Protest!: A History of Social and Political Protest Graphics

PROTEST!

A History of Social and Political Protest Graphics

LIZ McQUISTON

Contents

Introduction

1. Early Developments: The Reformation and Social Comment (1500–1900)

Martin Luther and the Reformation

Jacques Callot: ‘The Miseries of War’

The French Revolution

The Golden Age of British Satire

Francisco Goya: ‘The Disasters of War’

French Satire and Comic Papers

Thomas Nast Targets ‘Boss’ Tweed

2. Constructing a New Society (1900–1930)

Posada and Pre-revolutionary Mexico

Votes for Women: The WSPU

Futurism Breaks with the Past

Dadaism and its Graphics

Photomontage and Social Critique

The Constructivist Style

3. Fascism, The Cold War and The Bomb (1930–1960)

Ben Shahn and Social Realism

In the Shadow of Fascism

The Spanish Civil War

‘Ban the Bomb’ and CND

The Dawn of Defiance: Civil Rights, Anti-Apartheid

4. Redirection and Change (1960–1980)

Cuban Revolutionary Poster Art

Counter-Cultures

Protests Against the Vietnam War

The Civil Rights Movement

Black Power and the Black Panthers

Women’s Liberation: The Second Wave

Gay Liberation and Pride

May ’68 Riots: Atelier Populaire

1970s Youth Rebellion: Punk

The Environmental Movement

International Solidarity

5. The AIDS Crisis and Other Global Tensions (1980–2000)

The International Peace Movement

Political Satire: A Rogues’ Gallery

Internal Struggles, Divided Countries

The Anti-Apartheid Movement

Feminism: The Third Wave

The AIDS Crisis

Lesbian and Gay Activism

Pro-Democracy Movements

Anti-War Protests

International Solidarity: Global Struggles

Anti-Globalization

Anti-Corporate Campaigns

Animal Rights

Environmental Concerns

Human Rights, Anti-Racism

6. Revolutions and the Demand for Rights (2000–Present)

The War on Terror

2011–14: Years of Revolution

Hong Kong’s Umbrella Revolution

Russia: Pussy Riot, The Blue Noses

LGBT Issues

Black Lives Matter

Women’s Rights

Eco-Disasters, Eco-Crimes

Political Satire: In Your Face

Human Rights, Social Struggles

Endnotes

Bibliography

Index

Picture credits

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Social discontent and political protest have been expressed visually as well as verbally throughout the ages. Graffiti scribbles on a wall, pictures scattered in the street during marches, posters spread through the environment: all have played their part. For such agitational images represent a power struggle; a rebellion against an established order and a call to arms, or a passionate cry of concern for a cause. They signify, in short, an attempt to bring about change, whether driven by the cry of an individual or the heat of the crowd. It is the emotion, aggression or immediacy of this imagery that constitutes a visual power that links into the passions of the viewer.

This book’s history of protest graphics can therefore be joyful as well as brutal. It is largely driven by events, both local and international, but also owes a debt to changes in technology. Consequently it begins in the 16th century with the Reformation (as by that time images could be produced in multiples). It then travels through the decades and centuries, protesting against the miseries of war, satirising the foibles of royalty, politicians, religions and society in general, calling for an end to racial discrimination and apartheid, demanding freedom from tyranny and dictatorships around the world, struggling for LGBTQ+ rights, and finally attending to current 21st-century concerns and Trumpisms.

The content encompasses an astounding breadth of emotion – from hilarious satire to utter horror. It highlights the timeless iconography of protest graphics, such as raised fists, skulls (and skeletons), mushroom clouds and missiles, and revels in the variety of its modus operandi: from posters and postcards to giant inflatables. But over and above all, this book pays tribute to the liberating concept of hard-won ‘freedom of speech’ throughout history, and which still has agency in current times. The power struggles of the past, and their visual communication, have meaning for us now. Such resonances occur, again and again, throughout this entire collection.

When viewing this book, don’t just observe the past. Feel the present.

Sticker from the McLibel Support Campaign 2000

Anti-Nuclear Power sticker 1980

Logo by Anne Lind and Søren Lisberg

Flyer demanding government action on climate change 2019

Extinction Rebellion protest movement

1

1500–1900

Early Developments: The Reformation and Social Comment

If searching for early examples of visual defiance against authority, it is tempting to use the beginning of the 20th century as a starting point. After all, that century defines an era, more or less, of living memory (ours or our relatives), and the centuries before that seem too vast and too distant. The vastness is true: disputes and protests and their visual expression, stretch far back in time, and are of such quantity as to offer a whole study in itself. But the distance, conceptually speaking, is false. Even a superficial glance at those earlier centuries is startling, for many of the issues at the centre of the protests, as well as the way that artists communicated them, are surprisingly similar to those of the present.

