Post

We need creativity and imagination as much as (or more than) ever

On Tuesday night, while I was half-watching MSNBC, I kept one eye on Twitter. As the outcome of the election became clear, the rise in emotion was palpable. People were processing the result in so many different ways: in tweets of mourning, in calls to action, in blame and recriminations, in critical analysis, in “I told you so’s,” and in silence. I certainly had no idea what to write.

Since then, a lot of thoughtful things have been said about the election. My inbox is full of essays by progressives and activists of all stripes exploring what this means, what went wrong, and what comes next. I don’t have any ground-shattering wisdom to add. But I do want to take a moment to share some thoughts, as I look at this election through the lens of cultural organizing. These are things I’ve learned from the amazing artists, cultural workers, and organizers I’ve had the honor to connect with. I find some comfort and direction in them. More than anything, I offer this essay with love and gratitude to all of you.

1. We need creativity and imagination as much as (or more than) ever

Among the many dynamics at play this election season was a failure of political imagination. Liberal politicians could not fully grasp the levels of anger and frustration coursing through the nation. Meanwhile, conservative politicians fell back on fear and hate, when hope is what was needed. But while imagination at the highest levels of power may be stunted, it continues to thrive in communities across the country where artists, cultural workers, organizers, and so many others are imagining and crafting new possibilities. We will need all of our combined creativity in the coming months and years in order to push back hate and make room for transformation.

2. We are more than just red and blue states

Every four years we are forced to channel all our hopes, fears, values, and dreams into an either-or choice between two people. We are then given a map covered in red and blue, and fed a story about “two Americas.” This is a deficient narrative that does little to explain the complexity of our country, and even less to guide us forward. There are certainly many divides in our country, which were brought into stark relief during this campaign. But to address them we will have to put aside this single story, and get back to telling the multiplicity of true stories that capture who we really are.

3. The cultural shifts of the past decade are still underway

The country that elected Trump is the same country that elected Obama. We enter into this new era with a powerful movement proclaiming the value of Black lives, an increasingly diverse and politicized pop culture sphere, a large cohort of young immigrant rights leaders with skills honed in recent struggles, and a plethora of new voices amplified through creative use of social media. I don’t believe, as some have said, that the “whitelash” we saw in this election is necessarily the “last gasp” of the old order. Whiteness surely has more tricks up its sleeve. But the strength of the backlash should signal to us how strong the forward movement has been.


I don’t share these thoughts to deny anyone their anger or sadness, to say “it’s going to be fine.” There are dark times ahead, and many fights coming. If you need to mourn, mourn. If you need to organize, organize. This is where my mind goes as I try to sort through all my thoughts and feelings. I would love to hear your thoughts as well. Sharing our stories is a necessary first step toward healing and change.

In solidarity,

CulturalOrganizing.org

 

 

Map image from Mark Newman, Department of Physics and Center for the Study of Complex Systems, University of Michigan

How do you visualize a world you haven’t yet seen?

Earlier this year, I did some graphics work for the Family Leadership Design Collaborative (FLDC), a group whose mission is to radically re-imagine family engagement in schools and other institutions. It turned out to be one of the toughest design challenges I’ve faced.

In this post, I want to share a bit of that design process with you. The back-and-forth that the process inspired — with me offering draft images and them giving critiques — was fascinating on its own. But more than that, this project exemplified some of the tensions I’ve struggled with over the years creating visual communications for social justice groups.

One of these recurring tensions has to do with the use of symbols. Infographics and other visualizations often rely on simple, widely-recognizable symbols to communicate ideas. We know instantly that a paintbrush means art, a graduation cap means education, and two tall figures and two short figures means family. These symbols serve as visual shorthands, allowing images to be comprehended quickly, and by a broad audience.

A social justice perspective, however, values diversity and inclusiveness. There is no one kind of family, no one educational path, and to simplify these ideas into universal symbols is to marginalize those who deviate from that single image. In addition, social justice is often about imagining how the world could be. That can be hard to do using symbols that are based on the world as it is — particularly if you’re not totally sure what the future you are fighting for will look like. But the farther you stray from the dominant culture’s symbols, the less you can assume that viewers will immediately recognize your meaning.

These are not insolvable dilemmas. Many artists are navigating them creatively. Here’s a story of one of my attempts. I hope it offers some useful insights; I certainly learned a lot. And since I recently critiqued another person’s visualization, it’s only fair that I share some of the critiques I’ve received — all of which, ultimately, have led to better designs.

The Job

Ann Ishimaru, a professor at the University of Washington, approached me with the job. She and her colleague Megan Bang had received funding from the Kellogg Foundation to bring together a group of nationally-recognized community organizers, educators, and researchers from around the country for a two-day meeting. The topic under discussion was family engagement — the practice of supporting families as leaders, advocates, and collaborators in schools and communities.

Ann, Megan, and their colleagues were not content with the current state of “best practices” in family engagement. Their goal was to to develop “next practices” — approaches that go beyond what we’re doing now to what is possible tomorrow. They wanted to center racial justice and the voices of “nondominant” groups, with the ultimate goal of “family and community wellbeing and educational justice.” Ann wanted to capture all this in an image to share at the meeting.

Clearly no small task.

We began with a couple different concepts. One was Tupac Shakur’s metaphor of “the rose that grew from concrete,” which is about the strength and beauty of people who learn to thrive despite facing significant life challenges. Ann wanted to expand the metaphor to explore what was happening below the surface of the concrete, as well as the broader ecology around the rose.

Another concept was root systems. The root systems of plants are often much more extensive than you’d expect, just as there is much going on beneath the surface in marginalized communities that goes unrecognized by outsiders. As a starting point, Ann shared with me the image below, showing a fungus that that attaches to plant roots. She liked the way the tendrils were interconnected through nodes, which suggested ideas about human interconnectedness and networks.

