The French have a certain way about them when it comes to protest. Every other week, it feels like you hear about a strike in Paris from this group of workers or that group of activists.
In Les Misérables, Victor Hugo writes ad nauseam about revolution and protest and riot and insurrection and what it means to advocate against a government or power structure that you don’t agree with. He often refers to the specific revolutionary events in the novel by their year. “Our 1789,” he writes, or “their 1776.” There are so many that he resorts to naming them by the year.
The monument at the Bastille (Thank you to Julia for the picture!)
To me, this city seems to just breathe revolution. Everywhere we turn, there are reminders of what these streets have seen. Every day on my transit journey to our morning class, I transfer from the Métro line 12 to line 8 at the station called Concorde. Just above me is La Place de la Concorde, formerly known as La Place de la Révolution. This is where, just a couple hundred years back, the guillotine stood during the Reign of Terror. The day we visited, it was pouring rain outside, and it seemed to fit the mood of the horrors that took place in that square. (Though I suppose this isn’t too remarkable–we’ve been hit with rain nearly every day during our first two weeks in Paris.)
Then, on line 8, just one stop before mine, I pass through Bastille–yes, that Bastille. The same one from A Tale of Two Cities in which Dr. Mannette was imprisoned for eighteen years. The same one that was stormed during the French Revolution and destroyed. Now, in its place stands a monument in remembrance not of the Bastille, but of the July Revolution of 1830, yet another one of Paris’ infamous revolutions. Don’t worry–the French celebrate Bastille Day every year on the 14th of July. We visited the Bastille on one of our first days in Paris, and I was stunned that such a historic location was just a few blocks away from our study center. The outline of where the pillars and building stood is painted on the streets surrounding the monument. It doesn’t look like much without context, bursitis so interesting to see in person.
Other stations on the lines I take include Assemblée Nationale, École Militaire, Invalides, République, and the aptly named, Liberté. So many references to government, revolution, the military–and these are just the ones I recognize. It’s all reminiscent of when I visited Boston, and all the streets were named things like “Revolutionary Way” and “Freedom Drive.” I laughed at how on the nose it was then, and I’m finding myself having the same reaction here.
The city seems to scream, “Remember what happened here! Remember what we fought for!” I’m not quite used to that. Much like London, the visible reminders of how much history the city has seen is almost overwhelming. It is no wonder that revolutionary spirit is still alive and active in Paris after all of these years: Parisians are constantly being reminded of the resilience of their people.
Not a coffee drinker, but I had a café crème at a café in the Latin Quarter. Felt like a true Parisian student!
In the Latin Quarter in the 5th arrondissement of the city, the student life of Paris thrives. There, we passed the Sorbonne, a building which has historically housed many Paris universities. We visited the Pantheon, passed by many shops, and located where the Café Musain would have been. Seeing the cafés lining the streets around the university, I couldn’t help but think about Enjolras, Marius, Grantaire, and the rest of the Friends of the ABC, sitting around tables, discussing strategy, politics, and their lives. Deep in the Latin Quarter, students across time have held protests, discussed politics, and made strides towards progress and revolution. To be in the streets where, in 1968, students lined the streets with barricades, or where, for centuries, young, progressive students talked about what they wanted the future of Paris to look like, was thrilling. I could practically see Enjolras sitting in the cafés, or rather I was imagining him as the young men I saw sitting in them.
Revolution stays alive in Paris, not just because of their naming of it, but because of the young people. It is a joint effort. Without the constant reminders in the streets of revolution, the youth would have nothing to base themselves on. Without the youth, it is unlikely that future progress and new ideas could be fostered to the extent that they are today. The students are the future, for better or for worse, and what a better place for them to conjure up new ideas than in a city full of revolutionaries.