This chapter therefore deals with the vastness of the pre-1900s by presenting particular highlights of graphic work, and their creators, over those earlier centuries. The Protestant Reformation provides a good starting point. The advent of the ‘political print’, as a tool of protest, relied heavily on the multiplication of an image as a means of spreading its anger. Both paper and print had become available to the West in the 1400s. By the early 1500s, printing allowed an image to be multiplied, important in spreading ideas to the illiterate masses. It was possible to show anger towards life’s injustices or those in power, by producing crude or awful depictions of key people or actions, then reproducing them in multiples and distributing them by means of strolling printsellers. Thus such messages were carried mainly through pictures (as few could actually read).¹

The first great movement of resistance was aimed at the power of the Catholic Church and the authority of its Pope. It came in the form of Martin Luther’s Reformation, ignited in 1517 by his posting of his Ninety-Five Theological Theses on the door of the church in Wittenberg. Illustrations became one of the Reformation’s most productive forces of propaganda and communication. Many of the German artists at that time were against Rome, particularly those close to Luther such as his friend Lucas Cranach the Elder, as well as Mathias Grünewald, Albrecht Dürer and others. The artwork, artistically, tended to be extremely aggressive and crude. Messages tended to be simple, direct and devoid of broader arguments or ethical discussion. Unlike books, which were largely appreciated by a small, intellectual set of the population, prints were for the masses – and often oppositional, showing anger, demanding justice or applying cruel humour to the controllers above them.²

‘The Miseries and Misfortunes of War’ (1632–33), by Jacques Callot (1593–1635), is often experienced through the display of only one of its most distressing images, entitled ‘The Hanging Tree’. It is in fact a morality tale, told in a sequence of 18 small etchings, each measuring roughly 8.1 cm high by 18.6 cm wide (3.5 × 7.5 in). It is considered to be one of the first attempts to show how the horrors of war impact on the very fabric of society, particularly the common people. But it is also a tale about the notion of ‘going to war’: what happens to those who are recruited, transformed by the insanity of battle, and then run berserk, killing and maiming innocents and committing atrocities. The recruits then suffer gruesome punishment by their commanding officers (who catch up with them), and even worse, by peasants seeking to avenge the innocents.³

The Pope Descending to Hell 1521

Lucas Cranach the Elder

Callot was born in the Duchy of Lorraine, apparently of noble birth. Throughout much of his life, he was known to enjoy and keep company with the poorer sectors of society as well as with the rich and powerful. The latter would have been necessary as etching was an expensive process and he would have been in need of a patron or two along the way. The French army invaded Lorraine in 1633, wreaking havoc and carnage on a grand scale, and therefore providing the backdrop against which ‘The Miseries’ were created, and must be read.⁴

Our modern spirit of revolution, embedded in the smallest protest or uprising, has often mythologized or claimed its historical roots in the French Revolution of 1789. The French Revolution desired and manifested earth-shattering changes. It produced the ‘Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen’, presenting the new and crucially democratic idea that ‘the state’ was not the property of a king or royal dynasty, but was composed of its people, thereby giving birth to the idea of ‘nationhood’. (For men only; unfortunately the revolution had no interest in giving political rights to women.) In January 1793 King Louis was guillotined, and later in the year so was his wife Marie Antoinette. Hence the revolution also produced bloodshed: harsh divisions formed between the revolutionaries (Jacobins) and the moderates (Girondins). The Jacobins seized power and the Committee of Public Safety, headed by the overly fastidious Robespierre, began exterminating the opposition. In the Reign of Terror (Sept 1793–July 1794), over ten months it is estimated around 40,000 people were guillotined throughout France, until Robespierre himself was finally guillotined, followed by a period of calm until Napoleon Bonaparte’s takeover in 1799.⁵

The initial five-year period produced a genuine attempt at making radical changes to society, at many different levels. For example, in 1793 the Jacobins introduced a new calendar of ten-day weeks, and renamed the months. The revolution produced new pictorial symbols, such as the Phrygian cap of liberty (bonnet rouge) and tricolor cockades (in the revolutionary colours of red, white and blue), often worn together. Such symbols, when worn, identified ‘patriots’, or the ‘sans-culottes’ (meaning literally ‘without-breeches’), a term used to describe people of the street.⁶

The 18th-century British artist and engraver, William Hogarth (1697–1764), was a pioneer of social satire and criticism. His career saw the rise of political satire, although Hogarth’s main interest lay in exposing social hypocrisy through narrative series, such as ‘The Rake’s Progress’, or through contemporary London interiors or street scenes. In 1751 he produced his arguably most famous print, ‘Gin Lane’, an image of poverty and moral decay (but not without humour): a baby falls out of its drunken mother’s arms, a dog and a beggar chew on the same bone. Funny or not, it is a call for social reform.⁷

