Social Movements in France: Towards A New Citizenship

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Social Movements in France Towards a New Citizenship

Sarah Waters

Social Movements in France

French Politics, Society and Culture Series General Editor: Robert Elgie, Paddy Moriarty Professor of Government and International Studies, Dublin City University France has always fascinated outside observers. Now, the country is undergoing a period of profound transformation. France is faced with a rapidly changing international and European environment and it is having to rethink some of its most basic social, political and economic orthodoxies. As elsewhere, there is pressure to conform. And yet, while France is responding in ways that are no doubt familiar to people in other European countries, it is also managing to maintain elements of its long-standing distinctiveness. Overall, it remains a place that is not exactly comme les autres. This new series examines all aspects of French politics, society and culture. In so doing it focuses on the changing nature of the French system as well as the established patterns of political, social and cultural life. Contributors to the series are encouraged to present new and innovative arguments so that the informed reader can learn and understand more about one of the most beguiling and compelling of all European countries. Titles include: Jean K. Chalaby THE DE GAULLE PRESIDENCY AND THE MEDIA Statism and Public Communications David Drake INTELLECTUALS AND POLITICS IN POST-WAR FRANCE Graeme Hayes ENVIRONMENTAL PROTEST AND THE STATE IN FRANCE David J. Howarth THE FRENCH ROAD TO EUROPEAN MONETARY UNION Sarah Waters SOCIAL MOVEMENTS IN FRANCE Towards a New Citizenship

French Politics, Society and Culture Series Standing Order ISBN 0–333–80440–6 hardcover Series Standing Order ISBN 0–333–80441–4 paperback (outside North America only) You can receive future titles in this series as they are published by placing a standing order. Please contact your bookseller or, in case of difficulty, write to us at the address below with your name and address, the title of the series and the ISBN quoted above. Customer Services Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS, England

Social Movements in France Towards a New Citizenship

Sarah Waters Lecturer, Department of French University of Leeds

© Sarah Waters 2003 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2003 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN 0–333–77043–9 This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Waters, Sarah, 1966– Social movements in France : towards a new citizenship / Sarah Waters. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0–333–77043–9 1. Social movements–France. 2. Social protest–France. 3. France–Social conditions–1995– 4. France–Politics and government–1995– I. Title. HN44.S65W37 2003 303.48⬘4⬘0944–dc21 10 12

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

For Jon, Brian, Nelly and Mary, with love

Contents Acknowledgements

viii

List of Abbreviations

ix

1 Introduction

1

2 Social Protest in France Today A return of the social The new associativeness Contemporary social movements

11 12 20 26

3 Citizenship and Social Change A civic dimension New citizenship An alternative theoretical model?

37 37 46 55

4 Antiracism: Theory and Practice The failure of a movement? Fighting the Far Right: Ras l’Front Rights for all immigrants: the sans-papiers

64 65 75 82

5 From ‘Silence to Revolt’: the Unemployed A new social actor? The winter of protest of 1997–98 Mobilising conflict: the associations

95 96 104 110

6 Acting for Others: the Solidarity Movement The meanings of solidarity A media transformation The Human Rights League

120 121 130 135

7 Conclusion Political values Strategies Forms of organisation

144 148 150 152

Notes

155

Bibliography

174

Index

176

Acknowledgements During the course of writing this book, I gained enormous support from friends and colleagues on both sides of the Channel. I owe a debt of gratitude to Nonna Mayer at the EHESS in Paris who provided me with invaluable contacts during my time in France and helped point me in the right direction. My thanks also go to Olivier Fillieule and Sophie Duchesne for their advice and comments during the early stages of my project. While I was carrying out research for the book, I met activists from different French movements who told me about their experiences and inspired me with their conversation. I wish to thank Claire Villiers, Rémi Barroux, Philippe Villechalane, Patrick Le Tréhondat for giving me an insider’s view of French social movements. Representatives of the following organisations also allowed me to visit their headquarters and consult internal documentation: AC!, Amnesty International French Section, APEIS, Ligue des droits de l’homme. I am very grateful to Nick Hewlett, Jim House, Brian Jenkins, Frédéric Royall and Max Silverman who kindly read draft chapters and provided suggestions and criticisms. Of course, they are not in any way responsible for the views expressed here and any factual errors or inaccuracies are entirely my own. I am also indebted to the late Vincent Wright who supported my original book proposal and offered helpful comments and advice. The Department of French at the University of Leeds has allowed me the time to complete this project and I am grateful to colleagues there and for the intellectual support of the Contemporary Politics and Society research group. I am obliged to Modern & Contemporary France and West European Politics for permission to reproduce some material that first appeared in articles I published in these journals. Finally, my warmest thanks go to Jon for his patience and good humour amongst many other things.

viii

List of Abbreviations AC! ANPE APEIS ASSEDIC ATTAC CADAC CFDT CGT CGTU CIMADE CUARH DAL DD!! FHAR FN FO G10 GISTI INSEE LCR LDH LICRA MDM MNCP MRAP MSF PACS PCF PS RLF RMI SCALP

Agir ensemble contre le chômage! Agence nationale pour l’emploi Association pour l’emploi, l’information et la solidarité des chômeurs et travailleurs précaires Association pour l’emploi dans l’industrie et le commerce Association pour une taxation des transactions financières pour l’aide aux citoyens Coordination pour le droit à l’avortement et à la contraception Confédération française démocratique du travail Confédération générale du travail Confédération générale du travail unitaire Comité intermouvement auprès des évacués Comité d’urgence anti-répression homosexuelle Droit au logement Droits devant!! Front homosexuel d’action révolutionnaire Front national Force ouvrière Groupe des dix Groupe d’information et de soutien aux travailleurs immigrés Institut national de la statistique et des études économiques Ligue communiste révolutionnaire Ligue des droits de l’homme Ligue internationale contre le racisme et l’anti-sémitisme Médecins du Monde Mouvement national des chômeurs et précaires Mouvement contre le racisme et pour l’amitié entre les peuples Médecins sans frontières Pacte civil de solidarité Parti communiste français Parti socialiste Ras l’Front Revenu minimum d’insertion Sections carrément anti-Le Pen

ix

x

List of Abbreviations

SNCF SUD UNEDIC

Société nationale des chemins de fer français Solidaires, unitaires, démocratiques Union nationale interprofessionnelle pour l’emploi dans l’industrie et le commerce

1 Introduction

To understand French politics or indeed the political life of any country, it is not enough to look at what is happening within mainstream institutions and structures. This can only ever tell us one side of the story. We also need to look at what is happening outside this context within society itself. When people feel strongly about an issue, when they have a grievance to air, when they wish to voice an objection, they may make their views known to politicians or within parties. But they may also choose to express themselves in a multitude of other ways, by launching their own campaigns, by taking to the streets, by setting up new groupings or even by resorting to violence to make themselves heard. The term social movement is now widely used in the social sciences to refer to actions undertaken collectively by individuals and groups in society that are intended to advance a cause, to defend rights and freedoms or to express a political demand. These are moments when ordinary people speak for themselves and consciously participate rather than allowing others to speak on their behalf. Movements are important because they can tell us a different story to that told by established institutions and politicians. Formed within everyday life and mobilising people at the grassroots of society, they can paint a very different picture to that seen ‘from above’ within the prevailing institutions of the system. Because they emerge outside the confines of the political realm per se, because they directly mobilise ordinary citizens, because they are free of formal rules and constraints, movements can tell us something new and important. Unconstrained by the usual conventions, they tend to possess an energy, inventiveness and dynamism rarely found elsewhere. The Italian sociologist Alberto Melucci urges us to ‘listen and pay heed’ to what social movements are telling us. These are ‘prophets of the present’ that point to deep-seated changes in society 1

2


even before they have taken place: ‘Like the prophets, the movements “speak before”: they announce what is taking place even before its direction and content has become clear.’1 One aim of this book, then, is to ‘listen to the voices’ of the social movements that are now agitating within French society and to some extent to help decipher what they are saying. France provides a particularly rich and fascinating setting in which to observe social movements. This is after all a nation defined historically by mass popular uprising, whose values, principles and ideals have been fashioned by a deep-seated revolutionary tradition. French culture was created through dissent, through constant challenges to the status quo. From the Revolution of 1789 and the Paris Commune of 1871 to the more recent events of May 1968 or the ‘big strikes’ of 1995, the course of French history has been punctuated by moments of profound social and political upheaval. More than with any other European country, conflict lies at the heart of French political life and is woven into the very fabric of society, symbolising for many the ideals of popular resistance, democratic change and the struggle for justice.2 Despite recent prophecies to the contrary, instances of protest continue to occur with greater frequency and intensity in France than almost anywhere else. There are more demonstrations, strikes, occupations, marches and petition movements in France today than in most other European societies and conflict is widely accepted by French citizens as a normal, almost banal, occurrence. In the words of Stanley Hoffmann: ‘There are few other nations where protest movements have been so frequent and so diverse in their origins, channels, and purposes, and so similar in their manifestations, as France.’3 Far from signalling a breakdown of order, a departure from normality, a descent into chaos, protest is part of the regular and daily workings of the system, constituting for the French ‘a national way of life’. It is a central instrument whereby the machinery of politics is opened up to changing social dynamics and realigned with the wishes and aspirations of ordinary citizens. It is in fact an essential act of political participation. This book focuses on a ‘new generation of movements’4 that has emerged within French society over the past ten to fifteen years. Different observers have pointed to a revival of protest during the 1990s based on a new set of struggles and conflicts in society. France was marked by a ‘return of the social question’,5 after a phase of relative stability and calm with a rise of ‘new protest movements’6 that generated renewed contestation and dissent. Movements raised new questions, tackled new causes, challenged the traditional way of doing things and stimulated

Introduction 3

a ‘renewal of social criticism’7 at a time when many intellectuals thought that it had disappeared forever. They gave voice to groups who were marginalised from mainstream institutions and lacked representation within the existing structures of the political system. Throughout this period, they engaged in systematic acts of protest, challenging government and conventional parties and articulating changing demands. They were the antiracist movement that sought to affirm the cultural identity of immigrant communities, to assert their claims for equal rights and to curb the political expression of racism. They were the movement of the unemployed that engaged in an unprecedented wave of protest action and called for the ‘right to work’ to be extended to all members of society. They were the solidarity movement that attracted growing numbers of activists at a time of crisis within conventional politics and pursued social and humanitarian causes both in France and across an international stage. Alongside specific movements, a fragmented array of new associations was formed during the same period to advance different causes and represent different groups. These ‘new associative movements’8 were formed to fulfil a variety of purposes: to defend the rights of the homeless, to contest global economic change, to represent victims of Aids, to challenge discrimination, to mobilise local communities. Together they created a vibrant political subculture that challenged the established order and questioned the norms and rules governing society. Some intellectuals threw their support behind the new movements, speaking out in public debates and sometimes taking to the streets to march alongside demonstrators. One group of left-wing intellectuals published an ‘appeal in support of the strikers’ during the 1995 wave of public sector strikes; others rallied behind a petition movement in defence of illegal immigrants and called for civil disobedience in reaction to repressive state policy; still others endorsed different causes, denouncing the growing ills of social exclusion and speaking out on behalf of the dispossessed.9 There were fresh attempts to analyse, challenge and contest the nature of social change, to ‘reformulate the social question’ in the face of an enduring conjuncture of economic crisis. New books were published on themes such as social exclusion, the dangers of globalisation, the new age of inequalities, the impact of neo-liberalism that often sold to a mass public audience.10 One book that found considerable resonance within public opinion was Pierre Bourdieu’s La Misère du monde11 published in 1993 which revealed new forms of social suffering and uncovered ‘conditions of the production of deprivation’ amongst those who were poorly adjusted to the rapidly changing social and economic

4


conditions of their lives. Bourdieu and his team of researchers sought to expose a catalogue of inequalities at the centre of contemporary French society, within schools, in the deprived suburbs of large cities and within immigrant communities. This immense collaborative study sold 80,000 copies in the space of just a few months. At the same time, political clubs engaged in debates and endeavoured to produce a radical critique of contemporary society.12 Some advocated a renewal of collective action, as the only viable means to defend social rights and resist global economic developments. Newspapers such as Le Monde diplomatique or Politis provided a forum for intellectual debate on the state of society and the economy both in France and internationally. A new ‘radical milieu’13 had taken shape during the 1990s which revived criticism and debate and galvanised protest against a background of deteriorating social conditions and growing inequalities. A critical event in the rise of social movements was the massive wave of public sector strikes that took place during the winter of 1995. The eruption of public sector strikes on a scale not seen since May 1968 held tremendous political and symbolic importance for activists across the different burgeoning movements of this period. In the eyes of some, this was a ‘lutte tournante’ (a ‘landmark struggle’), symbolising a return of social conflict to the centre stage and a reaffirmation of the place of conflict within political life.14 In the same way as May 1968 acted as a ‘brèche’ (a ‘breakthrough’) that created a platform for the expression of a broad set of social and political demands, so 1995 held a deep-seated significance that went beyond its immediate context alone. Notably, it gave fresh impetus to different protest movements that gathered strength after 1995. During the strikes, workers in paid employment who were protesting against Alain Juppé’s proposed reform of the social security system were joined by unemployed activists who also wished to assert their social demands. New links were forged between different political groupings and there was a growing realisation amongst many that they shared a common social struggle. The strikes provided for the first time a backdrop for a unitary expression of their different grievances and demonstrators called for ‘social protection for all’. In mid-December a group of activists occupied the Pompidou Centre in Paris where they launched an ‘appeal of the Sans’ (literally ‘those without’) and called for protection of the social rights of all groups in society. Instead of presenting themselves as ‘les exclus’ (‘the socially excluded’), they affirmed a shared identity as ‘les sans’, groups denied certain rights and prevented from participating fully in society through factors such as poverty, unemployment or social exclusion. Victims of economic crisis in the

Introduction 5

present day, these groups drew on historical references to the ‘sans-culottes’ and the French Revolution to symbolise their struggle and imbue their actions with democratic meaning. Politically, there were attempts to construct a new radical Left after the 1997 general elections that would be capable of consolidating new social movements and offering an alternative to the mainstream Left. Such a current, it was also hoped, would help to reassert social rights and resist moves towards economic liberalism at international level. Pierre Bourdieu became a charismatic figurehead, a political guru for this new radicalism, representing hopes for a rejuvenated social movement of the future. In an article published in Le Monde in April 1998, he called for a ‘new radical Left’ that would espouse different social struggles and contest neo-liberal advances within the European context. Behind these political developments, we find a Far Left that had gathered pace during the 1990s, gaining new ground particularly amongst those disaffected with mainstream parties and frustrated by France’s deep-seated social problems. Following an electoral breakthrough in the 1995 presidential elections when Arlette Laguiller gained 5.3 per cent of the vote, the Far Left continued to make political gains, and in the 1999 European elections, the Trotskyist list took 5.2 per cent of the vote. Yet, it was the 2002 presidential election that confirmed this steady trend: the Trotskyist Left which presented three different candidates, won its highest combined vote at almost 11 per cent, over three times that of Robert Hue, the candidate for the Communist Party. The Far Left was strongly present in the many protest movements of the 1990s, including the occupations by the homeless in 1994–95, the public sector strikes of 1995 and the movement of the unemployed of 1997–98. The LCR (Communist Revolutionary League) in particular, purposefully set out to invest in emergent struggles, hoping to be ‘à la pointe du combat’ (‘at the cusp of new struggles’).15 For new movements without political traditions of their own, the LCR provided a culture of militancy and a political leadership, supplying leaders and activists to many of the new movements. There were also discernible changes in the nature and forms of participation within French political life. More and more citizens seemed to be willing to engage in collective action outside the conventional system at the level of civil society. They formed their own associations and joined social movements; they engaged in acts of civil disobedience or took part in civic marches; they set up committees of civil vigilance or launched petition movements. A look at the figures reveals a growing tendency for the French to join movements in society at the expense of formal types of political engagement. According to one survey, the

6


proportion of the population willing to get involved in social movements during this period was four to six times higher than for political parties and two to four times higher than for trade unions.16 At the same time, the number of associations formed reached unprecedented levels with approximately 60,000 new associations being created each year during the 1990s.17 If mainstream politics was experiencing crisis with a withdrawal of participation, a decline of traditional structures, a collapse of mass-based support, associations formed freely and independently by individuals in society seemed to flourish and attract growing numbers of activists. The new forms of mobilisation developed outside the conventional political framework, bringing forward new questions, new causes, new ways of doing things: ‘they develop largely outside and “underneath” these dominant institutions of civil society and the state.’18 They offered an alternative form of participation that appeared to many people to be more concrete, meaningful and participatory, more in tune with social and political realities and more effective in responding to them, than political parties, often viewed as distant and ineffective. This book also attempts to make sense of contemporary French movements. What do they mean? Where do they fit in relation to current theories of society? I have been struck by the way many writers portray contemporary social movements in a wholly negative or hostile light. Emerging movements are generally treated as ‘new social movements’ and seen to represent a distinct breed, a different animal to the traditional or ‘old’ social movements from history (that is the workers’ movement). They are differentiated in terms of their ‘newness’ in relation to what has gone before and located in terms of a radical break with the past. Invariably, they are viewed as a lesser incarnation, a poor cousin of the great movements of working-class struggle. Whereas the workers’ movement was seen to have a mission to perform, a leading role to play on the stage of history, new movements apparently lack a ‘project for society’ and do not offer a vision of a future alternative society. These are not genuine forces of social transformation and their meaning is often restricted to the particular causes they espouse (e.g. feminism, ecology, regionalism etc.). Whereas the workers’ movement called into question the political order as a whole and the very principles governing society, new movements are located at the margins of social and political life. They are identified with narrow and peripheral objectives, with ‘postmaterial’ questions of lifestyle or personal development that have little relevance for society as a whole. It appears that these movements are symptomatic of our general descent into an ‘era of nothingness’19 where old values, meanings and landmarks have fragmented or crumbled

Introduction 7

away. By treating them as ‘new social movements’ and defining them in relation to what has gone before, contemporary movements are not considered on their own terms, in relation to their own dynamic, but are measured against an idealised standard of social action. Like a precious stone they are held up to the light and scrutinised for marks of authenticity. Too often, those that do not conform are dismissed as trivial or unimportant. Nascent movements are placed before a ‘sociological tribunal’ and made to render account of themselves: ‘some might object with good sense that to require so many criteria […], to demand a certain level, a programme for an alternative society, the “social movement” is in danger of becoming an object which is “sociologically non-existent”.’20 It is interesting to note that the 1995 wave of strikes sparked off an impassioned controversy amongst French academics as to its meaning and significance. Many prominent sociologists argued that in reality this was not a genuine social movement, but merely a manifestation of corporatist interests devoid of any broad social or political significance.21 In this book, I hope to show that contemporary French movements are indeed forces of social transformation, albeit in new ways and in relation to a new set of causes. We need to restore meaning and centrality to new movements in society, treating them with the importance they deserve as forces of social and political change in the present day. Contemporary movements do not immortalise great struggles from the past. Nor do they embody the ‘historic mission’ of the working class. They may lack the unity and organisational strength of traditional social movements and act without the permanence or visibility of conventional parties. Nonetheless, they do reflect inevitable and changing dynamics within society that constantly produce new forms of social division and conflict. These movements reveal the inequalities that exist at the heart of contemporary France, representing groups who are pushed onto the margins of society through factors such as immigration, unemployment or poverty. They signal the underlying inequalities that lie behind a cloak of universal citizenship and which tend to marginalise certain groups and prevent them from participating fully in society. In the place of the political organisation and class identity of the workers’ movement, we find a highly fragmented, atomised and mostly unorganised set of groups such as immigrants, the unemployed, women’s groups, part-time or underpaid workers, the sans-papiers (undocumented immigrants) or victims of Aids. The striking feature of contemporary French movements is that they share a strong civic dimension. These are movements about rights and about the struggle to obtain rights by different groups in society. What unites movements as diverse as antiracism, the movement of the

8


unemployed or solidarity is that they act with civic purpose, defending and affirming the rights of a whole series of marginalised groups. Some defend those who are excluded from rights and call for their recognition as full members of society (e.g. immigrant communities). Others seek new rights, appealing for an extension of citizenship to all areas of social life (movement of the unemployed, mobilisation by the ‘sans’). In challenging inequality, in rejecting discrimination, in denouncing social exclusion, movements act as critical forces of social contestation and seek to redefine the parameters of citizenship in the present day. Far from being ‘new social movements’ cut off from the past, they manifest ongoing civic processes whereby marginalised groups at particular points in history mobilise collectively to affirm their rights. Just as during the Revolution excluded groups formed political clubs and affirmed their desire to be included in citizenship, so in today’s society a different set of groups now agitate to assert similar claims. Contemporary movements may advance new causes and may represent different groups, but the processes they reveal are very old and have roots deep within French political tradition. Rather than treating them as ‘new’ movements, they are perhaps better understood in terms of a continuity in relation to the past. Contemporary movements carry forward a legacy of social struggle and contribute to an expansion and redefinition of citizenship in the contemporary context. I have suggested in this book that the notion of ‘new citizenship’ may help us to gain a clearer understanding of the role and purpose of movements within contemporary France. Before commenting briefly on the content of the book, a few remarks need to be made concerning my overall approach. I have endeavoured where possible to observe the way that social movements define themselves, before imposing a particular theoretical framework or point of view. Contemporary movements produce a wealth of documentation including statutes, manifestos, tracts, pamphlets, newspapers and symbolic material which is part of their cultural production and the means by which they define themselves or construct their own ‘collective identity’. Too many studies are conducted on a purely abstract or theoretical level which ignores what movements actually say or do or even ‘develops in total indifference to them’.22 A study of social movements should start with the movements themselves, with their claims, objectives and aspirations, with their own vision of the world and of its problems. The book therefore draws on primary material produced by each of the movements considered, looking at their statutes, manifestos and internal documentation. It also draws on a series of interviews which I carried out over a two-year period with activists and leaders from each of the movements presented here.

Introduction 9

In Chapter 2 the book opens by considering the place of social protest in France today. Many observers now believe that conflict and radicalism have disappeared from political life and that France has entered a more consensual phase. Yet, there are distinct signs of a renewal of mobilisation outside the boundaries of mainstream politics at the level of civil society. More and more French people are pursuing unconventional ways of making themselves heard, by setting up associations, joining social movements or leading their own campaigns. Associations in civil society have never been stronger or more widespread and new movements have been formed to tackle a different set of causes and struggles. The chapter considers the complex realities of a society characterised by the decline of traditional forms of political engagement, alongside a rise of new and alternative forms of mobilisation. It argues that the contemporary political landscape does not conform to a unidimensional set of tendencies but has developed in conflicting and often ambiguous ways. Chapter 3 provides the book’s theoretical framework by working through some existing approaches to social movements. In European literature, ‘new social movement theory’ remains the dominant paradigm for understanding and explaining all emerging movements in society. However, the movements that currently mobilise within French society appear to have little in common with the ‘new social movements’. They are not concerned with advancing ‘new issues’ or with positing ‘post-material’ demands, but are interested in extending and deepening the rights available to different groups in society. I suggest that ‘new citizenship’ may provide a more accurate framework for describing contemporary French movements, one that recognises their profoundly civic dimension and their centrality within political life. Movements seek to ‘reinvent citizenship’ in the present day in relation to the causes and conflicts that characterise contemporary French society. Chapter 4 considers the theory and practice of antiracism, the first of the three movements to be dealt with in the book. Many critics have dismissed this movement as a failure, arguing that it was unable to fulfil its own objectives and ideals and achieve any tangible political results. Yet, antiracism was immensely successful in constructing a collective identity, in confronting a univocal discourse of racism and in extending voice to a marginalised social group. Much of the debate about the failure of this movement has been couched in narrow formalistic terms that ignore the essential character of antiracism as a social movement within civil society. The chapter goes on to describe the role of an ‘anti-fascist’ association, Ras l’Front which was at the forefront of political activism against the Far Right during the 1990s. Protest also came from one of the most dispossessed segments of French society: the sans-papiers

10 Social Movements in France

(undocumented immigrants) who engaged in systematic acts of protest to assert their claims for citizenship and inclusion in society. In Chapter 5, I explore another major expression of social unrest in the contemporary French context: the movement of the unemployed. Characterised by their very exclusion from society, by their ‘invisibility’ within the public sphere, the unemployed engaged during the 1990s in a sustained wave of protest consisting of occupations, demonstrations and symbolic acts of conflict. They formed their own autonomous associations, produced new newspapers and manifestos and called for the ‘right to work’ to be extended to all members of society. Their actions culminated in the ‘winter of protest’ of 1997–98 when hundreds and thousands of demonstrators occupied benefit offices across France over a three-month period. For some, this cycle of radicalism had transformed the position of the unemployed within French society from one characterised by ‘silence’ to one of open ‘revolt’. Chapter 6 examines the French solidarity movement, so defined because of its propensity to engage in action ‘for others’ instead of ‘for self’ and to pursue altruistic goals. This movement breaks with the usual rules of the game by supporting the interests of people outside the movement itself and eschewing a conventional logic of self-interest. Associations of solidarity experienced a considerable expansion during the 1990s, attracting growing numbers of activists towards social and humanitarian concerns. Some mobilised against problems of social exclusion in France, whereas others participated in transnational movement networks that intervened across an international stage. The success of associations of solidarity was derived partly from a strategic use of the media to extend their popular appeal and to produce a radical and dynamic style. At the same time, traditional institutions such as the Human Rights League broadened the scope of their intervention to include contemporary issues such as gay rights, antiracism and social exclusion. In the Conclusion, I provide an overview of contemporary French movements from a ‘new citizenship’ perspective that looks in turn at their values, strategies and forms of organisation. I argue that contemporary French movements have contributed to a reinvention of citizenship in France today.

2 Social Protest in France Today

France during the 1990s was characterised by a rise of new social movements that mobilised around a different set of causes and articulated changing demands within society. These movements brought forward alternative forms of political expression and represented groups previously without voice within the political system. There was a distinct trend towards unconventional types of participation as more and more French citizens seemed to be willing to engage in political activity outside the confines of mainstream institutions. Throughout the decade, movements mobilised systematic acts of protest and engaged in demonstrations, occupations, symbolic action or acts of civil disobedience. They mobilised to defend the rights of the unemployed, to oppose the Far Right, to reject social inequalities, to challenge economic globalisation, to protect immigrant communities under attack. One study has shown that over ten thousand demonstrations currently take place in France each year, with over a thousand in Paris alone.1 In spring 2002 for instance, France was gripped by a tremendous wave of demonstrations mobilised in response to the success of the Far Right leader Jean-Marie Le Pen in the first round of the presidential elections. On May Day 2002 in a culmination of over a week of protest, more people took to the streets in a single day – nearly three million of them – than at any other time since the events of May 1968.2 Yet, ‘new protest movements’ had emerged within a contested social and political space. Their rise took commentators by surprise, as many had presaged a very different and opposing set of trends. Protest in contemporary France, according to some, had lost its traditional centrality and importance, and French society had entered a more stable and consensual phase. Political life was characterised by a period of steady, if not spiralling, decline in which old forms of political adhesion had fragmented or disappeared and where citizens were 11


increasingly withdrawn from the public sphere. Apathy and disaffection were now seen as the predominant traits of French society. The new movements pointed to an infinitely more complex reality. They revealed a society undergoing profound change where the decline of one model of participation was accompanied by the rise of alternative forms of mobilisation. They signalled the changing dynamics of civil society which constantly produce new forms of social conflict and rarely conform to a unidimensional set of rules or tendencies. In this chapter, I hope to show that social protest remains a central and pivotal aspect of the political life of contemporary France. This protest may have developed in new ways and assumed new causes, and it may express the grievances of different social groups, but it continues to punctuate the political landscape with surprising intensity and force. I will begin by looking at contemporary debates and controversies surrounding the place of social protest in France today.

A return of the social For many observers, France is no longer a nation marked by high levels of social conflict, where citizens routinely take to the streets to express their grievances and desires. This is no longer a nation where protest constitutes a fundamental mechanism of political change and renewal, a means by which the political order can periodically readjust to changing demands in society. In France today, people seem to have turned their backs on politics and are no longer prepared to engage in collective issues and struggles. They are less prepared to get involved in causes that are overtly political, that lie outside their immediate interests and concerns. The dominant trends are towards a collapse of political engagement, a withdrawal from the public sphere, a disintegration of collective identities. The grand ideologies that once orientated political action have lost their capacity to mobilise popular energies and passions and the structures of the Left have failed to attract new supporters. Social movements for their part have seemingly lost their traditional meaning and importance, and in any case have ceased to act as forces of contestation and dissent. Nowadays, the workers’ movement no longer assumes the ‘historic mission’ of social transformation once attributed to it and rarely produces moments of unified collective action. The picture that emerges within many recent studies is of a depoliticised and apathetic society where old political and social values have lost sway and where structures of collective representation have been debilitated. Many observers have pointed to a modified political context during the 1980s and 1990s in which social protest has effectively disappeared.

Social Protest in France Today 13

For the French historian René Rémond, ‘politics is no longer what it used to be’ and a new and altered political landscape has emerged in the contemporary context.3 France was traditionally considered to be ‘exceptional’ in that its citizens were more willing to engage in protest than their counterparts elsewhere in Europe, and public life was associated with high levels of conflict, radicalism and dissent. This was a nation torn by bitter conflicts and divisions where social protest was part of normal and everyday life. Rémond suggests that in contemporary France, the conflictual basis of politics has given way to a more moderate, stable and consensual style. In today’s society, people are more willing to resolve their differences and find negotiated solutions to their problems, rather than adopt positions of political extremism or polarity. The subjects which used to divide public opinion have ceased to ignite bitter conflict and old political passions have been assuaged: ‘French society is today an appeased society, especially when compared with its past.’4 He suggests that the French have now cast off a traditional propensity towards protest and found common ground within the traditional values of republicanism and democracy: Thus political life manifested in the 1980s a certain tendency, which was rather unusual in a country marked by an inveterate taste for ideological controversy and political confrontation, for the establishment of an increasingly widespread consensus. Most subjects that divided public opinion were resolved or lost their intensity: in any case they were no longer reference points. Also, a majority of citizens believes the Left–Right division to be outdated and considers that these two notions no longer accurately reflect the stances of parties and politicians. There is therefore a new configuration of politics.5 As evidence of this new consensus, Rémond points to the collapse of traditional structures of social contestation based on communism and the old Left. For him, this is a symptom of a deep-seated ‘crisis of representation’ within contemporary French politics. If communism has declined, this has taken with it the very impetus towards political engagement within society: ‘The collapse of communism also means a withdrawal of militancy, a shrinking of participation, a regression of generosity, a deficit of solidarity.’6 Some British observers of contemporary France have shared the view that social protest had lost its traditional meaning and centrality. In his book on modern French politics, Nick Hewlett takes as his starting-point the idea that France has entered a new period in its history: ‘there is indeed a series of significantly different landmarks which define the


French political landscape, and which together amount to greater consensus.’7 He agrees to a certain extent with the argument that France has shaken off its revolutionary past and that conflict no longer plays a pivotal role within political life. The decline of communism and trade union militancy and a corresponding rise of centre-orientated parties, are all taken to be examples of this process. Behind what appear to be conditions of ‘lasting political consensus’, Hewlett points to the impact of social and political modernisation which has brought benefits to certain sections of the population. This does not mean that all sources of conflict have disappeared or that there is real satisfaction with social and political developments. Yet, the new inequalities within French society, linked to problems of social exclusion, unemployment and racism, have not in themselves generated new forms of opposition or conflict. Rather, they have reinforced a generalised feeling of discontent and apathy that permeates every level of French society: ‘The modernization of French politics and society has resulted in fewer sources of discontent in some traditional areas of discontent. But the dwindling of conflict has not on the whole been accompanied by positive feelings about the status quo or even about constructing alternatives. Instead there is widespread apathy.’8 The French today are simply less willing to engage in protest and have ‘become more accepting than they used to be of the unjust aspects of modern society’.9 They are less prepared to take to the streets to defend a collective cause or sacrifice their own personal interests for those of a broad social struggle. Whilst Hewlett supports the idea that there is greater consensus, he tentatively suggests that new forms of mobilisation may be emerging: ‘The apparent consensus of the 1980s and 1990s in France, although marking the end of one era, is perhaps beginning to give way to a more conflictual era again.’10 If we turn briefly to studies of contemporary French culture and society, a similar picture emerges. The overriding features of the contemporary landscape are a disintegration of social bonds, a fragmentation of the collective, an atomisation of the public sphere. Postmodernist accounts depict a society that is swept along by a ceaseless tide of fragmentation and dislocation where the old landmarks have disappeared and traditional forms of social identification have withered away. In such a context, the individual has no other points of reference, no guiding principles other than his or her own personal interests and desires. Uprooted and detached from any ties to the collectivity, the individual is motivated purely by private needs, in isolation from the interests of society as a whole. Gilles Lipovetsky famously argued that a ‘new individualism’ pervaded every aspect of public life and was the major context


for understanding contemporary social and political change: ‘Individualism in this sense can be identified by two interconnected characteristics that reflect the weakening social bond. On the one hand, it means withdrawal into private life: individuals turn in upon themselves, pursuing only their own, private interests. On the other, it indicates an indifference to public life: individualism is equated with “depoliticization” that is, with limited participation in communal activities and little interest in maintaining ties to the collectivity.’11 In our fragmented social world, there are no grand theories capable of orientating individual participation in the public sphere and it is now the quest for self-gratification that prevails over any inclination towards social participation. Without ideological references or mobilising structures, the individual is left floundering in a moral and ideological void: ‘No political ideology is now capable of inflaming the masses, post-modern society has no idols, no taboos, no glorious image of itself, no mobilising historical project. Henceforth, it is a void which prevails, a void which is however, without tragedy or apocalypse.’12 He locates the downward slide towards hedonistic individualism in the events of May 1968 which signalled a new phase in which the individual subject emerged as supreme. The May revolt was concerned with liberating the individual from all institutional and political constraints, rejecting social hierarchies and rules and glorifying subjective needs. This protest was a ‘wild moment’ in which the subjective agent sought to remove any obstacles to pleasure and self-fulfillment. It gave rise to a narrow, egocentric and narcissistic form of individualism devoid of spirit and purpose: ‘From now on, no value carried greater legitimacy across all social classes than the demand for personal gratification and self-fulfillment.’13 Where movements do emerge in society, they are rarely viewed as symbols of a latent social struggle or cause. Unlike their predecessors, new movements did not have a great mission to perform on the stage of history and acted without an overarching theory or a project of social transformation. For Lipovetsky, new movements were merely an extension of individualistic tendencies in that they affirmed private group interests at the expense of the collective interests of society as a whole. Movements that mobilised in the aftermath of May 1968 around women’s rights, ecology or ethnicity were concerned with furthering particularist issues and identities and were at odds with universalist principles and ideals. Far from revealing a collective spirit or logic, they were empty products of an ‘era of nothingness’, devoid of political values or purpose. For Michel Maffesoli, new movements were examples of ‘tribalism’ that represented a need for group identity and belonging at


a time of generalised social atomisation.14 These movements were ‘neo-tribes’ formed through the affective ties of religion, ethnicity or community and revealed a desire to recover a measure of solidarity and belonging in a world of dislocation, anonymity and rupture. The antithesis of the ‘historical’ movements of social class, they were ephemeral, transitory communities, cut off from society and detached from the collective public space. This new communitarianism was every bit a part of the postmodern world as the new individualism and they both signalled an attempt to reconstruct individual identity in an autonomous and isolated way.15 A number of recent studies have taken issue with the viewpoint that social protest and political participation more widely have entered a phase of terminal decline. For them, it is not so much the will to act politically which has disappeared or that people are less committed to collective causes today than in the past, but that the rules of political engagement have been fundamentally transformed. They point to a renewal of social mobilisation outside the traditional parameters of the political system and independently of the institutions of the State. Nascent movements, collectives and associations attest in their view to a continued allegiance to collective participation, albeit in new ways and in relation to a new set of causes. In one volume, Pascal Perrineau and his co-authors explore the changing forms of political participation in contemporary France by examining both formal political structures (parties, trade unions) and more recent forms of mobilisation (ecology, antiracism, local activism, European lobbying).16 They suggest that collective action in the contemporary context is undergoing a phase of change and renewal, a ‘mutation’, characterised by a decline of one model of participation and the rise of new alternative forms of political expression. Behind an apparent disaffection with politics, a withdrawal from the public sphere, one finds a strong desire to ‘do politics differently’ and evolve new types of mobilisation. What is dying, Perrineau argues, is not politics itself, but a particular kind of political action based on traditional forms of organisation and militancy: ‘The crisis of participation is not a sign of the imminent death of politics. It is in fact a crisis of mutation where old forms of participation are dying and new ones are beginning to emerge.’17 The situation of crisis within French politics may reflect a weakness of traditional political structures in adapting to changing circumstances and demands, rather than a sign of the growing indifference of French citizens towards the public sphere: ‘It is rooted in this difficulty of the political system in responding to the new demands of citizens and not the sudden and radical de-politicisation of these.’18


Faced with widespread dissatisfaction with formal politics and ruling political elites, French citizens have sought alternatives and mobilised their own networks within civil society. Perrineau concludes that political engagement in France today is ‘diversified, fragmented, of a new type in which old forms of participation and involvement are dying or becoming marginalised and new forms are beginning to emerge. It is the age both of the decline and transformation of political participation.’19 In his book The End of the Activists? (La fin des militants?), the French sociologist Jacques Ion looks at the nature of social and political participation at a time when the traditional relationship between the individual and society has undergone profound change.20 In contemporary France, participation is no longer characterised exclusively by the formal integration of individuals into unified, hierarchical and mass-based organisations and is no longer founded on an intermediary layer of organisations that structure the relationship between the individual and the State. An alternative model of collective action has emerged (l’engagement distancié) which is flexible, informal and polyvalent, often involving a multiple participation of the individual in different organisations or structures at the same time. The rules of engagement are now marked by an absence of formal regulations and hierarchy and a preference for horizontal and flexible networks of association: ‘This simply means that activism, as it has been exercised for a century is perhaps only one form of engagement amongst others and that new forms of social participation are being formed, corresponding to the evolution of the relationship between society and the individual.’21 Ion suggests that if a crisis is occurring within traditional political structures, this does not indicate an inevitable decomposition of participation itself, but that the very terms of the relationship between the individual and the public sphere have been changed. Central to this new model of participation is a process of ‘individualisation’ which places the individual actor at the forefront of collective action. Ion argues that the individual citizen is no longer dependent on overarching structures to orientate or guide his or her actions, but can determine the nature and scope of his or her own participation in the collectivity. Individuals are capable of creating their own networks of action and their interests are no longer subordinated to the collective interests or designs of an organisation or structure: This model is marked above all by the emergence of the concrete individual actor. The association no longer assumes that personal identity will be left at the door of the grouping; it no longer implies


an internal fusion within an abstract entity defined by the characteristics of the public action considered. The particular competences of the individual are by contrast, given value.22 This shift towards the individual as the focus of political engagement does not mean that participation is less valid or less orientated towards collective concerns. It does mean, however, that the individual is no longer prepared to forsake personal identity or transfer moral responsibility and choices to an overarching structure. Ultimate moral responsibility now rests with the individual participant and this cannot be delegated or legitimised by reference to collective imperatives or designs. This is a far cry from the ‘new individualism’ portrayed by Lipovetsky and others, as an empty and hedonistic form of self-fulfilment. Here, personal freedom is not a negative force leading to the destruction of social values, but a positive and constructive principle conferring on the individual the potential to assume independent moral choices. When freed of ties to the collectivity, the individual is not necessarily transformed into a self-seeking narcissist, but can act as an autonomous agent, an active participant in social and political causes: ‘With distanced engagement, the sacrifice of private life on the altar of the Cause is no longer in question. But this does not mean that all personal involvement is on the point of disappearing. To the contrary, on close examination, could we not put forward an opposing and paradoxical hypothesis which is that this involvement has never been so intense […]?’23 In their ambitious study of the ‘new spirit of capitalism’, Boltanski and Chiapello explore what has become of social criticism and mobilisation at a time when societies are driven by what they see as an unprecedented phase of capitalist expansion.24 They point to a ‘renewal of social criticism’ during the 1990s that directed itself against the new inequalities and injustices associated with a phase of enduring crisis and global economic restructuring. This period was marked by a regeneration of the social question and fresh attempts to analyse, challenge and contest the nature and direction of social change. For the authors, the major transformation in forms of participation is a shift away from class as a factor of mobilisation towards a fragmented array of social identities. Emerging movements represent a diffuse set of social groups characterised by differing forms of exclusion or marginalisation from mainstream society. Instead of manifesting a division of social class within a vertical and hierarchical society, they reveal a horizontal separation between those at the centre of society (les inclus) and those at the periphery (les exclus). They mobilise groups suffering from different forms of social and economic


deprivation who are prevented from participating in society through factors such as unemployment, poverty or racism. The new forms of social contestation have abandoned the unified structures of traditional leftwing protest and mobilise instead through flexible and horizontal networks of organisation. They have adapted their strategies and modes of organisation to match the changing configuration of the capitalist system itself, this remodelled capitalism which is now diversified and flexible in character. For emerging movements ‘exclusion’ has become the dominant analytical category for challenging inequalities, replacing the conception of class-based exploitation characteristic of traditional social theory. Yet, the authors argue, the new movements have yet to evolve a broad theoretical framework capable of recognising and denouncing new forms of inequality within society. They need to create an understanding of a society as a system of social relations where the actions of some have repercussions for the social situation of others and where relationships of social domination and control are made visible, entailing a ‘transformation of the theme of exclusion into a theory of exploitation.’25 These studies are crucial in providing an alternative perspective on contemporary social and political developments that challenges a viewpoint that protest has disappeared or at least declined significantly. Whilst none of these authors claims to provide an overarching theory or paradigm to account for contemporary developments, they do raise a number of important questions about the way in which participation in society is recognised and assessed. In the first place, they each point to a regeneration of collective action in society in the shape of new movements, collectives and associations. If traditional structures of representation are in crisis, this does not mean that political involvement as a whole has waned or disappeared. Society is treated as a dynamic which constantly produces new forms of mobilisation, so that the decline of one form of participation may coexist alongside the emergence of another. Such a perspective is useful in that it opens up a conceptual space in which seemingly contradictory processes or tendencies may occur at any one time. Society is not expected to conform to a fixed or unidimensional set of rules or tendencies, but may evolve in contradictory and ambiguous ways. Social and political change is treated as a complex and diversified phenomenon that rarely follows a linear or uniform trajectory. Secondly, these studies emphasise the need to develop new mechanisms for identifying and measuring participation in society. We can no longer rely exclusively on traditional criteria to measure new and evolving types of participation that may transcend pre-determined categories for defining what participation is. Such criteria are often closely


intermeshed with a particular model of participation that is measurable through formal and objective indicators such as organisational size, membership, and electoral procedures. Whilst appropriate for assessing one type of participation, these criteria may become redundant in a context where the very nature of political engagement is undergoing significant change. New movements assume forms and modes of organisation that break with tradition and mark ‘a distinct analytical discontinuity between contemporary movements and those of the past’.26 We therefore need to find a different approach that corresponds more closely to the realities of collective action and ‘invent another model of participation in groups in order to perceive reality in its present diversity’.27 Such an approach would recognise and attribute value to changing forms of participation rather than denying their validity and importance. It would acknowledge participation in its contemporary diversity, rather than expecting it to live up to a traditional model of collective action. Thirdly, these studies focus on social and political developments outside the parameters of the formal political sphere. They emphasise the importance of looking beyond established structures and organisations at what is happening within civil society itself. Collective action is seen to emanate from changing social dynamics rather than from the institutionalised structures and practices of the political system. This marks an important shift in relation to many existing studies of French politics which tend to focus on participation ‘from above’, looking at formal political institutions alone. What is happening within mainstream politics is often taken as an indicator of generalised trends across society as a whole and is seen to encompass broad tendencies either towards engagement or disengagement. Such a perspective undermines the nature of collective action as a dynamic that eschews any one structure or organisation and often transcends the boundaries of the formal political sphere. We will now go on to look at recent evidence that points to a renewal and regeneration of collective action in contemporary France, in the form of new associations within civil society.

