The Contributions of Arts and Culture to Pro-Democracy, Anti-Authoritarian Movements
Zoom still from the conference presentation.
A report on sessions of the 22nd Century Conference: Forging a People-Powered Democracy
by Dr. Cynthia Cohen, IMPACT Senior Fellow
- How are artists and cultural workers contributing to strengthening just and vibrant democracies and opposing rising authoritarianism – in the US and around the world?
- What approaches have been effective and in what contexts?
- How have artists and cultural workers minimized risks of harm to themselves and others?
- How could experiences of friends and colleagues from around the world be of help to artists and cultural workers aligning with the emerging multi-sectoral anti-authoritarian movement in the United States?
These were among the questions that framed three sessions at the 22nd Century Conference held in the U.S. city of Minneapolis from July 6 – 9, 2023: 1) a presentation and conversation led by Cindy Cohen (oral historian, educator, IMPACT Senior Fellow) and Bonface Beti (Kenyan theater artist, student of conflict transformation, and member of IMPACT Inc’s board); and two song-writing workshops led by Jane Wilburn Sapp. The workshops illustrated the effectiveness of cultural work, and led to the collective composition and performance of a powerful song “This is Real”.
We, Bonface and Cindy, had been asked by the conference organizer to bring international voices into the conversation. To prepare, we conducted online interviews and discussions with members of our global networks.
Bonface opened our session with a poem by David Whyte:
Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.
Start with the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way to begin the conversation.
Start with your own
question,
give up on other
people’s questions,
don’t let them smother something
simple….
We then shared a story from the Philippines Educational Theater Association (PETA) and its critical contributions to ousting from power the dictator Ferdinand Marcos, in 1986. We shared a recording of the story told by Dessa Quesada Palm, a member of the IMPACT board who, as a teenager, had been active in PETA’s workshops in schools and communities. Her story emphasizes the groundswell of protest against the Marcos regime, the involvement of teachers, laborers, artists and others in the multi-sectoral movement to oust Marcos. PETA felt an ethical imperative to lift the stories and voices of those who had been marginalized. But, she said, “it’s not like we are just extracting stories. [Community people] also need to feel empowered to be their own advocates.” PETA cultivated small theater troupes in many barrios and unions, through week-long training programs based on the principles of Theater of the Oppressed. (These weeklong trainings are described in detail in Eugene van Erven’s book and related documentary: Community Theatre: Global Perspectives, Routledge, 2001.) The artists in these theater companies were at the forefront of popular demonstrations, often at great personal risk. In the video interview, Dessa discusses the roles that theater artists played, and also the risks they faced in opposing the authoritarian Marcos regime.
Watch the video clip of Dessa Quesada Palm sharing her story.
I think in the 70’s and 80’s, there was a massive movement for popular education and popular theater, some of which were associated with the basic Christian community organizations. During this time, the work of Paulo Freire took root in the communities, looking at arts as a form of literacy and empowerment. And so, many groups – church groups, secular-based groups -- began to really look at theater and [other] arts as a way of examining the issues of the time. I belonged to an organization called PETA, Philippine Educational Theater Association. In the beginning its mandate was just to create theater in the vernacular, again in opposition to the very Western [ideas]. Its vision was to create theater that would really reflect, and would become a language for, many organizations and people in the community. Our goal was not only to perform important stories that were socially relevant, but also to equip [communities to perform their own stories].… So even as a high school student, I was going in to communities and other high schools, facilitating workshops. Our concept of an artist and cultural worker was as an actor, teacher, activist and researcher; and of course there were other roles into that mix as well. There was a sense that they have a role: to mirror, to question, to provoke, to celebrate, but also to pass on the artistic means of production so many people could use theater and the arts as a way of providing a creative agency for each person.
In the meantime, we knew of the dangers, of threats of being arrested. Some of our own friends had been arrested or disappeared. I kept on hearing about the theater of circumvention: creative people that used allegory, that used Shakespeare’s plays, adapting those to speak about the “kings and queens” in our society. We used stories of other people to depict what was actually happening. There was always this creative negotiation and dialogue about what we could say and how we could say it, how to use humor, how to use music and all of that. And there was some [action] that was more confrontational, being in the streets during demonstrations. We had to wear masks. There was a proliferation of so many devices that allowed us to have a voice and survive. That was the historical moment. Some of our companions did not survive. Their lives were put in harm’s way.
During this period, Dessa explained, there was a strong sense of solidarity, expressed through people’s generosity with food, transportation and spaces to live and rehearse. After achieving the movement’s singular agenda, to remove Marcos from power, people let down their guard and went their own ways. In recent years, under President Dutarte and now Ferdinand Marcos, Jr., human rights abuses are again common in the Philippines, including brutal treatment of those involved with drugs. [See Human Rights Watch report.]
Dessa’s story of the impressive accomplishments of PETA inspired a response from Farah Habad, a Minneapolis artist and organizer, who linked the current moment to questions about art, anti-racist organizing and policy change in his city. Through poetry and reflection, he argued and he demonstrated that art, when it invites critique and conversation, can open doors to changes in both community and policy.
