A bit of theory for a change ... She's mainly into (postcolonial) literature/literary theory if I'm not mistaken but I first stumbled about her work in an anthropology class so her influence extends beyond here immediate field of study - well, enjoy!
Also, there's this discussion with Achille Mbembe, Jean-François Bayart, Richard Banégas and Saïd Abass Ahamed from last year that might be of interest to those of you who hear French (i.e. not for me then, I can work my way through a French text but work it is, hard work):
This just came into my inbox ... if you're interested, check it out!
When knowledge production becomes the raw material of cognitive capitalism, what becomes of the old factories of knowledge, the universities? With the rising importance of knowledge, they move to the eye of the storm, become objects of desire of neoliberal transformations, objects of competition between regions and continents, but also subjects of struggles against these transformations and competitions. Though the university as a privileged site of struggle has – except for a few moments in time – been only a myth, in recent months there seems to be a rising tide of conflicts around it, in different places around the globe.
Authenticity … a big term, especially were African (or, indeed other so-called ‘tribal’) arts are concerned and a problematic one. Consider this definition of the related adjective authentic quoted from the Oxford Dictionary of English:
authentic 1. of undisputed origin and not a copy; genuine: the letter is now accepted as an authentic document.
• made or done in the traditional or original way, or in a way that faithfully resembles an original: the restaurant serves authentic Italian meals | every detail of the film was totally authentic.
• based on facts; accurate or reliable: an authentic depiction of the situation.
• (in existentialist philosophy) relating to or denoting an emotionally appropriate, significant, purposive, and responsible mode of human life.
2. (Music) (of a church mode) containing notes between the principal note or final and the note an octave higher.
- DERIVATIVES authenticallyadverb [as submodifier] the food is authentically Cajunauthenticitynoun .
- ORIGIN late Middle English: via Old French from late Latin authenticus, from Greek authentikos ‘principal, genuine’.
["authentic adjective" In: The Oxford Dictionary of English. [2005 Online Edition]]
Elsewhere Nelson Goodman argues that
If we are asked whether what is before us is authentic, our response could justifiably be: ‘Authentic what?’ It might be an authentic oil painting, an authentic Italian painting, an authentic Renaissance painting, yet not an authentic Leonardo da Vinci painting, not the authentic Mona Lisa. Authenticity is always authenticity under one or another description. The question ‘Is it authentic?’ must be replaced by, or understood as, a question of the form ‘Is it an (or the) authentic so-and-so?’.
When the question at hand is thus clarified, the term ‘authentic’ tends to become superfluous. An authentic Leonardo painting is just a Leonardo painting, the authentic Mona Lisa is just the Mona Lisa, and a non-authentic Leonardo is just not a Leonardo. Everything is authentically what it is and not authentically what it is not. The terms ‘authentic Leonardo’ and ‘not authentic Leonardo’ dichotomize not the class of Leonardo paintings but some class of supposed or claimed, or hoped-to-be, Leonardo paintings.
[Nelson Goodman. "Authenticity." In: Grove Art Online: Oxford Art Online.]
So, what then is authentic African Art? Shouldn’t that simply mean that any art produced in Africa or by Africans should be considered authentic African art? Of course, here, further questions could be raised to how ‘Africa’ is geographically and conceptually defined - most prominently: Is North Africa part of our definition of ‘Africa’? – or who qualifies as an African – are diaspora artists included in our definition and if yes how many generations can they have spend in the abroad? are expatriate artists living somewhere in Africa included and if yes how many years or generations will they have to have lived in African to qualify? But, as we all know it becomes more complicated when it comes to African or other so-called ‘tribal’ arts. One of the first books I ever bought about African Arts was written by the collector Karl-Ferdinand Schaedler (and I have to confess that I have hardly referred to it since) who, shall I say, shocked me with his advices for potential collectors:
[My quick and rather loose translation from the German edition I own, the original German terminology in ( ) brackets, myannotations – necessary as I skip whole sections of the text – are in [ ] brackets.]
What qualifies as ‘authentic’ (echt) with regard to African art? Which criteria does a piece need to satisfy to be considered faultless and satisfy the art aficionado’s expectations?
Unlike for other cultural areas (Kulturkreise), the products of which are traded, age does at first not play a role in the assessment of the authenticity (Echtheit) of so-called primate (hence, also African) arts. […] On the one hand, due to the perishability of wood, the most common material of African art, only relatively few pieces are older than [100 years], and, on the other hands, in many regions believe systems have persisted in which cultic objects [such as the one’s collectors acquire as African arts] are still used (hence, [according to some definitions of antiquities] would be considered ‘antique’ in the present).
According to the above said, one could be tempted to consider a mask produced by an African carver – in fact the traditional one of the respective people – and produced from the ritually destined wood as ]authentic’ (echt). In fact, by no means can it be considered such – at least not on the basis of the here purposefully narrowly defined sense of ‘authentic.’ Hence, if for other “antiquities” time and provenance are decisive in order to define their ‘authenticity’, another factor comes to prominence where African arts are concerned: the purpose for which the object was originally produced. In other words, important is whether the magic or ancestor figure was produced for an actual cultic purpose and not for the tourist or art market. Theoretically, this determent should suffice – practically, however, other factors will always need to be considered additionally, such as the actual use of the object in the cult, thus, traces of this use in order to ascertain its ‘authenticity.’
