National monuments, colonial wounds; A conversation with Aleema Gray & Sethembile Msezane for Contranarrativas
by Cindy Sissokho
“The toppling of Edward Colston’s statue is not an attack on history. It is history” says David Olusoga, historian and broadcaster 1, and for too long, the struggles and protests have fallen into collective amnesia and the processes in which history is forgotten are remaining unaddressed by our nation and its institutions, whether social, political, educational or ecological.
It all started in the Caribbean, and more precisely in the city of Schoelcher, on the island of Martinique. On 22 May 2020, 172 years after the abolition of slavery in the French colonies, Martiniquean activists toppled the statue of Victor Schoelcher, a French politician who wrote the decree that abolished slavery in the French colonies on 22 May 1848 and ‘generously’ compensated the settler beneficiaries of slave labor, whose descendants, the Békés, are still the wealthiest exploitants in Guadeloupe and Martinique.
In the current context of anti-racism protests, around the UK, in response to the recent killings of black people by the police in the US, statues of slave owners and traders have also been taken down. This has felt like one of the most recent revolutionary act since the beginning of the global pandemic, that hit the world earlier this year. These actions considered as a ‘criminal act’ by Britain’s Prime Minister Boris Johnson2 have come across as little victories and evidence that, yes, power needs to be questioned and reclaimed. There is a sudden wave dismantling the ongoing systemic denial of how and by whom this kingdom was built. Anti-racists campaigners from the Stop Trump Coalition group launched a new online platform including a map with a top list of problematic statues named Topple the Racists4.
There is a bit of hope and as Arundhati Roy narrated ‘the pandemic is a portal’ that people should choose to use with ‘little baggage’ and foresee the new world, the future 3. An encouraging statement that makes us to consider, so what comes next? What is the future that we want to see emerge hereon?
Curator and Cultural Producer Cindy Sissokho interviewed Aleema Gray, scholar and curator at the Museum of London, who contributed to the taking down of the statue of plantation owner and slave trader Robert Milligan, located in front of the museum, in London Docklands; she has also interviewed artist Sethembile Msezane, who is best known for her performance during the toppling of the Cecil Rhodes statue at the University of Cape Town, South Africa following from the student protest, in 2015.
These conversations are about taking up some space and agency of our own narratives and claiming back the history denied from our nations, institutions and, more specifically, the public sphere.
CS: Can you describe a little bit your curatorial/artistic practice and your current research projects? How does the recent news about the tearing down of statues related to histories of slavery and colonialism a continuity to your practice?
AG: My practice seeks to document Black history in Britain through the perspective of lived experiences. It is driven by a concern for more historical contingent ways of understanding the present, especially in relation to notions of belonging, memory and contested heritage. As a curator at the Museum of London, I have a particular responsibility for the onward development of the London, Sugar and Slavery gallery – a gallery concerned with London’s pivotal role in the transatlantic slave trade. I think the focus on slavery has always been depicted as ‘something of the past’, or only seen in terms of tangible losses in wealth.
In the work that I do, I am concerned with the human aspect of these histories. I am concerned with illuminating the material, oral, physical aspect of slavery to critically engage with its everlasting importance in cities such a London. In this way, I am interested in centring of the experiences of those who have been traditionally silenced by White saviour modes of research. The tearing down of these statues is very much a continuity of this.
Robert Milligan, one of London’s most prolific slave traders, always sat uncomfortably with me, not only because of the work that I do, but also because it sat as a constant reminder of a nation that commemorates white men who were responsible for killing my ancestors. Milligan not only helped to expand the money-making and dehumanising system of transporting African to the Caribbean to work on plantations, but his family also inherited an unimaginable sum of money once the trade was abolished in Jamaica.
The fact that I am Jamaican, Milligan formed part of a cultural makeup of a city that renders me invisible. What is the price of memory? And how can we acknowledge and critically engage with violent histories? Such questions are at the heart of my relationship with the statue and will rest at the heart of any curatorial engagement around the statue should the Museum acquire it.
SM: I’ve been looking deeply at how one can begin to humanize themselves in a world where there are many reminders that seek to re-enforce black people’s dispossession. Enveloped in the effects of colonial rule, how do we remember the technology, culture and health of our ancestry and how does that permeate to who we are now?
My current practice has been a personal journey of connecting with my spirituality as it has always been my guide in creating some of my older works that have been prescient in nature.
Examples of such works are Untitled (Heritage Day) (2013) that precedes my embodiment of the soapstone Zimbabwean Bird in Chapungu - The Day Rhodes Fell (2015), that was re-enacted at the removal of the Rhodes statue at the University of Cape Town in 2015. I didn’t know my intuition and trusting the dream space would lead me to making work that honours the histories of black women as well as connecting to older spirit beings that may still be affected by colonialism.