Bonface shared a brief history of autocracies and the role that artists played in struggles for democracy in Kenya. In the past, US ambassadors have worked closely with artists and supported pro-democracy forces in the country. Today, the country is experiencing rising authoritarianism, but there is a groundswell of resistance, including younger and older artists working together to create synergy and momentum to protect and restore democracy. On the day prior to his presentation, Bonface joined others in his community to advocate for the release of some seventy artists and activists who had been arrested after a peaceful, legal demonstration celebrating democracy in Kenya.
The next story shared was told by Mahmood Karimi-Hakak, the Iranian-American theater artist who teaches at Sienna College in Albany, in New York State:
Watch the video clip of Mahmood Karimi-Hakak sharing his story.
I was in Iran from 1992 ‘til 1999. And I went to Iran for ten days to visit my mother and then due to a conversation with a young 17-year old woman I decided to stay. I left my university job here and I stayed in Iran. For the first six years, the government tried to say OK, if you want to work, you have to prove that you are on their side. I couldn’t do that. For the first six years, [a total of] 124 proposals faced a wall of silence: no “yes”, no “no”. When Khatami, who was [a] moderate president, was elected, I was able to do a show, based on their own suggestion. Their ministry of culture suggested that I do Midsummer Night’s Dream; that was my 125th proposal. He said it’s a comedy by Shakespeare and had no relevance to Iran today, therefore the polluted minds won’t find anything wrong with it. Sure enough, we wouldn’t be given rehearsal space, I wasn’t given budgets. And all through these six months of fight, and many times I was so disappointed that I wanted to leave the whole project, and my young friends, students, actors would not let me. Finally, we even threatened that if they won’t give us space to perform, we’re going to perform Midsummer Night’s Dream in the parking lot of the Ministry of Culture, under the snow. I wrote that in the newspaper, and said that is what I am going to do. “Come stop me.” Finally they gave us space; it wasn’t theater space, so on opening night I had a big lighting instruments on my shoulder, moving around. But then, on the third performance, they poured in and screamed at the cast. They cursed the women, calling them whores. They wanted to close the play. They actually were looking forward to a fight. Because that is what they do: They cause a commotion and somebody objects to them, and then of course, knives and knuckles come out and the next thing you know, five people are injured.
When these people came in, and said the show can’t go on, and these are ‘whores,’ and so forth, some of the young audience members got up to play their game, to fight with them. And I jumped up [on] the stage, and said ‘hold on a second,’ I asked everyone please to respect me enough to listen to me. And of course they sat down. I said, we are living at the time of a president who promotes dialogue of civilization. Khatami wanted to have dialogue. Theater is an art based on dialogue. So I suggest we ask these twelve young gentlemen to come down please. They have as much right to want this play closed as we have to want this play to go on. So I’ll ask them to please come down on the stage and sit down with us, and argue why they want the play closed and we’ll tell you why we want it to go on. And you audience, 400 people, be the judge. Of course they wouldn’t do that, because they are not about dialogue. But the audience sat for two hours and ten minutes, in silence, and demanded that unless they see at least a part of the play they will not leave that space. We showed the last act of the play. The play was closed. They never allowed us in the theater again. And I was sent to court for the famous crime of “raping the public’s innocence.” Go figure.
But the support continued. From that night, February 3, 1999 to June 19, 1999, when I left Iran, there was not a single night that I could be alone at my house. Every single night, two or three people slept at the house, making sure nothing would happen to us. And those kids are the fathers and mothers of those you see in the street today.
As artists, we need to live our standards. We can’t be elite ourselves and say we are supporting the people. They have to see us as themselves. And then help them learn about the value of dialogue and communication. I am very proud of crediting myself for what is happening in Iran today. [Laughter] People like me, and the resistance that we showed the kids that they can have, caused what is happening in Iran now.
And that is what we need in here [in America] too. We need to live with our younger generation; we need to communicate with them; we need to go to parties with them; with need to learn their slangs. We need to drink beer with them. As artists, we need to become ‘common man’ in order to help the common man to learn.
Mahmood told us that he was, in fact, taken to court in Iran, charged with the crime of ‘raping the public innocence.’ He was told that there were three punishments: a year in prison, $600, and 80 lashes. The court officials said that because he was such a nice person, he could choose just one of the punishments, rather than take all three. Of course, they expected him to pay the $600 and be done with the case, but instead he chose the 80 lashes, saying that he needed to have something to show for his time in Iran, since he hadn’t been able to produce any theatrical works. The punishment was never effectuated; in fact, the case remains open.
After these incidents, many threats were made on Mahmood’s life. At first, he ignored them. He was prepared to stay in Iran, and continue to support his students and actors. He was forced to leave the country, though, when he received an audio-taped message that if he was not out of the country in two weeks, the stroller that carried his two 15-month-old twins would be run over. At that point, Mahmood and his wife felt they had no choice but to leave the country.
Mahmood is gratified that among his students are leading progressive film-makers, professors and artists, continuing to nourish Iranian communities, inspired in part by what they learned during their time with him.