Mycorrhizosphere graphic

After some back and forth, I drafted the image below. I carefully selected flowers from different climates around the country to communicate the diversity of the gathered group. I also used flowers at different stages of growth, to symbolize inter-generational collaboration. The urban landscape signified the broader ecology within which family engagement took place, as well as the large, often inaccessible institutions that families had to navigate. Linked root systems signified networks of mutual support, and a rootedness in shared history and culture.

flowers-v4web

The image sparked some great discussion at the meeting. Basically, they didn’t like it. Perhaps the loudest critique was about the lack of people in the image. Family engagement and leadership, they said, is about human beings, and that needs to be clear. Another critique was that the use of flowers made it seem like the image was about the environment. A third critique was that family leadership isn’t just about breaking through racism and oppression (the concrete), but also about building something new. Ann summarized it this way:

“The roots of schools as we know them are stunted and problematic from the get-go. They are rooted in oppression, in colonization, in assimilation and the stealing of land. How do we reconstruct something entirely different — not a school building, per se, but a system of education that starts from the roots and strengths and cultural practices of different communities and then builds from there…the process of growing or cultivating that somehow helps communities to heal, to be well, to build solidarities, to envision themselves into the future.”

planet-sketchwebIn conversation with Ann and Jondou Chen, the project director, I began to sketch out a new image that showed people with roots in the ground. The people had tools in their hands, to symbolize the building of new types of institutions. But Ann and I agreed that it was getting a bit too “we are the world,” and losing any indication of oppression and struggle.

At this point I realized I needed to shift my design approach. Simple stick figures could never capture the full humanity of people, or the complexity of family leadership across all the different groups involved. What if I used actual photographs? This idea led to the image below, based on Ann’s description of “a system of education that starts from the roots and strengths and cultural practices of different communities.” What would such an education system look like? (I used photos from an older project on community organizing for these early drafts, so thank you to all the groups featured!).

treessolid2web

Ann and Jondou liked the photos. However, they said the root system looked like a honeycomb. Also, they really didn’t like the top part. It was immediately clear, when they looked at the image, that the idea of a new institution as the end-goal wasn’t right. (I wasn’t thrilled with it myself, since it ended up looking like a cathedral, which is culturally specific and has its own baggage). Having an idea rejected like this can be frustrating, but over the years I’ve realized that this is one of the more helpful services visualizations can offer. By having their words reflected back to them as an image, they were able to clarify what they did not mean, and the dialogue moved forward in a better direction.

After some more conversation, I merged the ideas from my last two designs and came up with the graphic below. I moved the images of family leadership work into the leaves, rather than the roots. This suggested that people in communities around the country were already carrying out “next” practices, that the future goal was already here within today’s struggle. The multi-colored soils were meant to represent the diverse cultural and historical roots that fed this work. (At one point I tried to put historical images of family leadership and activism among the roots, but it got WAY too busy.)

peopletree-colorweb

Ann, Jondou, and their colleagues really liked the new direction, but had a few concerns:

  • The image came across as too individualistic. Each person was on their own, rather than connected to larger families or communities. As an alternative, they suggested multiple figures in groups, with arms/branches connected.
  • The landscape, at least to some, read as literally urban (rather than as a metaphor for unwelcoming institutions). They worried this was not inclusive of groups working in rural areas.
  • They wanted more age diversity among the figures, because so much of the work was intergenerational.

After a few more rounds of back-and-forth, we landed on the image below. In the end a wall, rather than a city, was used to symbolize the barriers faced by families. I drew inclusive, diverse groups of connected people, which purposefully did not read as traditional nuclear families. To be sure, it not the kind of graphic whose meaning is immediately clear to a viewer. Rather, it invites exploration, explanation, and discussion. It is as much about the feeling of the work as about the idea of the work.

Though it took a long time, and many re-drawings, ultimately the critiques greatly improved the design. In addition, the design process helped Ann and her colleagues clarify their own mission, goals, and values. Now the FLDC is running collaborative research projects in communities around the country, and I’ve been told that one group used the image to guide their discussions. They asked participants to describe how race and class have shaped their own histories (the roots); to write their hopes and dreams for their children, schools, and communities on cut-out leaves; and to use white note cards as “walls” to represent the barriers and challenges to realizing those hopes and dreams.

All around, a success, though I wouldn’t be surprised if we continued to adapt it going forward.

tree-image-vectors-v3-web

The problem with that equity vs. equality graphic you’re using

[NOTE: November 1, 2016. This post has been updated based on the new things I’ve learned about these images since posting the original article.]

I was doing some work for a colleague at the Family Leadership Design Collaborative, and she gave me a challenge: redesign the “equity vs. equality” graphic that’s been circulating on the web. You’ve probably come across a version of this graphic yourself. There are a bunch of iterations, but basically it shows three people trying to watch a baseball game over the top of a fence. The people are different heights, so the shorter ones have a harder time seeing. I’ve included the original image above, by Craig Froehle.

In the first of two images, all three people have one crate to stand on. In other words, there is “equality,” because everyone has the same number of crates. While this is helpful for the middle-height person, it is not enough for the shortest and superfluous for the tallest. In contrast, in the second image there is “equity” — each person has the number of crates they need to fully enjoy the game.

The distinction between equity and equality is an important one. For example, if we’re talking about school funding, advocating for equality would mean ensuring that all schools had the same amount of resources per pupil (an improvement in most cases, to be sure). On the other hand, advocating for equity would mean recognizing that some schools — like those serving students in low-income Communities of Color — will actually need more resources (funding, experienced teachers, relevant curriculum, etc.) if we are going to make a dent in the educational disparities that have come to be known as the “achievement gap.”

The problem with the graphic has to do with where the initial inequity is located. In the graphic, some people need more support to see over the fence because they are shorter, an issue inherent to the people themselves. That’s fine if we’re talking about height, but if this is supposed to be a metaphor for other inequities, it becomes problematic. For instance, if we return to the school funding example, this image implies that students in low-income Communities of Color and other marginalized communities need more resources in their schools because they are inherently less academically capable. They (or their families, or their communities) are metaphorically “shorter” and need more support. But that is not why the so-called “achievement gap” exists. As many have argued, it should actually be termed the “opportunity gap” because the problem is not in the abilities of students, but in the disparate opportunities they are afforded. It is rooted in a history of oppression, from colonization and slavery to “separate but equal” and redlining. It is sustained by systemic racism and the country’s ever-growing economic inequality.

This metaphor is actually a great example of deficit thinking — an ideology that blames victims of oppression for their own situation. As with this image, deficit thinking makes systemic forms of racism and oppression invisible. Other images, like the one of  different animals having to climb a tree, or of people picking fruit, suffer from the same problem. How would we make these root causes more visible in our “equity vs. equality” image?

