Sylvain Boulouque is a French historian and political scientist specializing in the history of radical movements, particularly anarchism, the far left, and political violence. He published Meurtres à la Grange-aux-Belles, Éditions du Cerf, in 2024.

What if we discussed anarchism at the beginning of the 1970s? Which brings me to my first question—can anarchism be equated with nihilism?

SB: It depends entirely on which form of anarchism you’re referring to. I often describe anarchism as something like a Spanish inn—everything is there. It encompasses a wide range of currents. Some anarchists align with trade unionism, others advocate insurrection against the bourgeois order, and still others pursue alternative lifestyles, believing that if each person “cultivates their own garden,” a different society might emerge.

There is indeed a strand—though marginal—that leans toward total destruction, the idea that everything must be dismantled before anything new can be built. One might think of the character Souvarine in Germinal as emblematic of that impulse. But this is a very minor current, especially in the 1970s. Nihilism exists within anarchism, but it is far from dominant.

So would you say that 1970s anarchism differs from earlier forms, like Russian anarchism, in that it is less nihilistic and more constructive?

SB: Yes, broadly speaking. While there were isolated individuals or small publications—some even explicitly invoking destruction—that was not the main trend. The dominant dynamic in the 1970s was constructive. Groups sought to build revolutionary movements using various forms of action.

Some withdrew to rural communes to experiment with alternative ways of living. Others engaged in trade union activism, sometimes moving toward forms of self-management that influenced broader labor structures. Across these tendencies, the emphasis was more on building than destroying.

And what about the relationship between anarchism and terrorism during that period? Were anarchists significantly involved?

SB: Very marginally. Most terrorist groups of the time were not rooted in anarchist traditions. Take Action Directe, for instance. Only a small number of its members—such as Jean-Marc Rouillan—had anarchist backgrounds. The majority came from Maoist or Marxist-Leninist circles.

If you examine their communiqués, they bear little resemblance to anarchist thought. Instead, they reflect a neo-Leninist, anti-imperialist rhetoric. There’s a clear ideological shift.

Similarly, in Italy, anarchist circles were generally hostile to the methods of groups like the Red Brigades. Practices such as kneecapping—shooting individuals in the knees to permanently disable them—were widely condemned within anarchist movements as counterproductive and morally unacceptable.

So anarchism, even when radical, maintained certain ethical boundaries?

SB: In most cases, yes. Historically, anarchist violence—when it occurred—was often targeted at symbols of authority: police, political institutions, or heads of state. Even in the late 19th century, during the era of “propaganda by the deed,” attacks were rarely indiscriminate.

By contrast, the 1970s saw the rise of groups engaging in broader anti-imperialist struggles, often influenced by Marxist or Maoist ideologies. These were distinct traditions. There could be some overlap through individual trajectories, but structurally, they were different.

For example, the 1972 attack at Lod Airport carried out by the Japanese Red Army—that has nothing to do with anarchism?

SB: Nothing at all. The Japanese Red Army was rooted in Maoist and communist frameworks. Moreover, that attack involved indiscriminate violence against civilians, which is fundamentally at odds with most anarchist traditions. There were also elements—such as antisemitism—that further distance it from anarchist thought.

I’d like to shift slightly. I recently spoke with Chaim Rothman, who argued for a connection between anarchism and Judaism—particularly the idea of a direct relationship between the individual and God, without intermediaries. Does that resonate with your understanding?

SB: There is a tradition that explores that connection, though it remains marginal. Thinkers like Martin Buber are central here. Buber combined religious belief with libertarian principles, emphasizing community, dialogue, and a form of spiritual anarchism.

However, most anarchists of Jewish background in the 19th and 20th centuries were secular or atheist. So while the idea exists, it is not representative of the broader movement.

Today, we see movements in places like Iran or Turkey where individuals describe themselves as anarchists in opposition to authoritarian regimes. Is there any unity in such movements?

SB: Not really. Anarchism, by its very nature, resists centralization. It is composed of autonomous groups and individuals, often with little coordination. Many people may identify as anarchists simply as a rejection of authority, without engaging with the theoretical or historical foundations of the movement.

This makes anarchism particularly difficult to study. It is heterogeneous in its ideas, practices, and even in the meanings individuals attach to the term.

Could that explain why we sometimes encounter unexpected labels, like “right-wing anarchists” or libertarian currents in the United States?

SB: Yes. These are often cases of conceptual stretching—or confusion. In France, for example, certain writers have embraced the idea of a “right-wing anarchism,” more as a literary posture than a coherent political philosophy. Even filmmakers like Michel Audiard have been associated with this tone.

