The Press in Paris | An afternoon with Emmanuel Macron

(Paris) The invitation arrived by email on Saturday evening.

To attend a reception for Emmanuel Macron at his home, at the Élysée Palace, show up on Monday at 1:15 p.m., in front of the door at 55, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. He will receive members of the international press there. “This is a friendly time. No equipment (cameras, photo cameras) will be allowed,” it was specified. Followed the instructions to get there by metro. Not a word about the dress code.

I opened my suitcase. One white polo shirt. One black polo shirt. Two blue polo shirts. Two green polo shirts. One kangaroo sweater. Is that all? Yes, that’s all.

I went to buy a jacket…

On Monday afternoon, I rushed into the metro and exited at the Madeleine station. I then took the chic rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, where the windows of Hermès, Cartier and Chanel reminded me that I had perhaps underinvested in my wardrobe for the day. I made it to number 55. Police officers checked my papers. A minute later, I was in the inner courtyard of the Palais.

How is it ?

Pretty, without being ostentatious. We then climb eight steps to access the vestibule, then an antechamber, transformed for the occasion into a small boutique. We were offered to buy pencils from the Élysée. Socks from the Élysée. Key rings from the Élysée. There were even pétanque notebooks from the Élysée. A few meters further, another room. Spectacular. A glass ceiling in the colors of the French flag lets in the light, while a small orchestra plays a classical tune. The reception is planned in the adjoining room, adorned with gold leaf, canvases and chandeliers. It’s impressive.

About a hundred foreign journalists are waiting around. For the first two hours, absolutely nothing happens. Then our host finally arrives on the podium for a short speech.

“Seven years ago, the day after I moved to the Élysée, one of my first meetings here was to prepare for the Olympic Games,” he said in broken English. “At the time, it was just a dream. A few weeks later, we went to Lausanne to convince the IOC to choose France and Paris.”

Emmanuel Macron congratulated himself that the French had managed to deliver the project “on time, on budget, and in the best possible way.” He promised a “unique” opening ceremony, outdoors, on the Seine. “I can tell you that at first, it seemed like a crazy idea. But we decided that it was the right time to work on this crazy idea, and to make it happen. Artists from all over the world, dancers and orchestras will transform the Seine into a great theater.”

“I always remind people that many of the buildings in the neighborhood where we are located were created for the 1900 World’s Fair. These infrastructures transformed the city. The Games [de 2024] will in turn change the life of this country.”

The speech lasted 10 minutes, after which the guests headed to the magnificent gardens, where the finest gastronomic delicacies of France were waiting to be eaten.

I may have slipped a macaroon into my jacket…

* * *

In Emmanuel Macron’s diary, this speech was equivalent to a Kit Kat break. Otherwise, the president manages crises, which come one after the other by the dozen.

The recent legislative elections, which he himself called, have plunged France into a political storm. Who will form the next government? Two weeks after the results were announced, the mystery remains. The left is grumbling. The right is shouting. Even the center, his stronghold, is seething. It’s chaos.

In New Caledonia, the independence movement is progressing. In New Aquitaine, environmentalists are demonstrating against the construction of mega-basins. All over the territory, anti-Semitic and anti-Muslim acts are increasing.

As France is the European country with the largest Jewish community, the war between Israel and Hamas is a particularly sensitive subject here.

In this climate of high tension, the fear of the French is that extremist militants will take advantage of the extraordinary platform of the Olympic Games to perpetrate a terrorist act. The government has also placed the police in “attack emergency” mode. What does that mean? What does it suggest. On the risk scale, it is the highest level.

The open-air opening ceremony crystallizes all these concerns. Already, the police coverage is intense. Very, very intense. Too much, complain the locals.

In the central districts, the streets leading to the Seine are barricaded. If your accommodation or hotel is located on the banks of the Seine, you must obtain a QR code from the City, then show it to the police officers who manage the roadblocks. No code? No passage. It’s as simple as that.

It dampens the mood.

When I arrived in Paris two weeks ago, the streets were packed. The terraces were overflowing. The city sparkled like freshly poured champagne. On the night of the Euro semi-final, you could follow the France-Spain match on every street corner. Here, on restaurant screens. There, thanks to teenagers gathered around a phone, near the Pantheon.

That night, my girlfriend and I had dinner at Kodawari, which serves the best ramen on the left bank. When we arrived, there were 85 of us^{it is} on the waiting list. Our hour and a half of patience was rewarded. It was sublime. So much so that I went back last Saturday.

This time it was different.

A fence about a hundred meters long disfigured Rue Mazarine. Patrols of four to six police officers patrolled the area. In front of Kodawari, there was no queue. I got a place within a minute. A javelin throw away, Boulevard Saint-Germain, the neighborhood’s main lively artery, was deserted, crossed only by a few buses, taxis and police cars.

In front of the window of the Bacquart Gallery, in the same district, I noted this message: “Four weeks with barriers, without customers or compensation, Fxxk the Olympics.”

This is in the red zone. The one accessible to pedestrians.

In the grey perimeter, where the QR code is required, the calm is even more striking. Shops have simply closed shop for the duration of the Olympics. On Sunday, the Pont-Neuf, a major tourist spot in the capital, was as uncrowded as a cul-de-sac in Sainte-Julie on a Tuesday afternoon.

* * *

If the Olympic platform is attractive to politicians and extremists, it is also attractive to activist athletes.

“This generation of athletes is exceptionally activist,” notes columnist Simon Kuper of Financial Times. “They have social media, and the causes they champion have multiplied, from Black Lives Matter to Ukraine to Gaza.”

We saw it at the Tokyo Games. In the NBA. In the NFL, where players pray together on the field. Whether you agree with it or not won’t change anything. Even the International Olympic Committee’s Rule 50.2, which allows for punishment of militant acts on competition sites, no longer deters athletes.

Do you really think that a Ukrainian who wants to pay tribute to his compatriots who died at the front will care about clause 50.2? Neither do I.

The voice of athletes carries further than ever. They know it. If politicians exploit the Olympics to polish their image, why can’t athletes get involved in politics? Why should they keep quiet? Do they have fewer rights than you and me?

The Euro has just given us a glimpse of what awaits us. Players from the French team, for example, spoke out against the National Rally in the legislative elections. We can be for it. We can be against it. But we cannot force them into silence.

That said, no, not everything is permitted. A stadium is not a sanctuary. Laws are applied there. Incitement to hatred, defamation and racism are prohibited. There were two examples of this at the Euro. A Turkish player celebrated a goal by making the rallying gesture of a violent far-right group. Another footballer, an Albanian, took up a megaphone after a match to encourage his compatriots to chant anti-Serb slogans.

Both players were suspended – rightly so.

Contrary to Juvenal’s consecrated formula – “bread and games” – the Paris Games will not distract spectators from social issues.

Quite the contrary.

These Games will be political.