Editorials and Opinions

Gary Tischler • January 11, 2016

It’s 2016, folks.  Aren’t you: surprised, relieved, exhausted, still dancing in the streets, nervous about what lies ahead after a year that seemed full of stark surprises, most of them not boding well for the future?

We are looking ahead with some trepidation for any number of reasons, El Nino and the climatic travails it may continue to bring, the fate of streetcars in the district and the debut of the Michael Bay action movie about Benghazi. 

Reason #1:  2016 is an election year, maybe the end-all and be-all of all elections, if not the end of elections as we know them.

That’s already happened. In 2015, the the Republican Party presidential nominating process—which had evolved into a lumpy process filled with outlier candidates and PACs and SuperPACs in 2012, unraveled.

To be sure, there was another cartload of candidates that numbered 17 at one point and was so big that it produced tiered first-string and second-string debates, something that had never been seen before.  There was a favorite—Jeb Bush, all fat and financed better than a hedge fund, guaranteeing, it was assumed, a deep run in the primaries.  Other prominent candidates at the time included Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio, Scott Walker and Rick Perry.

It was a familiar lineup except for a few distinct differences —impresario, casino owner, businessman and showman (“The Apprentice”) and birther mythologist Donald Trump announced, in a flaming rhetorical debut that included talk of a “huge” wall at the border, paid for by Mexico, and rapist immigrants, among other things, that he was running for president.  So did Ben Carson, an African American Republican brain surgeon.

Trump catapulted into the front runner in the polls, trailing behind him a string of outrageous claims, most of them made at rallies which increased in size and bellicosity, and the fervent hope by his rivals and maybe a good chunk of Americans that he would implode, like one of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloons, somewhere along the way, that maybe the last gaffe or slur (against women, Arabs, ethnic groups and Samuel Jackson or Megyn Kelly) would do him in.  

Today, Trump leads in the national Republican polls big time and hardly a day goes by that he doesn’t make headlines. The phrase, “President Trump,” has now been uttered by someone other than Trump—by media types and by all of us.  Meanwhile, Carson is floundering, Walker and Perry are gone, and Bush is in single digits that could become hardly any digit.

The Republican contretemps have dominated the news and have provided fodder for the campaign itself becoming not the dominant issues of the times, but material for debates and press releases, which simplify the major news of the year, including the rise of ISIS and its attacks in Paris which killed well more than in November. The terrorist attacks were joined by the killings of 14 people in San Bernardino, California, perpetrated by an American Muslim couple apparently influenced by ISIS.  There was a horrendous refugee crisis which occurred as a direct result of the civil war and general destruction it caused in Syria, where ISIS is headquartered.  

I listened to panel members at a talk at the Aspen Institute in Washington, which included a congresswoman, a Harvard professor of diplomacy and a  general, discussing American reaction to Arab radicalism, which is at the root of the cauldron that constitutes the Middle East region. They  talked about schism, Shiites and Sunnis, the Arab spring, no fly zones, the ebb  and flow of religious and political loyalties. In contrast, what you heard from men and the woman who would be president was killing and destroying ISIS, carpet-bombing parts of Syria and stopping Muslims from emigrating to the United States, fiery, tough, and inflammatory talk couched in great, crowd pleasing generalities.

The other crisis in America was also fueled by the sound of guns and the doing of violence.  It was the stirring of a debate over connected issues—the alarming rise in police killings of young African American men and the equally alarming rise in mass shootings and homicides by gunfire. In the area, after the arrest of a young black man named Freddie Gray resulted in his death while being transported,  a violent riot and demonstrations and fires broke out in Baltimore, which in the end resulted in the indictment of six police officers. The first trial ended in a hung jury. 

The police shootings have sparked “Black Lives Matter,” a national protest movement which in turn sparked protests on campuses about racial issues.    

The shootings themselves were a part of the  mosaic of national homicides and deaths by gunfire, which, along with gun control,  has now became an issue both local and national, after a visibly emotional President Barack Obama issued executive orders which would require background checks for gun shows, among other, modest proposals.

