Reflections on manifesto writing

Abstract

Each page ought to explode, either from deep and weighty seriousness, a whirlwind, dizziness, the new, or the eternal, from its crushing humour, the enthusiasm of principles or its typographical appearance. (Tristan Tzara, Dada Manifesto, 1918) We have been writing and researching manifestos for many years, and over time we have noticed both an evolution and an ebb and flow in the popularity of the form. For more than a decade, manifesto writing has been on the rise: after the successive upheavals of the financial crisis in 2008, Occupy and the Arab Spring in 2011–2012, the US presidential election in 2016, and the worldwide protests following the death of George Floyd in 2020, the manifesto has regained the prominent position it held during previous waves in the early 20th century and the late 1960s. This has also been aided by the rise of the internet, and social media in particular. Thanks to Twitter and other platforms, today we are all fluent in the blunt, concise, polarising, excitable language of manifestos; we throw out sweeping pronouncements to the world and our efforts are met by instant reactions, likes or dislikes, and, if we’re lucky, virality. In other words, we already know the essential components of manifesto writing. But what can manifestos do for us as researchers and practitioners across various disciplines? How can manifestos serve, in the words of Bruno Latour (2010: 473), ‘Not as a war cry... but rather as a warning’ for the challenges ahead, bringing urgent causes to light and sketching new visions and pathways to alternative futures? Manifesto writing can act as a tonic to counter stagnation – it can generate radical new ideas by freeing us from the