Rats have invaded the park
Jim's Musings from Paris March 2025
All during this long, cold, gray winter, we watched from our apartment windows as rats slowly invaded the little park across the street. I’ve mentioned before that Paris has a rat problem (like most large cities) and that even in iconic spaces, like the beautiful Place des Vosges, tourists share their picnic lunches with rat traps, dead rats, and curious live ones. But our lovely park on Rue Titon had always been rodent-free—until this winter. The leader is a bold, white rat, and he or she can often be seen scampering around the garbage bins or racing across the walkways. On the other side of the park, the inundation seems worse. Several times now I have encountered a rat or two in my path as I cross the park to go to the pharmacy or the boulangerie.
Several weeks ago, I was emptying the compost in the very well kept receptacles and an older woman approached me. “Excuse me, monsieur,” she said, in French, of course. “I was wondering if you have noticed all the rats in the park?” I seized upon the opportunity to let her know that their presence is a recent phenomenon and that we have been watching this invasion happen helplessly all winter long from our apartment windows. She looked seriously at me and then said, “You know in Auschwitz they would eat the rats.” She smiled a bitter smile. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Later that week, we received an email from the park association asking us to write the arrondissement administration and request that they do something about the rodent problem. The association said they had contacted the mayor’s office several times already and nothing was being done. Our landlord, too, said that he had spoken to the park guardians and had contacted city hall. As spring approaches and more people congregate in the park to eat their lunch or worship the long-absent sun, the problem seems a bit more in control, but I long for the days when the rats were absent (instead of the sun) or, at least, invisible.
We were discussing the current situation in the USA with a friend at dinner a few nights ago and I suddenly realized that it wasn’t just our little park that had been invaded by rats. The story we watched developing from our apartment’s windows all winter long has been mirrored, at the same time, in the White House and the institutions of democracy throughout Washington, D.C. Rats have invaded the US government. What can we do about it?
The Association for Theatre in Higher Education (ATHE) sent a strongly worded message the other day concerning the Great White Rat’s attacks on free speech, academic freedom, diversity, equity, and inclusion. The message contains links to advocacy groups and sites for information about how to get involved in resistance efforts. Just like it’s hard to watch the rats take over the park, standing by while institutions, like the Kennedy Center, are dismantled is impossible. I know we can’t all be like the gigantic crow that, the other day, I watched attack, kill, and vociferously eat a rat. But let’s do what we can.
https://www.athe.org/news/696165/An-Important-Message-from-ATHE--ASTR-Leadership.htm
I also just received a message from O Cinema, a small non-profit independent cinema in Miami Beach, whose space and funding are being threatened by the city’s mayor because it “screened the Oscar-winning documentary No Other Land, a collaborative work by Israeli and Palestinian filmmakers.” Help them fight this outright attack on free speech and artistic freedom. If it can happen in Miami Beach to a small cinema, it can happen anywhere.
Why do I care about Miami Beach? Well, Jairo and I are now officially residents of Florida and we will be traveling next week to the belly of the beast to get our Florida drivers licenses and begin the voter registration process. So Florida will be our US “home.” However, France remains our permanent residence and this year, after I renew my US passport, I will begin the process to obtain French citizenship. It will probably take about 18 months—there will be a series of hoops to jump through—but the whole undertaking should be somewhat less heavy because of my advanced age—I turn 70 next week! I will keep everyone informed of my progress.
We will be in Florida for just one week—taking care of business, mostly, but with a few days scheduled for beach, pool, and sunshine. Oh, I have missed the sunshine! Jairo and I even traveled to Portugal for the Winter Holidays (February 27-March 6) in search of sunshine. For some reason, I thought Portugal had a climate similar to Southern California. Boy, was I wrong! In Lisbon, it rained three of the four days we were there. A cold and driving rain. In Porto, the weather was better—more sun. But by then I had succumbed to a hard hitting virus that put me in bed with fever, cough, sore throat, and muscle aches. Jairo and our friends, Chris and Maria, eventually were attacked by the same culprit. Nonetheless, we all tried to struggle on.
