Latest news with #DreyfusAffair
LeMonde
22-06-2025
- Politics
- LeMonde
'Alfred Dreyfus, a synthesis of the martyr and the just man, deserves to enter the Panthéon'
From 1898 onward, the Dreyfus Affair, which began in 1894, became a major political and judicial scandal. Alfred Dreyfus, a French officer, a Jew and Alsatian who chose France in 1871, was wrongly accused of treason on behalf of Germany. Convicted on the basis of false evidence, he was stripped of his rank and sent to a penal colony. He came to embody the victim of both the state's interests and antisemitism, at a time when the army, the press, the political sphere and society at large were deeply tainted by hatred of Jews. During his years in the penal colony (1895-1899), a massive intellectual and political campaign formed to bring the truth to light, led by his brother Mathieu, the writers Bernard Lazare, Emile Zola and Charles Péguy, and Socialist leader and journalist Jean Jaurès. Dreyfus (1859-1935) became an emblematic figure. For a long time, he was seen as an "uninspiring officer," a passive symbol of innocence, as journalist Philippe Collin recalled in his podcast on the France Inter radio station, Alfred Dreyfus, le combat de la République ("Alfred Dreyfus: The Fight for the Republic"). His exoneration in 1906, after his pardon in 1899, restored his honor, but not without an injustice: The government failed to acknowledge his years in the penal colony in his career progression. He resigned but continued to publicly defend the truth of his innocence. He reenlisted from 1914 to 1918. He died in 1935. Faithful to republican principles For a long time, collective memory glorified the Dreyfusards, his supporters, but left Dreyfus himself relegated to the status of mere victim of state conspiracy and antisemitic plotting – especially as, after the traumas of the wars and the Holocaust, heroism gave way to the sacralization of victims. "The victim has become the new figure of the hero," wrote François Azouvi in Du héros à la victime. La métamorphose contemporaine du sacré ("From Hero to Victim: The Contemporary Transformation of the Sacred").
Yahoo
08-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
We have learnt nothing from the treatment of Alfred Dreyfus
On a winter morning in 1895, Captain Alfred Dreyfus was brought to the Ecole Militaire in Paris. Convicted of treason, he was sentenced to deportation and life imprisonment; his epaulettes were torn off, his sword broken, and he was paraded before a jeering mob of onlookers. Dreyfus was Jewish, and virulent anti-Semitism within the army and wider society was central to his conviction on flimsy evidence. Despite a campaign by his supporters, including the novelist Emile Zola, Dreyfus was convicted a second time. He was not fully exonerated until 1906. At the end of An Officer and a Spy, his 2013 novel about the Dreyfus Affair, Robert Harris added an epilogue in which the newly exonerated Major Dreyfus meets General Picquart, the minister of war, to ask for promotion to lieutenant-colonel – the rank he should have achieved had it not been for his wrongful conviction. Picquart refuses: 'It is politically impossible.' Last week, the lower house of the French parliament unanimously approved a bill put forward by the former prime minister Gabriel Attal to grant Dreyfus retrospective promotion to the rank of brigadier general. Attal made it clear that the gesture was symbolic. 'The anti-Semitism that targeted Alfred Dreyfus is not in the distant past,' the legislation noted. 'Today's acts of hatred remind us that the fight is still ongoing.' But over this belated promotion there hovers the question that attends all symbolic gestures of political regret. Public acts of contrition are not a new phenomenon. In 1174, King Henry II did penance for the murder of Thomas Becket, entering Canterbury barefoot, where he was beaten by the attendant bishops and monks, and spent the night in prayer at Becket's tomb. Such acts might seem theatrical, but they do at least acknowledge that contrition needs to take some tangible form. Words are not enough. This is something that modern politicians struggle to grasp. Their enthusiasm for making grand, frictionless expressions of regret for historical wrongs (the slave trade; the Amritsar massacre) seems to have grown as their appetite for taking responsibility for injustices that have occurred on their own watch (the Post Office and infected-blood scandals, to name just two) has dwindled. Lord Carrington's resignation as foreign secretary in 1982, over Argentina's invasion of the Falkland Islands, may have been the last recorded example of a politician resigning from a sense of noblesse oblige. Since then, we have become more accustomed to the spectacle of our legislators clinging like bindweed to office, until the glyphosate of public opinion finally withers them. In 2009, the then foreign-office minister Lord Malloch-Brown artlessly admitted that 'British politicians don't know how to say sorry'. But they've upped their game since then, perfecting a virtuoso repertoire of blame-shifting, quasi-apologies ('I'm sorry you feel that way') and rhetorical flourishes that imply change, while retreating into impenetrable thickets of administrative complexity when it comes to reparation. Back in Paris, perhaps Dreyfus's promotion, long after it might have done him any good, may bring some comfort to his descendants. Beyond that, will this gesture deter a single act of anti-Semitic aggression? Or advance in the slightest degree the universal proposition that the systematic tormenting of a particular group of people – in whatever guise it may occur – is profoundly reprehensible. And if not, what on earth is the point? Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. Try The Telegraph free for 1 month with unlimited access to our award-winning website, exclusive app, money-saving offers and more.