The problem might be best explained with reference to pieces produced by carvers working in regions where, on the one hand, cults are still practiced and, on the other hand, there is, due to their artistic qualities, a demand on the art market. Here, carvers often produce two kinds of pieces for different patrons: for their own people (priests, chief, individuals etc.) for use in the cult and for traders for sale on the art market. Originating from the same artist, both pieces are completely similar in terms of their ‘authenticity’ – and still, as soon as it has been used in the cult, one of them becomes ‘authentic’/’genuine’ (echt) while the other, at first, a copy will be made into a forgery once fake traces of abrasion and usage.’
This little excerpt, I hope, has already suggested why, ever since reading these lines, I have a deep seated dislike for the term ‘authenticity’ especially when it is used with regard to African or other non-Western arts and cultures. If not, let’s translate Schaedler’s requirements for genuinely authentic African art into the European context: An ‘authentic’ piece of European art would have been produced, not for an art market but for a local, preferably religious purpose. Now, in the (dare I say ‘traditional’?) European context such a piece would have been most likely produced for a Christian liturgical use or the private religious practice of European Christians. But where would one most likely find such pieces? Taking in account that to be considered genuinely authentic, according to Schaedler, the piece should have been previously used and, at best, display traces of this usage, such piece could be most likely found in a church or the private houses of believers. Preferably, the former I suspect. Now, how do such pieces enter the (international) market? … I really don’t know the answer as I have never really read anything about the market for Christian religious devotionalia, let alone those that at one or another time have been used in a Church context. But, don’t you feel uneasy about the idea of some, say, sculpture of Mary that served a local Christian community as an intermediary with God for years, decades, possibly centuries suddenly, potentially forcefully and without consent of the community being removed from a church by some intruders or an opportunistic minister or member of the congretion? I at least already feel upset by the thought that my grandma’s grave might be levelled and I only attach a personal, no further spiritual meaning to it. As a society we’re upset by the removal of artistic master pieces from museums … Now, how can it then be acceptable for an art collector such as Schaedler to expect an ‘authentic’ piece of African art to show traces of former usage in a religious context? Does that not qualify as incitement of theft?
And, of what concern is authenticity here anyway? I mean, a concept of authenticity that goes beyond ‘an authentic Leonardo da Vinci is an artwork actually or, rather, by the expertise of renowned specialists executed by Leonardo da Vinci?’ I don’t’ really know, don’t really understand. But I’m pretty certain that as, well, side effect (let’s not assert bad intentions) it limits the supply of ‘authentic’ African art to the market and such increases prices. After all, the Mona Lisa is not only so valuabe because it is, by cultural consent, considered a master piece but also because there is only one ‘authentic’ Mona Lisa and da Vinic will never be able to produce another one.Even more so as missionaries and zealous converts to Christianity and/or Islam destroyed/destroy objects associated with localised religious practices, now considered witchcraft. And, as potential producers get increasingly recruited to Christianity and Islam. (Though, does African art produced for and used in an African Christian context qualify as ‘authentic’ African art by Schaedler’s standards?) Worse, in the process – another side affect – it excludes the majority of contemporary artists from a rather profitable section of the (international) art market.
… … …
Well, and now, if you feel ready to face the African art crowds, here’s the quiz that originally inspired these rumblings: Authentic tribal art or not?? (not sure, whether you need to be logged into Facebook to access this) And if you want to add some extra twist to check whether you can actually identify where the pieces come from … and then, let’s discuss my issues with these (so-called) tribal labels (or the term tribal, let alone primitive art) another time, because – you might have guessed it: I have serious issues here … … …
I have been thinking and subsequently blogging about iconoclasm a lot, primarily in an attempt to clarify my own approach and possible arguments regarding iconoclasm as one extreme in a spectrum of relationships between religion and the (visual) arts, or different regimes of visual piety if you like. You might have noticed one recurrent theme throughout the last blogs, probably most palpable in my ramblings on Arts, (Religious) Politics and my Research: how to address and conceptualise what I perceive of as a pervasive influence of religion/religious politics with regard to the art forms I’m concerned with (and beyond). I have been using terms such as religious politics, socio-religious context and alike but never been particularly happy with them. Now, yesterday I was searching for literature about other aspects of the relationship between the arts and Islam actually addressing contemporary, to use these terms again, socio-religious developments and the views of Muslim scholars speaking to contemporary Muslims about the legitimacy of different art forms. In this course, I came across a special issue of the journal Contemporary Islam particularly concerned the contested notions of art, leisure and entertainment in contemporary Muslim societies. The journal and the articles I will be referring to in due course are freely available here. While there were a number of (in comparative terms) useful ideas, concepts and observations in other articles as well, what I would like to briefly introduce you to here, is the concept of ‘pietization’ introduced by Bryan S. Turner and constructively employed by Karin van Nieuwkerk.