The new associativeness Variously described as a ‘crisis of participation’, ‘the end of activism’ and a ‘crisis of representation’,28 contemporary French politics has by all accounts reached a point of unprecedented or, some might even say, irreversible decline. Growing disaffection, declining participation, and a withdrawal from public life have now become pervasive and ineluctable features of political life. A brief look at recent patterns of political participation


would seem to confirm this bleak and discomforting prognosis. The number of citizens who choose to turn out at elections has shrunk steadily in recent decades, alongside a parallel increase in the quantity of blank or protest votes registered. In a country with a strong tradition of political participation where deep-seated values of citizenship persist, the rate of abstention in the first round of the general elections of 1993 was 30 per cent, rising to 32 per cent in 1997, to reach an historically record level of 35 per cent in the first round of the 2002 general elections and nearly 40 per cent in the second round. It was this apparent disengagement from politics which was responsible, in the eyes of some observers, for the shocking electoral success of Jean-Marie Le Pen in the first round of the presidential elections of April 2002.29 Meanwhile, there has been a drop in the membership of political parties, a symptom of a growing mistrust in relation to a political class seemingly cut off from its citizens and incapable of providing genuine solutions to problems in society. Party membership across the Left and Right during the early 1990s fell to its lowest level since the beginning of the Fifth Republic. Initially this crisis seemed to affect the parties of the Right alone, but it soon engulfed all mainstream parties whether on the Right or Left. It is not only formal politics that has been gripped by a situation of crisis. Trade unions have also experienced historically low levels of membership and dwindling support. In fact, during a period of fifteen years, from the mid-1970s to the early 1990s, the trade union movement lost half its members. Union-led militancy based on strikes and industrial action has waned considerably and there has been a sharp fall in the number of days devoted to strike activity. The wave of public sector strikes of 1995 is recognised as the only notable exception to this rule, in a landscape otherwise marked by growing detachment from the public sphere. And even in this instance, the main trade union confederations lost considerable ground to new more radical trade union structures that had emerged around this time, such as the network of SUD unions.30 Recent developments appear to signal a profound disaggregation of the forms of political and social participation in contemporary France. Yet, they also mask a complex and seemingly contradictory reality. At a time when party support is waning, when there is decreased voter turnout at elections and a crisis of confidence in relation to political leaders, associations in civil society have never been stronger or more widespread. An association constitutes a unique form of engagement in the public sphere in that it is formed freely and independently by individuals within civil society and therefore differs from formalised structures such as parties or trade unions.31 It is an expression of


autonomous interaction amongst ordinary citizens who may wish to pursue a variety of social or political goals within civil society. A number of French observers have pointed to a renewal of associations in the contemporary context. According to the political scientist Martine Barthélemy, contemporary France may be entering a ‘new age of participation’ based on associative forms of engagement within civil society.32 Over the past 25 years, associations have come to occupy an ‘autonomous associative space’ and have increasingly assumed a collective orientation and purpose, intervening directly in the public sphere. Their rise and expansion has challenged a traditional republican conception of a direct and unmediated relationship between individual and State and of a strict demarcation between the public and private sphere. Barthélemy’s book sets out to explore the potential of associations to act as instruments of democratic renewal at a time of profound political crisis: ‘in what conditions and under which forms does associative life today create a renewal of participation?’ For associations to assume a democratic and civic purpose, they need to integrate their particular causes within broad social objectives, whilst the State needs to afford them greater recognition and legitimacy: an ‘entry into a new age of participation is at this price’.33 For other observers, the rise of associations constitutes an ‘associative boom’ that marks a distinct break with the past. The expansion of associations has been ‘rapid and continuous’, representing a new ‘associative phenomenon’ within society: ‘From the mid 1960s to the early 1990s, the growth and diversification in the creation of associations marked a spectacular rupture with the slow progression, if not the stagnation recorded during early periods. The frequent use of the term “associative boom”, rather than “evolution” to illustrate this phenomenon is highly significant in this respect.’34 This proclivity to form or participate in associations has established itself in a country which otherwise has a weak associative tradition, where Alexis de Tocqueville famously remarked that there was a poor ‘associative spirit’ in comparison with American society and where there was a reliance on the State to carry out the most rudimentary tasks. Far from declining, the growth of associations in contemporary France has been steady and continuous. In the period since 1970, the number of new associations created each year has tripled, with one in every two adults now being a member of an association. Whereas before 1970, the number of associations created annually was less than 20,000, this increased to 60,000 after this year.35 Formed to fulfil a variety of purposes and often assuming a diversity of forms, associations during this period underwent a ‘rapid and continuous ascension’. Between


1983 and 1998, the rate of participation in associations varied between 39 and 43 per cent of the total population.36 Many of the new associations created since the mid-1980s expressed changing social demands, representing a diverse range of groups in society (immigrants, unemployed, refugees, the homeless). The relative weight of certain groupings appeared superior, including associations of immigrants, organisations for the unemployed, antiracist groupings, humanitarian agencies and associations having a social orientation or purpose. During the 1990s, between 60,000 and 70,000 new associations were created each year and the numbers employed within associations rose steadily by nearly 20 per cent during the period from 1990 to 1995.37 Many of these new structures were directed towards concrete social problems and demands (unemployment, racism, social exclusion) and tackled critical social needs: ‘an increasingly meaningful, if not entirely new logic develops: mobilisations and initiatives respond to situations of social or “civic” urgency (poverty, deprivation, racism) through targeted actions without a political project.’38 Depending on which figures you look at, there are presently between 700,000 and 800,000 associations officially registered within contemporary France, apparently more than at any other period of French history. Ironically, these associations have developed at a time when France was gripped, to all intents and purposes, by a profound crisis of participation. New associations have emerged outside the conventional structures of social and political participation and developed ‘from below’ within civil society, often through the direct and independent actions of individuals and groups. They reveal a ‘new associativeness’ in French society to the extent that citizens appear more willing to interact collectively within groupings in order to fulfil certain tasks or ambitions. They seem more inclined to form their own associations to fulfil certain goals rather than relying on the established structures and institutions of the political system. When they participate in social or political life, whether it is to achieve concrete and immediate goals or to pursue long-term objectives, individuals appear to do so increasingly through the association. They may be grassroots structures operating within local communities and providing daily support to different social groups or they may form part of international movement networks that pursue broad goals and transcend the national frontiers of any one country. For many people, the association has become an idealised medium for participating in society and articulating political demands. Recent studies have confirmed a growing preference for informal associative types of collective action over traditional institutionalised structures of participation. Whilst


rejecting certain forms of participation, French citizens certainly do not appear to be abandoning all types of interaction in the public sphere. In a society marked generally by narrowing participation and a withdrawal from the collectivity, how can this rise of associations be explained? For some commentators, it is linked to a crisis of political engagement whereby people increasingly turn their backs on traditional institutions and seek out informal grassroots types of involvement.39 For others it is a symptom of enduring economic crisis as new associations are formed to tackle urgent social problems and demands and confront a perceived inadequacy of the political system in responding to these problems.40 Yet, I would argue that the remarkable success of associations is also linked to their distinctiveness as a form of social and political participation. For many people, associations provide a crucial alternative, a way of doing politics differently that avoids the obstacles and constraints identified with mainstream institutions. Firstly, they differ from formal political structures in that they facilitate an active involvement of individuals in social and political processes. Many of those who become involved in associations emphasise the importance of active participation as a primary motivation underlying their decision to join. Created by and for individuals, the association is perceived as a way of becoming directly involved and people join because they want to engage actively in public life, to change society or secure concrete political goals. It is a structure formed through the collective actions and endeavours of its participants and is nothing more than the sum of these aspirations and desires: ‘The association, more so than other forms of enterprise, is dependent on the men and women who take charge of the project that unites them.’41 It encapsulates an idealised form of activism, one that prioritises individual action over structure or organisation, one that places the participant at the forefront of collective action. In her study of associative participation, Martine Barthélemy found that the quest for active engagement was paramount in determining individual involvement: ‘Activism – the term “activist” is nearly always mentioned spontaneously – responds to a humanitarian ideal as well as to a social situation that needs to be changed: to be an activist, means to “fight” for an objective, “to change society”, “to get things moving” or “to advance things”, “struggle” and “defend”.’42 Conventional structures such as parties or trade unions are believed to alienate or distance their members from the actions being pursued and to give precedence to hierarchy and structure over activism and militancy. Participation is characterised by formal or symbolic tasks such as electing representatives, giving formal assent or contributing


membership subscriptions, so that a separation exists between the act of participating and the political or social objectives being followed.43 A second point is that associations appear to provide a form of participation that is closer and more directly linked to concrete needs and demands. Unlike formal structures that may appear distant and ineffective, the association is anchored in everyday life and seems to be more in tune with social and political realities. The notion of ‘the everyday’ is important here: associations embody and express daily preoccupations and realities, where traditional structures may appear remote and powerless. Formed ‘from below’, associations may emerge within communities, localities, or quartiers, out of the immediate affinities that are shared by individuals and groups in society, out of the concerns or aspirations that they have in their daily lives. People tend to look to the association to confer a sense of rootedness and identity, as well as fulfilling real and urgent social demands that may be overlooked by formal institutions: ‘there is a tendency amongst our contemporaries to seek more and more within elementary groups, a satisfaction of their needs of personal expression, autonomy and rootedness, whilst taking charge in a private way of social needs for which the protective State is revealing itself as an ill-adapted structure.’44 Associations may be formed when people realise that they have a common objective or concern that cannot be attained through existing parties, institutions or interest groups in society. It is this concrete and everyday aspect of contemporary associations that is a crucial aspect explaining their success. Martine Barthélemy refers to the existence of an ‘associative ideology’ amongst activists which rejects traditional political structures in favour of informal associative forms of participation.45 The association is viewed as a symbol of grassroots democracy based on the supremacy of the concrete over the abstract, of real lives over distant elites, of individual action over structure and hierarchy, of active involvement over passive assent. Embedded in the fabric of civil society, the association embodies and reflects the ‘democratic aspirations’ of individuals and groups, expressing a generalised inclination towards collective action. Thirdly, the association can provide a freedom of action that is not found elsewhere. Within the association, the individual can act in an autonomous and spontaneous way in that he or she is not subject to the rules and constraints of more formal institutions. This is a type of participation which is free of regulation and constraint, of ideological norms or definitions, of bureaucracy or hierarchical structure. There are no scripts to deliver, no imperatives to fulfil and no rules of the game that might otherwise impede or determine individual action: ‘While the


social actor entering an enterprise or administration has rules of the game imposed that are independent of his/her will, the subject who engages in an association does it by voluntary adhesion.’46 Whereas participation in a political party or trade union is based on a formal integration of individuals within a particular organisation, the individual participant within an association retains a measure of freedom and independence in relation to the structure to which he or she belongs. Action is directed towards the here and now, towards an ‘invention of the present’ and there are no predefined obligations other than to respond to the collective desires of its participants. Freedom of expression, freedom of action, freedom of opinion are all factors cited by individuals to explain why they take part in associations. Martine Barthélemy gives us the following examples of activists from a number of different associations: ‘What I like about this association in which I have always been an activist, is that one is free to do what one wants. What counts the most is the freedom to express oneself’ (activist from France Plus); ‘I think it is through the individual that things will change and it is through an association of individuals and what they call the common interest that things will evolve’ (member of the Human Rights League).47 The association embodies the collective energies and resources of its participants and may therefore be more likely to produce action which is viewed as spontaneous, dynamic and expressive, that breaks with traditional values and norms. Recent studies do not go so far as to suggest that associative participation constitutes a replacement for conventional participation in the political system. They do however serve to qualify and nuance a picture that portrays an all-encompassing decline of participation within contemporary French society. We will now go on to look at some examples of new movements and associations in France today.

Contemporary social movements In contemporary France, there has been a rise of new types of social movement which have come to play an important role in political life, mobilising protest and articulating changing demands. These movements have revealed a new set of conflicts and divisions in society and brought forward the demands of a diverse range of social groups. Embedded within civil society, they give voice and representation to groups who might otherwise be excluded from political processes, extending and diversifying the basis of participation in the public sphere. In one book, the left-wing philosopher Daniel Bensaïd and the activist Christophe Aguiton examine the range of new movements and


‘new social struggles’ that have surfaced within contemporary French society.48 Flourishing outside the main trade union confederations and independently of traditional sites of conflict, these movements represent groups who have little stake in formal political processes: ‘The major struggles of 1996 and 1997 came from other sectors of society: the Sans-papiers of Saint-Bernard and other collectives; the “movement of signatories” which saw scores of appeals by the professions, often intellectual circles, to civil disobedience in favour of foreigners; the unemployed who have multiplied their actions at the appeal of their associations; women who have succeeded in organising the “conference for the rights of women”, the network of struggle against the National Front, of which Ras l’Front plays a primary role.’49 For Aguiton and Bensaïd, these movements represent a ‘return of the social question’ placing social conflict once again at the heart of contemporary French society. At a time when many sociologists emphasise a disappearance of social conflict and a collapse of radicalism, these movements have revived the role and prevalence of protest action. Contemporary movements may lack the unity and cohesion of the traditional movements organised according to a class-based logic and having centralised and hierarchical structures. They do not share a common ideological framework or belief system, nor do they present a ‘project for society’, a vision of a future alternative system. Compared with their historical predecessors, they do not seem to aspire towards a sweeping or totalising transformation of society and lack a comparable revolutionary impetus. Yet, their importance lies elsewhere in the renewed legitimacy which they have given to collective action in society, in their reaffirmation of protest as a means of securing social change. They have argued that it is possible to bring about change by dint of a collective mobilisation of individuals around a common ideal: ‘And if a strong idea of this renewal of activism should remain, it is the conviction that it is possible to act, to change things. Against all fatalism or all referral of decisions to “those above”, the movements of recent years have demonstrated a formidable aspiration to take charge of one’s own affairs and consciously to construct one’s own future.’50 In another book, Jean-Marc Salmon examines the rise of movements of ‘a new type’ during the 1980s and 1990s, looking at the role of ‘associative movements’ within contemporary French society.51 For Salmon, social movements have flourished within a context of profound economic crisis and they seek to confront and address the critical social problems associated with that period of crisis. Nascent movements reflect a ‘desire for society’, a wish to forge new social bonds, to rebuild


solidarity and cohesion at a time of widespread crisis and fragmentation: ‘Because at the centre of these new civic and associative processes, there is above all a desire to (re)make society when the social is breaking down.’52 What unites an otherwise disparate set of movements and associations is a common emphasis attached to the question of social inequality and marginalisation. Emergent movements have attempted to ‘reformulate the social question’ affirming the presence within society of new social groups previously excluded from institutions and suffering from different forms of exclusion or deprivation. For Isabelle Sommier, it is also the question of social exclusion which is paramount in explaining and conceptualising the protest movements of the 1990s.53 However, she argues that the major context that determines new types of radicalism is that of economic globalisation which has precipitated new divisions and inequalities within contemporary French society. The purpose of new movements is to challenge the nature and direction of social change, and in particular to confront a seemingly implacable logic of economic liberalism. Movements are mobilised by ‘active minorities’, dispossessed groups who seek to affirm their rights and freedoms at a time when these were being threatened by the thrust of international economic change. She emphasises the importance of anti-globalisation demonstrations and new structures such as ATTAC as symptomatic of this new style of protest. These are social forces that contest an otherwise univocal discourse of neo-liberalism, that posit an alternative social vision, arguing that ‘another world is possible’. If there has been a rise of social movements in contemporary France, this has not simply involved a revival of past struggles and conflicts. In fact, by the mid-1980s, nearly all of the much-celebrated ‘new social movements’ of the preceding decade had disappeared from the scene.54 These earlier movements had brought forward issues and demands which were previously absent from political life, opening up ‘new spaces’ in politics in relation to causes such as feminism, ecology, regionalism or gay rights. They embodied the ‘post-material’ aspirations of a society undergoing deep-seated structural change, and signalled the transition towards ‘a new type of society’. They seemed to be mobilised mainly by privileged and affluent sections of French society, representing a form of ‘middle class radicalism’. For some theorists, they were bearers of a different style of politics, of new kinds of power and value relationships within advanced capitalist societies. Yet, the influence of these movements, as social forces at least, soon began to wane and the political radicalism that they espoused soon lost its fire. The striking feature of the 1980s was in fact the wholesale collapse of the new social movements: ‘the major


political event of the septennat is the demobilisation of political activists.’55 The disintegration of social movements during this period was linked partly to political factors and, in particular, to the impact of the Socialist Party in government and their tendency to extend support to certain movements whilst excluding others. Some movements had become integrated into mainstream politics, transferring their action from the social to the political sphere. They increasingly tackled and addressed issues within a formal institutional context and the once radical and militant style of many movements was replaced by more conventional institutionalised practices. For example, the creation of a new green political party meant that the focus and nature of the ecology movement had changed. The Greens now waged their battles within the corridors of government, fighting within committees rather than in the open air and carrying briefcases full of documents rather than colourful placards or slogans. Other movements, such as feminism, succeeded in obtaining some of their main political objectives and this resulted in a decline of political mobilisation. The creation of a Ministry for Women’s Rights and the nomination of several women ministers to government in the early 1980s seemed to reduce the impetus towards protest and this once-militant force now had a measure of representation within government: ‘the feminist movement had almost disappeared by the beginning of the 1980s, at least before the arrival of Mitterrand, and this disappearance was not due to a failure of the movement, but the fact that it had obtained its objectives.’56 Key organisations within the gayrights movement were dissolved for similar reasons around this time, some of which had gained recognition from the Socialist Party.57 Whilst the early issue-based movements had all but vanished by the mid-1980s, a range of new movements emerged around this time which would assume a dominant role in mobilising social protest. The ‘new generation of movements’58 displayed a number of common features which seemed to distinguish them from those of the past. Instead of advancing issues, they were concerned with social causes and they were more interested in core economic questions than ‘post-material’ demands. They tended to mobilise groups characterised by differing forms of social exclusion, differentiating themselves from the middle-class base identified with earlier movements. The new movements also developed outside traditional structures of representation and retained a strongly autonomous stance. If movements during the 1970s and early 1980s had formed links with the Socialists as a way of furthering their demands, subsequent movements often refused any threat of recuperation by political parties and called instead for ‘the autonomy of the social


movement’.59 They also carried with them a fresh dynamic of collective action, a ‘new radicalism’ and evolved innovative forms of political action and expression. Many turned to media channels rather than conventional political structures to publicise a social cause. Others used the symbols of popular culture as a means of mobilising widespread support across society. Some mobilised within transnational movement networks that transcended the frontiers of France alone to intervene on an international stage. The new movements pushed back the boundaries of political action and invented their own radical style. Undoubtedly, one of the most forceful and dynamic movements to mobilise within this period was antiracism. This movement encompassed a diversity of associations including immigrant support groups, youth associations and civic groupings, and galvanised a wave of collective action directed towards acquiring greater recognition, rights and equality for immigrants and ethnic minorities living in France. Collective action by immigrants was not a new phenomenon and had taken place at various stages throughout the twentieth century. Yet, it reached an unparalleled scale during the 1980s and 1990s, attracting a significant following and acting as a mass-based social movement. Its rise was linked to social and political events: the growing incidents of racism within French society, problems of social exclusion experienced by many first- and second-generation immigrants, increasingly restrictive immigration policies and the electoral successes of the Far Right party, the Front National. The racism experienced by many immigrant youths played a role in generating collective identity and mobilising a dynamic of collective action. In the face of routine discrimination in employment and within public institutions, together with sporadic incidents of racism within society, activists called for equal rights for immigrants demanding their full participation within social and political life. The most prominent of the new associations, SOS-Racisme succeeded in mobilising massive popular support, particularly amongst young people. This success was linked to a clever use of the symbols and themes of popular culture: instead of political messages, it invented catchy slogans, such as ‘Hands off my mate’ (‘Touche pas à mon pote’) and instead of political rallies, it organised rock concerts and youth festivals. SOS-Racisme mobilised a new generation anxious to affirm fundamental democratic rights and to challenge all forms of political authority that threatened those rights. Alongside demands for political reform, many associations mainly grouping second-generation immigrants of North African origin (Beurs) focused on affirming the richness and diversity of their culture, by organising theatre groups and music


festivals and launching radio stations and multicultural events. Often experiencing feelings of dislocation, rejected by French society and by their culture of origin, Beur youth wished to carve out their own separate cultural space and assert their identity in a positive and creative way: ‘Reacting to specific injustices and hardships they encountered as immigrant youth and to the lack of recognition and understanding from their families, their countries of origin, and French society, young Magrebins organized theatre groups and rock concerts, formed radio stations and journals and created neighbourhood-based youth associations.’60 Some associations focused on launching protest action against the Far Right, creating a militant ‘counter-movement’ that mobilised moral and political opposition against right-wing extremism. Radical associations such as SCALP formed in Toulouse in 1984 and Ras l’Front established by a group of left-wing intellectuals in 1990 confronted the influence of the Far Right through a combination of direct action (disrupting political meetings, organising counter-demonstrations) and propaganda. They produced newspapers, tracts and posters, as a way of challenging the ideological influence of the Far Right within French society. Often, they used political symbolism, inventing new themes and discourses for confronting their opponents. Drawing on the context of the American Indian, SCALP launched newspapers called ‘Tomahawk’ and ‘Apaches’, held ‘Geronimo’ concerts and used anti-Far Right slogans such as ‘Let’s scalp them’.61 Increasingly during the 1990s, antiracism developed as a broad-based movement attracting support across civil society, outside any one specific organisation or structure. It attracted a new generation of activists many of whom were disillusioned with the mainstream Left and in search of a new type of political involvement: ‘Fighting against the extreme Right provides a just and moral cause of engagement for those whom the Left disappointed. It functions as a substitute ideology. In addition, the decentralised structures of anti-FN movements and their concrete plans of action attract the young in search of a new kind of political involvement.’62 Recent initiatives have been characterised by a broad participation of ordinary citizens and an emphasis on civic principles and themes. Many French citizens mobilised in support of the sans-papiers or undocumented immigrants who engaged in a wave of protest during the 1990s to demand a regularisation of their status. The plight of the thousands of irregulars living in France drew support from groups with no apparent political affiliations (film-makers, intellectuals, artists) and from individual citizens who participated in demonstrations to express solidarity with a group whose rights were believed to be under attack.


One of the most important expressions of social unrest during this period came from a group without traditions or any history of protest, without established organisations of their own and without formal representation or recognition within the political system. The unemployed had been characterised by a ‘weak disruptive power’,63 a limited capacity to make their demands heard, to influence the course of political change or even to organise themselves collectively. This was a social group differentiated by its very exclusion from mainstream society and a marginalisation from established instances of political representation. Yet, during the 1990s, unemployed activists engaged in systematic acts of protest such as occupations, demonstrations and symbolic forms of resistance. They formed their own associations and produced newspapers that set out their demands and voiced their concerns. Their actions culminated in a sustained period of protest during the winter of 1997 to 1998 when benefit offices through the country were occupied over a three-month period. The ‘winter of protest’ was the first incident of unified collective action by those out of work since the 1930s. It resulted in negotiations between movement leaders and government which for the first time recognised the legitimacy of the new associations of the unemployed. For some observers, the unemployed within French society had moved from a position of silence and invisibility to one of open revolt.64 They had emerged as a cohesive social force capable of articulating unified demands and securing political reform. Behind this wave of protest, one finds a network of associations of the unemployed which had been formed in recent decades. Some of these were radical and autonomous structures, such as the Syndicat des Chômeurs (Union of the Unemployed) set up in 1982 which attained notoriety when its founder Maurice Pagat undertook a hunger strike to confront a perceived indifference in relation to the plight of the unemployed. Other associations were close to the Communist Party such as the APEIS formed in 1987 which was intended as a support structure for the unemployed but also aimed to extend communist influence at grassroots level amongst those out of work. Still others developed within radical currents of the trade union movement amongst activists who were critical of the main confederations, of their obsolescence and failure to respond to the social needs of the unemployed. AC! Agir ensemble contre le chômage (Acting together against unemployment) was formed in 1993 by trade unionists grouped around the journal Collectif and was the most prominent association of this decade. It launched the European marches against unemployment which gathered together activists from across Europe and was a central force behind the winter of protest of 1997–98.


The term ‘solidarity movement’ is widely used to refer to a network of associations that share a social or humanitarian purpose and which grew considerably during the 1980s and 1990s. It includes human rights organisations, associations of ‘social action’ that struggle against social exclusion or humanitarian associations which intervene across an international stage. Whereas social movements are usually identified with a logic of self-interest, defending the rights of a particular social group, the solidarity movement is unique in that it pursues ‘actions on behalf of other people in one’s own country or elsewhere’.65 Some associations espouse a universalist conception of rights and intervene on behalf of any individual or group whose rights are perceived to be threatened by social or political circumstances. The venerable and long-standing Human Rights League based in Paris expanded its membership during the early 1990s by broadening the scope of its intervention to include issues such as antiracism, gay rights and the unemployed. It uncompromisingly backed the 1999 PACS law (Pacte civil de solidarité ) which extended some of the rights available to unmarried heterosexual couples to homosexual couples. Other associations intervened on an international stage, providing humanitarian support in countries across the world. Traditionally weak in France, associations of international solidarity attracted growing numbers of activists during the 1990s and humanitarianism became an increasingly popular focus of political activism. The role of Médecins sans frontières was to provide urgent medical assistance where it was needed, but also to ‘bear witness’ to humanitarian crises throughout the world. This was an organisation ‘without frontiers’ willing to bypass political boundaries and denounce where necessary the actions of governments which infringed basic human rights. Other French associations were concerned with defending human rights at international level and supporting groups such as refugees, political prisoners, asylum seekers (France-Libertés, Amnesty International France, Terre des Hommes). Against a background of enduring economic crisis, new associations developed within French society that aimed to ‘recreate solidarities’ at a time of social breakdown and fragmentation. These ‘associations of social action’ were formed in reaction to a perceived inadequacy of the political system in responding to critical problems of exclusion, unemployment and homelessness. The Restaurants du coeur formed by the actor and comedian Coluche in 1984, were typical of a new style of association that reacted to an endemic poverty amongst certain segments of society by donating free meals to the needy. The success of this association was based on a combination of the charismatic personality


of its leader and a strategic use of television and radio to publicise its cause. At the same time, other groupings engaged in direct action and militancy in support of dispossessed social groups and in order to alert public opinion to the grave consequences of economic crisis for a proportion of the population. DAL (Droit au logement) attracted widespread public attention in December 1994 when it occupied a vacant building on rue du Dragon in Paris where it rehoused a group of homeless families. Aiming to create an ‘active space for solidarities’, the leaders of the association denounced the growing disparity between the rich and the poor and the existence of a growing minority of people without homes or shelter. Activists within this association went on to create a new structure, Droits devant!! (Rights now!!) in 1994 which sought to extend the political activism of DAL to all forms of social exclusion and make claims for an extension of rights to different areas of social and economic life. Alongside these specific movements, a fragmented array of associations emerged during the same period that sought to defend and assert the rights of different groups in society. They shared with the social movements a preoccupation with protecting rights and with extending representation to those who might otherwise be marginalised or misrecognised. These new associations included Act Up, formed to defend the rights of victims of Aids and which was one of the most dynamic and creative associations of the 1990s. Its success was linked to an ability to construct a modern and aggressive image and forge imaginative slogans and symbols to represent its cause. One of its most notorious actions was in December 1993 when activists sheathed the Obelisk statute in Place de la Concorde in Paris with a giant pink condom, intended to highlight the need for greater awareness about Aids. They also included the women’s rights association, CADAC, formed in 1990 to defend the right of free access to abortion and contraception and which brought together feminists, trade unionists and political activists, many of whom were close to the Trotskyist party, the LCR. Other recently formed associations included the anti-corporate grouping, ATTAC, set up in 1998 as a structure to confront the negative effects of neo-liberalism, which was seen to diminish the social and civic rights of French citizens. Launched by a group of intellectuals close to the newspaper Le Monde diplomatique, ATTAC’s aim was to impose a taxation on international financial transactions for purposes of promoting social rights and improving economic conditions. In 2001, an ATTAC committee which had been set up within the French National Assembly grouped together 125 deputies who sought to promote the objectives of this association within government and there was also an ATTAC coordination at the European Parliament.66


It is clear that the ‘crisis of participation’ within French politics was not an all-encompassing phenomenon. The decline of traditional institutions and political structures was accompanied by a tremendous resurgence of new causes, new struggles and new activism in which social movements have played a critical role. In this chapter, I have set out to challenge the viewpoint that social protest in France has declined and that apathy and disengagement have now become the prevailing features of political life. It is unquestionable that mainstream politics during the 1990s has been plunged into a situation of profound crisis. Never before have parties experienced such low levels of membership. Never before have so few voters turned out at elections or have trade unions held such a limited influence. Yet, developments within formal politics present us with only one side of the picture. If we look outside this context at what is happening within civil society, a very different scenario emerges. More and more French citizens are choosing to get involved in unconventional forms of political activity. They are taking part in demonstrations, launching petition movements, participating in acts of civil disobedience. If conventional parties are in crisis, associations within civil society have never been stronger or more widespread, attracting growing numbers of French citizens. Social movements have emerged to articulate new causes and struggles and give voice to groups in society who lack representation elsewhere. During the 1990s, they engaged in systematic acts of protest challenging the political order and contesting the nature and direction of social and economic change. Contemporary French politics does not seem to conform to a fixed or unidimensional set of rules characterised by either conflict or consensus, by withdrawal or participation, by exceptionalism or normality. Instead, it has evolved in conflicting and ambiguous ways marked by the decline of one form of participation based on traditional, hierarchical, and centralised structures, alongside the rise of new alternative forms of mobilisation within civil society. One problem is that many observers continue to define political life in the narrow terms of formal politics. What happens within the established institutions and practices of the political system is alone deemed worthy of serious consideration. Social movements are often regarded with suspicion or treated as marginal forces that have little relevance for the real business of politics. Yet, if we limit our understanding of what is important to mainstream political life, if we focus our gaze on conventional institutions alone, then we will fail to notice the movements that are agitating within French society. We will simply not see them. In this chapter, I have looked at the multiple, vibrant and diverse forms of


engagement that manifest themselves within contemporary French society. Social movements have invented new ways of acting and new ways of expressing themselves, pushing back the traditional boundaries of political action. They point to the existence of a dynamic political culture at the heart of contemporary French society and a willingness to participate actively and directly in political matters. Far from signalling disaffection, they demonstrate a continued commitment to politics as a means of securing social change. They reflect a desire to achieve certain goals, not by relying on the existing structures of the political system, but by engaging in direct forms of collective action within civil society. The purpose of the next chapter, then, is to make sense of contemporary French movements, by discussing different theoretical approaches to social movements.

3 Citizenship and Social Change

A civic dimension How are contemporary French movements to be interpreted or understood? Where should they be situated in relation to current theories and debates? A considerable amount of attention has been devoted to the task of defining what social movements are and describing the role that they assume within political and social life. This question has spawned a truly dizzying array of theories, models, paradigms and approaches, each of which proposes a different understanding or viewpoint on what the social movement is.1 Suffice it to say, there is no agreement as to what constitutes a social movement. Some may recognise sporadic acts of protest as evidence of emerging movements within society, whereas others may refuse to accept all but the most structured and institutionalised entities as genuine examples of movements. Whether a powerful force for change or a weak ephemeral phenomenon, a cultural instrument or a political tool, a subversive and dangerous element or a civic and democratic symbol, the meaning of social movements is as varied and conflictual as the movements themselves: ‘The meaning of contentious collective action has itself always been open to contention.’2 French sociologists, for their part, have made a rich and pivotal contribution to this body of literature, particularly through the work of prominent intellectuals such as Alain Touraine and more recently, Pierre Bourdieu.3 An important part of recent writing has focused on the role and distinctive features of contemporary or new social movements within advanced industrial societies. Despite recent challenges and the emergence of alternative approaches the so-called ‘new social movement’ perspective remains, within European literature at least,4 the most influential and far-reaching paradigm for explaining and conceptualising 37


contemporary movements.5 In fact, the term ‘new social movement’ is often used in a broad way to describe all emerging non-traditional movements, irrespective of their specific features and characteristics. These are commonly treated as part of a ‘new social movement phenomenon’ that has its origins in overarching structural changes in society during the 1970s and 1980s. The new social movement approach was developed to describe the rise of new movements in recent decades that appeared to embody a distinct set of characteristics and attributes in relation to their predecessors from history. New movements favoured single-issue goals instead of broad social transformations and were not guided by a comprehensive theory or ideology of social change. Unlike the workers’ movement, they did not seem to offer a ‘project for society’, a vision of a future alternative system. These were movements ‘without utopia’, having divested themselves of all mythology.6 The new movements represented a different order of social identities compared with traditional movements and were not necessarily organised along class lines. Instead, they were characterised by dynamics such as ethnicity, gender, sexuality or cultural identity that seemed to transcend a notion of class relationships within a given system of production. These new movements also challenged traditional forms of organisation based on centralised and hierarchical structures. They tended to prefer decentralised, grassroots structures that retained a measure of autonomy in relation to prevailing institutions and organisations: ‘Their structures are more decentralised, leaving a wide autonomy to grassroots elements.’7 The idea that they were new social movements was developed as a response to the perceived inadequacy of the Marxist class paradigm in explaining these phenomena. Without clearly defined class identity, having no unifying project of social transformation, and lacking permanent structures and organisations, these movements could not be explained within the parameters of classical Marxism. A new paradigm was necessary to make sense of the logics of action and identity of new movements in society: ‘The term “new social movements” thus refers to a diverse array of collective actions that have presumably displaced the old social movement of proletarian revolution associated with classical Marxism. Even though new social movement theory is a critical reaction to classical Marxism, some new social movement theorists seek to update and revise conventional Marxist assumptions, while others seek to displace and transcend them.’8 Characterised more by theoretical analysis than by empirical study of actual movements within specific countries, the new social movements approach nonetheless highlighted a number of features of contemporary

Citizenship and Social Change 39

movements. First and foremost, it emphasised the novel character or ‘newness’ of social movements, distinguishing them in relation to historical or ‘old’ social movements. Emerging movements formed part of a broad structural shift towards a new phase in the development of advanced capitalist societies, signalling the transition towards a ‘new type of society’ that was fundamentally different from what had gone before. Some theorists associated social movements with overarching transformations in society and culture – their role was to herald social change, to ‘usher in a new era’9 and mark the transition from one type of society to another. They were harbingers of change or ‘prophets of the present’10 announcing deep-seated changes in society even before their nature or direction had become clear. In the same way as the rise of the workers’ movement marked the transition from a pre-industrial to an industrial society, so new social movements signalled the rise of a new ‘post-modern’ phase. Contemporary societies had entered a distinct stage of development that marked a rupture or discontinuity in relation to the past, and the emerging movements in society embodied and expressed the changed values, norms and ideals of this new society. For Alain Touraine, social movements revealed the existence of a central conflict within society at any one time: ‘they are the answer to a moment in history.’11 Societies at different stages of history are characterised by a core struggle that identifies an adversary and embodies a project of social transformation: ‘the idea of social movement attempts to demonstrate the existence, at the heart of each societal type, of a central conflict.’12 Whereas the core conflict within the previous industrial society was based on the workers’ movement and class struggle, new movements expressed a different order of conflict within society, embodying the grievances and aspirations of a qualitatively new society. Instead of material or economic considerations, they were concerned with the struggle for personal autonomy and freedom, for cultural identity and an affirmation of the self within an increasingly globalised and decentred society. Social movements possessed ‘historicity’. They acted as agents of historical change and contributed to a redefinition of social relations and the ‘overall system of meaning which sets dominant rules in a given society’.13 New movements expressed the ‘post-material’ values of a society that had moved beyond the modern.14 According to this view, new social movements reflected the changing demands and preoccupations of a modernised ‘post-industrial’ society characterised by increased affluence and prosperity, rising educational standards and widespread information sources. The impact of socio-economic modernisation meant that


most basic material or economic needs within advanced industrial societies had been satisfied or met. The generation that grew up during this period therefore ‘moved up’ to a higher order of needs and was preoccupied with non-economic, post-material concerns such as personal development, self-expression, participation, and quality of life.15 These lifestyle issues were secondary or peripheral to questions of economic growth or survival, as ‘changing economic conditions redefine the issues of concern to the public’.16 Arising during a period of generalised wealth and improved education standards, movements no longer represented the interests of disadvantaged social groups or classes and did not reflect a fundamental division between the haves and have-nots within society. Instead they were formed largely by a heterogeneous middle class that was prosperous, better-educated and more anxious to participate fully in the public sphere. Despite a shift away from class-based analysis, most observers situated new social movements within a middle-class base in contrast with the working-class base of traditional social movements. They were viewed, by some, as the preserve of a ‘new middle class’17 whose ranks had been swollen by increased prosperity or as products of ‘middle class radicalism’18 articulating a different set of priorities to traditional forms of social protest. These movements were associated with a new political style or ‘new politics’, bringing forward issues that were previously absent from the political agenda and opening up new political spaces: ‘Members of the new middle class seem less interested in the economic conflicts of the Old Politics and are more attuned to New Politics issues.’19 They focused on issues such as feminism, pacificism, ecology and regionalism that expressed changing values in society rather than a desire to achieve concrete material gains. Where do contemporary French movements fit in, in relation to this theoretical framework? If we look at current movements within French society, they do indeed seem to share a number of the features of the new social movements. Like these, they lack a clearly defined class base and appear to represent a diversified set of social identities. They are composed in the main of a diffuse array of social groups (immigrants, unemployed, socially excluded, ethnic minorities) that transcend traditional categories based on social class alone: ‘Part of what makes new social movements new is precisely the fact that class becomes much less important in determining the base, interests or ideology of the movement than in the older economistic reading.’20 Like the new social movements, they are characterised by autonomous, grassroots forms of organisation, flourishing outside mainstream structures and organisations and beyond the formal political sphere. French movements are


formed by loose informal networks that often display a mistrust of conventional parties or traditional organisation and are marked by ‘a democratic will, a refusal to delegate power to distant structures that are disconnected from realities’.21 Like the new social movements, they seem to eschew attempts to produce a unifying vision of social change and they are not informed by a common ideological or theoretical framework. French movements are typically fragmented and heterogeneous, each movement pursuing its own objectives and goals. Instead of shared ideological aspirations, they are orientated towards the here and now, towards ‘concrete and targeted actions without a political project’.22 New social movement theory seems to highlight some important features of contemporary French movements. Yet, in other respects, it overlooks some of their essential and defining characteristics. French movements do not advance ‘new’ issues previously absent from the political agenda. They are not vehicles of post-material values and demands within an increasingly affluent and prosperous society. If anything, they seem to focus on ‘old’ or traditional issues rooted within political tradition and linked to demands for equality, freedom and solidarity. Rather than seeking a new style of politics, an alternative order of needs, they are concerned with basic and ongoing questions linked to the rights and freedoms of groups within society. French movements are not the preserve of a new middle class anxious to promote questions of lifestyle and personal autonomy. They do not reflect the aspirations of social groups that have moved up to a ‘higher order’ of needs. Instead, they tend to represent marginalised and disenfranchised groups, giving them voice and representation within the political system. These are typically groups who are absent from mainstream structures of representation, finding themselves in a position of exclusion in relation to the rest of society. They are the ‘sans’, literally ‘those without’ and include groups such as the sans-papiers (undocumented immigrants), the sans-emploi (unemployed) or sans-abri (homeless). In the words of one activist: ‘We are the “sans” [those without]. The “sans-travail” [unemployed], the “sans-toit” [homeless], the “sans-droits” [those without rights], the “sans-voix” [those without voice], the “sans-identité” [those without identity].’23 In their nature and their forms, in their values and orientation, these movements appear markedly different to the new social movements. It seems to me that the outstanding feature of contemporary French movements is that they share a strong civic dimension. These are movements about rights and about the struggle to obtain rights by different groups in society. What unites movements as diverse as antiracism, solidarity or the movement of the unemployed or the multitude of new


rights-based associations from Droit au logement (DAL) to Act Up, is that they possess a profoundly civic vision and purpose. On the one hand, they may seek to secure rights on behalf of groups that are excluded from them, endeavouring to extend rights to all groups within society. On the other, they may strive to expand the existing definition of rights, to open up citizenship and extend rights to all areas of social and political life. To treat these as new social movements, that aspire to secondary post-material demands in a world where primary economic needs have been satisfied or met, is to miss the point of these movements, to deny their fundamental character and logic. We need a perspective that attributes value and meaning to contemporary French movements, that recognises their civic role and dimension. Such a perspective would highlight their importance in pursuing rights and freedoms on behalf of groups within society. A number of studies have pointed to the civic vocation of social movements, emphasising their role as forces in an ongoing struggle for rights. In one impressive study, Bryan Turner drew a crucial link between social movements and the historical development of citizenship.24 As forces that seek to challenge society and the social definition of roles, and that strive to redefine the nature of social membership, social movements are essentially movements about citizenship. He suggests that contemporary politics is characterised by the struggle of movements for social membership and full participation. As a consequence of these struggles, citizenship has been expanded historically from property-owners and adult males, to women, children and even nature. The progression of citizenship is an outcome of the struggles of groups and collectivities and their claims for a full and equal participation in society: Social movements which aim to change society in the name of a generalized belief inevitably raise questions about the nature of participation in society and thus are inevitably movements about the rights of citizenship. The growth of citizenship in western industrial societies can be seen as the outcome, intended or unintended, of a diversity of social movement over the last two centuries. Citizenship rights are the outcome of social movements which aim either to expand or to defend the definition of social membership and the long-term consequence of such social movements has been to embrace a wider group of ‘persons’ and the expansion of the notion of personhood has in contemporary society begun to incorporate the notion of ‘nature’.25


Social conflict is central to the expansion of citizenship which has developed throughout history in successive waves from civil to political and social rights, leading to a more abstract and universal conception of citizenship. Yet, this is not a continuous evolutionary development in that rights may be reversed or abandoned, particularly during periods of recession or at times of right-wing resurgence. Citizenship rights are always contingent and reversible and should never be construed as having a permanent or universal application: ‘Citizenship can be conceived as a series of expanding circles which are pushed forward by the momentum of conflict and struggle. This is not an evolutionary view of citizenship since these rights can also be undermined by economic recession, by right-wing political violence, by inflation and by the redefinition of social participation through the law.’26 Turner extends T. H. Marshall’s earlier influential analysis by arguing that social movement, rather than social class, is a central notion in our understanding of citizenship. Conflict in society cannot be analysed exclusively in terms of class relationships, but may also emerge from other types of relationship based on gender, ethnicity, religion or nationality. Social movements provide the precondition for an increased participation in citizenship and much of the struggle for greater participation in society involves social movements rather than social classes. The link between social movements and citizenship rights is further developed by Isin and Wood in their study of citizenship and identity.27 The authors reaffirm the importance of social movements in challenging citizenship, in exposing its discrepancies and inadequacies as a universal conception of rights. Social movements act as forces for change and renewal that seek to expand rights and acquire representation and inclusion for emerging groups within society: ‘Various social movements, such as those of women, gays, “racial” and ethnic “minorities”, have charged that behind the veil of “universal citizenship” and “equality before the law” there lay systematic forms of domination and oppression that misrecognized and marginalized them.’28 Here however, new movements are primarily concerned with the question of identity and recognition. They are located within a shift towards ‘cultural politics’ within contemporary societies, characterised by the emergence of new group identities and new claims for recognition and belonging that ‘used culture as their background’. Such claims seem to constitute the dominant forms of contestation and struggle within the contemporary context: ‘we describe the politics arising from new social movements as cultural politics, which began forming new forms of group identities


and sought new group rights.’29 New movements challenge citizenship as a dominant form of social identity that excludes or marginalises them and are concerned with identity and recognition rather than a ‘politics of redistribution based on struggles over equality’.30 They seek to advance cultural claims and aspirations rather than economic and political questions of rights and freedoms. The authors seem to adopt some of the assumptions of new social movement theory and particularly the idea that emerging movements carry with them an inevitable progression towards non-economic cultural demands, moving away from basic questions about material demands or basic rights. Whilst emphasising the place of social movements in challenging citizenship, this is construed as a form of cultural identity rather than a system of rights and freedoms applied to individuals and groups within society. Some French observers have examined contemporary movements from a historical perspective in the light of the French Revolution and the development of citizenship over time. In one book, the French Marxist historian Jacques Guilhaumou looks at the ‘recurrent movements within civil society’ in terms of their links with revolutionary processes from French history: ‘We envisage establishing as direct a link as possible between the past and the present of the social movement.’31 The reality of the French Revolution, he suggests, is manifest in everyday events through the struggle of disadvantaged groups for rights. Contemporary social movements can be situated within a long revolutionary tradition whereby excluded groups mobilise collectively to defend their rights and affirm their presence within society as full citizens: ‘Situating our thought within the revolutionary tradition and more particularly in its translation by the Marxist tradition, our attention is constantly directed towards current events and is therefore rooted in the present time. Our historic conscience once relieved of its historiographic references deploys the resources of revolutionary discourse at the very centre of the current events of contemporary history.’32 Just as in 1789, groups excluded from citizenship mobilised within political clubs and declared ‘we are citizens too’, contemporary movements affirm the demands for social membership of emerging groups in society. These are veritable ‘modern sans-culottes’, who echo the spirit and actions of the Revolution in the present day. Guilhaumou points to the manifold instances of civic engagement within contemporary society (civic marches, committees of civic vigilance, civil disobedience), all of which attempt to renew and repoliticise the public sphere. Contemporary movements represent groups in society that are denied a whole series of basic rights, acting as ‘a third estate of a new kind, modern


sans-culottes, without homes, without papers, those people who, for a long time, no longer vote, whose horizons are blocked by the intractable problems of daily survival’.33 He draws a parallel between the leaders of contemporary movements and those of the French Revolution who challenged their own exclusion from society by asserting their citizenship in a direct and active way. These accounts seem to offer a possible alternative to the new social movement approach that could enrich our understanding of contemporary French movements. First, these are no longer treated as ‘new’ movements which are cut off or severed from the past and located within a discontinuity or rupture in relation to what has gone before. What is important here is not to draw a strict line or demarcation between the ‘new’ movements of the present and the ‘old’ movements of the past. Instead, contemporary movements can be understood in terms of continuity and progression. They are situated within ongoing civic processes whereby groups in society, at particular points in history, mobilise collectively to affirm their rights. Far from being new, these processes can be traced back to the French Revolution and continue into the present day. Social movements may represent a different set of groups in society and may invent new ways of acting and expressing themselves, but the processes which they reveal are very old, manifesting a legacy of social and civic mobilisation that has deep historical roots. If we take a particular example, the movement of the unemployed is a new movement in the sense that the unemployed have not traditionally mobilised as a collective social force. The movement gives voice to a social group that lacks established structures of representation, that is without a durable tradition of social protest. Yet, this movement represents a continuation of ongoing processes whereby disadvantaged groups, during periods of social or political crisis, engage in protest to defend their interests. Secondly, this approach can restore meaning and centrality to emerging movements in society. They are no longer treated as movements preoccupied with secondary post-material issues of lifestyle or personal development, in a world where essential economic demands have been satisfied or met. They are no longer confined to a marginal or peripheral order of needs compared with the central role assumed by their historical predecessors. Instead, they can be seen to raise fundamental questions that enter the very heart of contemporary political debate. By asserting the rights of social groups, by advancing the demands of the disenfranchised, social movements challenge the very basis of social membership and the social definition of roles. They pose questions about the way


society defines itself, about its values, identity and cohesion; or in other words, questions about citizenship. The extraordinary revival of public and intellectual debate and reflection about the nature of citizenship in contemporary France has emerged directly as a result of new social movements and the claims placed on citizenship by those movements. In particular, the demands for integration voiced by immigrants and ethnic minorities have stimulated a vast public discussion and questioning of the nature and content of citizenship.34 Social movements have challenged contemporary society according to its own principles, demanding that rights be extended to all social groups, and have appealed for a deepening and extension of citizenship. By highlighting and emphasising the civic character of contemporary movements, we can treat them with the centrality they deserve as forces of social transformation and renewal in the present day. We will now go on to look at a new theoretical approach that could provide an alternative framework for understanding the role and purpose of contemporary French movements.

