Archive: Issue No. 80, April 2004

Preface: Sean O'Toole's December 15, 2003 Editorial

How to sum up the year that has passed? Exiting 2003, I cannot say I am possessed with the same optimism with which I entered it. It is not the art-world that has occasioned this gloom. The conflagration in Iraq, characterised by its confusing unwinding, not to mention its lexicon of neologisms, has set a worrying tone.
While we celebrate the achievements of South African artists abroad, and indeed locally too, there appear to be dark, sightless undercurrents churning the waters, making things unpredictable. While African art practice has gained an undeniable 'currency' in the (mercantile) art centres of the world, particularly in view of the successes of shows such as 'The Short Century', 'Documenta XI' and 'Authentic/ Ex-Centric', my own optimism is nonetheless tempered by the reactionary worldview of the Neo-Conservatives, whose ideas already shape the political will of the world's most powerful nation. What real chance does meaningful pluralism (which includes acceptance of art from the periphery) have when it is pitted against the shock and awe of contemporary Western politics? Pluralism here is an important word to hold onto, a word that has immediate relevance to South Africa. The halcyon days of the 1990s are over. As we contemplate10 years of freedom, the more forthright amongst us promoting this nation as a model of pluralism, I must however admit to a nagging cynicism of the West's desire to truly engage the 'other', us.
Take New York, for instance. Following the cataclysm of 9/11, the city is rebuilding itself in its own image, the world's new tallest building due to be erected on the site of the deceased Twin Towers. Doubtlessly this mercantile symbol will cast a lengthy shadow - a very triumphant one at that. True, this is a rather forced reading of the new structure, but nonetheless legitimate.
Politics and global economics have always insinuated themselves into art practice. As South African artists look optimistically to greater gains in 2004, it is worth remembering that we have entered a new ideological era, one in which Africa is suddenly relevant again, not because of the exotic birdcalls of our artists but because the continent possesses black gold - oil.

This paper address several issues in general terms, that is, many of its arguments attempt to open a space for discussion, rather than lay out conclusive, evidence-based assertions. It simplifies complex topics such as capitalism and "The West," "in the spirit of seamless work and play," a process which aims to bring other voices into a dialogue where the issues can be explored more deeply.

Unpacking Pluralism

We must first unpack that word, pluralism. In pluralist societies, racial, ethnic and religious groups live together autonomously; the group's autonomy depends on the extent to which it can freely develop its culture and its interests. We must ask where and when pluralist societies have existed. Then, we can argue about relative peace and stability in this region or that, in that century or the other. But we will agree, they are extraordinarily rare; and very frail, if one has indeed existed at all. Pluralism is an ideal. One group always threatens the autonomy of another; and groups in South Africa are no different.

Idealism's Power

Ideals emerge from the imagination, they offer an alternative to the current state of affairs, and sometimes, when the ideal is powerful enough, and when the state of affairs is bad enough, people act to change the situation, and sometimes, they succeed. Dismissing the ideal of the Rainbow Nation has become fashionable for cynical Lefties.

They have not yet understood the difference between the fall of apartheid and the rise of the Rainbow Nation; the former, a set of concrete objectives, the latter, an ideal state of affairs. They also cannot see the very real, very beautiful, human weakness that underlie Rainbow Nation idealism. No one escapes sentimentalism, nostalgia, kitsch. Some indulge it more than others, but everyone's life requires it. Here, a few ignorant, tough-looking men will object, but we will ignore them.

Responsibility and Intellectual Fashion

"As we contemplate ten years of freedom, the more forthright among us promoting this nation as a model of pluralism..."

I hope that using words like pluralism does not distract us from who "we" are: "we" are those afforded the opportunity (through money, education, skin colour etc.) to contemplate ten years of freedom in a public forum. "Save us the guilt-trip," someone will shout. But feeling guilty is not the issue, or rather, it should no longer be the issue. Our capacity to analyse the contents of that guilt, that weakness, the frailty of what "we" call freedom, and the responsibility that accompanies this ability, are the issues.

Criticising the West's Orientalist project has also become fashionable. But we cannot afford any confusion on this point. The 'West' will never stop constructing "others." Those who continue to whine about this are not only na�ve, but also irresponsible. It is irresponsible to allow oneself to remain unaware of one's ideals, or to act as if this ideal in particular might be realised concretely. Therefore, any embrace of "meaningful pluralism," must begin with an awareness of the fact that "meaningful pluralism" can only exist in the hearts of right-minded people.

