I felt tugging

“Head down, I did my best to avoid Xi’an, China’s searing sun and the men selling socks on blankets over pavement. They were partly protected by the thin branches of small trees but still exposed to the heat. As I strode ahead, my mind bounced backwards two or three decades. I was wandering in a busy shopping area off the beaten tourist track in France. I remember it as near Les Halles, but not Les Halles; at the time, I didn’t know precisely where I was. An Algerian busser, one of my coworkers, had sent me to buy my uniform—a white shirt with black plants and bowtie. This was in Paris—or I should say on the outskirts of Paris. Les Banlieues, or not les banlieues? The shopping square was wide and packed tight with brown and pale Arabs. There were Tunisians, Moroccans, Algerians, and others. They were thin and poor, yes, but doing better than they would be back home. It was crowded—we were moving within inches of each other, even rubbing shoulders, as we walked up the wide boulevard. No cars but too many pedestrians. 

“I felt something behind me. I felt tugging . . .”

~~ from “Chinese Sun” by Alex Kudera

Letter from Les Banlieues

"The approach has left residents vulnerable to both the police and the virus. Paris had 732 virus deaths compared with 402 in Seine-Saint-Denis as of April 8, but the city has half again the population of the suburb, where many of the metropolis’s cashiers, deliverymen, transit workers, nurses and couriers live.

"'This is getting really tough,' said Larry Karache, an out-of-work shopkeeper, standing outside Chêne Pointu, the housing project where France’s 2005 urban riots were born, and which was depicted in last year’s hit film Les Miserables. 'We’re actually in prison here.'"