New citizenship The notion of ‘new citizenship’ has been developed by a number of French theorists as a new project for society, an alternative model of social and political transformation.35 This can be described as a political ideal that aspires to progressive social change through an affirmation and extension of the rights available to individuals and groups in society. The problems and struggles of contemporary society can be resolved by reformulating the ‘social contract’ that determines relationships and participation in society. We need, at the present time, to reinvent citizenship, opening it up to a more inclusive and pluralist conception and to create the foundations for a renewed social contract for contemporary France. The project for a new citizenship therefore involves a rethinking of the meaning of citizenship and also a redefinition of the means of allocating rights to groups in society. For many left-wing theorists in France, it provides a point of convergence in attempts to redefine the parameters of social and political struggle in the present day. The appeal for a new citizenship has emerged in the context of changing social and political realities which have challenged the existing foundations of citizenship and posed new questions about the nature and parameters of social membership. On the one hand, new social movements have emerged to express the demands of a diverse range of social groups and to articulate their claims. Some movements voice the demands of those who are excluded from citizenship, advancing their


demands for inclusion in society as full citizens. They highlight the impact of citizenship as an exclusionary force that marginalises certain groups and leads to forms of domination and social control. Designated as partial or non-citizens, some groups are excluded from the basic rights and freedoms available to others and the doors to society are closed against them. In the face of a conception of citizenship defined as nationality, these movements posit alternative forms of group identity and belonging linked to factors such as race, culture, gender or religion. They contest the ‘modern interpretation of universal citizenship, which is itself a form of group identity’.36 Other movements strive towards a deepening and extension of citizenship rights. These are ‘insiders’ who are formally recognised as citizens, but struggle to deepen or reinforce its framework of rights and freedoms. In a context where rights may be threatened or undermined by social or political transformations, some movements clamour for an extension of state protection to all domains of social and economic life, calling for such things as the ‘right to a decent income’ or the ‘right to housing’ to be incorporated within a definition of rights. Often this involves the struggle of disadvantaged groups for improved social and economic conditions and a reduction of inequalities through an expansion of citizenship participation. It is a question of extending genuine citizenship rights to those excluded by poverty, unemployment or other social circumstances. By questioning who is included in citizenship and what those rights are, new social movements exert strong pressures for a renewal of citizenship, and act, according to some observers, as the driving force behind a rethinking of citizenship within western societies. On the other hand, contemporary political developments have challenged the role of the State in defining what citizenship is. The impact of global political transformations with a strengthening of the role of international organisations, has contested the capacity of the State to determine citizenship in an exclusive or unilateral way. Increasingly, international organisations such as the European Union, are assuming a place in defining citizenship, setting out a notion of rights within a supranational context. At one time a set of rights guaranteed by the State to French nationals alone and restricted to the frontiers of national territory, citizenship has become a universalised concept that transcends the boundaries of any one State and is applied to individuals irrespective of their membership of a particular nation. The emergence of a European citizenship offers French citizens new possibilities for acquiring rights outside the boundaries of the nation-state. Yet, it also means that the traditional prerogative of the State in defining and guaranteeing


citizenship is weakened. The rights of French citizens are increasingly affected by developments originating outside the boundaries of the nation-state, linked to global processes of socio-economic change. In areas such as employment, welfare, and social rights, what is happening in France is increasingly determined by international factors over which the French State has no direct control. For many observers, the traditional notion of citizenship anchored to the nation-state is no longer capable of guaranteeing the rights of citizens and there is a need to move towards a global or ‘post-national’ conception of citizenship that lays out a set of rights at international level.37 A number of French studies have attempted to elaborate a theoretical framework for new citizenship, as a project for social and political change. In one important book,38 Saïd Bouamama and other contributors suggest that new citizenship may provide an alternative political ideal capable of inspiring and orientating change within contemporary French society. At a time when old ideologies have lost sway and the grand theories of society have subsided, there is a need for a new vision of the future that corresponds to the social and political realities of the present day. There is a need to rethink the politics of the Left and to reformulate the Socialist ideal in terms of democracy and pluralism. New citizenship has emerged from a desire for a ‘radical utopia’ in contemporary French society: ‘a utopia where our dreams – and we hope those of the reader – our existence and our gestures, our associative experiences and our engagement in the economic, social, political or cultural spheres in their diversity and their singularity, can once more become meaningful.’39 Yet, this utopia does not propose a radical or totalising transformation of society and it does not strive to reverse the existing order or impose an alternative political system. Whilst influenced by Marxist theory, these authors do not believe in the historic mission of the working class as a platform for human emancipation. Nor do they advocate a class-based socialist revolution as a vision of a future society. Instead, they are situated within a liberal left-wing tradition that respects the autonomy of the individual as a social actor while promoting collective values and goals. New citizenship strives to instigate social change within the existing structures of contemporary democratic societies by modifying and extending the values and principles at their centre. It challenges society not according to an alternative doctrine or social order, but according to its own principles and values, demanding that it remain true to the democratic inspiration on which it is founded. Democratic principles and ideals are, for these observers, a long way from being realised within the contemporary context.


In ideological terms, new citizenship has strong democratic roots and is inspired by values of egalitarianism and universalism. The ‘founding narratives’ of western democracies are seen to have an important ideological and mythological force for the present day. New citizenship is firmly rooted in ancient concepts and ideals and is characterised by a reworking of these ideals in a contemporary setting: ‘This utopia, we have found it elsewhere, on the basis of a very old idea, as old as politics itself, that of citizenship.’40 Principles of freedom, equality and solidarity, and the need to abolish social inequalities and injustices and to remove restrictions on the rights of individuals are enduring values for contemporary society. Originating in the French Revolution, these principles are affirmed in the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, and in the more radical Constitution of 1793 that asserted a broader set of rights including the right to work, to education, to basic subsistence, and the duty of insurrection against oppression. Emancipatory movements during the Revolution sought to extend and open up citizenship to all members of society, rejecting the relegation of certain groups to the status of ‘passive citizens’. They reclaimed the vocabulary and language of citizenship as a way of appealing for their own rights and inclusion in society. In the same way, the ideas and spirit of the Revolution can be recovered in the present day and used to confront new struggles and problems. The ‘rights of man’ and the founding principles of the Revolution remain an obligatory reference for conceptualising social and political issues in the contemporary context. It is in the name of equality that we can challenge problems of exclusion or injustice within society: ‘the struggle for equality is the foundation of the new citizenship.’41 Equality is a dynamic, a mobilising principle that emerges through the struggle of movements within society and its boundaries are never permanently fixed or decided. It is an ongoing negotiation between individuals or groups and the State: ‘It is a question of completing, by finally writing the chapters of equality that are missing from the 1789 Declaration.’42 Similarly, it is by appealing for solidarity that individual energies can be mobilised around a collective issue or cause. New citizenship is rooted in the ‘elementary solidarities’ of social and civic life and advocates a participation of all individuals in the public sphere and the removal of obstacles to that participation. Finally, it is by referring to the principle of freedom that injustices can be confronted and denounced and this is the ‘ultimate finality’ of new citizenship. There is a need to rediscover core democratic values which can provide an ideological cornerstone for renewing and revitalising the social contract within contemporary France.


Like most French theorists, Bouamama and the other contributors to the volume approach the question of citizenship from the perspective of nationality and immigration. They argue that republican citizenship was historically construed as a fusion between the separate notions of national belonging and membership of society, so that nationality became a precondition for access to citizenship. Those classified as citizens were integrated within a national community and could participate freely in social and political life, benefiting from full citizenship rights. Conversely, those without French nationality were designated as non-citizens and excluded from membership of society. A dichotomy was thereby created between citizen and foreigner with citizenship predicated on the very exclusion of foreigners from society. In the words of William Rogers Brubaker: ‘By inventing the national citizen and the legally homogenous national citizenry, the Revolution simultaneously invented the foreigner. Henceforth citizen and foreigner would be correlative, mutually exclusive, exhaustive categories. One would be either a citizen or a foreigner; there would be no third way.’43 Within contemporary society, this notion of citizenship has entered a period of crisis and no longer corresponds to evolving social and political realities. The presence of large numbers of foreigners living in France on a long-term basis has exposed the inadequacies of republican citizenship and its pretensions towards universality. In its existing form, citizenship acts as an exclusionary force which removes foreigners from access to rights and confines them to a negative space where the usual rules of society do not apply. Bouamama and co-authors appeal for a new citizenship that recognises and accepts differing national identities and redefines citizenship as an ‘indivisible collective right’ conferred on all individuals by virtue of their membership of society alone. To remove nationality as a criterion for access to citizenship has become a democratic necessity: whereas traditionally citizenship was fixed and historically specific, new citizenship is an expression of social reality in all its multiplicity and diversity. Chantal Mouffe is one of a number of radical political theorists whose work attempts to rearticulate the meaning of citizenship by emphasising the importance of pluralism and diversity. She is interested in the conditions necessary for the emergence of a ‘radical and plural democracy’ based on a new ‘conception of citizenship adequate for such a task’.44 How can we modify the values and principles underlying contemporary democratic societies so that they become genuinely pluralist and inclusive? Through her various publications, she focuses on the problems of accommodating difference and conflict within societies driven by forces of unity and consensus. At work within democratic societies is a set of


power relations that tend to exclude or suppress difference, affirming a dominant social identity. Mouffe is interested in exposing often invisible processes of hegemony and social control, of unveiling hidden mechanisms of exclusion that lurk behind a cloak of universal citizenship. How can we cater for differing identities while maintaining a common set of values for society? The questions she raises touch the very heart of modern democratic theory, when confronted with the complex realities of social fragmentation, exclusion and diversity. Along with other political theorists, she shares a vision of a radical democracy characterised by an extension and deepening of democratic values, by a recognition of difference and by an acceptance of the inevitable forces of conflict and opposition. Her work has been critically developed and explored by numerous British observers who have examined citizenship from different perspectives, such as identity, feminism and postmodernism.45 Developing Mouffe’s conception of citizenship, Isin and Wood examine the rise of cultural politics and group identities and the implications of this ‘pluralization’ for contemporary democratic societies. They take up Mouffe’s idea that citizenship needs to be opened up to a diversity of identities and to processes of social differentiation. They agree that a radical conception of citizenship could be used as a means of affirming and recognising differing group identities. However, they suggest that Mouffe does not go far enough in recognising group identities in that citizenship is still treated as a dominant master identity: ‘We part with Mouffe, however, because she ultimately conflates citizenship and identity. While she aims to develop a conception of radical citizenship that is not unitary, she eventually succumbs to a conception where citizenship becomes a master political identity.’46 For Chantal Mouffe, citizenship acts as a singular unitary identity which has been imposed on society as a dominant model of social relations. This is in itself a form of group identity, but one that has been elevated to the status of the universal. The construction of French citizenship was characterised, according to Max Silverman, by ‘a disavowal of its own ethnocentric particularism’47 in favour of a universal and abstract ideal. Citizenship became a principle for all people and for all generations, transcending the contingencies of time and space and overriding the particularities of identity and community. It was eternal, progressive and rational, ‘purified of all forms of social division, converted into a pure abstract’.48 Such a conception leads to the emergence of hegemonic relationships within society and to patterns of exclusion and social control. As a dominant social identity, citizenship defines and legitimises itself by excluding other competing identities: ‘All systems of


social relations contain, to a certain degree, relations of power since the construction of social identity is an act of power.’49 Citizenship is characterised by a subordination of differences and by a construction of ‘the other’, an exterior to the community that makes its existence possible. Instead of a notion of universal citizenship, Mouffe suggests that we need to move towards a differentiated citizenship in which differences are recognised and acknowledged as irreducible. A new conception of citizenship would allow the individual to assume a range of ‘subject positions’ consisting of a multiplicity of overlapping identities. Instead of abdicating these identities to assume a single unitary ideal, group identities would be accepted and valued as fundamental to pluralist society: ‘Such an approach can only be adequately formulated within a problematic that conceives of the social agent not as a unitary subject but as the articulation of an ensemble of subject positions, constructed within specific discourses and always precariously and temporarily sutured at the intersection of those subject positions.’50 Rather than being a factor of hegemony and exclusion, citizenship would become ‘an articulating principle’ for the assertion of group identities. It would be rooted in a recognition of the democratic values of freedom and equality that are a common concern of differing groups within society. Democratic societies, for Mouffe, tend to suppress or eliminate manifestations of difference or conflict within their midst. The prevailing logic is to move towards greater unity and consensus by removing conflict or by relegating it to the private sphere. Citizenship is characterised by the formation of a consensus around abstract universal principles in which all possibilities for contestation or opposition are removed. Elevated beyond the political realm, removed from a space in which contestation can occur, citizenship tends to eliminate expressions of conflict which may threaten the supposed unity and consensus of the social and political order. It is taken out of the political community and endowed with the legitimacy of a universal and eternal truth. Yet, conflict and difference are intrinsic to democratic society and are themselves positive democratic values. It is illusory to imagine that we can create an abstract common good within society when there are different versions of what that common good is. There will always be competing interpretations of the general interest and so there will always be different versions of the nature of citizenship. Political life is characterised by antagonism and division and ‘it aims at the construction of a “we” in a context of diversity and conflict’.51 Antagonistic forces are not necessarily subversive, but are positive and constitutive elements of the democratic process. We need to recognise and embrace the conflictual and


diversified nature of democratic society as essential to pluralism: ‘We need to open up a space for the pluralism of cultures, forms of life, regimes, as for the pluralism of subjects, individual choices and conceptions of good. The political consequences of such an opening are important.’52 An acceptance of the inevitable pluralism of contemporary societies is the very condition for a renewal of citizenship and an extension of the principles of liberty and equality. Some French observers focus on the need to recreate citizenship as a transnational or global conception of rights.53 For Etienne Balibar, there is an urgent need for debate and reflection on the nature and content of citizenship within the contemporary political context. We are living in a period of history when the boundaries of the state and of national identity are constantly shifting and becoming displaced: ‘It is on this multiple and moving border that is France that I wanted to situate myself and to situate the reader.’54 French citizenship is increasingly converging with other citizenships at European and international level, so that it can no longer be isolated or considered separately from these. What Balibar is concerned with are the problems, complexities and contradictions of defining citizenship at European level as a valid form of social membership. European citizenship, within the contemporary context, is often conceived of as a simple transfer to supranational level of differing national citizenships, a transposition of citizenship to a higher administrative level with accompanying measures of legal and political control. In such a form, European citizenship simply reinforces and exacerbates the existing problems associated with national citizenship. Rather than extending and universalising citizenship and opening it up to new social groups and nationalities, it merely establishes a new border of exclusion. Already disqualified from citizenship at national level, many immigrants living in France and elsewhere find themselves faced with a supplementary point of social closure where they are relegated to the status of ‘European resident non-citizens’.55 There is a risk that European citizenship will instigate a veritable apartheid amongst individuals depending on their ethnic or geographical origin as a result of a ‘continuity of the principle of exclusion’56 to European level. This is not so much a reworking of citizenship as the incorporation within a new set of institutions of a ‘historical and sociological fait accompli’.57 Whilst making claims towards greater universality, such a Europe actually reinforces mechanisms of exclusion. For Balibar, a new citizenship would be inevitably transnational and involve a linking of the idea of ‘civic community’ to the ‘principle of openness’58 within a European context. Such a citizenship would contribute


to an extension and deepening of rights by democratising borders and creating a new space for civic rights. Located at a key moment of history, European institutions would recognise the evolutionary character of citizenship and its progression towards greater and wider democratic rights. The true measure of citizenship for Balibar is the existence of a civic community capable of participating and challenging the exercise of political authority. It is expressed by the presence of ‘contre-pouvoirs’ at the same level as that at which power is exercised. In its present conditions, European integration is characterised by a growing autonomy of the state apparatus and its separation from ordinary citizens. There is a danger that Europe will become an extended mechanism of public power, used by individual States as a supplementary layer of regulation and control. Yet, citizenship is not an administrative status imposed from above but expresses ‘a collective political capacity to “constitute the state” or the public space’.59 Balibar suggests that the strength of the nation-state and its persistence over time is derived less from a particular judicial formula than from a capacity to manage diverse forces of conflict within society. The existence of such conflict is not an expression of anarchy or unbridled individualism, but represents a collective desire to reformulate citizenship and the norms governing society. We need to ‘rediscover collective ideals’ for democracy that are rooted in ‘movements of social contestation’60 both libertarian and egalitarian. This need is particularly pressing at the present time when forces of nationalism and patriotism are proposing alternative ideals for society. In short, European citizenship for Balibar is open and transnational, located at an intersection of different citizenships, and characterised by a civic community in which forces of contestation and opposition are allowed to flourish. This viewpoint is shared by other French intellectuals such as Pierre Bourdieu, who has argued that citizenship rights need to be recast in the context of European and transnational change. Processes of global structural transformation are driven, according to Bourdieu, by an ideology of economic liberalism (‘a neo-liberal scourge’)61 that diminishes the potential for collective action and depoliticises the status of the individual citizen. There is a need to restore the capacity of political action to determine and shape the future of a new Europe in order to ‘break the fatalism of neo-liberal thinking’.62 Like Balibar, he advocates the formation of a European social movement that would defend the legacy of social and humanitarian rights and assert the power of collective action to secure social change. Rights are themselves a central legacy of the European tradition and should be pursued with the same rigour and


determination as monetary or economic priorities. A European social movement bringing together diverse and fragmented movements and collectives is the only chance if civic, social and humanitarian values are to be protected and espoused: ‘It follows that the construction of a unified European social movement, capable of bringing together different, presently divided movements, at national and international level is the incontrovertible objective for all those who effectively intend to resist the dominant forces.’63 Having discussed recent literature on new citizenship, we now need to investigate the relevance of this concept for social movements. Can new citizenship provide a theoretical model for understanding and explaining contemporary French movements? The task of the next section is to address this question.

An alternative theoretical model? Recent writing on new citizenship can shed important light on contemporary French movements, highlighting essential aspects that are overlooked or neglected within many existing theoretical approaches. One problem however, is that much of the literature on new citizenship has emerged within a particular social context and in relation to the experiences of a specific social group. Debates on new citizenship have been closely linked with wider discussions about nationality and the rights of immigrants living in France and this has been the ‘dominant challenge’ through which a new conception of citizenship has been conceptualised and framed.64 Whereas in the past other disenfranchised groups galvanised protest for a new citizenship, immigrant communities in contemporary France are seen as a driving force in reshaping the basis of citizenship: ‘After the third estate, after women, it is today within immigration, or at least in the section organised around the defence of rights that this demand has reappeared. If it is this which today raises the question of “new citizenship”, this is only the result of historical and economic factors that have made it an indicator of the disfunctioning and the exclusions of contemporary France.’65 Not surprisingly, the term itself was first coined by immigrant-rights groups during the 1980s and used as a platform for their demands for political rights. They called for the right to participate in local elections on the basis of their membership of French society rather than on grounds of national identity. At that time, the concept of new citizenship meant simply a dissociation of citizenship and nationality and the removal of national identity as a criterion for defining access to citizenship. Since that period, the term has


been adopted within academic circles as a perspective for analysing debates surrounding immigration and nationality. Whilst British observers have examined citizenship in relation to different social groups and from a wide range of perspectives such as gender, identity, and globalisation,66 French studies have been largely confined to the analysis of a single social group. Despite claims towards a more pluralist and differentiated conception, the idea of new citizenship, within French studies at least, has been restricted to a limited social context. Max Silverman makes this point clearly: ‘However, despite the expressed desire [by numerous commentators and activists] to rethink citizenship in a more pluralistic fashion, it should be reiterated that the moves for a redefinition of citizenship in France have emerged principally from debates around immigration, nationality and rights, and have by and large ignored what N. Yuval-Davis has termed a “gendered reading of citizenship”.’67 Yet, new citizenship seems to offer possibilities as a framework for analysing a wider range of social movements, one that emphasises their distinctive features and attributes. Other social groups within contemporary France are, after all, concerned with the question of rights and have also mobilised within social movements in order to defend them. These movements also use the language and symbolic resources of citizenship in order to articulate and express their demands. If we adopt the notion of new citizenship as a possible theoretical model, it can be seen to highlight a number of characteristics of contemporary movements. Firstly, new citizenship recognises the importance of social movements as democratic forces in society, that contribute to defending and safeguarding values of citizenship and democracy. According to the traditional notion of citizenship, it was up to the State alone to preserve democratic values on behalf of individuals within society. It acted as a supreme and steadfast arbiter, protecting democratic ideals in the face of potentially hostile social forces. The existence of a republican consensus meant that the State alone assumed an ultimate role as guardian and protector, embodying the eternal democratic ideal for all people and for all time. The threat to democracy came from below, from the unstable and subversive elements in society which at any moment could rise up and unleash forces of chaos and anarchy, endangering the foundations of the democratic order. Society needed to be regulated and controlled if these forces were to be kept at bay and democracy was to survive. The idea of new citizenship presents a very different view, in that it recognises the democratic vocation of movements within society. These are seen to act with civic purpose, defending democratic values in the face of political forces which may themselves threaten those values.


Where political arrangements fail in their duty to protect democratic rights, then it is up to individual citizens to claim those rights. The fundamental role of social movements is to act as a ‘democratic check’ on political power. They place boundaries on political action and designate democratic limits that cannot be transgressed: ‘The fundamental vocation of these movements […] is to assign limits which cannot be exceeded on power and on existing decision-making structures, whether on the left or the right. They operate as a warning, a safety valve, reminding the authorities what is intolerable, what goes beyond society’s capacity for assimilation, what goes beyond the tolerable.’68 Here, the threat to democracy may come from above, from the excesses of political power, from an authoritarian use of state control, from the repressive machinery of government. By participating in social movements, individual citizens can protect and reinforce the values of democratic society. Such movements make citizenship meaningful ‘in terms of empowering individuals to exercise their rights, of creating political opportunities for them to do so, and in terms of placing curbs on political authorities to prevent them encroaching on individual rights’.69 Social movements contribute to a preservation and extension of democratic values and ideals within contemporary society. This is new citizenship in that democratic themes are recovered from the past and used within a historically new context, in relation to the social struggles and inequalities of the present day. Originating during the period of the French Revolution, ideals of citizenship and democracy are reinvented in the present through ‘the application of the principles of the rights of man and the citizen in historically new conditions’.70 The language and ideological content of historical documents such as the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen are seen to contain important lessons for today’s society: ‘The Rights of Man have become once again in this country the obligatory reference for every stance on the government. No democratic demand can today be formulated without emphasising them.’71 Themes such as freedom, equality and solidarity can be used to defend and assert the rights of individuals and groups within a changing social and political context. These values have a ‘radical potential’ that can be reclaimed and channelled towards contemporary struggles and injustices: ‘Indeed, once we acknowledge that what constitutes modern democracy is the assertion that all human beings are free and equal, it becomes clear that it is not possible to find more radical principles for organising society.’72 The problem is not that these ideals are flawed or inadequate, but that they are far from being realised within contemporary societies: ‘It consists of the recognition that the modern democratic


ideals of liberty and equality that constitute the political principles of the liberal democratic regime have provided the political language with which many struggles against subordination have been articulated and won and with which many others can still be fought.’73 Social movements give meaning and substance to traditional democratic ideals through their actions and through their words. For Jacques Guilhaumou, social movements can be situated within an ‘emancipatory social project’ that finds its ideological underpinning in revolutionary democratic values. The emancipatory movements of 1792, operating ‘in the shadow of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen’74 provided a set of principles that are used by emergent actors within civil society in relation to a new set of struggles. He argues that the principle of equality is transcendental in nature and can act as an ‘intersubjective conscience’75 that conditions and shapes our perception of ‘the other’ within society. In a context in which institutionalised categories of exclusion persist, equality provides an ideological imperative towards greater tolerance, openness and recognition. Similarly, contemporary movements use the democratic principle of freedom to confront social injustices and inequalities within society. This is not a form of freedom that promotes unfettered individualism or social fragmentation, but a collective and universal ideal that unites individual citizens within society around shared principles. Social movements affirm the value of freedom by asserting the autonomy of the individual citizen to make his or her own choices and to live how he or she chooses. Finally, for Bouamama, social movements invoke the principle of solidarity as a means of mobilising support for the rights of a particular social group. These solidarities are formed ‘from below’ through the grassroots action of communities which seek to affirm their collective existence: ‘New citizenship, rooted in the multiple forms of social reality, must favour an important development of these basic solidarities.’76 Secondly, new citizenship refers to an active participation of individual citizens in social and political life. The individual citizen is conceived of as an autonomous and responsible moral being, capable of making independent choices and of determining his or her own participation in the public sphere. According to the traditional notion of citizenship, the role of the individual was essentially passive. He or she was integrated within formal and hierarchical power relations that reduced the potential for independent action or initiative. The practice of citizenship was associated with narrow and formal tasks such as voting or becoming a member of an organisation. The duty of citizens was in effect to abide by the authoritative decisions made by political leaders. By voting, citizens


tend to transfer power to political elites who then assume responsibility for acting on their behalf.77 This leaves individuals with little to do politically beyond choosing who their leaders are. The citizen is treated as a member of a political community with little influence over the decisions and structures of that community: ‘citizens exercise their political rights in relation to decision, policy and law-making only indirectly, through their elected representatives [ … ]; citizens’ participation in the exercise of political power and thereby in the conduct of political processes is highly conditional and very limited.’78 Within this conception, the State retained a monopoly on political power embodying the ‘absolute framework of the political’.79 It recognised the public sphere as the only legitimate space in which citizenship could be expressed, excluding all alternative forms of political action: ‘In this representation, the citizen and the State are the only two recognised actors.’80 It was up to the State representing the ‘general interest’ to act on behalf of individuals in society, protecting them in the exercise of their rights. The State alone could define the rules and practices of political life for society as a whole. Such a conception tended to minimise the political potential of the individual citizen, confining him or her to a passive role and removing a capacity for independent action and initiative. The idea of new citizenship recognises the role of the individual as an active participant in social and political life. From passive subject, the citizen becomes an active agent who contributes to, participates in and is a full member of the society to which he or she belongs. This is citizenship as a practice and not as a legal status; it is an active engagement in society and not a form of passive assent. Citizenship proceeds from the actions of individuals, from the social bonds that they form, and is an ongoing project, not a predetermined essence or a fixed state of being. By taking part in social movements, individuals can express their citizenship in an active and meaningful way, shaping the outcome of policies and influencing political change. In doing so, participants reclaim the right to participate in politics not as a duty or obligation, but as a fundamental democratic right. Recent writing advocates a new participatory citizenship that would restore meaning and purpose to the actions of citizens. This implies a transformation of the role of the citizen within the political process: ‘Citizens are no longer reduced to the sole role of voters [ … ] in the choice of their representatives at the level of the nation: they are no longer uniquely administered, customers or taxpayers, these roles being on the whole relatively passive.’81 A new citizenship would affirm the potential of individuals to decide and take control of their own history, to assume an active, direct and participatory role in


daily life. Here the figure of the ‘active citizen’ is paramount and situated at the forefront of political action: ‘Existing citizenship has as its primary foundation allegiance to a State supposed to represent an abstract, culturally and socially united and homogenous nation. New citizenship is defined above all in opposition: citizens are no longer the property of the State, it is the State which is the collective property of citizens.’82 British observers have also used the idea of active participation as an essential aspect of a redefined citizenship. In her feminist study of citizenship,83 Ruth Lister places the notion of ‘human agency’ at the centre of her conceptualisation. Individual citizens and women in particular are capable of determining their own destinies, of making independent choices and shaping the world that surrounds them. Rather than being passive objects of external forces, they are autonomous and purposive actors that can act critically and determine the circumstances that affect them: ‘At the core of this conceptualisation, as suggested already, lies the idea of human agency. Citizenship as participation represents an expression of human agency in the political arena, broadly defined; citizenship as rights enables people to act as agents. The idea of human agency is typically used to characterise individuals as autonomous, purposive actors, capable of choice.’84 Thirdly, new citizenship emphasises the importance of associations within civil society. These are symbols of a ‘true citizenship’ that allow individuals to participate fully in social and political life. By associating freely with others, individuals can express their citizenship in an active and meaningful way and engage directly with the society of which they form part. A renewed conception of citizenship would therefore ‘recognise the collective action of citizens, could give real legitimacy to associative practices’.85 French citizenship was traditionally hostile to the existence of associations within society. These were seen to interfere with the Republican ideal of a unified nation characterised by a direct and unmediated relationship between citizen and State. Associations were negative particularist elements that divided society and subverted the general interest. Independent of the State, emerging freely within society, they escaped public authority and transcended processes of political regulation and control. Successive legislation therefore sought to suppress all forms of association within society or else to incorporate them within the machinery of the State. The Le Chapelier law of 1791 prohibited all forms of association that stood between citizen and State and pursued ‘alleged common interests’. There was no common or collective interest separate from the State and the unified nation that it embodied. Henceforth, it was illegal for individuals to form associations


within society independently of public power. It was only in 1901 that individuals were accorded a ‘freedom of association’ and that associations were granted legal recognition by the authorities. Even then, this right was restricted to citizens of French nationality and immigrants were expressly excluded. Standing alone before the might and supremacy of the State, free of all social and cultural attachments, the individual was an object of hierarchical power relations: ‘The effect of this levelling was to remove all intermediary bodies between individuals on the one hand and the state on the other, such that the individual stood alone in the face of centralized political power.’86 In his famous study of democracy in America during the nineteenth century, Alexis de Tocqueville noted that France was characterised by a weak civic culture and an absence of associations within social and political life. Whereas in America, individuals formed associations to pursue a vast range of purposes from grassroots activities to broad social or political goals, in France there was a dependence on the State to fulfil these same tasks. The rise of a powerful centralised State legitimised by Republican ideals militated against the emergence of a dynamic associative life within French society. New citizenship, by contrast, recognises and attributes value to associations within society. It is through the association that the individual becomes a citizen, engaging actively and genuinely in social and political life: ‘To be a citizen is also to act collectively within voluntary groupings.’87 Associations provide a ‘space for the practice of citizenship’88 which allows individuals to express their citizenship in an active and meaningful way. For Bastide, the traditional model of citizenship based on formal representation through the State, exists alongside an alternative model characterised by ‘freely organised citizens’89 who interact collectively within associations. This typically gives rise to a more active, participatory and democratic form of citizenship creating a fuller engagement in society. Associations are not necessarily rooted in the particular, detached from society and orientated towards narrow group interests. Instead, they often further a general interest and manifest positive social and collective values that potentially benefit society as a whole: ‘Politics is in effect the place of the general, the global, of coherence and cohesion, but it is also, and par excellence, that of the free and effective engagement of citizens.’90 Associative practices are constitutive of a dynamic civic culture which empowers individuals and recognises their capacity to act and to decide. My aim in this chapter has been to explore different theoretical approaches in order to gain a better insight into the nature and purpose of contemporary French movements. I have argued that new social


movement theory seems to miss the point of contemporary French movements, to overlook their fundamental logic and meaning. These movements, in my view, appear to care little about ‘post-material’ questions of lifestyle or personal development and they do not seem to embody a ‘higher order’ of needs. Instead they are preoccupied with fundamental questions concerning the basic rights and freedoms available to different groups in society. They are not ‘new’ movements cut off from the past and governed by their own independent logic or separate phase of development. Rather, they manifest enduring civic processes that have their origins in the French Revolution and are characterised by a collective mobilisation of marginalised groups to affirm their rights and make claims for inclusion in society. French movements raise critical questions that enter the very heart of political debates, questions about the nature of social membership and the rules governing society. In other words, questions about citizenship. I have suggested here that the notion of ‘new citizenship’ may provide a more accurate framework for understanding contemporary movements, one that restores their meaning and centrality, one that recognises their profoundly civic purpose. New citizenship highlights the role of social movements in expanding rights and in deepening the nature and content of citizenship. Movements are treated as forces of social transformation that give voice to the marginalised and dispossessed and seek to reinvent citizenship in the present day. They aspire to a new form of citizenship that would be open and pluralist and reflect the changing dynamics of contemporary society. We have seen that most studies of new citizenship are confined to a particular social context, focusing on the situation of immigrants within French society and their mobilisation for rights and recognition. Yet this notion seems to offer a valuable tool for describing French social movements more widely. These are also movements about rights and about the struggle for inclusion in citizenship. As a possible theoretical model, new citizenship highlights three essential characteristics of contemporary social movements: they espouse democratic values and ideals; they emphasise citizen participation in political processes; and they favour associative forms of civic engagement. But, it should be stressed that new citizenship remains a utopian vision that is strongly at odds with French citizenship in its present form. The ideas advanced by proponents of new citizenship challenge the very foundations of republican citizenship inherited from Enlightenment philosophy and the Revolution of 1789. Instead of a neutral and abstract being, stripped of social ties and cultural identity and bound to the State by a direct and unmediated relationship, we have a conception of the


individual as an active social agent, intricately linked to others by reciprocal civic ties and capable of acting collectively for political ends. New citizenship rejects the abstract project in favour of everyday social realities. It abandons the universalist ideal in favour of the individual with all his or her untidy particularisms. However, any attempt to rethink citizenship, or to question its validity, poses special difficulties for France with its powerful, State-driven universalist version of citizenship. We know that republican citizenship was pursued more rigorously in France than in any other country. Many of the tensions which bubble at the surface of contemporary French politics stem from a confrontation between two radically opposed currents: on the one hand, the claims of social movements for rights and a more inclusive citizenship; on the other, a rigid, abstract, idealised citizenship bolstered by the French State and by a weight of republican tradition. The confrontation between these two currents often boils over into protest and conflict which channel the anger and frustration of different groups who are denied genuine membership of society. We will now go on to look at some of the claims placed on republican citizenship by contemporary social movements, beginning with one of the most forceful and influential expressions of social agitation in the contemporary period: antiracism and the mobilisation of immigrant communities.

4 Antiracism: Theory and Practice

The new wave of antiracism continued to attract political activism and collective mobilisation within French society during the 1990s and this had been described as ‘the only important political force to have understood and subsequently mobilised the moral generation’.1 Antiracism can be defined as a social movement that assumes a diversity of forms, and strives through its various components to defend the rights of immigrant communities, to assert their cultural identity, to confront discrimination in society or to curb the political expression of racism.2 As a social movement, antiracism is an intrinsically rich, complex and multidimensional phenomenon, encompassing a variety of groupings, tendencies and beliefs and often resists neat classification. Some associations within the movement were traditional or long-standing associations of civic support, whereas others were new youth-based structures that had emerged during the 1980s; some focused on cultural initiatives seeking to affirm a collective identity, whilst others pursued an objective set of political goals; whereas some defined themselves as antiracist groups, others called themselves ‘antifascist’ and engaged in a political struggle against the Far Right.3 Collective mobilisation during the 1990s seemed to follow three distinct patterns. Firstly, antiracists mobilised against the Far Right party, the Front National, opposing its progressive gains within mainstream political life. Sporadic demonstrations took place from the mid-1990s in towns such as Grenoble, Le Havre, Toulon and Strasbourg, in protest against the electoral successes of the National Front at local level. These were instances of grassroots resistance that mobilised in reaction against virtually every public appearance by a Far Right leader in a city or town. In March 1997, notably, a vast ‘civic and cultural rally’4 took place in Strasbourg, that attracted 50,000 demonstrators, including local activists, antiracists and leaders of the main left-wing 64

Antiracism: Theory and Practice 65

parties. Secondly, protest came from immigrant communities themselves and, strikingly, it coalesced within one of the most disenfranchised and marginalised segments of French society: the sans-papiers, or undocumented immigrants. From 1996, groups of ‘irregulars’ engaged in a sustained cycle of protest, consisting of occupations, demonstrations and hunger strikes, and their actions attracted considerable support from outside the movement itself. Thirdly, antiracism assumed an important civic dimension, attracting support beyond any one particular organisation or structure, from groups with no apparent political affiliations (intellectuals, film-makers, artists, actors) and from ordinary citizens across society. Acts of civil disobedience, petition movements and committees of ‘civic vigilance’ became prevalent instruments for confronting racism and for affirming a solidarity in relation to immigrant communities within French society. Demonstrations often took the form of a broad ‘civic march’ which invoked the symbolic resources of citizenship and democracy. In this chapter, we will look at aspects of French antiracism during the 1990s beginning with recent debates concerning the failure of this movement. I hope to show that as a social movement, antiracism was in fact immensely successful in ways that went beyond a purely instrumental or political logic. The chapter goes on to consider the case of an organisation that played a dynamic and inventive role in campaigning against the Far Right during the 1990s. Ras l’Front devised new symbolic and expressive forms of action as a way of confronting the influence of the National Front within French society. A final section deals with recent protest by undocumented immigrants or sans-papiers. By examining this conflict, we can get a critical insight into the struggle for rights and recognition of certain immigrant communities living in France.

The failure of a movement? Much of recent debate on the antiracist movement in France has focused on the reasons for its failure.5 This is a movement which did not to live up to certain expectations and ideals, and which according to some, was unable to fulfil its own objectives and goals. The terms ‘crisis’, ‘betrayal’ and ‘failure’ are commonly used to sum up the experience of antiracism since its dramatic resurgence from 1983 onwards. The criticisms levelled at the movement come from former members of different antiracist associations who accuse the movement of being ‘too political’, of letting itself become embroiled in the machinations of party politics.6 Behind the ‘pure’ antiracist ideal lay the political ambitions of some of its leaders who used the movement as a springboard for their own


careers in politics. They had betrayed the integrity and autonomy of the movement, ‘selling out’ to the parties and to a political class eager to capture the moral high ground. Once an autonomous movement within civil society, antiracism had become a propaganda tool for the Socialist Party then in government. Criticisms also come from certain academics outside the movement, for whom antiracism was simply not political enough. It had abandoned traditional forms of militancy in favour of new cultural forms of expression, designed to appeal to a mass youth audience. Rock concerts, theatre, radio and television became the preferred medium through which the antiracists disseminated their message. They based their campaign on a slick media-orientated strategy which gave precedence to image and spectacle over political substance and theory. This was a watered-down, trivialised form of politics which betrayed the very foundations of political struggle. The virtues of militancy were abandoned in favour of methods which encouraged passive assent alone. On one level, then, the movement’s apparent failure was political. It did not produce the tangible or enduring political results that it was expected to achieve and was unable to exert a significant impact on national institutions or to secure concrete policy change. Antiracism is often placed in a symbiotic relationship with its political opponent, the Far Right party, the Front National, and treated as a ‘countermovement’ whose reason for being is to confront another existing movement in society: ‘Thus, the anti-FN movement can be analyzed as a countermovement, different from other social movements because of its privileged relationship with its opponent in the antagonistic couple they form.’7 The success of the movement is measured in objective political terms, according to the electoral fortunes of its rival within the mainstream political system. As proof of the movement’s failure, critics pointed to a rise and consolidation of the National Front in French political life. Far from declining, this party continued to expand at a time when the antiracist movement was at its strongest. Whilst the new associations were calling for an end to racism and discrimination within French society, the National Front continued to go from strength to strength. Antiracism, for some, was inadequate for confronting a profoundly modified Far Right party which had as its central theme a rejection of immigration and which found a significant resonance within public opinion. One observer described antiracism in terms of a catalogue of failures.8 The new associations failed to grasp the moment, to seize the opportunity to create a strong, unified movement capable of confronting the Far Right. They were unable to overcome personal and organisational differences and form an autonomous


movement at national level. This was a movement floundering in personal rivalries and organisational divisions that was unable to achieve the ultimate political goal: to create a unified national movement which could engage with the political parties and influence public policy. ‘Structural division and personal rivalries in the French anti-racist movement are serious enough; in addition, its lamentable theoretical confusion is displayed by the plethora of conflicting communication strategies […] Until the mainstream left and the beurs can sink their differences and unite around a simple commitment to defend communities under attack, we can expect anti-racism in France to go from defeat to defeat.’9 Antiracism was not sufficiently powerful or organised to act as a genuine political force that could compete on an equal footing with other forces within national struggles and debates. Instead, it was characterised by division and fragmentation, each association pursuing its own particular vision of antiracism. Consequently, it was destined to remain weak and ineffectual without real political significance or future prospects and unable ‘to bring about a fundamental transformation in forms of political incorporation and participation’.10 The supposed failure of the movement was also ideological in that it did not produce a coherent or unified theoretical framework. In his book, ‘The Ends of Antiracism’ (1995),11 Pierre-André Taguieff sets out to examine the ideological foundations of antiracism through a philosophical analysis of its various forms. Such a task is necessary, he argues, to confront the absence of theoretical content or substance within the antiracist movement. He points to the intellectual paucity of contemporary antiracism which he characterises as unthinking, vacuous and moralistic: ‘In effect, it is a question of thinking about that which isn’t thought. Racism is rarely a subject for thought. Antiracism isn’t thought. In some respects, it seems to preclude thought.’ He goes on: ‘the task is to rethink antiracism, that is to think about it, in its foundations, its ends, its limits.’ For Taguieff, antiracism emerged during the 1980s as a ‘substitute ideology’ which filled a vacuum left by the collapse of left-wing theory and ideology. It seemed to promise a new project, a new political ideal capable of mobilising the Left and providing a framework for broad-based political action. Like its ideological predecessors, antiracism was messianic in character, projecting a utopic vision of society built upon values of equality, solidarity and freedom. It promised a new garden of Eden from which racism would be banished: ‘The ultimate end of antiracism is the eradication of evil in mankind.’12 Yet, this new movement had failed to fill the ideological void in which it was formed. It was a ‘fake’, an impostor momentarily legitimised by a successful media campaign and transitory


popular appeal. Behind a glossy façade lay a movement propped up by empty and superficial moralism, which advanced ‘ideologically corrupt demands’.13 Caught up in its own successes, the movement was preoccupied more with surface image than with intellectual rigour, with spectacle rather than with substance. The tone of Taguieff’s analysis is often incriminatory and censorious, setting out to expose the ‘seven sins’ of antiracism and its failure to construct the theoretical ideals that were required of it. With fulminatory zeal, he attacks the inadequacies of the movement, measured according to abstract criteria, rather than by reference to the movement’s own potentiality and dynamic. In fact, any positive or constitutive elements of this movement seem to be buried underneath a rhetoric of high-flown disapprobation. For Taguieff, antiracism had failed to understand or address the complex and evolving nature of contemporary forms of racism and was ‘out of line with the evolving and pluralist nature of racisms’.14 This new racism (néo-racisme) emphasised cultural identity and difference rather than making claims towards biological or racial superiority. It was a more subtle, persuasive and powerful system of belief, one that was more acceptable to public opinion than the antiracists had assumed. In the face of a complex and evolving phenomenon, the antiracist movement resorted to simplistic, retrogressive formula or ‘prêt à penser’ which appealed to an ideologically starved youth or to hurried intellectuals. Rather than producing an alternative project, a framework for a new society, the antiracists merely reproduced and mimicked the norms and values of racist discourse. They demonised their enemies, reducing the racist to the ‘other’, someone who embodied a ‘mal absolu’ (‘absolute evil’). Such a challenge was moralistic and denunciatory, engaging in a schematic game of opposites, and becoming a mirror image or double, an opposite pole to the Far Right. By stigmatising, disqualifying and excluding their enemy, any potential for constructive dialogue or exchange between the two poles was effectively removed. Not only had antiracism failed, it had a negative impact on existing attempts to promote equality based on a republican model of integration. Instead of advancing the notion of equality amongst different cultures and ethnic groups, the movement had regressed into a particularist ethnocentric logic which sought to affirm different cultural identities and communities over others. It had collapsed into a multiplicity of competing groups each asserting the virtues of its own cultural identity and ethnic origin. Far from enhancing equality, this encouraged attitudes of sectarian intolerance and bigotry. In fact, the idea of ‘the right to difference’ (le droit à la différence) put forward by the antiracist movement


was precisely the argument advanced by members of the Front national: ‘Particularist arguments are equally distributed amongst “antiracists” and “racists” of which the common principle is formulated as follows: each to his own group, identity and difference which he must defend against hateful enemies.’15 Taguieff urges the antiracist movement to reclaim the republican values of equality, unity and solidarity which have been monopolised and distorted by the Far Right. These values should be used to construct an open and tolerant conception of integration which emphasises equality while respecting cultural difference. His arguments have been criticised by some observers who suggest that this is a traditional republican vision that reasserts themes of nationalism, patriotism and assimilation.16 Critics of antiracism are inclined to focus on the political dimension of antiracism at the expense of the other multiple aspects of this movement’s character and identity. In many cases, it is the electoral impact or structural attributes of the movement which alone are deemed worthy of consideration and analysis. Attention is given to external and formal aspects such as programme, organisation, strategy and ideology and the movement is assessed according to narrow criteria that stem from outmoded categories of political science. If we bring to bear a broader perspective which draws on aspects of social movement theory, this can shed a very different light on the fortunes of a movement such as antiracism. Prominent social movement theorists, such as Alberto Melucci, criticise a tendency to reduce social movements to their political vocation alone or to treat them as mere by-products of changing power relations: ‘The reduction of social movements to their political dimension and the relegation of whatever does not fall neatly within that dimension to the realm of expressive action prevents the formulation of novel questions in the absence of precisely such a conceptual space.’17 Movements, he argues, cannot be apprehended solely by reference to the workings of the political system or in their capacity to modernise institutions or produce policy reform. They are rich, differentiated and multilayered phenomena that assume a plurality of forms and operate at different social, political and cultural levels. By concentrating exclusively on the ‘visible and measurable features of collective action’,18 we may overlook these other fundamental and intrinsic dimensions of their activity. The strength of movements is derived not solely from a capacity to achieve formal political integration or institutionalisation, but from the unique space that they occupy in society as ‘outsiders’ in relation to the political system. Movements, unlike parties, are not obliged to confine their actions to the boundaries of the political system


and can express their views in a free and uninhibited way. Rejecting formal rules and constraints, they may produce a direct challenge to established authority and evolve new ways of acting and expressing themselves. Recent theoretical work19 has pointed to a number of important features of social movements that are relevant here. Firstly, they argue that social movements have an expressive and communicative purpose that exists alongside their political role. As forces that emerge outside mainstream political life and which break with a logic of instrumental rationality, the primary purpose of movements is to shape values and ideas, to influence collective consciousness, to communicate a message to society, to express a certain vision of the world. For Melucci, the role of movements is to oppose prevailing values and norms in society by producing an alternative or countervailing set of symbols and codes. They seek to ‘challenge codes’ constructing a different representation of society to that offered to us by formal institutions or dominant structures. The power of movements stems from a capacity to change attitudes or shape public opinion through a symbolic production of meaning: ‘what they possess is not the force of the apparatus, but the power of the word.’20 Movements seek to structure reality differently by appropriating the means to name, define and represent, in order to subvert the codification of reality imposed by the existing order. We live in an ‘information age’ where power is linked to a capacity to organise and diffuse information and to exercise control over the production of meaning. In our societies ‘without centres’ power is no longer located within large and centralised institutions, but is diffuse, heterogeneous and ‘planetary’ in character. For movements, the media constitutes a critical resource for expressing and communicating their ideas and challenging the way that public discourse is constructed: ‘The strategic use of the media is to be found in all contemporary movements: music, bodily signals and clothing, radios and images, theatre and art, communication networks and virtual reality are all media through which the mental, sensory and emotional perception of the world is altered and tries to evade the codification imposed by mass society.’21 In a context in which movements are devoted to expressing and communicating meaning, where they are excluded from recourse to formal mechanisms of political action, then the media acts as a forceful and critical resource. It is a mechanism through which movements can seize the power to express their own meanings and representations, disseminating these to a mass public audience. The French antiracist movement, from this point of view, acted as a singular force that challenged a univocal and dominant system of


cultural codes which had reinforced the social exclusion and marginalisation of immigrants within French society. In the face of an entrenched and institutionalised discourse (racism), the movement constructed an alternative set of values and ideals that affirmed the collective identity of immigrant communities, their right to equality and their desire to negotiate the terms of their own settlement within French society (antiracism). Beyond its political rationality and scope, the movement acted as a potent symbolic and expressive force in society that defied a prevalent or unilateral representation of the world: ‘The movements have waged a critical struggle against the representation of the world served up by the dominant models, denying their claims to uniqueness and challenging the symbolic constitution of politics and culture.’22 Despite the subsequent hostility that it attracted, SOS Racisme was nonetheless, the first broad-based youth association that attempted to mobilise collective action against ‘a hegemonic racist discourse and notably that of the National Front’.23 In the absence of any equivalent force at political level, it galvanised extensive popular support and forged new symbolic and discursive instruments to oppose the Far Right. Undoubtedly, its major contribution was to instil and diffuse values of tolerance, solidarity and antiracism amongst a new generation of young people within schools and universities, who were confronted for the first time with a new and dangerous form of political extremism. SOS Racisme excelled at a strategy that involved using media channels for strategic purposes in order to communicate its message to a mass public audience. We know that its spectacular rise, following the appearance of its first president, Harlem Désir, on the television programme Droit de réponse, was reliant on an orchestrated media campaign characterised by regular press conferences, television appearances and sponsorship by celebrities.24 It embodied a dynamic and forceful style that recognised the potential of the media to publicise a social cause. In doing so, it provided a model of action that was emulated by many subsequent movements and groups, collectively know as the ‘media associations’.25 Yet, it is perhaps this aspect of SOS Racisme that has attracted the most virulent criticism from its opponents. The association’s predilection for communicative action over conventional political methods was viewed as a transgression of the norms and traditions of political militancy or, worse still, as a vacuous and flimsy type of populism. The attachment of many critics to an exclusively political analysis which attributes value to conventional action and methods, has meant that expressive or communicative action was either dismissed or relegated to the level of pure spectacle.


