Walking the streets of New York City in February 2003, one couldn’t help but notice all these little blue stickers. Stuck to walls, phone booths, bus stops, scaffolding, mail boxes—they popped up everywhere to announce the February 15 march against President Bush’s invasion of Iraq.
The blue stickers were just one of the many anti-war graphics circulating at the time. Around the Web, activists were posting free, easy-to-print designs using a variety of techniques: clever slogans, typographic play, dramatic photos and the ironic use of vintage propaganda imagery.
But the February 15 stickers on the streets of New York were different—simple and bold, a little blue banner announcing the time and place of the march. They did not make an emotional appeal with pictures of scarred and armless Iraqi children or U.S. soldiers, nor was there any argument about why the war was wrong.
The February 15 posters were not intended to change people’s minds in a direct way, but to notify the public about the upcoming protest—and to make dissent visible. The mainstream media had entirely avoided covering the anti-war movement prior to February 15. In the face of this de facto censorship and police obstruction over the route of the march, the stickers acted as thousands of little acts of civil disobedience. And with the urban landscape as a medium, the stickers set the stage for even larger acts of defiance.
Activist L.A. Kauffman designed the stickers, which were produced by the coalition United for Peace and Justice. Volunteers distributed over 200,000 stickers around the city in just under a month. And, while the accompanying poster design featured a growing list of cities with simultaneous marches on the 15th, only after the event did the significance become clear: on the same day in over 600 cities around the world, over 10 million people protested the war.
It was an example of what historian George Lipsitz describes in his essay “Not Just Another Social Movement, Poster Art and the Movimiento Chicano,” “[Posters] lead people toward affiliations and alliances that can augment their power.... Movements have to create spaces for social change—figuratively by using memory and imagination to expand the realities and possibilities of the present, but also literally by creating physical places, institutions, and events where the hope-for future makes itself felt in the present.”
1The stickers prompted me to seek out other examples of design in the public interest. Below are a few current projects in the United States. Each uses graphic design in a different way and within different constituencies. But they share this in common: they use design as a means to facilitate public participation.
Though the designs were produced by individuals, they are connected to larger social movements—helping to build those movements, engage people in political processes, help them make informed decisions and stand up for their rights.
Public participation, large and smallThe Friends of the Highline (
http://thehighline.org/) is a nonprofit organization working to convert an abandoned elevated rail structure along the west side of Manhattan into a unique, elevated public park. Founded in 1999 by writer Joshua David and artist Robert Hammond, FHL has taken a multi-pronged strategy: working with city, state and federal officials to obtain the necessary approvals and paperwork, as well as consulting neighborhood residents and engaging the broader public, incorporating them into the process.
To fire the public imagination, FHL held a public design competition soliciting visions for redevelopment of the Line. Designs poured in from across the city and around the world. The jury awarded special prizes for the design that best addressed accessibility and the one that best incorporated native flora.
Proposals included a roller coaster, movable gardens, and a one-and-a-half mile elevated swimming pool—wild ideas celebrating the Line and New York City—testing the limits and provoking debate.
While the competition was a work of large-scale public participation, FHL also uses design for participation on a smaller scale, distributing hundreds of elegantly designed postcards to solicit comments from the public and, in particular, residents living in neighborhoods near the Line.
FHL pays special attention to the design of its materials. Its feasibility studies, newsletters, Web site, information distributed at public meetings—everything they publish is direct and clear, projecting a confidence, stylishness and attention to detail. As with their newsletter that is printed on recycled newsprint, their materials also embody a commitment to the environment and sensible budgeting—aspects they hope to embody in the final design of the Line.
Hammond notes, “When we started the project, we had little credibility and lots of opposition. Most people thought it was impossible and would never happen. Designers and artists were one of the few groups who did not care if it was impossible—they recognized it was a dream worth fighting for. So we used their talents to give our materials the look and feel of a much bigger organization. People were impressed with the design of our brochure and invites. It made them excited about joining and being involved with the project. I think the design helped win over people who were initially very skeptical of the project. It helped build the momentum we needed.”
The hard work has paid off. At the July 9 exhibition preview, New York City Council Speaker Gifford Miller announced a $15.75 million funding commitment for planning and construction.
With recent civic budget cuts and other projects around the city faltering, Hammond attributes the FHL’s success to a broad support base which includes long-time neighborhood residents as well as the newer art and design-based businesses. The culminating gala benefit included many A-list authors, actors and artists—hardly your typical, dull ribbon-cutting, and a testament to their outreach.
And, he says, the design of their campaign materials is key. “Good design is not just a good goal, it can help make things happen.”