May Day came and went last Friday in the City of Light, prompting me to reflect on its meaning here in France and in my native Japan.

On May 1, the city slows, but not quietly. Union banners stretch across boulevards, marches move through the streets, and the scent of muguet ¡ª lily of the valley ¡ª drifts from roadside stalls. May Day here is not a footnote. It is visible, contested and shared ¡ª and, since 1947, a national holiday enshrined in law.

For a Japanese observer who has spent many years in France and is again in Paris this spring, the contrast with home is striking. In Japan, May 1 passes with little notice beyond small gatherings of union members and activists. May Day exists, but at the margins.