UNSETTLING THE DUST: WHY ARTS LEADERS MUST ALSO DISRUPT DOMINANT NARRATIVES

Arundhati Ghosh

A cartoon by the political cartoonist Mir Suhail Qadri

The text in the image above, created by Mir Suhail Qadri, a cartoonist from Kashmir, reads: “Gar firdaus bar-rue zamin ast, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast.” If there is a heaven on earth, it’s here, it’s here, it’s here— a statement attributed to the 17th century Mughal emperor Jahangir, when he first laid his eyes on Kashmir. In the popular imagination of India and the world, Kashmir has been the bounty of nature’s splendour, the stuff of dreams. However, the political reality of Kashmir and its relationship with India has been starkly different over the past many decades. The absence of a plebiscite in Kashmir, as accounted for at the time of Indian independence in 1947, has led to a surmounting crisis that has reached its crescendo in current times. Violence, death, disappearance and destruction has marked the lived realities of a population that is demanding the right to freedom. The image of the woman sitting by a grave with roses, weeping for her loved ones, is both a sharp critique of the Indian mainstream media’s account of the Kashmir conflict as a fringe act of insurgence, as well as an ironic gesture to Jahangir’s words describing Kashmir as a slice of heaven. The artist here has challenged both our imagination and understanding of Kashmir by bringing to us the image of a person who lives amidst picture postcard valleys. It has made us question the stories we hear, enabling the invisible in Kashmir to find a voice. As Banksy, Britain’s legendary political activist and guerrilla street artist proclaimed in one of their works, this is art that can “comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable”[1]. And Qadri has done that here by disrupting dominant narratives of Kashmir.

We live in a world where the gap between people with or without the privilege of voice and means grows starker every day, polarising the ways in which we think of life and living. In the name of post-truth, there is no dearth of wars within and across nations for religion, race, language and ethnicity. There is also a growing intolerance of difference, a continuous ‘othering’, a tendency to homogenise thoughts and practices. Neoliberalism in politics and in the economy is playing havoc with the lives of communities across the globe, with freedom of expression and liberty continuously at risk, especially for marginalised groups. Together with human lives and liberties, rivers, forests, animals and plants are also seeing the impact of human greed, as they are subsumed by toxic deserts of waste. In a world where history was always written by the victors, today, even more so, dominant narratives across norms, systems and practices of oppression are being created by the powerful, constantly drowning other voices.

In our dark times, if one has to imagine inclusivity and pluralism, artistic disruptions are absolutely vital. They represent the raw bursts of energy that can question and challenge, disprove and overturn, push, rupture and subvert singular, homogenised stories. “Never again shall a single story be told as though it were the only one,” wrote John Berger in G. When the single story is so strong that it has either erased others or rendered them invisible, disrupting this story is the only way to create space for the possibility of multiple voices and histories. For example, when the Freedom Theatre from Jenin Camp, Palestine, travels across the world with stories of the lives of people from the West Bank and Gaza, they are disrupting the narrative of a powerful and militarised country like Israel and the big powers of the world that indulge it. They are also building spaces for conversation, debate and solidarity, for their dream of a free Palestinian nation. However, while such disruptive work can exist in the most hostile circumstances on its own, for it to have maximum engagement, influence and impact, it needs supportive, facilitative and protective environments to thrive. Leaders of arts organisations – funders, producers, curators, festival organisers, arts support groups – assist, mediate and negotiate the making, presenting and dissemination of work with various stakeholders. Enabling environments can only prevail if these leaders see themselves as facilitators, catalysts and provocateurs by practising disruption as a strategy themselves. So in India, when Kabir Kala Manch sings their songs against the oppression of casteism, or when Anand Patwardhan is screening his film Reason/Vivek, which analyses the war between faith and rationality, or when Sanjay Kak is speaking about the book Witness that chronicles through photographs life in Kashmir amidst the violence, or when Shivaji Panikkar refuses to prohibit certain artworks from being shown in a student exhibition— leaders in the arts need to stand up for them, support and promote their work, speak in solidarity with them and be present in the resistance that emerges from their work. The same fearlessness that is expected of an artist who makes work also needs to be manifested in the intentions and actions of arts leaders. This is where disruption as a leadership strategy begins. 