Well, if we began with the metaphor of the fence, this would require making clear that the reason some people have more difficulty seeing than others is not because of their height, but because of the context around them. Below is a sketch of this idea. In this image, some people are standing on lower ground (a metaphor for historical oppression) and are trying to see over a higher fence, a metaphor for present-day systems of oppression. (I also put a hole in the fence, made by the person on the right, to symbolize the creative and often subversive ways that people find to work around systems and get some of what they need.)

equalityequity

However, I still don’t love this new version, because nothing is being done here to address the real problem: the fence. So I drew this third image for fun. Though by this point it’s losing a lot of the original images nice simplicity.

justice2

iisc_equalityequityIf you want to play around with this metaphor yourself, check out the 4th Box toolkit. Recently, the people at the Center for Story-Based Strategy and the Interaction Institute for Social Change worked with artist Angus Maguire to recreate the fence image, producing the beautiful version to the right. It went viral, and they noticed a lot of people remixing the image to expand on the concepts. So they collaborated with Maguire again to create an adaptable visual toolbox, which makes it easy to create your own image in the “4th box” as shown below. They’ve been using it to inspire both in-person and online dialogues.

the4thpanel_kit

I still see a lot of drawbacks to the core metaphor, however, so I’ve been on the lookout for others. One I’ve heard, which I think works better, references runners on a racetrack. On an oval track, the outer lanes are actually longer than the inner lanes. If everyone started at the same place, some would have to run farther than others. So, naturally, we start runners at different places along the track. Here’s a mock-up of this metaphor, though it assumes that you already know about the different lengths of each lane:

track

Beyond this, I haven’t had any major breakthroughs, and the idea of life as a “race” isn’t very appealing to me. Fortunately, I was not the only one trying to figure this out. Meyer Memorial Trust and Northwest Health Foundation had similar concerns, so they launched the Equity Illustrated contest, asking Oregonian artists to take up the challenge.

First place winner Salomé Chimuku rejected the simple metaphoric approach all together, noting that “equity isn’t about watching baseball.” Instead she offers a series of cartoon portraits of friends, with quotes from each illustrating a different aspect of equity. The result has the quality of a conversation. Here’s a sample. You can download the whole pdf HERE.

 

salomepdf-4

 

The third place illustration, from Matt Kinshella, is also pretty great. It keeps the simplicity of the fence image, but puts aside the baseball metaphor for a more concrete example — one close to my heart as someone invested in community work.

matt-2

It may seem that I am reading too much into these images. Certainly they were all created with the best of intentions. But metaphors are important. They help us understand new ideas by referencing things we already know. At the same time, they shape our experience, opening us up to some ideas while closing us off to others. The mental shorthand we use to understand “equity” will affect how we go about fighting for it.

In the spirit of keeping the conversation going, I’ll end with this image from Sam Killermann, which I find pretty amusing, and which you can buy in poster or t-shirt form.

equity-vs-equality-poster-18x24-small

 

The Art of Restorative Questions

We live in a punitive culture. We are so used to punishment as the go-to solution for any behavior we want to change, that it can be difficult to imagine other options. A group of artists, organized by Project NIA, are here to help us.

When it comes to discipline and punishment, we seem to be reaching a tipping point. The number of people incarcerated in the US has become so outrageously large, that bi-partisan support (a rare thing these days) is building up behind criminal justice reform. People are (re)considering alternatives to incarceration, particularly for non-violent crimes. In schools, too, it has become clear that a largely punitive approach to dealing with behavior “problems” has only led to more problems. Schools hand out unconscionable numbers of suspensions and expulsions. This disproportionately harms low income Students of Color, exacerbates the large opportunity gaps that already exist, and fosters what has come to be known as the school-to-prison pipeline.

In response, we have seen rapid growth of the restorative justice movement, which offers a radically different approach. Restorative justice asks that we make a paradigm shift in the way we think about “crime” and “misbehavior.” As Dr. Carolyn Boyes-Watson at the Center for Restorative Justice at Suffolk University explains,

“Rather than privileging the law, professionals and the state, restorative resolutions engage those who are harmed, wrongdoers and their affected communities in search of solutions that promote repair, reconciliation and the rebuilding of relationships. Restorative justice seeks to build partnerships to reestablish mutual responsibility for constructive responses to wrongdoing within our communities. Restorative approaches seek a balanced approach to the needs of the victim, wrongdoer and community through processes that preserve the safety and dignity of all.”

Within this realm, practitioners have developed a wide range of “restorative practices” — such as victim-offender dialogues and peacemaking circles — often drawing on conflict resolution practices from indigenous societies around the world. But restorative justice cannot be reduced to a set of practices. It is a way of thinking about and approaching conflict. It requires a shift in how we relate to one another. It is about developing a restorative culture in our schools and communities.

If this seems daunting, a new arts-based campaign offers a simple, but powerful, starting point. The effort was catalyzed by Project NIA, an influential Chicago-based organization dedicated to “participatory community justice” (which encompasses restorative justice as well as more systemic approaches like transformative justice). Project NIA brought together a group of (mostly) Chicago artists to create restorative justice posters. These stunning posters feature “restorative questions,” drawn from the work of Margaret Thorsborne.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The posters, and the questions they pose, are deceptively simple. However, if we were to truly use these questions as our starting point to address crime, violence, and conflict, we would find ourselves veering far from the punitive path. To ask someone who has been harmed, “What is needed to make things right?” is to privilege healing over retribution.  To ask someone who has done harm, “Who do you think has been affected by what you did?,” is to assume that learning and growth are possible.

All posters are available for public download. Print out your favorites and hang them in your neighborhood. I’m definitely going to be putting some up in the schools I work with here in Salt Lake City, where restorative practices are just beginning to gain traction. If you take a photo of the posters you hang, you can share it with the project by emailing it to transformchi2013@gmail.com.

Shifting from punitive to restorative approaches to justice and discipline will take more than learning new practices. It will require what Jeff Chang calls a “collective leap of imagination.” Fortunately, catalyzing our imaginations is something many artists excel at. As it says on the restorative posters website, “Artists help us to imagine new worlds. Let’s keep imagining together.”

 

 

What’s Hip-Hop Got to Do with Education?

This post has been re-posted from the Utah Museum of Fine Arts blog, and was written by UMFA intern Courtney-Rae Reinecke. It reports on an event that I had the chance to work on with the museum, as well as many other partners, back in May. Enjoy!

“This ACME Session had such a block party vibe!” —ACME Session participant

“This ACME Session had such a block party vibe!” —ACME Session participant

Outside the Glendale Branch of the Salt Lake City Public Library, break dancing erupted when DJ Dynamic started busting out the beats. Onlookers ate pizza and enjoyed the dancing and music, while artist Zach Franzoni from Mestizo Institute of Culture and Arts prepped canvases for a collaborative graffiti session. As the crowd swelled (ultimately to some 200 people), so did the excitement for what this May 11 ACME Session hosted by the Utah Museum of Fine Arts—“What’s Hip Hop Got to Do with Education?”—had in store.

