November 11, 1940: German troops have dimmed the lights of Paris. But 200 students assemble at the Sorbonne University for their traditional march to the tomb of the unknown soldier under the Arc de Triomphe—their annual hommage to their dead. None of the 200 reach the Arch. Nazi soldiers and French collaborators fire on them. The survivors are deported to concentration camps. A few escape. The Nazis rule Paris . . .

November 11, 1948: German Nazis no longer rule Paris. The Federal Union of War Veterans, the Federation of Former Slave Labourers, the combined associations of Resistance Fighters—these and other groups gather to march in their annual salute to those who died in the wars of France . . .

The Attack

Less than five minutes after the students assemble in the Place de la Sorbonne, they are attacked by the police. Their banners are seized. Some students are arrested; many are beaten. The remainder arrange to reassemble later.

The afternoon is turning to dusk and fog is settling over the city when I reach the Champs Elysees. Blue-uniformed police armed with pistols and carrying makeshift wooden clubs are lined up along the sidewalks.

Blue Fury

The crowds have been herded behind portable wooden fences. The marchers are not able to maintain their groupings: students, war veterans, former prisoners of war, concentration camp inmates, all have been pushed together into one huge mass.

A whistle blows. A mass of blue uniforms, capes flying, suddenly seems to be unleashed like a pack of hounds. What was a moment before a relaxed group of policemen is turned into a mad fury, whirling white nightsticks and long wooden clubs, cracking skulls left and right.

The crowd manages to unknot itself; some escape into side streets, others find refuge in doorways.

A whistle blows again. The police turn and hurl themselves upon the crowd gathered to watch the first charge. Women are thrown to the ground, men are clubbed. The whistle blows a third time, and the clubbing stops. The police return to their ranks, relax, light cigarettes and begin chatting with each other.

Up and down the broad Avenue des Champs-Elysees, this is happening at 20 intersections.

Barricades

At one place civilians have ripped up paving blocks with which to defend themselves. At the corner of the Rue Washington a first-aid station has been set up. I watch three ambulances arrive, fill up with wounded, and drive off to hospitals. The street here is covered with litters, bearing war veterans, students, communists, socialists, royalists, Gaullists, sightseers, foreign diplomats and journalists, with bleeding heads, broken arms and bruised bodies.

The police now charge time and again in small sorties against crowds. A group gathers to hoot and jeer at the "high command" of officers knotted together, the police charge them. Another band groups together and sings the Marsellaise the police charge.

Reds Again

The reign of terror lasts more than two hours. Then it is dark and the lights are on. The police are still busy breaking up small groups left along the streets, Stragglers are driven into subway kiosks; the streets are cleared of barricades and rubble which was piled high by police as well as civilians.

Chief of Police Roger Leonard, cornered by a few newspapermen who managed to stumble upon him, is too much a caricature of himself as the calculating chief who has just ordered his private army to wipe out the mob. He wears a chesterfield, a black homburg, high-topped white collar and pearl stick-pin.

"It was the newspapers like 'L'Hu-manite' and 'Ce Soir'" he says "that incited people to disobey me and start manifestations outside the limits set by police orders. A few excited elements then incited others to riot."

Shrugging off questions about civilian casualties, he steps into his car and is driven away.

(Stanley Karnow. in "U.S. National Guardian," 23/11/48.)