Telegraph
08-06-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
We have learnt nothing from the treatment of Alfred Dreyfus
On a winter morning in 1895, Captain Alfred Dreyfus was brought to the Ecole Militaire in Paris. Convicted of treason, he was sentenced to deportation and life imprisonment; his epaulettes were torn off, his sword broken, and he was paraded before a jeering mob of onlookers. Dreyfus was Jewish, and virulent anti-Semitism within the army and wider society was central to his conviction on flimsy evidence. Despite a campaign by his supporters, including the novelist Emile Zola, Dreyfus was convicted a second time. He was not fully exonerated until 1906. At the end of An Officer and a Spy, his 2013 novel about the Dreyfus Affair, Robert Harris added an epilogue in which the newly exonerated Major Dreyfus meets General Picquart, the minister of war, to ask for promotion to lieutenant-colonel – the rank he should have achieved had it not been for his wrongful conviction. Picquart refuses: 'It is politically impossible.' Last week, the lower house of the French parliament unanimously approved a bill put forward by the former prime minister Gabriel Attal to grant Dreyfus retrospective promotion to the rank of brigadier general. Attal made it clear that the gesture was symbolic. 'The anti-Semitism that targeted Alfred Dreyfus is not in the distant past,' the legislation noted. 'Today's acts of hatred remind us that the fight is still ongoing.' But over this belated promotion there hovers the question that attends all symbolic gestures of political regret. Public acts of contrition are not a new phenomenon. In 1174, King Henry II did penance for the murder of Thomas Becket, entering Canterbury barefoot, where he was beaten by the attendant bishops and monks, and spent the night in prayer at Becket's tomb. Such acts might seem theatrical, but they do at least acknowledge that contrition needs to take some tangible form. Words are not enough. This is something that modern politicians struggle to grasp. Their enthusiasm for making grand, frictionless expressions of regret for historical wrongs (the slave trade; the Amritsar massacre) seems to have grown as their appetite for taking responsibility for injustices that have occurred on their own watch (the Post Office and infected-blood scandals, to name just two) has dwindled. Lord Carrington's resignation as foreign secretary in 1982, over Argentina's invasion of the Falkland Islands, may have been the last recorded example of a politician resigning from a sense of noblesse oblige. Since then, we have become more accustomed to the spectacle of our legislators clinging like bindweed to office, until the glyphosate of public opinion finally withers them. In 2009, the then foreign-office minister Lord Malloch-Brown artlessly admitted that 'British politicians don't know how to say sorry'. But they've upped their game since then, perfecting a virtuoso repertoire of blame-shifting, quasi-apologies ('I'm sorry you feel that way') and rhetorical flourishes that imply change, while retreating into impenetrable thickets of administrative complexity when it comes to reparation. Back in Paris, perhaps Dreyfus's promotion, long after it might have done him any good, may bring some comfort to his descendants. Beyond that, will this gesture deter a single act of anti-Semitic aggression? Or advance in the slightest degree the universal proposition that the systematic tormenting of a particular group of people – in whatever guise it may occur – is profoundly reprehensible. And if not, what on earth is the point?
