Je Suis Ibn-Ziaten

In the wake of Charlie Hebdo, writer Zoë Zaneteas revisits her 2012 experience with terrorism

Author: Zoë Zaneteas

On January 7, 2015, the world was rocked by the shooting at the Charlie Hebdo newspaper headquarters in Paris. Within days, the global community came together in solidarity to mourn the deaths of twelve innocent people, with #jesuischarlie trending on Twitter and five million copies of the subsequent issue selling out. However, what many don’t realize is that this is not France’s first experience with terrorism. In the wake of this tragedy, I cannot help but recall March of 2012, when I saw firsthand the horrors that racially and religiously motivated terrorism can have on a community. It was my sophomore year of high school and I, along with eight other students from my class, was studying abroad in Toulouse, a city in the Midi-Pyrénées region of southern France. As my host family and I sat down to dinner on Sunday, March 11, we could not have imagined the news we would be greeted with when we turned on the television after dessert.

Master Sergeant Imad Ibn-Ziaten of the 1st Parachute Logistics Regiment thought he was meeting a potential buyer for his motorcycle on the streets outside his gym. Instead, he met his death, shot in the head at point-blank range by a man wearing a helmet and riding a motorcycle of his own. Although this event alone was sufficient to disturb the peace of Toulouse, it was only the beginning.

The week went on; my life in France was seemingly unchanged. However, four days later, on Thursday, March 15, Private Mohamed Lagouad and Corporal Abel Chennouf were killed outside a shopping center in Montauban, about 50 kilometers north of Toulouse. In addition, Corporal Loïc Liber was left in a coma, and an elderly woman was seriously injured. Security footage revealed that the culprit was wearing a similar black helmet and riding a motorcycle. I remember sitting outside of my French school with a few of my American classmates when the teachers began spreading news of a second attack and asking everyone to take shelter inside the building. Once inside, we were told that, from now on, we were to try to refrain from speaking English in public, for we did not know the killer’s attitude towards Americans. Just then, though I was a stranger in a foreign place, I felt the waves rocking my host community as fully as any of my French peers.

That afternoon, my host sisters and I walked home from school as quickly as we could, exchanging very few words as we retreated into our thoughts. As the next few days passed,  I tried to enjoy my time in Toulouse and appreciate the beauty and culture of the city. Still, the threat of an armed gunman loose on the streets kept me from feeling safe. Exposing myself to the danger now associated with large public places, however beautiful and exciting, just wasn’t worth the risk. What I didn’t know was that the danger lay closer than the Place du Capitole – it was just down the street.

Monday, January 19, saw the final installment in Toulouse’s siege. At about 8:00 AM, the man in the black helmet drove his motorcycle to the Ozar Hatorah Jewish secondary school and open-fired into the schoolyard. There, he killed Rabbi Yonatan Sandler, two of the rabbi’s children, Aryeh and Gabriel, and Miriam Monsonego, while gravely injuring Bryan Bijaoui. As someone of Jewish descent, it was at that point that the events of the past week became personal. Not only was I suffering as a member, although temporary, of the Toulouse community – I now suffered as Jew as well.

The next few days saw an incredible increase in security and police presence in the city. On Thursday, March 22, the attacker was revealed to be Mohammed Merah.We would later learn that his building was adjacent to that of one of my fellow American students, yet another horrifying development in our experience with the shootings. That night, President Nicolas Sarkozy announced Merah’s death.

It soon became clear that the victims were targeted as opponents of the radical Islamic teachings Merah espoused, for both French and Jewish soldiers opposed Muslims in the armed conflict happening in Palestine at that time. Merah filmed the killings with a Go-Pro attached to his helmet, setting them to radical Islamic music and superimposing quotes from the Koran.

Now, almost three years later, the events at Charlie Hebdo have made waves in world news, shaking the foundations of peaceful international interaction. Racially and religiously motivated attacks have hit center stage, and the world is struggling to recover. The twelve deaths at Charlie Hebdo may have brought terrorism back to the general public’s attention, but, for me, it never left. I remember Toulouse, yet it baffles me that so many are just now hearing of the terror it has faced. Though the events of Charlie Hebdo have sparked a huge international outpouring of support for the French people, we cannot selectively choose which tragedies to publicize and attribute relevance to. Where was the outcry for justice during the Armenian genocide? Against Boko Harem? For Toulouse? When loss touches one human being, it touches us all.

As students at Cornell University, we are among the brightest and most creative minds of our generation; the scope of our influence on the future knows no bounds. It is our duty, not only to be aware of the trials our world faces, but to care about them as well. Many of us choose to study abroad, while others end up in careers whose scopes extend far beyond the borders of the United States. Through our intellects and passions, we are part of a much larger global community of thinkers, innovators, and artists who have the capacity to come together in solidarity to support each other in times of great sadness and loss like these. Je ne suis pas juste Zoë. Je suis Ibn-Ziaten. Je suis Montauban. Je suis Ozar Hatorah. Je suis Charlie. Nous sommes les mêmes.

 

charlie hebdo, france, jesuischarlie, paris, terrorism, toulouse