In Europe

succeeded in restoring calm to the country; at the same time, however, he realised better than anyone else that 1968 had sounded the death knell for the rule of classic French father figures, and certainly for that of this self-appointed father of the fatherland.
    The French May Revolution of 1968 was more than a student revolt, it was also the most massive wave of industrial action in French history, a rebellion by ten million French men and women against the bosses, against the state, against the constraints of ordinary life. It was a popular movement, and no one had seen it coming. On 29 April, 1968, the weekly
L'Express
ran a cover story under the title ‘France's Number One Crisis: Housing’. In an article bearing the headline ‘Students: The New Hussars Don't Have Much Luck’, a journalist wrote: ‘Perhaps, here in France, we are all growing a little bored.’
    Two weeks later, on Saturday, 11 May, the official tally drawn up after a single night of fighting in the streets was: 367 wounded, 460 arrests, 188 damaged or burned-out cars, dozens of barricades. That day
L'Express
spoke of ‘a storm over Paris’ and the appearance of ‘more rioters than the Fifth Republic has ever seen.’
    Just as generals are fond of winning the war that is over, governments always have a way of dealing definitively with revolutions past. On place Jussieu, one finds their memorial: a graceful university complex with, remarkably enough, its principal administration building constructed on poles. The entire complex has only one entrance, and the whole thing can be sealed off with an impenetrable barrier at the push of a button. It is a true masterpiece from the drafting tables of architectural agency Paranoia, Inc; here a Maginot Line has been thrown up for all time against the imagination that once, briefly, ruled these streets.
    Nine months after 1967's Summer of Love, the European and American young people who – with the exception of the Germans – had preached peace and freedom took to the barricades with stones in their hands. During winter 1967–8, everything happened at once. In January, Vietnamese guerrillas penetrated Saigon during the Tet Offensive. America turned out to be anything but invincible. With each passing month, the demonstrations in Europe and the United States grew in size and number. On 1 March, 200 people were injured in battles on Rome's Spanish Steps, including almost 150 policemen. Spain followed: on 28 March, General Franco closed Madrid University indefinitely in response to illegal demonstrations against the regime, and a month later the country witnessed four days of heavy rioting. In Nanterre, the student administration building was occupied on 22 March under the leadership of Daniel Cohn-Bendit, signalling the start of the 22 March Movement. On 4 April, Martin Luther King was murdered in Memphis, Tennessee. One week later, Rudi Dutschke was shot in the head and barely survived. In Berlin, thousands of students marched down Kurfürstendamm carrying pictures of the Spartacist martyrs of 1919, Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht. Two people were killed in the streets of Munich. On 6 June, American presidential candidate Robert Kennedy was assassinated. On 30 June, after fierce rioting, a state of emergency was declared in the Californian university town of Berkeley.
    Meanwhile, the spring which had come to Prague that year was a historic one. In January, orthodox Communist Party leader Antonín Novotný was replaced by the amiable Alexander Dubžcek, who immediately loosened thereins: press, radio and television were allowed to criticise the regime freely, persecuted writers and intellectuals were granted amnesty, and plans were made to reform the economy along Western lines. The impending thaw became visible in the streets of Prague, in the length of men's hair, the cautious miniskirts, the home-made pop music, the screening of Western movies such as
Cleopatra
(featuring Elizabeth Taylorová) and
Viva Maria!
(with Brigitte Bardotová). The opposition paper
Literární Noviny
, which reappeared under the name
Literární Listy
, published an essay by playwright Václav Havel about true democracy: ‘Democracy is not a matter of faith, but of guarantees’ which allow ‘a public and legal competition for power’. All 250,000 copies of the magazine sold out within a few hours.
    The demonstrations in Berlin and Paris elicited, at most, a vague sympathy among the students of Prague. They had