In the United States, libertarianism sometimes borrows selectively from anarchist traditions, particularly in its rejection of state authority. But it often omits key elements such as solidarity and social equality.

What about contemporary French movements? For instance, platforms like Lundi Matin or figures like Tancrède Ramonet—can they be considered anarchist?

SB: It’s complicated. Lundi Matin is closer to what we call the ultra-left—a mix of influences, including post-autonomist and Marxist ideas. Some of its content aligns with anarchist thought, but not all.

Tancrède Ramonet, on the other hand, explicitly identifies as anarchist and participates in related networks. However, in his work, he tends to broaden the definition of anarchism to include almost any form of protest, which is historically debatable.

So there’s a risk of diluting the concept?

SB: Exactly. Not every protest movement is anarchist. For example, some pacifist movements in 1960s Britain were closely linked to communist organizations, even if they adopted decentralized forms.

Final question, shifting gears. What did you think of the recent films about Otto Abetz, including the one involving Jean Dujardin?

SB: The documentary work associated with Jean-Marc Dreyfus is excellent—clear, pedagogical, and historically rigorous. The film with Jean Dujardin is more ambiguous. I wouldn’t call it bad, but it raises questions.

It risks leaving viewers with the impression that collaboration was merely circumstantial, which is problematic. Historically, there are omissions—such as the insufficient treatment of the Munich Agreement—that are essential for understanding the trajectory of certain figures.

Cinematically, it also feels overly extended. A shorter format might have been more effective. There are stylistic echoes of The Damned that are quite pronounced, perhaps excessively so.

And what about its depiction of moral decadence under Vichy?

SB: That’s harder to assess. Some elements may be grounded in reality—such dynamics exist in many societies—but the film likely exaggerates them for dramatic effect. In doing so, it may obscure more important historical insights that would help audiences better understand the period.

I feel that the film is not entirely exaggerated compared to reality. It may have overemphasized the “orgy” aspect in every sense of the word, but the relationship to money in Ducharme’s case was very real.

That part reflects reality. However, I think the film distorts certain elements too much and, in doing so, overlooks important historical aspects that would have helped the general public better understand the broader context. That said, some of my students who saw it told me they liked it and that it helped them grasp the idea of collaboration. So I’m not going to dismiss it entirely.

Did anarchists—and more specifically right-leaning anarchists—exist during the Occupation?

SB: In a way, this brings us back to Munich Agreement.

Anarchism has a strong pacifist dimension, and a number of anarchists, out of pacifism—and sometimes also anti-communism—ended up participating, more or less openly (often more than less), in collaboration.

Let me give a few examples. One individual, François Charles Carpentier, ended up in Sigmaringen in 1945, supported financially by the COSI (Comité ouvrier de secours immédiat). This suggests he went quite far in collaboration, even though he later defended himself by claiming he had not intended to.

Another figure is Louis Lecoin, who was also implicated to some extent, again primarily due to pacifism. The Vichy authorities were aware of his stance and recruited him into the same organization.

So, a number of anarchists drifted into collaboration for pacifist reasons.

On the other hand, the majority did nothing—remaining largely passive during the World War II. Some became wary after the invasion of the Soviet Union, fearing the growing influence of communists within the Resistance. In some cases, particularly among Spanish groups, anarchists were even eliminated by communist factions.

Finally—and this is important—some anarchists were very active in the Resistance.

Two well-known examples:

Albert Guigui, a lifelong libertarian activist who became a key representative of the CGT in London, regularly traveling back and forth.

Julien Le Pen, who structured resistance networks—less visible than the romanticized image of armed struggle, but crucial. His work involved producing leaflets, gathering intelligence, forging documents, and organizing escape networks.

These individuals understood that a few pistols would not defeat the German army. Their realism led them to focus on effective resistance methods.

So overall, during the war, some anarchists collaborated, many remained passive, and a significant number resisted in various ways. Even producing false papers—especially for Jewish families—was already an act of resistance. If we define resistance as any action that hindered the Nazi project, then these efforts fully qualify.

As for Luchaire, he was not an anarchist at all. He was more of a financially driven collaborator, fascinated by money and power, but in a completely different way. Comparing him to an anarchist makes no sense.

Someone compared the film to Martin Scorsese’s work, noting that his films often revolve around money. Similarly, Giannoli’s film is deeply centered on financial obsession—characters are either broke or constantly scheming.

That is indeed a central theme. However, unlike previous works such as Lost Illusions, which adapts Honoré de Balzac, this film attempts a form of historical reconstruction. In a fictional adaptation, historical inaccuracies are less problematic. But in a biographical or quasi-historical film, they become much more significant and can affect the credibility of the narrative.

Of course, the director has artistic freedom—it is his signature and his vision.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)