What does it mean to speak of revolution today? Not a rupture, but a process: uncertain, plural, unfolding through language and everyday shifts. Change resists spectacle: it emerges through hesitation and dialogue, quietly reshaping what can be thought, said, and lived. Long before it ever becomes visible in the streets.
On April 22nd, in a setting that—luckily—felt more like an open conversation than a formal academic event, Talkin’bout (a) Revolution unfolded as something resistant to spectacle. No ambitious declarations, no rhetorical fireworks: just a layered attempt to sit with a question that has haunted history, yet feels strangely unresolved today. What does it actually mean to speak of revolution now?
The panel did not try to define revolution as a dramatic rupture or an epic moment. Instead, it approached it soberly, as something ongoing, and difficult to recognize while it is happening. If anything, revolutions rarely announce themselves: they accumulate, even hesitate; they take shape in language before they appear in the streets.
Moderated by Prof. Fochesato, the discussion brought together two speakers whose perspectives—though rooted in diverse disciplines—unexpectedly converged into one intuition: revolution is less a singular event than a condition of thinking, speaking, and living differently.
Filippo Barbera, economic sociologist at the University of Turin, opened with a kind of disclaimer: “I am not an expert on revolutions.” The statement—whether strategic or sincere—quickly revealed itself to be not a limitation, but rather a method: by refusing to occupy a position of authority, he leaned into a framework where knowledge itself becomes contested and collective. His starting point disrupted one of the most persistent assumptions about revolution: that it develops along a single, linear trajectory. We tend to imagine revolutions as stories with clear beginnings, decisive conflicts, and definitive, precise outcomes. A before and an after. A system replaced by another. But what if this narrative is misleading?
Drawing on the idea of pluriverse, revolutions happen neither in one place, nor in one way. They emerge across multiple fronts, through overlapping struggles, via both visible and invisible processes. This shift has consequences: it means that moments that are typically overlooked—the hesitations, the compromises, the conversations—are not minor in revolution but constitutive of it. Change does not only lie in outcomes; it is already present in the uncertain processes that precede them. Revolutions, Barbera argued, unfold under conditions of high uncertainty: we do not know in advance what they will produce, nor whether they will succeed according to the goals that initially moved them. Yet, paradoxically, this uncertainty does not paralyze action—it demands it. In this sense, revolutions are experimentalism: they are less about executing a plan than about learning through real engagement, which might also mean disagreements. If none has privileged access to truth, then revolution cannot be guided by a single, authoritative vision. It must emerge from a plurality of voices that challenge and reshape others: knowledge is not something possessed a priori, but something produced through negotiation. Still, this view remains debated, since many theories of revolution have always relied on the assumption that a small group, claiming to know “the truth,” should lead.
Language, unsurprisingly, has a central role in this process. Words have a performative power: they actively participate in forming the world; they act “less like cameras and more like engines.” However, if language produces effects beyond our control, then transformation is never fully deliberate. It can emerge from unexpected appropriations, from marginalized groups reusing dominant frameworks in ways that alter their meaning and impact. Change, in this sense, is as much about reinterpretation as it is about invention.
If Barbera’s intervention disrupted the structure of revolution, Carlotta Cossutta’s contribution reoriented its meaning from within political philosophy. As a researcher at the University of Milan specialized in feminist theory, she approached revolution not as a historical anomaly but as a conceptual problem—one that has evolved significantly over time. Revolution, Cossutta reminded the audience, historically referred to the cyclical movement of celestial bodies to return to a starting point. Only later did it acquire its modern political connotation of radical rupture and transformation. Hence, is revolution about breaking away from the past, or about returning to foundational principles?
Instead of giving a single answer, she proposed three dimensions through which revolution can be understood: changes in subjects, in knowledge production, and in configurations of power. Traditional accounts often rely on the idea of unified classes acting collectively. Though feminism has been described as one of the most successful revolutions of the 20th century, it does not fit the classical template: the very “category” of women is internally subdivided under many axes of identity. Feminism did not seize state power, did not produce a definitive moment of rupture. Instead, it still operates as an ongoing project, marked by victories, but also internal tensions and exclusions. Intersectionality, crucially, stresses the significance of multiple and overlapping identities, providing a framework for the view that revolution is not driven by a single, unified perspective.
Political action is transformative not only of external conditions but of the subjects who engage in it—acting with others, individuals discover aspects of themselves that are inaccessible in isolation. Revolution is not merely about changing the world: it is also about becoming different within it. But this process is inherently unpredictable. Outcomes of revolution rarely align perfectly with its initial intentions. This is not necessarily a failure: it is just the reflection of the open-ended nature of collective action, where new possibilities emerge through interaction rather than being fully predetermined.
Power is not solely something to be overthrown: it is something visible through resistance. We tend to comply with rules without fully understanding them, but it is only when we push against them that their structure, and our position within them, becomes evident. What about backlashes? If revolution alters existing power relations, it inevitably threatens those who benefit from them: hence, resistance is not only a force for change, but also a trigger for counter-reactions. This dynamic tension is reflected by the persistence of inequality, even after significant gains. Revolutions might transform laws and public discourse, yet they rarely dismantle all the structures that sustain power, because those persist given the reluctance of those who perceive equality not as progress, but as a loss.
One of the most interesting moments of the discussion emerged around the question of measurement. Can the outcomes of revolution be evaluated? Or should revolution be understood as something that defies quantification? Barbera pragmatically said that measurement depends on perspective: there exists no objective metric that can capture the complexity of transformation. Different frameworks will produce different assessments, each highlighting certain aspects and obscuring others. Cossutta offered a more historical reflection: she suggested that the success of a revolution may lie in its capacity to expand the horizon of possibility, rather than in its immediate outcomes. So, once this possibility becomes thinkable, it cannot be entirely undone. Revolutions generate echoes: they create conditions for further transformations, even when they appear to have failed; they shift what can be imagined, and therefore what can be pursued.
Whether revolutions require a specific initiating event remained deliberately unanswered. Barbera resisted the idea of purely external causes, since change stems from within: a growing awareness that something is not working, even in the absence of a clear alternative. Cossutta framed revolution as the intersection of multiple factors, none of which can be isolated as singular cause: the search for a definitive trigger may obscure the more diffuse processes through which change occurs.
Maybe this was the most important thread of the panel: a refusal to simplify. Revolution is not a moment but a movement; it is often invisible and can unfold through shifts. It is as much about questioning as it is about acting, as much about uncertainty as it is about conviction.
And yet, despite—or perhaps because of—this complexity, the discussion never felt abstract. It suggested that revolution might already be closer than we might think. A series of small, cumulative reorientations. A decision to speak, to listen, to imagine, to live differently.
Revolutions do not begin when people take to the streets: they begin earlier, in the moment when continuing as before becomes more difficult than changing direction.
Not a barricade. Not necessarily a riot. Sometimes just a shift.
I'm Allegra, a 3rd year BIG Student. I am passionate about writing and photography, trying to hold on to what might otherwise slip away, like details, expressions, and fragments of reality that deserve to be truly seen. I am a huge techno fan and activist ... so if you don't find me in class or studying, it's because I'm either dancing or advocating for social justice or human rights!
