The culture of protest
Photography by Pietro Sambuy
Jamie Singleton and [redacted] discuss the popularisation of protest.
2019 has been a remarkable year for global protest. Citizens from all over the world have banded together and taken to the streets, protesting in a variety of ways. They share one objective: raising public awareness of the injustices that have been overlooked by those in positions of power. At the end of October, roughly one million protestors swarmed the streets of London, supporting the People’s Vote campaign. They aimed to pressure the British government to put Brexit back to the people for a ‘final say’. The march occurred just days after Extinction Rebellion (XR) protests were officially prohibited by UK police. In Hong Kong, protestors have been embroiled in a series of often violent clashes with authorities as they fight for democracy, and the protests in Brazil are a familiar sight. Protest has always been a part of our lives, our culture, and an expression of what it means to be a part of a democratic society. The latest wave of organised civil resistance across the globe has marked a shift, one that is not just measured through the sheer numbers of participants, but through the popularisation of protests.
When one thinks about ‘protest’ today, the most obvious example that comes to mind is the series of demonstrations organised by Extinction Rebellion. The most recent ‘Autumn Uprising’ consisted of 14 days of protests which debilitated parts of Central London for days on end, with the London Underground, Trafalgar Square and Big Ben all affected. Another organisation, with Greta Thunberg at the helm, is the Youth Climate Strikes which has dramatically increased in significance and popularity across the world. The most recent school climate strikes in September involved adults and trade union members as well, indicative of how people of all ages and backgrounds are steadily engaging in regular protest. Such political action is a recurring theme throughout history. Think: the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, Anti-Vietnam War marches and the Civil Rights Movement in America. Protest has always been a part of the fabric of our society and its culture.
Yet, 2019 seems different; civil disobedience is in the air, and it’s more mainstream than ever. Protesters are no longer defined as the outcasts of society. In Britain, XR is an inter-generational movement, with older people noticeably bolstering its ranks. Previously, the lens that captured images of protests would have focused on what society deems as the ‘extra-ordinary’. It zoomed in on young, long-haired individuals, who became known as ‘hippies’. This term was popularised in 1969, following the counter-culture festival Woodstock, with bandana-clad, peace-loving attendees donning luminescent tie-dyed clothing.
Throughout history, parts of the right-wing press have deemed those who participate in protests as ‘not like us’ – ‘us’ being the rest of society. In stark contrast, the sheer normalcy of those taking part in XR’s most recent protests across Britain is noticeable. Media coverage has illustrated that many are unassuming ‘ordinary’ people. Their clothes, shoes and hairstyles are conventional. Their signs and messages are simple to understand, and their demands increasingly represent the views of large sections of society. The global climate conversation has become front-page news, and the protesters with it.
How radical is this shift? Those heavily involved in XR, which is notoriously non-hierarchical in its organisation, admit to the fact that as a movement it has a problem of representation. Is it too white? Is it too middle-class? How representative are its views? Coverage of the school climate strikes showed a sea of white faces, and this was undoubtedly similar at the People’s Vote March in London. Lack of representation leads to certain communities experiencing a sense of disenchantment and disconnection with the protesters and their demands, just as many felt disengaged with the ‘hippies’ of Woodstock.
Perhaps even more important are the controversial tactics of protest being adopted by XR, such as the rebels being purposely arrested. The glamorisation of arrest does not sit well with some, and for good reason. In the face of increasing austerity, many people in society simply cannot risk the possibility of arrest, needing to hold down jobs and support families. Such examples make clear that in order for these protests to be successful, cultural barriers need to be broken down, with voices being given to those who are excluded from the current dialogue.
Everybody knows that Brexit protests have escalated almost in parallel with the Extinction Rebellion protests. Nostalgia runs richly on both sides of Britain’s EU dispute, but those feelings have been far from useless. Brexit has breathed some life into British art, and many high-profile artists have thrown gauntlets into the ring. Banksy’s sealed immigration gate that was installed at the Royal Academy’s Summer Exhibition this year is only one example of a collection of the world-famous artist’s Brexit pieces. But is there not a little irony in the fact this piece, revolving around a political issue the whole country must face and produced by an artist known for street art, could only be seen by those who paid the entry fee of £18 at the “big, fat, stuffy, old, pompous institution” (Damien Hirst). This kind of expense is nothing more than a shift away from accessibility. It could also suggest that consumer culture has come to dominate the artistic product, having inched itself toward sterilising the power of cultural protest. More and more British artists and gallery owners have decided to open doors on the continent, an odd pro-EU protest that is more circumstantial than ideological. Earlier this year, Jonathan Jones wrote in the Guardian of a “British art world comprehensively plugged into Europe”; for an artistic culture so deeply rooted in Europe, it’s nothing short of a sign of its ineffectiveness that the bastions of protest have decided to start leaving. Doom and gloom are the boldest colours in the Brexit palette; whatever methods culture chooses to resist the advance of the political machine, art as a means of protest may have lost its potency.
Following this shift over UK borders, we see that civil disobedience emerged in different permutations in 2019. In France, where White Cube has recently opened its doors, les gilet jaunes have embraced the cultural resonance of the high-viz vest as an emblem for their grassroots movement for economic justice. In Brazil, where the world is on fire, the bulk of protest unsurprisingly orbits Jair Bolsonaro’s ascendancy to leadership and his disregard for indigenous culture and the climate emergency. The pulse of the Brazilian artistic community in particular has begun to beat with force against this denial. Antonio Oba’s rural tradition-inspired, and highly controversial performances which provoked enough death threats to force him to flee the country, is characteristic of an artistic culture reactive enough to ensure its resistance doesn’t go unheard. The launch of a generation of bold performance artists to the forefront of the nation’s scene has coincided with other dynamic and practical methods of approach: artistic initiatives have become popular and widespread. Labverde, an art immersion program which brings artists and creators together to reflect on landscapes and nature in the Amazon, was held this August. This demonstrates a movement toward scientific-cultural cohesion that aims to create a stronger, more resilient base for protest against the environmental negligence of the Bolsonaro government.
Statement-making artists protesting against the new regime and its wilful negligence in the face of the climate crisis might be as much a cause as it is a result of a shift in national outlook. In the wake of the mass violation of the Amazon Rainforest, the Brazilian art world is giving sharper focus to indigenous artists and conservation projects. This year, the NGO Thydêwá brought the project Arte Electrônica Indígena, which seeks to encourage people to engage with indigenous Brazilian art, to The Royal Academy. Though destructive units of governments such as Bolsonaro’s grind on, there is reason to hope that cultural protest can become efficient enough to make a difference.
A shift toward a more international and properly representative culture of protest may be the key to a stronger defence against government atrocities and negligence. Whilst it is clear that recent protests certainly differ in many ways from those seen throughout history, in reality, there is little shift towards a progressive, representative movement. It seems certain that in this day and age, that would indicate a true ‘shift’ in the culture of protest.
This article was originally published in Issue 724 of Pi Magazine.