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More than a century after one of the most infamous antisemitic injustices in modern history, France’s National Assembly has unanimously voted to posthumously promote Alfred Dreyfus — a Jewish French army captain falsely convicted of treason in 1894 — to the rank of brigadier general.
The bill, introduced by former Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, now awaits approval in the Senate.
Attal described the measure as “an act of reparation, a recognition of [Dreyfus’s] merits, and a tribute to his commitment to the Republic.”
“The antisemitism that hit Alfred Dreyfus is not a thing of the past,” said Attal, whose father was Jewish, adding that France must reaffirm its “absolute commitment against all forms of discrimination.”
Dreyfus, a 36-year-old officer from the Alsace region of eastern France, was accused of passing classified artillery information to the German military attaché. The case rested on a flimsy comparison of handwriting found on a document retrieved from the German embassy’s wastebasket in Paris.
Despite the absence of credible evidence, and amid a virulent antisemitic press campaign, Dreyfus was convicted of treason, publicly stripped of his rank, and sentenced to life imprisonment on the notorious Devil’s Island penal colony in French Guiana.
On January 5, 1895, Dreyfus was marched into the courtyard of the École Militaire — a historic military academy in Paris –for a public degradation ceremony designed to humiliate him and send a message to the nation. Before a crowd screaming antisemitic slurs, his epaulettes — the ornamental shoulder pieces that signified his rank — were ripped from his uniform. His sword was broken in two. His military authority, dignity, and honor were being stripped away — visibly, violently, and deliberately. Still, Dreyfus stood firm, proclaiming his innocence and shouting, “Long live France! Long live the army!”
The injustice sparked national and international outrage. Novelist Émile Zola famously came to Dreyfus’s defense in his 1898 open letter, “J’accuse” (“I accuse…”), publicly condemning the government’s corruption and complicity. That same year, Lieutenant Colonel Georges Picquart, head of French military intelligence, uncovered evidence pointing to the true culprit: Major Ferdinand Walsin Esterhazy. Yet rather than pursue justice, the military protected itself — punishing Picquart and acquitting Esterhazy in a closed-door trial. Esterhazy fled to England, where he lived out the rest of his life under an assumed name — never held accountable for the crime that destroyed Dreyfus’s life.
Dreyfus was finally exonerated in 1906 after a relentless public campaign. Though reinstated with the rank of major and serving honorably in World War I, he never fully regained his public dignity in his lifetime.
The affair fractured French society. On one side stood the “Dreyfusards” — intellectuals, republicans, and defenders of justice. On the other, the “anti-Dreyfusards” — military nationalists, monarchists, and antisemites who saw the case as a threat to the honor of France. The battle between them reshaped the country’s political landscape and spurred reforms that would eventually lead to the 1905 law establishing the separation of church and state.
Even more importantly, the Dreyfus Affair ignited a global Jewish awakening. Theodor Herzl, who covered the trial as a journalist, later described it as a turning point in his path toward founding modern Zionism. He came to a sobering conclusion: without political sovereignty, Jews would never be safe — they needed a state of their own.
But this case is not just a lesson from history — it is a warning.
Today, France once again stands at a crossroads. Antisemitism is not a relic of the past. It is resurgent — and increasingly violent. Since Hamas’s October 7 massacre, antisemitic hate crimes have surged across France. Jewish schools, monuments, synagogues, homes, and individuals have been harassed, vandalized, and attacked. French Jews are increasingly questioning whether they are safe — or welcome — in the country they call home.
Symbolic gestures, however well-intentioned, are not enough.
Promoting Dreyfus now may offer moral vindication—but it does nothing to protect Jewish children threatened in classrooms or elderly Jews assaulted on the street. It does not hold accountable the influencers, officials, and institutions spreading antisemitic hate today.
France must do more. Much more.
It must commit to the physical and legal protection of its Jewish citizens. Enforce hate crime laws — swiftly and unapologetically. Confront antisemitism wherever it festers — on social media, on university campuses, in political discourse. Reject the double standards that demonize Jews and delegitimize the Jewish state. And stop appeasing extremism under the guise of diplomacy.
The legacy of Dreyfus is not just a scar on France’s past — it is a mirror held up to the present. The question now is whether today’s leaders have the courage to confront antisemitism not only with symbolism, but with clear, decisive action.