The golden age of British satire flourished from 1780 to 1830. Artists included James Gillray, Thomas Rowlandson, Isaac Cruikshank and his sons Robert and George, and many others. Two particularly stand out, and both were professionally trained. James Gillray elevated the practice of caricature and satire to a professional discipline. He produced brilliantly offensive ‘political satire’ (i.e. having a poke at politicians), introducing complex compositions full of distorted yet recognizable likenesses, and venomous attacks. Importantly, he cut free from the classic academic models of the time, preferring ‘Romantic’ dream imagery and weird imaginings (he apparently influenced Goya). His prints became nightmare creations; those relating to the French Revolution are bloody, dripping with sensationalism. Thomas Rowlandson’s subjects, by contrast, arose from observation; he dealt with the follies of everyday behaviour. He also excelled at developing humour from the depiction of contrasts: young and old, fat and thin, the grotesque and the beautiful, and so on. It is through his watercolours and drawings that the dramas and catastrophes of contemporary life in London were revealed, presenting a true ‘mirror of an age’.⁸

In December 1807, France and Britain were at war. Napoleon marched French troops into northern Spain on the false pretext of protecting his Spanish allies from the British. In spring 1808, French troops took over Madrid, and Napoleon declared his brother, Joseph, King of Spain. A guerrilla war broke out between Spanish civilians and the occupiers. The artist Francisco Goya responded to the savagery of the conflict, producing 80 etchings and aquatints over 10 years. The series was titled ‘The Disasters of War’ (1810–20), and divided into three groups: the war, the year of famine (1811–12) and the caprichos enfaticos (striking caprices) which were against the Catholic Church.⁹

Atrocities were committed on both sides. French soldiers committed rape and left naked, mutilated corpses hanging or impaled on trees to demoralise the Spanish people. The Spanish peasants were depicted fighting back and butchering the enemy with their farm tools, with anguish and insanity in their eyes. Goya’s message was clear: the war turned both sides into animals or monsters. The war (and French occupation) ended in June 1813. Due to the depicted horrors and anti-establishment tone of the images, the copperplates of Goya’s ‘The Disasters of War’ were locked away after his death in 1828, and remained unpublished for 26 years.¹⁰

Long after the French Revolution of 1789, when memories of Napoleon’s victories were fading and the shadows of republican ideals were about to be reinstated, a new, liberal revolution took place in France. The July Revolution of 1830 brought the ‘King of the French people’ Louis-Philippe to power, who then proclaimed freedom of the press. Three months later Charles Philipon, who had gathered a team of brilliant artists, founded the satirical weekly La Caricature in 1831 and almost immediately took ‘a step too far’, publishing a drawing (in four stages) of the king’s head metamorphosing into an over-ripe, rotting ‘poire’ or pear-head. (‘Poire’ is also French slang for fool or simpleton.) Philipon was hauled into court and, story has it, avoided prison by making sketches for the jury, demonstrating that the resemblance was true and therefore not his fault – so he was acquitted of the charge of defamation. He launched another (more savage) satirical paper Le Charivari in 1832. Meanwhile ‘Les Poires’ became an emblem of resistance against authority, and continued to have a needling effect, appearing in Philipon’s papers in as many annoying variations as possible. When Louis-Philippe decreed the ‘image’ must no longer exist, Philipon published articles in which the pear-head image was not drawn, but was formed out of the arrangement of the type, thereby skirting around the decree. Not surprisingly, by September 1835 the entire French free press was censored on political subjects.¹¹

Considered by many as the father of American political cartoons, in 1870 Thomas Nast created his famous visual campaign against big city corruption. William Marcy Tweed (aka ‘Boss’ Tweed) was a New York politician who gained power over Tammany Hall, the Democratic Party’s political machine in New York City. He was therefore able to influence the appointment of city officials, control the city government and through his ‘Tammany Hall Ring’ of allies, access public money. At Harper’s Weekly magazine, political cartoonist Nast was committed to ending Tweed’s reign of corruption. Nast created a caricature of Boss Tweed as a power-mad, over-fed thug, as well as the frightening ‘Tammany Tiger’ prowling the streets of New York City.¹²

From 1867–76 (and particularly 1870–71) Nast stalked his prey, creating cartoons intended to undermine Tweed’s power and turn the electorate against him, as 1871 was an election year. The New York Times joined the fray, with ongoing articles mentioning rumours of corruption, and finally, documented evidence from leaked financial records (which it ran on its front page). Although never actually working together, both Nast and The New York Times were instrumental in exposing the criminal actions of Tweed and his friends, and inciting public outrage. Tweed’s fury at the pictures, and obviously their effect, resulted in the famous quote ‘Let’s stop those damned pictures. I don’t care much what the papers write about me – my constituents can’t read; but damn it, they can see pictures!’¹³