Secondly, theorists argue that social movements possess a distinctive organisational logic. Movements differ sharply from conventional parties in that they are characterised by informal, diffuse and hidden types of organisation or ‘networks in the everyday’.26 Although they may have groups within them that are formally structured, movements as a whole are not organised in a conventional sense and it is networks rather than formal structures that constitute the basis for their action. Typically, they refrain from formalising their structures and maintain a strong measure of independence in relation to the political system. For movements, it is grassroots representation, popular struggle and collective mobilisation that take precedence over a preoccupation with organisational strength or size. It is rare, according to one observer, for social movements to attempt to coordinate their actions at national level and even rarer for such efforts to succeed.27 Movements are organised in such a way as to facilitate participation ‘from below’ and extend representation to groups across civil society, many of whom might otherwise be excluded from political processes. They give voice to groups at the grassroots of society, express primary solidarities and argue for their space within society: ‘Movements are inherently the primary framework for direct democracy, providing the moments in which ordinary people directly and consciously participate in the exercise of voice rather than allowing others to speak for them […]. It is in the movement moment that the people show, at least spasmodically, that they can decide, can take control of their history.’28 Where parties may favour large and permanent structures, movements often prefer decentralised or associative forms of organisation in which people can become directly involved. Rarely do they follow the simple or linear trajectory from local to national-level organisation that some recent critics have attributed to them. French antiracism contributed massively to a mobilisation of immigrant communities at grassroots level by creating new structures for collective representation, solidarity and interaction. Some of the earliest expressions of immigrant-led mobilisation were born out of an experience of social and political exclusion and a desire to engage in self-determined collective action.29 For young second-generation immigrants of North African origin (the Beurs), ‘autonomy of action’ was an incontrovertible principle, inseparable from a broader quest for social affirmation and cultural identity. Many emergent Beur associations deliberately refused to engage with the political parties and avoided threats of recuperation from the political system. For them, any attempt to impose a top-down structure was viewed as a compromise of the virtues of grassroots militancy, a transgression of the principle of autonomy which they consciously


espoused. Similarly, the network of associations that flourished within local communities, during the 1990s, was orientated principally towards the daily lives and experiences of immigrants and ethnic minorities within French society.30 Some associations mobilised in deprived suburbs as community structures or ‘associations du quartier’ dedicated towards critical social needs. Intervening in areas such as housing, education and culture, these associations acted as essential and localised instruments of cultural mediation and social support. They expressed a form of community-based mobilisation directed towards concrete support, for whom the notion of building large, powerful structures was often alien. Yet, so long as the true mission of antiracism was believed to be the creation of a unified movement that could instigate national political change, such forms of activism were readily discounted. Critics attacked antiracism for failing to construct an organisational apparatus that could formulate a ‘nationally agreed discourse or strategy’31 and exert a positive influence on the political climate within government. Only such an apparatus would be capable of translating demands into policy and protest into conventional political action and anything less was construed as a form of ‘prepolitical’ action, yet to make the transition towards meaningful existence. Thirdly, theorists emphasise that movements have an important cultural dimension that extends beyond a purely instrumental role. They assume a critical role in affirming collective identity, expressing shared cultural values and producing new representations in society. For Alain Touraine, the principal field of conflict in contemporary societies is culture, and movements embody a combination of social struggle and a desire for cultural recognition: ‘a social movement, in my definition, is a collective action aiming at the implementation of central cultural values against the interest and influence of an enemy which is defined in terms of power relations. A social movement is a combination of social conflict and cultural participation.’32 He perceives society as an ongoing struggle between those who define the dominant rules and cultural norms in society and those who seek to impose their own identities. Movements seek to gain recognition or influence by providing new expressions of identity that challenge dominant representations. Because identity is always defined in direct opposition to a dominant order, movements always emerge in a contested social world. In his recent book, Touraine argues that the core conflict in contemporary societies is centred on the individual subject who struggles to defend and assert his or her own identity in the context of a globalising and decentred society which works to neutralise and fragment identities.


The Subject seeks to expand and define his or her own individuality against a tide of anonymous and hegemonic economic forces. Movements of whatever type speak through a language of culture, and collective action is characterised by an affirmation and defence of one’s identity: ‘There is no other point of reference in a world of permanent and uncontrollable change than the efforts of the individual to transform his/her lived experiences into the construction of the self as actor.’33 The French antiracist movement, at different stages and through its multiple currents, played a critical role in affirming the collective identity of a social group marginalised from mainstream society. It used culture rather than conventional political methods to disseminate its message and mobilise widespread support. On the one hand, associations of second-generation immigrants launched cultural activities such as theatre groups, music festivals, radio stations and journals in order to assert their identity and carve out their own cultural space. Political demands for recognition and rights were accompanied by a resurgence of cultural practices amongst immigrant communities and these two aspects of antiracism were inseparable.34 In fact, collective mobilisation seemed to involve as much a celebration of shared cultural values as an expression of discontent, and it served to communicate the experiences, hopes and contradictions of young Maghrebians living in France. Rather than being a factor of social exclusion, ethnicity was reclaimed as a positive principle for generating cultural production in music, theatre and film. The Beurs sought to proclaim the existence of a rich, dynamic, pluralist and multicultural society that marked ‘a rupture with the myth of a homogeneous nation’.35 On the other hand, new youth-based associations of the mid-1980s adapted the themes and slogans of popular culture to appeal to a mass youth audience. Breaking with the rules and conventions of formal politics, they invented new ways of acting and expressing themselves: ‘from which different ways of addressing things and new scriptures struggle to emerge.’36 Instead of formal political discourse, they used the symbols and codes of youth culture and their activities were ‘colourful, joyful, self-assured and ingenious’.37 Such actions sprang from the creativity and inventiveness of activists rather than a pursuit of instrumental political gains. Nonetheless, critics of antiracism too often reject this cultural dimension of the movement, seeing it as a ‘pseudo-political’38 form, a diversion from the real business of politics. Rather than recognising the intrinsic value of cultural production and representation in the formation of social identities, such activities were seen as a form of theatricality devoid of wider meaning or purpose.


Having surveyed recent theoretical debates surrounding the antiracist movement, we will now turn to the case of a specific grouping, Ras l’Front, which assumed a dynamic and prevalent role in pursuing political activism against the Far Right throughout the 1990s.

Fighting the Far Right: Ras l’Front Faced with the Front National, we need to put in place a front of resistance which will put a stop to its projects and ensure the adoption of social and political measures to limit the spread of racism. We call on the parties and progressive organisations to create without further delay, the practical conditions for a unitary response […]. The time for a counter-offensive has come. (Appel des 250, May 1990) In May 1990, a group of intellectuals, media personalities and public figures, led by the radical freelance writer Gilles Perrault and the journalist Anne Tristan, launched an appeal for a movement of collective mobilisation against the Front National. This ‘Appeal of the 250’, published in a number of left-wing journals and newspapers, was intended to alert public opinion to the dangers posed by the rise of the Far Right: ‘The rise to power of a fascist and racist party places France in a situation of grave danger.’ It also called on political parties, associations and all those who rejected racism to create a popular movement against the National Front: ‘The battle must be waged before tribunals, in the media and in the streets.’39 Listing 250 names in alphabetical order, the appeal gathered signatures from prominent intellectuals (e.g. Pierre Bourdieu, Etienne Balibar), musicians, film-makers, writers, artists and journalists. As with many new political campaigns, it relied on media and cultural circuits rather than conventional political channels to publicise its message and was able to draw over 20,000 signatures within two months.40 Following the appeal, a network of associations (collectifs) was set up, galvanised by a wave of public reaction against the desecration of a Jewish cemetery in Carpentras in the South of France.41 The new network produced its own monthly newspaper (Ras l’Front) and developed its own slogans and organisational identity. A red triangle, originally worn by political prisoners within the Nazi concentration camps, was adopted as a slogan for this new association, becoming ‘a symbol of anti-fascist struggle’.42 Ras l’Front (literally ‘Fed Up with the Front’) was set up as an association within civil society to challenge the political and ideological influence of the Far Right. Describing itself as ‘anti-fascist’, it endeavoured to


confront the resurgence of ‘fascist ideas’ (a néo-fascisme) which had reasserted itself in the contemporary context as a result of adverse social and economic circumstances. For the founders of this association, the National Front constituted a remodelled fascism which had direct ideological links with Vichy and the fascist leagues of the 1920s and 1930s. Unlike other anti-Far Right groups created during the same period, such as the Manifesto against the National Front,43 it stressed the linear relationship between the contemporary Far Right and the fascism of the 1930s. The National Front was viewed as a fascistic party that endangered the democratic rights of groups across society, from immigrants and ethnic minorities to women and the unemployed, and consequently represented a threat to the principles on which the French Republic was founded. To confront this danger, it was imperative to create a broad anti-fascist strategy that went beyond the boundaries of antiracism alone to tackle all manifestations of discrimination in society. The term ‘anti-fascism’ therefore referred to a broad-based struggle against the Far Right and an affirmation of the social and political rights of different groups in society. Rémi Barroux, journalist and founding member of Ras l’Front, explained the rationale underlying the grouping: When we were first created in 1990 and during the first two years of our development, many people criticised our use of the word ‘antifascism’, saying they we were not dealing with fascism, but with ‘national populism’ and a whole series of other definitions. For us, the problem was not a scientific definition of this phenomenon, but what it meant in people’s minds and what the National Front meant politically. We believed that the danger posed by the National Front was not limited to racism: this party had put forward a project for society, a political programme of which racism was the most salient component. But their programme also incorporated elements of sexism, homophobia and social injustice. We didn’t limit the National Front to racism alone and we didn’t limit ourselves to antiracism. We sought to extend the full rights of citizenship to all social groups including immigrants, women, young people and ethnic minorities.44 Ras l’Front was distinct from other antiracist organisations in that it aimed to situate the question of racism within a wider social and political struggle targeted against the extreme Right. In a context in which traditional left-wing parties were perceived to have abandoned this role and to be ‘powerless to contain the Front National’,45 it perceived itself as a critical social force pitted against a grave political danger.


This was a pragmatic rather than an ideological organisation which focused on direct action as a way of countering the influence of the Far Right. It did not advance a unified theoretical position or programmatic strategy, affirming instead that ‘Ras l’Front is a series of actions’.46 Activists saw themselves as engaged in a daily battle of ideas, a struggle against the spread of Far Right thinking and values. Their aim was to persuade, to raise awareness and to influence attitudes across society, by producing tracts, manifestos, posters, local bulletins and organising radio programmes, debates and cultural activities. Often this involved targeting Far Right leaders directly and denouncing their activities. A recent edition of the association’s monthly newspaper, for instance, included a report on the extremist student organisation GUD (Groupe Union et Défense) which has supplied many of the leaders of existing Far Right parties in France.47 Describing them as ‘fascist vermin’, the report provided details about each of the leaders of this organisation, revealing their past activities and links with other extremist groups. This is part of what Nonna Mayer describes as a moral campaign against the Far Right which serves to discredit its members and its practices: ‘A large part of their activities is devoted to revealing the past of the FN’s members, the side they stood for in the last war or during the Algerian conflict, their links with neo-nazi organizations today or with violent radical groups, their agreement with the negationist theories which claim that the gas chambers never existed. These organizations are leading a moral crusade not only against the FN but against any form of compromise with the extreme Right.’48 Activists set out to sway political opinion, by vilifying leaders of the Front National and bringing forward a countervailing set of values and principles to those espoused by this party. At the same time, activists endeavoured to create a direct and physical challenge to the Far Right, by disrupting National Front meetings and ensuring a constant presence and vigilance at rallies and demonstrations. Whenever the Far Right organised a demonstration, made a racist declaration or distributed manifestos, Ras l’Front reacted by organising its own rally, distributing its own tracts and issuing counter-statements, frequently attracting more demonstrators than the party they were confronting.49 The aim was to manifest a popular grassroots rejection of extremism, by producing a counter-movement in civil society that drew on cultural and symbolic forms of representation. In 1993, the association organised its first ‘anti-fascist book festival’ that attracted over a hundred writers, historians, sociologists and publishers. Similarly, in 1996, it organised an event celebrating ‘anti-fascist cinema’. One of its most spectacular coups was on 1 May 1995 during a National Front


demonstration to celebrate the anniversary of Joan of Arc. During the course of Le Pen’s speech at Place de l’Opéra in Paris, a group of activists lowered a banner from the roof the Opéra building, which carried the words ‘No to fascism. No to racism.’ Broadcast live by television, this action succeeded in attracting considerable public interest and raising the profile of the grouping. By using the media to communicate a symbolic message, Ras l’Front was able to publicise its cause to a vast network of potential supporters. In fact, it was after this event that the association reached its peak, expanding to include 180 local groups throughout France.50 Rémi Barroux was one of the activists involved in this campaign: There were just four of us on the roof in front of a National Front demonstration of over 10,000 people. We just wanted to show them that we could do it, that we had the technical means to carry out this action. For us, this was more interesting and effective than physically confronting FN supporters, which is not part of our culture. We are not interested in preventing Far Right rallies from taking place, but in demonstrating our opposition and our rejection of their ideas. People saw us as an association which was not afraid to come out and publicly denounce the National Front.51 This direct confrontation of the National Front meant that the fortunes of the association were influenced to some extent by those of this party. Following the scission of the National Front in January 1998, Ras l’Front experienced a decline in support and its network of local groups was reduced by a quarter. Within Ras l’Front, it is the network of local groups which takes the initiative in organising activities and campaigns from demonstrations, cultural events and rock concerts to book clubs and pre-election rallies. Acting as ‘a network of resistance and vigilance’52 they monitor and observe the activities of Far Right groups within their local community. In Rouen, for example, Ras l’Front launched a series of public debates on the right of immigrants to vote in local elections, which brought together a number of prominent intellectuals and social movement activists. It also organised an antiracist rock concert (Reggae Against Racism) and a number of other cultural activities.53 Similarly, a Parisbased branch helped to mobilise a demonstration against a local bookshop (La Licorne bleue) which allegedly sold xenophobic and revisionist material. This resulted in violent clashes with militants from the Far-Right group GUD and was followed by a number of arrests.54 From the outset, Ras l’Front had close links with the Trotskyist party, the LCR (Ligue Communiste Révolutionnaire), in that those who launched


the appeal that gave rise to the association were mostly members or sympathisers of this party. The LCR provided a culture of militancy for this new association which had no previous traditions or models of collective action and over half its original members came from the ranks of this party.55 Nonetheless, there is a strong culture of autonomy within the association and each of the local groups is fully independent in terms of its statutes and decision-making. The Charter underlying Ras l’Front declares that it is ‘an independent, pluralist and unitary organisation’56 which provides its own material and financial resources. In fact, the decentralised and independent character of the grouping is a key incentive in attracting new members who typically join because they are disillusioned with the traditional structures of the Left, often deemed incapable of responding to problems of racism within society. Recent research has shown that members join because they are looking for a new form of political engagement that is independent, flexible and innovative.57 Nonetheless, opponents of Ras l’Front have laid stress on its close links and supposed subordination to the LCR, a relationship viewed as deterministic in shaping the ethos of the association. In one account, Emmanuel Ratier (notably a journalist and editor on the Far Right) portrays Ras l’Front as a satellite organisation affiliated to the LCR and manipulated by this party to further its own political ambitions: ‘The aim is therefore that Ras l’Front acts as a reservoir for this Far Left Trotskyist party emptied of its members who have turned their backs over the course of the years.’58 He argues that the LCR had set up this new grouping to compensate for its loss of control over SOS-Racisme which it had helped create, but had subsequently lost to the Socialist Party. The book is conspiratorial in tone, suggesting that Ras l’Front is part of a covert strategy to reconstitute an alternative party on the Far Left. It is described as: ‘a group of associations often more or less closely linked to the LCR, acting frequently in unison, in the hope of a recomposition of a Far Left alternative.’59 The association provides a typical example of some of the problems experienced by new social movements in the way that they are structured and organised. Inside Ras l’Front, there is no formal organisational structure or hierarchy and the whole movement acts as a loose coordination of approximately 100 local groups (collectifs), each defining its own statutes and making its own decisions. These groups are free to act and respond to local circumstances as they see fit and are not bound by a pre-defined set of rules or sanctions. In the words of one observer: ‘Collectives spread out, assuming the most varied of names. There was no hierarchical link between them; no orders descending from top to bottom, since the top does not exist.’60 Some local groups, such as that


in Toulouse, even adopted their own separate name, Cafard (Anti-fascist and Antiracist Collective) and an independent strategy for confronting the Far Right. Within Ras l’Front, there are no movement leaders, no regular elections, no formal rules or procedures. Officially, the movement is led by a number of public figures (including Anne Tristan and Maurice Rajfus), but these have little to do with the day-to-day running of the organisation which is undertaken instead by a group of behind-the-scenes activists. At national level, a secretariat based in Paris provides support to the local associations and is responsible for publishing the monthly newspaper and other organisational materials. Policy decisions are made when representatives from the different local groups meet every two months within a national committee. In addition, a number of specialist sections focus on particular issues and themes such as women’s rights, social housing, and immigrant voting rights. Yet, the national committee has no formal existence and no powers of authority over the local groups. Such a loose decentralised structure is intended to promote grassroots militancy (militantisme de proximité) which is one of the founding principles of the association: ‘The originality and interest of Ras l’Front comes from its emphasis on a struggle against the Far-Right led from below, by all different means, by the initiative of everybody, wherever they are.’61 This fits in with a broad ethos prevalent amongst new movements which attach value to autonomy and freedom of action over structure and organisation. By using loose informal networks, they seek to maintain close links with grassroots activists and to promote freedom of initiative. Yet, such forms of structure are not without their own set of problems. Alberto Melucci makes this point quite clearly: This structure of mobilization accounts for both the strength and weakness of the collective actors. Their strength derives from the mobilization of primary solidarities, which no complex organization could hold together on a stable basis; from their provision of flexibility, adaptability and immediacy, which more structured organizations cannot incorporate; from their provision of channels for the direct expression of conflictual demands and participative needs which otherwise would be hard to aggregate. Their weakness lies in their permanent risk of fragmentation; in their inability to pursue general goals over the long term; in their susceptibility to expressive escapism; in their uneasy handling of problems political in the strict sense, such as the complexity of decision-making and mediation, the problems of efficiency and effectiveness, and in general the constraints of a system in which a number of interests compete.62


In 1997, Ras l’Front experienced an internal conflict which resulted in a number of its founding members leaving the movement. Some of those who left went on to launch a new left-wing journal Mauvais Temps. The disagreement centred on one of the personalities behind the Appeal of the 250 who had published material which was seen to express negationist views which were clearly incompatible with the role of an antiracist organisation. Given that the public figure concerned was external to the movement itself and was not involved in its day-to-day running, such a dispute might in other circumstances have been easily resolved. Yet, it led to an important rift within Ras l’Front and sparked off a debate at national level, about its future organisation. The main dilemma was that there were no structures or mechanisms for mediating interests and managing conflict within the organisation. Operating on an informal basis, without a conventional leadership, voting rights or decision-making, it lacked the basic procedures necessary for accommodating and integrating differences of opinion and was therefore unable to reach a resolution or compromise on matters of dispute. This meant that those who wished to express a serious grievance felt that they had no other option but to leave the organisation. There are presently plans within the national secretariat to move towards a federal structure which would involve creating a permanent national organisation to which the different local groups would adhere. By setting up more stable and permanent structures, it is hoped to overcome the risk of constant fragmentation and organisational breakdown. One of the founding members of Ras l’Front who left the organisation and joined the editorial board of Mauvais Temps, highlighted the dilemma facing new social movement associations such as Ras l’Front: ‘can these associations act politically without having those elements traditionally linked with political action, such as formal structure, ideology and a project for society? The force of new social movements is that they raise this very question. Ras l’Front presented itself as a social actor without having any of the traditional characteristics of a political organisation. It occupied a new space and showed that there is room for ambiguity. Along with other rights-based associations, it acts as a practitioner of social realities.’63 The paradox confronting associations such as Ras l’Front was that they wished to express a new paradigm of action that rejected traditional forms of political militancy and aspired towards doing things differently, whilst at the same time seeking to influence processes of political change. Yet by rejecting formalised practices and norms, they often denied themselves the very instruments necessary to participate effectively in mainstream political processes.


We have seen here that Ras l’Front provided a dynamic framework for opposing the political mobilisation and ideas of the Far Right and it experienced considerable success during the 1990s. Typical of a social movement organisation, it drew on cultural and symbolic resources to advance its goals and rejected conventional forms of organisation and practice. Yet its commitment to autonomous grassroots activism at all costs meant that it deprived itself of the means necessary to confront the National Front on an equal footing. Within Ras l’Front, activists consciously choose to avoid formalised structures and refuse any alliances with political parties. Whilst this is a source of tremendous internal strength it also represents, in some measure, an Achilles heel.

Rights for all immigrants: the sans-papiers Social movements are formed when individuals and groups in society come together to defend and affirm their rights, often in a context when those rights are threatened by the nature and direction of public policy. One social group which has played a particularly prominent role in mobilising to assert its rights within French society during the 1990s, is the sans-papiers or undocumented immigrants. Faced with a political system that was perceived to undermine their fundamental rights and freedoms, the sans-papiers, many of whom had been living in France for many years, mobilised an unprecedented wave of collective action consisting of occupations, demonstrations and hunger strikes. They engaged in systematic acts of protest in order to highlight the perceived injustice of their situation to the French public and proclaim a collective desire for a regularisation of their status. They set up associations of sans-papiers in towns throughout France, established a national coordinating committee and sent delegates to lobby members of the European Parliament. They produced pamphlets and manifestos, created their own web-site and made a video documenting their activities. Two sanspapiers (Mamady Sané and Ababacar Diop) published books describing their experiences as ‘irregulars’ living in France. Their protest attracted support within media, cultural and academic circles, with groups of intellectuals, artists, film-makers, actors and professionals speaking out on behalf of the sans-papiers and uncompromisingly backing their demands. The situation of the sans-papiers within French society is unique, in that unlike any other social group living and working in France, they are formally excluded from membership of the national community and from citizenship itself. This exclusion is not an aberration of the normal


workings of the system, but is legitimised and endorsed by the full weight and authority of the political establishment. Designated as non-citizens, the sans-papiers have a different status and relationship to the State compared with other members of society and exist as a kind of subcategory of citizen whose presence within French national territory is at times tolerated, but viewed as fundamentally illegitimate. These are ‘outsiders’ in the sense that they are officially segregated by the institutions, structures and consensus views of mainstream society. Whereas other organised groups may make claims for an extension or deepening of their rights, the sans-papiers lack the very status necessary to make such claims. They inhabit a negative hidden space where the usual laws and principles of society do not apply and where their very social and political existence is refuted. Denied access to citizenship, the sans-papiers are consequently precluded from many of the social entitlements associated with such citizenship including housing, social welfare, health care or employment rights (unemployment benefit, social security). Didier Fassin examined the impact of irregular status on the health of those concerned and found that the ‘right to health’, a principle established in international law, was consistently undermined with regard to sans-papiers living in France. Taking the example of a young Chinese couple forced to live clandestinely, he discovered that their health was put at risk by a combination of malnutrition, poverty and inadequate access to health care. He referred to the existence of a profound social suffering amongst irregulars in France, which he described as ‘the product of violence by a State which refuses part of the people living on its national territory, access to civil, political and social rights’.64 Certain rights are guaranteed by international law and human rights agreements which confer these rights to individuals on a universal basis, ‘to people as humans not as citizens’,65 irrespective of the nationality or ethnic origin of the person concerned. In fact, the European Court of Justice took action against France on three separate occasions (in 1987, 1991 and 1994) for refusing to provide social benefits (disability benefits and pensions) to foreigners living in France.66 At the same time, the negation of formal citizenship has repercussions for the political status of undocumented immigrants. Unlike other members of society, they are denied political rights such as the right to vote or participate in elections, a situation that reinforces their marginalisation and disenfranchisement. Without legal protection from the State, lacking political status or the collective means to defend their rights, the sans-papiers are placed in a position of extreme social and economic vulnerability. Living with the constant fear of arrest or deportation, they are


commonly forced to accept the most exploitative and hidden forms of work, where they are underpaid, denied basic rights and subject to discrimination by unscrupulous employers or administrative agencies. In practice, the status of the sans-papiers in France has been determined by successive legislation governing immigration which has tended to restrict the parameters of access to citizenship and to residency status. During the 1990s, this legislation increasingly targeted immigrants already living in France, imposing new restrictions on their civil and social freedoms. Having already secured stringent entry controls on external borders, the government now turned its attention towards controlling and regulating the situation of foreigners living in France. The 1993 Pasqua laws, devised by the right-wing Interior Minister, put in place tough new measures limiting access to French nationality. A child born in France to foreign parents would now have to apply formally to become a French national, instead of acquiring this citizenship automatically by virtue of birth and residence in France. Local town halls were given greater discretion in granting residence papers and these could now be withheld where a person was deemed to represent ‘a threat to public order’. Under the terms of the same legislation, greater powers were given to the police to carry out identity checks on foreigners, and rights of entry on grounds of family reunion were tightened. This was followed in 1997 by the Debré law which provoked a huge public outcry by proposing, amongst other measures, to make it a crime for anyone to provide accommodation to an illegal immigrant. Other proposals put forward by this law included the fingerprinting of foreigners and the possibility of deporting delinquent minors to their country of origin. These new measures affected thousands of immigrants living in France, many of whom had legally entered the country and had children born in France, but now found themselves forced into a situation of illegality, by falling foul of successive legislation. The myriad bureaucratic hurdles and restrictive measures now made it impossible for many of them to acquire regular status by legitimate means. This is what some have referred to as a ‘production of illegality’67 in that their irregular status was a consequence of the impact of legislation rather than corresponding to the social and political realities of their situation. The irony was that whilst this legislation was intended to curb illegal immigration, it actually increased the numbers of people now officially categorised as sans-papiers. For some observers, this legislation was in itself inspired by a certain political climate. According to Adrian Favell, there was a rise within French public life, during the 1980s and 1990s, of a new ideological consensus


founded on the values and themes of traditional republicanism (‘the new republican synthesis’).68 Politicians on both Left and Right, together with leading intellectual elites, increasingly found common ground in republicanism, treating this as a viable and consensual political response to critical social and political problems. This revival of republicanism was characterised by ‘a mythical retelling of a long historical tradition’69 within a contemporary context. High republican principles were invoked and zealously applied to emerging social and political circumstances and provided the moral justification for a restrictive conception of citizenship rooted in nationality alone. Citizenship became an abstract communitarian ideal, defined by ruling elites along the exclusive lines of national membership: ‘An ideal standard of citizenship would be set, allegiance demanded and a moral code imposed.’ The reinvention of an idealised republican tradition had in fact contributed to ‘an idea of citizenship which is impossible without full formal and recognised national status’.70 It provided the rhetoric and ideological legitimation for a definition of citizenship which systematically segregated foreigners and immigrant communities. The French philosopher Etienne Balibar has criticised what he views as a misappropriation of citizenship which has become an exclusionary mechanism used to discriminate against certain groups in society.71 This, he argues, is a reversal of the true democratic meaning of citizenship: instead of protecting and guaranteeing rights for all, citizenship becomes a repressive instrument that legitimises the exclusion of specific groups from social membership. By designating these groups as non-citizens and separating them from the national community, the majority population is consequently unified around an abstract social ideal and a reified notion of citizenship. By acting collectively, the sans-papiers openly rejected their status of ‘non-citizens’ and expressed their citizenship in an active and meaningful way, occupying a space within the public sphere. For Balibar, it is collective action such as this and not passive legal status that is the embodiment of a true and active citizenship. In an article entitled ‘What we owe the sans-papiers’,72 he suggests that French society is indebted to the sans-papiers for contributing to a transformation of existing definitions of citizenship and for challenging the boundaries of social membership: We are indebted to them for having forced open the boundaries of communication, for having made themselves seen and heard for what they are: not spectres of delinquency and invasion, but workers, families both from here and elsewhere, with their particularisms and


the universality of their condition as modern proletarians. They have circulated in the public sphere, facts, questions, even opposing views on the real problems of immigration, instead of the stereotypes maintained by the dominant monopolies of information. In this way, we have a better understanding of what a democracy is: an institution of collective debate, but whose conditions are never set from above. Those concerned must always conquer the right to speech, to visibility and credibility, running the risk of repression.73 By looking at the personal circumstances of those involved, we can get a useful insight into the situation of many sans-papiers living in France. In one autobiographical account,74 Ababacar Diop narrated his own experiences as an irregular living and working in France. Born in Senegal and brought up in a small fishing village, Diop was educated for most of his childhood in the French language and taught primarily about French culture and history. He came to France in 1988 when he was nineteen, partly to escape arrest for his involvement in a student protest movement, but also to improve his future prospects: ‘I left Senegal because I was involved in the political events of the period, but also because I felt the need to serve some purpose, because I did not want to remain stuck in a country where there is no horizon.’75 Once in France, he claimed political asylum and was given a work permit and temporary residence papers. He found a job as a cleaner where he worked for ten hours a day for a wage of 4000 francs a month. He described the routine exploitation practised by employers who rely on irregulars to make up their workforce and increase their profits. One employer allegedly played on Diop’s fear of deportation and his economic insecurities, by withholding his salary and forcing him to work extra hours outside his contract. When he arrived in France, he began the lengthy bureaucratic procedures necessary to acquire regular status. These included a formal application and two subsequent appeals to the authorities, regular visits to administrative agencies and appeals to various humanitarian and charitable associations. Despite obtaining a work permit, he was refused the residence papers which would allow him to live freely in France. He portrayed the duplicity of a system which grants sans-papiers the right to work and to pay taxes, but denies them any other civil right: ‘To have the right to work, but not the right to be here; to be able to enter the labour market, but no longer have the possibility to go out in broad daylight: this could be a definition of what the authorities call “clandestine”, and what we call “sans-papiers”.’76 Diop’s wife followed him to France and they had a daughter, Fastou, born in 1994. Although he had


been paying taxes and social security contributions on a regular basis since coming to France, he had no access to social security benefits or full health care services. This became a pressing concern following the birth of his child: ‘You pay contributions and yet have no right to health care; you cannot provide care for yourself and cannot provide care for your wife or your daughter either, without going to a PMI [Centre for maternal and child protection] where the treatment is free of charge. The social security is an organisation of solidarity. But the sans-papiers have no access to it even though they pay contributions or have been paying contributions regularly.’77 After seven years of regular appeals and referrals, he was eventually refused access to regular status by the authorities. It was out of a sense of frustration and injustice born of this experience that he decided to join the movement of protest which began in a Paris church in 1996 and where he would become one of the movement’s most vociferous leaders. Recent protest by the sans-papiers should be situated within an ongoing campaign to assert their rights and signal the perceived injustice of their situation to public opinion. In her analysis of the ‘cause of the sans-papiers’, Johanna Siméant emphasised that far from being new, the sans-papiers in France have their own history and their protest has been a continuous feature of French political life over the past 25 years.78 Protest has coincided with the introduction of restrictive legislation on immigration since the early 1970s. Immigrants without formal status engaged in successive waves of protest, notably in 1972–73 (Tunisians threatened with expulsion), 1980 (Turkish illegal immigrants) and again in 1992–93 (Turkish and African asylum seekers). Yet, it was during the latter half of the 1990s that their collective action coalesced into a broad movement of solidarity, building roots within civil society and attracting support from associations, artistic and intellectual circles, professional groups and ordinary citizens. It was also during this period that the question of the sans-papiers became an important preoccupation within mainstream political debate, raising new questions about the nature of French citizenship and about the boundaries of social inclusion. This recent cycle of protest began in March 1996 when 300 Africans, including men, women and children, occupied the Church of SaintAmbroise in Paris to demand a regularisation of their status. Mostly originating from the same village in Mali, the demonstrators had lived in the same tower blocks in the run-down suburbs of Paris and had shared similar social and cultural experiences while living in France. The decision to occupy a church was portrayed as an act of desperation by individual sans-papiers who had come up against persistent failure in their


attempts to obtain regular status. Many of them had engaged in repeated and lengthy bureaucratic procedures with the authorities, which often proved to be fruitless. By acting collectively, they hoped to strengthen their position vis-à-vis the authorities and put forward a collective demand for regularisation: ‘We have been here for years. There are some who have lived in France for over ten years … Untel tried to resolve his problem on his own … He had been to the prefecture two or three times … He did not find a solution to his situation. So we said to ourselves, we need to mobilise, to inform ourselves, to form groups, to get together in order to find a solution to this situation of the sans-papiers.’79 Amongst the demonstrators, 50 decided to begin a hunger strike, as a way of intensifying the impact of their appeal. From the outset, the protest was characterised by a strong sense of autonomy and self-organisation amongst the demonstrators. They nominated their own delegates, representing each of the different nationalities present and also compiled lists defining each of their different situations: some were parents of children born in France, some asylum seekers and others spouses of French citizens. The sans-papiers were anxious to express their own demands and organise their own forms of protest, independently of external organisations. The array of associations which rallied to their cause80 were relegated to a supporting role rather than that of representation. This surprised some activists within these associations, who had expected to assume a more central role in mediating between the protesters and the authorities. The government reacted with police repression and restrictive administrative procedures: three days after the occupation, the church was evacuated by riot police. According to Ababacar Diop, who became a spokesperson for the protest, the way in which this evacuation was carried out had an opposite effect, acting as a catalyst for the movement: ‘This intervention acted as a detonator to our struggle. By removing us from the church, the police were encouraging us to return to the shadows, to reassume our clandestine status. But to live clandestinely was everything we rejected. We proclaimed it loud and clear and continue to do so; if we had been afraid, we wouldn’t have come out of the shadows. We would have quietly returned home: the metro opened its doors to us.’81 For the rest of March, the sans-papiers moved from one location to the next, occupying different buildings on a temporary basis, before eventually moving at the end of the month to the Cartoucherie Theatre in Vincennes outside Paris. Their stay in the grounds of the theatre marked an important stage in the evolution of the protest movement. Here, the sans-papiers forged close ties with the actors and other agents working in the theatre who welcomed them with warmth and support. The sans-papiers would


often attend performances and address the public during intervals in order to explain their situation: ‘The actors performed for the public and participated at the same time in the struggle with their affection, moral support and material help. The Théâtre du Soleil was showing Molière’s Tartuffe at the time: we were able to watch the performance for free. During the interval, we would speak to the audience and explain our struggle.’82 Ariane Mnouchkine, director of the theatre, helped to set up a committee of mediators composed of 26 prominent public figures who agreed to negotiate with the authorities on their behalf. These were wellknown personalities, respectable figures from public life, who came from different backgrounds and who had ‘served France’ and therefore ‘could not be accused of not being French’.83 The mediators met the sans-papiers in the grounds of the theatre to discuss their demands. This support offered by artistic, intellectual and professional groups was critical to the consolidation of the movement: it provided a network of solidarity outside the conventional associations which contributed to a growing body of support within public opinion and civil society, more generally. Support was also provided from within the trade union movement. As the theatre in Vincennes closed in mid-April, the sans-papiers moved to railway buildings owned by the national railway company, the SNCF, on rue Pajol in Paris at the invitation of railworkers within a left-wing current of the trade union, the CFDT. This current (CFDT-Cheminots) had played an active role during the wave of strikes in the winter of 1995 and felt an obvious sympathy with the protest led by the sans-papiers. During their brief residence at rue Pajol, they held weekly debates and meetings, where sympathetic associations and other groups of sans-papiers could meet the demonstrators and discuss their situation. A period of protracted negotiations was set in motion between the public authorities and the committee of mediators who advanced the demands of the protesters. They had drawn up a list of ten criteria for regularisation, intending to cover the situation of each of the sans-papiers involved in the protest. These were based on an open and liberal interpretation of their situation, founded on a strict respect for human rights.84 Faced with the intransigence of the authorities who were unwilling to accept most of the criteria, a group of sans-papiers decided to begin a second hunger strike. The government reacted almost immediately, by placing a moratorium on all expulsions and by agreeing to consider all of their cases together. The demonstrators had been anxious to have their cases considered collectively and thereby avoid being categorised by the authorities as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ immigrants. Yet, when by the end of June the


government only proceeded to regularise 48 people out of a group of 315, the demonstrators decided to relaunch their action by occupying a second church in Paris. Events were followed closely by the media both from the arrival of the sans-papiers at the Church of Saint-Bernard at the end of June, to their evacuation by riot police nearly two months later. The first 48 hours of the occupation were covered directly by the media which then reported intermittently on their different actions. On 5 July, ten protesters began a hunger strike, after having received official notification to leave the country within a period of one month: ‘We had a month to leave France. One month after which despite our attachments, the bonds we had formed, the work which we had carried out, the French territory would be forbidden to us.’85 Media attention intensified when the hunger strikers were forcibly removed from the church by the police and taken to different hospitals. The day after, about a thousand people gathered in a candle-lit vigil outside the church: ‘The following evening, a spontaneous gathering was formed in front of Saint-Bernard; never before had the solidarity of the French people been so clear, so evident. Candles were brought in large numbers and distributed to passers-by; as night fell small groups came up rue Saint-Bruno and mixed with the crowd assembled in front of the entrance.’86 Coverage by the media had been critical in extending support and publicising the protest to a mass public audience. On 21 August, a demonstration took place, during which 15,000 people marched from Place de la République in Paris to the church. Support was also growing within mainstream political parties and institutions on the Left. Robert Hue, then head of the Communist Party launched an appeal in support of the sans-papiers which was signed by all of the parties on the Left together with the trade unions. Similarly, a delegation of sans-papiers was received by members of the European Parliament. This reinforced the isolation of the right-wing government which continued to maintain an implacable stance. Jean-Louis Debré, then Minister of the Interior affirmed on television: ‘To the sans-papiers, I say this, the government cannot regularise you. We will apply the law. But we are ready, since you must return to your country, to see, if you wish and with your agreement, how you can go back in the best conditions.’87 On 23 August, newspapers printed images of riot police breaking down the doors of the church using axes. The occupants were evacuated amidst scenes of brutality conveyed to media across the world. One daily carried these images on its front page with the words of the Interior Minister printed below ‘with humanity and heart’, terms he had used to qualify his decision to order the evacuation.88


In March 1996, the right-wing government put forward new proposals designed to enforce tighter controls on illegal immigration. Amongst other repressive measures, the Debré bill required citizens to inform the authorities of the presence of foreign visitors in their homes. In fact, a 27-year-old French woman, Jacqueline Deltombe was arrested in November and accused of allowing an illegal immigrant to stay at her home. Seen as a threat to basic human rights, a return to the values of Vichy France, this bill provoked a considerable outcry amongst the public. By incorporating into law measures which explicitly discriminated against foreigners, the bill was seen as racist and undemocratic. The routine surveillance of foreigners which it proposed was reminiscent, for many, of the persecution of Jews during the Vichy period. Opposition to the bill began when a group of filmmakers launched an appeal for civil disobedience which was published in a number of national dailies on 12 February 1997: We film-makers declare ‘we are guilty, each one of us, of having recently accommodated foreigners with irregular status. We did not denounce our foreign friends. And we will continue to accommodate, not denounce, to get on with and to work together without checking the documents of our colleagues and friends. Following the judgment made on 4 February 1997 against Mrs. Jacqueline Deltombe, guilty of having accommodated a Zaire friend with irregular status and taking as a principle that the law is the same for everybody, we demand to be investigated and judged also. Finally we call on our fellow citizens to disobey and not to submit to inhuman laws. We refuse that our freedoms should be restricted in this way.’89 This was a courageous act of defiance in relation to the public authorities: by openly declaring their own guilt and their infraction of the law, they effectively invited the government to initiate proceedings against them as well. The film-makers called on others to do likewise and refuse to comply with a law which diminished democratic rights and freedoms. They called for a movement of civil disobedience, appealing to all French citizens to reject this legislation and assert their citizenship actively by defending core civic values. A second appeal was made by 200 writers and 59 people from the theatre circuits. Soon, appeals began to circulate throughout artistic and intellectual groups, mobilising teachers, researchers, musicians and sculptors. This developed into a broad petition movement within civil society. On 25 February 1997 the newspaper Libération published 48 pages displaying 55,000 signatures, ‘in order of their arrival’90 at the press office.


The day before the Debré bill was due to be presented a second time before parliament on 22 February 1997, a massive demonstration took place in Paris that rallied over 100,000 people. The slogans brandished during the demonstration highlighted a strong sense of solidarity with the sans-papiers: ‘We are all foreigners’, ‘Documents for all’, ‘For the right to live as a family’. A number of demonstrators carried suitcases displaying the sticker ‘Air Debré’ to symbolise those who had been deported from France by the government. Described as a ‘civic march’, the demonstration brought together scores of associations, groups and ordinary people, participating in their capacity as citizens rather than as members of a particular organisation. The editorial of one daily referred to ‘this reassuring civic march which brought together a large crowd, gathered there without any organisation, without party orders, outside of all structures, from the Gare de l’Est to Châtelet, passing by the Republic and its founding principles’.91 The various associations present and the handful of party leaders tended to follow rather than lead events. In explaining why she was there, one participant remarked: ‘I am a citizen, not a demonstrator.’ At a time of deep-seated political crisis, this demonstration highlighted the depth of support within some currents of civil society for the rights of clandestine immigrants living in France and the need to protect core democratic principles for all. Increasingly, this support was emerging from outside specific structures and organisations, amongst young people, professional groups and ordinary citizens. Events during the 1990s seem to have set in motion a regular pattern of protest by groups of sans-papiers living in France and by their sympathisers within civil society. Occupations, demonstrations and symbolic forms of protest have continued to erupt sporadically on the political scene in response to new government legislation or to the demands of particular groups of ‘irregulars’. In April 1998, a group of 133 filmmakers published a petition in the daily Le Monde, where they demanded an immediate regularisation of the status of all sans-papiers who had requested it.92 Highlighting the continued expulsion of foreigners from French airports, they accused the government of transforming France into a ‘police State’. The appeal was signed by a number of prominent film directors and followed the example of similar appeals launched by groups of film-makers and intellectuals in February 1997 (appeal for civil disobedience) and October 1997 (appeal by 1300 artists and intellectuals). Similarly, in the latest in a series of demonstrations, several thousand sans-papiers took to the streets on 19 October 2002 to protest against President Jacques Chirac’s proposal for a ‘contract of integration’ for all new immigrants arriving in France. This action followed the occupation


in August of the basilica of Saint-Denis in Paris by groups of immigrants demanding a regularisation of their status. The struggle of the sans-papiers seems to have moved well beyond their particular social context and called into question the very nature of French citizenship and the principles which this notion entails. This chapter has examined the French antiracist movement during the 1990s in all its richness, complexity and diversity. I have taken issue with some recent critics who dismiss antiracism as a failure and fulminate against the ‘sins’ of this movement, its lack of ideological purity, its failure to produce organisational unity. As a social movement, antiracism was in fact immensely successful in constructing a collective identity, in giving voice to a marginalised social group, and in mobilising political activism. Its major accomplishment was to propagate values of tolerance, egalitarianism and solidarity amongst a new generation of young people who were faced for the first time with a dangerous form of political extremism. Yet so long as the true mission of antiracism is believed to be the construction of a unified political movement at national level, capable of producing a broad theoretical consensus, such dimensions are often eliminated from the analysis. The chapter went on to look at a specific current of antiracist activism: the political struggle against the Far Right. Ras l’Front was one of the most prominent structures of the 1990s in mobilising popular resistance to the National Front. It attached value to autonomous grassroots activism and viewed any moves towards formalised structure as a compromise of its fundamental beliefs. Whilst this was a source of considerable strength, it also contributed inevitably to a measure of weakness, disqualifying the association from competing within national party politics. In a final part, we looked at the collective mobilisation by one of the most dispossessed groups within French society: the sans-papiers. By engaging in systematic protest during the 1990s, ‘irregulars’ assumed an autonomous voice and rejected their status as silent and invisible non-citizens. A final point needs to be made here: the French antiracist movement in its different manifestations and forms has acted as a driving force behind the rethinking of citizenship in contemporary French society. Much of the extraordinary revival of debate about the nature of citizenship in contemporary France is a direct consequence of the demands placed on this concept by immigrant communities living in France. By challenging the parameters of citizenship, by signalling its impact as an exclusionary force, and by fighting for the right to participate fully in society, immigrant groups have challenged the very foundations of republican citizenship and its definition of the individual citizen.


