Exhibit B and the Art of Conversation about Racism

I have read thoughtful pieces about Exhibit B in the last few weeks and thought long and hard about whether to add my own voice to the conversation. Most of the pieces have understandably focused on arguing that the work should/should not have been shown. I want to try and offer some thoughts about the debate itself.

Many have argued that closing Exhibit B was an act of censorship in that it limited freedom of expression. Rather than criticising the Barbican for closing it down, a number of writers have blamed the campaigners who were present at the opening night (and some have blamed everyone who signed the petition also). This seems, on first sight, a problematic position - invoking freedom of expression for the artist but not extending this right to those, who for whatever reason, might wish to protest. If one holds that lawful protest equates to censorship, the implications for democracy are very serious indeed. If one holds that freedom of expression is a right, then that right must be extended to those who engage in lawful protest. (Incidentally, few commentators have made reference to the importance of Black-led protest in improving the living conditions of Black people in the UK and globally and how this has included artistic representation in shows such as "The Black and White Minstrels" - perhaps television is not considered art?)

It is perhaps with this in mind that the Barbican statement implied that the protest was not peaceful even though there had been no arrests made by the police on the opening night. Whilst the police have not said that the protest was unlawful in any way, the Barbican statement has been interpreted by some commentators as claiming that it was violent - this seems to me a reasonable reading of the statement, unless the claim that the protest was not 'peaceful' was really intended to mean it was not 'quiet'.  I think that sound and voice are motifs in the debate.

The 'mob' that were 'whipped up into a frenzy' as one writer puts it, were chanting and drumming. (We might consider whether the difference between a 'mob' and say 'a group of autonomous individuals engaged in collective action' is merely rhetorical.)  Inside, the Black performers had been told by their White director to remain silent and to hold eye contact with their audience. Some writers have contrasted their 'dignified' position with those of the protestors. It is not difficult to see echoes of discourses of how Black people should respond to the subject of racism - dignified silence versus loud anger. Bailey's choice of language, in describing the protest as "a violent riot" appears to be in tension with his declared wish to examine "systems of racism and how they dehumanise all who are touched by them" when we consider how such systems have often used narratives of Black people as inherently violent. If we think back to 2011, we are likely to agree that actual rioters get pretty strong legal treatment in this country.

Of course there are many  possible responses to racism, but it is not clear that Exhibit B explores them. And with its all-Black cast, isn't Exhibit B actually about Black people rather than colonialism and racism? Can one tell a story about European colonialism whilst removing the colonialists from the story? Can one tell a story of "the white gaze" without including white people?

Perhaps the white gaze is to be added the moment the audience enters. Perhaps as some commentators have suggested, the piece is for those people who, like the director himself, can gaze on Black bodies and meditate on how they have benefited from their subjugation. This reading of the piece would allow for an argument that our own racialised identity informs (to some extent) how we come to look at racism. I've watched interviews and trailers, but I am still confused as to what the director would make of this claim. I can see that some commentators think it racist to suggest this. For them, questions of who is best positioned to discuss x, amount to another form of censorship. However one can reject an extreme position such as listing what an artist can and can't talk about and still think it important to discuss who gets to speak about what in art.

For instance, I genuinely wonder whether the campaign calling for closing Exhibit B would have been as well supported if it had been possible to point to a number of other recent pieces at the Barbican (and beyond) that had tackled the white gaze. If it was clear that Black artists were supported with public funds in making art that spoke of the brutality of European colonialism, might not people have engaged in strong critiques of Exhibit B but been aware that Brett Bailey's voice was only one in the conversation, rather than the (seemingly) lone voice? I think this complicates the censorship argument which seems to rely on a meritocratic notion that the art that gets funded and seen is the best art. Of course art should (be allowed to) be provocative and to divide opinion. However saying that anything that is legal is art if claimed as such, appears to hand over aesthetic and ethical questions to the law-makers. As an extreme example, it means that the actual enslavement and trading of Black people could be art if it was claimed as such in the UK before 1807.