He was right. In the 1871 election, the public – literate or not – voted many Tammany candidates out of office. A large number, including Tweed himself, ended up in prison. In 1875 Tweed escaped and headed for Spain, but was caught and extradited back to a New York jail. A Spanish officer had recognised him from a Nast cartoon!¹⁴

French Revolution playing card: the ‘King of Clubs’ transforms into ‘genius of cultivation’ 1794

Henri Mouton

The Tammany Tiger Loose 1871

Thomas Nast

Martin Luther and the Reformation

The Donkey-Pope of Rome 1523

Lucas Cranach

Woodcut

In 1517 Martin Luther posted his Ninety-Five Theological Theses on the door of a church in Wittenberg. This launched the Reformation, an outright act of resistance to the power and authority of the Catholic Church and its pope. Illustrations were powerful propaganda for an illiterate audience, and Luther relied on his dedicated artist friends (such as Lucas Cranach) to create such messages, often produced as prints or broadsides for the masses. ‘The Donkey-Pope of Rome’ is actually a re-drawn copy of an earlier engraving that recorded the alleged appearance of a monster standing on the banks of the River Tiber in Rome. It was then given new meaning and satirical purpose by Cranach. Modern interpretation therefore lies with the viewer: it is possible to ponder some complex meaning in the grotesque combination of a donkey’s head, a woman’s body, a dragon’s tail and so on. But it is also possible (and perhaps more likely) to see it simply as coarse 16th-century mischief and a sniggering view of the ‘monster’ pope with a demon emerging from his arse.

The Devil Playing the Bagpipes c. 1530

Erhard Schön

Woodcut

Many broadsheets such as this were produced during the Reformation by its ‘reformers’ in their tirade against the Catholic Church. The devil is shown here, playing the head of a monk like a bagpipe. Such images were very popular; it was a common belief that monks were the instrument of the devil, or that the devil searched through monastic orders hoping to find a suitable monk through which to ‘play his tune’. The bottom right-hand corner of such images was often left clear of detail, as a letterpress message of anti-Catholic sentiment was printed or pasted there, before posting the broadsheets around the town. It is sometimes thought that this image was produced by the Counter-reformation, and that the monk shown here is Martin Luther, but there is no evidence to prove this. However, it is not far-fetched to think that such broadsheets may have been altered for use as propaganda by both sides.

Jacques Callot: ‘The Miseries of War’

(Image A) 1 of 18: Title page

The Miseries and Misfortunes of War 1632–33

Jacques Callot

Etchings: 6 of a total of 18

(Image B) 2 of 18: The Recruitment of Troops

(Image C) 5 of 18: Plundering a Large Farmhouse

(Image D) 11 of 18: The Hanging

(Image E) 13 of 18: The Stake

(Image F) 17 of 18: The Peasants Avenge Themselves

Jacques Callot’s ‘The Miseries and Misfortunes of War’ is a morality tale, told in a sequence of 18 small but highly detailed etchings, each measuring roughly 8.1 cm high x 18.6 cm wide (3.5 x 7.5 in). Produced against the backdrop of the French invasion of his home province of Lorraine, it is considered to be one of the first attempts at showing how war impacts on the very fabric of society. But it is also a tale about ‘going to war’: what happens to those who are recruited, transformed by the insanity of battle, then run berserk, killing and maiming innocents and committing atrocities. In the end, they suffer gruesome punishment by their commanding officers (who catch up with them), and worse by peasants avenging the innocents. Callot is an expert storyteller. Despite showing complex scenes and working at a miniaturist’s scale, he avoids confusion of events and people by providing an identifier: the tiny buttons that form a line down the side of the breeches worn by the French army. Following those buttons from one etching to another allows identification of the French army as well as its punishment of its own recruits. The title page and five etchings are shown here; a link to the entire sequence can be found in the Bibliography at the end of this book.

The French Revolution

The Indivisible Unity of the Republic: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity or Death c. 1793

Artist unknown

Poster

The French Revolution of 1789 will forever be remembered (and admired) for its production of ‘The Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen’, which gave birth to the idea of ‘nationhood’ (the ‘state’ was formed of its people; it was not the property of a royal dynasty). It then attempted to completely redesign society at all levels, according to its Republican vision. Fortunately these changes were pictorialized. The poster shown here carries a statement of commitment: ‘The Indivisible Unity of the Republic: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity or Death’. The