What does disruption do, as a leadership strategy? To begin with, it interrupts an environment replete with the cacophony of conventional and rehearsed ways of thinking, saying, doing and being in the arts ecology. It enables the creation of space for ‘others’ to emerge. Having created that space, it then waits for, encourages and facilitates new and alternative ideas to challenge the given. Thus, the primary impact of disruption as a leadership strategy is to rattle what there is and make way for change. The forces that are let loose in these moments of chaos transform the nature and direction of narratives. They change the content, pace and pattern of engagement, thus altering the experience of reality. 

Arts leaders— whether they are funders, producers, curators, advocates or policy makers— must search for ideas that shake the conventional foundations of our experience across class, gender, sexuality, race, region, and religion. They must help support, produce and promote those projects. They must ask questions. Are there ideas that are breaking prejudices? Are there emerging voices from the margins that remain silenced? Are there projects seeking to unearth stories pushed under the carpet by the state and/or market? Are there rumblings threatening to collapse systemic frameworks of injustice that benefit the privileged? Are there conversations between practitioners pushing the boundaries of a practice, breaking taboos?  Are there artists seeking to challenge political positions and posturing that create an environment of fear and hatred, othering our neighbours in the process? Are there projects that raise questions about our sacred moralities, gods, nations, and belief systems? Are there projects challenging not just our role as human species on this planet, but also our importance and value? Arts leaders will need to locate, help build, support, promote and stand by these projects because they tear apart the core— disrupting years of oppression in society. A young student once asked me a question that has been a beacon in the darkest of times: “How do you know what is not in the room?” A single enquiry of this this can guide programmatic strategies across organisations that promote and support the arts with the aim of ensuring that they’re rocking the boat. And perhaps we can stop seeing the same names of only English-speaking, city-bred, foreign-returned artists in the list of awardees of grants and fellowships of multiple funding bodies. 

The question, often, is where and how to find such artists. For that, arts leaders need to be connected to multiple worlds across the various silos that divide society, going beyond their own immediate circles. This means disrupting the guiding rules of socialisation. They must ensure that communication from their organisations travels far and wide, in multiple languages and media. They must remember that there are artists who are not connected digitally and may live in remote locations. They must pay attention to national and international occurrences, but also to the news and happenings in their own communities and neighbourhoods. They need to be aware of, and alert to, the sights and sounds that surround them. They must go to places they have not been to before, to meet people they have never thought they would meet. Our patterns of socialisation at home, in schools and colleges, and at our workplaces—unfortunately, even in the most progressive ones— often merely speaks the language of inclusion and diversity, hardly achieving that in practice. Arts leaders who come from certain class, caste and educational backgrounds, often from privilege, tend to stick with people from similar backgrounds. It’s easier, given that languages, perspectives and ways of thinking in these circles remain mostly unchallenged. But the discomfort of the unknown must be endured to walk into unfamiliar spaces where one can encounter ‘the other’ in new conversations, concerns and politics. There is no simpler way to do this. A good way for arts leaders to connect with people outside of their zone is by building relationships and being allies in other spheres of civil society work. These intersectional solidarities with like-minded individuals and organisations enhance critical knowledge and provide collective support and strength during crises. It is important to note that some arts organisations are moving beyond familiar spaces of the arts to present work and engage with communities and territories they did not think about earlier. Beyond the five-star hotel ballrooms, pristine galleries, and fancy auditoria, works are being presented at community centres, schools, old warehouses and abandoned buildings in neighbourhoods, coffee shops, office spaces and bazaars. There are also arts leaders working with marginalised communities like the queer and transgender community in many cities, which is very inspiring. This is a beginning, no matter how small this shift is. And it disrupts the way we experience the arts, and how we make sense of the world.  

