes. It’s not widespread, but nevertheless remarkable because, previously, you’d only ever see the beautiful blue, white and red tricolour flying from public buildings or draped under the Arc de Triomphe.

We had been to Paris the weekend before the attacks for a symposium on climate change, organised by the Skellig Foundation at the old Irish College, now the Centre Culturel Irlandais. Maeve Jennings, a good friend who used to work for Temple Bar Properties and is now a property consultant in Paris, said then that “people are waiting for something to happen” – some form of attack.

We were dining out in Au Passage, a trendy restaurant on Passage Saint-Sébastien, right behind the Bataclan Café and music venue, where 90 people were gunned down less than a week later.

In rail stations, you could see heavily armed French soldiers with submachine guns, while CRS national police patrolled streets in the run-up to COP21. In the Bois de Boulogne, a public notice read: “As part of the Vigipirate ‘attack-alert’ high-security plan now in force in the Paris region, the Jardin d’Acclimatation has put in place more stringent protective measures to guarantee your safety. Thus, before entering the Jardin, you will be subjected to a security inspection . . . We apologise for any inconvenience.”

During the climate summit at Le Bourget, some train drivers walked out in protest at inadequate security after a suspect parcel was found on one of the double-decker trains. It turned out to be harmless, but what if it had not been? As a result, only one out of every four trains on the line that serves Disneyland in Marne-la-Valée were running for a day. And yet, there is so much to celebrate in Paris. The city has the best public transport system anywhere in Europe. You rarely have to wait more than two minutes for a train on any of the 14 metro lines, or more than five minutes for the longer-distance RER. And while it’s taking ages to renovate the fulcrum of Châtelet-Les Halles, I’m sure it will be lovely when it’s finished. Whenever.

I often think of Gen Dietrich von Choltitz, the last German military commander of Paris, who refused to obey Hitler’s order to reduce the city to rubble in August 1944, as the Allied armies closed in. He realised that it was a great – perhaps even the greatest – European cultural artifact, and he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it. The city may be shaken now, but it’s still there. Anyone who can should go there.

The people of Paris would appreciate your solidarité.