A homage to pointless campaigning: Collage in Paris

By Anne Claire Deseilligny -

It was 3am on a cold morning in a Paris street. I knew tomorrow's 9am work-start was going to be painful. Late night at the café? I wished.

No, I was tearing down a political opponents' poster, covering the remains in glue and thwacking my candidate's poster up with the help of a household broom.

At midnight a ragtag bunch of grandmothers, doctors, students and shop-owners had met to make glue, assemble the brushes and prepare a couple of cars. We plotted our course carefully as if the success of our night would determine the fate of our candidate for the presidential election. Everyone was very serious, there was talk of avoiding the opposing teams we knew to be out that night. Should we take a ladder to reach high-up places? Were we sure we had enough glue?

We set off in teams of four, each with a few avenues to cover. There are unspoken rules in the business: no covering up urban art frescoes (this is eastern Paris...), no degrading nice buildings, no touching trees. The remaining locations are therefore hard fought for: every inch of building fence, ugly wall and electric box is taken over.

This is all technically illegal of course. But the police drive by, roll their eyes, and let this part of political discourse continue.

We worked long throughout the chilly march night, with a sort of pattern: get in the car, park (badly), jump out, rush to tear down your opponents' posters, cover the remains in glue, thwack, glue, smooth, start over. Jump back into the car, and repeat.

At 4am, I peeled my glue-covered clothes off and went to bed. Four hours later I walked to work and noticed that all our handiwork had already been taken down and covered up by our opponents.

So the next night, the teams were out again, and the night after that, and so on until the end of election season.

I fancy myself a rational campaigner, and so I know that no one has ever been convinced by a half-torn poster. But my new activist friends were wasting their time with such passion! It was maddening and strangely charming.

The tired wimp that I am let them go out the next few weeks without me and stuck to door-knocking instead. It was much more useful, but in case you were interested, shredding posters off a wall is as soothing as popping bubble wrap.