The issue reverberates in  cities all over the country, especially in Chicago, but also in the District of Columbia, which saw a 54-percent  increase in homicides with a total of 162, almost of them by gunfire. 

Mass shootings of various sizes occurred throughout the year, most notably in Columbia, South Carolina, where a young, bitter white shooter killed nine African American bible study members at a historic church.

It is not that there was no other news— much of whatever good news there was served as a balm and antidote to the ongoing alarms and issues of the day, including the weather itself.

The visit of Pope Francis to Washington in September was emotional, dramatic, stirring and jubilant, but in spite of the best words of the pope, the spirit it engendered at the time did not appear to have staying power.

It was the small pleasures offered in our neighborhoods and city—Halloween celebrations on your block or mine, a gospel group singing resonantly at a neighborhood hospital as part of a porch front music festival, the arrival of a panda cub, the Easter egg roll, the New Year’s Eve celebration at the Kennedy Center, realizing you were still joyfully out and awake at one in the morning,  the birthdays and weddings, the art on building walls and city museums,  communing with friends over coffee.

These things will remain through the year and continue, long after the last bombastic promise and insults on the campaign trail(s).

Gary Tischler • January 9, 2016

We are living in a time when certain politicians who shall remain nameless (for once) advocate closing America’s borders to members of a religion that is not Christianity. We are living in a time when radical, extreme members of that religion are advocating, encouraging, inspiring and committing killings in the name of that religion.

All of this is happening in the time in which we live, and we see it, hear it, read it on all the things that we carry in our pockets, that we set up in restaurants or in our homes. All of this is happening with increasing intensity in a season in which we celebrate the opposite of the mindsets that lead to atrocities and inflammatory rhetoric.

We are celebrating a season that notes the birth of a child, a season that embraces love and hope and a possible future that would accentuate peace and human kindness. In this time.

We should think about that birth and that event for a moment. On its face and as an event, it was a small thing, noted only, if you believe so, in prophecies and by those who happened to witness it either by choice or happenstance.

It happened in the smallest of towns in what is now Palestine, home now to still-warring factions, but home then to mostly its Jewish residents, and part of the Roman Empire, ruled by a local king who paid tribute and political obeisance to Rome, personified by its first emperor, Augustus Caesar, who would become the first emperor-god of Rome.

The baby’s name was Jesus, and his earthly parents were Mary and Joseph, the latter a carpenter. In that time, there were as yet no Christians or Muslims; as yet, no Communists or Democrats or Republicans or Americans. The world as a whole was mostly unmapped, but it contained even then multitudes of different kinds of people, most of whom were unaware of each other.

Jesus was born a Jew and would die on a cross and, in the end, by his life and actions — by noted miracles and by preaching a gospel that showered the least of us with love and compassion, by spreading hope that made suffering on earth bearable as a passing thing, that made even poverty seem blessed with dignity. He talked in parables and stories, and it was said at the time and so passed on into gospel that hundreds if not thousands were fed at one of his sermons in the countryside.

That night, he was a mewling baby, blessed nonetheless. He was as small as humans get, and as frail, and his presence would inspire fear in a king and in the rest a spirit of love and humility and kindness that we all wish for. His presence on this day remains in the hearts and minds of many who long in this time of a kind of madness for peace and understanding, for gracious thoughts and compassion that remind us that there are millions out there living in worse places than a stable.

In the town of Bethlehem, as the story has it, there was not room at the inn, and so Mary and Joseph made their place in a stable, where the child, who was named Jesus, was born, no doubt crying as newborns do. It was a clear night sky, made clearer by a star, and by the baby itself, which was the light of the world. It was probably chilly that night. Joseph and Mary and Jesus, at that time of the beginning of Jesus, were known to no one. Shepherds came that night, prodded by celestial beings and not a little awe and curiosity and love. Later, three kings arrived from exotic places bearing exotic gifts and giving homage to the child. They arrived with the star.