There is clearly diversity of opinion amongst Black artists in particular around the issues this episode has highlighted. Artists for whom I have the greatest of respect have found themselves on opposite sides of a for/against debate. I do not wish to deny the agency of the Black actors who participated in Exhibit B, all of whom made informed decisions and some of whom have spoken about their reasons for participating. I think it is perhaps slightly troubling that the director has not always used people who consider themselves actors as the work has toured. He appears to be content to find Black people who will consent to participating in the work and are able to stand still and give eye contact. Does using Black people interchangeably in the piece critique the historical denial of full personhood to Black people, or mirror it to some extent? Perhaps the final section of the piece, in which actors write about their reasons for getting involved mitigates against accusations that the actors are not permitted their own voices in the piece. And do those who argue that participants are not "really Black" (I have seen such comments online) not themselves essentialise Black people?

The extent to which the participants can be said to have been 'acting' appears to be a fault line in the debate. Is it reasonable to compare Exhibit B, an art installation, to a film such as "12 Years a Slave" as many have done? Is there a crucial difference in how the audience are positioned? When I watch a film I am a viewer. In an art installation do I become a participant? If my response is part of "the piece" how am I to respond? Perhaps the only appropriate response to seeing Black people shackled is to rush to liberate them? On first hearing about Exhibit B, I had speculated with friends as to what would happen if people entered and did just this. But what if the protestors outside had declared their drumming and chanting as art (which to my knowledge they did not)? We might have had an interesting juxtaposition of public art and publicly funded art.

I think that one artistic response to this episode would be a piece of verbatim theatre on this episode, perhaps accompanied by talks and discussions. Certainly the debates around Exhibit B have reached far more people than the piece itself would have on its planned short run in London. Perhaps we have Brett Bailey to thank for this. Perhaps we have the protestors.

World Book Day - A Teacher's Dilemma

World Book Day is coming up on March 7th. I like World Book Day and I love books.

In the run-up to World Book Day few years ago, I received a phone call from a colleague. He asked me for suggestions for Black male characters from children's books as he wanted to dress as one. We came up with a depressingly short list and got to talking about why this might be, whether it was important and what we could do about it.

Together with another colleague of mine, we created the resource below. It is grounded in a real-life situation but raises some philosophical issues. I have used it with teachers, teacher-educators and with Year 6 pupils. People have responded to it in a range of ways, some very positive, some quite hostile. Either way, it has generated some interesting discussion.

The point of it is not merely to suggest a Black character from children's literature - but please feel free to do so - but rather to identify and discuss the issues that this seemingly mundane e-mail (based as it is on a real-life phone call) raises.
 

"Living in the hole, looking at the world through a crack"

• Who is the  ‘I’ of the song? (How) can we tell?

• If he doesn’t believe in God, why reference religious things?

• Who is the ‘you’ of the song?

• Why does he use the word ‘Nigga’?

• Could the song be read as a justification for gang culture / victim status?

• (In what ways) could Australians be termed ‘criminal minded’

The questions above were created by members of  ‘The Dead Historians Society’ a voluntary group of A-level History students at BSix College, Hackney that includes their teacher. I met the group a few days before at an exhibition that featured their words and photos and was struck with their passion for discussion. Their teacher had invited me to the meeting as she wanted to build on the students’ interest in Hip-Hop. I chose a song that contained numerous historical references. (I should probably add here, as I did in the session, that the video contains violent images and strong language.)

We listened to ‘The Point of No Return’ by Immortal Technique. The lyrics (which we read), along with some commentary (which we didn't) can be viewed here: http://rapgenius.com/Immortal-technique-the-point-of-no-return-lyrics

 In the spirit of Philosophy for Children/Communities (P4C), I invited each member of the group to reflect on what was interesting, challenging or confusing about the song and then shape his/her thoughts into a question.

The questions were then written up, and clarified where required. The members then voted for the question they wished to explore together in the session.

The question that proved most popular was;

“Could the song be read as a justification for gang culture / victim status?”

This question, offered by a student whom I gather listens to Immortal Technique regularly, is striking. It forced the group to consider a critical reading of Technique’s lyrics and find evidence to justify accepting or refuting such a reading.

The fact that it was selected by the group does seem to fly in the face of populist arguments that young people are vulnerable and in need of protection from messages in Hip-Hop songs. It may even have challenged my preconceptions as a self-declared ‘Hip-Hop Teacher’. I had anticipated fostering critical analysis of rap lyrics using my skills as a teacher, P4C practitioner and apprentice academic. In fact, the critical analysis was already going on.

