Running from history doesn't work

If money talks, then the euro tells us there’s no escaping the past.

Why a big redesign?

Here’s Christine Lagarde, president of the European Central Bank (ECB):

“They are a tangible and visible symbol that we stand together in Europe, particularly in times of crisis…. After 20 years, it’s time to review the look of our banknotes to make them more relatable to Europeans of all ages and backgrounds.”

And here’s Fabio Panetta, an ECB executive board member:

“We want to develop euro banknotes that European citizens can identify with and will be proud to use as their money.”

So, the current design isn’t “relatable.” Many Europeans can’t “identify” with whatever the euro attempts to communicate. People aren’t especially “proud” of the euro’s vision (or lack thereof).

But this doesn’t come as a great surprise — to me, anyway.

Cézanne is too French, don’t you think?

Back in 2004, when I was a staffer at National Geographic, I wrote a very short piece about the (then) new design of the euro.

Gone were the images from the old national currencies — Marconi on the Italian lira, the Brothers Grimm on the German mark, Cézanne on the French franc — because all those guys were too… national. Too parochial. Too specific. Too tribal. And that wouldn’t work for a transnational economic union that was trying desperately to distance itself from the battles and bloodshed of Europe’s not-so-distant past.

So instead of Marconi, Cézanne & friends, the new banknotes offered a gallery of generic bridges, windows, and portals intended to evoke certain historical eras without saying anything specific about what exactly happened in those eras. The less said about the past, the better, or so the European bankers had hoped.

In short: the 2004 euro design attempted to transcend history and leave the past behind. Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. But less than 20 years later, with the announcement of yet another redesign, the verdict seems to be: The bridges-and-windows-and-portals approach that ignored the historic narratives of Europe’s nation-states wasn’t relatable. It didn’t inspire. It expressed nothing worth remembering.

Our search for a usable past

Europeans don’t lack stories. They’re drowning in them (as we all are). But they do lack stories that deliver what the old nationalisms once did — pride, purpose, community, meaning, and a sense of self. (Hungary is giving the ol’ nationalism thing another shot, minus liberal democracy.)

I’ve argued for years that our hunger for stories is killing us. But I also believe that our hunger for Story might also save us if we choose one that unites instead of divides. A Story that says every human life is sacred. A Story that reminds us that wherever we’re all trying to go, we get there together… or not at all.

Best I can tell, there are only a few stories like that.