Watch a film lifting up the voices of the young people who worked on the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Dessa’s story of PETA in the Philippines and Mahmood’s story about a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Iran illustrate that both community-based and artist-based theater can make important contributions to challenging authoritarianism. Both contributed to political movements that in the past challenged, and are today challenging, authoritarian regimes. In both cases, artists placed their own safety, and even their lives, at risk. Their stories can provide starting points for American artists to think together about the roles that artists can play in an emerging anti-authoritarian movement in the United States. Our next step is to provide platforms for such conversations to take place, for artists and cultural workers to imagine the roles that they can most usefully play, to build alliances with other sectors of society, to think together about how to maximize effectiveness while minimizing risks of harm.
We shared a third perspective on opposing authoritarianism articulated by the Australian Indigenous scholar Dr. Mary Graham in a recent webinar “How Do We Build Governance Systems to Support Localization” hosted by New Economy Network Australia. Dr. Graham’s comments highlight Indigenous relationships among cosmology, ecology and governance. She illustrates how being in a relationship of reciprocity with the land, and caring for land, lead to developing a conscience. Without conscience, she argues, societies can become fascistic:
Watch the video clip of Mary Graham sharing her perspectives.
In the old system, your ancestral spirits are coming out of that land into you; the land has invented you, has created you, but also has looked after you, continues to look after us in all kinds of ways. So the idea of some figure that you can’t see having invented us, that’s somehow the Creator; the Creator is actually the land itself. But you don’t worship it; you take your idea from it, in the sense of looking after it.
There’s a great reciprocal relationship. Great. It invents us; it looks after us, gives us everything: food, water, resources, materials….it continues to look after us, because if it wasn’t there, we’d be floating in space; or we’d die of lack of oxygen; we just simply wouldn’t exist.
So it is looking after us; we are obliged forever to look after it. It’s a relational structure, not hierarchical, a social and political structure is flat. Completely different governance also from that idea. So no structure like pharaohs, emperors, royalty; no religious group, no military group at the top and everybody has to do what they are told. No class system, no caste system. So only big distinctions are: we all, via a mother and father, come from a particular place, that is their country; plus the distinction between ages and wisdom; and male and female, too.
Humans themselves are autonomous beings. They are their own boss. Autonomy is seen not as you become a law unto yourself; it’s autonomy with a view to seeking relations, seeking relationality. It’s not to do with we’ll all get together and join hands and sing kumbaya. It’s not to do with necessarily a moral kind of idea. It’s that we are not alone in the world. While we’re autonomous, you seek relationality, relationalism; don’t think of it as good relations; think of it as a very basic biological thing…..
I’ve always had difficulty with the word tribal myself. Tribalism is where you have different groups fight with each other over having a good outcome, to take care of that particular part of land. This old aboriginal system had no wars of conquest. Just think about that: for tens of thousands of years they didn’t go around attacking other people’s land. It’s been proved, original people have been in their places for tens of thousands of years. They didn’t bother taking over people’s land. That isn’t to say there wasn’t conflict, there was conflict. But they didn’t get further into extreme conflict like wars of conquest, taking over other people’s places…..
The underpinning thing of an Australian philosophy would be starting off with land, and seeing land – it’s more than the thing that keeps us alive. It’s actually a player, or an actor, in its own right. We have to train ourselves to be empathetic, to learn to have a conscience. We learn via land. So we look after land because it’s owed big time, so don’t madly exploit it or be cruel to it, so look after it…. When you look after land, you are building up and making stronger a conscience…. Because if you don’t have this built in, then fascism becomes normalized, or a singular, individual one is a serial killer, they don’t have a conscience.
Indigenous perspectives on governance can productively complicate discussions about building inclusive anti-authoritarian movements. We need to acknowledge the violence to Indigenous cosmologies, epistemologies and communities throughout the world, that was perpetrated largely by ostensible ‘democracies.’ As we work to strengthen the contributions of the arts and cultural initiatives to an emerging multi-sectoral movement, it is important to leverage the power of imagination, inspired in part by the distinctive, often localized, modes of governance developed in pre- and post-colonial contexts.
Bonface and I concluded our presentation with questions for discussion, questions that were only begun to be explored in the time remaining during the conference sessions:
- As we re-imagine the contributions of arts and culture to a multi-sectoral anti-authoritarian, pro-justice and democracy movement in the United States, what do we envision?
- What structures of thinking, communication and support would be helpful?
- How can risks of harm be minimized for those living and working in authoritarian – and otherwise dangerous – contexts?
- What networks, initiatives and organizations doing related constructive work already exist?
- How can artists and cultural workers link with other sectors? What do we need to ask from other players in this movement?
- In what ways might we learn from and act in solidarity with those living and working in other regions of the world?
We look forward to engaging – in conversations of various kinds – artists, cultural workers, scholars, activists and others who are enlivened by thinking about these questions and developing approaches to strengthening the contributions of artists and cultural workers to an emerging multi-sectoral anti-authoritarian movement. A preliminary resource list, distributed at the conference, follows.