Let Us Draw Our First Lessons from the ‘French 9/11’

Immediately after the Charlie Hebdo massacre, we compared it to the 2001 al-Qaida attacks on the U.S. The Jan. 7 attack was the deadliest in France since the end of the Algerian War in 1962. To what extent is the analogy accurate?

On the surface, this comparison seems artificial and exaggerated. Twelve lives were lost in Paris, while nearly 3,000 were killed on Sept. 11, 2001 in New York and Washington, D.C. The assailants were armed with AK-47s, not hijacked airplanes. And contrary to the Sept. 11 terrorists, these ones killed citizens of their own country. For that reason, the Paris attack of 2015 more closely resembles a combination of two other attacks: the London metro bombing in 2005, whose perpetrators were all British expats, and that of Bombay in 2008, where the terrorists had guns and targeted victims individually.

However, despite these major differences, the attacks on Paris and New York are of the same nature. The two cities both represent a universal dream, both symbolize light and liberty, belonging to all humanity, and not solely to their respective countries.

And in each case, the chosen targets were highly symbolic. In New York, the twin towers embodied the ambition and success of capitalism. In Paris, Charlie Hebdo embodied the spirit of democratic liberty: the possibility of writing, drawing and publishing whatever — including extreme, and sometimes vulgar, provocations. As was the case in New York, in Paris one gets the strong feeling that the true target is Western civilization itself.

Along with the majority of the French, nauseated by the attack and empathetic with the victims, I say “I am Charlie” — a phrase that reflects that of Le Monde following Sept. 11: “We are all Americans.”

But I have not always felt that way. In 2005, I had reservations about the decision of Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten to publish a series of caricatures of the prophet Muhammad, and the decision of Charlie Hebdo to reproduce them the following year. At the time, it seemed to me a dangerous and useless provocation, and therefore politically irresponsible. You do not play with matches next to a pipeline or dynamite.

Our time is without question more religious than the 18th century ever was. Years ago, I thought that invoking Voltaire was one thing, but responsible behavior involves not insulting what is most sacred in the eyes of others, be it Christ, Muhammad or the Holocaust.

Today, given the nature of the attack, I abandon these reservations, although I resist the temptation to make saints of the victims, as many French are doing now. In France, secularism is equivalent to a religion — the religion of the republic. For the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists, a religion was nothing but one ideology among others, and they turned to the three main monotheistic religions — but perhaps a little more to Islam, probably due to Islamic fundamentalism, which is its most visible aspect today.

As was the case in America after Sept. 11, thus far, national unity carries the day in France. This is how it should be, for unity is crucial to counter the terrorists, whose aim is to cause division, incite confrontation, and marginalize the moderates. Even Marine Le Pen, leader of the National Front, initially warned against an anti-Muslim reaction and underlined that several lost young men are in no case representative of the majority of French Muslims.

But how long will this national unity last? The scars of colonialism are more alive in France than anywhere else in Europe; this country has the largest Muslim community in Europe, and while the moderates appear weak and divided, the extreme right has a sizable lead in the polls.

These ingredients could create a disaster. Already the true nature of Marine Le Pen appears to be rising to the surface. Excluded from a republican march organized after the attack, she qualifies “national unity” as “pathetic politician maneuvering.” But if political leaders react in an appropriate manner, the Jan. 7 attack could kindle a renaissance of feelings of common destiny and political sense.

We, the French, must face these attacks as the Americans did right after Sept. 11: firmly, but responsibly. That means, first of all, to not follow the example of the United States from 2003, when President Bush rolled out his global “war on terror” in Iraq. The task of France now is to defend the values that made it a target.