Amos Gelb • December 22, 2015

Oh, the drama to end the year. The stuff of “Desperate Housewives of Wherever,” it’s all happening right here in D.C. But nobody seems to have noticed.

Not D.C. politics, nor our not-quite sports teams. I am talking about Cumulus radio station WRQX, better known as 107.3.
The second-largest radio group in the U.S. (454 owned and operated stations reaching 245 million listeners with more than 8,200 affiliated stations), Cumulus has been buffeted for at least the last two years. Would such turbulence within the Murdoch empire go unnoticed? But such is radio, a medium declared dead more than 50 years ago that continues, like James Bond, to refuse its fate.

The saga began in the spring of 2013. At that point, the station was anchored by morning DJ Jack Diamond, né Harvey Fischer. For 24 years, he had enlivened his audience’s mornings bantering with various sidekicks, the last two being Jimmy Alexander and Erica Hilary.

Then, one morning, they were gone. No warning, no graceful hand-off. One of the brothers who founded and controlled Cumulus was quoted at the time as saying that the audience had spoken through declining ratings. Other reports had it that Diamond was offered a healthy bonus to transition to his former sidekick Bert Weiss, but wanted none of it. Nice things were quoted, but Diamond was unceremoniously replaced by Weiss’s syndicated show out of Atlanta.

And then, a year later, just as suddenly, Bert and his crew were gone too. Management reportedly decided they needed a more local host. In stepped afternoon DJ Marco to handle duties until a new cast appeared: Sarah, Ty and Mel — two former sidekicks from the rival 99.5 Kane show: Sarah Fraser and Melanie Glazener, joined by Ty Bentli who moved down from New York.
Promising a new kind of show, the three found a unique voice. And while the morning callers suggested they were getting traction, the all-important ratings apparently never reached management’s threshold for success.

Last month, the revolving door spun again. The new crew was gone and Jack, the man who stormed out in a huff, is back. Diamond commented that you can indeed go home (a fact proven by numerous college graduates). But it was not just Jack. The station also reversed the change in name and format that started the whole ruckus, moving back to a Hot AC (hot adult contemporary) mix from the Contemporary Hits Radio format (the subtle differences in music programming escape us) and reverting to Mix 107.3. Just like that, forward to the past.

Sarah, Ty and Mel handled the clear disappointment of their midnight execution with the stoicism of people who know better than to burn bridges in the very small radio world. Ousted Sarah Fraser penned the well-worn euphemism of “the station is moving in another direction.” It was announced that she would move to a noon slot to go with an all-Christmas music lineup.

But head to the Mix 107.3 website (as of deadline), and there’s no Fraser. In fact, there are no names other than Jack Diamond. The Christmas music never appeared either.

Slate cleaned. High drama in Radioland.

But that was just the surface waves. Underwater, there has been just as much turmoil. It is hard to get an accurate count, but it seems that RQX had four program directors since Diamond strode out the door, the last ejection being that of Jan Jeffries, the person who engineered Diamond’s return. Current program director Louie Diaz paused when asked to remember whether he had actually begun at the Jennifer Street studio before Diamond’s reappearance.

Even bigger, after a failed venture and declining stock, RQX’s owner, Cumulus, pushed aside the founding brothers and brought in a magazine turn-around artist.

So, can you ever truly go home? The time between Diamond’s departure and return has seen perhaps more changes in the media landscape than his entire previous two-decade reign. Facebook today is a premium content distributor. Podcasts are hot and audience time-shifting is the norm rather than an anomaly. But people still commute, so there may yet be an audience for Diamond.

Diaz says the format reversion was driven by the realization that while a younger audience was tuning in to the new format, the older Mix audience wasn’t sticking around. The numbers just weren’t working, he explains, and it was time for the station to get back to what worked before (ignoring the ostensible reason Diamond was ousted). According to Diaz, it is a new Jack Diamond, with a far livelier program that includes new segments and increased listener interaction and engagement. (We don’t recall an issue with Diamond’s audience engagement.)

Diamond did not reply either to emails or attempts to reach him by phone. He has no small mountain to climb. The current ratings put the station at half the listenership of main rival Hot 99.5.