But the biggest of challenges is somewhere else - at the heart of arts organisations. Running organisations in the arts is often a negotiation with the same structures, systems, and politics that practices of disruption are challenging. Arts leaders may sometimes find it difficult to support such work through their organisations. In the face of such conflict, it is important for arts leaders to accept the difficulty, yet stand by the works and artists in question as much and as strongly as possible. So, if a piece of performance supported or showcased by an organisation is a critique of one of the donors of that organisation, or of political powers in the state— the arts leaders need to find the courage to stand by it and engage in debates about it openly. While this is the best option, sometimes, for reasons that may put at stake the interests of the organisation, this may not be possible from within the organisation. In such cases, if arts leaders are true believers of the work, they must become personal champions to get it to see the light of day. This would include debating and discussing the work in public spheres, using social media, being opinion leaders and influencing decision-making, and using their own networks. Crowdfunding, for example, is already starting to transform the way the arts are being supported today. The use of alternative online media is starting to build strength beyond plain numbers. Arts leaders, however, need to be clear about their own political positions, given that the works or positions they support and promote in a personal capacity may be seen as being in conflict with their roles within an organisation. In my experience, in such situations, intersectional solidarities with other organisations and movements in the social sector and civil society are immensely useful.  

Speaking about the politics of works of art, and that of arts leaders who are meant to facilitate them - conversation always veer towards the colour of money and funding. This is an important discussion all arts leaders must have not just with their boards and staff but also with their constituencies, stakeholders, and the media. Who will one not accept funds from and why? What money is tainted? What are the questions about funders that arts leaders must ask as they do due diligence before accepting their funds? These are some of the questions that arts leaders must engage with, including very specific ones like: What happens when an organisation is partially funded by a trust connected to a corporate house that is accused of displacing people due to the sudden discovery of underground sources of oil or minerals?  Often these issues rattle boards and make beneficiaries either suspicious or anxious. However, there is nothing prescriptive or easy about how arts leaders might or might not frame policy around such decisions, how they might respond to these questions, or set boundaries for what they find non-negotiable. These issues need conversations and nuanced debates across the field. Leaders will need to make decisions based on forceful convictions and tough negotiations. 

But this is not enough. The means are as important as the outcomes. Leaders in the arts must rethink the way they run their own organisations and see disruption as a valuable resource and energy for organisational thought and action. Most organisations in the arts that have the capacities to truly stand behind work that challenges prevalent norms are themselves built on conventions, a conservative outlook towards risk, deeply entrenched processes that are rigid, and ways of decision-making and governance that have become tradition. Staff who work for these organisations are trained to perform ‘excellently’, staying within boundaries that often limit their imaginations - leaving very little room for creativity and innovation. Inherently, each of these organisations, in their structure and modes of functioning, follow singular and powerful narratives that are set by those who run them. Unless arts leaders unleash some of the disruptive energies of the work they wish to support in their own organisations, their internal workings will remain at odds with what they help bring to life outside. Is representation on the board and governing bodies breaking barriers of class, caste, gender and sexuality, or are members of these bodies replicas of each other, mostly drawn from old boys’ networks? Are staff being hired from diverse backgrounds, often bringing new ideas from unrelated past experiences, or are there cookie-cutter hiring preferences? Do staff have the freedom to take chances and risks instead of playing within safe zones? Are they being encouraged to fail, or are they bound to repeat the successes of the past? Are decision-making capacities participatory and shared, or do they rest with a handful of people within the organisation? Is there space to disagree, dissent, and voice one’s criticism of the organisation, or does one always have to tow the lines drawn by the leaders to stay in the team? On the face of it, to many leaders, these questions may seem like a series of blows to the order and procedures of running an organisation— bringing chaos to the peace of symmetry. But as Toni Morrison eloquently wrote in March 2015, “Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge— even wisdom. Like art.” Who else but arts organisations might be ideally placed to actually put this into practice? This chaos could disrupt and re-energise organisations from within. 

