A Trail of Shadows
Friday, September 16, 2005. Racist crime in Dunkirk.
The victim, a young man named “Mohamed,” aged 17, wasn't known to have any ties with criminals or gangs. He was talking with friends in front of a Grande-Synthe bistro, on the outskirts of Dunkirk, when a 45-year-old drunken truck driver shot him dead. The killer has twice targeted groups of North Africans in the past. These racist crimes exacerbate feelings of insecurity among immigrants, who are living far from home, in a society where there has been, over recent years, a sharp increase in crime and violence, as well as a stronger and larger constituency for rejuvenated far-right parties.
I didn't write these lines. I found them lying on the ground. Theirs. The pavement is a huge mirror. The truck driver comes out of the bar, sees a young Arab and shoots him dead. He's just a miserable man, a stupid jerk. Then he tells himself: For real, I have been dying to do this for so long. Every time I tried the thing didn't come off, I was frustrated in my desire. Got fed up with the whole shebang, always bubbling and then petering out, like a battered old car. Fuck'em all, these white-black-beurgh freaks. The whole damn lot makes me sick. Got him this time, the bastard, didn't I? Now I feel good. Going to get me a freezing cold beer at Pierrot's, before the cops come and take me away. Then he takes a swill of beer, puts his glass on the table and burps his pleasure, loudly. That, too, stands written in the newspaper lying here on the pavement.