How can the arts contribute to freedom of expression?

Mike van Graan

The programme for the PEN World Voices Festival taking place in New York at this time states that a key mission of the Festival “is to encourage people to speak out against censorship and condemn the suppression of freedom of expression everywhere”. The three signatories to this introduction – Laszlo Jakab Orsos, the Director of the Festival; Salman Rushdie, the chairperson of the festival steering committee and K. Anthony Appiah, the President of the PEN American Centre that hosts the Festival - further state “we firmly believe in literature as a key weapon in fighting this battle.”

South Africa celebrates 17 years of democracy this week, 17 years of the abolition of censorship boards, 17 years of freedom of expression guaranteed in the country’s Constitution which states: “everyone has the right to freedom of expression which includes a. freedom of the press and other media b. freedom to receive and impact information or ideas c. freedom of artistic creativity and d. academic freedom and freedom of scientific research.”

As part of the PEN Festival, an excerpt of my play Green Man Flashing was staged as a reading at the Martin E. Segal Theatre and was followed by a discussion.

The play is set six weeks before South Africa’s second elections in 1999. Gabby Anderson, a one-time political activist now working in government, alleges she has been raped by her boss, a high-profile government minister with an impeccable anti-apartheid struggle record and who plays a key role in quelling violence between the African National Congress (ANC) and the Inkatha Freedom Party in his native KwaZulu Natal. If the allegations go public, it could hurt the ruling party in the elections, lead to a high number of deaths in election-related violence and compromise international investment. The ANC sends a two-person delegation to Anderson to convince her not to go through with the charges.

Rather than the stark us-them, black-white, goodies and baddies binary oppositions of much of the theatre staged in the apartheid era, Green Man Flashing seeks to explore some of the moral contradictions, the racial ironies and the political complexities of a society in transition. It juxtaposes individual human rights against the greater good (albeit as defined by those in power) and the pandemic of gender violence against political violence, challenging the audience to think about their moral positions in a society struggling with political and moral ambivalences.

When the play was first produced in 2004 with subsequent seasons in 2005 (some time before Jacob Zuma - now South Africa's president - was charged with rape), I placed books in the foyers of the theatres so that audience members could articulate their responses to the play. The most recurring – and for me, disturbing – comment was that this was a “brave play”, “a courageous work”, the implication being that dealing with such themes in post-apartheid South Africa was somehow considered to be daring, edgy and even dangerous.

Why would this be the case, I wondered, when we were ten years into our democracy; when, in the apartheid era, some of us were arrested for staging a piece of street theatre that constituted “an illegal gathering”, others had their works banned and still others had been detained without trial for challenging the apartheid state through their artistic creativity. Why should writers be considered “brave” in exercising freedom of creative expression under a democratically elected government that had sworn to uphold a Constitution guaranteeing human rights?

At that time of course, Thabo Mbeki was president of the country and it was a period when the ruling party was very sensitive to any kind of criticism, where those who dared to criticise – no matter how legitimate the criticism - were dismissed as racists (or ultra-leftists if they were not white), as people who simply could not accept a black government. It was a time when self-censorship was rife.

Often, international focus is on those countries where conditions are so repressive that we marvel at and celebrate those artists and writers who challenge the status quo at great financial, personal and even physical costs to themselves. This is as it should be. But sometimes, even within democratic countries, there is a need for writers, artists and musicians to speak truth to power, to challenge new political dogmas, to provide a voice for those on the underside of history.

Democracies are generally works-in-progress and there will always be attempts to restrict freedom of expression whether through overt political censorship, withdrawal of economic resources, intimidation or other means by political authorities or those who occupy positions of leadership in some institution, community or cause.

While the general view is that the arts require conditions for freedom of expression, literature, theatre, music, film, visual arts, etc are also means for creating and expanding such conditions where they do not exist or are under threat. The best way to ensure artistic freedom may simply be to practice it.

