Identity Politics is a column written by veteran journalist Susan Milligan, covering the big issues in the socio-political ether as they intersect with design, art, and other modes of visual communication.
Inside Europe’s iconic cathedral was a tragic lineup of man-made disruption and grim foreboding. There was the host, French President Emmanuel Macron, whose government had just collapsed days before and was fending off calls to resign. There was First Lady Jill Biden, whose husband had been hounded from the presidential race, told that his re-election effort would merely ensure the re-installation of a convicted felon who pledged to be a dictator on day one. There was Donald Trump, who won, anyway, and was in the process of assembling a governing team with myriad ethical and political problems of their own. And there was Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy, desperately trying to salvage what’s left of his war-ravaged country and knowing that Macron, and especially Trump, would hold tremendous power over the fate of his country and his people.
Then there was the Gothic guest of honor, Notre-Dame de Paris, its newly-rebuilt vaulted ceilings and restored artwork sending a singular, silent, and powerful message: I will endure. I have survived a devastating fire that threatened to end my 860-year-long life. My survival a testament to humanity’s resilience, stronger than any strongman whose time will come and, inevitably, go.
Facade of Notre-Dame de Paris, Getty Images for Unsplash+
It’s been a trying time for many of us after the November elections, as we were hit with the painful truth that a plurality of our fellow Americans chose hate – or at least, decided that the hateful rhetoric spewed by the president-elect wasn’t a dealbreaker for them. And it’s not just Americans; people around the world are grappling with anti-democratic forces and helplessly watching as war destroys lives and communities in Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan. Add in the escalating threat of climate change, and it’s fair to wonder and worry if we are facing the end times.
I had the tremendous privilege of getting inside the newly restored Notre Dame cathedral the week it re-opened and was relieved to hear the implied response from the structure: No. Architecture, art, and design are saying no; we will not let culture and humanity be destroyed, no matter how much humans themselves test our power.
That art and architecture outlast people is an indisputable truth, and people rely on it to sustain their culture and traditions long after they are gone. The original construction of Notre Dame is a testament to that fact. Building the cathedral took nearly two centuries, and the human commitment cannot be forgotten. Imagine the early builders of the cathedral, toiling away with 12th-century tools, knowing that only their descendants eight to ten generations later would see the finished result. It was a recognition that both the building itself and the concept of building would endure, providing a thread to hold together those generations no matter what wars, natural disasters, and political upheaval did to break those bonds.
Buildings matter. When the Twin Towers fell during the 9-11 attacks, the added insult to the unspeakable loss of human life was the assault on a symbol of New York City. And when a community chooses to rebuild, it is a defiant statement that the culture will not be erased.
Teatro La Fenice, the historic opera house in Venice, has been through it and rebuilt. “We burnt twice but twice we have risen from our ashes stronger. We are at your side, friends, so fear not!” the theater told its famous Parisian friend on social media after Notre Dame suffered its own blaze.
Warsaw did it. It’s a city, as we wryly observed when I was living in Central Europe in the 1990s, that was destroyed by the Nazis and rebuilt by the Russians — a terrible combination. The Poles lost about 90 percent of Warsaw due to German attacks during World War II, and artworks were destroyed or stolen on a massive scale. The Nazi’s point was not just to conquer Poland but to erase its culture, including its identity in architecture and art.
So, the Poles undertook a painstaking effort to rebuild the old town. With no photographic evidence to show what the historic area looked like, the Poles turned to art. Using the paintings of 18th-century artist Venetian artist Bernardo Bellotto to guide them, they rebuilt. Warsaw’s old town, while technically one of the capital city’s newer pieces of real estate, endures as it was in its golden age hundreds of years ago.
And so it was with the cathedral, sited at what was deemed in the 18th century the starting point of the roads of France. After the massive fire destroyed much of Notre Dame in 2019, the decision was quickly made to restore it. Suggestions to “modernize” it in some way – replacing the legendary spire with a 300-foot flame, a greenhouse, or a column of light – were speedily rejected as disrespectful, even blasphemous, to Notre Dame’s history.
Instead, two thousand workers – engineers, roofers, restorers, cleaners, and the organ specialists who cleaned, repaired, and reassembled the church’s famed organ – put Notre Dame back together again, pretty much exactly as it had been. They worked through the pandemic. They braved the threat of noxious dust. They restored 17th-century paintings. The most striking thing about the cathedral is how light it now is, the stone unblemished by weather, candle smoke, and centuries of grime that had made the interior darker for pre-fire visitors. There were some lovely new additions, including a copper figure – a combination of a rooster and a phoenix to symbolize the rebirth of the cathedral – that features the names of those who restored Notre Dame. A bell used at the Stade de France during Paris’ hosting of the 2024 Olympic games was donated to Notre Dame to ring with two smaller bells during mass.
But it’s still the familiar Notre Dame. And that’s important. It’s not just a place to worship, reflect, and gaze at old paintings. Notre Dame is a constant reminder that things can indeed endure despite history’s outside forces – a fire, a problematic political leader – disrupting things.
It’s a heavily emotional experience to enter the restored Notre Dame. One feels overwhelmed by a sense of community, shared sacrifice, and the stubborn resilience of art and creation. “It’s about building,” a Notre Dame worker told me as I breathed in the history of the newly refurbished cathedral. And it is, most importantly, about hope. Notre Dame wants us to know: We will survive.
Susan Milligan is an award-winning veteran journalist covering politics, culture, foreign affairs, and business in Washington, DC, New York, and Eastern Europe. A former writer for the New York Daily News, the Boston Globe, and US News & World Report, she was among a team of authors of the New York Times bestseller Last Lion: The Rise and Fall of Ted Kennedy. A proud Buffalo native, Milligan lives in northern Virginia.
Images courtesy of the author except where noted; header image design by Debbie Millman.
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