They have appealed for the removal of nationality as a criterion for access to citizenship and called for a new conception of citizenship based on social membership alone. Through its actions and its rhetoric, the antiracist movement has influenced other marginalised groups within French society who have also tended to conceptualise their struggle in terms of citizenship. They too have called for a renewed, more open citizenship that corresponds to changing social realities rather than to abstract and immutable principles. They have argued that only when profound social inequalities are removed can citizenship be exercised in a genuine and universal way. We will go on to look at the claims placed on citizenship by some of these other groups, beginning in the next chapter with a discussion of the movement of the unemployed.

5 From ‘Silence to Revolt’: the Unemployed

Mais le chômage ne produit pas que des lâches, il fait aussi des révoltés. Révoltés farouches et souvent inconscients, allant de ville en ville, pillant où ils peuvent, vivant d’expédients et n’attendant qu’une émeute pour se ruer sur la classe de ceux qui les fait souffrir.1 During the winter months of 1997 to 1998, France was gripped by a massive wave of social protest led by groups of unemployed activists. Tens of thousands of demonstrators, over a three-month period, occupied benefit agencies, local council buildings and public utility offices. They held demonstrations, organised marches and called for the ‘right to work’ to be established as a genuine right of all French citizens. The conflict was sparked off by a demonstration in Marseilles, for increased social benefits over the Christmas period. This soon escalated into a broad protest movement at national level that mobilised against conditions of poverty and exclusion within French society. Demonstrators appealed for an end to the marginalisation of a sizeable minority of the French population and for greater equality and inclusiveness across society. The scale of this action took many by surprise. Often portrayed as a silent mass, an ‘invisible class’, hidden behind official figures and statistics, the unemployed had coalesced during this period into a cohesive social force.2 For the first time since the 1930s, they had engaged in unified action supported by a network of autonomous associations. They had demanded recognition as an identifiable group in society with a distinct set of rights and demands. This was the first time, in the contemporary context, that they had openly and collectively challenged their position in society as a marginalised ‘underclass’. According to Didier Demazière and Maria-Teresa Pignoni, the unemployed had moved from a position of ‘silence’ to 95


one of ‘revolt’: The unemployed have expressed themselves publicly, they have attracted attention, they have been listened to, if not heard. This is the first success of this movement of collective mobilisation. The silence of the unemployed has become revolt. They have come out of their usual, reassuring place to take on another unexpected and threatening role.3 The ‘movement of the unemployed’ as it became known in the French media during the 1990s, refers to a range of associations which has emerged in recent decades to defend and assert the rights of the unemployed. These associations have given voice and representation to a group that has traditionally been excluded from political processes and lacked a stake in formal institutions. By organising demonstrations and marches, by producing newspapers and manifestos and developing their own political symbols and slogans, such associations have helped to construct a collective identity for the unemployed as a social actor capable of challenging the political system, contesting public policies and securing social change. This chapter will trace the development of this new movement of the unemployed within the contemporary French context. I will begin by examining the unemployed as a social group within French society, looking at the obstacles that have militated so strongly against any attempts at political mobilisation.

A new social actor? Moments of sporadic protest led by this or that interest group, trade union or political organisation are so frequent and commonplace within French political life that they hardly merit serious or lengthy consideration. We have seen that protest in France is ‘a national way of life’4 and punctuates the newspaper headlines with such frequency that it is almost consigned to the level of the banal. Yet, that this unrest was mobilised by a group in society without formal representation or political organisation, without collective identity or material resources, and without a history or tradition of social conflict was unprecedented and highly significant. The ‘winter of protest’ led by the unemployed in 1997–98, seemed to bring to the fore a new social actor that was capable of challenging the political system and mobilising widespread contestation within civil society. It also generated attention from French academics who endeavoured to make sense of a movement that

From ‘Silence to Revolt’: the Unemployed 97

appeared to break with all the social and political expectations surrounding it.5 The unemployed in France are characterised by a weak tradition of social combativeness and militancy. If we look at instances of protest from French history, these were generally sporadic and short-lived, failing to produce permanent structures or organisations. Demonstrations by the unemployed first took place in France during the nineteenth century at a time of industrialisation with the rise of a capitalist system of production. Eric Lecerf emphasised the devastating impact of unemployment during this period, referring to it as a ‘famine of modern times’.6 Just as, in previous centuries, famine had imposed conditions of widespread poverty and destitution, unemployment represented a ‘new type of famine’, inflicting a similar plight on its victims. As with a famine resulting from natural causes, unemployment was the outcome of an external force lying outside the control of the individual, in this case the economic system. Some of the earliest expressions of unrest took place in 1848 and again during the 1880s. These were spontaneous acts of protest led by a new urban proletariat who reacted against the increased mechanisation of industry and the threat which this posed to their livelihood. On 9 March 1883, notably, over 20,000 unemployed people took part in a demonstration at Esplanade des Invalides in Paris.7 Mobilised by a union of artisans, demonstrators denounced the widespread unemployment and hardship within their profession and called on the Republic ‘to nourish the creator of its wealth: the worker’.8 However, given the scale and impact of unemployment during this period, protest remained weak and unstructured. Moreover, it did not give rise to a new organisation or movement, as was the case in other industrialised countries during the same period. Whilst organisations of the unemployed emerged by the end of the nineteenth century in Great Britain, the United States and Germany, collective action in France remained fragmented and isolated from the working-class movement as a whole. Protest resurfaced during the 1930s, against a backdrop of economic crisis and rising unemployment. This time, collective action was more widespread and organised. The Communist-dominated trade unions (the CGTU,9 in particular) played a pervasive role in organising social militancy during this period. Motivated by the need to maintain and extend its influence at grassroots level and to confront the spread of fascism, the CGTU set up ‘committees of the unemployed’ in towns throughout France. The aim was to provide support for the unemployed, ensuring that they were not abandoned to ‘enemies of the class


struggle’10 and, by 1933, over 120,000 of such committees had been established. They launched ‘hunger marches’, during which thousands of unemployed people protested against conditions of hardship and poverty. One march held in November 1933 culminated in a demonstration in Paris mobilising 60,000 people.11 Yet again, no autonomous structure or organisation emerged amongst the unemployed themselves. Protest activity was firmly controlled by the CGTU and, by extension, the Communist Party. In fact, the latter was reluctant to set up an independent movement at national level which might diminish its influence over the unemployed. Unlike the situation in Britain where a mass independent movement of the unemployed emerged at national level (National Union of the Unemployed) at this time, collective action in France remained localised and under the control of external organisations. Such protest was traditionally associated with periods of acute economic crisis when levels of unemployment were particularly high. Yet, despite the rapid escalation of unemployment during the 1970s and 1980s, there was no significant mobilisation of the unemployed during this period, comparable to other moments in French history. Whilst unemployment peaked at its highest rate since the 1930s, this did not seem to provoke a widespread mobilisation amongst those worst affected by this situation. Observers pointed to a paradox regarding the impact of economic crisis during this period.12 Why, despite high levels of unemployment, was there no collective mobilisation amongst those out of work? Although the question of unemployment was becoming increasingly prevalent within political and media debates, this contrasted with the quiescence of the unemployed themselves: ‘The growth in the number of unemployed has not increased their visibility, hidden as they are by a litany of statistics.’13 Protest action came from small and marginal associations such as the Syndicat des chômeurs (Union of the Unemployed) which undertook spectacular and radical acts of conflict as a way of alerting public opinion to the plight of the unemployed. Its leader Maurice Pagat launched a hunger strike in 1982 with the aim of ‘breaking a wall of indifference’14 in relation to the question of unemployment. Yet, the influence of this structure amongst the mass ranks of unemployed people was extremely limited, in spite of the political ambitions of its leader. Collective action also came from the ‘committees of the unemployed’ formed at the end of the 1970s by the Communistinfluenced trade union, the CGT. Yet, the latter experienced difficulties in its attempt to mobilise the unemployed and membership of the new committees remained low throughout the 1980s. Without instances of collective action or unified organisations, the unemployed during this


period were characterised by a position of silence: ‘It is silence which defines the place of the unemployed within society: there are millions of them, but they remain without a voice, we do not hear them.’15 Notwithstanding the scale and severity of economic crisis, this did not appear to be a mobilising factor amongst the unemployed themselves, as it had been during other periods of French history. As a social group, the unemployed have been characterised by a weak ‘disruptive power’,16 a limited potential to influence public institutions or exert an impact on social and economic life. As in the experience of other disadvantaged groups, action by the unemployed was often ‘doomed to failure’17 and unlikely to achieve genuine social or political reform. Where a protest movement did succeed, it was usually a result of external political circumstances, rather than a consequence of purposeful action on the part of demonstrators themselves. There was a series of factors that strongly militated against a mobilisation of collective action amongst the unemployed in the contemporary French context. In attempting to organise themselves politically, they were confronted by a set of social, political and cultural obstacles that thwarted efforts towards collective mobilisation. A first obstacle was social: the unemployed were characterised by a position of ‘exclusion’ in relation to society, by an economic marginalisation and a situation of social and political powerlessness. The term ‘les exclus’ (the socially excluded) was increasingly used within French public discourse during the 1980s to refer to a growing ‘underclass’ of dispossessed groups who were pushed onto the very margins of society through factors such as poverty, unemployment or homelessness.18 For some observers, contemporary France was no longer characterised exclusively by vertical or hierarchical divisions based on social class. Instead it was marked by a horizontal separation between those at the centre of society (les inclus) and those at the periphery (les exclus).19 New forms of inequality were not necessarily those of class exploitation, but of social and economic exclusion at various levels. The process of exclusion was linked to a disintegration of social ties, a ‘désaffiliation’20 or unravelling of the connections binding the individual to society. The excluded person was cut off from mainstream society and removed from a collective public space. Segregated from the public sphere and confined to conditions of inequality or deprivation, les exclus were consequently impeded from exercising their citizenship in a genuine or meaningful way.21 Amongst those worst affected by economic crisis, it was the unemployed that constituted by far the largest identifiable group. The period of crisis had exacerbated the divide between the richest and poorest sections


of society and precipitated a soaring rate of unemployment. During the 1980s and 1990s France experienced the most rapid rise in unemployment since the 1930s, with mass unemployment becoming an endemic feature of French society. In 1975, at the beginning of the period of crisis, unemployment stood at 4.1 per cent. By 1998 it had risen to 11.8 per cent, above the average for the European Union.22 The sharp rise in unemployment had swollen the ranks of those living in conditions of economic deprivation, and rising unemployment had gone hand in hand with a deterioration of the living conditions of those who were out of work. It is important to add that the nature and impact of unemployment in the contemporary period differed significantly from that of earlier points of French history. For a growing proportion of the population, unemployment was no longer a temporary condition, a passing aberration in normal working life, but became a permanent and inescapable condition. Of the total number of unemployed in France in 1997, nearly half (40 per cent) were long-term, being out of work for more than two years.23 The rise of long-term structural unemployment meant that a section of the population now found itself permanently excluded from mainstream society and prevented from participating fully in the public sphere. Marginalised from the workplace, lacking collective resources, dependent on the State for subsistence, the unemployed did not have the means necessary to organise themselves collectively. A second obstacle was political: the unemployed did not possess a legacy of political militancy or combativeness and lacked enduring structures capable of articulating, representing and furthering their interests in the public sphere. They were characterised by a ‘depoliticised state’,24 short of the political organisations necessary to make their voice heard within mainstream institutions. Unlike the workers’ movement, the unemployed were typically isolated from instances of formal representation and alienated from patterns of working-class conflict. They were not supported by an extensive apparatus of representation, by a tradition of social struggle or by the formal recognition and legitimation of the State and therefore did not exist as an autonomous political force within French society: ‘they do not constitute a class that could have its own delegates and leaders.’25 The unemployed traditionally received support from the French Left which acted as a ‘natural ally’ of dispossessed sections of society. For instance, the Communist-led trade union, the CGT, was the first organisation to set up a network of committees to give direct representation to those out of work, during the 1970s. More recently, the left-wing current of the CFDT set up a new


organisation AC! (Act Together against Unemployment!), to further the interests of the unemployed and to organise them politically. Nonetheless, relations between trade unions and the unemployed have been fraught with difficulty. Many unions were reluctant to support the formation of autonomous unemployed groups that were perceived to threaten trade union influence and the supposed unity of the working class.26 Some French unions had inherited a solid working-class tradition (ouvrièrisme) and a strong proletarian identity that did not lend itself easily to an identification with those out of work. The trade union movement, itself undergoing a profound crisis of participation, experienced problems adapting to changing social realities and was often unwilling to accommodate the interests of the unemployed. A striking feature of the contemporary period was the rise of a network of autonomous associations often mobilised by the unemployed themselves and designed to articulate and further their demands. Some of these were created precisely to challenge the perceived ‘shortcomings of trade union organisations’27 in responding to the plight of those out of work. The new associations assumed a crucial role in constructing a political identity for the unemployed, in a context where they were otherwise unrepresented and unheard. Yet, the emergent ‘movement of the unemployed’ remained embryonic in character and was unable to offer political unity and direction to those it claimed to represent. One problem was the sheer diversity and fragmentation of the new associations: they constituted a heterogeneous group that lacked political and social cohesiveness and overall unity.28 Some were radical, but marginal groupings, supported by only a handful of core activists and acted without resources or clear structure. Others were supported by currents within the trade union movement and therefore benefited from a stronger organisational fabric and some measure of political access. Yet, in terms of their membership, material resources and organisational strength, the new associations were often weak and divided, expressing competing political tendencies and pursuing a variety of goals. Another problem was that many of the associations were orientated towards a provision of concrete material support to those out of work and were directed towards pragmatic action centred on daily life.29 Such grassroots action tended to take precedence over concerns with political organisation or ideology and absorbed the radical and militant tendencies within the movement. One exception to this rule was the organisation AC!, which endeavoured to formulate a generalised social and political stance, reflecting critically on the place of the unemployed within contemporary societies.


A third obstacle was cultural: the unemployed did not share a ‘collective identity’ that might spur them towards a mobilisation of social protest. Before collective action can take place, individuals need to identify their interests with those of the group and recognise a common or shared identity in order for an essential ‘we’ to be formed.30 Yet the nature of unemployment tended to militate against the formation of a common identity. In contemporary France, the unemployed constituted a highly diversified and heterogeneous group crossing different social classes, ages and cultural backgrounds: ‘The unemployed constitute a heterogeneous group in its experiences and in its aspirations.’31 They were not necessarily bound by a common set of social or cultural ties based on factors such as class, race, cultural background or political belief that might contribute to the construction of a collective identity. Those who fell into this category ranged from young school leavers to those nearing retirement age, from French nationals to immigrants, from the long-term unemployed to those who were temporarily out of work. How could a fifty-year-old redundant factory worker be said to partake of a common experience with a young graduate hoping to launch his or her career? Rates of unemployment were certainly higher amongst some sections of the French population. For example, unemployment during the 1990s was three times higher amongst those of working-class origin than amongst the middle-classes. Similarly, the unemployment rate was three times higher amongst those without a third-level education, against those who possessed a third-level qualification. A disproportionate number of the long-term unemployed were immigrants and the poorly educated who found themselves marginalised from the labour market on a permanent basis and trapped in a cycle of poverty and social exclusion.32 However, these factors did not together combine to produce a common experience of unemployment, and the impact of unemployment and its effects on the individual varied according to a range of personal and social circumstances. The sheer diversity of the experience of unemployment tended to militate against the rise of a collective identity which could produce social and political cohesiveness. As Paul Bagguley observed, in his study of the unemployed in Britain, there is no single unifying experience of unemployment and the unemployed person is typically isolated, atomised and cut off from a given community: ‘There is no uniform homogeneous “unemployed consciousness” or identity. There is no essential experience of unemployment, except perhaps in relation to the state’s social security system.’33 In its social impact, representations and forms, unemployment does not tend to produce the social and cultural bonds necessary for a collective identity to emerge.


The ‘identity’ of the unemployed in contemporary France was generally defined by reference to administrative categories applied by the public authorities, rather than in relation to the potentiality and autonomy of this group as a social actor. There exists a myriad of social and administrative codes used by the French State to categorise, regulate and organise social provision for the unemployed. This process of social codification begins when the unemployed person registers with the ANPE (National Employment Agency) and is designated as a ‘job seeker’ (demandeur d’emploi), entailing an obligation on the part of that person actively to seek work. They are, in the first instance, distinguished from ‘les inactifs’, groups in society unable to work and subject to a different category of social protection. An unemployed person is identified according to the nature of his or her unemployment (long-term unemployed, young unskilled person, older age groups) and by reference to the social benefits to which he or she is entitled. Unemployment benefit is organised through an insurance scheme based on individual earnings-related contributions (as opposed to the tax-based system that exists in Britain) and it is distributed through the national social security structure UNEDIC and its local agencies, ASSEDIC.34 For those not covered by social insurance and without entitlements (en fin des droits), there exists a minimum income scheme (RMI).35 One problem was that the escalation of unemployment during the 1980s and 1990s massively increased the numbers of those falling outside the social insurance scheme and unable to make regular contributions. In 1996, according to one study, at least 1,650,000 individuals were without insurance and relying on a minimum income for subsistence.36 It is clear that in the public sphere, the unemployed were socially represented by reference to administrative categories and social codes rather than in relation to a collective identity construed in terms of an active and autonomous existence as a social group. We have seen that the unemployed in France are a group without history, without collective organisation, without traditions of social combativeness. Moreover, there is a multiplicity of social, political and cultural factors that have militated strongly against their mobilisation in the contemporary period. This is a group characterised by a weak ‘disruptive power’, by its very exclusion from society, by a limited capacity to make itself heard or to influence political life. Yet despite a position of seemingly entrenched marginalisation, unemployed activists succeeded during the 1990s in overcoming these obstacles and galvanising a social conflict that placed them, albeit temporarily, at the centre stage of French politics. We will now go on to look at what the unemployed did during this period and how they did it.


The winter of protest of 1997–98 The French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu referred to the rise of a movement of the unemployed as a ‘social miracle’.37 The unemployed, in his view, were no longer an invisible element within French society, but had become an active and militant force, demanding new rights and recognition as a cohesive social group: ‘The first success of this movement is the movement itself, its very existence: it removes the unemployed and with them all those in precarious employment whose number grows each day, from a situation of invisibility, isolation, silence and in short, non-existence.’38 After a period of long absence from the public sphere, the unemployed engaged during the 1990s in a renewed phase of political activism, affirming a collective voice and undertaking acts of social protest to express their grievances. They formed new associations to advance their demands, articulated shared goals and mobilised acts of militancy within society. They published newspapers, manifestos and declarations, and produced cultural symbols, as a way of forging their own collective identity. These diverse actions culminated during the winter of 1997–98 in a massive and unified wave of social protest. For Bourdieu, such protest held tremendous political significance for social movements not just in France, but throughout Europe as a whole: ‘The French movement of the unemployed also constitutes an appeal to all unemployed and casual workers throughout Europe: a new subversive idea has appeared and it can become an instrument of struggle which can be seized upon by each national movement.’39 A first significant attempt to consolidate political action at national level was the ‘marches of the unemployed’. In 1994, the recently created organisation AC! decided to launch a ‘march against unemployment and exclusion’ modelled on earlier antiracist marches of the mid-1980s (‘les marches des Beurs’). Like other demonstrations by minority groups, the aim was to affirm the political identity of the unemployed and establish a positive presence in society as a social group with a distinct set of rights and demands. In April of that year, 150 demonstrators set off from five towns across France and marched over a two-month period towards Paris. Along their route, they passed through towns where they were joined by local sympathisers and where they organised meetings with union officials, other unemployed activists and local political leaders. Between 6000 and 10,000 demonstrators are estimated to have participated in various stages of the march, as ‘occasional demonstrators’,40 taking part for short periods of one to three days. On 28 May the march converged on the Place de la Bastille in Paris,


where a national demonstration took place, mobilising tens of thousands of demonstrators.41 The leaders of the protest advanced a number of concrete demands, calling for a massive reduction in working hours, government action to combat social exclusion and a formal representation of the unemployed within national-level institutions. Meanwhile, instances of grassroots protest erupted sporadically throughout the 1990s, especially in towns where associations of the unemployed were firmly established within local communities. In Marseilles, where the CGT committees were solidly implanted at grassroots level, there were marches, demonstrations, occupations and instances of direct action. Localised protest was often targeted at achieving an immediate, albeit temporary, solution to a critical social problem. It often stemmed from the feelings of desperation and urgency experienced by those ‘who have nothing to lose, nor the time to wait’42 and aimed at securing concrete solutions. AC! also engaged in radical acts of protest during this period, but here the aim was to capture public attention in relation to a cause, by a manipulation of media channels. They organised ‘job requisitioning’ where a group of unemployed activists, accompanied by press and television reporters, would present themselves at a company where job vacancies were known to exist and demand that their applications be taken into consideration by the management. They also organised ‘wealth requisitioning’ when activists would occupy a casino or another conspicuous symbol of wealth, as a way of highlighting social inequalities at a time of profound economic crisis. During the wave of public sector strikes that gripped France in the winter of 1995, the unemployed played an active, albeit marginal, role in the conflict. Although key associations of the unemployed participated in the demonstrations, brandishing placards, and calling for ‘social protection for all’, their participation was eclipsed by that of the large trade union confederations, and their claims took secondary place alongside those of strikers themselves. One movement leader complained that the question of unemployment had become disengaged from a broader ‘social question’ and that the interests of the unemployed were being marginalised in relation to those of workers in paid employment.43 The importance of their participation in this period of social conflict lay elsewhere, in the new links that were forged with other emerging rightsbased associations such as DAL (Right to Housing) and DD!! (Rights Now) and new trade union structures, such as SUD and the left-wing current within the CFDT, Tous ensemble. For the first time, this fragmented array of nascent structures presented a unitary front and constructed a coherent political stance based on a thematic of rights, social citizenship and


inclusiveness. Increasingly, they conceptualised their struggle in terms of rights and access to rights. They tended to reject the label ‘les exclus’ (the socially excluded) assigned to them and assumed a collective identity as ‘les sans’ (literally ‘those without’), groups denied certain rights and prevented from participating fully in society through factors such as unemployment, economic deprivation or homelessness. Their exclusion from society was not a particularist matter restricted to them alone but implicated society as a whole and threw into question the norms and values governing social participation and citizenship itself. In the words of Claire Villiers, ‘As in all other domains, it is a question of gaining rights. Through collective and protest action, the unemployed and salaried workers say collectively: we no longer want assistance, we want rights. There is no citizenship without rights.’44 The coordination of the ‘sans’ continued to engage in broad-based acts of protest in the years that followed. In March 1996, several thousand demonstrators, mobilised by the new associations, organised a demonstration in Paris that called for a ‘basic subsistence for all members of society’.45 Critical to the evolution of political activism by the unemployed was the formation of new relationships between French associations and comparable organisations from countries across Europe. In June 1996, AC! organised a European meeting in Florence that drew together activists from France, Britain, Spain, Germany and Ireland. Their discussions took place against a background of intensified political integration in Europe, in the wake of the Maastricht Treaty and at a time when the unemployment rates across Europe were soaring. Within this context, representatives sought to undertake some form of coordinated action at European level, as a way of asserting the responsibility of European institutions in combating unemployment and safeguarding fundamental social rights. The outcome of this meeting was an appeal for ‘European marches against unemployment and social exclusion’. Calling for a ‘Europe of full employment’, the Florence appeal formulated a number of concrete demands, such as the creation of new jobs in Europe, a massive reduction in working hours and a redistribution of wealth across European societies.46 The marches that took place the following year consisted of a series of simultaneous demonstrations in countries across Europe which culminated in a mass demonstration in Amsterdam on 14 June 1997, mobilising 50,000 people.47 A statement published by AC! expressed the demands of the participants: ‘We march together to express our revolt because social crisis is not an inevitability […]. We march together because we are against Europe as it is being constructed without us and against us.’48 Collective action at European level had


accentuated the political and social visibility of the unemployed and the French press tended to accord greater attention to these demonstrations than to similar marches that had taken place on French soil. Until now, protest by the unemployed had remained sporadic and piecemeal, led by one or two associations, often acting in isolation of the others. Rarely did collective action make a significant impact on the French media and associations of the unemployed found themselves marginalised by mainstream political institutions. This situation was dramatically, if momentarily, reversed in the winter of 1997–98, when associations across France came together to launch a unified and sustained phase of collective action. The ‘winter of protest’ was based on a wave of occupations, demonstrations and symbolic initiatives led by the new associations who appealed for concrete material gains as well as long-term political recognition and access.49 This has been described as a ‘constitutive moment’ that transformed the position of the unemployed within French society.50 By acting in a cohesive and unified way, by drawing together otherwise fragmented groupings, the ‘movement of the unemployed’ was able to assume a stance as an autonomous social force: ‘The unemployed speak for themselves, act for themselves, assume a voice until now entrusted to the experts.’51 It was from this point onwards that the French media began to speak of a ‘movement of the unemployed’ and became interested in their demands, organisations and actions. It was also as an outcome of this protest that Lionel Jospin’s government of the time invited movement leaders to enter into direct negotiations in order to find a resolution to the conflict. From a previously random and differentiated set of actions, the movement seemed to be transformed during this period into ‘a collective action that succeeds finally in breaking a media and political wall of indifference’.52 Events began in Marseilles during a campaign to secure increased social security benefits over the Christmas period (the prime de Noel of 3000 francs). Since the early 1990s, the CGT committees based in Marseilles had organised demonstrations each year outside local benefit offices to call for additional social funding for the unemployed during that period of the year. A spokesperson from one CGT committee expressed the motivations of those who took part: ‘How can we speak about a struggle against exclusion and a reduction of social fragmentation without taking into account the fact that there can be no Christmas for everybody, without undertaking measures for each person.’53 In the past, such protest had been successful in obtaining from the authorities additional benefits at Christmas for thousands of unemployed people


in Marseilles. However, when they mobilised in December 1997, demonstrators were faced with an unforeseen hurdle. In July of that year, the national benefit agency UNEDIC had introduced a reform of the social security system which reduced by two thirds its social funding to local benefit agencies. This meant that when unemployed activists mobilised in Marseilles to clamour for increased social funding, the amount of funding available for that purpose had been severely reduced. A wave of protest action ensued during which eight benefit offices (ASSEDIC) were occupied by activists and demonstrations were held in Marseilles and its surrounding region. Meanwhile, at national level, a mobilisation was under way which coincided with the localised protest taking place in Marseilles. A network of associations linking the unemployed and other associations for the socially excluded (les sans) launched a week of collective action against unemployment in mid-December (‘une semaine d’urgence sociale’). Their intention was to alert public opinion to the critical effects of economic crisis, through a series of spectacular and symbolic initiatives. They called for urgent government measures to combat the poverty and social exclusion experienced by a growing minority of the French population. As part of this action, 200 activists invaded the pyramid of the Louvre in Paris and held a one-day demonstration during which they called for ‘a decent income for all’.54 They criticised the thrust and direction of global economic developments which, in their view, had diminished the social rights of French citizens. In a statement released to the press, they attacked the relentless policies of economic liberalism pursued by the French government, held responsible for a degradation of social and economic conditions: ‘Liberalism is a doctrine which demands inequality as a founding principle and the growth of inequalities in society is a political choice […]. We know that to bring an end to unemployment, economic insecurity and social exclusion, we need to impose another economic logic, another social organisation and therefore political organisation, in other words a logic that reverses the logic of liberalism.’55 In a separate initiative, activists occupied the former headquarters of a leading Parisian company, where they installed a number of homeless families and held meetings to debate the issue of unemployment. These two separate dynamics in Marseilles and Paris soon converged into a broad and unprecedented wave of protest that pursued its course until the beginning of March 1998. Over 40,000 activists participated in this conflict, launching demonstrations and occupying benefit agencies throughout France. More than thirty benefit offices were occupied and this was later extended to other public organisations (chambers of


commerce; a national electricity company). A national demonstration on 7 January 1998 mobilised 30,000 people in towns across France and a second demonstration on 17 January brought together nearly 20,000 participants.56 Demonstrators called for urgent social aid for the unemployed, including a review of the benefit system, a basic income for young people and increased social benefits. In an open letter to the Prime Minister, the leaders of the movement appealed for an urgent response to these demands: ‘How can we possibly live on 2,000 francs a month? We no longer accept to live in this way.’57 Yet, this was also a mobilisation against the wider question of poverty and exclusion within French society. The movement was supported by a range of groups representing the socially excluded (the ‘sans’: associations for the homeless, immigrant groups, and so on) who appealed for an end to the inequalities experienced by growing numbers of French citizens. At the same time, unemployed activists within the new associations sought recognition and legitimacy from the public authorities. They demanded that the unemployed be represented within public bodies dealing with employment and social security (UNEDIC, ANPE). The protest attracted a groundswell of public support. In the period before Christmas, with its usual display of festivities and celebrations, the unemployed through their actions transmitted a very different image: that of the social deprivation and exclusion of a section of the population. One survey revealed that 27 per cent of the general public supported the movement, while 68 per cent of unemployed people declared their support.58 The response of the then ‘Plural Left’ government was hesitant and divided. Some parties of government (Communists, Greens) expressed support for the demonstrators and a number of ministers, including the Green Party representative, Dominique Voynet (former Minister for the Environment) and the Communist representative, Georges Buffet (former Minister for Youth and Sport), publicly declared their sympathy for the protest. Yet members of the Socialist party unreservedly condemned the actions of the unemployed as illegal and unrepresentative. Prime Minister Lionel Jospin offered minor concessions in an attempt to stem the tide of social conflict, intending to ‘exchange a recognition of the associations against an end of the occupations’59 and followed this with an order to evacuate all public buildings. Martine Aubry, Minister for Employment and Solidarity, denounced a perceived ‘manipulation of the unemployed’ and sought to underplay the scale of the protest, affirming that only ‘four per cent’60 of benefit agencies throughout France had been occupied. On 9 January 1998, leaders of a number of associations, including Claire Villiers, Richard Dethyre and Maurice Pagat were invited


to meet Lionel Jospin and Martine Aubry. This meeting resulted in a number of concessions from government: new ‘funding for social urgency’ was put in place; the associations were invited to participate in the preparation of a new law against social exclusion, passed in July 1998; a number of associations acquired representation within national institutions dealing with unemployment. After a decade of political marginalisation, the movement had now acquired formal recognition from the authorities. We have seen that protest action during the 1990s transformed the social and political status of the unemployed within French society. From a characteristic silence and invisibility, they engaged in open revolt, rejecting conditions of inequality assigned to them and occupying the State agencies on which they were financially dependent. They tended to conceptualise their struggle in terms of citizenship and a broad set of social rights, rather than in relation to the particularist circumstances affecting them. Along with other groups of ‘sans’, they argued that only when those on the outside were integrated within an expanded set of rights that connected them to those on the inside, could processes of social exclusion be averted. Critical to the social conflict of this period was the role played by new and often autonomous associations that worked behind the scenes, mobilising protest and articulating changing demands. We will now turn to look at the key associations that engaged in this cycle of protest.

Mobilising conflict: the associations Behind social protest by the unemployed, we find a network of associations that represented their demands, coordinated their actions and constructed a collective identity on their behalf. During the 1980s and 1990s, new associations were formed that extended political and social representation to this marginalised social group for the first time. Some were set up by the Communist Left or at least received its indirect support, whilst others were established as new and independent organisations outside of all formal political structures. Certain groupings were formed as radical and conflictual entities, whilst others were intended to give concrete and grassroots support to the unemployed in their daily lives. Whereas some followed conventional and moderate lines of action, others engaged in direct action and sometimes broke the law to get their message across. The ‘movement of the unemployed’ consisted of a fragmented and diversified range of associations, each pursuing its own specific aims and its own particular approach to the problem of


unemployment. Like other movements formed during this period, it was not based on a single overarching structure, but a diversity of competing organisations, carrying with them a separate political vision and set of beliefs. A major source of controversy and debate within the nascent movement was the question of autonomy. On the one hand, there were those who believed that the unemployed should develop an autonomous movement which would exist outside and independently of the traditional structures of the Left, including the trade unions. On the other, there were those who sought to integrate the unemployed within a wider social struggle that would place them side by side with workers in paid employment.

Syndicat des chômeurs One of the earliest expressions of political mobilisation by the unemployed was the Syndicat des chômeurs (Union of the unemployed), created by Maurice Pagat in 1982. Himself unemployed and formerly an activist within Catholic left-wing circles, Pagat launched a campaign to establish a new and independent movement to give political voice to those out of work, in the absence of any other structures to represent their interests: ‘When I created the Syndicat des chômeurs, it was because I was unemployed, I was over fifty and couldn’t find work. I discovered this world of solitude, abandon, isolation […] I said to myself that it was impossible to leave the unemployed without power of expression, without any voice, without the means to organise themselves and to struggle.’61 The new association was highly critical of the trade union movement, which it accused of corporatism and a disregard for the social interests of those out of work. The very designation of the association as a ‘union’, was intended as a gesture of defiance and provocation in relation to the existing trade union confederations. The Syndicat, Pagat maintained, ‘was born out of the incapacity of the trade union movement to respond to the needs of the unemployed, to organise them, to defend them’.62 He believed it was essential for the unemployed to become an autonomous political force which could participate fully in public debates on the nature of work and acquire representation in the national institutions responsible for dealing with unemployment. The Syndicat was to be the instrument that would facilitate this transformation of the unemployed into a collective social force. It intervened on two separate fronts. On the one hand, it sought to alert public opinion to the plight of the unemployed and affirm their existence in society as a cohesive social group. It emphasised the extreme hardship


experienced by the unemployed, who were portrayed as a disenfranchised mass, without political voice or representation. On the other hand, it advanced political objectives, calling for a formal representation at national level, an introduction of a basic income for all and a reduction of the working week to 35 hours. This was a radical, marginal structure that was prepared to engage in spectacular acts of protest to confront a perceived indifference within society to the situation of the unemployed. The media became its preferred instrument of political communication and it was used to alert public opinion to problems of poverty and marginalisation. Activists launched high-profile media-directed actions in order to signal the urgency of the unemployment crisis. Thus in 1982, the Syndicat occupied several unemployment benefit agencies as a gesture of protest. When media attention surrounding this event began to wane, Pagat undertook a hunger strike in an attempt to provoke a public response. He later succeeded in attracting broad public attention by appearing on the television talk show Droit de Réponse in 1984. Alongside these actions, sympathisers engaged in demonstrations, marches and sit-ins, as well as producing their own newspaper Partage. Emphasis was placed on the direct actions of the individuals concerned where conventional channels of communication were closed to them. Nonetheless, Olivier Fillieule has argued that this recourse to spectacular, media-based action stemmed from a need to compensate for a weak following amongst the unemployed themselves.63 The Syndicat had failed in its attempt to create a broad militant base and participation in protest activity remained low, with membership never exceeding several hundred activists. In December 1985, the Syndicat launched the first national march of the unemployed in Paris, based on the example of the ‘equality marches’ organised by young North Africans some months earlier. Yet, this call to collective action only succeeded in mobilising 2500 demonstrators, who marched from the Place de la République to the Bastille in Paris. If the Syndicat had managed to capture public attention, it had not, by any means, succeeded in creating a mass mobilisation amongst the ranks of the jobless. Internal rivalries within the Syndicat led to its collapse in 1985 and the formation of the MNCP (Mouvement national des chômeurs et précaires). Unlike its predecessors, this organisation emphasised the importance of grassroots targeted support for the unemployed. The MNCP acted as a federal structure grouping together a network of local associations (Maisons des chômeurs) which provided concrete support services such as job placement, counselling, food kitchens, lodging and medical services.


The emphasis was no longer on high-profile national-level protest, but on meeting the daily needs of the unemployed. In 1992, a further split occurred with Pagat and others leaving the MNCP to form Réseau Partage. This organisation embodied once again a new logic of action and focused on creating a structure for debate and discussion on unemployment. It organised regular meetings and debates which attracted a significant following from intellectuals, experts and politicians. This shift from pragmatic action to theory and discussion partly reflected Pagat’s failure to create a mass-based movement in the early years. When speaking of the collapse of the Syndicat, Pagat stated: ‘If we had succeeded in creating a mass social movement of the unemployed, we would have survived.’64

The CGT committees Alongside this independent and radical structure, another group of associations emerged under the umbrella of the Communist Left. Already by the end of the 1970s, the communist trade union, the CGT, had begun to set up committees of the unemployed (comités des chômeurs) in order to extend its influence amongst those out of work. The new committees were intended to develop solidarity between workers and the unemployed, mobilising them behind a common set of demands (increase in the minimum wage, reduction in working hours, early retirement schemes, reduction in job insecurity, recruitment policies, and so on). Where the committees were successful, this was based on grassroots activism within local communities. In 1989, a CGT committee for the unemployed was set up in La Ciotat, the port area outside Marseilles. The closure of local shipbuilding yards had resulted in a massive increase in unemployment in this area. In a town of 30,000 inhabitants, 4500 were now unemployed, forming 27 per cent of the active population.65 The committee was set up as a means of mobilising collective action amongst unemployed people locally and representing their demands before the public authorities. In April 1990, local activists launched a ‘march for employment and for dignity’, during which they proceeded to the local government headquarters in Marseilles in order to present their grievances. A month later, another protest was organised at the Cannes film festival: ‘In the midst of dinner jackets and beautiful dresses, they harangued the crowd.’66 The protesters were received by the organisers of the film festival who agreed to send a letter of protest to government officials present at the festival. The committees in La Ciotat expanded rapidly and soon a network of committees was established throughout the region.


The main task of the committees was to respond to the immediate and critical needs of the unemployed and confront urgent problems of poverty and social exclusion. They engaged in direct action channelled towards ameliorating the daily lives of many of their members. For instance, the La Ciotat committee forced the door of an apartment in 1990, with the intention of rehousing a jobless tenant who had been evicted for failing to pay his rent. The committees excelled at providing a mobilisation amongst those segments of society who were alienated by traditional trade union structures. In fact, the dynamic of grassroots action based around Marseilles was seen as an influential model of action to be pursued within the CGT more generally. Charles Houreau, one of the main leaders behind events in La Ciotat, affirmed that such activism provided a model for a renewal of trade unionism: ‘What happened in La Ciotat represents a turning-point in our vision of trade unionism. I would even say that the movement of the unemployed forms part of a dynamic which shines a new light on the whole trade union movement.’67 Yet, the new committees experienced difficulty in mobilising political action at national level. A confederal structure based in Paris sought to elaborate a set of rights for the unemployed in areas such as work, health, education and income: ‘The social rights of the unemployed, the right to work, these are the two inseparable pillars of our action, because when the right to work is not respected, it is all the other rights which are attacked.’68 Just as workers had certain rights protected by law and defended by the trade unions, so a similar set of rights should be extended to those out of work. Nonetheless, the dynamic of grassroots activism was not matched by a similar mobilisation at national level. One problem was that, affiliated to a major trade union confederation, the committees were often hostile towards other competing associations of the unemployed. They saw themselves as the only structure capable of speaking on behalf of those out of work and were anxious to confine their representation to trade union organisations. Membership of the committees remained low during the 1980s: ‘In most cases, these first committees were merely formal structures with little support from the unemployed.’69 At the first national congress at Montreuil in 1983, 120 committees were present. Yet the actual number of unemployed who were members of these committees was low, at 2500.70 They experienced greater success during the 1990s, expanding their influence in a number of regions. By 1997, there were 500 committees based mainly in the region around Marseilles and the former industrial regions of northern France.


APEIS Another structure to emerge within the communist Left was the APEIS (Association for Employment, Information and Solidarity) which developed from a localised protest against benefit offices in the Val-de-Marne area outside Paris. In October 1988, a number of activists had intervened in solidarity with an unemployed person who had appealed to the local benefit agency for urgent social assistance. This developed into a fourday sit-in at the social security headquarters in Créteil, involving over a hundred unemployed demonstrators. The APEIS, which emerged from this protest, was a campaign-based organisation which sought to improve the social and economic conditions experienced by the unemployed. It attempted to transform perceptions of unemployment, treating this not as an abstract economic phenomenon, but as a real experience affecting every aspect of the personal and social life of the individual. Existence!, the newspaper produced by the association, reflected this effort to transform perceptions of the unemployed, conveying the message that they had a ‘right to existence’, a right to lead full and dignified lives equal to other members of society. The grouping therefore combined direct action on behalf of individuals in urgent social need, with broad campaigns designed to modify the social status of those out of work. Central to the development of the APEIS was the support it received from the Communist Party. Associations were first created in the Paris region in areas hard-hit by unemployment and industrial decline. Here, they received support from Communist-led local councils which offered grants, office space, organisational support and personnel. In addition, the Communist newspaper l’Humanité provided a media outlet for the organisation, reporting on its activities in a favourable light. The organisation subsequently developed a network of associations in towns throughout France with over 60 local associations and over 27,000 members. These were located predominantly in towns where there was a Communist majority, although a number of associations were created within socialist areas as well. In one study, François Bourneau and Virginie Martin emphasised the importance of Communist support in determining the success and perenniality of this new structure: ‘we were able to discover behind this organisation of the unemployed, an essentially Communist organisation.’71 The APEIS, they argued, was part of a vast network of Communist-dominated structures and was treated by the party as a ‘fellow-traveller’ (un compagnon de route). The dynamic of the association, the authors suggested, did not spring from a widespread mobilisation of the unemployed, but rather from the organisational


support and impetus provided by the Communist Party. Yet, the APEIS was not merely a satellite organisation controlled by a political party and it had its own independent statutes and acted with a considerable freedom of initiative. For instance, it frequently had recourse to illegal forms of action which transgressed the boundaries of party action and its leaders were keen to emphasise the place of unemployed activists within the association. During one interview, Philippe Villechalane, current president (since March 1999) of the APEIS, stressed that its relationship with the Communist Party was one of mutual support rather than being based on manipulation and control. This was an association ‘by and for the unemployed’ that was reinventing the parameters of social struggle: ‘There is room to invent, history is not over. Politics is not dead.’72 The association was characterised by a preference for radical forms of direct action and was influenced by an anarcho-syndicalist tradition within the Communist Left, that sought to encourage the working class to show a display of force, and to confront the capitalist regime in a direct and physical way. Their actions were often symbolic in nature, designed to highlight the responsibility of private enterprise in contributing to unemployment within French society. Activists occupied benefit offices, targeted private companies (‘job requisitioning’) and attacked conspicuous symbols of wealth (for example, it overturned a riverboat in the Seine) in order to demonstrate that private-sector profits were acquired at a social cost and had repercussions for the rest of society. At the same time, activists intervened directly on behalf of individuals in situations of extreme poverty or distress. This could take the form of an appeal to the authorities on behalf of an individual or family or involve direct intervention on behalf of people in a situation of critical need. In October 1999, for example, the vice-president of the association, Malika Zédiri was arrested for illegally entering a property in an attempt to rehouse a couple who had been evicted for failing to pay their rent. The issue of Existence! which covered this event drew attention to the importance of ‘legitimate action’ over ‘legality’. It argued that legislation did not always protect the rights of vulnerable social groups and that in such circumstances, these groups had a ‘legitimate right’ to take action to defend themselves: ‘Certainly, to force a door open without asking the landlord’s permission is illegal. It is as illegal as occupying an ASSEDIC agency or a factory. It is as illegal as housing a “sans-papiers”. Our society is forever fixing the legal boundaries of individual or collective action. On the one hand, we protect individual freedoms. On the other we constrain collective action.’73


AC! (Act Together against Unemployment!) One of the most original and dynamic expressions of the new movement of the unemployed was AC! (Act Together against Unemployment!), created in 1993. The association emerged from an appeal launched by trade unionists, grouped around the review Collectif, who called for a broad movement to ‘struggle against unemployment and social exclusion’. The 150 signatures that appeared on this appeal included trade unionists, representatives of rights-based groups, several prominent researchers and intellectuals (Pierre Bourdieu, René Mouriaux, Pierre Cours-Salies), and numerous ecologists and feminists. Rather than setting up another independent grouping for the unemployed, the intention was to integrate the unemployed within a wider social movement that would place them side by side with workers in paid employment. Originating within radical currents of the trade union movement, the association was highly critical of existing trade union confederations, which it accused of ignoring the interests of socially marginalised groups. Its leaders were conscious of the need to extend political representation to those disadvantaged by economic crisis and were ‘convinced that the weakened trade union confederations, have neither the force nor the legitimacy to lead a social mobilisation against unemployment’.74 The question of unemployment was not an isolated phenomenon, but was part of a deep-seated structural transformation in society, resulting from international economic processes. To confront this situation, it was necessary to form a strong unitary front, bringing together different associations within a broad and pluralist coalition. The distinctive character of AC! stemmed from its attempt to create an open, pluralist and democratic forum where different social actors could come together to exchange ideas and formulate new propositions in relation to social and political questions. Within the grouping, there were no dominant tendencies, no official leaders, no centralised structures, no formal statutes, but a loose confederal network bringing together local collectives (200 officially, 90 of which are active), and other associations of the unemployed. In the words of one of its founding members, Claire Villiers, this was a ‘new type of organisation’: ‘we have a flexible network of local collectives endowed with considerable autonomy and a national structure that is purely a coordinating framework […]. We are neither a trade union, nor an association.’75 AC! devoted its energies towards evolving new categories of analysis and constructing alternative norms and propositions in relation to unemployment. Where other associations were interested in the concrete daily interests of those out of work, AC! focused on broad theoretical analysis


and debate on the ‘social question’. Its leaders aimed to situate the crisis of unemployment within a wider analytical framework that called into question the values of economic liberalism and the nature and direction of global economic change: ‘Whilst wealth has continued to grow, millions of inhabitants within Europe live below the threshold of poverty. We demand that each person has the right to a guaranteed income that corresponds to the wealth produced by society.’ The aim of their political mobilisation was to ‘highlight the terrible injustices of a capitalist society where the quest for profit of an extreme minority dominates all aspects of life’.76 Yet, this was also an activist grouping that sought to mobilise the unemployed and affirm their existence in society as a ‘collective subject’. In fact, this was the main organisational force behind the instances of political mobilisation during the 1990s. It launched the marches against unemployment in 1994, engaged in spectacular acts of protest (job requisitioning), coordinated the European marches against unemployment of 1997 and assumed a central role in the winter of protest later that year. Its leaders, including Claire Villiers, engaged in negotiations with government and trade unions on the situation of the unemployed and the need to reconceptualise their place in society. Through debate and direct action, AC! advanced a number of clear political demands. Firstly, it called for a ‘massive, immediate and concerted reduction of working hours’ as a way of creating jobs and inducing a ‘modification of the wealth and the hierarchy of incomes’.77 The aim was to redistribute wealth and the availability of work within contemporary societies by reducing the number of obligatory working hours. This demand was subsequently implemented by Jospin’s government with the passage of the 1998 law on the 35-hour working week, although AC! was not involved in the negotiations preceding the law. A second demand was for the creation of a basic or universal income for all, as a means of promoting social integration and genuine citizenship. They sought to dissociate income from work and guarantee basic living standards to all members of society through a ‘citizenship revenue’. After 1995, the demands of AC! were increasingly construed by reference to social rights, which they argued were necessary to ensure a genuine integration of those excluded from citizenship through poverty or economic deprivation. They called for the establishment of a set of social rights at European level which would guarantee decent living standards for all citizens (‘right to health’, ‘right to housing’, ‘right to income’, ‘right to education’, ‘right to culture’). The network of new associations of the unemployed, some autonomous, some closely affiliated to the Communist Left, created a dynamic of


political activism amongst a group that was otherwise disenfranchised and marginalised from society. They intervened in a diversity of ways, rehousing evicted tenants, launching European marches or responding to the critical daily needs of those out of work. They invented new alternative forms of action at a time when conventional left-wing politics was in crisis and they revived grassroots mobilisation within local communities. By their very existence, they pointed to the richness and vibrancy of collective action outside the formal political domain at the level of civil society. Nonetheless, the new associations remained weak and divided, embodying competing political tendencies and pursuing differing ends. Whilst this diversity contributed to a wealth of collective action, it also ultimately led to political weakness and to an uncertain future. In this chapter we looked at recent protest by the unemployed and their transformation during the 1990s into an autonomous social actor within French political life. Rejecting a status of silence and invisibility, they reclaimed the right to participate fully in society, to exercise political voice and to mobilise collectively within the public sphere. Like other contemporary movements, the unemployed have contested the nature of French citizenship and called for an enlarged set of rights which, in their eyes, is essential for genuine equality amongst French citizens. Already recognised in the 1793 Declaration of Rights, they appealed for the ‘right to work’ to be extended to all members of society as a prerequisite for true social integration. At a time of economic crisis, they signalled the profound inequalities that prevented certain groups from participating in society through factors such as poverty, unemployment or homelessness. Since republican citizenship was construed as a full participation of each citizen in the social, economic and political dimensions of public life, the unemployed were in a sense disenfranchised and denied full citizenship. Whereas the sans-papiers were officially designated by the State as non-citizens, the unemployed or sans-emploi were, through force of economic circumstances, also less than full citizens and impeded from participating in the public sphere. Only an extension of State protection to all areas of social and economic life could render citizenship a meaningful concept available to all. The role of new movements such as the unemployed was to challenge processes of social exclusion that were corrosive of rights and of equality. Such movements contributed to a renewal and reformulation of debates about citizenship during a period of profound social and political crisis in contemporary France.

