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After protests, France holds hasty trials for
By CATHERINE PORTER and JULIETTE GUÉRON-GABRIELLE
The clerks were on strike in the Nanterre courthouse, so the accused burglars, homeless thieves and domestic abusers had to wait. It was 5 p.m. by the time Yanis Linize was ushered into the courtroom, a few blocks from the traffic circle where young Nahel Merzouk was shot by a police officer just a week ago, setting off protests across the country.
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A bike courier from a southern suburb of Paris, Linize was swept up in the anger and emotion that erupted over the death, and the widespread perception that racial discrimination had played a role in it.
He faced charges of issuing death threats to police and of promoting damage to public property.
“I was angry because of everything that is happening,” Linize, 20, told the panel of three black-robed judges before him. “Someone died. That’s serious.”
After five nights of fury over Merzouk’s killing, the country has calmed down and begun to assess the damage: more than 5,000 vehicles burned, 1,000 buildings damaged or looted, 250 police stations or gendarmeries attacked, more than 700 officers injured.
Some 3,400 people were arrested as a massive police presence set out to restore order.
The justice system is running almost around the clock to process them. Many are being funneled through hasty trials, known as comparutions immédiates, where prosecutors and courtappointed lawyers traditionally churn through simple crimes such as traffic violations, theft or assault, often when the accused is caught in the act.
After flooding the streets with 45,000 officers night after night, the French state is looking to send a second harsh message. Justice Minis- ter Éric Dupond-Moretti advised prosecutors to systematically seek prison sentences for people charged with physical assault or serious vandalism.
“Very clearly, I want a firm hand,” DupondMoretti told France Inter radio Monday.
The court in Nanterre, the Paris suburb where Merzouk lived and died, held special sessions over the weekend. All sorts of people have appeared: paramedics, restaurant employees, factory workers, students and unemployed people.
Squeezed in among robberies and domestic violence, the trials go fast. Linize’s lasted less than two hours.
He appeared in a glass defendant box, wearing a blue vest zipped up to his chin, his long brown hair falling neatly around his face, and his hands folded politely behind his back.
Police arrested him for chanting “Justice for Nahel, we will kill you all.” He told the court he was shouting “Justice for Nahel, no more deaths.” Nearly three years ago he was convicted of assaulting a police officer, and had been working to pay off a 10,000-euro ($11,000) fine since then — a heavy lift, given that he earns just 1,500 euros a month. He lives with his parents.
After his arrest, police accessed his phone and found videos he had made. The judge read out messages from Snapchat stories that Linize shared with 20 friends.
In one, he offers cash to people who can provide him with mortar tubes to launch fire works — which were the main weapons used by protesters to fight police. In a video he post ed at 3:25 a.m., he is holding a gas canister and saying, “I am going to burn everything in the housing project.”
But all of it is posture, he maintained, saying he didn’t burn, smash or steal anything. “All that, it’s just words,” he told the judges. “I’m just saying what passes through my mind.”
President Emmanuel Macron has blamed social media — Snapchat and TikTok in particular — for accelerating the violent response to the teenager’s shooting, by enabling rioters to quickly coordinate and by fueling copycat behavior. Experts say its effect is one notable difference from 2005, when France was rocked by three weeks of riots after the deaths of two teenagers who were fleeing a police check. Back then, smartphones and social media barely existed.
The lead judge read out several of the messages Linize shared, declaring he planned to “fight the police this evening” and damage everything.
“You wanted to scare the state,” the judge said. “You said nothing resulted from the messages you sent, but you’re not in control of that.”
Linize’s court-appointed criminal lawyer, Camilla Quendolo, worked on cases through the weekend. One common denominator she saw was the shock at the teenager’s death among many protesters, some of whom even knew the victim.
“The message from the prosecutor’s office has been very clear, very precise and systematic. But on the bench, it has really depended on the judge,” said Quendolo, who spends 30% of her time working as a public defender.
“It’s a good and bad thing,” she added. “They aren’t robots, which is good, but at the same time, it creates a disparity between people.”
In court, she reminded the judges that her client had no dangerous items on him at the time of arrest — “no weapon, no fireworks, nothing.” His words were simply political, she said.