Diamond says you can go home. Cumulus has bet that he is right. Stay tuned, and we’ll all get to find out.

Amos Gelb is director of the Washington Media Institute.

the Georgetowner Editorial Board • December 18, 2015

A Georgetowner newspaper tradition for decades, the naming of Georgetowners of the Year includes a woman who has devoted the better part of her life and talents to revealing and promoting an old Georgetown estate’s history and renewing its splendor to all of Washington and then taking this wonderment to the next level; a women and a priest with similar interests but different backgrounds and abilities who forged a bakery with delicious results that helps veterans—from our city or Iraq—gain real-world business skills; an educator with roots deep in Georgetown’s African-American past who is a force for good—whether bringing neighbors closer or getting the streets repaved—in our community to be reckoned with, now and in the future.

LESLIE BUHLER

Leslie Buhler stepped down as executive director of Tudor Place after 15 years of what the historic house and garden non-profit called, “transformational leadership.” Buhler arrived in 2000 and made sure one of Georgetown’s crown jewels was maintained to the highest standards and included a master preservation plan of restoration and upkeep. She also made the historic home at 31st and Q Street more accessible to all — from children to preservationists to neighbors. She leaves Tudor Place in a perfect place for its bicentennial next year. For all this and more, Leslie Buhler is a Georgetowner of the Year for 2015.

FATHER RICK CURRY and CONNIE MILSTEIN

If ever there was a bakery that’s more than a bakery, it’s Dog Tag Bakery on Grace Street, where a lot of grace goes on at a daily basis. The bakery, part of Dog Tag Inc., has as one of its slogans “baking a difference.” The enterprise operates a six-month training program aimed squarely at “driven, entrepreneurial-minded wounded veterans and their spouses.” The bakery is run and worked by wounded veterans. Its founding heart and soul are its co-founders, philanthropist Constance Milstein and Rev. Rick Curry, S.J., of Georgetown University.

A developer and lawyer, Milstein is committed to helping veterans. Blue Star Families is one of her projects, and she has opened several non-profit bakeries in New York, all of which show her commitment to helping veterans. She is in the top ranks of philanthropist-business leaders in Washington, D.C., providing leadership on the boards of cultural D.C. mainstays like Ford’s Theater, the National Symphony Orchestra and the Washington National Opera.

Milstein and Father Curry, a Jesuit priest who brings compassion and experience, form the perfect partnership for the bakery. Curry founded and headed the National Theater for the Handicapped, a non-profit theater and training institution for persons with physical disabilities for three decades. He is also the author of two books, “The Secrets of Jesuit Soupmaking” and “The Secrets of Jesuit Breadmaking.”

Their partnership has resulted in a do-good, feel-good Georgetown institution that’s already become a go-to place for locals and does Georgetown proud. For all this and more, Father Rick Curry and Connie Milstein are each a Georgetowner of the Year for 2015.

MONICA ROACHÉ

Monica Roaché is one of the newest members of the Georgetown-Burleith Advisory Neighborhood Commission 2E, but her family has been here for many years. As part of this town’s original African-American families, Roache is a fifth-generation Georgetowner who has always promoted this part of our history — from the book, “Black Georgetown Remembered,” to the October dedication of the Rose Park tennis court to black tennis star sisters, Margaret Peters and Roumania Peters Walker. The Peters sisters taught tennis and life lessons to Roache and many other children. For all this and more, Monica Roaché is a Georgetowner of the Year for 2015
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Gary Tischler • December 17, 2015

The fifth Republican presidential campaign debate—in Las Vegas, the city where dreams go to die an unnatural death, no less—had it all.

It had bluster, accusations, spats and fights and claims hard to substantiate, arguments and jostling for positions, showdowns and a lack of them.  It even had an undercard—slim and trim, to be sure—but one that proved to be interesting if no other reason than to be a suitable warmup for the main event.

The Dec. 15 debate also had some things that previous Republican debates did not: context, immediacy, urgency and a theme.