Following the (socio-) political developments in the Muslim world through the medium of mainstream Western press as well as popular political analysis one is left with the impression that almost everywhere religious fundamentalists/Islamists are gaining ideological as well as political influence. To which extent this reflects actual developments, increased concerns with (national) security and terrorism after 9/11 or a lack of appropriate terminology to account for nuances in the identified renewed interest in Islam not only as a framework for individual spirituality but the organisation of whole societies is, as far as my research is concerned, almost a mute point. More importantly, concepts such as religious fundamentalism and Islamism borrowed from political science not only draw me into Nigerian religious politics but, I believe, cannot appropriately account for the effects of recent socio- and religio-political developments on local popular culture. Instead, Turner suggests the concept of ‘piety’ and/or ‘pietization’:
Turner equally rejects fundamentalism a as suitable analytical tool as the term ‘carries too much ideological baggage to be useful in the sociology of religion’ (p. 6) and, instead, suggests that ‘the religious revival which we witness in Islam worldwide’ should primarily be understood as ‘movement[s] to rationalise the everyday world through adherence to pious norms.’ (p. 4) Drawing upon a critical reading of Max Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalismhe argues that
Protestantism or more generally piety movements are culturally creative. They typically involve the destruction or overcoming of many traditional or taken-for-granted ways of practicing religion. They involve either a new emphasis on religious practices or the invention of practices that are then claimed to be orthodox, or more exactly orthprax. Piety tends to have a radical impact on the everyday world of believers by encouraging devotees to change their habits or in the language of modern sociology to transform their habitus or their dispositions and tastes towards the material world. Piety is about the construction of definite and distinctive life styles of a new religious tastes and preferences. In short, piety or the pietization of the everyday world has the … characteristics of combining new elements to create a religious habitus that stands in competition with other possible combinations in a competitive religious context. (p. 2)
He continues to suggest that ‘being virtuous or pious can be effectively measured by contrast to those who are impious or lacking in virtue,’ piety then conceptually requiring ‘impiety,’ ‘faithlessness’ or, indeed, ‘sin’ as its Other:
There is therefore a competition over virtue – who in a given community is the most virtuous and how can that be measured and known? The central paradox of piety is however that to display it openly – we might say to provocatively flaunt piety – is to demonstrate its very inauthenticity. To show piety publicly is to destroy it, and hence piety must be subtly insinuated and suggested by indirect comparisons with those lacking in religious virtue. … piety necessarily creates hierarchies of religious virtue in the form of pious status groups that are defined by their successful combinations of orthodox practices. Within this competitive struggle over virtue, there is a hierarchy of virtuous values and practices … (p. 3)
As such, an approach of contemporary politics of culture in northern Nigeria – to relate the concept to my own research – that considers recent socio-religious developments in terms of a (politicised) piety movement might provide useful insights. It certainly provides a means of avoiding the prejorative and problematic notion of fundamentalism/Islamism and to acknowledge ‘Islamic idea of the call to renewal or da’wa without adopting an alien terminology.’ (p. 6)
Taking Turner’s argument as a point of departure, Nieuwkerk considers the effects of ‘the growing influence of Islamist and pietistic movements in the Muslim world and in Muslim communities in the West’ in terms of ‘an increasing ‘Islamization or “pietization” … of the public sphere.’ (p. 169):
… with regard to the cultural sphere attempts are made to bring art, leisure and entertainment in accordance with religious commitments. Pious sensibilities seem to be a moving but not necessarily dominating force in the creation of new forms of artistic expressions and leisure activities. Secularism, in particular, and 'the grand project of nationalist progress' (Schielke, this issue) are still very influential in the field of art. In much of the Arab world, mass culture is still one of the few remaining bastions of secularism. (Salamandra, this issue) Secularist regimes perceive art and entertainment as important strongholds that are in need of defence. For that reason religious notions of art, leisure and entertainment are highly contested. (p. 169)
‘Popular culture, entertainment and performing arts,’ she continues,
… are specific targets for the cultural politics of competing groups because they are very influential in people’s daily lives and lifestyles. Art and popular culture are vital in identity construction of individuals and communities. Art is a boundary marker between different cultures, subcultures and ethnicities. It can therefore be expected that in art and expressive culture different imaginations of identities, ideals and belongings compete. (p. 170)
In the arena of cultural politics then - and I think a similar argument could be made for discourses about a number of recent developments concerning the cultural sector in northern Nigeria – secularists and representatives of piety movements (to simplify complex socio-cultural/socio-religious constellations for the sake of argument) quarrel about social norms and new regimes of (primarily public) piety:
Secularists have used art for their national pedagogical projects or to combat ‘extremism.’ Islamists alternatively, generally have a strained relationship with art and entertainment. (p. 170)
Here, however, Muslim piety movements do not generally condemn the arts nor do they agree with ‘the secularists’ call for absolute freedom.’ (p. 171) Here, in particular [t]heemotional affect of music and singing, the stirring effect of musical instruments, the “corrupting” influence of dancing and movies, and the “illegitimate” nature of human images are sensitive matters for religious scholars.’ (p. 170) Drawing upon her own research in Egypt Nieuwkerk notes that
At present, the views of several religious scholars seem to be on the move towards a more relaxed and accepting position of art and entertainment within the limits of religious sensibilities. The new Islamist trend in Egypt, or the wasatiyya movement, embraces art and argues that an Islamic community without art is unimaginable. The God-given talents should be used to express core religious values. They neither agree with the total condemnation of art nor with the secularists’ call for absolute freedom (Baker 2003). ‘Respectful’ art and entertainment can promote Muslim lifestyles. Amr Khaled, for instance, calls upon artists to return to art. They should help the Islamic revival and create an Islamic alternative and ambience. He tries to promote ‘art with a mission’, ‘al-fann al-hadif. Islamists and secularists thus compete for the art producers’ and consumers’ tastes and preferences. (p. 171, my emphasis)
In fact, she suggests, ‘the revivalist and nationalist projects regarding art and entertainment converge in their claim that artistic expression and diversion should have a purpose,’ (p. 172) whether it is to serve nationalise or pietistic purposes:
The Islamist ideas mainly differ in that their goal of art and entertainment is moral improvement and the pietization of the believers’ lifestyle (Schielke, this issue). (p. 172)
On the other hand, as artists individually and collectively position themselves in relation to diverse socio- and religio-cultural forces, Nieuwkerk cautions that ‘[p]ious sensibilities seem … not necessarily [a] dominating force in the creation of new forms of artistic expressions and leisure activities.’ (p. 169) Among others, privately-owned satellite channels and new media provide ‘new spaces for the creation of Islamic art and enterainment.’ (p. 173)
How might all this relate to or be applied to my own research? As I have suggested above, I consider the authors’ proposal to approach religious revivalist movements as well as the cultural discourses and practices they inspire in terms of piety movements and pietization of, in particular, public spheres: They provide an alternative to the politicised and hegemonising terminology borrowed from political science and thus, hopefully, a means of accounting for a greater variety of thought, opinion and, to play with the here discussed terminology, regimes of piety than the dichotomy between secularists and fundamentalists/Islamists might suggests. More significantly, I hope they will allow me to draw attention from the political to the cultural arena, in other words, away from politicised ideology (which in Nigeria as elsewhere appears to strongly draw upon dichotomous notions of ‘we’ vs. ‘they’) towards a more differentiated discussion of religious opinions about the status of different art forms in Islam - or rather in different local regimes of (visual) piety - and actual artistic practices. (for example cf. the variety of opinions about the legitimacy of photography expressed here) – As regards my discussion of religious art forms, such as the before mentioned religious posters, I was even thinking of applying the terminology creatively: how do you like ‘pietised visuality’?!