ACME (Art. Community. Museum. Education.) is the UMFA’s outreach initiative dedicated to rethinking the public role of the museum. These bimonthly ACME Sessions bring together Salt Lake City’s most creative, inventive, and cross-disciplinary minds—K–12 educators, artists, museum professionals, university faculty and students, engineers, scientists, technologists, activists, researchers, and others. May’s session was designed to demonstrate the value of hip-hop as a relevant educational vehicle.

acme_lab_may_2016_01-1

“Performing lyrical brain surgery so we can see new visions of our one world” —excerpt from Jarred Martinez and Saia Langi’s poem

Jarred Martinez and Saia Langi from Truth Cypher, a Salt Lake-based community of writers, storytellers, and spoken word artists, started the session with a poem. They talked about the importance of school but also how hip-hop can help teachers connect with their students in more meaningful ways.

Jorge Rojas, UMFA director of education and engagement, gave a bilingual rundown of the ACME initiative. Paul Kuttner, the University Neighborhood Partners’ Education Pathways Partnership manager, explained that this session was designed to recognize hip-hop culture’s approach to learning and how to use it to transform traditional schooling methods to better serve our diverse youth.

acme_lab_may_2016_21Kuttner turned the audience’s attention to a poster that explained the original four “elements” of hip-hop, each of which line up with a different kind of “intelligence,” as proposed by Harvard University professor Howard Gardener’s theory of multiple intelligences.

Keynote speaker Robert Unzueta, a hip-hop and social justice professor at the University of Utah, then jumped in to explain that hip-hop is both an art medium that gives voice to marginalized communities and also a venue for knowledge production. He taught participants that marginalized communities use hip-hop as tool to engage in critical dialogue and action against social injustices. After Unzueta read Tupac Shakur’s “The Rose that Grew from Concrete,” participants split into four breakout sessions to deepen the conversation:

  • Graffiti Art—Visual-Spatial Intelligence led by Franzoni.
  • Hip-Hop Dance—Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence led by Josh Perkins and the BBoy Federation
  • Turntablism & Producing—Musical Intelligence led by Luis Lopez, then-program coordinator of Artes de Mexico en Utah
  • Emceeing/Poetry—Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence led by Martinez and Langi from Truth Cypher

These stations provided four different contexts in which to explore two specific questions: “How does learning, teaching, and social change happen through hip-hop?” and “How can hip-hop culture help us rethink and transform schooling?”

After two rounds in which all participants discussed both questions, everyone joined together in a cypher of chairs to conclude the evening. A hip-hop cypher is a space for dancers or emcees to create room for each other to have their time and then step back so someone else can have their time, a place for listening and building off what others have to say. In this cypher, participants explained what they did and what they learned, sparking a discussion among the educators, parents, and students who gathered. All expressed their wishes to integrate what they learned in the Acme Session into traditional schooling.

Because of the excitement triggered by this ACME Session’s enthusiastic turnout, session leaders proposed a follow-up meeting to maintain the momentum, from bringing together a larger “think tank” in the Salt Lake City area to creating workshops for educators and artists. Stay tuned for more upcoming events!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

P.S. Here’s a list of resources compiled by the session leaders that you can use to explore how to integrate hip-hop into your own curriculum and classrooms!

Books

Urban Science Education for the Hip-Hop Generation by Christopher Emdin

Hip-Hop Genius by Sam Seidel

Black Noise by Tricia Rose

Hip-Hop Wars by Tricia Rose

Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop by Jeff Chang

Schooling Hip-Hop: Expanding Hip-Hop Based Education across the Curriculum, edited by Marc Lamont Hill and Emery Petchauer

The Organic Globalizer: Hip Hop, Political Development, and Movement Culture, edited by Christopher Malone and George Martinez

Black Noise by Tricia Rose

The Art of Critical Pedagogy by Jeffrey M Duncan Andrade

The Hip-Hop Reader by Tim Strode and Tim Wood

Holler If You Hear Me by Michael Eric Dyson

That’s The Joint Reader by Murray Forman and Mark Anthony Neal

Organizations

#HipHopEd, a network co-created by hip-hop educator Christopher Emdin

B.Love, the website of hip-hop educator Bettina Love

Hip Hop Congress

High School For Recording Arts, an entire school focused around hip-hop and music production

The Good Life Organization, a Chicago-Based group that developed the “Fulfill the Dream” curriculum

Videos

Urban Science Education for the Hip-Hop Generation

Hip-Hop Genius: Remixing High School Education

Hip hop, grit, and academic success: Bettina Love at TEDxUGA

 

USDAC Statement on Syrian Refugee Crisis

Today I am reposting a statement from the US Department of Arts and Culture, calling on artists and creative activists to step up in this time of increased xenophobia, and to stand for empathy and justice. The image above is We Are Not Numbers, by Heba Al Akkad, part of a collection curated at the World Bank.

The USDAC calls on all artists and creative activists to use our gifts for compassion and justice, sharing images, performances, experiences, writings, and other works of art that raise awareness, build connection, cultivate empathy, and inspire us to welcome those who are forced from homes that are no longer safe.

More than four million Syrians have been driven from their homes, becoming refugees. Although state governors hold no power to bar entry to the U.S., a short time after the acts of terrorism that took lives in Beirut and Paris, more than half have issued statements rejecting Syrian refugees within their borders. Polls have shown that many Americans oppose accepting Syrian refugees. Poll results from the 1930s and 1940s showed majority opposition to accepting German child refugees and Jews; and from the 1970s majority opposition to the admission of refugees from Southeast Asia.

Once again, we must ask:

Who are we as a people?
What do we stand for?
How do we want to be remembered?

As a culture of fear and isolation? Or as a culture that values every human life, extending love and compassion to newcomers needing refuge?

As a people-powered department, we honor the stories of those whose ancestors were brought here by force, those who sought refuge here, and those rooted on this land before others arrived. Together, we can choose to create a culture of belonging, welcoming new culture-bearers. Together, we can live up to the promise inscribed on the Statue of Liberty:

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome….

We join together in affirming to all public officials and policymakers that a culture of fear and isolation cannot stand. We join together in applying our gifts to sustaining a culture of compassion and justice. We stand together with generations of creative activists in communities across the nation who have been envisioning and working toward a world of equity and belonging for all.

