The meaning of liberty has changed over time

It was no surprise, of course, when France's new Socialist president, Francois Hollande, celebrated his election at the Place de la Bastille. Once the site of the nation's most notorious prison, the square has long been the place that French leftists proclaim their victories. But while many commentators noted the symbolic importance of the Bastille, they overlook how this symbol has changed over time — a transformation that may hold a lesson for President-elect Hollande.

When a large crowd attacked and took the Bastille on July 14, 1789, the French Revolution was launched. That the prison held no political prisoners but instead a mere half-dozen petty criminals and lunatics, and that the crowd marked the event by chopping off and displaying the heads of two government officials, did little to mute the festive atmosphere. On the contrary. Overnight, the Bastille became Paris' most successful tourist attraction. The decapitated heads were still fresh on the ends of the revolutionaries' pikes when Pierre-Francois Palloy, a wealthy businessman, with a work crew nearly as large as the crowd that stormed the Bastille, began levelling the medieval pile.

Upon becoming emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte announced his desire to build a massive arch celebrating his military victories on the site of the old Bastille. The dubious neighbours, however, put him off, and so instead Napoleon had the Arc de Triomphe built at the other end of Paris. As for the Bastille, Napoleon conceived a fountain featuring a gigantic statue of an elephant to celebrate his imperial conquests. The plaster model placed there was to be replaced by one in bronze.

In 1832, the peeling pachyderm was joined by a second statue. Not one commemorating the revolution of 1789, mind you, but instead the revolution of 1830, which brought the fall of King Charles X and his replacement with King Louis-Philippe. In order to both celebrate the events of 1830 and make Parisians believe the revolution had come full cycle, Louis-Philippe constructed a towering bronze column. At its marble base were entombed the bodies of those who died on the barricades in 1830, at its top was the gilded Genie de la Liberte, or Spirit of Liberty: a winged figure pirouetting on a globe and flaunting the broken chains of servitude.

Some historians, noting that the sprite is now called the Spirit of the Bastille, believe the site's meaning has faded with time. But in the wake of the presidential election, perhaps the meaning of liberty has instead simply changed over time. Ever since 1848, France's political left has held its great demonstrations at the column's marble base. In 1936, the newly elected prime minister, Socialist Leon Blum, beamed while a river of workers and students surged across the Place de la Bastille. And in 1981, the supporters of France's first Socialist president, Francois Mitterrand, converged at Bastille to celebrate his victory. In 1936 and 1981, the Socialist leaders rode to power in the midst of grave economic crises on the promise they would solve the problem with Keynesian policies: higher pay, shorter workweeks and increased social benefits. In both cases, they put into effect policies that went against the economic grain of neighbouring countries; in both cases, within two years after they were introduced, the policies proved counterproductive and were countermanded. Though he did not raise a clenched fist, Hollande did point his finger in the direction of Berlin and Brussels. Austerity, he declared, is no longer an option for France. Like his predecessors, Hollande promised to make France's economy more productive and its citizens more prosperous — promises that will entail serious negotiations with Germany.

What's at stake in these negotiations is the Spirit of Liberty. But that spirit no longer represents the sort of liberty she did in 1789 or 1848 — liberty from oppressive monarchies — or even, as in 1936 or 1981, liberty from French industrialists and bankers. Instead, the oppressors many in France blame today are foreign governments and transnational institutions that, in the eyes of French voters, have inflicted on them a set of economic policies that are not only ineffective but punitive.

Whether Hollande will succeed where his predecessors failed remains to be seen. In an age of globalisation, it will be even more difficult to carry out a policy of socialism in one country than it was in 1936 or 1981. More difficult, however, is to ignore the fears and hopes of the people. Hollande knows that while plaster elephants come and go, the memory of liberty abides.

— Los Angeles Times

Robert Zaretsky teaches French history at the Honors College of the University of Houston and is coauthor of France and its Empire Since 1870.