NOTES
1. The views expressed in this column are entirely those of the writer and are not necessarily representative of any of the organisations in which he is involved.
2. This column may be forwarded by the recipient to any other interested party, and may be reproduced by any publication or website at no charge, provided that writer is acknowledged.
3. To engage with the content of this column or to provide feedback, go to www.mikevangraan.wordpress.com


Mike van Graan is the Secretary General of Arterial Network, a continent-wide network of artists, activists and creative enterprises active in the African creative sector and its contribution to development, human rights and democracy on the continent. He is also the Executive Director of the African Arts Institute (AFAI), a South African NGO based in Cape Town that harnesses local expertise, resources and markets in the service of Africa’s creative sector. He is considered to be one of his country’s leading contemporary playwrights.

For further information, see www.arterialnetwork.org, www.africanartsinstitute.org.za and www.mikevangraan.co.za

 

Should artists accept “dirty money”?

Mike van Graan

A number of things strike one on entering Bamako, the capital of Mali. The first is the majestic Niger River responsible for much of the green in an otherwise dusty, gravelly, semi-desert city. Another is the industriousness of the people in an obviously poor country, as everyone is trying to generate even a meagre income selling mangoes, chickens and home-made furniture, or Chinese-manufactured T-shirts, electricity adapters and slip slops. Then there are some incongruously tall buildings and hotels, a number of the latter bearing the name “Libya Hotels”. One garish building is named after the Libyan dictator, Gaddafi, who has funded this – still empty - structure to house the Malian cabinet. There are two bridges across the Niger with a third being built by the Chinese.

As one walks through the market, there are hand-made posters in defence of Gaddafi, and in conversation with some of the locals, it is clear that there is much sympathy for the one time, wannabe-head of the United States of Africa.

Mali is ranked in the top half of the Mo Ibrahim Index on Governance in Africa and shares second spot for the best media freedom in Africa. But Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world with an average income of $680 per year and a ranking of 160 (out of 179 countries) on the Human Development Index. Should a country like Mali that is making great strides in human rights and freedoms – but which is relatively poor and in need of development assistance – accept aid from countries with extremely poor records in human rights and media freedom?

This is a similar question vexing some artists and arts organisations: should they accept “dirty money” that contradicts their own values of freedom of expression and fundamental human rights? Funding is often used to buy credibility, to buy political or other influence, to boost an image in need of a makeover, or simply to co-opt and mute critical thought and practice.

So, should arts organisations, cultural institutions and individual artists – given that they often struggle to survive and are more often than not in need of funding – accept support from countries with poor human rights records and that might even suppress artistic freedom in their own countries? How far back does one go to determine whether money is “dirty”? Previous Cultural Weapons have highlighted how European countries like France, the United Kingdom and Germany are increasingly compromising fundamental human rights and principles of cultural diversity, particularly with regard to immigrant communities. So, should funding be accepted from these countries? Is their funding not rooted in the repressive colonial period, partly in contemporary neo-colonial relationships and their current trade with countries that do not have exemplary human rights records?

And how many western countries that profess support for human rights and democracy, such as the USA, are not guilty of direct or indirect abuse of human rights whether through the torture of prisoners, illegal wars (not sanctioned by the United Nations) or propping up repressive regimes that serve their interests?

But if government funding may be dirty, what of funding from the private sector, from those that trade with and so sustain governments that abuse human rights, or who generate profits through weapons that are used for war against citizens, or through environmental destruction or simply through highly exploitative labour practices or who put profits before people such as drug companies who deny cheaper life-saving drugs to people who need them? Should funding be accepted from such companies? And what of more “harmless” funding from tobacco companies or wine companies that impact directly or indirectly on health and social problems? Should artists accept funding from the lottery that some regard as another form of tax, especially on the poor?

The reality is that it is very difficult, if nigh impossible, to find “clean money”, that in a world as structurally and historically inequitable as ours, with the global free market perpetuating these inequities, it is likely that all funding is tainted in some way or another. So then, is funding from any source morally acceptable, simply because it is unlikely to find funding that is not morally compromised through its generation, its source, its role or the associated strings?

Prof Es’kia Mphahlele, a highly respected South African writer and community activist who passed away a few years ago once said to the effect of “the closer dirty money gets to me, the cleaner it becomes”.

