Reincarnated: Vive La France
Chapter 229: Law may be broken but without courage, order crumbles.

Chapter 229: Law may be broken but without courage, order crumbles.

Outside, banners hang sewn with words like Justice for Workers.

Inside trade unionists from Lille, Marseille, Roubaix, Strasbourg, and Paris fill every seat alongside foreign labor observers and socialist deputies.

Some come with hopes, others with rage.

Judges Henri Barbier, Claudel, and Levasseur enter, sweeping in their robes.

Barbier leans forward to speak his gavel poised.

"Citizens, we reconvene third time under Articles 14, 15, and 16 of the Emergency Judicial Order of 1937. The court will begin proceedings in the matter of Citizen Albert Sarraut, formerly Minister of the Interior of the French Republic."

Barbier fixes his gaze on Sarraut, who is seated between two stern policemen.

Barbier continues, "He stands accused of enabling systematic suppression of labor movements through unlawful violence, mass detentions, state surveillance, and intimidation. Today we hear testimony. The court reminds all that this is due process, not vengeance. Let justice proceed."

Vincent Auriol rises, stepping to the lectern.

He is calm, his voice low but fierce.

"We call our first witness Madame Marie Devaux of Lille. Textile worker and survivor."

Marie, huddled in a wool coat, takes the stand.

Her brother, Émile, was a tram worker shot and killed during the 1935 Lille strike.

She swears solemnly, "I swear to tell the truth..."

Barbier nods.

Marie begins, voice tremulous. "We were striking for better wages twenty percent increase. We asked for negotiation. We got batons."

She pauses, tears welling. "They said, ’No communists allowed. Then they started swinging. Over a hundred people were beaten. My brother fell, the bullet struck here."

She lifts her sleeve.

"Émile fell. They dragged him into a van. We never saw him again."

Her body shakes. "They called it crowd control. I call it murder."

Barbier’s voice is quiet.

"Madame Devaux, this court thanks you."

Auriol steps to her testimony: "And how many were killed or injured in Lille that day?"

Marie swallows hard. "Fourteen died. Over two hundred hospitalized. You think the country reset an alarm about that?"

Auriol nods to the bailiff. "Mark that number ’fourteen dead’ as Exhibit A. Now we call our second witness."

Inspector Émile Giraud of the Paris Prefecture advances, his uniform immaculate but his collar shaking.

"I served under your direction, Citizen Sarraut," he begins. "In February 1936, during protests in Place de la République, ministers ordered a pre-emptive raid. The order read ’prevent damage.’ I quoted your memo Act firmly."

He glances at Sarraut. "So we busted heads, detained men without charge."

He continues, looking down. "One worker club was raided. We took seventy men, no warrants, no charges. Mothers called, they tore postal letters. We threw gas indoors."

He breathes. "Twenty-five men were hospitalized. Two never woke up." Giraud pauses, his voice shaking. "My conscience woke that night. I defected the next day."

Sarraut’s lawyer, rises. "Inspector Giraud, was your loyalty ever questioned? Was there violent resistance that compelled force?"

Giraud meets him squarely. "It was a peaceful assembly. Speakers had permission. They held banners, not weapons."

Sarraut’s lawyer tries again. "Ministerial oversight..."

"Ministerial oversight said Act firmly. That was your instruction."

Giraud’s eyes never waver.

Barbier nods to Auriol. "Proceed."

Auriol then summons Jacques Morand, a former clerk in the Ministry’s intelligence unit.

Morand is a thin man.

He begins. "Our unit compiled dossiers on union leaders, socialist deputies, communists named, photographed, addresses and habits." He unfolds a small stack of black-bound files.

"We cataloged over 1,200 individuals. Surveillance included mail intercepts, co-opted informants. Whole neighborhoods were monitored."

Morand’s voice picks up. "Every march formed under a union flag was noted. Then ministers quietly authorized pre-emptive detentions when political risk exceeded threshold. That phrase was your own."

Barbier interrupts. "By political risk, you mean legitimate, peaceful expression?"

"Yes," Morand says flatly.

Auriol summarises. "We have evidence that Citizen Sarraut authorized surveillance on 1,200 citizens; at least 300 were detained without charge. Over 100 were assaulted during raids," he adds, voice deepening.

"This represents a campaign of political repression."

Barbier’s eyes are cold.

He turns to Sarraut. "Citizen Sarraut, you will submit your formal response at the close."

Next witness a former police commanding officer, Captain Renée Lecureur.

She’s a woman of quiet authority.

"During June 1936, a citywide order was issued to break a strike in Marseille. It wasn’t sanctioned by local Prefecture. It came directly from the Minister’s office," she declares.

Barbier motions her on. "Describe what happened."

Captain Lecureur recounts the chaos. "One thousand workers gathered. We deployed gas. Some climbed rooftops and were shot for fleeing into backstreets. My unit counted twenty-eight injuries eight serious, two children. We had no arrest orders. We were told to detain on sight."

She fixes Sarraut with her gaze. "That order came from your desk."

Auriol acknowledges the notebooks. "Captain, you were recognized publicly, and your unit was transferred to Paris the next day."

Sarraut’s lawyer rises again. "Captain Lecureur, did you or your unit receive threats if orders were not obeyed?"

She hesitates before answering. "Yes. Internal memos noted political consequences ’if Marseille failed to comply.’ It was not our choice, sir."

Barbier turns, "No further questions."

Now Sarraut finally speaks, rising with the weight of every accusation around him.

"I acknowledge decisions were made that I oversaw," he begins, voice hard. "France faced unrest. Communist agitators threatened chaos. These were not orders of bloodlust they were aimed at preserving the Republic."

He pushes his glasses back. "Perhaps mistakes were made. Some people may have been hurt."

He holds up his brief.

"But I ask in an emergency, what deterrent do we have without firm action? Will we stand silent as mobs burn public halls?"

He looks at the panel. "A Republic must stand. Law may be broken but without courage, order crumbles."

Auriol rises. "You confess to authorizing these operations but justify them as necessary? The Tribunal recorded fourteen dead in Lille, two children tear-gassed, tearful families..."

He pauses. "That is not deterrent. That is reprisal. That is abuse of power."

Barbier stands and calls for order. "Enough speculation. The Tribunal will now hear closing arguments."

Auriol speaks first.

"Your Honors, the prosecution rests on undeniable testimony. Fourteen dead in Lille over 100 civilians injured mass surveillance of 1,200 citizens pre-emptive detention of 300 without legal process documented threats against officers who questioned orders. All evidence points to one conclusion. Citizen Sarraut wielded the apparatus of the state to suppress political opposition violently. That is illegal. That is brutal. And in a Republic, that cannot stand."

Sarraut’s lawyer stands to defend.

"Citizen Sarraut acted with the intention of preserving the Republic from collapse. The 1935 Popular Front unrest threatened fragility. He used the tools he had. If oversight was lacking, Parliament failed to demand better. You judge him. But ask yourselves did Parliament authorize him, or condemn him?"

He draws a final plea.

"It is never pleasant to judge one who held office, but I ask you if a government is unwilling to act, does that make silence better than violence? The Republic demanded stability and he delivered it."

Barbier clears his throat. "The Tribunal will adjourn at noon to deliberate and return for judgment tomorrow morning."

The gavel drops.

The court empties.

Outside, posters now read.

"Justice or Repression. Which Side is France On?"

Moreau appears outside the chamber, flanked by Delon, Beauchamp, Auriol, and Judge Barbier.

Delon whispers, "This case shapes not just law, but the soul of this nation."

Moreau nods silently.