For a narrative revolution of territories

19 July 2025. Published by Benoît Labourdette.
  5 min
 |  Download in PDF

What if true cultural power resided in the stories we write, daily, from our positions, with our words? Each territory produces a narrative. Not the frozen and smooth one communicated by institutions alone, but a living, multiple narrative, inscribed in human experiences. Faced with top-down discourses, it is time to organize a democratic revolution of territorial cultural speech. To rebuild an authentic cultural democracy, we must recognize the power of these sensitive narratives, fragile perhaps, but essential to the very legitimacy of cultural policies, and foster their emergence.

Rethinking territory beyond traditional boundaries

What is a territory today? The answer goes far beyond classic administrative divisions. A territory is first and foremost an instituting and institutional identification of a human collective within a geography that can be physical or digital. This definition encompasses both a neighborhood and a region, a collective of inhabitants and a university, a festival anchored in a given place and time, and a Telegram or LinkedIn community.

As Pierre Rosanvallon describes in The Parliament of the Invisible (2015), we live in an era of “expressive democracy” where individual narrative becomes a political act. This perspective invites us to recognize that the essence of a territory lies in the sense of belonging shared by its members, whether permanent or temporary. Territory is not just a place, but a network of relationships that necessarily produces a narrative, even implicit, that says “this is who we are.”

At the heart of each territory is invariably a communicating instance, more or less institutionalized. From members of a Facebook group spontaneously sharing information to the structured communication service of a metropolis, these instances shape the territory’s image. But a fundamental problem arises: the institutional narrative, distinct from daily reality, influences tourism, economic partnerships, and media perception, and often creates a gap with residents’ lived experience.

The soft tyranny of institutional narratives

Documents publicly emanating from a territory—texts, images, videos, books—powerfully imprint its image, often durably. This documentary imprint, as Dominique Cardon reminds us in Digital Culture (2019), is crucial because “algorithms shape our access to information by privileging certain formats and certain sources”.

In this informational architecture, text reigns supreme. Contrary to what one might believe, it is not images but written words that constitute the essence of memorial traces. Information transmission, via search engines, artificial intelligence, or aggregators, still relies today primarily on textual processing. Automated systems index, categorize, and redistribute information by massively relying on text, giving writings major strategic reach.

The report from the Economic, Social and Environmental Council (CESE), “Towards Cultural Democracy” (2017) emphasizes that cultural policies must integrate these narratives to strengthen citizen participation. Yet too often, official narratives mask or weaken minority, spontaneous, partial narratives—those very ones that bear the imprint of true cultural democracy.

Democratization versus democracy: the heart of the problem

We must clearly distinguish between democratization and cultural democracy. As Patrice Meyer-Bisch explains in Cultural Rights, Finally in the Spotlight? (La revue de l’Observatoire n°33, 2008):

“Cultural democracy assumes recognition of the diversity of cultural expressions and active participation by all in cultural life, unlike democratization which imposes a legitimate culture from above.”

Democratization narratives, carried by top-down academic or official processes, already have their automatic communicational force. They circulate easily in established channels, benefit from institutional legitimacy, and impose themselves in the public space. But these narratives, while necessary, often lack the warmth of personal testimonies and the credibility of horizontal recommendations.

Conversely, democratic narratives—those that emerge from lived experience, shared daily life, ordinary cultural practice—struggle to exist. People live their moments without necessarily making them into narratives, which explains their rarity. This absence is not trivial: it deprives our territories of narrative richness essential to their democratic vitality, for the present and especially for the future.

The paradoxical power of fragile narratives

Democratic narratives possess incomparable force, precisely because they are fragile. Their power comes from their intrinsic fragility: as citizens, we often feel illegitimate faced with authoritative speech, but it is precisely this humility that makes these narratives authentic and recommendable.

In today’s disintermediated digital space, this horizontality amplifies their impact. A democratic narrative circulates through peer-to-peer recommendations, humanized and valued, because it comes from someone “like me.” As Patrick Germain-Thomas notes in his article Cultural Democratization, Illusion or Utopia in the Making? (Quaderni, 2020), digital mediations promise greater inclusion, thus supporting the idea of horizontal circulation of narratives.

Writing from oneself, without authority, without mandate, without authorization, requires courage. One always feels too small, always late, always insufficient. But if we renounce these narratives, that of the territory will be written without us. Crafting these narratives requires constant effort, because we always doubt our legitimacy, but this is the very principle of democracy: a horizontal point of view that does not impose itself. The institution, to exercise its function as defender of democracy, must support these narratives.