His was a pragmatic approach, one that did not see the world in binary opposites, but as a morally complex labyrinth. If the money is used to achieve a good end or a morally sound objective, then that would be acceptable in terms of this approach.

Sometimes, it is those with options, those with resources, those in relatively privileged positions who may make more “moral” choices so that a more wealthy country may not accept funding from Gaddafi, but a country like Mali – also trying to assert greater economic and political independence from its former colonial master - has fewer options. Similarly, artists and arts organisations with greater funder or income diversity are more able to adopt morally superior positions than those with less access to international or other funding sources. (Not only do the rich have more options, but they can also be more opportunistic, such as the artists from the West who were paid huge amounts to perform at a Gaddafi function, only to rush to return or donate the money to charity after he turned his guns on protesting Libyans).

The locals in Mali speak of how the construction of the building to house the country’s cabinet ministers is often halted by Gaddafi when he is unhappy with some internal Malian policy or international public position that Mali takes. (One can but wonder about the dynamics and varying interests of the current AU delegation to Libya that includes the Malian President).

In a complex global economic and political order where there are few absolutes with respect to human rights and only degrees of respect for such universal values, it is unlikely that one can adopt a one-size-fits-all policy about whom to accept funding from, and who not. It would appear to be a question of whether the individual artist or the organisation could live with the written and unspoken strings that come with such funding. Would an association with the source of funding compromise one’s image or the pursuit of one’s core objectives? Would it compromise one’s ability to “speak truth to power” and be a form of co-option or lead to self-censorship? Will it compromise solidarity with artists in the country of the source of funding?

Generally, there is a contract between a donor and the recipient spelling out the terms and conditions of the funding arrangements, and articulating the expectations of the donor. Perhaps - at least for organisations concerned about harming their image and reputations with funding from potentially compromising sources – recipients should draft a document that would form part of the contract, outlining their own values and principles, and the terms upon which such funding is accepted i.e. that the organisation will not change its principles, values, objectives or forsake its right to speak truth to power, even if such “power” includes the donor.


NOTES
1. The views expressed in this column are entirely those of the writer and are necessarily representative of any of the organisations in which he is involved.
2. This column may be forwarded by the recipient to any other interested party, and may be reproduced by any publication or website at no charge, provided that writer is acknowledged.
3. To engage with the content of this column or to provide feedback, go to www.mikevangraan.wordpress.com


Mike van Graan is the Secretary General of Arterial Network, a continent-wide network of artists, activists and creative enterprises active in the African creative sector and its contribution to development, human rights and democracy on the continent. He is also the Executive Director of the African Arts Institute (AFAI), a South African NGO based in Cape Town that harnesses local expertise, resources and markets in the service of Africa’s creative sector. He is considered to be one of his country’s leading contemporary playwrights.

For further information, see www.arterialnetwork.org, www.africanartsinstitute.org.za and www.mikevangraan.co.za


 

Are artists part of “the problem”?

Mike van Graan


During this week, Juliano Mer-Khamis, the founder and director of the Freedom Theatre in Jenin, Palestine, was assassinated. Shot dead in his car by masked gunmen. One tribute describes him as someone who was “totally committed to his belief that experience with art is a means to exercise freedom”.

Also this week, one of the most well-known (and outspoken) artists in China – Ai Weiwei – was detained by his government, and according to reports, like dozens of bloggers and dissidents arrested in the last few months, his name has just about been removed from the Chinese internet.

Meanwhile, in Cameroon, the musician Lapiro de Mbanga is to be released this week after serving three years in jail for his song “Constipated Constitution”, which was critical of the political status quo.

Are these artists exceptions? Or are they the ones we come to know about through international campaigns highlighting their bravery and consequent persecution?

Artists often have the image of being “other”, of not being “normal”, and are variously dismissed, marginalised or tolerated for being “creative”, for thinking differently, for not being conformist. And yet, for all the sometimes aspirational, sometimes “cool” status of being “unconventional”, artists – generally – can be pretty conservative, and, unless there is a counterhegemonic movement that has reached some kind of tipping point in which artists can find protection, we artists tend to align our interests with those of the status quo. Of course, we might think critically, we might even voice our criticisms around dinner tables, in pubs and in our dressing rooms, but when it comes to really speaking truth to power, and to acting it out in our creative work, we’re generally a cowardly lot!