Signed by:

Maribel Alvarez, Minister of Public Sentiment, Tucson, AZ
Liliana Ashman, Story Hunter-Gatherer, New York, NY
Caron Atlas, Minister of Naturally Occurring Cultural Districts, Brooklyn, NY
Judy Baca, Minister of Sites of Public Memory, Venice, CA
Daniel Banks, Catalytic Agent, Santa Fe, NM
Jack Becker, Public Art Mobilizer, St. Paul, MN
Roberto Bedoya, Secretary of Belonging, Tucson, AZ
Ted Berger, Senior Policy Advisor, New York, NY
Ludovic Blain III, Chief Political Wonk, Berkeley, CA
Larry Bogad, Minister of Tactical Performance, Berkeley, CA
Eric Booth, Head Cheerleader for Teaching Artists, High Falls, NY
Amelia Brown, Minister of Emergency Arts, Minneapolis, MN
Sarah Browning, Minister of Poetry and Public Life, Washington, DC
Con Christesen, Cultural Agent, St. Louis, MO
Chrislene DeJean, Cultural Agent, Boston, MA
Maria De Leon, Minister of Inclusive Leadership Transformation, San Antonio, TX
Martha Diaz, Minister of HIp Hop Education, New York, NY
Jayeesha Dutta, Cultural Agent, New Orleans, LA
Dana Edell, Secretary of Creative Sparks, Brooklyn, NY
Hayden Gilbert, Cultural Agent, Cleveland, OH
Arlene Goldbard, Chief Policy Wonk, Lamy, NM
Beth Grossman, Cultural Agent, Brisbane, CA
Lynden Harris, Cultural Agent, Cedar Grove, NC
Mattice Haynes, Cultural Agent, Decatur, GA
Jon Henry, Cultural Agent, Harrisonburg, VA
Barry Hessenius, Minister of Nonprofit Arts Organizations, San Anselmo, CA
Bob Holman, Minister of Poetry and Language Protection, New York, NY
Adam Horowitz, Chief Instigator, Santa Fe, NM
Denise Johnson, Cultural Agent, Baltimore, MD
James Kass, Secretary of Belief in The Next Generation, San Francisco, CA
Paul Kuttner, Minister of Cultural Scholarship, Salt Lake City, UT
Dave Loewenstein, Cultural Agent, Lawrence, KS
Kate McNeely, Action Maestr@, New York, NY
Liz Maxwell, Chief Dot Connector, New York, NY
Angela Miles, Master of Swag, Philadelphia, PA
E. Ethelbert Miller, Minister of Sacred Words, Washington, DC
Jaléssa Mungin, Deputy Deputy, Philadelphia, PA
Meena Natarajan, Radical Equity Catalyst, Pangaea Division, Minneapolis, MN
Martha Richards, Senior Strategist for Women Artists, Berkeley, CA
Favianna Rodriguez, Secretary of Cultural Equity, Oakland, CA
Julianna Ross, Cultural Agent, Seattle, WA
Sebastian Ruth, Secretary of Music and Society, Providence, RI
Allison Schifani, Lead Initiative Investigator, Bureau of Speculative Acts & Technologies of Empathy, Cleveland, OH
Michael Schwartz, Cultural Agent, Tucson, AZ
Shirley Sneve, Tribal Liaison, Lincoln, NE
Jessica Solomon, Chief Weaver of Social Fabric, Baltimore, MD
Elizabeth Streb, Action Architect, New York, NY
Jack Tchen, Secretary of Curiosities, New York, NY
Julia Terry, Cultural Agent, Philadelphia, PA
Makani Themba, Minister of Revolutionary Imagination, Detroit, MI
Fabiola Torralba, Cultural Agent, San Antonio, TX
Ali Toxtli, Cultural Agent, Passaic, NJ
Carlton Turner, Minister of Creative Southern Strategies, Atlanta, GA
Mark Valdez, Minister of Ensemble Creativity, Los Angeles, CA
Veena Vasista, ArtReach Coordinator, Santa Fe, NM
Lily Yeh, Urban Alchemist, Philadelphia, PA
Betty Yu, Cultural Agent, Brooklyn, NY
Roseann Weiss, Cultural Agent, St. Louis, MO
Yolanda Wisher, Rhapsodist of Wherewithal, Philadelphia, PA
Steve Zeitlin, Minister for Art in Everyday Life, New York, NY

Celebrating Joe Hill on Labor Day

“The Copper Bosses killed you Joe,
They shot you Joe” says I.
“Takes more than guns to kill a man”
Says Joe “I didn’t die”
Says Joe “I didn’t die”

— Paul Robeson (and many others), Joe Hill

This past Saturday I took my three-year-old son down to Sugar House Park in Salt Lake City for the Joe Hill Centennial Celebration. The event — which included food, printmaking, and of course lots of good folk music — took place on the site of the former prison where Hill was executed, 100 years ago this November. In honor of labor day, I, too, want to take a moment to celebrate the life and art of one of the labor movement’s foremost cultural organizers.

A Swedish immigrant who came to the US in 1902, Joe Hill worked as an itinerant laborer in cities across the country including New York, Chicago, Cleveland, San Francisco, and Portland. In 1910, while working on the docks in San Pedro, Hill joined the International Workers of the World (IWW). A long-time agitator and an organizer, Hill was, at heart, an artist. He played played multiple instruments, drew cartoons, wrote poetry, and, most famously, wrote some of the labor movement’s most memorable songs. As Michael Löwy writes, for Hill, to be an artist meant to be a “rebel.”

While awaiting execution, Joe Hill wrote, in two separate letters: “I have lived like an artist and I shall die like an artist,” and “I have lived like a rebel and I shall die like a rebel.” For him, being an artist and a rebel were the same.

Hill’s songs, which were featured in the Wobblies’ “little red songbook,” celebrated the power of unions, criticized scabs, and promoted class consciousness. He once wrote, pragmatically if a bit paternalistically,

A pamphlet, no matter how good, is never read more than once, but a song is learned by heart and repeated over and over. And I maintain that if a person can put a few common sense facts into a song and dress them up in a cloak of humor, he will succeed in reaching a great number of workers who are too unintelligent or too indifferent to read.

Hill was convicted of the murder of a Salt Lake City grocer and his son, on very circumstantial evidence, and executed by firing squad. But his influence on radical labor culture lives on — even, apparently, in the city that killed him. Below I share a couple of his classic songs, but first, his last wishes:

My body? Ah, if I could choose,
I would to ashes it reduce,
And let the merry breezes blow
My dust to where some fading flowers grow.