This debate, hosted by CNN and moderated by a sturdy Wolf Blitzer, with the help of others, focused almost exclusively on the issue of national security and was the first held since the ISIS (or ISIL) attacks in Paris that killed 130 persons and the attacks by the Islamic married couple (one an American citizen, born in the U.S.) in San Bernardino, California, who gunned down 14 persons at a holiday office party before being killed by police elsewhere and not long afterward.

It took place in a context of a number of over-the-top comments by front-running candidate Donald Trump suggesting that Muslims should not be allowed into the United States for an undetermined time, that families of terrorists should be targeted for killing and that the Internet needed stronger control.  

It took place in the context of a day which saw the country’s two largest school districts in Los Angeles and New York City as objects of e-mail threats, causing a massive school closure in L.A.—but not in New York

It took place in the aftermath of a spate of new polling which saw Trump rise yet again in the national polls, hotly pursued by Sen.Ted Cruz of Texas, who had doubled  his numbers and was said to be leading in Iowa. Expectations were of hot debate battles among Trump, Cruz and an also rising Marco Rubio.

There were battles—between Trump and a Jeb Bush trying to resuscitate his floundering candidacy, between Cruz and Rubio, who political GOP strategists still saw as the survivors of an eventual Trump dump, and between Trump and Rand Paul and New Jersey Governor Chris Christie and the party establishment and Washington and everyone else.

There were also moments that stood out: claims that could be challenged and occasions of clarity, depending on your views, your seat, your mood and theirs. 

A dramatic moment emerged when Trump and Bush fought, and to many admirers of Bush, you could almost hear a sigh of relief in the gaudy setting of the Venetian in Las Vegas.  Trump has a condescending way of dealing with Bush. He always refers to the former Florida governor initially as “a nice guy, a nice man”—much in the manner of an “It” girl dismissing the courtship of an unwanted suitor—and dismissing him as not being tough.  Trump smirked at one Bush remark: “Mr. Trump, you can’t insult your way to the presidency.”  Bush called Trump “the chaos candidate.” Trump, who never takes criticism kindly, appeared flustered.

In the many approaches to solving the crisis of ISIS—“carpet bombing” (Ted Cruz), targeting families (Trump and a fading, still quiet-voiced Ben Carson), no immigration (variations by all), death sentence if you declare yourself for ISIS (Cruz), more surveillance (just about everybody but Rand Paul), and so on, boots on the ground (once again, Lindsay Graham). Here, it was Bush who made the most sense: “How can you hope to gain the confidence and cooperation of our Arab allies if you openly plan to keep them out of this country?  The Sunni Arabs must be part of this fight.  That’s how we’ll defeat ISIS.”

Still, it was obvious from a heated discussion about regime change and its dangers or virtues that the cauldron of Middle East politics remains a challenging mystery to most of the candidates, let alone the general American public.

Christie raised the specter of the trauma caused by the school closing and set himself up as a proven terrorism fighter, ever since 9/11, as a prosecutor.  Carson—who was quickly fading in the polls down to fourth place despite a trip to Jordan—was asked if he could be ruthless enough to cause the deaths of thousands of non-combatants, including children.  He answered by telling a story, how, as a pediatric brain surgeon, he would tell children that he would have to open their heads, “which they hated,” he said. But afterwards, with the results, “they loved me,” he concluded.  Throughout, Carson did not seem to realize that as a candidate he was a severely wounded man walking.

Cruz and Rubio set each other up as straw men in prolonged arguments  about both information-gathering legislation and the abortive comprehensive bipartisan immigration bill which Rubio was a part of and which ultimately failed.   The argument—about meta data, immigration numbers and such got detailed, which political wonks among the commentators loved. 

You can always tell when people start to irritate each other, resorting to first names—as in “Marco knows he wasn’t entirely truthful here . . . ,” Cruz said. Strategists opined that the two were “in the weeds” of arcane political stuff.  It sounded more like poison ivy. Christie said that exchange “almost made me nod off. This is exactly the kind of Washington stuff people complain about.”