I loved the atmosphere of Portugal—its ancient qualities, the narrow streets, hills, tiled buildings, and, of course, the fado. For me, Lisbon was like the Europe I first encountered in the 1970s. There was something about the light, the silence, the sadness that took me back fifty years. Our first night in Lisbon, we came out of the restaurant where we had taken refuge from the deluge and walked through the misty, deserted streets of Alfama. The sound of fado came out of a dark doorway. I peered inside and saw a woman perched on a stool, singing her soul. That was bliss. Besides getting to spend time with Chris and Maria, it was the highlight of the trip for me. Along with an incredible ceviche the next day.
Speaking of singing one’s soul: I just spent a residential weekend, outside of Paris, with MéloMen. We worked at La Bergerie de Villarceaux, the sheep farm of a chateau that has been transformed into an eco-retreat center. It was a beautiful site, good food, and excellent accommodations. I sang for the first time in the Saturday night No Talent Show ( a well-received version of “Frankie and Johnny”) and we rehearsed our spring repertoire. Two days of good work and French fraternité during which I forgot briefly about tariffs, tyranny, and invading Canada or Greenland or wherever. Right now I just want to work on my music and listen to fado.
However, the reality of the world’s current situation was once more brought to the forefront when I visited the Picasso Museum’s latest temporary exhibit, ‘‘‘Degenerate Art’: Modern Art on Trial Under the Nazis.” I went with my petite cousine, Kristen, and her daughter, Olive, who were back in Paris after a trip to Barcelona and, like many folks from the USA right now, contemplating how to relocate to France. The exhibit explores the Nazi’s attack on modern art and artists and highlights those particular artworks that were labelled “degenerate.” I was fascinated by the exhibit and the glimpse into how the Nazis thought and worked. The art is amazing and beautifully displayed—but the exhibit’s strength is its depiction of how the Nazis selected the art, confiscated it, blacklisted, harassed, persecuted, and, sometimes, killed, the artists—and then often sold the artworks to make a profit for the Nazi war machine. A similar exhibit, which I’ve heard is also excellent, is at the Maltz Museum in Cleveland until April 20, 2025. Go see one or the other!
It’s a frightening time everywhere right now as tensions escalate and wars and violence continue to erupt around the world. This exhibit makes it very clear how easy it is to lose control. I find it hard to imagine that Europe could descend into the chaos of 80 years ago, but President Macron spoke bluntly to the French people about getting prepared for battle. He sees nothing positive in the Great White Rat’s cuddling with the Russian tyrant and wants France to prepare for the worst case scenario. One plan now is to send a survival pamphlet to all the French about what to do in case of war, nuclear attack, pandemic, terrorism, and other disasters. As our friend Mitchell Kahn wrote to me, “What kind of world are we living in? It feels like 1937 with fascists taking over the planet.”
I try to read Robert Hubbel’s “Today’s Edition Newsletter” for a good perspective on everything that’s happening.
And he suggests reading Jessica Craven’s “Chop Wood, Carry Water” to learn about the positive actions taking place everywhere and how you might participate. Both newsletters have a “free” option.
To end on a positive note: we saw Elizabeth Costello, the latest production of Polish director, Krystof Warlikowski. The mise en scene and acting of the Polish ensemble was impeccable. The play was four hours long and I felt the first half was a bit static, somewhat like a long academic lecture. But the last twenty minutes or so featured actor Maya Komarowska, an icon of Polish film and theatre. She was a long time member of the Polish Laboratory Theatre and often speaks of her debt to Grotowski for teaching her the fundamentals of her craft. She left Grotowski’s theatre and became a celebrated film actress in Poland, but always remained close to the work happening under Grotowski’s guidance. When she entered the stage, I was mesmerized by her presence. Each step, each small detail, or word uttered, were clearly chosen and strongly personalized. When she took her final long walk (was it towards her death?), her face illuminated from within. She demonstrated Grotowski’s “translumination.” It was, for me, a moment of brilliance in the theatre. Thank you, Maya.
Translumination is a word made up by Grotowski which means “moving toward a radiant, lucid, and inspiring state of being.” (from Jerzy Grotowski, by Slowiak and Cuesta, page 61). A little more translumination in the world is not a bad thing!
You can see clips from Komarowska’s performance in the video below. Until next time—keep the faith.
Rats indeed. When I read Octavia Butler's parable books many years ago, I thought "something about this feels too possible." And here we are. I'm curious, why Florida? We are looking half-heartedly for options. So hard to know what to do. Thank you, as always, for your beautiful writing!
I feel as though we are in the end times. You left at the perfect time.