Kids interview Cabu
by Charactorium · Cabu (1938 — 2015) · Visual Arts · Society · 4 min read
Two middle school students, on a field trip, push open the door of a workshop cluttered with notebooks and pencils. A man with large round glasses greets them with a smile, a sheet already covered in sketches in his hand. His name is Cabu, and he has agreed to answer all their questions.
—Did you already draw when you were little, at school?
Oh yes, my child, I never stopped. I was born Jean Cabut in Châlons-sur-Marne, in 1938. In class, I filled my notebooks with caricatures of my teachers and classmates. It made the whole class laugh, but the teachers a little less! At 16, in 1954, a Reims newspaper, L'Union, already published my drawings. You see, my last name is Cab-ut. I took the first letters, and that made “Cabu.” A pencil, a notebook, and I was already sketching everything that moved around me.
—You went to war in Algeria? What was it like?
Yes, I was twenty. I was sent to do my military service in Algeria, from 1958 to 1960, right in the middle of the war. I won't lie to you: I came back changed, heavy-hearted. Over there, I saw up close what the army does to men, the fear, the stupidity of orders you have to follow without thinking. So I became an antimilitarist — that means someone who refuses war and the barracks mentality. For the rest of my life, I drew against generals and their medals. My pencil became my weapon against war.
—Is it true that you invented the word “beauf”?
Yes indeed, it's one of my characters! In 1978, I drew a fellow I called “Le Beauf.” The word comes from “beau-frère,” you know, your sister's husband you meet at big family meals. My Beauf is the self-satisfied average Frenchman, a bit racist, a bit stupid. And the funniest thing is that the word caught on! People started using it everywhere. Today, it's even written in dictionaries. Imagine: a little drawing of nothing that becomes a word used throughout France.
—Did you know someone like your Beauf in real life?
Oh, I ran into Beaufs everywhere! On the metro, at the café, maybe in my own family. That's why it rang true. One day, I explained what he really was. I said: “The beauf is the opposite of culture, the opposite of generosity, the opposite of tolerance. It's the average Frenchman at his worst.” You see, I wasn't mocking to be mean. I was mocking stupidity so that we might be a little ashamed of it and try to be better.
Laughing at a flaw is already beginning to fight it.
—Did you draw on TV for children? What was that?
Yes, and I loved it! From 1978 to 1988, I appeared on a children's show called Récré A2. I drew live, in front of the camera, on a large slate. The drawing appeared before the children's eyes, line by line. I even had a funny little character, “Le Dodu.” And I sketched the show's hosts to make them laugh. You know, children like you discovered me that way, on that slate, before even knowing that I also drew serious things in newspapers.
—What was it like drawing live, were you nervous?
A little, yes, at first my heart was pounding! Drawing live leaves no room for error: no eraser, no second try. The line has to be right the first time. But I was used to it, you see, because on the street I was already sketching everything very fast. On my TV slate, I would draw a few lines, and bam, a face appeared. The children on the set would open their eyes wide. It's magical for them, a drawing born in seconds. For me, it made me happy to share that.
Drawing isn't just for museums; it's alive.
—How did you come up with an idea for a drawing every day?
Ah, that was my work every morning! I got up early and read the newspapers, several of them, looking for current events that would inspire me. Then I went down into the Paris metro, notebook in hand, and I sketched people, faces, scenes. “Sketching” means drawing someone very quickly from life. In the afternoon, at the editorial office, I had to finish before the “deadline” — the moment when the newspaper is closed for printing. We worked under pressure, but among friends. A good idea can come just from watching a woman grumbling in the metro.
—Why did you draw Muhammad, even though it could cause offense?
You ask a brave question. In 2006, our newspaper, Charlie Hebdo, republished caricatures of the prophet Muhammad. Some cried “blasphemy” — that is, an image deemed disrespectful toward a religion. I drew the front page: Muhammad in tears, saying “It's hard to be loved by jerks.” You see, I wasn't targeting ordinary believers. I was mocking those who want to ban everything and spread fear. In a free country, you should be able to laugh at everything, even religions, just as you laugh at kings and the powerful.
—Were you afraid of getting into trouble with the law?
A little, of course. We were taken to court over those drawings. Imagine: standing before judges because you made a drawing! But in 2007, the court ruled in our favor, we were acquitted. That means we were declared innocent. The judges recalled something precious: “freedom of expression,” the right to say, write, and draw your opinions. For me, a drawing is never a crime. I have always thought that drawing is a weapon. You don't fight with flowers; you fight with pencils.
A drawing is never a crime.
—If we met you on the street, how would we recognize you?
Easy, you'd spot me right away! I had a bowl haircut, straight across, and big round glasses on my nose. People said I looked like a big teenager, even as I got older. Always simply dressed, no fuss. And above all, a pencil never far from my hand. You know, what I'd like you to remember is this: look closely at the world around you, sketch it, laugh at what's wrong. A drawing can make thousands of people think. It's gentle and powerful at the same time. Keep drawing, too.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Cabu's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.