In the aftermath, an army of strategists and commentators—looking like political interns at a job fair—picked the bones of the proceedings, if not cleanly.  Who won? Hard to say. Bush helped himself for once. Cruz and Rubio stood out and Rand was effective.  Carly Fiorina struggled to be heard.  Trump did not seriously damage to himself—what would that take?—and will no doubt stay on top.

Still, you have to wonder.  Trump’s appeal is populist, the “strength” card, if you will. But his language in the aftermath of the debate was that of a teenager just back from a prom. “Did well, did really well, I think.  I really had a good time.  I had fun. It was great being with the people on stage.” He even uttered the word “elegant.”

Trump did, more or less, pledge not to run as an independent, as did Carson, although they also appeared to hedge their bets.

Did we have fun? Were we enlightened?   It’s still a long way until Iowa.  And Christmas is coming.  God bless us everyone, even them—and perhaps especially them.

Georgetowner • December 2, 2015

It has been almost three weeks since the Nov. 13 terrorist and ISIL-credited attacks shocked the world and struck Paris like a knife in the heart.

The world has not forgotten what happened—nor has there been a let-up in commemoration,  eulogizing and remembering the victims.

But the events and their aftermaths have also resulted into other things.

They have seeped almost preternaturally into the American presidential campaign, where fear-mongering and dark arts of demagoguery are practiced routinely as a response to everything from keeping us safe to the very real refugee crisis.  

Other things happen. As of this writing, Paris is again the center of the world, as it hosts a United Nations global warming gathering attended by world leaders and demonstrators.  In the U.S., the debate over race and crime has again stirred in Chicago, while in Colorado, one of our homegrown shooters managed to kill three persons, including a police officer, at a Planned Parenthood clinic.

Still, it’s hard to forget Paris.  A flowered memorial still graced the entrance to the French Embassy last week.   We shouldn’t forget.  Not the terrible acts themselves, and the terrible losses of and for so many people.  But more than that, we should remember France and the city of light, every day.

The terrorist struck at the heart of Paris and what it offers to the world, what the French have always offered.  What is it, after all, what the rest of the world loves about France, French and Paris, but what they have contributed to the richness of life and its pure, deep and sometimes light-hearted  enjoyment. 

We sing songs about France and the French, revel in how its very language can add both spice, sweetness, and a kind of beauty to even the ugliest of words and concepts. Say a word or phrase in French, and it somehow becomes enriched, better. It is a kind of gift of garnish and transformation.

As with some of those killed during the attacks, we want to be in some Parisian café, talking amicably about politics, movies, the great philosophical issues of the times, without rancor, with good or not so good wine, even when it rains. 

We can utter a movie cliché and make it perfectly apt in these our times: We will always have Paris. For this, we want to thank the French people, for their gifts to our memories.

In the desire to travel, Paris is always on the mind’s list of someday. 

If you’ve ever  had the chance to spend time in Paris, the memories are indelible—memories we carry around with gratitude.  So, from a trip several years ago, we remember attending Easter Sunday Mass in the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris—celebrated in French, of course. We recall walking in the rain everywhere, the poodle in the restaurant, the carousel, hearing “The Four Seasons” by candlelight in the king’s chapel, at the Pompidou, the art, the art everywhere, at the Pompidou, the Louvre, in small galleries, and on the streets and we remember the view of the city from the top of the Pompidou, the bustle and cobbled street, the view of Rue St. Germaine, the church across the street built in the year 900, the chocolate, the cats at the cemetery, the river flowing, and the mist over everything.

Merci, even, to the waiter who yelled at me in outrage for wanting to put mustard on cheese and refused to bring it.