Given the many historical references in the song, and the students’ own historical knowledge, the discussion was at time understandably free-wheeling. It was also inter-disciplinary. I was too engrossed to take notes, but from memory;

 There was literary enquiry  

•  Looking for textual evidence to support an interpretation of the lyrics and to speculate as to authorial intent. For example, is Technique using revolution in a metaphorical or literal sense?
• Does he view violent death as inevitable?

There was historical enquiry

• Does Technique’s apparent message that all human change / evolution / revolution is ‘bloody and dramatic’ hold up to historical scrutiny?
• Can we think of counter-examples?

There was philosophical enquiry

• Is our own choice between dying (or living) for the throne or ‘our own’? Or is this only a choice at ‘the revolutionary moment’?
• When do we have enough knowledge to commit to something?
• How are to we discern who is and is not ‘our own’? Are we ‘looking at the world through a crack’? Is this like Plato’s simile of the cave? How can we gain the knowledge and understanding to see beyond this?
• Is Technique’s reading of the situation one of optimism or pessimism?
• (In what ways) are we more than ‘merely’ products of our environment?
• What are the similarities and differences between ‘gang culture’ and ‘guerilla warfare’?

These are just some of the questions we touched upon and many of them deserve their own enquiry. As you can see whilst some of the questions are quite abstract, many of them took us to areas both practical and profoundly personal. I think that this is what philosophical enquiry, and Hip-Hop, can and should do. 

I regret not giving more space for the idea raised by one student that 'Living in the hole, looking at the world through a crack'  might not be only a prison metaphor but could also refer to Plato's cave. My own dislike of the theory of the forms clouded my thinking and resulted in my blocking this line of inquiry, albeit very subtly. However we did later return to this, discussing the idea of partial knowledge and how we can ever ascertain that we have sufficient understanding of a situation.

If I had one aim it was to encourage the students to reflect on the world and their role in it. If I learned one thing it was that they were already doing this. That's not to say that I, as an educator, have nothing to offer them. I think I can help them to reflect critically -  but only if I remain committed to doing so myself.

I’m very grateful to the members of the ‘Dead Historians Society’ for giving me the opportunity to dialogue with them and consenting to me writing this blog-post.

I would like to invite the Dead Historians to add their thoughts about the session below.

"Once Upon A Time, Not Long Ago.."

So firstly, many thanks to those of you who contacted me with your suggestions from my last post. There are no prizes, but if there were they would go to the teacher who said "According to Scroobius Pip, 'Thou shalt not think having a blog makes you a journalist'." Well played my friend, wise words being spoken.

The untimely death of Smiley Culture has got many folks asking whether we will ever know the true story of what happened on March 15th when the police raided his house. The family campaign is calling a march to Scotland Yard on Saturday April 16th.

Over on the 'History is made at night' blog you can view the videos for Smiley's two biggest tunes plus a quote from Paul Gilroy about 'Cockney Translation', a portion of which I quote below,

"The record suggested that these elements could be reconciled without jeapordising affiliation to the history of the black diaspora... The record contains a veiled but none the less visible statement that the rising generation of blacks, gathering in the darkened dance-halls, were gradually finding a means to acknowledge their relationship to England and Englishness. They were beginning to discover a means to position themselves relative to this society and to create a sense of belonging which could transcend 'racial'/ethnic, local and class-based particularities and redefine England/Britain as a truly plural community. They were able to express their reluctant affiliation to it in the same breath as their ties to the African diaspora." ( Paul Gilroy, There Ain't No Black in the Union Jack, 1987)

I remember seeing Smiley perform 'Police Officer' on TV in the early eighties. A few years later Derek B, the first UK Hip-Hop MC to get into the pop charts, was telling the very same story of being stopped by the police only to be let-off due to his mic-skills on his 'Good Groove.' But then a good story deserves repeating doesn't it?

In fact I'd go further than that. As Gilroy seems to be suggesting, a good story can capture how people view something,  and  affect how they view it. As student teachers we explored Barbara Hardy's notion of 'Narrative as a Primary Act of Mind.' If stories are fundamental to how we view the world, we need to be thinking about the range of stories we have in the classroom... and in our own heads.

"According to The Jetsons there's no Blacks in the future..."

So apparently blogs are meant to be topical and not just the out-pourings of a confused mind. That might present a problem to me, but here goes...