Having said this, some of the assumptions underlying Turner’s discussion of piety movements and the regimes of piety they promote might need reconsideration if the concept is to be applied to the Nigerian context. Here, I’m in particular thinking of the claim that they ‘typically involve the destruction or overcoming of many traditional or taken-for-granted ways of practicing religion.’ – I mean, if I was to extent the notion of pietisation to my discussion of visual culture would that not require me to broaden Turner’s concept of ‘traditional or taken-for-granted ways’ to include artistic and cultural traditions? However, at least where artistic practices are concerned I do not perceive of such a generalised dichotomy between tradition and contemporary (politicised) regimes of piety. On the contrary, notions of tradition do routinely surface in pietistic arguments about popular and visual culture – Consider the following statement by Alhaji Abubakar Rabo Abdulkarim, the director-general of the Kano State Censorship Board:
Our law shows that anyone in the entertainment profession whether praise singing or film or books or singing has a duty, before he releases it to bring it to be vetted, and to have removed anything that could spoil religion, culture, customs or the reputation of tradition. (Interview with Al-Amin Ciroma, translation and published by Carmen, my emphasis)
Note, that Rabo here mentions religion in one breath with ‘culture, custom [and] the reputation of tradition’ among the things that the censorship board, an institution that, according to its website has been set up to ‘to make sure that all creative arts such as films and literary works conform with our religion and the traditional way of life, as well as the standard rules of the profession both at local and national levels.’ (Mission Statement of The Kano State Censorship Board, my emphasis)
Otherwise, Nieuwkerk’s observation that ‘[p]opular culture, entertainment and performing arts are specific targets for the cultural politics of competing groups because they are very influential in people’s daily lives and lifestyles’ (p. 170) is reflected Rabo’s argument that
The level of development, security and stability of every society is measured by the balance it has achieved between its moral values and modernization. The moral values include the set of beliefs, heritage and social organization that bind people together. … Therefore, it becomes appropriate for the government to intervene in the sphere of popular culture in order to regulate the activities of the aforesaid emerging threat to our culture. It forms part of the ideals of good governance for the government to make such interventions in order to contain this chaotic setting and its effects on the society at large. (cf. here for the complete article)
Now contrast this with the following comment made in response to an article reporting the prohibition of a fashion show in Kano weeks ago published by Sahara Reporters (comments at the bottom of the page):
It is pathetic how ignorant some people can be. … I am a Kano indigene and lived there for over 17 years. The city is full of illiterates and people with radical ideology such as the governor and his allies including the writer of the above comment [defending the show’s prohibition on moral grounds]. Since when did governorship become dictatorship? The writer above claims he and the Kano people are not interested in fashion, but are they the only people in the state? What of the rights of other citizens as provided in the constitution of the federal republic and human [rights?], civil [code?] and other [legal] provisions [by] which the governor swore to abide and [which to] protect during his swearing in? Oh, perhaps the governor and his comrades are not literate enough to understand the importance of such provisions. … I will advise the governor to stop deceiving people with religion and focus on delivering better socio-economic [conditions] … from which the people of Kano can progress both socially and intellectually … Sharia is not oppression … (commentary by Salim, 19 June 2009, some spelling mistakes corrected.)
Here then, fashion and fashion shows have become one of the field on which the battle about public piety is being fought out. This becomes particularly clear if one considers another comment on the page:
Governor Shekarau is doing what Kano people would want him to [do] and that is protect the state from such kind of weird activities [like the shows of] fashion designers or striptease. My brothers neither Christianity nor Islam allow the indecent exposure of female bodies [but] that is [what] our fashion designers [are] portraying. (commentary by Ayuba, 23 June 2009, some spelling mistakes corrected.)
On the one extreme of the debate as it plays out in the article and comments then there are those favouring an increased pietisation of public (and, maybe, implicitly also private) spheres, consider the government responsible for its promotion and to that end also favour the censorship of particular cultural activities. On the other extreme, there are those who identify exactly these (state backed) efforts towards pietisation as expressions of ‘ignorance’ and reject censorship, prioritising socio-economic and intellectual progress over pietisation. – And they have chosen an aspect of popular culture (could one not consider fashion shows a particular form of performance?) as battle field for their different ideas of popular piety. While I have not yet come across equally heated debates considering the art forms I’m concerned with in my research in the light of various contemporary regimes of public piety, I believe that the very same concerns that are expressed in debates about ‘film, theatre, cinema, literary and other related creative works’ (the art forms that according to its mission statement Kano State Censorship Board is primarily concerned with) or, here, fashion shows also effect the visual art forms I am interested in.
