Sorj Chalandon, Mao the hearts!

You are one of those who made this newspaper. You joined because you were a member of the Maoists and you knew how to draw. You stayed because you loved journalism and you knew how to do it. You were a senior reporter, and one of the best. "A prodigy," Philippe Lançon would tell me. You were at Sabra and Chatila , you covered the Barbie trial and you often rallied to this republican Ireland that was so dear to your heart. You stayed for thirty-four years at Libé . We rubbed shoulders there and appreciated each other without necessarily always being in sync. There were conflicts, but that's the bread and salt of this editorial office. In any case, it's difficult to hold a grudge against you for long; you're too charming, too seductive, too clever. You had the art of turning general meetings around and making the management's theses triumph. You make fun of it today when you detail your dependence "on Serge." Serge July is the one who allowed you to escape the violence that awaited the foot soldiers after May 68, those who could have fallen into the bloody