Words in the Street: Art, Architecture and Public Protest
This article was originally published as “What Today’s Walkers Can Learn From May 1968 Protests in Paris” to CommonEdge in May 2018. In the 50 years since the historic and global protests of 1968, Many things have changed. But the current political climate appears equally unstable, with seismic shifts threatening social and political establishments across the world. The lessons of the past are, to use the expression of the moment, more relevant than ever.
American friends recently emailed: “What’s going on with the French political system? Why all the strikes? And the endless protest marches? We would like to visit you at Parisbut we are a little suspicious.
In effect. The other morning I was trying to catch an early morning flight out of Charles de Gaulle airport to visit my daughter in Los Angeles, only to realize that that day there was a train strike , a commuter rail strike, a subway strike, and a taxi strike. Air France also experienced a series of walkouts. My favorite radio stations had joined the protest movement and were not broadcasting. There were certainly major traffic jams caused by demonstrators carrying placards marching through the main avenues. Did I panic? No. I opened the Uber app on my iPhone and ten minutes later I was on my way. A few clicks were all I needed to resolve my predicament and demonstrate, in one fell swoop, why all these people are upset. Their services are on the verge of becoming sustainable and being replaced by apps and bots. To quote Eliza Doolittle in my lovely lady“And without further ado, we can all manage without you.”
Are strikes and street protests the most effective tools to counter the disruptive effects of technology on our livelihoods? Probably not. But the question resonates particularly today in France as we approach the 50th anniversary of the May 1968 student uprising. A month-long nationwide general strike, it was prompted by growing discontent with what we now call the market economy. With slogans like “Consume less, you will live more”, the protest movement had shaken the regime – but, of course, had not changed the course of history.
However, in France, The more it changes, the more it is the same – the more things change, the more they stay the same. Taking to the streets to express disagreement with government policies was – and still is – the sacred civic duty of French citizens. The venue for this ritual of public dissent is the city itself. In Paristhe streets are not simply expanses of asphalt conveniently laid out between buildings to transport you safely from here and there: they are the grandiose setting for your demonstrations of good citizenship.
The word for citizen is citizens (pronounced sit-wow-ya). It acts on the French psyche like a rallying cry. If you are French, when you hear this word, your pulse quickens. Your right hand twitches slightly. Your elbow advances imperceptibly. You want to raise your fist, it’s almost a physical response. Your clenched fist, however, is more than just a symbol of solidarity and support for a cause. It’s the hand gesture you make to grab a magic marker or spray can and scribble a message on a wall.
In France, hand-drawn slogans are unlike graffiti or tags. Neither an art form like graffiti nor a stylized signature like a label, a handwritten statement is a unique artifact. With apologies to Gutenberg, with five fingers wrapped around a pen or paintbrush, you can often convey a subversive idea better than with a printing press (or Twitter handle). Whether on a wall or on a piece of cardboard held up by a protester, a scribbled slogan will be much more credible and eloquent than the same slogan in block letters.
In May 1968in Paris, the students had painted slogans on the walls, but also on the bridges, sidewalks, fences, stairs, columns, pediments and pedestals. Acts of vandalism for some, the calligraphic remarks were perceived by Parisians as “cloistered poetry” (poetry of the walls), an attempt to make the walls speak in the vernacular of the street. Consume less, you will live more was one of the most popular slogans inspired by the rhetoric of the Situationists, a small but influential group of left-wing activists. Fifty years after their creation, many aphorisms of May 68 have become truisms: Be realistic, demand the impossible. It is forbidden to forbid. Let your imagination rule. Under the paving stones, the beach. Others, less consensual, have kept their advantage: They try to buy your happiness, to steal it. The boss needs you, you don’t need him. The barricade blocks the street but opens the way.
In 1968them Paris The School of Fine Arts was the headquarters where hand-drawn posters, reproduced using the laborious process of screen printing, were designed and validated by a committee of volunteers, before being distributed to be displayed on the walls of the city. From there, too, directions were given to wall doodlers, sent to strategic locations throughout the city. The school was a hive of creativity, their action in stark contrast to that of more militant groups stationed on barricades.
Heirs to May 68, today’s French art students carry the genes of ink-stained fingers and paint-smeared hands. Recently, I proposed to a group of Parisian students a simple exercise: transform a printed quote into a handwritten slogan. They had to cut signs out of a big pile of flattened cardboard boxes and scroll the words over them, with markers or paint. They immediately got to work with a clarity of purpose that filled the room with a buzz. I expected them to question the mission: they didn’t. Instead, they spontaneously organized themselves into groups to best manage the various tasks. Some knowledge, buried deep in their reptilian brain, had its effect and they put a pen on a sign.
I came up with three quotes, ranging from politically correct to subversive. Almost everyone chose the latter, a quote from famous French novelist Guy de Monpassant: “Chaos is the only truth there is.” (The mess, that’s the only real thing). Ironically, chaos was nowhere in sight. Even though their hand-painted signs were graphic explorations rather than exercises in style, they all exuded confidence.
Had they had the chance, would the American children have handled the mission with the same aplomb? When Florida students staged huge gun control rallies, like French students, they took to the streets with cardboard, pen and ink. Their handwritten signs were proof that they had a native talent for the catchy phrase. Prayers do not save lives. Protect children, not guns. Arms are for hugs. Books not balls. A heartfelt plea, held by a little girl, stood out: When I grow up, I want to still be alive. The web has taken notice. Slate and USA today, as well as countless blogs published articles featuring what they considered to be the best March for Our Lives protest signs. The youth of the walkers made up for their lack of graphic refinement.
The secret weapon of handwritten and wearable signs is their photogenic appeal. To be honest, they look much better in the photos than in reality. They are effective tools against the dematerialization of human interactions insofar as they create online photo opportunities. They can squeeze between pixels and penetrate viewers’ consciousness better than any politically motivated word or image on the screen.
The Parisian demonstrators benefit from a scenic setting to display their signs. The impending celebrations of May 68 will be the pretext to bring out black and white photos of the time – the historic Parisian limestone surfaces and granite sidewalks enhanced by the presence of vaguely scribbled aphorisms. Nostalgia will soften the grainy images but it won’t erase the important message: the hand is always more powerful than the Click here button.
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