On a final note: In assessing these debates, I believe, the concept of pietisation allows for the articulation of what commonly constitutes a dichotomic pair, religious fundamentalism vs. secularism, as opposing ends of one spectrum of, maybe, different regimes of public piety. Such a spectrum, not only allows for the consideration of various individual and collective positions within those debates but also the fact that oppositions to the imposition of particular regimes of public piety might not necessarily be informed by secularism – as far as one can deduce from the short comment Salim, e.g., might not reject Shari’a as a model of public piety as such but rather to object to aspects of its implementation in Kano State. As such, in particular the concept of pietisation of the public (and, of lesser significance to my research, the private sphere) might help to throw a light at the variety of regimes of visual piety or pietised visuality I encountered.
Another concept Morgan discusses and that might proof useful for the analysis of some forms of contemporary visual arts in northern Nigeria is imagetext. Popularised by J. Thomas Mitchell in order to challenge disciplinary divides between the study of visal and verbal media and most prominently employed in the study of graphic novels/comics andrelated arts, Morgan employs it to designate
… representations that are neither image nor text alone, but a synthesis that needs to be classified separately because it is experienced neither as merely text nor as merely image. (p. 65)
Here, he considers what ‘their owner called her “Judaic Wall,”’ on which framed and elaborately decorated calligraphy of Hebrew texts are artfully arranged at the wall, complemented by the stylised images of the hand, also known as hamsa. Morgan argues that
These items … intermingle symbol, word, and mage to create discrete objects that are more than the sum of their parts. The calligraphy of Hebrew text is also highly decorated “image,” and the stylized image of the hand … serves as surface for the display of text. Image and text combine in the case of the hamsa in a very traditional device of popular Jewish culture. […] Whether composed entirely of text or portrayed in highly simplified form, these hybrids of text and image avoid the injunction against the use of figural images, yet visualize sacred text in a manner that allows its display as an object for the purpose of aesthetic contemplation as well as veneration. (p. 65-66)
As such the notion of imagetext, in the sense that Morgan uses the term, emphasises the aesthetics of, in particular, calligraphic works - individually as well as collectively in combination with other works of calligraphy and/or images. It, however, also creates room for further levels of ‘meaning’ that move beyond the textual but to varying degrees still derive significance from the text. Here, consider Morgan’s further analysis of the above mentioned ‘Judaic Wall’:
The hamsa is an amulet displayed in the home, on one’s person, or in synagogues on such liturgical objects as lamps to guard against spells and the Evil Eye. Inscriptions on the metal surface of the hand amulet form consist of the many names of God and quotations from scripture that are invested with mystical and symbolic significance. … Displayed in the homes of modern Jews, the objects acquire another layer of meaning as “Judaica,” artifacts from the history of the Jewish people that can be separated from the original magical, mystical, or theological meanings and seen as crafts that affirm the ethnic identity of their owners. Even in this case, however, the value of imagetext persists, since avoidance of highly pictoral imagery remains for many Jews, secular or pious, a touchstone of Jewish tradition. (p. 66)
Education and Islamic Trends in Northern Nigeria: 1970s-1990sEducation and Islamic Trends in Northern Nigeria: 1970s-1990s
There are several ideas in Morgan’s analysis of the ‘Judaic Wall’ that could berelevant for my own research as well. What I have been thinking about here are the calligraphic works artfully rendering verses from the Quran I have seen displayed in the houses of Nigerian Muslim friends, the inscriptions modelled in mud documented in Friedrich Schwerdtfeger’s discussion of wall decoration in Zaria as well as the calligraphic stickers I have occasionally seen on cars. (cf. here for a flicker image of a sticker of the kind I’m thinking about here, although this one is not from Nigeria; the calligraphy works illlustrated here have been photographed in Maiduguri)
While I am pretty sure that the vast majority of the populace in Kano, Maiduguri and Zaria has attended the makaranta allo, i.e. the primary level of Islamic education focusing on Arabic literacy and the memorisation of the Qur’an, it has on the other hand been suggested on more than one occasion that the actual ability of many northern Nigerian Muslims to read and understand Arabic is rather limited. While this is certainly a question I will have to consider further (i.e. verify the actual degree of Arabic literacy in the towns in question), I do believe that the notion of imagetext in the sense that is is employed by Morgan provides great potential for the analysis of these calligraphic works. Let’s reconsider his analysis of the ‘Judaic Wall’: On the one hand, there are the varying layers of ‘meaning’ associated with the owners’ particular regime of visual piety: there is, on one level, the association with synagogues and liturgical objects such as the lamps directly pointing towards Jewish religious practice, on another a certain, for lack of a better term, talismanic dimension. On the other hand, there is a rather (and once again I’m at lack of a more appropriate term) secular layer of meaning that derives from the works association with Judaism that renders them into symbols of a (also secular) Jewish identity. While I was reading his analysis I was wondering whether these two could not provide two ends of a spectrum of significances that might as well be attached to the above mentioned calligraphic works executed in Arabica that can be encountered in northern Nigeria: the religious dimension directly derived from a literal reading of the text on the end, the secularised association of the imagetext with the religion as basis or aspect of an ethnic identity – not that I am (yet) actually convinced that in particular the latter can be applied to the Nigerian context straightforwardly, rather I wonder whether this might provide a useful model to be further explored and adapted in the process: such, providing for different degrees of Arabic literacy to which extent then these pieces derive their significance for the customer/spectator from his/her reading of the Arabic text, his/her knowledge of which verse has been ‘depicted’ independently of his/her ability to actually read what has been written, or a general association of Arabic writing with Islam. In addition, I believe the analysis of any particular piece needs to take in account the context in which it is encountered, (e.g. public vs. private, individually vs. collectively), the diverse regimes of visual piety different spectators subscribe to as well as their personal involvement with the works (e.g. as an owner, as something that has been given as a present etc.)
