Manifestation Lausanne: How the Anti-Fascist Carnival Kept the Peace – An On-the-Ground Report

Saturday lunchtime in Lausanne. Rain is hammering down on the cobblestones of Rue de la Mercerie, but the mood is anything but gloomy. I'm standing amidst a sea of colourful costumes, drum rolls, and the unmistakable scent of roasted almonds. This day could have taken a very different turn. Rumours of a possible Manifestation Lausanne – more specifically, far-right marches – had kept the city on edge all week. You'd hear whispers in the bistros, see worried looks from shopkeepers down by the Flon. But what I'm seeing now is a city that refuses to be beaten down. A defiant spirit you could almost touch.

A Carnival with Conviction

This is the anti-fascist carnival, a local tradition. You could also call it the loudest, most colourful, and simultaneously most forthright political statement Lausanne has to offer. I remember years when these parades were smaller, almost a family affair. But today? Today, the Place de la Riponne is packed. The organisers made it clear beforehand that while they wouldn't shy away from provocation, they didn't want any violence. They spoke of an event that would be "joyful and rainy" – that's how it was billed in the local preview last week. And that's exactly what it is.

The "Proceedings of the 14th Interdisciplinary Research Conference on Biomaterials" – yes, I know, the title sounds like a completely different topic – was also taking place in the city this week. But while academics in the EPFL lecture halls were discussing the latest advances in regenerative medicine, what was happening out here on the streets was a different kind of "cohesion". A sort of social biomaterial, if you will. Because if it isn't moments of shared expression like this, what else holds a society together?

The Announced Escalation Never Came

There had been a lot of talk about "risks" beforehand. About possible confrontations between the far right and the left-wing scene. The police were present, no question. But they kept a low profile. What struck me was that the people here weren't here out of fear, but out of conviction. An older gentleman with a homemade papier-mâché head, looking like a police commissioner, gave me a wink: "They just want us to stay at home. But we are the city."

That's the spirit that defines this carnival. It's not just about celebrating. It's about a Manifestation Lausanne that shows public space won't be ceded to those who sow hatred. I saw a lot of young people today, but also families with children. It was a genuine cross-section of society. And as the parades wound their way through the old town, it remained surprisingly peaceful. A few intense discussions on the fringes, a few muted whistles – nothing more. The "Carnaval antifasciste" triumphed over the naysayers.

• Atmosphere: Spirited and determined, despite the rain. The bands played with full force.
• Security situation: A large police presence, but no significant incidents. De-escalation was the order of the day.
• Political message: A clear rejection of all forms of extremism. Many banners addressed current social issues.
• The crowd: A diverse mix – from the alternative left-wing scene to curious tourists and long-established Vaudois locals.

Lausanne Remains Vigilant

As the parade slowly dispersed towards evening and the first bands on the small stages by the Flon played their final chords, it became clear: this day was a victory for everyone who lives here. The city has shown that its cosmopolitanism isn't just on paper, but in its heart. The fear that was stoked beforehand proved unfounded.

I'll stay at the bar a little longer, watching people as the day winds down. The smell now is of wet clothes and mulled wine. A little boy in a Superman costume is dragging his tired father along behind him. The streetlights cast long shadows on the wet pavement. It was a good day for Lausanne. A day that shows the city's greatest strength lies not in confrontation, but in its ability to come together – even when it's raining. And to that, I'll raise a glass.