6 Acting for Others: the Solidarity Movement

The action of independent associations like ours is indispensable. It will remain so for as along as men and women, all ordinary citizens are victims of the arbitrary power of States.1 A prevailing view of contemporary France is that society is gripped by a growing apathy and disaffection and a widespread indifference towards social or political causes. French citizens have apparently retreated from the public sphere and are motivated by private interests and desires alone. For many observers, a ‘new individualism’ now pervades every aspect of public life, leading to a disintegration of collective social bonds.2 However, one of the most important social movements to develop in France during the contemporary period appears to display a markedly different set of features. French society during the 1980s and 1990s was characterised by a rise of collective action that had a social or humanitarian purpose, that was directed in some way towards ‘helping others’ in society and confronting problems of social inequality or injustice. There is evidence to show that French citizens were increasingly taking part in action designed to alleviate social suffering, to further human rights or to defend a humanitarian cause. Moreover, many of those involved seemed to find such action more worthwhile, meaningful and socially useful than conventional forms of engagement within the political system. The term ‘solidarity movement’ was coined by some French social scientists to take account of this unique social trend.3 This movement seemed to embody a distinct kind of political identity, a specific form of collective action that set it apart from other movements within society. Whereas social movements and other forms of organised interest are usually identified with a logic of self-interest, a desire to further the needs of the group, the solidarity movement was distinguished by 120

Acting for Others: the Solidarity Movement 121

‘political altruism’4 in that its members engaged in collective action ‘for others’ instead of ‘for self’. Instead of participating because of the rewards that they hoped to receive, members devoted their energies towards people outside the movement itself. Whether they were motivated by a charitable concern, a wish to help the most needy and vulnerable groups in society, or whether they were galvanised by a social or humanitarian crisis, this movement seemed to manifest a particular logic of collective action that differed from the usual rules of the game.5 This chapter sets out to examine the nature and dimensions of the solidarity movement in contemporary France. We will see that solidarity activism expanded against a background of economic crisis which prompted a search for alternative civic forms of engagement within society, directed towards different social and humanitarian causes. French citizens increasingly sought to ‘act for themselves’ and produce new forms of mobilisation to confront critical problems of social inequality. Rather than constituting a vague or spontaneous desire to help others, the rise of solidarity was in fact determined by specific economic circumstances characterised by widespread unemployment and problems of social exclusion within French society. We will look at different concrete examples of solidarity within the contemporary context including the Restaurants du coeur and Médecins sans frontières. A second part looks at the influence of the media in transforming solidarity activism and extending its popular appeal. Many associations succeeded in manipulating media channels for strategic purposes as a way of publicising certain causes, transcending conventional institutions and communicating with a mass public audience. In a final part, I look at the role of an organisation that seems to embody all the characteristics identified with solidarity: the Human Rights League. We will see that solidarity as it is expressed in the League draws on republican and socialist traditions, invoking a discourse based on ‘the rights of man’ in relation to contemporary forms of injustice within society.

The meanings of solidarity The concept of solidarité occupies a special place within French social and political tradition and has its origins in the French Revolution. Linked to the republican notion of ‘fraternity’, it emphasises the bonds between citizens, their membership of a common society and the obligations of each person towards others. Solidarity is intrinsic to French citizenship, expressing an idealised vision of a society governed by shared democratic values, in which each citizen has rights and responsibilities and is bound


to others by reciprocal civic ties. During the nineteenth century, solidarity was advanced as a principle of social reform by those who sought to promote greater equality in society and to continue the social legacy of the French Revolution. Radical republicans pressed for State intervention to reduce inequalities and further social justice by appealing to a doctrine known as solidarism.6 In his book, La Solidarité published in 1896, the Radical Prime Minister Léon Bourgeois argued that the State had a duty towards its citizens that went beyond a simple protection of rights as set out in the Declaration of the Rights of Man. It also had an obligation to relieve social suffering where it arose in society by undertaking positive and affirmative institutional means. He charged that the Republic was an ‘instrument of moral and social progress, a permanent means of reducing inequality and increasing solidarity between men’.7 After the Second World War, the notion of solidarity was incorporated into official government policy, becoming an essential principle underpinning the State’s social provision for all members of society. The postwar welfare system was founded on the principle that citizens were dependent on one another as members of an ‘organic society’ and that this social interdependence necessitated a system of state protection.8 Solidarity was therefore closely related to debates concerning the State’s social role, the conditions of citizenship and the nature of social rights. Different observers have pointed to a rise of ‘solidarity activism’ within French society during the 1980s and 1990s.9 They signal a growing tendency for French citizens to engage directly in collective action in order to support socially excluded groups or to defend broad democratic or humanist principles. These ‘social solidarities’ have developed from below and are ‘freely chosen, corresponding to the reality of a social group and allowing the collectivity to affirm its role’.10 They are seen to manifest a republican legacy of solidarity based on a belief in a unified society where individual citizens are bound by strong civic ties and mutual social relationships.11 The notion of solidarity is used to explain why seemingly disinterested individuals choose to mobilise collectively or participate in a social movement or civic association in support of a cause that does not directly concern them. There is evidence to show that a growing proportion of French citizens are inclined to engage in social and humanitarian associations at the expense of conventional forms of participation in the political system. Whereas the numbers joining political parties and trade unions has been in steady decline during recent decades, associations that pursue causes such as human rights and that campaign against social exclusion or support humanitarian concerns have attracted increased numbers of activists.


One study revealed that the French, in the contemporary context, were more likely to join a humanitarian organisation or a human rights association than a political party or trade union. When asked if they would be willing to take part in an organisation to defend their ideas, a meagre 11 per cent of those questioned in this survey said that they were willing to join a political party, whilst 48 per cent were prepared to join a human rights organisation and 58 per cent a humanitarian association.12 At the same time, the number of people involved in some form of charitable work rose steadily during the 1990s, with one in four adults participating in the voluntary sector during this period.13 Public opinion seemed increasingly to favour political engagement that was orientated towards a specific social cause, that was intended to relieve suffering or bring support to a vulnerable social group and which, by the same token, was mistrustful of forms of participation that were bureaucratic, elitist and removed from concrete issues and preoccupations. One survey, carried out in 1997, revealed that the idea of solidarity had never been so popular and 92 per cent of those questioned stated that they were ‘highly favourable to the notion of solidarity with people in need’.14 But the rise of an identifiable ‘movement of solidarity’ was not a spontaneous or deracinated occurrence and did not seem to reflect a sudden or new-found generosity on the part of the French. Instead, it was closely related to social and economic circumstances and in particular to the impact of enduring economic crisis and its profound consequences for society as a whole. In the face of problems of social inequality, unemployment or economic deprivation and a perceived failure on the part of political institutions to respond effectively to these problems, many citizens felt impelled to act for themselves and to intervene directly in the public sphere. By the mid-1970s, most of the institutions that had traditionally articulated solidarity, including the welfare system, trade unions and the education system, were experiencing profound crisis. There was a progressive disengagement of the financial support of the State, a decline of its instruments of social integration and a withdrawal of the public sector across certain key areas of society. This ‘profound re-examination of the role of the State’15 seemed to prompt a search for alternatives to public intervention in the form of associative activism within civil society: ‘the questioning of traditional forms of solidarity would seem to call for the construction of new modes of production for social solidarities, in which voluntary organisations would play a central role.’16 French citizens increasingly undertook collective action in spheres such as social support, housing and employment that were traditionally associated with the institutions of the State alone. According to one observer,


they were motivated by a ‘desire for society’, a wish to rebuild social cohesion at a time of generalised social fragmentation and disintegration.17 New associations were formed and new initiatives put in place in order to reconstruct social relationships, to rebuild the social fabric, and to enhance civic values, by promoting ‘a solidarity that works to maintain and create social cohesion’.18 Citizens responded to urgent social questions by assuming direct action themselves and forging their own solutions to the problems affecting their everyday lives. There was a shift in the centre of gravity away from a concept of national solidarity assured by the State, towards multiple and diversified social solidarities assumed by ordinary citizens: ‘The unified concept of national solidarity (which rests on a reduction of social inequalities as an underlying principle of the social State) is replaced by multiple forms of solidarity embodied within specialised institutions.’19 The will to ‘help others’, to demonstrate altruism, was therefore closely linked with a given social context and a distinct set of problems within society. Yet, the term ‘solidarity’ as a means of defining a social movement is not without a certain vagueness and conceptual ambiguity. Unlike other movements that are identified by a specific cause (for example, antiracism, ecology, feminism) or by the social group that they represent (such as immigrants, women, the unemployed), solidarity designates a collective behaviour, a disposition, a willingness to help others. It does not denote an objective social reality or a concrete political phenomenon, but instead qualifies collective action according to the measure of altruism or disinterestedness it is believed to display. Olivier Fillieule criticises a growing use of this term within French public discourse, arguing that it is vague, qualitative and lacking in sociological validity.20 By categorising associations in terms of solidarity, a simplistic dichotomy is created between associations, according to whether they are motivated by a ‘logic of giving’ or by a ‘logic of interest’; whether they are driven by altruistic or utilitarian concerns: ‘It is questionable that the criterion of involvement “for others” is alone sufficient to define a particular type of involvement in social causes.’21 Individuals may join an association for a whole variety of reasons which cannot be reduced to a simple question of selfishness or selflessness. We need to recognise also that solidarity activism is a ‘social production’ created by associations themselves for strategic or instrumental purposes. Many associations in France were willing to use the ‘solidarity label’ as a way of acquiring public legitimacy and state recognition. Fillieule refers to the case of Aids advocacy groups to illustrate the way in which a discourse based on solidarity can be manipulated by movements for strategic ends. Whilst originating


within the gay rights movement amongst sufferers of Aids, many French Aids associations were willing to forgo any links with gay activism, ‘in good republican tradition, without any reference to a so-called homosexual identity’,22 in favour of an objective humanitarian stance based on solidarity with the sick. The idea was to foster a self-image of solidarity as a means of securing state funding and support, and of assuming a more neutral, respectable and mainstream public image. In fact, Fillieule suggests, there is every possibility that the recent popularity of solidarity is linked as much to strategies of self-presentation put forward by associations, as to concrete transformations in patterns of participation in public life. A whole series of agents including social movement activists, politicians, academics and journalists have contributed to a new conception of ‘solidarity activism’ and the ‘field of solidarity’ as a distinct form of collective participation in contemporary France. But these terms are not necessarily endowed with scientific objectivity and are open to political manipulation and instrumental use by interested parties. Rather than accepting these notions as a de facto reality, Fillieule suggests that we need to treat them as ‘an ill-circumscribed locus of struggle, and whose boundaries cannot in any case be identified in what is precisely at the basis of the struggle’.23 We have seen that ‘solidarity’ refers to a form of participation rather than a distinct locus of activity or a specific social cause. Who or what forms part of this movement is entirely open to interpretation and it can be invested with different meanings according to social and political circumstances. Rather than constituting a coherent or unified social movement, ‘solidarity’ denotes a diffuse and heterogeneous array of associations, actions and initiatives where no single overarching cause or dominant struggle emerges. Olivier Fillieule emphasises that ‘even the definition of solidarity is the object of diverse, indeed contradictory, interpretations, which suggests once again the diversity of meanings invested in this concept by people involved in “solidarity activism” ’.24 Nonetheless, this notion does seem useful in highlighting a distinct social trend and a clear pattern of participation within contemporary French society. The term solidarity is used to refer to a diverse array of associations that pursue action in support of disadvantaged groups in society, that defend human rights or work on behalf of populations in different countries. Three groups of associations can be identified within this category: (i) associations of social action; (ii) human rights organisations; (iii) humanitarian associations. A first group consists of associations of ‘social action’ which confront problems of social inequality arising from factors such as unemployment,


homelessness or economic deprivation. They manifest solidarity in relation to a marginalised social group and strive to address problems of inequality. The notion of solidarity with people in need is not new in France and has its roots in Catholic and Socialist networks, with associations such as Secours catholique or Secours populaire français having a mission to help the poor through acts of charity and compassion. Yet, during the 1980s and 1990s, associations that had an explicitly social purpose, that attempted to deal with questions of ‘social and civic urgency’,25 expanded rapidly against a background of economic crisis. In her study of the French associative sector, Edith Archambault found that it was in the area of social provision and intervention that new associations developed most significantly during this period.26 They intervened at different levels and in different ways, helping the unemployed, raising funds to combat homelessness, giving material assistance to those in need, offering free access to health care and medical aid: ‘Everywhere, these organisations, associations and foundations, means of expression and action within civil society, demonstrate the capacity of initiative and invention to respond to social needs in extremely varied and new domains.’27 The Restaurants du coeur formed in 1985 were typical of a new style of association that tackled poverty and deprivation within French society in an unconventional and dynamic way, by relying on media channels to publicise their cause. At the same time, humanitarian associations normally preoccupied with international concerns now turned their attention to situations of extreme poverty in France itself. For instance, the international agency, Médecins sans frontières set up an branch in Paris (‘Solidarity France’) in 1987, in order to provide free access to medicine for those excluded from basic health care within French society. Some associations engaged in protest action in order to alert public opinion to a social injustice or to defend the rights of an excluded group. Droit au logement (Right to Housing) was an activist organisation that undertook direct action as a way of highlighting the critical problem of homelessness within French society and launched a series of occupations, encampments and symbolic actions. It was brought to mass public attention during 1995 when activists occupied a disused building in rue du Dragon at the centre of the prosperous and historic quarter of St-Germain-des-Près in Paris. The occupied building became ‘an active space for solidarities’28 mobilising collective action to defend the rights of a dispossessed section of society. Rather than providing charity or external aid, the association wished to help homeless people to organise themselves and assume a collective voice within the political


system. Many of those involved were ‘members by conscience’ who did not stand to benefit directly from their participation. In her study of individual activists within this association, Cécile Péchu found that many supporters had broad social or universalist aspirations and ‘perceived their involvement as independent of a possible material benefit linked to satisfaction of a demand’.29 It was during the occupation at rue du Dragon that activists formed a new association, Droits devant!! (Rights Now!) which sought to extend political activism to all forms of social exclusion, beyond the question of homelessness alone. Emphasis was placed on the need to secure and extend rights to every sphere of daily life and offer State protection to vulnerable groups within society. The manifesto which launched the new association declared: ‘The daily erosion of human and social rights considered even yesterday as definitive gains, and the excesses of the liberal economy led to a massive increase in poverty and an unprecedented social decline in France.’30 There was a need to ‘recreate social solidarities’ by means of collective action within society: ‘As citizens, associative activists, trade unionists, artists, researchers, university teachers, it is part of our individual and collective responsibility to react, to reflect and to act together.’ DAL played a major role in bringing the problem of homelessness to mass public attention and stimulating a response from government to the question of social exclusion. In total, activists within this association occupied fifteen buildings during the period from 1990 to 2000 and rehoused three thousand families in the Paris region.31 They also took part in the elaboration of major new legislation to combat social exclusion passed by government in July 1998 (the law against exclusion). The question of ‘human rights violations’ has been identified as ‘the main grievance’ underlying mobilisation within the solidarity movement.32 A second group of associations is concerned with defending and promoting humanist and civic values within French society. Unlike associations of social action, they do not engage in acts of direct protest, but focus on activity of a legal and judicial nature, undertaking proceedings on behalf of individual citizens or lobbying government and public institutions on matters pertaining to human rights. The defence of human rights forms part of a deep-seated republican tradition in France and is embodied within organisations such as the Human Rights League (Ligue des droits de l’homme), that emerged at the time of the Dreyfus Affair. Some associations focus on defending the rights of groups who are particularly vulnerable to discrimination or human rights violations such as immigrants or refugees. The role of LICRA (International League against Racism and Anti-Semitism) and MRAP


(Movement against Racism and for Friendship between Peoples) is to affirm the rights of all foreigners and immigrant communities living in France and to articulate their claims for full citizenship. Some French associations pursue human rights in countries across the world, mobilising support and raising awareness within France in relation to populations living elsewhere. For instance, Amnesty International France and the Fondation France-libertés intervene on an international stage in relation to questions such as imprisonment, women’s rights, freedom of expression or social justice. The French section of Amnesty International, founded in 1971, forms part of an international movement that monitors the application of human rights in countries throughout the world and campaigns against governments which are believed to infringe these principles. Their work is directed principally towards helping political prisoners or those incarcerated because of their opinions or beliefs. In 1998, the French section of Amnesty participated in a campaign that denounced human rights abuses in the United States and called on the American government to respect international treaties in relation to the detention of minors, the treatment of illegal immigrants and use of the death penalty. It appealed to French citizens to participate in this campaign by writing a letter to the American president, by lobbying relevant organisations in France and the European Union, and by expressing their objections through the press.33 As an international organisation, Amnesty has encountered difficulties in attracting the same level of support in France as other comparable associations of French origin. Whilst its 1999 annual report showed a slight increase in popularity, it is still widely perceived as an Anglo-Saxon structure poorly integrated into French political life. Activists within the French section have therefore increasingly concentrated their efforts on enhancing their visibility within the public sphere and extending grassroots activity through its network of local branches situated throughout France.34 A third group of associations can be located within a movement of ‘transnational solidarity’ that extends support to people outside the borders of France and provides urgent humanitarian aid in different countries across the world. Humanitarian associations produce a ‘solidarity beyond the state’35 by helping victims of famine in the Third World, by supporting political and war refugees or by providing relief to populations who are subject to civil war or natural disaster. In the words of one observer: ‘we are witnessing the emergence of a new dimension of solidarity, one we may call global to the extent that it begins and ends on a world scale.’36 In France, international solidarity


has traditionally been weak compared with other European countries, attracting fewer supporters than elsewhere. Nonetheless this sector succeeded in extending its popular appeal during the 1980s and 1990s, particularly amongst young people, with the rise of a number of new and dynamic associations. Médecins sans frontières, often referred to as ‘the French doctors’, embodied a new radical style of action that gave priority to humanitarian needs at all costs, over and above any political or diplomatic considerations. Formed by a group of doctors, following an appeal in the medical journal Tonus in 1971, the association was established to provide emergency medical assistance in areas experiencing a humanitarian crisis associated with war, famine or natural disaster. The idea of ‘sans-frontièrisme’ or ‘acting without borders’, expressed a conception of humanitarian action that transcended national boundaries, and that was independent of government and provided medical help where it was needed, irrespective of political factors. Beyond providing direct aid, activists assumed an overtly political stance: they sought to ‘bear witness’ to a humanitarian crisis, alerting public opinion and shedding a critical light on the actions of governments and political leaders. This form of autonomous and radical humanitarian action, free of political influence and vested interests, and prepared to intervene without governments’ permission, drew widespread support within public opinion, marking for some ‘the rise of a more political generation of humanitarian action which intends to witness and denounce’.37 Between 1984 and 1992, its funding, mostly derived from public donations, increased by over 200 per cent and it became, after the Red Cross, the best-established association within French public opinion.38 It was in recognition of this success that the association was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1999. In the words of its former president, Rony Brauman, who wished to explain the secret behind the association’s success: ‘we are there to get mixed up in what does not concern us.’39 It is clear that the notion of solidarity as a way of describing a social movement, remains ambiguous and ill-defined, denoting a form of participation rather than a distinct social cause, political belief or represented group. However, this concept is useful in helping us to identify a particular social trend and a pattern of participation in contemporary France that might otherwise be discounted or overlooked. Recent evidence has pointed unequivocally to a surge of activism of a social or humanitarian nature with a proliferation of new associations and manifold instances of civic engagement. Solidarity activism has flourished outside the formal political domain through a diffuse array of associations, practices and networks within civil society. By its very existence,


this movement attests to a continued commitment to social causes and to collective engagement in the public sphere, at a time when French society was supposedly gripped by a pervading individualism.

A media transformation Central to the expansion of ‘solidarity’ in contemporary France and its rise as a distinct and recognisable form of participation, was a transformation of the character and style of action within this movement. During the 1980s and 1990s, many associations developed new dynamic strategies and evolved alternative forms of communication as a way of furthering their aspirations and goals. The image of a traditional charity association, devoted to acts of benevolence and relying on public generosity for support, was displaced by a new style of association, prepared to use the media to communicate with a vast public audience and drawing on new technologies as part of its activities. Associations increasingly used media channels for instrumental ends, to raise awareness of a cause or struggle and to mobilise new sources of participation and support. They transmitted images designed to evoke public sympathy for a cause; they produced symbols and ‘cultural codes’40 to represent an issue within the public sphere; they communicated, using new technologies, with supporters and sympathisers across the world. In his study of contemporary French movements, J. M. Salmon refers to the rise of ‘media associations’ during this period, which acquired a new power and underwent a ‘modernisation’ and a ‘professionalisation’ of their role: ‘These associations of high media visibility, that we can define as “media-associations”, are situated within the framework of associative renewal of the 1980s and 1990s.’41 By relying on mass public support, new associations were able to assume an autonomy in relation to their political and institutional context: ‘They gained all the more in independence vis à vis the public authorities as their access to the media increased.’42 In fact, what distinguished the new ‘media associations’ was their ability to transcend traditional institutional relationships and communicate directly with a vast public audience. They became their ‘own agents’, acquiring independent sources of funding and communicating directly with French citizens, in order to draw attention to an urgent social or humanitarian concern. A number of studies have highlighted the critical role of the media in transforming the character and impact of collective action amongst contemporary social movements.43 We live in an ‘information age’ where power is linked to a capacity to communicate information and transmit


messages to society. Social movements act as participants in a ‘symbolic universe’ and can themselves seize the opportunity to construct their own meanings and representations. In the conflict waged between social movements and dominant institutions, the vulnerable ‘David’ has a chance to challenge the fearsome ‘Goliath’, by appropriating the ‘power of the word’: ‘Contemporary movements strive to reappropriate the capacity to name through the elaboration of codes and languages designed to define reality, in the twofold sense of constituting it symbolically and of regaining it, thereby escaping from the predominant forms of representation.’44 The media gives social movements an alternative and powerful means of communication that lies outside the formal political sphere and is independent of the State. Where access to political power is typically denied, movements can use the media to reach and persuade a mass public audience: ‘Media are a vital reference point for protesters. Because they have hardly any direct access to the polity, they try to influence political decision-making indirectly by stimulating public attention and support.’45 Movements use the media in a number of essential ways. Firstly, they can communicate a particular social reality or concrete event to a public audience, creating awareness of a problem that might otherwise be overlooked or ignored. A social or humanitarian concern is given concrete representation by the television or press and is thereby symbolically constructed within the public domain. Secondly, movements can mobilise support and recruit new members by communicating simultaneously with vast numbers of potential supporters in different places. This greatly reduces the costs to an association of expanding the basis of its membership. Thirdly, a movement can evoke sympathy for a cause by an effective use of imagery and symbolism. Support for an issue or cause is not an inherent given, but needs to be ‘communicatively constructed’ through an effective media representation: ‘mobilization efforts have to be in tune with the imagery and discourse of the diverse audiences and groups being addressed and have to strike the proper chords.’46 Humanitarian associations provide an example of how image-building can be used as a strategy to persuade an audience of potential supporters. Scenes of a natural disaster, of famine, Third World poverty or a humanitarian crisis may be used to create ‘a spectacle of immense suffering’47 that is communicated widely by the media and intended to trigger feelings of compassion, justice and empathy. Sitting in an armchair at home, the television spectator is invited to participate visually in an event and partake of a critical human experience. The success of French associations such as Médecins sans frontières (MSF) or Médecins du


monde (MDM) was linked to their use of media coverage to popularise humanitarian action undertaken in different parts of the world. When intervening with medical aid, they tended to focus on causes that had already received extensive media coverage and were therefore more likely to galvanise support within public opinion. Their intervention was typically directed towards high-profile, media-based events, where their actions were relayed simultaneously by television and press and witnessed by an international audience. In his critical study of ‘humanitarian ideology’, Bernard Hours argues that the media became an arbitrary determinant of when French associations would intervene and which causes they would choose to support.48 Such an instrumental use of the media was paramount in shaping the massive popularity and success of these associations. Yet, the relentless production of media images tended to reduce the humanitarian to a purely abstract and emotional level, creating a ‘commodification’ of human suffering. Such images played on the emotions and sensitivities of a television audience acting as a kind of ‘marketing of the emotions’. The spectator was encouraged to ‘think emotionally’ whilst the victim portrayed was reified and removed from any real social or cultural context, from any historical location or tangible existence. For Hours, such a version of humanitarianism is a negation of concrete humanity and is destructive of human dignity in that it responds to a media logic alone and contributes to a ‘politics of the spectacular’. Instead of building large and powerful organisations or expanding the size of their membership, many new groupings focused on the visible and symbolic dimension of their activities. They seemed less interested in offering incentives and ‘costs and benefits’49 to existing members, than in acquiring visibility and projecting a seductive image. For instance, Act Up-Paris was typical of a new breed of media association whose success had little to do with the size of its membership or its organisational strength and more to do with a clever use of the media for strategic purposes. Through the media, the association forged a dynamic and aggressive image, characterised by a cold and studied aestheticism: it produced colourful symbols and invented provocative slogans (Silence ⫽ Death; Action ⫽ Life), as a way of drawing attention to an urgent cause and highlighting a perceived governmental indifference to that cause. As part of its activities, it organised radical protest events such as ‘zaps’ where activists would directly confront a politician or public figure in front of the television cameras, or ‘die-ins’ where activists would lie on the ground, usually occupying a public space, to symbolise those who had died from Aids: ‘They are dead. Killed by a virus that


political will has decided not to stop … the symbolism is so strong that the demonstration becomes an outlet.’50 The idea was to create a ‘political spectacle’, a dramatic and spectacular event that would make a statement, change attitudes and provoke a reaction within public opinion. This was a symbolic form of action that differed markedly from traditional kinds of social protest that relied on militancy or a physical display of force to pursue political ends. Celebrities and personalities from the world of music and television often became involved in supporting different causes and extending their popular appeal. This was the case for the Restaurants du coeur, set up by the actor and comedian Coluche and sustained by a spectacular media campaign. The idea of setting up ‘free restaurants’ for the poor was first broadcast on the radio station, Europe 1, where Coluche worked as a presenter and it immediately attracted widespread support amongst actors, musicians and intellectuals who threw their weight behind this dynamic new initiative. Having participated in the presidential campaign of 1981, Coluche was well aware of the power of the media, its capacity to capture ‘hearts and minds’ and he made deliberate use of it to publicise his project: ‘With Coluche, it is the media which gives birth to the organisation. An indicator of the rise in influence of media power certainly, but also a sign of a new interaction between the media universe and initiatives of an associative type based on a charismatic personality.’51 Coluche was keen to distance himself from any evangelical or charitable stance, presenting himself as an equal to those whom he sought to help. Having experienced poverty and deprivation himself as a child, he wished to communicate with marginalised groups on their own terms: ‘I am and will only ever be one of them.’52 Through the media, Coluche experienced a process of ‘secular beatification’, becoming a hero of the dispossessed, a spokesperson for the unemployed, homeless or socially excluded. Following the tragic death of Coluche in a road accident, the association which he had formed continued to attract considerable popular support, even if its spectacular presence within the media declined. By 1996, the association had distributed 61 million meals to 541,000 individuals.53 By involving celebrities in representing a cause, associations acquired a powerful instrument for maximising their emotional appeal and for creating sensitivity in relation to the issues addressed. This new style of collective action incorporated techniques based on marketing and communications, more commonly associated with the world of business and private enterprise. In the same way as private-sector companies competed with one another to sell a product, or advertise


a brand name, so associations of solidarity competed with one another to gain a share of the ‘donations market’.54 They developed marketing strategies designed to transmit an effective image, affirm their presence within public opinion and attract increased funding. With 20 per cent of the French public donating to the charity sector, associations competed aggressively to attract a portion of this funding. Those groupings which developed the most effective techniques quickly acquired a monopoly on public support at the expense of more traditional or conservative associations. In the sphere of international solidarity, Médecins sans frontières and Médecins du monde soon acquired the lion’s share of private funding compared with other humanitarian associations.55 In some cases, marketing professionals or communications experts were employed to improve external relations and enhance the public image of an association. One such professional employed by Médecins du monde revealed the extent of this new market-driven logic: ‘Yes, I am a salesman. I sell the humanitarian and that seems to me as virtuous and moral as selling a product of basic necessity.’56 Nonetheless, many left-wing supporters were critical of this development of ‘charity business’, arguing that it subjugated humanitarian needs to a crude economic logic.57 It was up to the State to assume responsibility for redistributing resources within society and protecting the poor from the effects of social inequality. For associations run by private citizens to take on this role was tantamount to a privatisation of the social. By using new technologies, such as the internet or electronic mail, associations could communicate simultaneously with supporters and sympathisers in different locations across the world. Instead of a vertical or hierarchical structure, linking individuals within a single national organisation, these associations had recourse to diffuse, horizontal networks loosely connecting individuals, organisations and groups scattered throughout the world. This was typical of a form of transnational activism that bypassed national boundaries and mobilised activists across distances: ‘They also spoke to a new audience in a different way with a different voice. The audience was no longer simply a local or national one: it became global.’58 Operating beyond national borders, such activism opened up ‘new political spaces’, stimulating alternative types of collective action and a diversification of forms of communication.59 An organisation such as Amnesty based in France acted as a kind of organisational relay for an international movement, raising awareness of human rights issues and mobilising support at national level through publicity campaigns. The monthly magazine produced by the French section, Chronique d’Amnesty, publicised instances of human


rights abuse across an international stage, using the slogan, ‘One message, many voices’. It strove to mobilise international public opinion and promote a form of ‘global citizenship’ that could place pressure on political authorities and reassert democratic and humanist principles. Not only did the use of new technologies change the way associations communicated with the outside world, it also transformed their dayto-day organisation. By using devices such as the internet or even the mobile phone, activists could communicate instantaneously with one another and organise events or actions in a spontaneous or hidden way. When organising an occupation, the association Droit au logement (DAL) relied on communication by mobile phone as a way of creating an element of surprise. Activists and journalists would meet at a prearranged place, usually in one of the central metro stations of the Parisian underground, where one of the organisers present would receive a telephone call communicating details of a particular building at a certain location which was to be occupied. The group would then go immediately to this address where the occupation would be directly televised and witnessed by the journalists who accompanied the group. For other social movement organisations, the internet offered new possibilities for diffusing information, coordinating action, exchanging ideas and communicating in a rapid and simultaneous way. It became, in some cases, a powerful instrument of collective action, acting as a ‘technical means of creating decentralised, atomised, even individualised networks of communication’.60 One social movement activist who relied on the internet emphasised its potential as a tool for advancing social or political objectives. Normally used for commercial or economic purposes, for ‘relations based on consumerism or voyeurism’, the internet could be appropriated by social movements for their own collective purposes: ‘On the internet, I soon tried, not only to diffuse […] texts produced by groups or by projects that I was involved in or was close to, but also to put them at the disposal of a determined social situation. In other words, to seek interaction with the real social movement, at a given moment.’61

The Human Rights League One French organisation that appears to embody many of the qualities identified with solidarity, is the Human Rights League (Ligue des droits de l’homme), that has its headquarters in Paris. Founded with the explicit purpose of furthering individual rights in society, of defending civic and democratic principles, and of struggling against injustice or inequality, the League seems to display what some theorists have called the ‘political


altruism’ of the solidarity movement. The role of the League is to support ‘any individual whose freedom is threatened and whose rights are violated’62 and to confront ‘all forms of intolerance and arbitrary power’.63 When it intervenes on behalf of an individual or social group, it does so not to advance a particularist set of interests, but as a defender of ‘the general interest’ and of the ‘common good’ across society as a whole. Within the League, legitimacy and authority are founded on the claim to speak for all people, to serve the collective interest and to preserve broad egalitarian principles within society. This association is guided by a democratic conviction that all members of society have the same rights and privileges and should be treated in accordance with the same principles of justice. Already a traditional and venerable institution within French public life, the League expanded its support during the 1990s,64 and modernised its role by intervening in relation to causes such as gay rights, social citizenship and unemployment rights. The League strives to reconstruct traditional democratic ideals in relation to new forms of discrimination or injustice within society in their multiple forms. By looking more closely at the League, we can get a measure of what solidarity means in practice. Where does this propensity towards solidarity come from? What are the political values and ideals that inform solidarity activism? The League has a deep-seated tradition of defending and affirming democratic rights which has its roots in modern French history. It was created at the time of the ‘Dreyfus Affair’ as part of a broad intellectual movement that mobilised to defend the rights of a man who, according to many, was the victim of anti-Semitic propaganda. Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish officer in the French army, had been charged with spying for Prussia and was sentenced to life imprisonment in 1894, despite an absence of incriminating evidence against him. His conviction sparked off a bitter and impassioned controversy that divided the entire nation, pitting those who protested his innocence against those who supported the original condemnation by the military court.65 Intellectuals, belonging to the former camp, mobilised widely against a perceived injustice that represented for them, not only a clear case of anti-Semitism, but also an attack on the fundamental democratic rights and freedoms that had been won in 1789. In defending Dreyfus, they sought to reaffirm the legacy of the French Revolution, to protect republican rights and freedoms and proclaim the equality of all citizens before the law. Galvanised by this campaign, a small group of intellectuals within the Dreyfusard camp, including a number of writers, lawyers, doctors and politicians, decided to set up ‘a group, an association, a League’66 that


would articulate and promote their views. The League was formed between February and June 1898 when Dreyfus was in his fourth year of imprisonment and a first attempt at a retrial had failed. The celebrated writer, Emile Zola, had just published his famous open letter to the President of the Republic entitled ‘J’Accuse’ which charged the French State with a gross miscarriage of justice. Originating as a movement of support for Dreyfus, the League assumed from the outset a much broader and universalist ambition. Its mission was nothing less than to ‘save France’s soul from a grave peril’ by affirming ‘the fundamental principles of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen’.67 More than a political mobilisation in support of one man alone, the League adopted a collective social purpose, aiming to ‘intervene everywhere that individual freedom is threatened or violated’68 and to propagate the values of civil and political equality inherited from the Revolution. It went on to intervene on a variety of fronts during the first half of the twentieth century, including a defence of secularism, the peace movement and anti-fascism and developed a wide programme of activities against violations of human rights. It played a crucial role in mobilising intellectual strands of the middle classes around the non-communist Left and around ‘the defence of a certain conception of the Republic’.69 Here was an instance of solidarity as a civic practice with its roots deep in republican tradition and carrying forward the gains of the French Revolution to the present day. Acting on behalf any person who is subject to discrimination, the League is ‘guided by the goal of bringing relief to those who suffer some kind of injustice’.70 Yet, the tendency towards solidarity that characterises the League is not a spontaneous or deracinated phenomenon removed from any political or ideological context. Instead it is influenced by a distinct ideological framework inherited from republican and socialist traditions that lays out a set of abstract standards of truth, justice and morality. The 1789 Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen is a central ideological reference underpinning the League’s action within society. When members decide to intervene on behalf of an individual, they do so not necessarily out of feelings of compassion for that person, but in the name of republican principles, as defenders of ideals of freedom and equality before the law. When they challenge government policy, they do so not to advance their own sectional interests, but in the name of the founding principles of the Republic itself, in order to protect the sacredness of individual rights and freedoms. By engaging in collective action, participants enact theoretical principles, moral imperatives, and abstract political beliefs rather than personal


feelings or sympathies. Compared with other associations within civil society, the League therefore possesses a unique sense of power and legitimacy, a distinct raison d’être as a social and civic agency. In its dayto-day activities, in its grassroots campaigns, the League carries with it the full weight and symbolism of republican discourse and tradition. For the ‘rights of man’ are not simply one cause amongst others, but constitute the founding principles of the social and political order and are endowed with the status of a supreme truth. Embodying the central tenets of republican ideology, the League has at its disposal a powerful cultural resource, a rhetorical instrument, an ideological reference point that shapes and influences its action, giving it a universality of purpose and import. Central to an understanding of solidarity within the League is a conception of human rights (droits de l’homme) that conditions its role within society and acts as a fundamental organising principle. This is not a unified concept or a coherent definition, but must be gleaned from a heterogeneous collection of texts, norms and principles accumulated over time.71 We have seen that the Declaration of 1789 is an essential ideological reference in laying down a conception of individual rights before the law and defining a set of rights that are theoretically universal and equal. Rights are granted to the individual as a person who is ‘born and remains free and equal’ and at the same time to the individual as a citizen who is a member of the French nation. Within the Declaration, the distinction between the individual person (rights of man) and the citizen (rights of the citizen) is not made clear and both are conflated within a single universalising ideal. The League also draws on the more radical 1793 Declaration that lays out a broader set of rights and emphasises the social duties of the State towards its citizens in relation to work and basic subsistence. It refers to the duty of the State to provide work to its citizens and for those unable to work, ‘the means of existence’ (Article 21). Alongside these historical French texts, the League draws inspiration from international treaties, such as the 1948 Universal Declaration of Rights and the 1950 European Convention of Human Rights. These posit a different conception of rights that emphasises their detachment from a notion of national citizenship: here, rights are conferred on all individuals as human beings, by virtue of a shared human condition that transcends any distinctions based on nationality, race or any other social or cultural factors. Such ideals are exemplified by the Universal Declaration of Rights in Article 1: ‘All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights’, and Article 2: ‘Everyone is entitled to the rights and freedoms set forth in this Declaration.’ In the context of these


different definitions and conceptions, the League extrapolates its own interpretation of rights and participates in defining what rights are in society at any one time. It contributes to processes of social identification whereby groups in society recognise and affirm their own rights and make claims as a collective social group. The League tends to adopt a ‘positivist’ approach that conceives of rights as a dynamic and progressive notion that evolves over time and is open to social change. Whilst campaigning for the basic rights of freedom and equality, it places these on an equal footing to social rights, such as the ‘right to work’ or the ‘right to housing’: ‘It is not a question of choosing between civil and political rights and economic and social rights. We do not combat tyranny by accepting misery. The right to work is as necessary as freedom of expression, the right to education is as important as the right to fair justice. There is no hierarchy, only solidarity between these rights.’72 Whilst the concept of rights espoused by the League is influenced by republican discourse, it is also a progressive, evolving ideal that strives to respond to changing social realities. By supporting a particular group within society (immigrants, women, gays), the League contributes to the way this group perceives and identifies its own rights and the way in which these rights are recognised by others. Motivated by a general will to advance the ‘rights of man’, the League pursues this commitment in a diversity of ways. A first important activity is to provide direct legal assistance and advice to citizens in their relationship with the public authorities and to act as a kind of civic intermediary between the individual and the State. When someone is subject to discrimination by the authorities, experiences difficulties with bureaucratic procedures or is a victim of police brutality, he or she may turn to the League for help. Over the past fifteen years, the vast majority of cases dealt with by the League have centred on questions relating to immigration, such as residence permits, political asylum or cases of expulsion, with the League intervening regularly on behalf of those who are subject to legal proceedings by the French State.73 It is in a position to verify the legality of actions undertaken by the police or public authorities in matters of detention, internment or identity checks, ensuring that they respect the basic rights and freedoms of the person. Secondly, the League organises and participates in broad public campaigns to raise awareness or mobilise public opinion in relation to social or political causes. Alongside other associations, it takes part in demonstrations, organises publicity campaigns, produces tracts, launches petitions and publicises issues through press articles and through its own monthly review, Hommes et Libertés. In recent years, the League has participated in


campaigns on behalf of undocumented immigrants, women’s rights and the question of access to abortion, the unemployed and the question of social citizenship. It supported the mobilisation for gay rights and in particular the right of homosexuals to form a civil union, a right recognised by the new PACS law (contract of civil union), in force since November 1999. A traditional and democratic institution, the League has thrown its weight behind a campaign to decriminalise drug use and to extend voting rights to all foreigners living in France. A third important dimension to its activities is to monitor the actions of the State, sometimes assuming a critical stance in relation to government policy or legislation. It defines itself as a ‘contre-pouvoir’, a force capable of challenging and opposing the government where it is seen to threaten or contravene basic rights or freedoms. Whilst this is an independent organisation, it can nonetheless make its voice heard within the formal political sphere. Representatives of the League are present within a parliamentary group (intergroupe parlementaire des ligueurs) where they can intervene directly on questions of policy, challenge decisions or draft new laws. The League strives to produce a form of ‘grassroots solidarity’ that is directed towards helping people in their daily lives within local communities. It is characterised by a decentralised structure of over 300 local sections situated in towns throughout France. Each local association is an autonomous entity, making its own decisions and running its own campaigns in relation to problems and issues at grassroots level. Whilst integrated within a national movement, local sections are not subject to political authority imposed from above and are able to provide direct support to individuals who require it, within their own communities. A central committee based in Paris has no executive power over the local sections and exercises financial control only. Provided that they respect fundamental principles and follow general policy guidelines, local sections are free to engage in whatever actions they see fit. For instance, the Grenoble branch recently participated in a campaign against racism, taking part in a ‘collective’ with over twenty other associations. The section based in Le Havre has focused on the question of social citizenship and the ‘right to work’ campaigning for a four-day working week as a way of tackling unemployment.74 Within the League, emphasis is placed on decentralised decision-making: policy is made in a democratic and inclusive way, by means of a national conference that meets every two years, bringing together representatives from the different sections throughout the country. For many members, it seems to offer a different type of activism to that found within a classic political party: ‘the rules of activism [within the League] differ profoundly from the operational


logics of the parties.’75 Many individuals who come to the League are attracted by the concrete activism that it seems to offer, by its emphasis on intervention within local communities. They are often critical of the political parties where decisions are made centrally, leaving local activists little freedom of initiative, where a preoccupation with power relations is seen to take precedence over social action.76 Although the League engages in unconventional forms of activity outside the formal political sphere, this is far from being a radical or conflictual organisation. It is after all, an institution embedded within republican tradition which has a privileged relationship with the public authorities and the ear of those in power. It tends to give preference to moderate, institutionalised forms of action, engaging in judicial and administrative procedures on behalf of individuals or negotiating directly with the public authorities. It is more likely that the League would arrange a meeting with a local prefect than organise a noisy demonstration outside his or her office, and whilst it supports protest action by different social groups, it rarely engages in confrontational action itself. Within the League, emphasis is placed on the value of debate, reflection and criticism as an instrument of social change (‘militer par la pensée’) and it is interested above all in how the law can be used to advance a social cause. Situated within a left-wing intellectual and predominantly middle-class tradition, its role is to instruct, inform and reflect, and to contribute to the ideal of an enlightened and democratic public sphere. It seeks to apply its considerable expertise in legal and judicial matters, placing it at the disposal of an individual citizen, a social group or a given cause. In considering solidarity action within the League, it is important to note that it does not act in an isolated or autonomous way, but has close links with other associations that ‘share the same democratic convictions’.77 It holds close political relationships with a full spectrum of organisations across the French Left, including political parties (Socialists, Communists, Greens), rights-based groupings (antiracism, movement of the unemployed, humanitarian associations) and several trade unions. For historical and ideological reasons, the League has strong ties with the Socialist Party with whom it shares common political values and ideals. Such affinities are revealed by the fact that a large proportion of League participants are former members of the Socialist party who came to this organisation in search of an alternative form of political engagement. In fact, 45 per cent of local League activists, according to one survey, voted for the Socialist Party in the 1997 general elections.78 Many former Socialists join the League because they are disenchanted or disillusioned with conventional parties, which they


criticise for excessive bureaucratisation, a preoccupation with power struggles and a distance from real grassroots activism. They seek a change of direction in relation to previous experiences of political involvement and their decision to join results from ‘an objective rupture (most often a disengagement from party activity) and a redefinition of the meaning of activism’.79 But, the League also works closely with an array of civic associations within society that mobilise on questions of antiracism, social citizenship, immigrant rights. It supported social protest by the unemployed in the winter of 1997–98 and it mobilised on behalf of the rights of sans-papiers in conjunction with other antiracist organisations. The League frequently participates in collectifs, ad hoc groupings that bring together a vast array of associations and political parties in relation to a particular social or political cause. By taking part in collectives, the League can form a strong, united front with parties and other civic groupings in society, whilst retaining its autonomy and critical stance in relation to the parties: ‘Collectives created in relation to local projects, demands addressed to municipal government or on wider themes (rights of foreigners and housing, for example) represent as much an opportunity for cooperation as for confrontation with the parties.’80 Far from being an isolated structure, the League forms part of a broad political and ideological current on the French Left and its acts of solidarity are influenced by these political relationships. Some observers have suggested that ‘social relations’ are crucial to explaining why solidarity emerges and why it is sustained over time. People are motivated to take part in this movement, as with any other form of mobilisation, because of social factors and structural determinants and their decision to join is an outcome of ‘social interactions and of the location of actors in the social system and in social networks’.81 Those who join the League, those who decide to become active supporters, tend to come from similar social and cultural backgrounds, have a comparable level of education and share similar professional experiences. The picture that emerges is of an organisation that appeals to a specific segment of society that is middle-class, well-educated and employed within the public sector. Individuals who come to this association are recruited preponderantly from the ‘new middle classes’, and are teachers, lawyers, doctors, civil servants, white-collar professionals employed within public sector jobs. No less than 70 per cent of the permanent and active members of the League are public sector employees and nearly half of local activists are teachers. They share important cultural resources and 68 per cent are graduates from higher education. Crucially, individuals from a working-class background are virtually absent, with just


over 1 per cent of activists coming from such a social background.82 The League tends to appeal to a stratum of middle-class intellectuals within French society who are public-spirited, politically active and committed to secular education. They are attracted to the League because it embodies the ideal of a secular Republic, it supports universal values and defends the general interest, representing a form of civic and humanist engagement. The propensity towards altruism and helping others, as it manifests itself within the League, is not a broad social phenomenon, but the preserve of particular social and cultural groups. We have seen that solidarity in the League is not a random or undifferentiated phenomenon but is determined by a clearly defined ideological framework. When intervening on behalf of an individual who is subject to discrimination or when defending the rights of a social group, the League carries within it a powerful republican legacy that continues to condition and shape its actions within society. It strives to enact core republican values of equality, freedom and justice in relation to the changing forms of discrimination or inequality in the present day. In supporting those whose human rights have been violated, the League acts with the full weight and authority of a republican discourse that lays out the ideological foundations for its solidarity activism. In this chapter, we have looked at the nature of the solidarity movement in contemporary France. At a time when many believed that France was gripped by a new era of individualism, French citizens engaged massively in action of a social or humanitarian nature. They formed new associations to help disadvantaged groups and supported humanitarian causes across the world. The rise of solidarity activism was not a random phenomenon, but expanded during a period of profound economic crisis within French society that tended to precipitate a search for alternative forms of engagement. In the face of growing inequalities and a perceived failure of State institutions to respond to these problems, many citizens felt impelled to act for themselves and assume direct forms of collective action within civil society. They evolved new forms of mobilisation and constructed civic strategies for confronting the multiple conflicts and divisions that characterised French society. In doing so, they drew on a deep-seated republican tradition, using the symbolic resources of the French Revolution and applying the ideals of freedom, equality and solidarity in the present day. Solidarity is intrinsic to a renewed conception of citizenship, one that favours an active engagement of ordinary citizens, one that is committed to egalitarian and universalist values, and one that expresses the ideal of a common society founded on strong, reciprocal social bonds.