Dominant narratives from other worlds have also come to haunt the world of the arts, without either a nuanced understanding of the limitations of their own conceptual frameworks or their contextual placement in the arts. Ideas of growth, scale, value, impact— and their measurement and management— are just some of the notions brought from both the worlds of business and social development to weigh in on the arts. Thus, growth is discussed not as a choice but as an imperative, and scale by itself has become a measure of excellence. Funding for the arts across the world is moving away from discussing the experience of the arts and how it transforms our relationships with the world, instead only asking what it can do to solve problems we have created through our economic and political choices. ‘Management’ is simply borrowed from business and applied to the arts to make it work more ‘efficiently’, acknowledging no difference between making soap and creating a piece of theatre. And finally, impact measurement parameters are borrowed from the world of social development and expected to work in the arts. Arts leaders must begin to disrupt these understandings to enable the arts to build its own discourse around how it impacts our individual and collective lives. 

I share three examples of strategies used by arts leaders to displace dominant narratives, leading to new adventures. Run by a trust, Studio Safdar in New Delhi’s Shadipur is an independent, non-funded space for arts and activism. Established by street theatre group Jana Natya Manch in 2012, in recent years it has become an adda (hub) for theatre groups and arts practitioners within and outside Delhi, a space where they can experiment fearlessly, rehearse, perform, and conduct workshops. The space is dedicated to encouraging engagements with community groups, to fostering a culture of understanding and cooperation, aesthetic excellence, and intellectual stimulation. In November 2019, Studio Safdar is organising what may well be India’s first community-curated theatre festival, the Shadipur Natak Utsav. Five individual residents of the neighbourhood with diverse backgrounds, interests and inclinations have volunteered to curate the theatre festival, choosing seven out of the forty-five entries received in five languages. 

Curatorial Committee for Shadipur Natak Utsav| Photo: Studio Safdar

The entire community has come together to support and take ownership of this festival, where many important questions in the arts are being turned on their heads through this participative cultural governance. Who decides what ‘art’ is or what roles it plays in the lives of communities? Who has the power to claim the politics of aesthetics? Can intellectual debates and community participation exist together? Can projects such as this raise critical enquiries about processes and methodologies of curation? These are just some of the questions one could ask. The hierarchy and power of a curator as ‘an expert special knowledge holder’ is challenged here by the community curators who come from different experiential knowledge systems that conventionally have very little to do with ‘art’. As arts leaders and enablers in the field, in doing so, Studio Safdar makes a bold and disruptive move. 

Artists of the Aravani Art Project: (from top) Ramkali, Purushi, Jyothi, Chandri, Jyothi, Sanjeevani, Vicky Shinde, Maami, Priyanka, Shanthi

My next example is the Aravani Art Project, an art collective of women and trans-women set up in 2016. They make collaborative public art and wall art projects to draw attention to the friendships between transwomen and women in public spaces. The visibility of the transgender figure has begun to disrupt long-held beliefs about gender and the ways in which it leads us to organise our lives. By making art together, this collective seeks to gently reshape the politics of inclusion and exclusion that surround gender identities. The streets are a particularly important place to do this work, as it is in these public spaces that the bodies of transgender-identifying people attract violence, harassment, social negligence and pressure. (Disclosure: IFA, the organisation I work with, is one of the organisations that has supported their work). Organisationally, in making a grant to them at IFA under Project 560, a programme that engages with the multiple histories and cultures of Bangalore, there is a recognition that the city looked very heteronormative and had no space in it for transpeople. We thought it was important for us to enable Aravani not just to paint murals on the walls of Bangalore but also to organise a series of cultural programmes across the city, to share with the world their stories and experiences of struggle, love, longing and loss. These stories, we hoped, would disrupt the binaries of our perception and queer our ideas of the city. As arts leaders, we felt this was absolutely necessary at a time when all you heard about Bangalore was about its homogeneity as an IT City.

