Ah, France. Land of baguettes, berets, and a judicial system that has somehow managed to turn a convicted killer’s record into a catalyst for mass hysteria. Yes, folks, the streets of Paris are once again alight with the glow of burning cars and the dulcet tones of tear gas canisters, all because a man with a penchant for murder was, surprise surprise, found to have a criminal history. Quelle horreur.
Let’s set the scene, shall we? Imagine a court of law, that hallowed temple of justice where facts are meant to be weighed with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. Instead, what we have is a farce so ridiculous that Molière himself would have choked on his croissant. A convicted killer, let’s call him Monsieur Déjà Vu, is up for sentencing. The prosecution presents his record: a laundry list of violent offences that would make a pirate blush. The defence, in a stroke of genius no doubt hatched over too much absinthe, argues that this is an unfair character assassination. The judge, perhaps suffering from a severe case of la nausée, agrees. Riots ensue.
The public, bless their striped-shirted hearts, have taken to the barricades not to demand justice, but to protest the very notion that criminals have a past. It’s as if they’ve collectively decided that a blank slate is a human right, even if that slate is stained with the blood of the innocent. One protester, interviewed between hurling cobblestones, opined: “Every man deserves a second chance, even if his first chance ended with someone dead.” Très philosophique.
And so the cycle continues: the government wrings its hands, the police unleash their water cannons, and the citizens burn effigies of the Minister of Justice, who simultaneously claims to be both tough on crime and understanding of the killer’s “difficult upbringing.” It’s a beautiful, self-consuming paradox that would make even the most seasoned satirist weep with joy.
Meanwhile, in the hallowed halls of the Élysée Palace, President Macron is reportedly consulting his astrologer to find a suitable solution. Expect a new taskforce or, better yet, a national conversation on the ethics of keeping records. Perhaps we can replace prisons with memory-wiping machines, à la Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. After all, why let facts get in the way of a good riot?
So here’s to France, a nation that has elevated the oxymoron to an art form: a justice system that is both blind and short-sighted, a populace that cries for order while burning it down, and a government that promises reform while doing absolutely nothing. Vive la révolution! Or, as they say in the streets, “Sacrebleu, pass the petrol.”