7 Conclusion

France, for many observers, is no longer a nation marked by high levels of conflict where citizens routinely take to the streets to express their grievances and desires. And France is no longer a nation where movements in society constitute a powerful force, challenging political authority and furthering social change. Gone is the quest for a better society. Gone is the revolutionary impetus of past struggles. In today’s society, people have apparently turned away from politics and are no longer prepared to engage in collective struggles and causes. They are less inclined to get involved in matters that lie outside their own private interests and desires. For their part, social movements have seemingly lost their traditional meaning and importance. The overwhelming view is that movements have disappeared or at the very least have ceased to act as forces of contestation and dissent. Where new movements do emerge in society, they are rarely seen to advance a projet de société, a general programme for social change. Nor do they espouse a unified ideological vision, a comprehensive theory of society. These are inward-looking, particularist or even tribal elements that act against rather than for the collective good. Withdrawn from the public sphere, they are a symbol of the ceaseless tide of fragmentation and individualism that has swept through contemporary society, of its degeneration into an ‘era of nothingness’.1 The picture that emerges within many recent studies is of a society that is disaffected and individualistic, lacking political values or direction, in which movements have lost all potential to mobilise, criticise or persuade. Much of recent theorising, insofar as social movements are concerned, is at odds with complex and often untidy social realities. I have argued in this book that protest continues to represent a fundamental aspect of the French political landscape, albeit in new ways and in relation to new 144

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causes and struggles. France during the 1990s was marked by a rise of new movements, by a ‘return of the social question’2 to the centre of political life. At a time of apparent disaffection with politics, certain causes continued to attract widespread activism and support, systematically producing mass demonstrations or acts of conflict within society. Hundreds and thousands of French citizens were still prepared to engage in political activism in order to oppose the National Front, to contest social inequalities, to support humanitarian action or to resist global economic developments. They were still inclined to take part in collective action outside the formal political sphere through a multiplicity of movements, associations and collectives within civil society. Movements may have assumed new dimensions and may mobilise a different set of groups in society, but they continue to punctuate the political scene with an astounding regularity and intensity. It must be remembered that movements are never fossilised creatures that encapsulate great or noble struggles from the past. Instead, they evolve and mutate, mirroring the changing contours and dynamics of society at any one time. We have seen that the movements which are active in France today tend to reflect the new divisions and inequalities that characterise contemporary society, based on factors such as racism, unemployment or social exclusion. They embody new forms of social suffering within a society gripped by profound economic crisis and subject to processes of global economic restructuring. We could say that these movements are neither more nor less valid than traditional class-based struggles, but simply reveal a changed social and political reality. One aim of this book was to help restore centrality and meaning to the movements that are currently active within French political life. I have taken issue with many critics who tend to minimise or trivialise the role of movements in contemporary societies. These are usually treated as ‘new social movements’ and seen to embody secondary ‘postmaterial’ questions of lifestyle or personal development. They are located at the periphery of society and seem to have little relevance for the ‘general interest’ as expressed within the public sphere. I have suggested, on the contrary, that French movements act as forces of social transformation at the very centre of political life. They raise critical and fundamental questions that enter the heart of contemporary political debates, questions about the boundaries of social membership and the rules governing society: in other words, questions about citizenship. They are forces that contest the rules of social participation, that articulate the claims of marginalised groups, that challenge the definition of rights, and they are therefore inevitably movements about citizenship.


This means, on the one hand, that French movements are concerned with rights, with who has rights and what those rights are. Their purpose is to defend and assert the rights of subordinate groups in society and to reconfigure the parameters of citizenship accordingly. Movements contend that behind a veil of universal citizenship lurk systematic inequalities and forms of domination that exclude and marginalise certain groups. They seek to challenge society according to its own principles, demanding that equal rights be extended to all members of society in accordance with the very tenets of democracy. Each of the movements we have looked at advocates the creation of a set of citizen rights and, in some cases, argues for the acceptance of new rights. Some movements call for an inclusion of groups who are alienated by the existing definition of citizenship and they appeal for their recognition as full members of society. They represent ‘outsiders’, groups who by the full weight of law and of State authority are designated as non-citizens and isolated from the realm of public life (for example, the sans-papiers). Other movements demand new rights, calling for an extension of citizenship to all areas of social and economic experience (for example, ‘right to work’, ‘right to an income’, ‘right to housing’). They represent those who perceive themselves as ‘sans-droits’, groups who through circumstances of unemployment, poverty or discrimination are impeded from participating fully in society. Citizenship becomes a powerful tool for articulating the claims of these groups and for legitimising their struggles against the conditions that exclude them. As their claims always challenge the balance of power and authority in society, they generally meet with resistance on the part of dominant groups who may reassert a restrictive conception of rights. Thus, the struggle of immigrant communities for political rights in contemporary France was confronted with a tightening of legislation which further restricted access to citizenship and reinforced an exclusive relationship between citizenship and nationality. On the other hand, this means that contemporary French movements are characterised by continuity and can be situated in terms of a historical development of citizenship. New movements manifest enduring civic processes whereby subordinate groups, at different moments of history, mobilise collectively to affirm their rights. Just as in the past, groups such as workers, slaves and women rejected their assignation as non-citizens and declared ‘We are citizens too!’, so in today’s society other groups now clamour for rights by appealing to the same notion of universal egalitarianism. For the French historian Jacques Guilhaumou,

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contemporary movements are the ‘sans-culottes’ of the present day who signal the presence in society of certain groups as ‘active citizens’. Contemporary movements, he contends, represent people who are denied a whole series of rights, acting as a ‘third estate’ of a new kind, who are the sans-emploi (unemployed), the sans-abri (homeless), the sans-papiers (undocumented immigrants). He traces the lines of continuity between new movements and traditional social struggles and sets out to ‘establish as direct a link as possible between the past and the present of the social movement’.3 By defending the rights of the dispossessed and by articulating their demands for citizenship, movements echo the spirit and actions of the French Revolution in the present day. Rather than treating them as ‘new social movements’ that are severed from the past and determined by their own independent logic or separate phase of development, movements can be seen to embody enduring civic processes: they contribute to an ongoing expansion of citizenship in today’s society. We have seen that the notion of ‘new citizenship’ has been developed by a number of French theorists and used in some cases to describe emerging forms of mobilisation within society. For these observers, citizenship provides a concept for understanding the struggles of subordinate groups against the discrimination or exclusion that affects them. Their role is to recast the boundaries of social participation, to ‘reinvent citizenship’ so that it reflects all the diversity and pluralism of contemporary society. We have seen, however, that studies on new citizenship have been confined to a particular social context and to the case of a specific movement, that of immigration and the antiracist movement. It is the struggle of immigrant communities to assert their rights and claim full participation in society which is the dominant perspective through which citizenship is questioned, analysed and understood. Yet, I have suggested that this notion has wider relevance for contemporary French movements as a whole. After all, these are also movements about rights and these are also movements that challenge the existing conception of citizenship. Taking the notion of new citizenship as a model for defining contemporary French movements, it can be seen to emphasise a number of their essential features and attributes: (i) they espouse democratic values and ideals; (ii) they emphasise citizen participation in political life; (iii) they favour associative forms of organisation. What follows is an overview of contemporary French movements, using a new citizenship perspective that looks in turn at their values, strategies and forms of organisation.


Political values In defending rights, in challenging discrimination, in confronting injustices, movements draw on the language and symbolism of citizenship and democracy. It is civic and democratic values that provide the symbolic resources through which movements orientate and legitimise their actions in society. With a displacement of class conflict and a decline of Marxist ideology, citizenship has become a pervasive tool for conceptualising social change not just for movements in society, but for the French Left more generally. When observing the student movement of 1986, Henri Weber noted how references to Marx and to the workers’ movement were supplanted by civic and democratic themes. For a new generation of young people, freedom, equality and solidarity had become the rallying points for political mobilisation and social struggle: ‘But these hundreds of thousands of students and pupils marched without red or black flags, without portraits of great ancestors, without raised fists or the Internationale, without a ritual appeal to the working class. Rather, here and there they advanced behind enormous tricolour banners bearing before all the old emblem of the Republic, “Freedom, equality, fraternity”.’4 Behind all the movements we have looked at, lie core democratic documents such as the 1789 Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen, which provide a central ideological cornerstone that guides and rationalises their actions. Movements recover traditional democratic ideals from the past and use them to confront new conflicts in society, thereby invoking ‘the principles of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen in new historical conditions’.5 Such principles only acquire concrete meaning and substance in relation to real and changing conflicts, linked to issues such as racism, social exclusion or unemployment. We find the reference to ‘equality’ across many different movements and across many different struggles in contemporary society, from the mobilisation of the ‘sans’, to the movement of the unemployed or even anti-Far Right demonstrations. Inherited from political tradition, equality is not an abstract ideal, but becomes an open and dynamic concept used to confront new forms of conflict and acting as an ‘emancipatory social project’.6 The new wave of antiracism originated with a March for Equality in 1983 which was the ‘founding historical act’7 of a movement of suburban youth against racism. Likewise during the demonstrations by socially excluded groups ‘for rights and equality’ in April 1995, activists argued that true citizenship was only possible where profound social inequalities were removed. Only the introduction of a ‘citizenship

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income’, a basic subsistence for all members of society, employed or not, would guarantee genuine social integration and equality. The theme of ‘freedom’ is also summoned up as a universal and humanist ideal, one that affirms the sacredness of individual rights above every other consideration. For instance, human rights organisations use the principle of freedom to confront forms of repressive state authority or arbitrary political power. They launch campaigns on behalf of political prisoners, asylum seekers and prisoners of conscience by appealing to values such as ‘freedom of movement’, ‘freedom of thought’ or ‘freedom of opinion and expression’. The ideal of ‘solidarity’ has also become an important rallying point for social movements, used to galvanise support for disadvantaged groups and to affirm their inclusion in a common society. We find that many movements have forged their own symbols in order to convey solidarity in relation to a group that may be subject to discrimination. The slogan ‘Touche pas à mon pote’ (‘Hands off my mate’) was popularised by SOS Racisme during the 1980s, to show support for the social and political rights of immigrants and cultural minorities. Aids advocacy groups introduced the red ribbon, signifying solidarity towards victims of Aids, whilst gay-rights groups used the pink triangle, once worn by prisoners in Nazi concentration camps, as a symbol of the struggle against sexual discrimination. These emblems are as much a gesture of solidarity with marginalised groups as a symbol of defiance against institutionalised values and policies which exclude or threaten them. If we look at recent demonstrations in France, these are marked by a prevalence of civic references and themes which constitute an important symbolic resource for communicating and expressing demands. In March 1997, over 50,000 people marched through the streets of Strasbourg in protest against a Front National party conference held in the town. Bringing together citizens from throughout France and associations from across Europe, this was a ‘civic wave’ intended to voice popular protest against the Far Right.8 In the months preceding this demonstration, different grassroots associations based in Strasbourg waged a campaign that sought to rouse opposition to the Far Right within the town. Some of them organised a poster campaign, which translated into nine different languages the revolutionary slogan ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité’. Others read extracts from the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen to passengers on the town’s tramway system. During the demonstration that followed, one journalist observed its strongly apolitical and spontaneous quality: ‘The civic generation draws its references from the purest republican tradition, it restores to it its modernity. Instinctively, it turns to the French Revolution to find its


arsenal of arguments and symbols.’9 More recently, the success of JeanMarie Le Pen in the first round of the presidential elections on 21 April 2002 provoked a massive wave of demonstrations led primarily by school and university students, many of whom were too young to vote and had no formal political allegiances. Over a two-week period, spontaneous demonstrations took place on a daily basis nationwide in the run-up to the second round, representing in the words of one French daily, a ‘civic revolt of youth’.10

Strategies Contemporary French movements emphasise citizen participation in political processes. Power is vested in the individual and he or she is placed at the forefront of collective action. Here the participant is treated as an active and responsible agent capable of making independent choices and of engaging freely in political life. One of the most striking features of recent demonstrations in France is that they have coalesced as a result of the direct actions of individuals and groups in society, acting independently of formal structures and organisations. People increasingly participate in demonstrations as autonomous individuals rather than as members of a party, trade union or political organisation. The 1997 demonstrations against the Debré law began as a petition movement, launched by film-makers who, on the surface, had no party affiliations and no vested interests that impelled them to act. They openly declared their refusal to comply with the terms of the Debré law and called on others to do likewise in a movement of civil disobedience. Their appeal galvanised a whole series of similar petitions amongst artistic and intellectual groups, including researchers, teachers, artists, designers and journalists. Against accusations of cultural elitism voiced by certain intellectuals (including Alain Finkielkraut), their campaign soon gained momentum in civil society. Petitions were circulated in schools, cafés, in housing schemes and offices, expressing the opposition of ordinary citizens to what was seen as a repressive and discriminatory piece of legislation. By the end of February, the newspaper Libération, in a special edition of over 48 pages, had published 55,000 signatures ‘in order of their arrival’ at its press office. The demonstration which followed was described as ‘a great civic march’ entirely free of formal structure, which brought together ‘tens of thousands of demonstrators where no organisation appears’.11 In a similar fashion, the demonstrations of March 1998 against the election of a number of

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regional councillors with the support of the National Front were mobilised outside any formal political organisation. Like earlier movements, this protest was initiated by the direct actions of individuals and groups in society. Like earlier movements, it involved a massive and spontaneous participation of ordinary citizens. As during earlier movements, the political parties were conspicuous by their absence. Party representatives were excluded from the preparatory meetings preceding the demonstrations and the only party actively to take part was the Far Left LCR (Communist Revolutionary League). When asked why he was taking part in the demonstrations, one participant replied: ‘I am here as a citizen.’ Where parties use conventional methods, movements use strategies in which people can become directly involved. What is crucial about recent movements in France is that they appeal to individuals as citizens capable of making independent choices and of having their say. The theme of citizenship has become an essential reference for mobilising protest in society, a symbol of individual engagement, of an attachment to democratic values, of a rejection of excessive political authority. When faced with public policies that threaten or infringe the rights of a particular social group, movements form a ‘civic front’ against government, reasserting the universal and imprescriptible character of democratic rights. By taking part in collective action, individuals reclaim the right to participate in political life, not as a duty but as a fundamental democratic right. Committees of civic vigilance, acts of civil disobedience and civic marches have become prevalent instruments for people to engage in the public sphere. Etienne Balibar has highlighted the significance of acts of civil disobedience, arguing that they are a positive and constitutive act of democracy undertaken by politically responsible individuals. By taking part in civil disobedience, citizens openly refuse to accept or comply with a certain law because it is deemed to contravene fundamental democratic principles: ‘We know since the very foundations of democracies that power is only legitimate to the extent that it does not conflict with certain superior laws of humanity.’12 A refusal to obey the law, in specific circumstances, is not necessarily an affront to democracy, but its very embodiment in an active and constitutive form. It is a means of recasting the social contract and the relationship between State and citizen at times of social and political crisis. Here the threat to democracy is seen to originate from above from the excesses of political authority, from an inappropriate use of force, from the discriminatory nature of legislation.


Forms of organisation Contemporary French movements tend to favour associative forms of organisation that are close to everyday realities and in which ordinary citizens can become directly involved. Where parties may build large or powerful organisations, movements place precedence on grassroots organisation that facilitates a participation ‘from below’. Typically they avoid formalising their structures and resist instances of hierarchy or bureaucratic control. Formed within civil society, movements ‘place high value upon grass-roots, informal and hidden forms of organisation and they consequently tend to be suspicious of business organisations, trade union hierarchies’.13 Priority is given to participation and inclusiveness over organisational strength or size. All the movements we have looked at espouse a form of ‘grassroots solidarity’ as a fundamental and guiding principle. For these movements, it is the local association which is the real centre of action and what happens here is attributed greater value than what takes place within national-level structures. When pursuing different social or political causes, movements do so within real communities and in relation to the issues that confront people in their daily lives. Even a traditional institution such as the Human Rights League incorporates a principle of grassroots action as part of its raison d’être, as one of its defining principles. Whilst integrated within a national structure, each of its 300 local sections is an autonomous entity, making its own decisions and running its own campaigns, and its central committee in Paris has no political authority over it. Flourishing outside and beyond the formal political sphere, French movements tend to express a strong desire for autonomy. Some reject any collaboration with conventional parties and display an outward hostility in relation to State institutions. Others are prepared to engage with the parties but only on a temporary basis in order to achieve objective political ends. On 3 August 1998, a group of social movement activists published an ‘appeal for the autonomy of the social movement’ that appeared in the national daily, Libération. They called on all French movements in society to resist a temptation to form alliances with political parties in the run-up to the European elections of the following year. Referring to a ‘dynamic of movements’ within society, based on ‘a real and activist presence of citizens who do not identify with any organisation’,14 they affirmed that the fundamental purpose of movements was to act as forces of social change and to offer a vision of an alternative society. But this role could only be fulfilled where movements safeguarded their independence and opposed any moves towards political

Conclusion 153

integration. The appeal reveals the mistrust of many movements towards parties, even those situated on the Left of the political spectrum. Its authors argue that the relationship between movements and parties can only ever exist in a context of hierarchy and manipulation: ‘The appeal for the autonomy of the social movement is primarily a response to all those who sought to appropriate their voice and in particular political forces, beginning of course with the PC [Communist Party] but also in certain cases the LCR [Communist Revolutionary League] even if its activists are engaged in many of these struggles.’15 Movements often evolve strategies designed to reinforce their independence, whilst strengthening their influence in relation to a particular cause. A case in point is the use of collectives (‘collectifs’), when social movements come together to create a temporary coalition in relation to a particular issue or cause. Collectives may be formed for a whole variety of purposes: to challenge a government policy, to defend the rights of a disadvantaged social group, to campaign collectively on an issue of common concern. For instance, during the February 1997 demonstrations, associations as diverse as Act Up, MRAP, SOS Racisme and the Human Rights League came together to form a collective in opposition to the Debré bill. This allowed an otherwise small and fragmented array of associations to create a strong united front on an issue, whilst retaining a full measure of autonomy. Movements today have drawn valuable lessons from earlier instances of protest such as the ‘coordinations’ which were a driving force behind social conflict in the latter part of the 1980s.16 Like these, the collectives communicate a strongly autonomous stance and a rejection of formal organisation and bureaucracy. We can see that movements unlike parties do not seek access to political power as the final destination on their journey. They are less interested in power struggles than in grassroots representation and are orientated more towards citizenship participation than formal structure. It is rare for movements to build powerful organisations at national level and even rarer for such efforts to succeed. We could view this as a sign of weakness. After all, movements are destined to remain outsiders, seldom invited in or allowed to sit with the grown-ups and engage in the ‘real business’ of politics. They may appear weak and unstructured, as ‘prepolitical’17 phenomena that have yet to reach maturity or to make the transition towards meaningful political existence. Somehow, they are not the ‘real thing’, having failed to translate their actions into programmes, their ideas into ideologies, their organisations into parties.18 Yet, the strength of movements lies precisely in this autonomy, in the freedom of initiative it affords, in the new spaces it opens up.


Because movements are free of rules and constraints, because they have few vested interests, because they give direct representation to ordinary people, they are able to provide a direct and uninhibited challenge to the existing political order and to the established way of doing things. They act as forces of social transformation at the centre of political life that seek to reconfigure the nature and parameters of citizenship in relation to the new causes and struggles that characterise contemporary society.

Notes All translations are the author’s unless otherwise indicated. Details of English translations of texts where known are included in the notes.

1 Introduction 1. A. Melucci, Challenging Codes. Collective Action in the Information Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. 1. 2. See N. Hewlett, Modern French Politics. Analysing Conflict and Consensus since 1945 (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1998) for an excellent discussion of France’s tradition of social protest. 3. S. Hoffmann, Decline or Renewal: France since the 1930s (New York: Viking Press, 1974), p. 111. 4. J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, Les Nouveaux Sans-Culottes. Enquête sur l’extrême gauche (Paris: Grasset, 2000). 5. C. Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, Le retour de la question sociale. Le renouveau des mouvements sociaux en France (Lausanne: Cahiers libres, 1997). 6. I. Sommier, Les Nouveaux mouvements contestataires à l’heure de la mondialisation (Paris: Flammarion, 2001). 7. L. Boltanski and E. Chiapello, Le Nouvel Esprit du capitalisme (Paris: Gallimard, 1999). 8. J. M. Salmon, Le Désir de société. Des restaurants du coeur au mouvement des chômeurs (Paris: La Découverte, 1998). 9. See D. Drake, Intellectuals and Politics in Post-War France (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 10. These include texts such as A. Jacquard, J’accuse l’économie triomphante (Paris: Calmann-Lévy, 1995); V. Forrester, L’Horreur économique (Paris: Fayard, 1996); E. Todd, L’Illusion économique (Paris: Gallimard, 1998); and P. Bourdieu, Contre-feux. Propos pour servir à la résistance contre l’invasion néo-libérale (Paris: Liber-Raisons d’Agir, 1998). 11. P. Bourdieu et al., La Misère du monde (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1993). This has been translated into English as The Weight of the World (Cambridge: Polity, 1999). 12. These include Copernic, Marc Bloch, Merleau-Ponty, Pétitions, Raisons d’agir. 13. L. Boltanski and E. Chiapello, 1999, op. cit. (note 7). 14. C. Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, 1997, op. cit. (note 5). 15. J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, 2000, op. cit. (note 4), p. 52. 16. C. Ysmal, ‘Transformations du militantisme et déclin des partis’ in P. Perrineau (ed.), L’Engagement politique. Déclin ou mutation? (Paris: Presses de la FNSP, 1994), p. 44. 17. M. Barthélemy, Associations: Un nouvel âge de la participation? (Paris: Presses de Science Po, 2000). 18. A. Melucci, Nomads of the Present: Social Movements and Individual Needs within Contemporary Society (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1989), p. 1. 155

156 Notes 19. G. Lipovetsky, L’ère du vide. Essais sur l’individualisme contemporain (Paris: Gallimard, 1983). 20. C. Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, 1997, op. cit. (note 5), p. 9. 21. See A. Touraine et al., Le Grand refus. Réflexions sur la grève de décembre 1995 (Paris: Fayard, 1996). 22. M. Kail, ‘Tous ensemble: une grève se gère par les grèvistes’, Temps Modernes, no. 587 (1996), 450–67.

2 Social Protest in France Today 1. O. Fillieule, Stratégies de la Rue. Les manifestations en France (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1997). Fillieule argues that the demonstration constitutes an essential act of political participation within contemporary French society. 2. See Le Monde, 2 May 2002. 3. R. Rémond, La Politique n’est plus ce qu’elle était (Paris: Calmann-Lévy, 1993). 4. Ibid., p. 12. 5. Ibid., p. 47. 6. Ibid., p. 64. 7. N. Hewlett, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 2), p. 2. 8. Ibid., p. 211. 9. Ibid., pp. 195–6. 10. Ibid., p. 6. 11. G. Lipovetsky, ‘May ’68, or the Rise of Transpolitical Individualism’ in M. Lilla (ed.), New French Thought. Political Philosophy (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1994), p. 212. 12. G. Lipovetsky, 1983, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 19), p. 16. 13. G. Lipovetsky, 1994, op. cit. (note 11), p. 216. 14. M. Maffesoli, Le temps des tribus. Le déclin de l’individualisme dans les sociétés de masse (Paris: Méridiens Klincksieck/Livre de poche, 1988). 15. See M. Silverman, Facing Postmodernity. Contemporary French Thought on Culture and Society (London and New York: Routledge, 1999). 16. P. Perrineau, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 16). 17. Ibid., p. 19. 18. Ibid., p. 19. 19. Ibid., p. 16. 20. J. Ion, La Fin des militants? (Paris: Editions de l’Atelier, 1997). 21. Ibid., p. 12. 22. Ibid., p. 80. 23. Ibid., p. 82. 24. L. Boltanski and E. Chiapello, 1999, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 7). 25. Ibid., p. 435. 26. A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). 27. J. Ion, 1997, op. cit. (note 20), p. 76. 28. These terms are used by P. Perrineau, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 16); J. Ion, 1997, op. cit. (note 20); and R. Rémond, 1994, op. cit. (note 3) respectively. 29. Jean-Marie Le Pen gained 17 per cent of the votes in the first round of the presidential elections of 21 April 2002, thereby eliminating the then Socialist

Notes 157

30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

Prime Minister Lionel Jospin who had acquired only 16 per cent. Le Pen entered the second round of the elections on 5 May in a stand-off against Jacques Chirac, where he was defeated by a massive 82 per cent of votes for Chirac, against his 18 per cent. The network of SUD unions (Solidaires, Unitaires, Démocratiques) was set up by elements critical of the CFDT who were driven by ‘the ambition to create a trade unionism of social transformation’ (I. Sommier, 2001, op. cit. chapter 1, note 6, p. 27). In 1998, there were over thirty branches of SUD set up within different economic sectors and companies. In France, associations are regulated by the State under a 1901 law which recognised for the first time the ‘freedom to associate’. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17). Ibid., pp. 15 and 274 respectively. H. Théry, ‘L’Evolution du rôle de l’association’ in F. Bloch-Lainé (ed.), Faire Société. Les associations au coeur du social (Paris: Syros, 1999), p. 37. E. Archambault, ‘Le secteur associatif en France et dans le monde’ in F. BlochLainé, 1999, op. cit. (note 34). Ibid. Ibid. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17), p. 120. This explanation is advanced by P. Perrineau, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 16) and Barthélemy 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17). See J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8) and F. Bloch-Lainé, 1999, op. cit. (note 34). J. Bastide, ‘La Vie associative, ou l’engagement au service de la cité’, Hommes et Migrations, no. 1206 (March–April 1997), p. 50. M. Barthélemy, Les Associations dans la Société française: Un Etat des Lieux (Tome 1) Les Cahiers du CEVIPOF 10 (Paris: FNSP CNRS, 1994). For Pierre Bourdieu, democratic institutions ‘dispossess’ the individual by concentrating ‘the means of political production in the hands of professionals’. The activist is hidden or submerged behind a dominant elite which alone possesses the means of action and expression, maintaining a monopoly over ‘political production’. The individual supporter may be reduced to a passive or formalised role that eliminates any possibility of active involvement, with authority being transferred to leaders or elites (P. Bourdieu, ‘La représentation politique. Eléments pour une théorie du champ politique’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, pp. 36–7 (Feb.–March 1981)). H. Théry, 1999, op. cit. (note 34), p. 39. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17). J. L. Laville, ‘L’Association: une liberté propre à la démocratie’ in J. L. Laville and R. Sainsaulieu (eds), Sociologie de l’association. Des organisations à l’épreuve du changement social (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1997), p. 39. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17), p. 222. C. Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 5). Ibid., p. 35. Ibid., pp. 200–1. See J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8). Ibid., p. 17. I. Sommier, 2001, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 6).

158 Notes 54. Jan Willem Duyvendak analysed the factors underlying the collapse of new social movements in France during the 1980s which he attributes to political factors and particularly the entry of the Socialists to government in that they tended to provide extensive support to some movements whilst excluding others. See J. W. Duyvendak, Le Poids du Politique. Nouveaux mouvements sociaux en France (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1994). 55. G. Mendel, 54 millions d’individus sans appartenance. L’Obstacle invisible du septennat (Paris: Laffont, 1983), cited by J. W. Duyvendak, 1994, op. cit. (note 54), p. 26. 56. J. W. Duyvendak, 1994, op. cit. (note 54), p. 259. 57. These included the associations, FHAR and CUARH which had acquired recognition and support from the Socialists during the late 1970s. Indeed the Socialist Party had set up Homosexualités et Socialisme in 1983 to act as a liaison between the gay-rights movement and this party. 58. J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 4). 59. A number of social movement associations published an appeal entitled ‘For the autonomy of the social movement’ in the daily Libération on 3 August 1998. 60. D. Blatt, ‘Towards a Multi-Cultural Political Model in France? The Limits of Immigrant Collective Action, 1968–94’, Nationalism and Ethnic Politics, vol. 1, no. 2 (Summer 1995), 164. 61. See N. Mayer, ‘The Dynamics of the Anti-Front National Countermovement’, French Politics and Society, vol. 13, no. 4 (Fall 1995), 12–30. 62. Ibid., p. 24. 63. F. F. Piven and R. A. Cloward, Poor People’s Movements. Why They Succeed, How They Fail (New York: Pantheon Books, 1977). 64. D. Demazière and M. T. Pignoni, Chômeurs: du silence à la révolte (Paris: Hachette Littératures, 1998). 65. J. W. Duyvendak, 1994, op. cit. (note 54), p. 224. 66. M. Ancelovici, ‘Organizing against Globalization: The Case of ATTAC in France’, Politics & Society, vol. 30, no. 3 (2002), 427–63.

3 Citizenship and Social Change 1. In the vast body of literature on social movements, theorising has proved to be more popular than empirical research. Current theoretical perspectives include new social movement theory, resource mobilisation theory, the cyclical approach and political opportunity structures. For a useful overview of these theoretical approaches, see O. Fillieule and C. Péchu, Lutter ensemble: les théories de l’action collective (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1993); J. C. Jenkins and B. Klandermans, The Politics of Social Protest (University College of London Press, 1995); E. Neveu, Sociologie des mouvements sociaux (Paris: La Découverte, 1996); S. M. Buechler and F. K. Cylke (eds), Social Movements. Perspectives and Issues (California: Mayfield Publishing, 1997); and D. della Porta and M. Diani, Social Movements: an introduction (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999). 2. L. Bell, ‘Interpreting Collective Action: Methodology and Ideology in the Analysis of Social Movements in France’, Modern & Contemporary France, 9(2), (2001), p. 183.

Notes 159 3. See A. Touraine, The Voice and the Eye (Cambridge University Press, 1981); and The Return of the Actor: Social Theory in Postindustrial Society (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988); and also Pourrons-nous vivre ensemble? Egaux et différents (Paris: Fayard, 1997). This book has been translated into English: A. Touraine, Can We Live Together? Equal and Different (Cambridge: Polity, 2000). See also P. Bourdieu, In Other Words: Essays Towards a Reflexive Sociology (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1990); Contre-feux. Propos pour servir à la résistance contre l’invasion néo-libérale (Paris: Liber-Raisons d’Agir, 1998); and ‘Les objectifs d’un mouvement social européen’, Le Passant Ordinaire, no. 33 (Feb.–March 2001), pp. 24–5. A recently formed research grouping within the Institute of Political Science in Paris, GERMM (Group for the Study and Research of Transformations in Activism) brings together leading French specialists on social movements and alternative politics, including Nonna Mayer, Olivier Fillieule, Sophie Duchesne. Since 1994, this group has focused on an analysis of new social movements within contemporary French society. Researchers from GERMM contributed to the publication of a special issue of the Revue Française de Science Politique, vol. 51, no. 1–2, (Feb.–April 2001) with articles on the Human Rights League, Médecins sans Frontières, DAL (Droit au Logement), the ecologists and SOS Racisme. 4. Within American literature, resource mobilisation theory remains the dominant paradigm for analysing social movements and collective action. Whereas European commentators have focused on the importance of structural and ideological changes in determining new movements within advanced industrial societies, American observers have paid more attention to the motivations of participants and the ‘rationality’ of social protest. See D. Rucht (ed.), Research on Social Movements; the State of the Art in Western Europe and the USA (Westview Press, 1991) for a useful comparison of the European and American approaches. 5. Key new social movement theorists are: the German analyst, J. Habermas, Legitimation Crisis, (Heinemann, 1976); the Italian sociologist A. Melucci, 1989, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 18); and 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). In France, the main social movement theorist is Alain Touraine who contributed to defining the concept ‘new social movement’. See A. Touraine, 1981, op. cit. and 1988, op. cit. (note 3). 6. A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). 7. E. Neveu, 1996, op. cit. (note 1), p. 67. 8. S. M. Buechler, ‘New Social Movement Theories’ in S. M. Buechler and F. K. Cylke, 1997, op. cit. (note 1), p. 296. 9. A. Touraine, 1981, op. cit. (note 3). 10. A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). 11. A. Touraine, 1997, op. cit. (note 3). 12. Ibid., p. 117. 13. A. Touraine, 1981, op. cit. (note 3), p. 81. 14. See R. Inglehart, The Silent Revolution: Changing Values and Political Styles among Western Publics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), and Culture Shift in Advanced Industrial Society (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990); and R. J. Dalton, Citizen Politics, 2nd edn (New Jersey: Chatham, 1996). 15. A. Maslow, Motivation and Personality (New York: Harper & Row, 1970). 16. R. J. Dalton, 1996, op. cit. (note 14), p. 10.

160 Notes 17. D. Bell, The Coming of the Post-Industrial Society (New York: Basic Books, 1973). 18. K. Eder, The New Politics of Class: Social Movements and Cultural Dynamics in Advanced Societies (London: Sage, 1993). 19. R. J. Dalton, 1996, op. cit. (note 14), p. 168. 20. S. M. Buechler, 1997, op. cit. (note 8), p. 308. 21. C. Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 5), p. 199. 22. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17), p. 120. 23. Cited by J. Guilhaumou, La Parole des sans. Les mouvements actuels à l’épreuve de la Révolution française (Paris: ENS Edition, 1998), p. 31. 24. B. Turner, Citizenship and Capitalism. The Debate Over Reformism (London: Allen & Unwin, 1986). 25. Ibid., p. 92. 26. Ibid., p. xii. 27. E. F. Isin and P. K. Wood, Citizenship and Identity (London: Sage, 1999). 28. Ibid., p. 1. 29. Ibid., p. 14. 30. Ibid., p. 2. 31. J. Guilhaumou, 1998, op. cit. (note 23), p. 19. 32. Ibid., p. 17. 33. Ibid., p. 32. 34. See A. Favell, Philosophies of Integration. Immigration and the Idea of Citizenship in France and Britain (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1998). 35. See S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux (eds), La Citoyenneté dans tous ses états. De l’immigration à la nouvelle citoyenneté (Paris: CIEMI et L’Harmattan, 1992); and E. Balibar, Droit de cité. Culture et politique en démocratie (Paris: Editions de l’Aube, 1998). See also the following two short articles: C. Wihtol de Wenden, ‘La Nouvelle citoyenneté’, Hommes et Migrations, no. 1196 (March 1996), 14–16; and A. Cordeiro ‘Pratiques associatives, pratiques citoyennes’, Hommes et Migrations, 1196 (March 1996), 17–21. 36. E. F. Isin and P. K. Wood, 1999, op. cit. (note 27), p. 4. 37. See B. Turner (ed.), Citizenship and Social Theory (London: Sage, 1993); C. Wihtol de Wenden, La Citoyenneté européenne (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1997); J. Habermas, ‘The European nation-state and the pressures of globalization’, New Left Review, 235 (1999), 46–59; and G. Delanty, Citizenship in a Global Age (Buckingham: Open University Press, 2000). 38. S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, 1992, op. cit. (note 35). 39. Ibid., p. 20. 40. Ibid., p. 21. 41. Ibid., p. 278. 42. Ibid., p. 280. 43. W. R. Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany (London and Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 46. 44. C. Mouffe (ed.), Dimensions of Radical Democracy. Pluralism, Citizenship, Community (London and New York: Verso, 1992), p. 4. 45. See E. F. Isin and P. K. Wood, 1999, op. cit. (note 27); R. Lister, Citizenship: Feminist Perspectives (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1997); and M. Silverman, 1999, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 15) respectively. 46. E. F. Isin and P. K. Wood, 1999, op. cit. (note 27), p. 12. 47. M. Silverman, 1999, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 15), p. 132.

Notes 161 48. Ibid., p. 134. 49. C. Mouffe, Le Politique et ses enjeux. Pour une démocratie plurielle (Paris: La Découverte/MAUSS, 1994), p. 153. 50. C. Mouffe (ed.), 1992, op. cit. (note 44), p. 237. 51. Ibid., p. 234. 52. C. Mouffe, 1994, op. cit. (note 49), p. 167. 53. Catherine Wihtol de Wenden suggests that the notion of European citizenship holds tremendous potential as a means of transcending national citizenship, of affirming civic values and establishing the idea of cultural pluralism. Yet, in its existing form, this is a tenuous and ambiguous construct in search of its own meaning and identity. In the absence of a common language, of shared cultural symbols and identity, European citizenship has affirmed itself through excessive state regulation and through the imposition of administrative barriers and controls. The extension of Europe towards the East has been accompanied by a reinforcement of Europe’s southern borders, characteristic of a political union that defines itself through a combination of state regulation and an exclusion of ‘the other’. See C. Wihtol de Wenden, 1997, op. cit. (note 37). 54. E. Balibar, 1998, op. cit. (note 35), p. 6. 55. Ibid., p. 52. 56. Ibid., p. 47. 57. Ibid., p. 53. 58. Ibid., p. 52. 59. Ibid., p. 54. 60. Ibid., p. 65. 61. P. Bourdieu, 1998, op. cit. (note 3), p. 7. 62. Ibid., p. 74. 63. Ibid., p. 24. 64. See A. Favell, 1998, op. cit. (note 34). 65. S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, 1992, op. cit. (note 35), p. 23. 66. R. Lister, 1997, op. cit. (note 45); E. F. Isin and P. K. Wood, 1999, op. cit. (note 27); and G. Delanty, 2000, op. cit. (note 37) respectively. 67. M. Silverman, 1999, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 15), p. 150. 68. F. Khosrokhavar, ‘Les Nouvelles formes de mobilisation sociale’ in A. Touraine et al., 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 21), pp. 211–12. 69. A. Oldfield, Citizenship and Community. Civic Republicanism and the Modern World (London: Routledge, 1990), p. 2. 70. E. Balibar, 1998, op. cit. (note 35), p. 5. 71. S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, 1992, op. cit. (note 35), p. 45. 72. C. Mouffe, 1992, op. cit. (note 44), p. 1. 73. C. Mouffe, ‘Radical Democracy or Liberal Democracy?’ in D. Trend, Radical Democracy. Identity Citizenship and the State (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 25. 74. J. Guilhaumou, 1998, op. cit. (note 23), p. 41. 75. Ibid., p. 84. 76. S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, 1992, op. cit. (note 35), p. 281. 77. For Pierre Bourdieu, the participation of ordinary citizens in political life is characterised by a ‘democratic illusion’ which consists effectively of dispossessing individuals of a capacity to act politically, whilst masking such processes behind a democratic rhetoric founded on the equal participation

162 Notes

78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90.

of all. By voting, individuals transfer power to professional elites and therefore abdicate their own political responsibility and autonomy. Bourdieu uses a Marxist economic paradigm to argue that contemporary democracies are characterised by a ‘concentration of the political means of production in the hands of professionals’ who thereby obtain a monopoly on political decisions. Denied the social and technical resources necessary for full political participation, ordinary citizens are reduced to the level of ‘consumers’. See P. Bourdieu, 1981, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 43). P. Close, Citizenship, Europe and Change (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1995), p. 143. J. Bastide, ‘La Vie associative, ou l’engagement au service de la cité’, Hommes et Migrations, no. 1206 (March–April, 1997), p. 47. A. Cordeiro, 1996, op. cit. (note 35), p. 18. J. Bastide, 1997, op. cit. (note 79), p. 47. S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, 1992, op. cit. (note 35), p. 165. R. Lister, 1997, op. cit. (note 45). Ibid., p. 36. A. Cordeiro, 1996, op. cit. (note 35), p. 17. A. Oldfield, 1990, op. cit. (note 69), p. 120. A. Cordeiro, 1996, op. cit. (note 35), p. 17. J. Bastide, 1997, op. cit. (note 79), p. 46. Ibid., p. 48. Ibid., p. 48.

4 Antiracism: Theory and Practice 1. L. Joffrin, Un Coup de jeune. Portrait d’une génération morale (Paris: Arléa, 1987), p. 13. 2. J. R. House proposes the following definition: ‘Antiracism can be defined as a set of ideologies, discourses and practices across a wide range of sites aiming to eliminate racism in its ideological, discursive and practical forms through a variety of methods.’ J. R. House, Antiracism and antiracist discourse in France from 1900 to the present day (PhD thesis, unpublished, University of Leeds, 1997), p. 17. 3. The traditional network of associations included LDH (Human Rights League), founded in 1898, LICRA (International League against Racism and Anti-Semitism), formed in 1927 and MRAP (Movement against Racism and for Friendship between Peoples) created in 1949. The new youth-based associations of the 1980s included SOS Racisme (1984) and France Plus (1985). Organisations that mobilise directly against the Far Right are SCALP (1984), Le Manifeste contre le Front National (1990) and Ras l’Front (1990). 4. See J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), pp. 295–301. 5. French critics include R. Gallissot, Misère de l’antiracisme (Paris: Arcantère, 1985); P. Yonnet, Voyage au centre du malaise français (Paris: Gallimard, 1993); and P. A. Taguieff, Les Fins de l’antiracisme (Paris: Editions Michalon, 1995). British observers have also criticised the perceived inadequacies of the movement. See D. Blatt, 1995, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 60); and P. Fysh, ‘The Failure of Anti-Racist Movements in France, 1981–1995’ in M. Maclean (ed.),

Notes 163

6.

7. 8.

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25.