An interestingexample of imagetext conceptually corresponding to some works I have encountered in the academic context is a work by Serigne Gueye Morgan discusses: a reverse-glass painting of the Senegalese sheikh Amadou Bamba ‘transfigured into Arabic script.’ (p. 67, image source: Passport to Paradise hosted by the Fowler Museum at UCLA) The text, Morgan explains
… consists of praises of Allah, thus transforming what one sees into a devotional reading, implying, perhaps, that the body of the saint is the Word of God as well as a kind of visual presence, since the devout viewer of the image is also the reader of the text and worshipper of God. … Although the devout Mouride cannot see and read simultaneously – since the markings are either word or image, but not both at the same time – it is the proximity of form and content, word and image, Word and body, that the imagetext enables, suggesting inimitably the proximity of the saint and his living praise of Allah. The intermingling of the sheikh’s form and the Arabic text suggests that life and his Mouride follower’s veneration of him are conjoint acts of veneration of Allah. (p. 67-68)
Now, I have not come across such a calligram outside the academic context where, I suspect, it reflects a rather recent development and maybe a conscious engagement of artists with their identity as Muslim artists. But I do think that this example clearly illustrates the cultural embeddedness of imagetexts as well as regimes of visual piety: Such, while it is certainly possible to the cultural outsider to discern a face in the above depicted calligram, it requires familiarity with canonical depictions of the sheikh to identify the portrait as that of Amadou Bamba. And while, as Morgan indicates and Mary Nooter Roberts & Allen F. Roberts have documented in greater detail, Senegal’s Mouride culture is characterised by well expressed notions of visual piety in which images of sheikhs, in particular Sheikh Amadou Bamba, play a prominent role, it appears doubtful whether any conclusions drawn from this example can be generalised and/or directly applied to the northern Nigerian context. While I am not yet sure how to conceptualise a or, more likely, an existing variety of regimes of visual piety as they certainly exist in the towns under investigation in my research, I wonder whether the different images indeed imagetexts play as significant a role as Roberts & Roberts’ research of Mouride visual piety suggests.
But, while I once again have to admit to a question I cannot (yet) answer – partly because I didn’t know how to ask the right questions and the general distrust towards me as the outsider (non-Nigerian, non-Muslim) that the local socio- and religio-political climate appears to encourage – just while I was writing this I have had an idea of how to go about this question when (hopefully soon) I am back in Nigeria. > Yippy! <
One of Morgan's discussions in The Sacred Gaze of particular importance to my own argument deals with the dichotomic pair of iconoclasm and idolatry. However, before I get into the discussion of these concepts let me introduce you to one of the most irritating statements in the book – really, I would be grateful for any guidance on how to understand it:
Something of what religious believers see when they look at the world around them, at themselves, and at images is not goodness and light, not heady aesthetic contemplation, but the occasion for violence and scorn. (p. 116)
Anyway, let’s get back to iconoclasm and idolatry, or rather idolatry: Here, Morgan convincingly argues that
Iconoclasm presupposes idolatry. By definition, iconoclasm cannot be conceived or practices without the requisite “other” it seeks to rout out of human behaviour. But this does not mean that iconoclasts are reacting to anything real. In fact, they often imagine the offense they seek to reprove. They need the other to destroy in order to construct a new tradition in which to exist. (p. 117)
‘[A]s a polemical tactic in monotheistic discourse’ idolatry has of course a long history Morgan argues, always (also) constitutes an Other vis-à-vis which one religious group distinguishes itself – ‘it dialectically affirms a community of faith that is distinct and superior to those it classifies as idolators.’ (p. 126) Islam, e.g., defines itself (among other things) in clear distinction from earlier, allegedly idolatrous jahiliyya religion and a proclaimed return to the ancient monotheism of Abraham symbolised in Muhammad’s destruction of idols in the Ka’ba. The ideological dimension of accusations of idolatry and their manipulation for the sake of religious (and political) hegemony the author discusses extensively drawing upon Kenneth Mills’ research into the material culture and practices of Andean religion in the face of Spanish rule and inquisition. Of particular interest here is ‘what examiners, bishops, and archbishops meant by “idolatry”.’ (p. 122) He finds that ‘it could mean virtually anything that did not fit the inquisitor’s notion of Christian orthodoxy’ and ‘[t]he more it appeared that the church was failing to inculcate its beliefs in a lasting and significant way, the more inclusive the meaning of idolatry became.’ (p. 122-23) Mills argues that campaigns to locate and root out ‘idolatrous practices’ served several ends: Significantly, it provided an opportunity for ‘a spectacle, a theatrical staging of violence that would enact an ideological transfiguration of the past. As a decisive display of power, public punishment or the forceful upending of a huaca and its removal or defacement publicly established and enforced the church’s authority and that of the Spanish state that stood beside it. Violence was the theatrical performance of change …’ (p. 123-24) This suggests that probably not only in the particular context examined by Mills but more commonly accusations of idolatry served as much as legitimation for highly symbolic acts of violence as they referred to actual religious practices.