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First Post
06-06-2025
- Politics
- First Post
France promotes Jewish officer 130 years after he was wrongly convicted of treason
In 1894, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish officer in the French army, was wrongly convicted of spying for Germany. The case became a major scandal in 1898 when writer Emile Zola published an article exposing the unfair trial read more Reinstated in the army, Alfred Dreyfus was decorated with the Legion of Honour at the École Militaire on 21 July 1906. Here he is speaking with General Gillain and Commander Targe after the ceremony. Source: Wikimedia CommonsReinstated in the army, Alfred Dreyfus was decorated with the Legion of Honour at the École Militaire on 21 July 1906. Here he is speaking with General Gillain and Commander Targe after the ceremony. Source: Wikimedia Commons The French National Assembly earlier this week voted to promote Jewish Captain Alfred Dreyfus to the rank of general posthumously, who fell victim to an antisemitic conspiracy over 130 years ago. The conspiracy, known as the Dreyfus Affair, flew around as tensions between France and Germany escalated ahead of the First World War. The bill to honour Dreyfus was proposed by former Macronist Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, currently leader of the presidential party's MPs. The lawmakers on June 2 unanimously voted to promote Dreyfus to the rank of brigadier general. STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD What was the conspiracy against Alfred Dreyfus? In 1894, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish officer in the French army, was wrongly convicted of spying for Germany. The accusations were false, meant to protect the real culprits. At first, the case didn't get much attention, but it became a major scandal in 1898 when writer Emile Zola published an article exposing the unfair trial. France split into two groups: the 'Dreyfusards,' who believed Dreyfus was innocent and fought for justice, and the 'anti-Dreyfusards,' who thought he was guilty and supported the army and national pride. This division caused lasting political tensions in France, still felt today between the political Right and Left. Dreyfus was sent to a harsh prison in Cayenne but was pardoned in 1899. He was cleared of charges in 1906, though he couldn't fully restart his army career. He left the army in 1907 but served again in World War I. In 2006, President Jacques Chirac honoured Dreyfus, admitting that justice wasn't fully served since his career wasn't restored. Today, almost everyone agrees Dreyfus was innocent. A law was passed to recognise this, though some questioned why it was needed so long after the events. Some lawmakers have however expressed concerns that the Dreyfus case was being 'exploited' by some parties for political benefits. The centrist MPs of the MoDem party said the case was being revived so that the Rassemblement National (RN) on the Right and La France Insoumise (LFI) on the Left, can 'buy themselves a licence to be respectable.' STORY CONTINUES BELOW THIS AD
National Post
03-06-2025
- General
- National Post
Iddo Moed: False narratives about Israel have violent consequences
I am the ambassador of a country that was built by unexpected leaders. Article content Article content The founders of the State of Israel were not aristocrats or members of a wealthy elite. They were refugees and immigrants — men and women who arrived with little more than determination and hope. They fled violence, persecution, and antisemitism from every corner of the world: pogroms in Europe and Asia, attacks by mobs and ultimately expulsion from Arab lands, and the unthinkable horrors of the Holocaust. Article content Article content While Jews have had a continuous presence in the Holy Land for millennia, modern Israel was forged in the crucible of exile and survival. Today, Israel is a thriving liberal democracy with a diverse and multicultural society, a dynamic economy, and a strong defence force. Article content Article content We are proud of these achievements. But we have never forgotten an important lesson from Jewish history: false narratives, when left unchallenged, have violent consequences. Article content One need not look far to understand why this lesson is so deeply ingrained in our psyche. Theodor Herzl, the father of modern political Zionism, was moved by what he witnessed during the infamous Dreyfus Affair in late 19th-century France. A Jewish army officer, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, was falsely accused and convicted of treason. The campaign against him was led by the virulently antisemitic press — particularly La Libre Parole, which pushed a dangerous narrative: that Jews were inherently disloyal. Article content Given our history, we are highly attuned to the moments these falsehoods begin to surface. That's why, when I woke up Sunday morning to headlines from nearly every major Canadian media outlet — except National Post — about an alleged incident at a Gaza Humanitarian Foundation aid hub in Rafah, I was immediately concerned. Article content This war has shown us, time and again, how Hamas manipulates facts on the ground, creating stories of atrocities that either didn't happen or happened in a very different way. The media often amplifies these claims uncritically, and by the time the truth emerges, the damage is done. Article content The most egregious example came just weeks after the October 7 massacre. The Hamas-run Palestinian Health Ministry claimed an Israeli airstrike had killed hundreds at Al-Ahli Hospital. Israel immediately launched an investigation — but the media didn't wait. The story exploded across front pages and screens around the world. Article content By the time the investigation revealed that the explosion was caused by a Palestinian rocket, which was confirmed by the Canadian Forces Intelligence Command, millions were misled. Worse, some politicians — including Canada's own foreign affairs minister at the time — rushed to condemn Israel before the facts were known.