Perhaps some fading flowers then
Would come to life and bloom again.
This is my last and final will.
Good luck to you.

 

 

Twelve Songs That Teach Hip-Hop History

“What we’re gonna do right here is go back, way back, back into time.”

— Troglodite, by the Jimmy Castor Bunch

Hip-Hop has always been hyper-conscious about its roots, maybe because it began with young people playing, and then rapping over, older music. Hip-hop artists of all stripes are constantly sampling, referencing, and quoting artists from the past, creatively reconstructing their family trees. Every once in a while, an emcee takes this to the next level. They become lyrical historians, narrating the evolution of hip-hop and its art forms. I’ve always been a sucker for this genre of song, ever since I was a kid in the Boston suburbs scanning the radio dial intently to learn everything I could about this incredible sound coming from the nation’s urban centers.

In this post, I share twelve songs about hip-hop history, some famous and some lesser known. Unless you’re extremely well-informed, it’ll probably take some additional research to get all the references (Rap Genius can help, http://rap.genius.com/). For teachers, these songs could come in handy as prompts for classroom discussions. For example, conversations about what these songs include, and what they leave out, could be extremely informative.

These songs don’t really tell the whole story. They are pretty US-heavy and overly-nostalgic, and there are plenty of gaps. For one, I couldn’t find any written by women (if you know any, please comment!). Still, if you’re looking to dive into hip-hop’s roots, here are some guides to lead you.

1. South Bronx, by Boogie Down Productions

It’s generally agreed that hip-hop as we know it today first emerged in the South Bronx, so there’s no better song to start with than South Bronx, by KRS-One and Scott LaRock. This song was written in response to MC Shan and DJ Marley Marl’s, The Bridge, which claimed Queens, NY, as hip-hop’s birthplace. It’s clear today who won this argument.

2. Knowledge is Power, by Akala

Of course, hip-hop didn’t appear in the South Bronx out of nowhere. It’s roots lie deep in African, African-American, Afro-Caribbean, and Latin American musical and oral traditions. In Knowledge is Power, UK-based emcee Akala calls the Bronx-based origin story a “myth,” and argues that those who love hip-hop need to look much deeper into its antecedents.

3. Lune Tns, by Company Flow

Today the emcee has become the preeminent image of the hip-hop artist. But, of course, rapping is only one of the hip-hop elements. In Lune Tns, Bigg Jus of Company Flow pays homage to the great and lesser known graffiti artists of New York City.

4. Gangsta Rap, by Ice T

Hip-hop may have originally coalesced in New York, but it quickly spread. In Gangsta Rap, Ice T recounts how hip-hop was picked up by artists on the West Coast. There, hip-hop and local gang culture converged to birth West coast gangsta rap, which then took the world by storm (for good and ill).

5. Latinos Stand Up (Remix), by Chino XL, Sick Jacken, Thirstin Howl, B Real, Sinful, and Kid Frost

Latinos artists have been part of hip-hop’s evolution since its birth, but have often been unrecognized for their contributions. In this song, some of the most well-known Latino rappers join together to represent for the Latin hip-hop tradition.

6. Underground Heaven, by Cesar Comanche

Underground Heaven highlights the central role of the DJ/Producer in creating the sound we recognize today as hip-hop music. It’s something of an ode to the independent record store and the sample, and has a great verse that rolls through some of the most classic samples in hip-hop.

7. I Used To Love H.E.R., by Common

In this famous song, Common narrates the evolution of hip-hop metaphorically, personifying hip-hop as a woman with whom he has a sort of on-again, off-again relationship. Despite the somewhat sexist nature of the metaphor, this song beautifully captures the feeling of nostalgia for hip-hop’s early days which can often be found among hip-hop aficionados.

8. Hip-Hop Knowledge, by KRS-One

In this song, Blastmaster KRS-One narrates some of the history of conscious or political hip-hop, including various efforts (mostly his) to use hip-hop culture as a vehicle for peace, learning, and social change.

9. At the Party, by Macklemore

This is a fun one. With At the Party, Macklemore narrates hip-hop history as if it were all taking place at the same time, at one house party. Along with nods to many of hip-hop’s premier innovators and popularizers, he manages to include social commentary about the shifts in hip-hop’s audience towards white, suburban America.

10. From Jeddah to LA, by Qusai

Qusai is a Saudi Arabian artist who co-hosted the first hip-hop show for MTV Arabia. In From Jeddah to LA, Qusai raps about the path hip-hop took as it left the shores of the US and was picked up in Saudi Arabia. While his story is specific to the Middle East, his lyrics capture a piece of the global process by which hip-hop spread across national borders and was adapted to local contexts around the world.

11. I Was There, by KRS-One and Marley Marl

Is it possible to have too much KRS? I don’t think so. This track comes off of the 2007 album Hip-Hop Lives, which brought KRS-One together with his rival in the Bridge Wars, Marley Marl. KRS challenges the legitimacy of hip-hop historians studying the movement from outside, arguing that his own experiential knowledge of hip-hop’s past is much more valuable. While most of the songs on this page focus on artists, I Was There also touches on the business side of hip-hop, as well as some of the important historical events that shaped hip-hop’s rise.

12. Hip Hop, by Wyclef Jean

I’m going to end with Wyclef, because his song Hip Hop came out in 2013, and brings us almost up to date. Fortunately, someone put together a video with images of all the artists whose names he drops. His lyrics point to history’s cyclical nature: “Things done changed but they stay the same.”

 

 

 

Photo at Top: Hip-Hop Timeline created by youth at Project HIP-HOP, http://projecthiphop.org

#DareToImagine: A Call to (Creative) Action

“Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”
— Arundhati Roy

This October, the people-powered US Department of Arts and Culture (USDAC)*, in partnership with Cultural Organizing, is launching a nationwide action called #DareToImagine. We are looking for your help.

Real democracy runs on social imagination, our capacity to envision alternatives to what is. Imagination is a muscle—and right now, it needs exercise! Are you ready to step it up? The USDAC is inviting you to sign up as an “Emissary from the Future.”

ImaginationStationFrom October 10-18, 2015, Emissaries from the Future will create Imagination Stations nationwide, popping up in parks, classrooms, galleries, conferences, farmer’s markets and beyond for this large-scale act of collective imagination. Using creative tactics, Emissaries will engage people in envisioning the world they hope to inhabit and—looking back from the future—celebrating the work they did to get there. The resulting texts, images, videos, and more will be uploaded to an online platform, yielding a crowd-sourced vision of the future, inspiring art, policy, and community action.