One more aspect to be mentioned regarding idolatry as a ‘polemical tactical’ discursive tool concerns the re-classification (or, after James Clifford ‘taxonomic shift’) of former idols into ‘cultural curiosities’ in the course of the development of the anthropology as a discipline and the anthropological museum and, later, into ‘Art.’ (p. 128) Not inappropriately Morgan associates this process with, what he calls, ‘soft iconoclasm’: While images (two- as well as three-dimensional) were not physically destroyed they were nevertheless removed from their original context. Within the context of Christian missionary efforts, they ‘were testaments of success and were therefore of greater value intact, undamaged, as indices of evangelical efficacy.’ (p. 128) In the context of the Western anthropological and art museum, one might add, their redefinition as Art as well as efforts at their preservation served as symbols of the West’s intellectual and civilising superiority: Here, for example take, William Fagg’s simultaneous claim that, on the one hand, ‘every [African] tribe is, from the point of view of art, a universe to itself.’ These tribal universes,’ he asserted, ‘were mutually exclusive with artistic horizons limited to the frontier of each universe,’ their artworks comprehensible and meaningful only to members of the group. (Fagg 1966: 5). On the other hand, the white British ‘ethnologist and historian of tribal art,’ to quote The Independent (14. July 1992), claimed the competence (and entitlement) to translate and negotiate their meaning and significance across the very same cultural divides. Morgan’s own discussion, here drawing upon the work of David Freedberg and Dario Gamboni, suggests that the redefinition of idols into anthropological artifacts and works of art involved a simultaneous reassessment of iconoclasm, now increasingly identified as vandalism:
The Enlightment shares the exclusivist claims of radical monotheism: all other gods are false. The motive for idolatry is simply ignorance. (p. 139)
Here, only consider the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha’s by the Taliban in 2001 or Western press discourse about the violent reaction of sections of the global Muslim community to the Danish cartoons (let’s not go there again, we’ve touched upon it in a former blog post). The former is discussed by Morgan in some detail and as I consider his analysis quite telling, especially bearing in mind the above mentioned contemporary association of iconoclasm with (uncivilised?) vandalism, let me discuss his argument. – But before presenting the arguments, in the course of which I will draw upon internet sources some of which might reflect/express pro-Taliban views, let me clarify: Here, I am interested in problematising the notion of iconoclasm and its use in (Western) press and popular discourse in order to clarify my own assessment of aniconic or indeed iconoclastic views I encountered during fieldwork. I do not wish to advance any apologetic or pro-Taliban argument myself and, on the contrary, explicitly distance myself from any such views expressed on the web resources I draw upon. I will provide the relevant links and trust you to further (critically) evaluate the sources and the (ideological) position from which they are written! - But, moving on the actual argument I’m hoping to make:
In his discussion, Morgan considers the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha’s as a primarily secular ‘calculated political gesture’ (p. 136) to ‘offend the West and to strengthen the otherwise largely impotent Taliban.’ (p. 138): Speaking on invitation of the Muslim Student Association and the Muslim Student Union of the University of South California the Taliban’s envoy Syed Rahmatullah Hashemi is reported to have argued:
Several hundred children died a month ago … Nobody even talked about that. Everybody knows about the statues. … They are destroying the future of our children with economic sanctions, how are they going to justify talking about our past? I know it’s not rational and logical to blow the statues for retaliation of economic sanctions. But this is how it is. … I talked to the head of the council of scholars of people, who had actually decided this, he told me that UNESCO and [a] NGO from … one of these Scandinavian countries … had come with a project of rebuilding the face of these statues … So the council of people had told them to spend that money in saving the lives of these children … And these guys said that, No, the money is only for the statues. … They said that, if you don’t care about our children, we are going to blow those statues. (for the transcript of the speech including some audience reactions cf. here.)
Here then, a representative of the Taliban regime portrayed the destruction of the sculptures as a political act, indeed a spectacle of resistance against and abashment of the West and its morally questionable priorities, its secular ‘sacralisation’ of artworks, rather than an act of religiously motivated iconoclasm. In fact, he continued:
And we are not against Buddhists; absolutely wrong. We are not against any religion. There are Hindus living in Afghanistan; there are different religions. There is one man who is a Jew living in Afghanistan. So we are not against any religion. And there is no Buddhist in Afghanistan, this I can say. In our religion, if anything, you can leave anything until it is not harmful to you. These Buddhas were not harmful to us, so far. But now when the money is going to Buddhas reconstruction, and the children are dying next door, we think it’s harmful now.
(This is not the space nor am I competent to comment on the treatment of religious minority under the Afghan Taliban regime, cf. for a discussion of the situation of Hindus in Afghanistan cf. Tunku Varadarajan of the Wall Street Journal, himself a Hindu. A decidedly pro-Taliban reaction to the article has been published by Khalid Baig.)
In fact, in July 1999 Mullah Mohammed Omar had issued a decree expressing the Taliban’s intention to protect the Buddhas. (Guardian, 3 March 2001) Having said this, the transcript of the speech suggests that nevertheless the destruction of the Buddhas’ was perceived by (a) member(s) of the audience in terms of religious iconoclasm:
A questioner asked, As Salaamu `Alaykum wa Rahmatullaahi wa Barakaatuh. Brother, Afghanistan is now supposed to be a Muslim country, Insha Allah. And these statues are just like the statues in Makkah, when Rasoolillah (saws) came to Makkah, and it was the very first thing that he did was to destroy the statues. What is taking us so long? Why aren’t they destroyed already?
