It's About Transformation: Thoughts on Arts as Social Action

(This story appeared in High Performance #64, Winter 1993.)

Activists in this country committed to both social justice and the arts have been getting sore throats trying to convince others of the relationship between the two.(1) We have felt patronized, marginalized, and ostracized from organizations, political programs, and discussions to which we think we can offer a lot. We see—so clearly!—how people's lives can be changed through the process of painting a mural about their neighborhood, of writing and performing plays based on their unexplored cultural backgrounds, and of producing mass media that presented the viewpoints and ideas of people not imaged in mainstream mass culture. We see how the products of such cultural/social change-oriented energies can be as beautiful in their aesthetic execution, imaginativeness and transcendent meaning as any of the greatest masterpieces.

But, to most organizers, the concept of cultural work has been limited to finding artists to paint banners before demonstrations and singers to prepare the crowd for important speeches. This approach comes out of the Stalinist model of cultural activism in which the artist's role is that of technician whose aesthetic gifts are offered in the service of glorifying the revolution.(2) While it is an important and historically proven approach, it's highly problematic in a society whose artists are historically so marginalized they can only view such self-dissolution as simply more of the same.

To people in the art world, the whole notion of "political art" has been anathema. To them, Art belongs in the clouds of rarified activity. The immediate, messy, contradictory details of social discourse in general, and politics specifically, are seen as a polluting force, mitigating against art's "universal" qualities. From media that critiques them to the very schools and cultural institutions built around them, artists are treated like child savages whose atavistic activities are intended to amuse and delight "normal" people. Individual eccentricities are glorified as symptoms of genius, which neither helps us to be very effective collaborators, or validates us when we are. Organizers, on the other hand, taught that in order to make change you had to exclude everything that didn't focus people on the issue at hand ("It's the economy, Stupid!"), have had little use or patience for artists focused on their own agendas. This tension has been, and is still, so difficult that activists who have dual commitments and identities have often had to submerge one when in the context of the other.

I remember an emblematic incident that happened a few years ago when I met with the head of a major international environmental organization. I was there in my capacity as coordinator of the Arts & Social Change Program at New College of California, invited by a member of my faculty and a staff member of the environmental organization to see about the possibilities for collaboration. The Executive Director began his introduction with, "You know, we've had a lot of artists come through here, begging to meet with the indigenous rainforest people, spending time with them, making art about them, and then disappearing, taking all the profits from their work with them!" He became so upset as he remembered each incident, and so convinced that we — since we were artists, too — were likely to repeat their behavior, that by the time he was finished he had convinced himself he had to require us to make a cash donation before he would talk any further.

This treatment, at least so soon (about 1 minute) into our relationship, didn't sit well with me. I tried at first to convince him of our sincerity, our respect for his concerns and our willingness to work out a mutually acceptable agreement. He was, unfortunately, inconsolable, and we walked out; but not before I had a chance to zing back with, "I'll tell you what, when you're done, I'll start telling you stories about me and all the other artists I know who have been totally screwed by political groups who stole their designs, paid them shit and censored them when they refused to toe the party line!" Not a very good basis for a relationship.

Things have improved, however. It's much more common to see museum exhibits and arts periodicals organized around environmental and political themes; local, national and international film festivals showing and publicly discussing work on urgent social issues, and regional theaters programming controversial, politically oriented productions and reinterpretations of Shakespeare and other classics as part of their normal seasons. I also see more political organizations incorporating cultural thinking into their campaigns, more foundations accepting grant proposals for arts projects to address social problems, and more activist conferences including artists on their agendas.

Behind this change is a confluence of several historical factors. One reason is the growing authority of "Third World," Environmental, Feminist and Queer social theory and social change models that view art and culture as an important site of struggle. Another is the "collapsing of the globe" and the recognition of art and culture as a mediating force between peoples. A third I see is the experimental spirit of activists made desperate by the dramatic rise in social injustice and apathy. And a fourth reason is the shrinking market for "art as art." As more and more people (disgruntled graduates, in particular) have realized art schools teach 100% of their students as if they will become the .0001% of artists who can make a living in the art world,(3) alternative structures for support and meaning have been explored and developed. The struggle is still far from over, but a lot, it seems, has changed.