The Mitterrand Years. Legacy and Evaluation (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1998). SOS Racisme, formed in 1984, was the principal target of accusations of political collusion, particularly as it had benefited from considerable financial aid from the Socialist Party, via the government agency, FAS (Fonds d’Action sociale pour les travailleurs immigrés et leurs familles). The association was discredited by the revelations of a ‘secret history’ published by one of its former members who claimed: ‘Behind the official history of SOS Racisme, one finds a story of political manipulation at the hands of François Mitterrand and the Socialist Party.’ S. Malik, Histoire secrète de SOS Racisme (Paris: Albin Michel, 1990). This relationship of collusion was confirmed, for some, by the nomination of several of the association’s former leaders ( Julien Dray, Isabelle Thomas, Harlem Désir) as Socialist candidates. For instance in 1999, Harlem Désir, who had been president of the association for eight years, was elected to the European Parliament on a Socialist list. In one study, Philippe Juhem examines the political trajectories of leaders of SOS Racisme from the early days as Trotskyist militants to their ascension through the ranks of the Socialist Party. See P. Juhem, ‘Entreprendre en politique de l’extrême gauche au PS: la professionnalisation politique des fondateurs de SOS-Racisme’, Revue française de Science Politique, vol. 51, no. 1–2 (Feb.–April 2001), 131–52. N. Mayer, 1995, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 61), p. 27. P. Fysh takes the ‘failure’ of the movement as the starting-point for his analysis of antiracism during the period from 1981 to 1995. This failure is made evident, in his view, by the electoral successes of the National Front. P. Fysh, 1998, op. cit. (note 5). Ibid., p. 210. D. Blatt, 1995, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 60), p. 159. Taguieff, 1995, op. cit. (note 5). Ibid., pp. xi–xii, ii and v, respectively. P. A. Taguieff, ‘Les sept péchés de l’antiracisme’, in L. Bitterlin (ed.), L’Antiracisme dans tous ses débats (Paris: Panoramiques-Corlet, 1996), p. 23. Taguieff, 1995, op. cit. (note 5), p. iv. Taguieff, 1996, op. cit. (note 13), p. 19. See J. R. House, 1997, op. cit. (note 2); C. Lloyd, Discourses of Antiracism in France (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998); and P. Fysh and J. Wolfreys, The Politics of Racism in France (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1998). A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1), p. 198. Ibid., p. 6. I draw here on the work of major social movement theorists such as A. Melucci (ibid.) and A. Touraine, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 3). A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1), p. 1. Ibid., pp. 359–60. Ibid., p. 357. F. Sylla. ‘SOS-Racisme’, in L. Bitterlin, 1996, op. cit. (note 13), p. 153. According to Serge Malik, ‘The media played a crucial role in the rise of the antiracist association. The rules of the game were quickly mastered by the leaders of SOS Racisme particularly with regard to television, the first media form targetted.’ S. Malik, 1990, op. cit. (note 6), p. 77. See J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8).

164 Notes 26. A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). 27. P. Byrne, Social Movements in Britain (London and New York: Routledge, 1997). 28. R. Flacks, ‘Reviving Democratic Activism: Thoughts about Strategy in a Dark Time’ in D. Trend (ed.), Radical Democracy. Identity, Citizenship, and the State (New York and London: Routledge, 1996), p. 104. 29. See A. Jazouli, L’Action collective des jeunes Maghrébins en France (Paris: CIEMI L’Harmattan, 1986) and S. Bouamama, Dix ans de marche des Beurs. Chronique d’un mouvement avorté (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1994). 30. C. Wihtol de Wenden, ‘Que sont devenues les associations civiques issues de l’immigration?’, Hommes et Migrations, no. 1206 (March–April 1997), 53–66. 31. This term is used by P. Fysh and J.Wolfreys, 1998, op. cit. (note 16), p. 169. 32. A. Touraine, ‘Commentary on Dieter Rucht’s Critique’, in D. Rucht, 1991, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 4), p. 389. 33. A. Touraine, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 3), p. 28. 34. See A. Jazouli, 1986, op. cit. (note 29). 35. S. Bouamama, 1994, op. cit. (note 29), p. 102. 36. A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1), p. 358. 37. R. van den Brink, et al., 1988, cited by R. Witte, Racist Violence and the State (London and New York: Longman, 1996), pp. 98–9. 38. P. A. Taguieff, 1995, op. cit. (note 5) uses this term to describe the antiracist movement. 39. Appel des 250: Le Pen est raciste et fasciste! (May 1990). 40. N. Mayer, ‘La mobilisation anti-Front national’ in P. Perrineau, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 16), pp. 335–58. 41. On the night of 9–10 May 1990, 34 gravestones in a cemetery in Carpentras were damaged and the corpse of a recently buried man was removed from his coffin and mutilated. 42. For the same symbolic reasons, the Aids advocacy group, Act Up-Paris, adopted a pink triangle as their emblem, originally worn by homosexual prisoners in the Nazi concentration camps. 43. The ‘Manifesto against the Front National’, was launched by the Socialist deputy and former Trotskyist Jean-Christophe Cambadélis. His project was endorsed by 600 mayors and by trade unionists and activists from across the spectrum of the Left. Unlike Ras l’Front, the Manifesto was influenced by Taguieff’s writing and viewed the Front National as a form of ‘national populism’ rather than as a new fascism. 44. Interview which I carried out with Rémi Barroux in Paris on 8 October 1999. 45. N. Mayer, ‘Pour une sociologie du mouvement anti-Front national’, Front national violence cachée (Alternatives non violentes – revue trimestrielle) (Paris: IRNC, 1996), p. 52. 46. Charte du réseau Ras l’Front, January 1998. 47. Ras l’Front no. 73, April 2000, pp. 9–12. 48. N. Mayer, 1995, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 61), p. 26. 49. On 9 December 1996, Jean-Marie Le Pen organised an inauguration of a new Front National office and was greeted by an opposition of 20,000 demonstrators, a number which surprised even the organisers of the protest themselves. 76 local groups had mobilised within a unitary committee led by Ras l’Front, amongst other organisations. This physical opposition to the National Front is a classic repertoire of anti-fascism from the 1930s, reactivated against

Notes 165

50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.

56. 57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64.

65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71.

72.

Pierre Poujade and the then OAS (Organisation de l’armée secrète) during the 1950s and 1960s and was almost a constant for student groups in the Latin Quarter. Trade unions, especially the CGT, also deployed such tactics during the 1960–2 period, forming ‘anti-fascist committees’ in the workplace (J. R. House, 1997, op. cit., note 2). ‘La vigilance de Ras l’front’, Le Monde, 2 May 2002. Interview (see note 44). Charte (note 46). Ras l’Front, no. 73, April 2000. Ras l’Front, no. 71, February 2000. N. Mayer, 1996, op. cit. (note 45). Comparing the membership of Ras l’Front to Cambadélis’ Manifesto through an analysis of a questionnaire sample, she found that 83 per cent of members of the latter organisation designated the Socialists as the party with which they most identified. Only 16 per cent identified with the Far Left compared with 74 per cent of the members of Ras l’Front. Charte (note 46). In one study, Contamin and Weil examined the social and political factors influencing the implantation of SCALP and Ras l’Front across the national territory. They found that these associations were particularly popular amongst young people and those searching for an alternative form of leftwing involvement. Associations were strong in areas where the National Front was firmly implanted locally or where racist or anti-Semitic incidents had taken place. See J. G. Contamin and T. Weil, ‘Logique sociopolitique de l’implantation des collectifs SCALP et Ras l’Front’, Cahiers du CEVIPOF (13 September 1995), 13–70. E. Ratier, Ras l’Front. Anatomie d’un mouvement antifasciste (Paris: FACTA, 1998), p. 23. Ibid., p. 9. Ras l’Front, La résistible ascension du F. Haine. Petit manuel à l’usage de ceux qui résistent au fascisme ordinaire (Paris: Editions Syllepse, 1995), p. 5. M. Aubry and O. Duhamel, Petit Dictionnaire pour lutter contre l’extrême droite (Paris: Broché, 1995). A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1), p. 116. Interview with Patrick Le Tréhondat, Paris, 12 and 15 October 1999. D. Fassin, ‘La santé en souffrance’ in Fassin, Morice and Quiminal, Les lois de l’inhospitalité. Les politiques de l’immigration à l’épreuve des sans-papiers (Paris: La Découverte, 1997), p. 116. A. Favell, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 34), p. 164. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 266. See N. Ferré, ‘La production de l’irrégularité’ in Fassin, Morice and Quiminal, 1997, op. cit. (note 64) and E. Balibar, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 35). A. Favell, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 34). Ibid., p. 151 Ibid., pp. 152 and 154. E. Balibar, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 35) and ‘Le droit de cité ou l’apartheid?’ in Balibar, Chemillier-Genreau, Costa-Lascoux and Terray, Sanspapiers: l’archaisme fatal (Paris: La Découverte, 1999). E. Balibar, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 35).

166 Notes 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92.

Ibid., pp. 23–4. A. Diop, Dans la peau d’un Sans-papiers (Paris: Seuil, 1997) Ibid., p. 39. Ibid., p. 53. Ibid., p. 66. J. Siméant, La Cause des Sans-papiers (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1998). M. Sissoko, ‘La ballade des Sans-papiers’ in IM’média/REFLEX, Sans-papiers: chroniques d’un mouvement (Paris: IM’média/REFLEX, 1997), p. 15. These included SOS-Racisme, CIMADE, MRAP, GISTI. A. Diop, 1997, op. cit. (note 74), p. 86. Ibid., p. 102. Ibid., p. 109. Chemillier-Gendreau, ‘Le mouvement des Africains sans papiers. Une forme de résistance privée de débouché politique’, Mouvement (Jan.–Feb., 1997), pp. 58–9. A. Diop, 1997, op. cit. (note 74), p. 154. Ibid., p. 162. Cited in IM’média/REFLEX, 1997, op. cit. (note 79), p. 20. Libération, 24 August 1996. Le Monde and Libération, 12 February 1997. Libération, 25 February 1997, supplement to no. 4905. Libération, 24 February, 1997. Le Monde, 8 April 1998.

5 From ‘Silence to Revolt’: the Unemployed 1. ‘But unemployment does not only produce cowards, it also makes rebels. Fierce and unthinking rebels, wandering from town to town, pillaging where they can, living by their wits and only awaiting a riot to launch themselves against the class that makes them suffer.’ A. Marpaux, Le Chômage (Dijon: Imprimerie de Carré, 1892), p. 2. 2. D. Demazière and M. Pignoni, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 64). 3. Ibid., p. 17. 4. S. Hoffmann, 1974, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 3), p. 111. 5. Recent books on the movement of the unemployed include: D. Demazière and M. Pignoni, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 64); M. A. Combesque, Ça suffit! Histoire du mouvement des chômeurs (Paris: Plon, 1998); and S. Maurer, Les Chômeurs en action (décembre 1997–mars 1998). Mobilisation collective et ressources compensatoires (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2001). Former activists have also published accounts of the movement, such as R. Dethyre and M. ZédiriCorniou, La Révolte des chômeurs (Paris: Laffont, 1992). 6. E. Lecerf, La Famine des temps modernes. Essai sur le chômeur (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1992). 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid., p. 97. 9. The CGTU (Confédération générale du travail unitaire) was born of a scission in 1921 from the CGT (Confédération générale du travail) resulting from a division between those who supported and opposed the Soviet revolution. 10. E. Lecerf, 1992, op. cit. (note 6), p. 28.

Notes 167 11. C. Lebrun, ‘Chômeurs, chômage et mouvement ouvrier: quelques repères historiques’, AC! Données et arguments, no. 2 (Paris: Editions Syllepse, 1995). 12. See D. Demazière, ‘Chômeurs sans représentation collective: une fatalité’, Esprit, no. 226, (November 1996), 12–32; and D. Demazière and M. Pignoni, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 64). 13. Ibid., pp. 9–10. 14. Ibid., pp. 152. 15. Ibid., pp. 23–4. 16. F. F. Piven and R. A. Cloward, 1977, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 63), p. 26. 17. Ibid. The authors go on to make the following point: ‘Simply put, people cannot defy institutions to which they have no access, and to which they make no contribution’ (ibid., p. 23). 18. During the 1980s, the notion of exclusion came to occupy a central place within public discourse and was widely used by the media to designate a variety of marginalised groups such as the long-term unemployed, the homeless or very poor who were impeded from participating in social, cultural and political life. See P. Rosanvallon, La Nouvelle question sociale: repenser L’Etatprovidence (Paris: Seuil, 1995) and R. Castel, Les Métamorphoses de la question sociale: une chronique du salariat (Paris: Fayard, 1995). Also, see D. Béland and R. Hansen, ‘Reforming the French Welfare State: Solidarity, Social Exclusion and the Three Crises of Citizenship’, West European Politics, vol. 23, no. 1 (January 2000), 47–64 for an excellent summary of contemporary debates concerning exclusion, solidarity and social citizenship. 19. A. Touraine ‘Face à l’exclusion’ in Citoyenneté et urbanité (Paris: Editions Esprit, 1991), 165–73. 20. R. Castel, 1995, op. cit. (note 18). 21. D. Béland and R. Hansen, 2000, op. cit. (note 18). 22. INSEE (Institut national de la statistique et des études économiques), Données sociales. La société française (Paris: INSEE, 1999). It is amongst young people that unemployment levels are highest. Whilst the overall rate of unemployment in 1998 was 11.8 per cent, it was 25.4 per cent for those between 15 and 24 years old. Unemployment is higher amongst women (13.8 per cent) than men (10.2 per cent) and the rate of unemployment for females aged between 15 and 24 years old was a startling 30 per cent in 1998 (ibid., p. 149). 23. Ibid., p. 132. 24. D. Demazière, 1996, op. cit. (note 12). 25. P. Rosanvallon, 1995, op. cit. (note 18), p. 204. 26. The FO (Force Ouvrière) was extremely hostile to the rise of autonomous movements during the 1990s, perceiving them as irresponsible and potentially dangerous. Union leaders publicly criticised associations of the unemployed and, notoriously, alluded to the role played by unemployed groups during the rise of Hitler in Nazi Germany during the 1930s. Similarly, Nicole Notat, Secretary General of the CFDT condemned what she described as a ‘manipulation of social distress’ by Far Left groups who were exploiting the unemployed and stoking up social dissent for their own political gain. See Libération, 5 January 1998. 27. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 193. 28. D. Demazière, 1996, op. cit. (note 12). 29. S. Maurer, 2001, op. cit. (note 5).

168 Notes 30. Social movement theorists such as Alain Touraine and Alberto Melucci place the notion of ‘collective identity’ at the centre of their conception of collective action. Melucci defines collective identity in the following terms: ‘I shall instead treat collective identity as an interactive process through which several individuals and groups define the meaning of their action and the field of opportunities and constraints for such action. This common definition must be conceived as a process, for it is constructed and negotiated through the ongoing relations linking individuals and groups.’ A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1), p. 67. 31. O. Fillieule, ‘Conscience politique, persuasion, et mobilisation des engagements. L’exemple du syndicat des chômeurs, 1983–1989’ in O. Fillieule (ed.), Sociologie de la Protestation (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1993), p. 131. 32. P. Rosanvallon, 1995, op. cit. (note 18). 33. P. Bagguley, From Protest to Acquiescence? Political Movements of the Unemployed, (Basingstoke: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1991), p. 164. 34. Created in 1958, UNEDIC (Union nationale interprofessionnelle pour l’emploi dans l’industrie et le commerce), manages the system of unemployment assistance and groups together approximately 70 local benefit agencies or ASSEDIC (Assurance pour l’emploi dans l’industrie et le commerce) that directly distribute benefits to the unemployed. It is managed by an administrative council that brings together the three main employers’ organisations and the five trade union confederations. The presidency is held in rotation. In October 1996, Nicole Notat, head of the CFDT became president, taking over from Marc Blondel of the trade union, FO. 35. Mitterrand’s Socialist government introduced the RMI (Revenu minimum d’insertion) in 1988, which offered a minimum income to unemployed individuals over the age of 25, if they were willing to be placed in work or undertake training. The aim of the minimum income was to promote an ‘insertion’ or reintegration of the socially excluded with the aim of allowing them to participate fully in economic and social life. The recent law against exclusion promulgated by Jospin’s Socialist government in 1998 extended the coverage of the RMI, giving further entitlements to the long-term unemployed and expanding training and employment schemes. 36. D. Béland and R. Hansen, 2000, op. cit. (note 18). 37. P. Bourdieu, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 3), p. 102. 38. Ibid., pp. 102–3. 39. Ibid., p. 104. 40. Le Monde, 31 May 1994. 41. Demonstrators marched from the Place de la Bastille to the Place de la République in Paris. According to police sources, 6000 to 8000 demonstrators took part in this march, whilst according to the organisers, 40,000 people were present during this event (ibid.). 42. J. R. Pendariès, ‘Les mouvements de chômeurs et de précaires: contradictions et enjeux’, Mouvements, no. 78 (1995), p. 11. 43. See C. Villiers ‘AC!: au coeur du mouvement social’, Politique, la Revue, no. 4 (April–June 1997). 44. Cited by D. Demazière and M. Pignoni, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 64), p. 186. 45. See M. A. Combesque, 1998, op. cit. (note 5). 46. See C. Aguiton and D. Bensaid, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 5), pp. 187–96. 47. This figure is based on official Dutch police sources and is cited in ibid., p. 187.

Notes 169 48. AC!, ‘Contribution revendicative des assisses européennes de Bruxelles, 22–23 février 1997’, Europe modes d’emploi (Paris: Syllepse, 1997), pp. 92 and 93. 49. For a synthesis of the movement of the unemployed of 1997 to 1998, see F. Royall, ‘Le Mouvement des chômeurs en France de l’hiver 1997–8’, Modern & Contemporary France 6, 3 (1998), 351–65. See also S. Maurer, 2001, op. cit. (note 5) for a theoretical analysis of this protest. 50. M. A. Combesque, 1998, op. cit. (note 5). 51. Ibid., p. 11. 52. Le Monde, 17 January 1998. 53. Cited by M. A. Combesque, 1998, op. cit. (note 5), p. 23. 54. See J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), pp. 221–4. 55. Cited by M. A. Combesque, 1998, op. cit. (note 5), pp. 50–1. 56. These figures are cited in ibid. and by Maurer, 2001, op. cit. (note 5), respectively. 57. M. A. Combesque, 1998, op. cit. (note 5). 58. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 224. 59. Ibid., p. 231. 60. Le Monde, 4 January 1998. 61. M. Pagat, ‘Entretien avec Maurice Pagat’, Les Temps Modernes, no. 496/497 (Nov./Dec. 1987), p. 297. 62. Ibid., p. 299. 63. O. Fillieule, 1993, op. cit. (note 31). 64. Libération, 30 October, 1993. 65. M. A. Combesque, 1998, op. cit. (note 5), p. 110. 66. Ibid., p. 111. 67. C. Hoareau, ‘Marseille 97–98’, Les Temps Modernes, no. 600 (July–Sept. 1998), p. 52. 68. D. Demazière and M. Pignoni, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 64), p. 141. 69. Ibid., p. 136. 70. Ibid., p. 134. 71. F. Bourneau and V. Martin, ‘Organiser les sans emploi? L’expérience de l’APEIS dans le Val-de-Marne’ in O. Fillieule, 1993, op. cit. (note 31), p. 158. 72. Interview which I carried out with Philippe Villechalane at the APEIS headquarters in Vitry sur Seine, Paris, in October 1999. 73. Existence! October 1999, p. 2. 74. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 197. 75. S. Waters, ‘Mouvement des chômeurs: Entretien avec une militante’, Modern & Contemporary France (2000), p. 229. 76. AC! (1998) Actualisation de la ‘charte’ d’AC!, version no. 2, 8 July 1998 (Paris: AC!), p. 17. 77. Ibid., p. 17.

6 Acting for Others: the Solidarity Movement 1. Amnesty International, Section Française, Nous, Amnesty International (Paris: Amnesty International, 1998), p. 9. 2. The most influential proponent of this viewpoint is G. Lipovetsky, 1983, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 19). See also P. Birnbaum and J. Leca (eds), Sur l’individualisme (Paris: Presses de la FNSP, 1986).

170 Notes 3. Recent sources on the French solidarity movement include O. Fillieule, ‘Dynamics of Commitment in the Sector known as “Solidarity”. Methodological Reflections Based on the Case of France’ in M. Guigni and F. Passy, Political Altruism? Solidarity Movements in International Perspective (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001); S. Paugam, ‘La dynamique de l’engagement humanitaire’ in MIRE Produire les solidarités. La part des associations (Paris: MIRE, Rencontres et Recherches, 1997); M. H. Soulet, (ed.), Urgence, souffrance, misère. Lutte humanitaire ou politique sociale? (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1999). 4. M. Guigni and F. Passy, 2001, op. cit. (note 3). 5. See M. Olson, The Logic of Collective Action (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1965). 6. See J. Hayward, ‘The official social philosophy of the French Third Republic: Léon Bourgeois and solidarism’, International Review of Social History, 6 (1961), 19–48; and S. Hazareesingh, Political Traditions in Modern France (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). 7. Cited by S. Hazareesingh, 1994, op. cit. (note 6), pp. 88–9. 8. D. Béland and R. Hansen, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 5, note 18), p. 51. 9. See E. Archambault, Le secteur sans but lucratif. Associations et fondations en France (Paris: Economica, 1996); O. Fillieule, 2001, op. cit.; and M. H. Soulet, 1999, op. cit. (note 3). A new research grouping, GERMM (Groupement d’étude et de recherche sur les mutations du militantisme), based within the French Association of Political Science, analyses forms of political activism based on solidarity within a range of French associations and social movements (Human Rights League, SOS Racisme, MRAP, Ras l’Front, Act Up, Amnesty International and so on). Similarly, the French Ministry of Social Affairs and the Fondation de France recently funded a new research project entitled ‘Produire les Solidarités’. 10. S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, 1992, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 35), p. 281. 11. J. Guilhaumou, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 23). 12. C. Ysmal, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 16), p. 44. 13. O. Fillieule, 2001, op. cit. (note 3). 14. Cited by Fillieule, ibid., pp. 51–2. 15. E. Archambault, 1999, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 35), p. 11. 16. O. Fillieule, 2001, op. cit. (note 3), p. 3. 17. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8). 18. J. L. Laville and R. Sainsaulieu, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 46), p. 354. 19. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17), p. 254. 20. O. Fillieule, 2001, op. cit. (note 3). 21. Ibid., p. 56. 22. Ibid., p. 55. 23. Ibid., p. 14. 24. Ibid., p. 61. 25. M. Barthélemy, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 17), p. 120. 26. E. Archambault, 1996, op. cit. (note 9). 27. E. Archambault, 1999, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 35). 28. Manifeste de Droits Devant!! (December 1994), published in J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 4), p. 276.

Notes 171 29. C. Péchu, ‘Les générations militantes à Droit au logement’, Revue Française de Science Politique, vol. 51, no. 1–2 (Feb.–April 2001), 75. 30. Manifeste (December 1994) op. cit. (note 28). 31. Péchu, 2001, op. cit. (note 29). 32. F. Passy, ‘Political Altruism and the Solidarity Movement. An Introduction’ in M. Guigni and F. Passy, 2001, op. cit. (note 3), p. 8. 33. Amnesty International Publications, Etats-Unis. Les mêmes droits pour tous (Paris: Editions Francophones d’Amnesty International, 1998). 34. This information is derived from an interview I carried out at Amnesty International headquarters in Paris on 25 October 1999. 35. J. Smith, C. Chatfield and R. Pagnucco, Transnational Social Movements and Global Politics. Solidarity Beyond the State (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1997). 36. M. Guigni, ‘Concluding Remarks. Conceptual Distinctions for the Study of Political Altruism’ in M. Guigni and F. Passy, 2001, op. cit. (note 3), p. 238. 37. M. Barthélemy, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 42), p. 113. 38. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 43. 39. Le Nouvel Observateur, 21–27 October 1999. 40. A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). 41. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 7. 42. Ibid., p. 46. 43. See A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1); D. Rucht, R. Koopmans and F. Neidhart (eds), Acts of Dissent. New Developments in the Study of Protest (Berlin: Sigma, 1998); and J. Downing, Radical Media. Rebellious Communication and Social Movements (London: Sage, 2001). 44. Melucci, ibid., p. 357. 45. D. Rucht, R. Koopmans and F. Neidhart, 1998, op. cit. (note 43), p. 19. 46. C. Lahusen, ‘Mobilizing for International Solidarity. Mega-Events and Moral Crusades’ in M. Guigni and F. Passy, 2001, op. cit. (note 3), p. 179. 47. R. Cohen and S. M. Rai (eds), Global Social Movements (London and New Brunswick, NJ: Athlone Press, 2000), p. 41. 48. B. Hours, L’Idéologie Humanitaire ou le spectacle de l’altérité perdue (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1998). 49. See M. Olson, 1965, op. cit. (note 4). 50. J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 4), p. 125. 51. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 26. 52. Cited in ibid., p. 27. 53. Ibid., p. 33. 54. Ibid., p. 15. 55. Whereas MDM employed two permanent members in 1984, it now employs 250. Likewise, the budget of MSF was 19 million French francs in 1981, against 330 today. J. Siméant, ‘Entrer, rester en humanitaire. Des fondateurs de Médecins sans frontières aux membres actuels des ONG médicales françaises’, Revue Française de Science Politique, vol. 51, no. 1–2, (Feb.–April 2001), 47–72. 56. Cited by J. M. Salmon, 1998 op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 35. 57. See B. Kouchner, Charité business (Paris: Le Pré aux Clercs, 1986). 58. R. Cohen and S. M. Rai, 2000, op. cit. (note 47), p. 6. 59. See D. della Porta, H. Kriesi and D. Rucht (eds), Social Movements in a Globalizing World (London: Macmillan – now Palgrave Macmillan, 1998).

172 Notes 60. J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, 2000, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 4), p. 253. 61. Cited in ibid., p. 252. 62. ‘Le premier manifeste de la Ligue’, Hommes et Libertés. Revue de la Ligue des droits de l’homme, no. 97/8 (December 1997–February 1998), p. 14. 63. Manifeste adopté le 10 mai 1998 par le 78e congès de la LDH à l’occasion de son centenaire. 64. Total membership subscriptions of the LDH in Paris were 960 in 1990, increasing to 1220 in 1995 and 1325 in 1999 (figures provided by the LDH Paris headquarters on 7 January 2000). 65. See R. L. Hoffmann, More than a Trial. The Struggle over Captain Dreyfus (New York: Free Press/Macmillan, 1980). 66. ‘La fondation de la LDH le droit et la justice’, Hommes et Libertés, no. 97/8 (note 62), p. 11. 67. Le premier manifeste de la Ligue (note 62). 68. Ibid. 69. E. Agikoliansky, La Ligue des droits de l’homme (1947–1990). Pérennisation et transformations d’une entreprise de défense des causes civiques (PhD thesis, Institut d’Etudes Politiques de Paris, 1997), p. 15. According to Agrikoliansky, the League developed rapidly, with 8000 members in 1899 and 80,000 in 1908. It became a mass-based organisation during the interwar years, attracting between 150,000 and 200,000 supporters in 1933. During the Second World War, its headquarters were pillaged by the occupying forces and its president Victor Basch was assassinated. It was only at the beginning of the 1990s that its missing archives were rediscovered in Moscow where they had been seized by the Red Army. The League is no longer a mass-based organisation and has never again succeeded in reaching its pre-war peak. In contemporary France, it has a membership of approximately 10,000. 70. M. Guigni, 2001, op. cit. (note 36), p. 239. 71. According to Eric Hobsbawm, the ‘rights of man’ is not an abstract or unchanging notion, but is subject to historical circumstances and evolves over time. See E. Hobsbawm, Worlds of Labour (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1984) 72. Manifeste adopté le 10 mai (note 63). 73. M. Barthélemy, 1994, op. cit. (chapter 2, note 42). 74. ‘Agir pour la citoyenneté’, Hommes et Libertés, no. 95 (1997). 75. E. Agikoliansky, ‘Carrières militantes et vocation à la morale: les militants de la Ligue des droits de l’homme dans les années 1980’, Revue française de Science Politique, vol. 51, no. 1–2. (Feb.–April 2001), p. 37. 76. Ibid. 77. E. Agikoliansky, 1997, op. cit. (note 69). 78. G. Nevosi, ‘Profil sociographique des adhérents et militants’ in Ligue des Droits de l’Homme, Le militantisme à la Ligue des droits de l’homme (Dossiers et Documents, no. 40, 1999). 79. E. Agikoliansky, 2001, op. cit. (note 75), p. 31. 80. Ibid., p. 38. 81. F. Passy, 2001, op. cit. (note 32), p. 24. 82. E. Agikoliansky, 2001, op. cit. (note 75).

Notes 173

7 Conclusion 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

G. Lipovetsky, 1983, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 19). C. Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 5). J. Guilhaumou, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 23), p. 19. H. Weber, Que reste-t-il de mai ’68?: essai sur les interprétations des événements (Paris: Seuil, nouvelle edn 1998), p. 191. E. Balibar, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 35), p. 5. J. Guilhaumou, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 23), p. 64. C. Lloyd, ‘Anti-racism, social movements and civil society’ in F. Anthias and C. Lloyd (eds), Rethinking Anti-racisms. From Theory to Practice (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), p. 69. Libération, 31 March 1997. Ibid. Le Monde, 30 April 2002. J. M. Salmon, 1998, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 8), p. 293. E. Balibar, 1997, op. cit. (chapter 3, note 35), p. 8. A. Melucci, 1989, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 18), p. 1. Libération, 3 August 1998. Ibid. See J. M. Denis, Les Coordinations. Recherche désespérée d’une citoyenneté (Paris: Editions Syllepse, 1996). A. Melucci, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 1, note 1). R. Flacks, 1996, op. cit. (chapter 4, note 28).

Bibliography General texts on social movements Aguiton and D. Bensaïd, Le retour de la question sociale. Le renouveau des mouvements sociaux en France (Lausanne: Editions page deux, 1997) M. Barthélemy, Associations: Un nouvel âge de la participation? (Paris: Presses de Science Po, 2000) L. Boltanski and E. Chiapello, Le Nouvel Esprit du capitalisme (Paris: Gallimard, 1999) P. Bourdieu, Contre-feux. Propos pour servir à la résistance contre l’invasion néolibérale (Paris: Liber-Raisons d’Agir, 1998) J. C. Brochier and H. Delouche, Les Nouveaux Sans-Culottes. Enquête sur l’extrême gauche (Paris: Grasset, 2000) X. Crettiez and I. Sommier, La France rebelle (Paris: Michalon, 2002) J. W. Duyvendak, Le Poids du Politique. Nouveaux mouvements sociaux en France (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1994) O. Fillieule (ed.), Sociologie de la Protestation. Les formes de l’action collective dans la France contemporaine (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1993) O. Fillieule, Stratégies de la Rue. Les manifestations en France (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1997) J. Guilhaumou, La parole des sans. Les mouvements actuels à l’épreuve de la Révolution française (Paris: ENS Editions, 1998) J. Ion, La Fin des militants? (Paris: Editions de l’Atelier, 1997) E. Neveu, Sociologie des mouvements sociaux (Paris: La Découverte, 1996) P. Perrineau (ed.), L’Engagement politique. Déclin ou mutation? (Paris: Presses de la FNSP, 1994) J. M. Salmon, Le Désir de société. Des restaurants du coeur au mouvement des chômeurs (Paris: La Découverte, 1998) I. Sommier, Les Nouveaux mouvements contestataires à l’heure de la mondialisation (Paris: Flammarion, 2001) A. Touraine, Pourrons-nous vivre ensemble? Egaux et différents (Paris: Fayard, 1997). Translated as: A. Touraine, Can We Live Together? Equal and Different (Cambridge: Polity, 2000) A. Touraine, F. Dubet, D. Lapeyronnie, F. Khosrokhavar and M. Wieviorka, Le Grand Refus. Réflexions sur la grève de décembre 1995 (Paris: Fayard, 1996)

Texts on citizenship E. Balibar, Droit de cité. Culture et politique en démocratie (Editions de l’Aube, 1998) S. Bouamama, A. Cordeiro and M. Roux, La Citoyenneté dans tous ses états. De l’immigration à la nouvelle citoyenneté (Paris: CIEMI et L’Harmattan, 1992) F. G. Ferréol (ed.), Intégration, Lien social et Citoyenneté (Paris: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 1998) A. Le Pors, La Citoyenneté (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1999) Collection Que Sais-Je? 174

Bibliography 175 C. Mouffe, Le Politique et ses enjeux. Pour une démocratie plurielle (Paris: La Découverte/MAUSS, 1994) D. Schnapper, La Communauté des citoyens. Sur l’idée moderne de nation (Paris: Gallimard, 1994) C. Wihtol de Wenden, La Citoyenneté européenne (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1997)

Texts on specific movements M. A. Combesque, Ça suffit. Histoire du mouvement des chômeurs (Paris: Plon, 1998) D. Demazière and M.T. Pignoni, Chômeurs: du silence à la révolte (Paris: Hachette Littératures, 1998) R. Dethyre, and M. Zédiri-Courniou, La Révolte des Chômeurs (Paris: Laffont, 1992) A. Diop, Dans la peau d’un sans-papiers (Paris: Seuil, 1997) B. Hours, L’Idéologie humanitaire ou le spectacle de l’altérité perdue (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1998) A. Jazouli, L’Action collective des jeunes Maghrébins en France (Paris: CIEMI L’Harmattan, 1986) S. Maurer, Les Chômeurs en action (décembre 1997 – mars 1998). Mobilisation collective et ressources compensatoires (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2001) J. Siméant, La Cause des sans-papiers (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1998) M. H. Soulet (ed.), Urgence, souffrance, misère. Lutte humanitaire ou politique sociale? (Fribourg: Editions Universitaires, 1999) P. A. Taguieff, Les Fins de l’Antiracisme (Paris: Editions Michalon, 1995)

Internet sites Agir ensemble contre le chômage (AC!): http://tact.free.fr/ac/ Act Up-Paris: http://www.actupp.org/ APEIS: http://apeis.org/ ATTAC: http://www.attac.org/ Droits devant!!: http://www.droitsdevant.ouvaton.org/ Independent site on collective action in France and across the world: http://hns.samizdat.net/ Ligue des droits de l’homme: http://www.ldh-france.asso.fr/ Médecins sans frontières: http://www.paris.msf.org/ Sans-papiers: http://www.bok.net/pajol/ SOS Racisme: http://www.sos-racisme.org/

Index abstention rates, 21 Act Up-Paris, 34, 42, 132–3, 153 Agence nationale pour l’emploi (ANPE), 103, 109 Agir ensemble contre le chˆ omage! (AC!), 32, 101, 104, 105, 106, 117–18 marches contre le chˆ omage, 104, 106, 112 Aguiton, Christophe, 26–7 Amnesty International France, 33, 128, 134–5 Chronique d’Amnesty, 134–5 Anti-fascist and Antiracist Collective (CAFARD), 80 antiracism definition, 64 mobilisation, 3, 30–1, 55, 64–5, 71, 72–3, 74, 148, 149–50 theory, 65–75, 93–4 Appel des intellectuels en soutien aux grévistes, 3 Appel des 250: Le Pen est raciste et fasciste!, 75, 81 Archambault, Edith, 126 associations, 3, 6, 9, 10, 21–6, 33, 34, 35 see also citizenship; participation Association pour l’emploi dans l’industrie et le commerce (ASSEDIC), 103, 108 Association pour l’emploi, l’information et la solidarité des chˆ omeurs et travailleurs précaires (APEIS), 32, 115–16 Existence!, 115, 116 Association pour une taxation des transactions financières pour l’aide aux citoyens (ATTAC), 28, 34 Aubry, Martine, 109, 110 autonomy, 29–30, 38, 72, 79, 80, 88, 111, 152, 153

Bagguley, Paul, 102 Balibar, Etienne, 53–4, 75, 85–6, 151 Barroux, Rémi, 76, 78 Barthélemy, Martine, 22, 24, 25, 26 Bastide, Jean, 61 Bensaïd, Daniel, 26–7 Beurs, les, 30–1, 67, 72–3, 74 March for Equality, 104, 148 Boltanski, Luc, 18–19 Bourgeois, Léon, 122 Bouamama, Saïd, 48–50 Bourdieu, Pierre, 5, 37, 54–5, 75, 104, 117 La Misère du monde, 3–4 Bourneau, François, 115–6 Brauman, Rony, 129 Britain, 97, 98, 102, 103 National Union of the Unemployed, 98 Brubaker, Rogers, 50 Buffet, Georges, 109 Cannes film festival, 113 capitalism, 18–9 Carpentras, 75 Chiapello, Eve, 18–9 Chirac, Jacques, 92 citizenship associations, 60–1 citizenship revenue, 118, 148–9 feminist perspectives, 60 global citizenship, 47–8, 53–4, 135 identity, 43–4, 51–2, 73, 74, 102 nationality, 47, 50, 55–6, 84, 85, 94 new citizenship, 8, 9, 46–63, 147 participation, 59–60 republican citizenship, 50, 56, 58, 62–3, 85, 93, 119 rights, 7–8, 41–2, 43, 44, 47–8, 49, 54, 138–9, 146 social movements, 42–4, 46–7, 56–7, 58, 119 civil disobedience, 3, 5, 65, 91, 151 176

Index 177 civil society, 5, 9, 12, 20, 21, 22, 23, 31, 35, 72, 92, 119 class, 7, 16, 18–19, 27, 38, 39, 40, 43, 101, 102, 148 Collectif, 32, 117 collectifs, 75, 79, 142, 153 Coluche, Michel, 33, 133 Confédération française démocratique du travail (CFDT), 89, 100–1 CFDT-Cheminots, 89 Tous ensemble, 105 Confédération générale du travail (CGT), 113–14 CGT committees, 98, 100, 105, 107, 113–14 Confédération générale du travail unitaire (CGTU), 97, 98 Coordination pour le droit à l’avortement et à la contraception (CADAC), 34 coordinations, 153 Cours-Salies, Pierre, 117 crisis of representation/participation, 13, 16, 20–1, 23, 35, 101 cultural politics, 43, 51 Debré law, 84, 91, 92, 150, 153 Declaration of the Rights of Man (1789), 49, 57, 58, 137, 138, 148 Declaration of the Rights of Man (1793), 49, 119, 138 Deltombe, Jacqueline, 91 Demazière, Didier, 95–6 Désir, Harlem, 71 Dethyre, Richard, 109 Diop, Ababacar, 82, 86–7, 88 Dreyfus Affair, 136–7 droit à la différence, 68 Droit au logement (DAL), 34, 42, 105, 126–7, 135 Droit de réponse, 71, 112 Droits devant!! (DD!!), 34, 105, 127 ecology, see social movements e-mail, 134 Enlightenment, 62 equality, 41, 44, 49, 57, 58, 68, 69, 148 European Convention of Human Rights, 138

European Union, 47, 100 exceptionalism, 13, 35 exclusion, 3, 8, 14, 19, 23, 28, 102, 109, 110, 127 exclus, les, 4, 18–19, 99, 106 law against social exclusion, 110, 127 Fassin, Didier, 83 Favell, Adrian, 84–5 Fillieule, Olivier, 112, 124–5, film-makers, 65, 75, 91, 92, 150 Finkielkraut, Alain, 150 France-Libertés, 33, 128 freedom, 25–6, 49, 57, 58, 149 French Revolution, 2, 5, 8, 44–5, 49, 57, 62, 121, 136, 143, 147 Front national, 30, 64, 66, 75, 76, 77–8, 145, 149, 151 gay rights, see social movements Germany, 97 global citizenship, see citizenship globalisation, 3, 11, 28, 56 ‘grandes grèves’ (1995), 4, 5, 7, 21, 89, 105 grassroots, 23, 25, 38, 40, 58, 64, 72, 80, 105, 114, 140, 152 Groupe Union et Défense (GUD), 77, 78 Guilhaumou, Jacques, 44–5, 58, 146–7 Hewlett, Nick, 13–14 Hoffmann, Stanley, 2 homeless, 3, 5 see also Droit au logement Houreau, Charles, 114 Hours, Bernard, 132 Hue, Robert, 5, 90 humanitarian (ism), 3, 23, 33, 120, 122–3, 125, 126, 128, 129, 131–2, 134 human rights, 83, 127–8, 134, 138–9 Human Rights League, see Ligue des droits de l’homme identity, see citizenship ideology, 12, 15, 38, 48, 67

178 Index immigrants, 3, 8, 23, 30, 46, 61, 71, 102 see also sans-papiers individualism, 14–15, 16, 18, 120, 144 information age, 70, 130–1 intellectuals, 3–4, 31, 82, 85, 92, 136, 143 internet, 134, 135 Ion, Jacques, 17–18 Isin, Engin, F., 43–4, 51 Jospin, Lionel, 107, 109, 110, 118 Juppé, Alain, 4 Laguiller, Arlette, 5 law on the 35-hour week, 118 Lecerf, Eric, 97 Le Chapelier law, 60–1 legislative elections, 21 L’Humanité, 115 Le Monde, 5, 92 Le Monde diplomatique, 4 Le Pen, Jean-Marie, 11, 21, 78 Libération, 91, 150, 152 Ligue communiste révolutionnaire, 5, 34, 78–9, 151, 153 Ligue des droits de l’homme (LDH), 10, 33, 127, 135–43, 152, 153 activism, 139–40, 141 Hommes et Libertés, 139 ideology, 137–9 membership, 142–3 organisation, 140 origins, 136–7 political alliances, 141–2 Ligue internationale contre le racisme et l’anti-sémitisme (LICRA), 127–8 Lipovetsky, Gilles, 14–15, 18 Lister, Ruth, 60 Maffesoli, Michel, 15–16 maghrébins, see Beurs Manifeste contre le Front National, 76 Marseilles, 95, 105, 107, 108, 113, 114 Marshall, T.H., 43 Martin, Virginie, 115–16 Marxism, 38, 48, 148 May 1968, 2, 4, 15 Mayer, Nonna, 77

Médecins du monde, 131–2, 134 Médecins sans frontières, 33, 126, 129, 131–2, 134 media, 66, 70, 71, 75, 78, 90, 112 see also social movements Melucci, Alberto, 1, 69, 70, 80 Mitterrand, François, 29 Mnouchkine, Ariane, 89 modernisation, 14, 39–40 Mouffe, Chantal, 50–3 Mouriaux, René, 117 Mouvement contre le racisme et pour l’amitié entre les peuples (MRAP), 127–8, 153 Mouvement national des chˆomeurs et précaires (MNCP), 112–13 movement of the unemployed, 3, 32, 45, 95–9, 101, 104–10 associations, 110–19 see also unemployment nationality, see citizenship networks, 19, 41, 72, 80, 134 new middle class, 40, 41 Pacte civil de solidarité (PACS), 33, 140 Pagat, Maurice, 32, 98, 109, 111, 112 participation, 5–6, 15, 17–8, 19–20, 35, 122–3, 150 associative, 21–6 political, 16–17, 20–1 see also citizenship; crisis of representation Parti communiste français, 5, 32, 90, 98, 109, 115, 116 Parti socialiste, 29, 66, 79, 109, 141 Pasqua laws, 84 Péchu, Cécile, 127 Perrault, Gilles, 75 Perrineau, Pascal, 16–17 petitions, 3, 5, 91, 150 Pignoni, Maria-Teresa, 95–6 political parties, 5, 6, 21, 72, 151 see also under individual names Politis, 4 Pompidou Centre, 4 post-industrial (ism) 39–40 post-material(ism), see social movements

Index 179 post-modern(ism), 14–15, 39, 51 Pour l’autonomie du mouvement social, 29–30, 152 presidential elections, 5, 11, 150 racism, 23, 30, 64, 66, 67, 68, 71, 75, 76, 78 radical democracy, 50, 51 Rajfus, Maurice, 80 Ras l’Front, 9, 27, 31, 65, 75–82, 93 activism, 77–8 membership, 78–9 organisation, 79–81 origins, 75–6 Ratier, Emmanuel, 79 Rémond, René, 13 republicanism, 13, 84–5, 138 see also citizenship Réseau Partage, 113 Restaurants du coeur, 33–4, 126, 133 Revenu minimum d’insertion (RMI), 103 rights, see citizenship Salmon, Jean-Marc, 27–8, 130 Sané, Mamady, 82 sans, les, 4–5, 8, 41, 106, 108, 109, 110, 148 sans-culottes, 5, 44, 45, 147 sans-papiers, 7, 9–10, 27, 31, 82–94, 146 committee of mediators, 89 legal status, 82–6, 91 mobilisation, 65, 82, 87–90, 92–3 Secours catholique, 126 Secours populaire français, 126 Sections Carrément anti-Le Pen (SCALP), 31 Senegal, 86 Silverman, Max, 51, 56 Siméant, Johanna, 87 social movements, 1–5, 6–8, 28–30, 35–6, 37–47, 54–5, 56–8, 82, 152–4 Aids advocacy groups, 3, 34, 124–5, 159; see also Act Up-Paris ecology, 15, 28, 29 gay rights, 28, 29, 125, 140 media, 121, 130–5

new social movement theory, 6–7, 8–9, 37–42, 45, 61–2, 69–70, 72, 73–4, 145 post-material values, 6, 9, 28, 29, 39–40, 41, 42, 45 regionalism, 28 women’s movement, 15, 28, 29, 34 workers’ movement, 6–7, 12, 39, 100 see also antiracism; citizenship; movement of the unemployed; solidarity social protest in France, 2–6, 11–36, 45, 120, 144–5 theory of, 16–20 Solidaires, unitaires, démocratiques (SUD), 21, 105 solidarity, 49, 57, 58, 90, 92, 149 movement, 3, 33–4, 120–1, 122–4, 125–35, 149 national solidarity, 124 theory of, 121–2, 124–5, 142, 143 transnational solidarity, 10, 33, 128–9 Sommier, Isabelle, 28 SOS-Racisme, 30, 71, 149, 153 strikes, see ‘grandes grèves’ Syndicat des chômeurs, 32, 98, 111–13 Partage, 112 Taguieff, Pierre-André, 67–9 Terre des Hommes, 33 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 22, 61 Touraine, Alain, 37, 39, 73–4 trade unions, 6, 14, 21, 24, 97, 101, 105, 111, 114, 117, 123 see also under individual names Tristan, Anne, 75, 80 Trotskyism, 5 see also Ligue communiste révolutionnaire (LCR) Turner, Bryan, 42–3 unemployment, 7, 23, 117 administrative category, 103 in contemporary France, 98, 99–100, 102, 103

180 Index unemployment – continued social condition, 99–101, 102–3 see also movement of the unemployed Union nationale interprofessionnelle pour l’emploi dans l’industrie et le commerce (UNEDIC), 103, 108, 109 United States, 97, 128 Universal Declaration of Rights, 138

Villechalane, Philippe, 116 Villiers, Claire, 106, 109, 117, 118 Voynet, Dominique, 109

Verts, les, 109 Vichy, 76, 91

Zédiri, Malika, 116 Zola, Emile, 137

Weber, Henri, 148 women’s movement, see social movements Wood, Patricia, K., 43–4, 51 workers’ movement, see social movements

Social Movements in France: Towards A New Citizenship

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