In his response the Hashemi tactically avoided to address the possible religious dimension of the act instead referring to ‘Muslim minorities in some countries’ for which the Taliban did not want to create problems: ‘… that is why we are still waiting, and we hope that we will resolve this problem.’ In his stead this Mullah Omar clearly established this link in his fatwa:
In view of the fatwa (religious edict) of prominent Afghan scholars and the verdict of the Afghan Supreme Court it has been decided to break down all statues/idols present in different parts of the country. This is because these idols have been gods of the infidels, and these are respected even now and perhaps maybe turned into gods again. The real God is only Allah, and all other false gods should be removed. (quoted by Francesco Francioni and Frederico Lenzerini in: Barbara T. Hoffman, ed. 2006: Art and Cultural Heritage. p. 32)
In any case, this was how the destruction of the sculptures was perceived in (not only) Western press discourse: Start considering even the headline of Tunku Varadarajan’s article discussing the Buddha’s destruction in the context of a wider consideration of the Aghan Taliban regime’s treatment of Hindus: Patches of Evil: The Taliban’s Latest Atrocity (25 May 2001) He describes the iconoclasm as ‘an act of mindless barbarity, of wanton destruction – the actions, arguably, of a primitive, backward and ignorant rabble’ denouncing Hashemi’s argumentation as ‘plainly spurious:’ (my emphasis)
Mr. Hashimi’s version highlights the intellectual and philosophical backwardness of the Taliban. Were we supposed to feel guilty for having made them knock down Afghanistan’s most ancient artifacts? (my emphasis)
Afghanistan ‘is becoming an island of madness’ a ‘western cultural expert’ is reported saying by Luke Harding of the Guardian (3 March 2001), such once again establishing a relationship between iconoclasm and barbarism. In fact, foregrounding the religious argument Hardin himself establishes a link between religious fundamentalism (describing the Taliban as ‘the world’s most extreme brand of Islam’), artistic censorship (the prohibition of the ‘portrayal of the human image’) and destructive iconoclasm against Afghanistan’s cultural heritage.
Cutting a long story short: Writing with a distance of 5 years, Francioni and Lenzerini summarised Western contemporary opinion:
There was great concern for the moral degradation shown by the authors of such acts, and a certain anxiety regarding the role of international law in preventing and suppressing such form of cultural vandalism, which, in the words of the UNESCO Director General, can constitute a "crime against culture" […]... people all over the world have called for international mobilisation against such acts of barbarity and religious intolerance such as the bombing of the Buddhas of Bamiyan. (In: Barbara T. Hoffman, ed. 2006: Art and Cultural Heritage. p. 29&39, my emphasis)
Hence, despite the Talibans’ attempt to frame the events in terms of a political discourse of failed, indeed refused humanitarian assistance they were primarily perceived in terms of ‘barbaric’ iconoclasm and vandalism – a discourse reflecting the ‘taxonomic shift’ that realigned civilisation from its association with the rejection and, indeed, iconoclastic destruction of idols towards their protection as (secularised) cultural artifacts and art works.
Nevertheless, Morgan argues the ‘Western outrage overlooks the degree to which the West was complicit in contributing to Afghanistan’s plight.’ In this context, ‘[t]he power of images in this instance of iconoclasm conist[ed] of the power the destructive act to offend the West and to strengthen the otherwise largely impotent Taliban.’ (p. 138) Acknowledging this political dimension and the complicity of Western politics in Afghanistan’s humanitarian crisis is not to deny the reprehensible character of the iconoclastic act but to put it into perspective; it is not to deny the religious dimension Mullah Omar invoked himself but to reduce the events to an at of ‘mindless’ or, indeed, uncivilised ‘religious fear.’ (p. 138)
And, yes, I do believe there is an undeniable element of hypocracy in the Western discourse associating iconoclasm with vandalism and, indeed a lack of civilisation that is reflected in Western press coverage of the Taliban’s destruction of the Bamiyan Buddha’s. It is reflected in the rather cheerful reaction of to the toppling and subsequent destruction of ‘a host of bronze statuary depicting Saddam Hussein and members of his party following the American invasion.’ Unlike the case of the Afghan buddhas that provided a welcome occasion to further discredit the Taliban’s regime as ‘barbaric’ and ‘uncivilised’, their demolition was considered ‘emblematic of the removal of a dictatorial regime to make way for a pre-Western, democratic government in the country.’ (p. 136) Or, as a German who spent the first eleven years of her live in East Germany I have to think of the iconoclastic acts of obscuring the former GDR’s communist past by renaming streets called after personalities of the country’s factual and ideological past as well as the de-contextualisation, toppling and, indeed, destruction of statuary primarily depicting pioneers of communist thought. (cf. Gamboni 1997: esp. p. 79ff)
Indeed, Morgan insists – here primarily drawing upon the work of Dario Gamboni – we need to ask ‘under what circumstances an [iconoclastic] act is labelled vandalism.’ (p. 138):
… vandalism is the recurrent explanation given to the destruction of works of art by governments, courts, police departments, and such institutions as the church, since each of these strongly prefers civil order to violent acts … Vandalism as an explanation does not admit political protest [which would risk] extending legitimacy to a marginalised and heterogeneous group that may have targeted the very values of the establishment. Yet what is vandalism to one observer who repudiates the desecration of the national flag, for instance, will be potent political protest to the person or group destroying the flag. (p. 139)
This further emphasises the need to consider in any discussion of iconoclasm and explicit pronouncement of aniconism the socio-political and ideological context in which it is enacted as well as judged. This brings us straight back to the (rhetoric) question I raised in an earlier blog entry: To which extent and how do I need to consider Nigerian socio- and religious politics in my writing about contemporary arts in northern Nigeria? – For example, might the explicitly aniconic views (“This is an Islamic university [BUK], an art course would contravene the university’s founding principles!”) expressed by some Nigerian Muslims I spoke to not also be a means of distancing themselves from the (perceived and/or actual) devotional use of images by Christians and/or the visual piety (to use Morgan’s term) of Sufis in a contemporary climate of politicised religion/religionised politics?
