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Sparked by a proposed fuel price hike which was quickly abandoned , the leaderless protests have revealed deep discontent: French people are fed up with the disconnect between themselves and the succession of governments and political parties. We are fed up with a state that seems to exist only for the benefit of the wealthy, the established, and elite. More than fuel prices, the Yellow Vests are now defending their dignity and insisting on a new social and fiscal agenda through demonstrations, slogans and rocks.
At a Dec. Without any clear direction or signal, the crowd starts moving, chanting slogans, insulting president Emmanuel Macron. We move forward without knowing where we were going, what we were looking for, or what to do. Our yellow vests are a symbol of grievance, demand, encouragement. But as the police prevent the march from reaching city hall, frustration mounts. Come on then, friend, come on! When a gap opens in one blockade, the crowd streams through to the city center. The day has finally begun.
Macron, resignation! The march has swelled with people from all walks of life, intoxicated with their own power and the mulled wine sold along the street. Six thousand people are here, regional television will later report. When we return again to the metal barricade that blocks access to the city hall, it is early evening.
The police have gathered their vans and troops. One of them, speaking into a megaphone, asks the crowd to disperse. Some respond with projectiles. Tear gas begins to rain from the sky, and the people retreat, their eyes full of tears, before rushing in again with more songs, slogans and projectiles. Tear gas rains down again.
And so on. My dad writes to me, and so do people from other countries. Form your battalions! A young woman distributes saline to those whose eyes are on fire. A man hands out small cardboard facemasks to those who are coughing.