The 'Other' and the 'Reconstructive Spirit'

Although I do not have the solution, the following account will lend clarity to our discussion of responsibility. In The Fire Next Time James Baldwin explains the psychology underlying constructions of the "other":

"A vast amount of the energy that goes into what we call the Negro problem is produced by the white man's profound desire not to be judged by those who are not white, not to be seen as he is, and at the same time a vast amount of the white anguish is rooted in the white man's equally profound need to be seen as he is, to be released from the tyranny of his mirror. All of us know, whether or not we are able to admit it, that mirrors can only lie, that death by drowning is all that awaits one there. It is for this reason that love is so desperately sought and so cunningly avoided. Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know that we cannot live within. I use the word 'love' here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace, not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough, universal sense of quest and daring and growth." (1)

Initially, the language of this passage seems to disagree with the tone of our previous discussion. However, on closer inspection, we can see that it frames political issues in humanist terms. Recall Sean O'Toole's argument about the obstacles facing artistic production on the periphery.

This is where I agree, to a greater extent, with Mr. O'Toole's argument regarding pluralism's "immediate relevance" in South Africa. But I want to replace pluralism with another ideal, reconstruction; an ideal because, like reconciliation or pluralism, it is a project with no end. Baldwin's passage exemplifies what I will call the "reconstructive spirit."(2)

In his essay 'The Pale and Beyond: Rethinking Art in a Reconstructed Society, published in the 1997 Johannesburg Biennale catalogue, Ivor Powell argues that artistic production in South Africa has become preoccupied with deconstruction: "problems of self-definition, self-criticism of the structures of meaning, the cross-cultural power relations of the past and present."

"Cultural practice was and still is over-determined by the parole of power," which is understandable. Furthermore, "deconstructing and questioning the discourse of history is unquestionably valid and valuable in relation to the tenets of the new South African society." But, Powell asks, "Is this enough? Does [it] answer fully to the needs of the present time?"

(Here, someone might object: amnesia! Another whitey trying to move too quickly into (what they like to call) the 'new' South Africa. We may or may not agree on this point, but in my view, the argument is more difficult to dismiss than that.)

Powell's answer is that it doesn't answer fully to the present needs, no. A reconstructive project must accompany the deconstructive one.

Alison Kearney's The Taxonomy of the Portable Hawkers Museum provides a good example of the deconstructive project: it is a politically sensitive and theoretically elegant appropriation of museum power. The deconstruction is solid. However, the reconstructive question presents a problem: does the work reflect Kearney's experience of reading post-colonial theory more than it does her experience of walking in downtown Johannesburg?

In the reconstructive spirit, Powell calls for artists to step away from Conceptualism, to engage experience more directly; "to dive into the unknown and uncharted depths of reality in the making... explore possibilities opening up on the periphery of our vision." He presents the historical precedent: "what artists were able to do was appropriate the world as it was changing. They were able to own the worlds of materiality - but also of ideas and the spirit - that were opening up."

I want to suggest that we ought discuss what the shape and trajectory of a reconstructive epiphenomenon might be. It will be tempting to dismiss the distinction and claim that everyone is always "appropriating the world as it [changes]," but then we will need to argue about for what purposes artists appropriate and how they appropriate, which will require probing and unpacking specific examples.

Focusing on deconstruction and reconstruction might help clarify, or at least re-organise our discussion of artistic production and institutional transformation. One difficulty in this discussion is that "we" find it difficult to admit that it is not in our interest to change the status quo. One of you might advance an apocalyptic counter-argument that demonstrates the importance of re-balancing power for the sake of sustainability. Another might concede, but insist on working against our interests for the sake of a better world where fewer people suffer. I tend to agree with both.

We could cite Terrorism and Johannesburg's crime rate as evidence of the need for re-balancing power. Evidence supporting the second argument presents a problem, but it nevertheless offers a compelling mixture of utilitarianism and idealism. However, the problem of acting against one's interests remains.

Self-Interest and Representation

Perhaps this problem can help us understand more clearly why our Leftist friends so thoroughly enjoy debating the politics of representation. It allows them to avoid the problem of structural change. Current power structures work to their benefit. Any attempt from their (also, our) side must be treated with scrutiny. We need to be clear about the fact that creating more television programmes about black people, or commissioning more gay painters for the gallery makes everyone feel better, but it does not represent a structural change. Perhaps someone will argue that changes in the realm of representation can, or have, provoked structural changes. Again we'll need to look at concrete historical examples.

Silent Gestures from the Periphery

"Contemporary Western politics" threatens "meaningful Pluralism (which includes acceptance of art from the periphery)."

Here, specifics can provide clarity. The neo-conservative arrogance of the Bush Administration's foreign policy, for example, makes the political agenda clear in typical Texan-straight-talk: "the superiority of American power and American morality obliges us to protect Western civilisation from every democracy-hating rascal, in every cave, from Afghanistan, to North Korea, to France."

