Strike While My Iron is Hot

October 12th, Tuesday, marks my first Paris strike.

Are we having fun yet? 

This picture was taken a few minutes after I stepped out of class. I saw the rally from Rue de Rennes crossing Blvd Raspail and I ran towards the music (Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit"). My classmate saw me running and asked what the matter was and I shouted back "It's my first strike!" He ran after me and we started snapping pictures. My husband called while I was recording a video and I just had to ask: "Is this a strike or a street party?"

Sorry! I'm too lazy to edit today so I picked just one clip.

Le patron a besoin de toi, tu n'as pas besoin de lui. (The boss needs you, you don't need him.)

I left the house for school 30 minutes before class. I'd forgotten about the nationwide strike until I was inside the Metro. I had to wait for 6 minutes (gasp!) for my first train, while in some stations the crowd was so thick, commuters would wait for more than ten minutes (double gasp!) to get a ride. But the people stranded in the station with me didn't seem to mind, or if they were, they did a good job of hiding it. The strikers marched inside the underground tunnels of the Metro and rode in the cabins with the rest of us sheep, chanting slogans and posting La CGT (a worker's union) stickers on travel ads but here's the strangest thing - they seemed happy. It was cheerful rebellion, very orderly, unlike the ones in the Philippines that flirt a little too much with anarchy. These people were angry at Sarkozy, but they were having fun at the same time. The Abba song playing in the background when I took this picture was proof. (Read about the strike here.)

"This concerns everyone." - allegedly from a May 1968 graffiti

The French are French because they protest. From the storming of Bastille in 1789 until now, they continue to refine the art of street demonstration. My husband said the rallies continue because their unions don't have the bargaining power enjoyed by the Germans. Which means you can invent something, but it doesn't mean you can get rich off it. Not that it's always been about money for the French. (See a timeline of French protest riots here.)

The Montparnasse Tower, which reminds me of
the monolith on "2001 Space Odyssey," looks over
the protesters traversing Rue de Rennes (street of reindeers)

Ironically, they are protesting the opposite of what workers in the Philippines would rally for - pushing the retirement age from 60 to 62. My mother, a public servant hoping to work until early next year to collect her yearend bonus, was forced to pack her stuff after going back to Manila this September because the new Aquino administration said no way to retirement extensions; which smacks of discrimination because ordinary senior citizens should be given the option to work and receive higher pensions should they want to. And while my mother fries, bigger fish are out there swimming.

"They'll all go away! Quick, the citizen's revolution"

If you look closely, there's a post-it on the banner. I think I understand what it means, but I'm not smart enough to translate it.

When I got home I talked to mommy and bro on Skype, and they had the pleasure of watching me iron clothes. (Really, I did the ironing today. This is not just some excuse to have a witty title.) I'd been meaning to do it since yesterday but I was too tired from making spring rolls, plus I did the laundry and the dishes and my assignment too. I haven't done this much manual labor since... my last attempt at cooking. (I think I burned a shirt. Please don't tell.) 

I wonder if there's a housewives' union in Paris...