Some would argue that artists are no different to other human beings and also have needs to pay the rent, put food on the table, pay school fees and deal with rising fuel costs. Why then, should artists be obliged to do and say things that could alienate those in power or those with resources or their primary middle-to-upper class audiences and markets who help to sustain their tenuous lifestyles?

No-one seeks to be a martyr for art or for freedom of expression or to go to jail or to embrace – relative - poverty by challenging those responsible for perpetuating injustices and inequities. But then, who will speak truth to power? What is the role of artists within any society? Is it any more than entertaining and giving pleasure to elites? To seek affirmation from audiences, critics, buyers and awards judges? To produce art of technical excellence, and to deliver it professionally?

The production and distribution of art does not happen in a social vacuum, nor on an island with no context. Theatre, music, dance, visual art, literature and film are created and distributed in national and global contexts characterised by vast inequities between rich and poor; by rabid discrimination on the basis of nationality, gender, sexual orientation, education, age and a host of other factors; by ongoing and massive environmental destruction and by violence – institutional, military and criminal – being wreaked on human life and dignity. Artists inhabit, and are influenced by this world. Whether we recognise it or not, our creative work, the choices we make about what we will say and how we will say it, our decisions about where our work will be shown (and thus who will have access to it) - these all contribute in some way to maintaining, reinforcing or challenging an economic, political and social status quo.

Embedded in our creative work, and in the institutions through which we distribute our work, are values, ideas, worldviews, ideological and moral assumptions that contribute (whether through silence or overt expression) in multi-layered ways to perpetuating or challenging hegemonic discourses and behaviour.

As artists we are taught that the arts are a reflection of our society, that the role of art is to hold up a mirror to our society. If we evaluate our work over the last number of years, what does our art say about our society, about the world we inhabit, about us? Whose stories do we tell? To whose music do we dance? Whose images do we put to canvas?

There are many arts-related organisations that do exemplary work: monitoring and exposing the suppression of freedom of expression; providing refuge to artists in exile; fighting for artists’ mobility against narrow nationalist economic and security concerns….But these are often led by arts managers and cultural policy activists rather than artists. My experience of artists is that they care little for matters beyond their own micro artistic practice, that they fail to read and try to understand the broader national and global context in which they work and the dialectic between their work (and the challenges they encounter) and the macro economic, political and social forces that impact directly or indirectly on the production and distribution of their work. Artists care little for cultural policies and make no effort to interrogate the international conventions and regional treaties that their governments sign, so that they have very limited understanding of both the possibilities (and responsibilities) that these bring. Artists are less likely to challenge government than to seek the blessing of political parties whom they believe will protect and advance their micro interests, even when decades of history prove otherwise.

It may seem unfair to lay a huge burden of “artivisim” on the shoulders of a sector that genuinely struggles with finding decent and regular work, but the truth is that the arts sector is a relatively privileged one.

The question is: in whose interests will we use our skills, our knowledge, our talents, our public profiles, our access to the media, our networks, our resources and our opportunities? How would the masses of people on the underside of contemporary history view artists? As part of their problem?


NOTES
1. The views expressed in this column are entirely those of the writer and are necessarily representative of any of the organisations in which he is involved.
2. This column may be forwarded by the recipient to any other interested party, and may be reproduced by any publication or website at no charge, provided that writer is acknowledged.
3. To engage with the content of this column or to provide feedback, go to www.mikevangraan.wordpress.com


Mike van Graan is the Secretary General of Arterial Network, a continent-wide network of artists, activists and creative enterprises active in the African creative sector and its contribution to development, human rights and democracy on the continent. He is also the Executive Director of the African Arts Institute (AFAI), a South African NGO based in Cape Town that harnesses local expertise, resources and markets in the service of Africa’s creative sector. He is considered to be one of his country’s leading contemporary playwrights.