The recent mini-controversey over the ITV series 'Midsomer Murders' has prompted lots of people to come out with their well rehearsed positions on 'these things'. As yet, I've not heard anyone use the term 'White on White violence' to describe the show, but then this phenomenon also goes unnoticed in the real world. The simple point I'll make about it, is that you can get away with racial exclusion for 14 years without any problem here in the UK. But the moment you talk about it, you're in trouble. It's little wonder some White folks think talking about race is itself the problem. And, some of those White folks will inevitably be teachers.

As a teen in the eighties, Apartheid was still in effect and Mandela was still in prison. There had been uprisings in a number of British towns over police treatment of Black people. There was nothing unusual in Black and Asian people being abused on the streets, or the terraces at football matches and some of my schoolmates spent their time writing NF wherever they could.  Yet, one poetry lesson aside, there was no talk about race, racism or any related matter at my school. (We did watch a couple of horrific videos of the treatment of Jews inside Nazi concentration camps, but I don't recall any discussion about them.) I was being taught at school that it was not appropriate to talk about racism. Meanwhile,  Hip-Hop was talking about race, and I was beginning to join in the discussion.

The 'Midsomer Murders' discussion was framed by some people as being about how many people of colour live in the countryside, as if finding an all-white English village was proof that nothing untoward had happened. But people of colour are often written out of places (Remember Notting Hill!) or times. And not only the past...

"According to The Jetsons there's no Blacks in the future..."

This Masta Ace line from "Wake Me When I'm Dead", has long been one of those 'notable quotables' I'd throw out in any discussion of hot lines in rap. Ace is a hugely underrated MC ( the absence of his lyrics from the recent Anthology of Rap  illustrates just how slept-on he remains in some quarters), who I will write about in greater detail in the not-too-distant future. For now though I want to focus on this one line.

"According to The Jetsons there's no Blacks in the future..."

It's simple observation that hints at a deeper issue, not unlike "A rat done bit my sister Nell with Whitey on the moon"by Gil Scott-Heron, who Ace sampled on his debut album. Whereas Gil's anger is at US public spending, Ace has his sights on race and representation. Fertile ground for educators.

"According to The Jetsons there's no Blacks in the future..."

It has a structure that can be used again and again:
According to Midsomer Murders there's no Blacks in the country.
According to True-May only Whites can be English.

And it can be used in the classroom as part of a Literature or Media Studies project;
According to JK Rowling only White men are Wizards
According to the adverts only women do the laundry

So finally to today's task - Yep even Hip-Hop teachers set tasks sometimes. Why not create your own "According to... " and send it in? (Yeh, yeh that was a desperate bid for a comment on my blog). Or, if you're teaching, why not try using it in class? I think it's the discussion that follows - "Is that what they're implying? Why? Is this important?"- that opens up space for learning to happen.

Hip Hop Teacher?!

Ok, don't get it twisted.

The title of this blog is not some grandiose claim that I am  about to school you in the ways of Hip Hop. Nor is it a claim that I am 'The T'cha' within the culture of Hip-Hop - the title will always go to KRS-1 in my book.

Rather, this is a space for me to try and work out if there is any mileage in trying to understand my role as a primary school teacher in the UK through the prism of Hip-Hop. Why Hip-Hop? Who says it's a prism? Er, I don't know the answer to the second question, but I'll say a little about why I think Hip-Hop is important to me and what I do.

The way most people tell it, Hip-Hop and I both entered the world around the same time, albeit on opposite sides of the Atlantic.  Apart from the well-documented early tunes that reached the charts, I first heard Hip-Hop through the Streetsounds 'Electro' Series (shout out to Morgan Khan). Kids were starting to bring out the lino or use the school gym to break, and I admit to joining in without much success. I remember vividly at age eleven walking past a group of breakers, having finished my football training, and thinking 'they're practising just as hard as we were just now, but they don't have any adults organising them and showing them what to do.'

But it was the words in Hip-Hop that held the most fascination for me. I loved the idea of writing little stories that I could perform (usually to an imagined audience, but later to real people). Shortly after my purchasing my first album, 'Raising Hell' by Run DMC, I had two poems published in the local newspaper. Actually they were raps, but at fourteen I'd clocked that it might not be a smart move to admit that, if I wanted to have them published. So I tried to do Hip-Hop without confessing that I was doing Hip-Hop. It's only recently I've realised that this approach has been present regularly in my life, especially in teaching.

When I try to make sense of my identity as an educator, Hip-Hop seems to be there saying "Come on! You know I've been with you since back in the day. When are you gonna give me my props?"

Maybe it's time to come clean...