This is cause for celebration, but in order to help us go the next step, I want to express some concerns about the ways these ideas are being appropriated on both sides of the arts/political activist "equation."(4) I can't help feeling that each of these two communities has "bitten off" a chunk of only so much of the other's ideas—a small amount, actually—and left the rest unchewed. My concern, and my argument, is that unless the two are brought closer together for a fuller reciprocal examination, at best their interest in each other will quickly wane, having reached only a small fraction of its potential. At worst—to continue my metaphor—I fear that both will spit up their food, and we will enter into another, perhaps even worse, period of estrangement.

In an attempt to facilitate closer ties, I'd like to articulate some of the misconceptions as I perceive them.

Misconception #1: The Arts Are Intrinsically Progressive

If you look at the history of art, you'll find as many, if not more reasons to think just the opposite. Nazi Germany, the Medici's Florence, the Roman Empire—many of the most repressive, violent societies have had the most developed aesthetic sensibilities. In my reading of history, despots and torturers are more, not less, likely than radical progressives, to understand the ability of culture and arts to unify people spiritually and emotionally in the midst of contradictory material circumstances, and to act as a social pressure valve, purging people of the frustrated, angry energies they might otherwise turn toward revolution. I have heard entirely too many "converted" political and arts activists extolling culture as the antidote to the narrow rationalism and materialism of progressive politics as usual. I agree culture has the potential for catalyzing the best in the human species, but hey, let's not forget the Middle Ages, shall we?

Misconception #2: The Impact of the Arts Can Be Seen or Measured

Arts activists often feel forced to buy into this concept in order to justify themselves to their "political" colleagues. We all have personal stories about: the high school student who sees the film "Malcolm X" and is inspired to organize a black student union in her school; the residents at a senior center who, through collaborating with a theater artist on an oral history project, gain so much pride in themselves they strike for better living conditions; the woman abused by her husband who walks by a mural entitled "Women's Power" on her way home and gathers the strength from it to take her children and seek help. But usually it's only when we look back on personal, community and social histories that a pattern emerges of cultural influences and affects. On a day-to-day basis, the commitment comes out of our belief that before people can take action, they must be able to imagine an alternative.

The artistic experience embraces intuition, ruthless exploration of the truth,and the billions of subjectivities that represent the human experience. These are the gifts the arts have to offer movements for social change, and their value must be understood on its own terms.

Misconception #3: Art Is About Objects

The arts are understood typically through their presence as objects or products. A painting, for example, is understood as the result of a series of aesthetic choices: particular symbols, colors, patterns and brushstrokes that come together on a particular canvas in a particular frame. Plays, videos and films, while not objects, are still analyzed in much the same way. The beauty and meaning of the words, the sets, lighting, costumes, actors and actresses, music, etc.—in short, the product—is what we believe gives the work its meaning, and through its meaning comes its power to affect people's minds, hearts,and social actions. Coupled with this concept is the notion that the artist herself, like the decontextualized objects she creates, must be alienated from society in order to function properly.(5)

Mainstream cultural criticism has as its primary goal the assigning of commodity value, and to help people and institutions decide which is "good" and which is "bad" art, and which are good and bad artists, so that they will know which to buy. While it's not impossible to distinguish between the two, when the work and the artist have more than just aesthetics in mind there's a lot more to it. Once the goal expands beyond making art that is worth appreciating, to making art that changes the way people view themselves and their world, a fundamental rethinking of creative and critical models is required.

More questions have to be raised, like: How does the meaning of the work change because of the context? If a painting is hung in the Museum of Modern Art in New York, how will it be different from the same painting being hung in the Watts Tower Community Center in Los Angeles? The novel Black Beauty may seem to us in this country just a benign children's book about a horse, but in the context of South Africa it has been banned for years because of what is viewed as the title's controversial racial connotations.