We carry the culture with us, the writers, the books, the philosophers. We say merci for Sartre, who allowed us to understand a joke about existentialism in a Woody Allen movie, and for Camus and his loner’s empathy.  We still remember the books by Dumas, Hugo, Flaubert, Stendahl, and thank them for Quasimodo and Esmerelda, for Javert and Valjean, for D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis and “The Count of Monte Christo” and for “Madame Bovary.” Merci  for Edith Piaf, for Jacques Brel, for the boulevardiers.  Thank you for giving us not just movies, but cinema and films made by Truffaut, Renoir (the younger) Godard, Resnais, Chabrol and the stars and faces of Montand, Moreau, Signoret, Deneuve, Binochet, Gabin, Belmondo and Jacques Tati.

Thanks also for all the painters and artists and impressionists who made such an impression: the ballerinas of Degas, the colors of the picnic of Renoir, of Monet and Manet and Matisse and Cezanne.

Where did the ideas of liberty and freedom come from but the Enlightenment? From Voltaire and Diderot, and who was our staunchest allies in our revolution which precipitated the French Revolution, for better and worse. That statue from in New York Harbor is a French gift and a French idea, even in these times.

By attacking people in the midst of life, in the midst of dinner and conversation, and even loud music, the terrorist were attacking something that is not a French invention, but is nevertheless a French expression, the desire to live life fully, a “joie de vivre.” 

That is their gift to all on your good earth, nevertheless, and for which we say to our French compatriots, “Merci.”

Gary Tischler • November 20, 2015

Each day it seems we wake up in a brand new, sometimes fearful world. It comes at us in headlines: in our emails, in our post-trauma morning newspapers.

The world changed on Friday with the first halting words in the New York Times at 4:33 p.m. EST: “Police Say There Has Been an Explosion at a bar near a Paris Stadium and a shootout at a Paris Restaurant.”

That was the beginning of a time-and-world-altering series of events. Seven terrorists managed to accomplish a day of horrifying bloodshed in a city that had already suffered such an attack in January, but not on this scale.

Eight attackers apparently took part. Three suicide bombs were set off at the Stade de France, a large stadium where the French and German soccer teams were engaged in a friendly game attended by the French President François Holland, who was whisked away. At about the same time, two gunmen marched through three different restaurants and randomly killed 26, 5 and 19 people. In the night’s biggest atrocity, at the venerable and packed Bataclan concert hall, three gunmen proceeded to shoot for about 15 minutes, killing 89 people and holding the rest hostage until police managed to storm the hall just after midnight. The terrorists blew themselves up.

All of this was known here by Friday night, sending twinges of horror, shock, fear, worry and sympathy through everyone who watched the events unfold on television. By Saturday, familiar sights were seen: expressions of grief and respect at Lafayette Square, attended by the French ambassador; candlight vigils and visitations at the Embassy of France on Saturday.

This was not like the January attack, which was plainly political. This attack struck at safe places: restaurants, a soccer stadium, a concert hall on a Friday night when people took what pleasure they could in the company of others, friends, family, fellow citizens. This is where you took your leisure, enjoyed the fruits of your labor, a place where you enjoyed the popular culture in safety.

The attacks seemed to hit at the heart of Western popular culture, which ISIS and its followers despise. It sent a message of more to come, not just in Paris — a place many of us remember, with now a fondness tinged with sadness — but here in America and elsewhere. Politicians running for office here set about finding blame, a fruitless folly of bombast. Meanwhile, the French, with their American allies, struck back at ISIS.

The people — both European and American — wept and worried, and felt the ground shifting once again under their feet.

The cliché remains. As we consider how to live in a changed world, one of the fundamental goals of terrorism is not just to make you afraid, but to make you give in to your fear and radically and fundamentally change the way you live. Stay away from crowds, keep your distance from the White House, don’t go to a large concert hall, speak softly and don’t carry a stick. Now, people will say, is not the time to travel overseas because — well, you know.

Now, maybe, is exactly the time to do what you always do, to travel because you made plans to travel, even go to Paris, because you never have. Doing the things you always do — and traveling is one of those things — can be one of those small or large acts of defiance in the face of terror and terrorists, who want you to be afraid, be very afraid. Within practical limits, you can defy fear. The motto of Paris is “Fluctuat nec mergitur”—meaning “Tossed but not sunk”—and tells us so.

Indeed, we are all French.