A concrete practice of democratic writing

My recommendation for institutions is therefore clear: encourage each territorial agent, each citizen, whatever their position, to communicate and write the meaning of what they perceive on the territory. This invitation goes far beyond the framework of official communication services to embrace a logic of cultural democracy where everyone contributes to the elaboration of the common narrative.

Concretely, this means:

  1. Systematically documenting: always referencing places, dates (specifying the year), and the personal meaning of artistic, cultural, territorial, or heritage actions, both for the author and for citizens, ephemeral or settled.
  2. Renewing texts: in the contemporary attention economy, theorized by Yves Citton in For an Ecology of Attention (2014), the relevance of content depends on its freshness and its ability to inscribe itself in current informational flows. We must renew, without fear of repetition, because we add nuances and diversified viewpoints.
  3. Multiplying distribution channels: social networks, personal or group emails, WhatsApp groups, blogs, newsletters... No matter the medium, what matters is that it be situated, anchored in lived and shared experience.
  4. Emphasizing the democratic dimension: everything done at human scale, in co-decision, exchange, welcoming the other, circumstance. These “mundane” experiences deserve to be told, to be symbolically enhanced.

The crucial issue of public funding

This narrative mobilization is not just an abstract democratic exercise. It touches the very heart of the legitimacy of public cultural policies. Thanks to these narratives, we can contribute to refounding a cultural democracy on territories, essential for legitimizing public culture funding, present and future.

In a context of growing budgetary constraints, only a culture truly anchored in citizen practices and narratives will be able to durably justify its funding by the community. This funding, crucial for social bonds detached from commercial stakes, is today under-recognized, while its future rests precisely on this democratic dynamic.

As several reports remind us, ambition remains unfinished without active citizen participation. Democratic narratives illuminate this invisible territory of lived culture, testifying to a discreet fecundity that escapes the usual radars of evaluation.

A narrative ecology for our territories

We speak here of a true narrative ecology of territories: a system where each voice counts, produces meaning, and acts as a ferment of mutual recognition. A territory is above all what is told about it, and by it. Without democratic narrative, no cultural democracy. And without cultural democracy, public culture funding runs the risk of being subjected to purely commercial or instrumental logics.

This ecology requires devices, certainly simple, but recurrent, that call for writing, for collecting testimonies, support dissemination, accompany people. It assumes considering that democratic speech is not a marginal exercise, but essential to cultural governance.

Call to action: writing to exist democratically

Our future absolutely needs our narratives. Each testimony, each documentation of democratic cultural experience, each horizontal sharing of territorial practice contributes to weaving the narrative fabric that will support tomorrow’s public cultural policies.

I strongly invite organizing to be able to produce and disseminate these narratives in all possible instances, renewing them regularly to maintain their effectiveness. This narrative responsibility falls to each of us: territorial agents, engaged citizens, cultural actors. Our silence would amount to abandoning the field to purely commercial and top-down logics. Our voice, fragile but authentic, constitutes the foundation on which a true territorial cultural democracy can be built.

The invitation is therefore simple and ambitious: write. Everyone, from their position. And disseminate. So that, little by little, a common memory is written, traversing, fragile, but tenacious. A memory carried by culture agents, inhabitants, enlightened amateurs, passersby. It is this multiplication of situated narratives that will make, tomorrow, the democratic strength of our cultural policies. And it is on this that their long-term legitimacy depends.

My multidisciplinary practices—spanning creation, cultural action, training, and support in a wide range of cultural, social, and educational contexts across France—provide me with a privileged, subjective, and in-depth observatory of the cultural sector in France.

This sector is weakened by its position, often deemed “non-essential” by many political leaders, by the competition from digital platforms in cultural practices, as well as by challenges and obstacles related to the difficulty of establishing interdisciplinary collaborations and the scarcity of evaluations, which are often poorly conducted and instrumentalized.

My observatory allows me to identify dynamics that work, as well as difficulties I observe. Here, I propose to share my analyses, methods, and suggestions, hoping they may prove useful. My goal is to contribute to a stronger cultural sector in the future, as I believe that defending a cultural sector funded by taxpayers’ money holds the potential for emancipation, the development of freedoms, democracy, and the capacity to act—in a way that is fundamentally different from what private actors produce.

This is possible if there is no hypocrisy, and in my view, it comes at the cost of a commitment to lucidity and self-questioning, a choice to deconstruct representations, and perhaps to challenge certain privileges and systems of domination.


QR Code for this page
qrcode:https://www.benoitlabourdette.com/les-ressources/defendre-la-culture-autrement-methodes-pour-demain/pour-une-revolution-narrative-des-territoires