There are other issues to consider as well: the relationship, both physical and structural (class, ethnicity, sexuality, etc.), between the "artist" and the "audience"; the process through which the work was created, and the intention of the artist himself. These attributes all contribute to the ultimate meaning and effect, and are extremely important, concrete choices arts activists make—whether consciously or not—in creating their work. The difference, politically and aesthetically, between a video created by an artist about a group of homeless people and a video created by that same artist working with a group of homeless people, for example, is very real. The old categories don't tell nearly the whole story, and we can't continue to judge ourselves by them.

Many cultural workers I know, myself included, no matter how much we talk about "doing it for the movement," run desperately to the newstand to read our reviews in order to get what, in our heart of hearts, is the real deal. My students love to talk about the form and content of activist art, but when I get to the part of the course where I talk about the responsibility of the artist to his or her community, we have huge, emotional debates in which I typically am accused of promoting censorship and/or "bad art." This, I should remind you, takes place in a class called "Arts & Social Change," in a program called "Arts & Social Change."

As a first step toward our own act of social change and empowerment, artists must expose this oppressive, internalized "aesthetic of virtuosity" as writer Gloria Anzaldua calls it, and along with it our obsessions with "quality" and romanticized isolation. We will also need to articulate "a differentiation between art that is about politics, and art that is political." It is not enough for art to represent a political event for others to observe. It must also provide a context within which others can take action.(6)

Conclusion: It's About Transformation

Arts activists and political activists have a lot to learn from one another, and we've just explored the tip of the iceberg. Bits and pieces of our respective ideas and methods are being exchanged, and that's very exciting. We have to engage in these discussions and exchanges even more aggressively and deeply, allowing not only our "toolboxes" to be enlarged, but our most deeply held beliefs about who we are and the nature of our work to be challenged, to actually be transformed.

It isn't enough for political activists to understand that a song may convey their ideas more effectively than a speech; they have to realize that to invoke cultural change is to begin a long process very different from what we normally think of as political change. And neither is it enough for arts activists to simply paint, perform and produce beautiful artworks dealing with political themes; they must be willing to reject the notion of art as only object and the artist as the transcendent, universal individual, and formulate a model that situates their work within specific times, places and social/political/economic circumstances. Both groups have a lot to learn from the others' experiences and discourses.

It is, in the end, the very notion of social change that requires our mutual attention and interrogation. We need to integrate materialist analyses of structures of power and oppression with intuitive analyses of the human spirit. In my mind's eye, I imagine a time when artists will be recognized as leaders and equal partners in social change movements in this country, and all activists will imagine themselves one part organizer, one part artist.

I'm lucky to have the opportunity in my work at New College to focus on and explore these issues, at a moment in history when understanding them feels pivotal to our survival as a species. I promise you more reports from the field.

Notes

1. Throughout this article I will refer to the U.S. situation, since it is so different in most other countries. The reasons behind this deserve an article unto themselves. [return]

2. My use of the term Stalinist is meant in a literal fashion and not figuratively. [return]

3. An unofficial figure. [return]

4. Many of us believe in and embody an approach that fundamentally integrates arts and political activism. I maintain their separateness for the distinct purpose of problematizing it. [return]

5. In "Cotton and Iron," filmmaker Trinh T. Minh-ha writes, "The myth of pure creativity and expressivity encodes the `natural' to the extent that it equates individualization with commodification" (Out There, MIT Press, 1990). [return]

6. From "The Role of an Alternative Museum," interview with Mark O'Brien, coeditor of Reimaging America (New Society Publishers, 1990). [return]

This is a revision of an article that originally appeared in Peace Review, 5:2 (1993).

Mathew Schwarzman is the founder of Arts & Social Change Program at New College of California in San Francisco. He was also Co-Project Director for the anthology "Reimaging America: The Arts of Social Change," published by New Society Publishers.

This story originally appeared in High Performance #64, Winter 1993

Original CAN/API publication: December 1999