This is an oversimplified and perhaps reactionary way of saying, yes, of course, "contemporary Western politics" threatens that which emerges from the periphery. Remember the way that the dissenting voice emerging from France in the lead-up to the United States' invasion of Iraq was punished and eventually silenced. Powerful people respond in typical ways to whatever threatens their power. Keep in mind that, within South Africa's art world, "we" are the powerful people.

In On Violence, Hannah Arendt offers a useful definition of power: "It belongs to a group and remains in existence only so long as the group keeps together." Power and violence are opposite; violence occurs when power is being challenged, and when power is not challenged, relative peace. Furthermore, violence can break up a group's power, but it cannot keep a group together and therefore cannot help to maintain power. Robert Mugabe, for instance, has no power, only his group. And its power depends on people's choices, their fears, on how they estimate their best interests; these hold power in place.

Arendt's discussion focuses on hard power: guns, money, Molotov cocktails. How do these ideas translate to the realm of soft power, where media coverage, intellectual property, curatorial decisions, discursive battles and the little red dots beside artworks delineate power? Consider for a moment, that the sharpness of artworks produced and the volume and rigour of debates can operate as a loose metaphor for violence.

Power then, is more or less entrenched, in relation to the violence and critical potency of the debates (written/ published and oral) about artwork or institutional change. In a particular sector of the art world, the louder the debate, the more threatened the group holding power, the more silent, the more entrenched. Does this work as a loose metaphor? If not, why?

So, in the realm of hard power and geopolitics, people in the periphery act like al-Qaeda or the children of Soweto (1976) or the Zapatistas; in the realm of soft power and contemporary international art, people on the periphery act like Tracey Rose or Pat Mautloa, or Thembinkosi Goniwe; where both the centre and periphery are multi-dimensional, transforming spaces.

Pluralism, Meet Capitalism

Economics plays an important role in any discussion of power. Contemporary capitalism pulls that which is on the margin to the centre for consumption. Consider the suburban youngsters in Idaho wearing Ch&eacte; Guevara T-shirts. (Incidentally, there are now over 300,000 official Ch&eacte; websites, many of which offer clever quotations from people like Jean-Paul Sartre, saying things like, "Ch&eacte; was the most complete human being of our age." And, "Ch�, alive as they never wanted you to be.")

Consider hip-hop music in the United States: twenty years ago, it was being acted out on New York City's streets, an oral-tradition inherited from West African slaves; today, it is a multi-billion dollar industry.

But here, we must be careful. Our neo-conservative friends often use these examples to romanticise rags-to-riches stories and to offer proof of the "equality" that capitalism creates. In fact, capitalism guarantees inequality; it guarantees a margin and a centre, people with power and people without power.

How can we describe the process of change whereby the periphery comes to the centre, or whereby the centre resists change and holds its position? In various sectors of the art world, one way to silence an artist's voice is to convince everyone that his or her artwork is rubbish; once convinced, no one exhibits their work, no one buys their work, and eventually, no one hears their voice.

This formulation oversimplifies complex processes but nevertheless, remains accurate. Convincing the 'right' people (the group holding power) that an artist is producing quality work is sometimes difficult and sometimes easy. If convincing the 'right' people in international circles is difficult, then we must investigate why.

The 'right' people probably are not Bush supporters, but are they a different breed of neo-conservatives? Who benefits from silencing South African artists and how do they benefit? Is the benefit purely economic, or do they also gain discursive currency? Who benefits when a South African artist is drawn from the periphery to the centre? When South African artists are included in international exhibitions, what problems arise? What can we do to resolve those problems and what is beyond our control? Have we given sufficient critical attention to exhibitions such as, 'The Short Century', 'Fiction of Authenticity', 'Looking Both Ways', 'Documenta XI' and 'Authentic/ Ex-Centric'?

"We," members of the pluralistic global village, have devised an ingenious system: create symbols of "meaningful Pluralism," sell them, spend the earnings on bombs, drop the bombs on uncivilised rascals that we don't like, steal their resources, then use the money to pay the guys who create symbols of "meaningful pluralism" and build larger weapon shields. My point is that we can no longer afford to be surprised by this.

If I sound like a lefty dramatist, it is because I agree with their critiques of the abuse of power, hypocritical as they may be. Corruption and cruelty are to be expected. Shock and outrage quickly become self-indulgent; an easy route to the moral high ground.

The West will continue to sing you its song: "You are no other, but a brother, a member of God's Great Global Family!" Listen carefully, memorize the words and the crescendos, but do not expect them to stop singing, they cannot stop, their self-delusion is ancient.