the diary of an ex-hostage of the Bataclan, week 16

Since September 8, 2021 the trial of the November 13 attacks is held in Paris. David Fritz Goeppinger, victim of these attacks is today a photographer and author. He agreed to share via this logbook his feelings, in image and in writing, during the long months of this river trial, which began on Wednesday, September 8, 2021 before the special court of assizes in Paris. Here is his account of the sixth week.

>> The journal of the fifteenth week

Thursday January 13. It is early when I go through the Palace security checks, I am thoughtful today. Thoughtful because at the beginning, I did not want to give the names of the accused in the logbook. I wanted him (the journal) to stay out of the cloud of research results that concern them. But in light of this phase of the trial, I begin to wonder whether it does not become necessary to differentiate the defendants from each other. Perhaps I foolishly thought that my journal could remain exhaustive at a minimum by avoiding naming them and I sincerely wonder if I did not make a mistake. The ringtone pulls me out of my thoughts, for now, I keep thinking about it.

Today we have to hear from a new accused. But the latter, absent from the box since the end of November (apart from last week when he was taken there by force), seems no longer willing to cooperate. Several days ago a letter he wrote was read at the hearing where he said: “I feel we are all pretending and this trial is an illusion.” From here, I especially have the feeling that, on the contrary, it is his silence that participates in this so-called mirage. When the hearing resumes, the President thanks him for being present and continues by asking him (through his interpreter) if he intends to cooperate with the parties. Reaction of the accused: “I will not answer questions.”

The president then begins reading the minutes of the hearing, a long monologue in front of a mute man, whose very attitude does not allow any reaction to escape. The hearing has just started, but from the auction room the president’s voice seems to cut through the silence of the Palace. Despite the accused’s lack of cooperation, he launches, annoyed, between two questions: “We would have liked to have had answers to all these questions (…) but hey, we will never have answers”. In return, the man looks from left to right, on the ground, silent. To pass the time, I wanted to take the temperature in the main room and went to join Gwendal and Bruno. Shortly after, I left my two friends to return to my place “opposite” *. The afternoon seems endless and arid.

Only two witnesses are here today. The president announces the arrival of the first and it is a grizzled man, wearing a dark gray parka, coming forward. Behind his FFP2 mask, we imagine a person in his sixties, surprisingly calm and balanced. It is about a professor whom the accused meets within the framework of a French course at “A radicalized prisoner”. From 2017 to 2021, he gives a total of 175 courses. During his free talk, the teacher gives a lot of details about his experience and even puts forward a personal analysis of his student. After the questions of the court, the lawyers of the civil parties point the finger at elements of the professor’s statement and ask him to put forward explanations, interpretations of the behavior of the accused at the hearing. The sitting is suspended after defense lawyers have asked their questions and a new witness is awaited.

I start editing my post as the audience resumes. The new witness, a man who crossed paths with the accused upon his return to Europe, is accompanied by an Arabic interpreter.

I’ll stop writing here for today, see you tomorrow.

* The auction hall is located opposite the main audience hall

Wednesday January 12. The day starts the same way as yesterday and the routine resumes its place in my daily life marked by the holding of the hearing. Despite my routine days and which can, from a distance, resemble each other, none is really the same and that is precisely the paradox. In reality, it is rather the emergence of words, documents and mentions during the hearing that shape my days and my nights. Finally, my habits become a rock to which I cling to maintain a semblance of normality. After a day like yesterday where anger is practically omnipresent, the fact of retracing my own steps today is difficult. I wonder what shocks me the most about the accused’s words and understands that it is not the words themselves (although they shock me too), but rather the form of banality in which he inscribes his words. answers. To hear it, everything becomes normal, radicalism, hatred, extremism, violence. I have known for a long time that to wait for an ounce of repentance or guilt from all or some of the accused is illusory and practically impossible, but a part of me refuses to believe that all of these men validate and justify what we have been through on 13-November. I wonder then, will our pain ever end?

Today, we are continuing the interrogation of the same accused as yesterday, but this time on his journeys made in Syria and in Europe. I’m taking fewer notes than before, also because I opted for more active writing, in vivo. From now on, I write while following the debates. Finally, the debates … the difficult questioning in progress. To questions from the president, the man remains evasive. Known for having repeatedly changed sides about his actions abroad, he continues in the same vein and rarely co-operates. After the first assessor hammered him with questions about the demarcation, calls and the use of several mobile phones abroad and pointed out an attitude of hiding information, the accused was further annoyed. in addition and ends up saying: “Listen Madam, I’m not going to answer your questions about telephony anymore!” This does not prevent the first assessor from continuing without paying attention. The hearing is suspended for a break, with a friend, we go in search of a coffee before trying to cut the audience a bit.

My hands are numb from the biting cold outside and I have a hard time typing those words. I walk in circles in the press circle looking for a photograph for this post, my gaze lost on the shape of the courtroom and notice the triangular shape and yellow neon. The geometric shape reminds me of Pink Floyd and their album The Dark Side of The Moon. On screen, Maître Nicolas le Bris, one of the three Advocates General, questions the accused followed by the lawyers for the civil parties. As I finish writing the post, I realize that we are already in January and that September 8 now seems a long way off. A year ago, practically to the day, I received a message from Gaële Joly, journalist with the police-justice service of franceinfo, who mentioned the horizon of the trial. I did not know it but it is thanks to this initial contact that the logbook will see the light of the months later, once the horizon has been reached.

I stop writing for today while Maître Topaloff continues to question the accused.