My third example is of the mobilisation of Artists Unite! - a platform of writers, artists, and cultural practitioners across India who came together to articulate a shared concern for democracy and against hate. The country is passing through a critical phase; institutions, histories and cultures are being distorted; hate is being manufactured and is then cynically deployed for political mobilisation and ideological domination. In a statement on its website, Artists Unite! says of itself: “Artists Unite! views culture as the glue that binds diverse peoples together, a space to discover shared aspects of humanity, a history of belonging and a spiritual exploration of selves…Through images, speech, words, music, and bodies, Artists Unite! seeks to resist the cultural destruction of India. More than 700 writers, artists, and cultural practitioners signed the Artists Unite Declaration.” On March 2 and 3, 2019, across India, events were organised “to bring together a wave of creative expressions in defence of democracy and against hate”, to quote their website. The initiative was jointly organised by arts practitioners and leaders whose works were also part of the programming. It was heartening to see arts leaders stand up against the politics of hate, risking the label of ‘anti-government’ that might have been applied to their organisations, or to them in a personal capacity. The events moved beyond being merely disruptive of the politics of hate and othering, seeking to perform a notion of a rainbow ‘country’ that could account for everything that ‘other’ communities brought to it.

Of course, one saw less arts leaders than one hoped to see here, and many, many more arts practitioners, but then the lurking fear of being victimised because of one’s beliefs marks this dark time— and arts leaders fear more often because of how their own positions are implicated in power and hierarchy. 

But disruptive leadership has its own risks and challenges, and financial sustainability is just one of them. Traditional and often conservative donors may not be comfortable with rocking boats. Given how powerful the brahminical politics of aesthetics remains in this country, what is worthy of support will also come into question. Even if a leader is able to support disruptive work, where it is shown, and who might have access to it are important questions. Class, caste, gender and sexuality become access barriers to works in many ways across many spaces. Mirroring the moves artists are making, there needs to be, amongst arts leaders, the desire and ability to move out of privileged white/ black cubes and traditional arts spaces that come with access barriers. Moving to alternative spaces, streets, homes, and smaller cities and towns, away from the apparent centres of cultural capitalism, should be a priority. Arts leaders should not only think of the reception of work by new audiences in these new places, but also how traditional audiences might react and respond to these new spaces, that are devoid of the ease and comfort that a performance of power allows. 

Often the simplest way to disrupt is to say ‘No’. Given the ecology of the arts and the scarcity of resources, this is the hardest word for arts leaders to utter. Saying no to funding they don’t want to accept because of the misdemeanours of the funder, saying no to pressures from dominant political forces, saying no to impact measurement metrics imposed by evaluators from funding bodies, saying no to the arts being used instrumentally for serving other social goals, saying no to trends and fads of making and producing, saying no to being bigger and more spectacular just because it draws more attention and satisfies the ego, and finally, saying no to the terms of engagement of international conferences, seminars, festivals and platforms that make no space for interrogative thought— these can be the first steps towards cultivating arts leaders who deploy strategies of disruption. 

According to the Shakta tradition, one of the strands of Hindu philosophy, Adi Para Shakti—

the goddess of feminine power—is seen as the creator, observer and destroyer of the world. She embodies in herself the cycle of birth, destruction and rebirth— making it a continuous, seamless process, one impossible and incomplete without the others. The power of disruption is thus necessary and vital for the process of creation. We now find ourselves in the centre of civilisational tensions and struggles. We must not feel fearful of the creative powers of disruption. If the arts are to create new ways for us to look into our past, make sense of our present and build imaginations for our collective futures, arts leaders must themselves become disrupters to enable processes of creation that hold the power to transform our realities.

[1] Banksy quoting Cesar A Cruz in a work of art, who in turn was drawing upon a statement by the 19th century journalist Finley Dunne, who spoke of newspapers as having a duty to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable”.

A part of this paper comes from the author’s thoughts during her Fellowship at the Clore Leadership Programme in the UK in 2015-2016.

Arundhati Ghosh is the Executive Director of the India Foundation for the Arts (IFA). Her interests lie at the crossroads of poetry, people and politics.