In these times, exercising social imagination is a radical and necessary act, shifting dominant narratives and affirming that all of us make the future. Too often, we’ve been persuaded to believe our voices don’t count or that the future is determined by a powerful few. But when we have the audacity to dream in public, when we begin to unleash imagination and turn it into action, we can move the world.

As an Emissary, you’ll invite people to imagine the world they wish to live in, then help them connect imagination to action. It’s creative, fun, and effective.

Emissaries receive a free step-by-step toolkit full of creative activities and tips, access to online training and 1-1 assistance, and the opportunity to put their Imagination Station (and all that it yields) on the map, connecting local visions to a national dialogue. You can sign up** to host an Imagination Station as an individual or as a group/organization.

The future belongs to those who #DareToImagine.

 

*The U.S. Department of Arts and Culture is not an official government agency. It is a people-powered movement dedicated to cultivating empathy, equity, and social imagination. http://usdac.us
** The deadline to sign up for this action is September 10, but we encourage you to sign up now so that you have ample time to plan for awesomeness and impact.

 

Artists: Engage in Global Un-War Project

Today I am reposting a powerful call to action from artist Krzysztof Wodiczko, head of the Interrogative Design Group and professor in residence at the Harvard Graduate School of Design. For decades, Wodiczko has been carrying out large-scale public and community-engaged design projects addressing social issues, many related to the causes and consequences of war. In 1998 he received the Hiroshima Art Prize for his contributions to world peace. In this essay, Wodiczko calls on fellow artists to turn their talents toward dismantling the “culture of war.”

The 70th Anniversary of the Hiroshima Bombing

“Nuclear weapons have changed everything except the way we think.”
– Albert Einstein

To Fellow Artists

Seventy years ago Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed with the use of nuclear weapons. The atomic bomb that exploded over Hiroshima killed women and children in addition to soldiers. Within three miles of the explosion 60,000 of the 90,000 buildings were demolished. While Hiroshima’s population had been estimated at 350,000, almost one third, approximately 70,000 people died immediately. In three years the total death count from radiation and wounds reached 200,000 and as of today stands at 297,684.

Hiroshima is the exemplary site in our living memory of destruction and disregard for human life. It is the historical and ethical referent that compels us to condemn all acts of war and urges us to end the perpetuation of war.

Questions concerning “why” Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed with nuclear weapons are pointless and ethically insulting, implying that there might be acceptable explanations and “logical reasons” to justify the atrocities. The cause was the war itself. If there had not been war there would have been no bombing of any kind.

There would be no war – and no Hiroshima bombing – if there had occurred a change in our “way of thinking.” Our eternal assumption that conflict can be “resolved” by war, and that the path to peace is war must be changed. “The way we think” is assumed to be immutable by our national cultures. In fact all nations and nation-building societies and their governing bodies cultivate such a notion.

To end the perpetuation of war demands ending the perpetuation of the very idea of war. International laws, treaties and UN conventions are only pieces of paper as long as they remain contradicted by the actual practices of nation-states and statehood-seeking groups that everlastingly drag their ideological patterns, rituals of culture, and cult of war through the centuries.

The processes of preparing for, waging, and commemorating war are seen as essential elements of history, rooted in human psychology, admired as a martial cultural tradition that, with a powerful intensity of emotion, remains central to the lives of those who participate in it.

The motivation to fight and die in war is preserved by a war culture that manifests itself through uniforms, war games, parades, military decorations, and war memorials (including statues and shrines, triumphal arches, cenotaphs, victory columns, and other commemorations of the dead), as well as the creation of war art and military art, martial music, and war museums, not to mention the popular fascination with weapons, war toys, violent video and computer games, battle reenactments, collectibles, military history and literature.

The Culture of War makes men and women face death willingly, even enthusiastically. War is a destructive, self-destructive, mass operation, and the Culture of War reinforces its social pathology and its function as “an end in itself.”

Some facts are so enormous that we do not see them. The largest such fact is that war poses a mortal danger to our civilization. Our blindness results in a tolerance, passivity, and silence when faced with the international legitimacy and popular acceptance of the culture of war. Such silence and passivity is closely related to our denial, blaming of others, and inadequate effort in taking actions towards eliminating war. It all leads us to the point of annihilation through nuclear warfare. Public attitudes are a symptom of the contradictory condition in which we claim a critical stance against war while simultaneously we pay taxes that support war and enthusiastically attend war parades and war films, with their necro-orgiastic spectacles.

Changing such deeply-rooted cultural acceptance of war needs a pro-active approach that combines critical interventions that disrupt, ridicule, and unmask our hypocrisy with new transformative projects: projects of the kind that engage the cultural and pedagogical sphere, directed to all, but especially the young.

We must contribute to this complex task through our own individual and collective experimental and proactive projects. We must do so through collaboration with those from other fields and disciplines, engaging anyone who can contribute their commitment, experience, knowledge, sensitivity, and talent to the cause.

As psychoanalyst Hanna Segal has pointed out, “the war manifestations are despised and regularly denigrated as atavistic and irrational while secretly or openly embraced and celebrated.” The Culture of War consolidates this psychological division of our souls. To challenge such a schism requires an exceptional investment of political will, ethical energy, cultural imagination, intellectual depth and artistic vision.

In such a complex war-ending project, the preferred term should be “Un-War” rather than the word “peace,” because peace is not a simple matter. To end wars, one must first confront the social and cultural phenomenon of war and recognize how firmly war is entrenched in our singular and collective minds. Un-War is the new state of mind that enables the process of understanding, uncovering, and undoing war. It acknowledges that war exists as something hidden within us, which must be brought symbolically and culturally to our singular consciousness before matters erupt into bloody conflict. The other implication of the term Un-War is that war is an old state of mind and a mental condition installed in us from without, through the Culture of War. We must culturally uninstall it.

The task of dismantling the Culture of War requires the creation of new methods of transforming all war-based and war-bound cultures toward a Culture of Un-War as a global, national, regional, and urban project. We must do so on through the laboratories and experimental zones that are provided to us by arts funding, art education, art production and art-disseminating media, institutions, organizations, agencies and centers. We must do so as well with non-artistic governmental and non-governmental organizations, institutions and networks.

Culture, especially popular, artistic and media culture, is the field in which we work. We the artists know of the larger national culture – an essential part of which is the culture-of-war. We know it all too well. Such knowledge has been for a long time based on our own direct experience with it.

