the diary of an ex-hostage of the Bataclan, week 10

On November 13, 2015, David Fritz-Goeppinger was at the Bataclan when the concert hall was attacked by three men, armed with assault rifles and explosive belts. “Never again in my life will I forget these faces”, David confides. Held hostage for two and a half hours, he thinks every minute that his time has come. Until the assault of the BRI police. That night, the coordinated attacks on the Stade de France, the terraces of the 10th and 11th arrondissements of Paris and the Bataclan, left 130 dead, including 90 in the concert hall, and more than 400 injured. Almost six years later, it is the trial of these attacks which is held in Paris. David Fritz-Goeppinger, now a photographer, has agreed to share via this logbook his feelings, in image and in writing, during the long months that the historic trial of these November 13 attacks that marked France. Here is his account of the tenth week.

>> The ninth week diary

Wednesday November 17th. The rain dries on the flagstones of the Palace steps while the sun hides over the capital. Like a vestige of yesterday evening, the stamp of the concert hall where I spent the evening of yesterday sits on my wrist: “Petit Bain”. Despite the double espresso, I am tired and I would be lying if I said that last night I had managed to disconnect from the trial. I feel like I am carrying weeks of physical and psychological fatigue on my shoulders. I was talking yesterday about the lag I go through every day and all the questions that hearing raises in me. This intangible gap for years is now concrete and is part of my everyday life.

My path is now all drawn up to “my” place in the main room. I put down my bag and go chat (in Spanish) with Nancy. After having made an overview of many victims, I note that I am not the only one to make the accumulation of fatigue. The weekend’s backlash echoes in the courtroom. Today, two great actors of the time come to testify at the bar. They are Bernard Cazeneuve, Minister of the Interior at the time of the facts as well as François Molins, public prosecutor of Paris.

The president’s voice breaks the silence of the courtroom, he invites the witness. Bernard Cazeneuve approaches. He wears a double-breasted jacket that resembles that of an admiral. At the bar, he addressed the court with great mastery and came back with precision on the anti-terrorism policy carried out between 2014 and 2015. I have hardly any free pages in m, we notebooks by dint of annotations and quotes in thread of the hearing. I am installed in the auction room as I write these words. After a half-hour suspension, I return to my seat and discuss today’s hearing with Gaële Joly. Bernard Cazeneuve’s testimony is coming to an end. After another suspension, the president asks the spectators to return to their seats, like us, he seems tired. Not having noticed that his microphone had remained open, he allowed himself a sigh, greeted by laughter.

François Molins approaches the bar and his approach betrays a certain tension. After answering questions related to the code of criminal procedure, the prosecutor prefers to sit down to address the court, hence the approach. After giving technical details of the role he had at the time, he begins the story of his evening of November 13th. His very thorough testimony of what he saw that evening answers some of the questions that have haunted me for the past six years. What was going on outside? Who was there ? François Molins is one of those who saw the Bataclan after the attack. His testimony makes me waver: “(…) I don’t know if I couldn’t believe it or if I refused to believe it. I entered the Bataclan three times (…)”

I finish writing this post sitting on a bench in the Salle des Pas Perdus while François Molins continues his testimony. I had to get out of the auction room with difficulty so as not to end my day at 9 p.m. I try to take rest as soon as possible. The voice of the snack vending machine breaks the religious silence of the Salle des Pas Perdus. : “Authorization, please wait!”

Until tomorrow.