Macron’s election night: how I felt at the Louvre on Sunday, May 7th

A Parisian look at the new president’s election

Half past seven. We’ll know in half an hour. Regardless of loss or a victory, people were invited to gather at the Louvre to express their emotions together, whether they support Macron or not. By that time I had just left my friends’ place in the north of Paris. They had some work, it was time to leave. Maybe they were intrigued by what the gathering would look like, but the curiosity wasn’t enough to move to Paris’ center.

It was the same for me. By going there, you get a weird feeling of exposing yourself too much, even if you already identified yourself as a supporter for Macron. Here, there’s a taboo around politics; you shouldn’t position yourself too clearly in front of others, even your friends or family. That was particularly true for these elections, as the results from the first round of voting were very split. Indeed, few people were really satisfied with the results, therefore few were really engaged in voting for the second round; without convictions, just extreme right eviction. Some, as a protest, simply went for abstention. The most disappointed ones I knew were the radical left candidate J.L Mélenchon’s supporters. They were looking for a big change: they lost the chance by 1%.

Ten to eight. I’m getting out of Les Halles’ subway station, very close to le Louvre. I just wanted to look from a distance, and then go. I checked if any of my friends would come, but none of them would.

Eight. I’m two minutes from Le Louvre. We expected him to win, but I was relieved being sure. In the tight paved street leading to Rivoli street, from one moment to the other, you could see everybody stopping in their tracks, head down to their phones for a reassuring check. “Macron président !” one half shouted, with a lack of conviction or searching for an excitement in his own exclamation that he didn’t find.

But then I saw this huge line all along the Louvre’s wall. Rivoli street looked crazy, with hundreds of people half running on each side of the road to get to the museum’s court. With my camera up in the air I put myself in the wave and let myself slide in the stream.

After five safety checks, I’m finally in. Above in the back, installations have been set up for the main news companies. On the other side, in front of the glass pyramid, a huge stage for a line-up of French DJs. In between, you’re one head among thousands : young and old, black and white, straight brown to curly blond heads, pistachio to vanilla lovers.

2 hours from the new president’s arrival. I’m glad to hear foreign languages from times to times. Spanish, German, Arabic, Russian, it’s a wave of exotic sounds. But then I realized : I found it actually hard to hear any French. Possibly because I’m used to it and that sound is part of the wind. But still, all those French flags you could have seen are carried by the whole world.

And with the exception of a few examples, it wasn’t for political convictions. From time to time, a speaker would come to announce the upcoming president’s arrival. From time to time, he tried toget everyone to sing La Marseillaise, the national anthem. Each attempt failed. Maybe there were so many foreigners that nobody knew how to sing it... I doubt so. But that may translate the losing interest in patriotism. It may not be consistent anymore, because I like chocolate the same way the German next to me likes it, and I don’t feel the need to differentiate myself from him. Or maybe singing an anthem is a way to express oneself’s support to one’s government and the nation’s direction, so maybe nobody sings because everyone is tired of the political climate. One man also grumbled out loud, saying nothing’s going to change, that there wasn’t any reason to be happy. Rapidly a large group of different people surrounded him to silence him. It wasn’t the time for debate anymore, it was the time to leave our disagreements behind, to forget about past ponderings and celebrate. Through my eyes, the event wasn’t an a-political event, it was anti-political.

Half an hour before the president elect’s arrival. At every corner, you can meet journalists from everywhere targeting people to interview. There are several ways for you to be interviewed, here’s a top 5:

• Having a huge European flag and face paintings.
• Being black and coming with your family.
• Being a foreigner and dressed like a parisian cliché.
• Carrying an Algerian flag and being with your friends from there.
• Carrying your cute child on your shoulders.

There’s no harm in it, it’s just amusing to see.

Finally after an endless wait,

Here he comes.

Extra slowly. From the north door of the Louvre to the central stage, you can follow his steps. But the walk isn’t silent, he chose Beethoven to accompany him to his speech, Ode to Joy, the European anthem.

“My friends…”

We’re not compatriots anymore, we are friends. Once again, the nation vanishes a bit into the background to give way to what seems to be a community.

Awakening, boldness, inclusion, hard work, courage, honor, & truth.

And Europe.

“I will defend Europe, this community of destiny that the people of our continent have given themselves.”

That’s what I voted for. But I get rapidly bored with speeches. I leave in the middle of it, leaving a massive crowd behind. The party was over.

Today I feel both defiance and curiosity from my entourage about his leadership. Everywhere, placards, newspapers and magazines incense his victory. I’m quite optimistic. But to me, what matters is the bottom. Every day, I see people working on projects, initiatives or just ideas to improve everyone’s lives. I think that’s where people govern.