In fact it is we ourselves – artists and designers, including architects – who are profoundly implicated in reinforcing and disseminating the culture and cult of war. Since ancient times visual, sound, performance, and mixed-media artists have been major contributors to the culture of war: the massive presence in museums of military art and the participation of artists in war propaganda efforts and in designing symbolically and visually effective uniforms, armor and camouflage, as well as hundreds of thousands of artistically conceived war monuments, memorials and shrines that promote war as a way to make peace, or as a way of admiring killing and death as a noble duty and a sacred sacrifice.

If artists and designers have contributed to war through its aesthetic reinforcement, phantasms, war mobilizations, and indeed through warfare itself, they can certainly contribute to the opposite: the creation of a Un-War culture and the construction of a new consciousness toward a war-free civilization that generates the global abolition of war.

We are prepared.

We already know a culture with a tradition of opposing war, of opposing both war itself and the culture and cult of war throughout at least four centuries of anti-war art which engages visual arts, performing arts, media arts, music and poetry and literature projects, movements and campaigns. A number of important artists have questioned the assumptions surrounding war: Francisco Goya, Honoré Daumier, Édouard Manet, George Grosz, Otto Dix, Kathe Kollwitz, Pablo Picasso, Hans Haacke, Leon Golub, Nancy Spero, Yoko Ono, Barbara Kruger, Jochen Gerz, Ben Shahn, Walid Raad, William Kentridge and collectives such as Publixtheatre Caravan are just some among many examples of past and present anti-war artistic endeavors. Significant parts of this tradition include, after the First World War, Ernst Friedrich’s War Against War project and the Anti-War Museum in Berlin (shut down by the Nazis in 1933); John Heartfield’s photomontages satirizing the Nazis. Following the Second World War; there was also Robert Filliou’s Fluxus proposal for exchanging war monuments between adjacent countries and Yoko Ono’s “art for peace.” The Vietnam War ended in part thanks to resistance movements supported by anti-war artists. Artists have long been involved in conflict-transformation initiatives, war-related post-traumatic stress relief, and cross-cultural communication projects. Many war veterans and members of their families have become artists so as to better heal their emotional wounds and publicly share their war experiences, while addressing society’s lack of a truthful emotional comprehension of war.

Unfortunately, despite so many powerful anti-war efforts, artistic culture and to a large extent the entire contemporary Western visual culture, remain dominated by art that is either fascinated by war, emotionally distant from war, or – the most regrettable – silent about war. The number of artists involved directly in peace-building processes remains minuscule. In this situation, the deconstruction of the culture of war, while constructing a new culture of Un-War, is the most urgent project for artists to pursue.
Joseph Rotblat, recipient of the 1995 Nobel Peace Price, said: “A nuclear weapon-free world would be safer that the present one. But, because now we know how to build such weapons, the danger of the ultimate catastrophe would still be there. The only way to prevent it is to abolish war altogether. War must cease to be an admissible social institution. We must learn to resolve our disputes by means other than military confrontation.”

Let us state it again: Since the bombing of Hiroshima, we have faced the potential of war as total global nuclear annihilation. In our era of proliferation of nuclear weapons, the key condition for ending wars and maintaining peace on our planet, indeed the key to its very survival, is the disarmament of this culture of war, historically entrenched, even cherished by the nation-states — a dangerous condition from which all humankind suffers.

It is time for artists and designers to engage in urgent peace-building and Un-War projects, sharing their experiences, educating themselves and urging others to join war prevention and peace building organizations, institutions and networks, and to engage in educational and pedagogical work that intersects, supplements and informs through original artistic input in the fields of peace education, conflict transformation and mediation, post conflict studies, psychoanalysis of war and peace, positive peace building. These efforts must be in collaboration with art pedagogy, art education, art therapy, urban pedagogy, toy and game design, software design, media and instrumental research and other fields that can strive to change the way we think about war and envision an Un-War future.

The performance, design and media based un-war projects may include:

  • New toys‎ and electronic games for playfully learning conflict mediation and transformation methods, diplomacy and other forms of dealing with conflict without war, while inspiring non-violent discourse on the issues of war conflict and national cultures.
  • Supplemental media based and spatial projects linked directly or remotely online to war memorials, memorial halls and other war related monuments, including sites of former battlefields, designed for discursive public engagement on the issues of war, conflict, history and national culture and related to pedagogical programs.
  • Artistically conceived performative actions, interventions, rituals and events engaging war and war related monuments and sites of memory as an alternative, or supplement to official marches, parades and commemorative or celebratory gatherings.
  • Design of new guides, smart phones and computer software as well as special portable or wearable media equipment for ‎visiting art, cultural and historical museums to reinterpret in discuss war and war related art, artifacts, displays and curatorial narratives.
  • Design of special portable or wearable media equipment for discursive re-reading of the textbooks, history books, national literature with suggested new critical and analytical approach to wars and conflicts while inserting missing data, including the missing groups and individuals who contributed averting the wars.
  • Development of new pedagogical art projects that engage people in developing informed perception and discussion on war impact on specific civilian populations abroad as well as in one’s own country and a place where one lives.
  • Design of new computer-based or wearable un-war equipment for interpretative and analytical ways of watching war and military action films, including war saturated TV “history” channel, and military recruitment advertisement.
  • Design of tools for gatherings, civic actions and protests as an alternative or a supplement to official war-related commemorative or celebratory occasions and events (to be also useful for performative actions that engage war and war related monuments).
  • Special deconstructive and playful artistic and design projects for the recognition and development of critical distance to one’s own hidden desire and fascination with war (which contradicts one’s own resentment to it), and for openly discussing such issues with others especially in the public domain.
  • Development of new communicative cultural and art projects with war refugees and war veterans to help them to open up and share in the open their war and post war experience and challenge our imaginary relation — especially among young people — to the reality of war and its existential and mental condition and crossgenerational fallout.

There are of course many other possible methods, techniques and contexts for Un-War projects. This is a call for us, artists and designers, to join each other in the global project of recognizing and dismantling through their projects and actions the culture of war both from within and without ourselves, to educate our societies and nations about war, to build together a new vigilance about war toward a new culture based on mediation and sense of common interests that is dynamic, “agonistic” and open, cherishing healthy and creative conflicts but never violent — a Culture of Un-War.

Krzysztof Wodiczko

Recipient of the 4th Hiroshima Art Prize

August 6, 2015, Vinalhaven, Maine

 

Photo: Public projection © Krzysztof Wodiczko at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, DC