For further information, see www.arterialnetwork.org, www.africanartsinstitute.org.za and www.mikevangraan.co.za
 

Development as a destroyer of Culture

Mike van Graan
The Government of Uganda has decided that the Uganda National Museum - the country’s only national museum - will be demolished to make way for a 60-storey East Africa Trade Centre. The proposed “ultramodern” building – which politicians suggest will take 3-5 years to complete but which will take closer to 30 years according to civil society activists and commentators familiar with such Ugandan projects - will house the Ministry of Tourism, Trade and Industry, commercial retail outlets and office space. Oh, and two floors will be allocated to a new national museum.

Established in 1908, the Museum is more than one-hundred years old and is thus itself a heritage site.

This is a classic case of “development” versus “culture”, in much the same way as “development” has often destroyed the natural environment in the name of economic growth and social progress. For those who advocate “culture as a vector of development”, this particular case presents a major challenge, both philosophically and strategically.

Increasingly, “culture as a vector of development” has come to mean the catalysing and support of the creative industries as economic drivers, as job-creation mechanisms, as generators of the financial resources that will be used to address major social and human development needs in the areas of health, education and the eradication of poverty, all important in the pursuit of the Millennium Development Goals.

This is particularly relevant to Uganda whose per capita income is a mere $460 and which is ranked a lowly 143 on the Human Development Index.

What the Ugandan government is saying is that the Ugandan National Museum – a national heritage site and the primary repository of the nation’s historical artefacts - is not a vector of development in that it is poorly attended by locals and tourists; it does not generate income; it serves no real economic purpose, and, if anything, it consumes limited public resources. From their point of view then, it is a no-brainer to demolish the museum in favour of a building that will generate substantial income through more commercially viable uses, and which could then very well contribute to economic, social and human development in Uganda.

By the same logic, the Ugandan government can next make a move on the National Theatre. Why bother to have a National Theatre – even if it is better used than the National Museum – when the economy can benefit more from a shopping mall or prestigious office block or apartment building in its place?

Therein lies the philosophical challenge to the “culture as a vector of development” proponents i.e. by making the case for the arts primarily on the basis of their economic contribution, the corollary is that where cultural institutions or the arts do not make an economic contribution or make an economic contribution that is substantially less than another option, then politicians and bureaucrats feel justified in destroying culture in favour of a better “development” option.

And yet, the proposed 60-storey building does not simply represent the destruction of culture in the form of the possible demolition of the National Museum; in truth, it represents a culture that is different, even foreign to the one represented by the Museum. The 60-storey building represents a culture of materialism, an elitist culture of ostentation, a globalised culture with a building and the values that it represents that could be in any major city of the world. The National Museum on the other hand – the one destined for destruction – is about Ugandan identity; unique Ugandan history; values, traditions and worldviews that are peculiar to Uganda, a building and content that celebrates cultural diversity as envisaged by UNESCO’s Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions.

Uganda is not a signatory to the Convention. Not yet anyway.

And herein lies the strategic challenge to proponents of “culture as a vector of development”: to mobilise an international movement to prevent the destruction of the National Ugandan Museum, thus preserving cultural diversity in a globalised world, and contributing to a richer understanding of the relationship between culture and social, human and economic development.



NOTES
1. The views expressed in this column are entirely those of the writer and are necessarily representative of any of the organisations in which he is involved.
2. This column may be forwarded by the recipient to any other interested party, and may be reproduced by any publication or website at no charge, provided that writer is acknowledged.
3. To engage with the content of this column or to provide feedback, go to www.mikevangraan.wordpress.com


Mike van Graan is the Secretary General of Arterial Network, a continent-wide network of artists, activists and creative enterprises active in the African creative sector and its contribution to development, human rights and democracy on the continent. He is also the Executive Director of the African Arts Institute (AFAI), a South African NGO based in Cape Town that harnesses expertise, resources and markets in the service of Africa’s creative sector. He is considered to be one of his country’s leading contemporary playwrights.

For further information, see www.arterialnetwork.org, www.africanartsinstitute.org and www.mikevangraan.co.za