The dream space is one of the ancient technologies I speak of. I regard these dreams as messages and at times I will go emsamo (place of prayer) to communicate with my ancestors about these messages in trying to find clarity. Such a work that demonstrates this is UKUKHANYA (2019) (light) which was supposed to debut at Dak’art Biennial 2020 and has been postponed due to the pandemic.
I find with advent of colonialism we have become self-conscious and somewhat embarrassed in acknowledging these as knowledge systems. We are distracted by the urgency of the dehumanising systemic violence, which is what these statues represent, that we forget to connect with ourselves. Toni Morrison speaks on this.
In saying ‘Black Lives Matter’ we have to remember even in protest to make that true by humanising ourselves. That’s why for me communicating with my ancestors is a form of self-love and the bedrock of my practice, even when there are intangible colonial statues that exist as barriers for a person that looks like me in society.
CS: We’ve seen so much reactionary, performative lip service from arts organisations and creative practitioners recently, online and offline, in relation to the recent killing of George Floyd in the US by the police. How does your practice and daily work relate to a decolonial and anti-racist vision? And in a sense, how do you foresee the place of the curator and/or the artist in the contribution to social change and activism in a broader sense?
AG: As curators we have a responsibility to critically document, acknowledge and respond to history as it unfolds. The recent events in America have had a rippling effect on our global village and have put forward questions that demand sober reflection: how can we collectively heal? What can we do with the privilege we have access to? And how we situate our work and values within a moral framework? Questions have always been rooted in anti-racism campaigners, decolonial practices, and pro-Black grassroots organisations, so I think it is important to think about the recent events within their historical scope.
Such questions have existed outside of this moment that we are living in and will continue to be in the hearts and minds of those who have been actively pushing for change outside of the reactionary and somewhat performative responses made by corporations. I think it is too early to say whether we are moving in the right direction, for my part, it is important to remain critical and continue to seek ways to centre the experiences of the colonised to counter the narratives which have succeeded in removing us. For me, this is a key part of my decolonial work.
SM: I see myself and my practice in two wave lengths when it pertains to race and oppression.
The first is, as a black person, simply existing is sometimes enough.
Living and being does not have to be a decolonising act or a dismantling of whiteness. Our existence mattered before colonialism and it still matters now. Putting this into practice whether it be in my work or in my personal life is something I have had to remind myself, that living does not have to be an act of protest. Sharing love, laughing, dancing, twerking and communion with yourself and your loved ones is enough.
My current work is an articulation of this, and my social media presence celebrates moving from my artworks that are a cause for deep reflection to posts about learning how to make clothes through YouTube tutorials and dancing around in these self-made garments.
The problem is when those moments of feeling human are threatened by racial prejudice whether it be directly or through systemic violence. This is where the second wavelength comes in, where one feels the need to be physically active. I have done this in my earlier works where I have done durational ‘performances’ for up to +/-4 hours juxtaposed with statues in reclaiming selfhood, showing the presence our black (women’s) history while questioning why we still revere colonial statues.
#blackouttuesday became an online platform for people to show solidarity for Black Lives Matter and as well as denouncing overt as well as institutional racism. For some white owned businesses this became a performative act that revealed their hypocrisy. I wrote a post 4 of how this has translated in the arts sector I work in, where art institutions were posting the black square but in reality amongst us black artists, directors, curators, support staff etc. we have shared experiences in private and public platforms of the covert and overt racism experienced in the white cube.
The sad thing is that if the institutions do take the 30 stories in the post seriously, they will probably use it as a checklist instead truly doing the decolonial work. Bell Hooks touches on this,
“They make us the ‘objects’ of their privileged discourse on race. As ‘objects’, we remain unequal, inferiors. Even though they may be sincerely concerned about racism, their methodology suggests they are not yet free of the type of paternalism endemic to white supremacist ideology.”
It seems far easier to talk about these problems through art but it’s harder to do it in person in fear of being blackballed, reliving old traumas but mostly I think it’s to keep our peace. So, we leave those establishments and move on to other ones, but the problems are still the same because they are systemic. Black owned institutions are not free of their fair share of systemic violence but that is a story for another day.
Artists can affect change, but we are not superhuman, it takes a whole community of people to do it, the protestors, writers, academics, lawyers, healers and an army of many more.
CS: On radical political imagination: according to you, how do you foresee the near future in reclaiming our narratives that have long been white washed within history and made our presence hyper visible/invisible in the public space? What is your main thought/idea about how we belong to the city and its institutions in a post-pandemic phase? A more concrete way to put this, is, how is the relation between the public space as colonial segmentation and the relation with the notion of citizenship and subjectivity?
AG: We have a responsibility to intervene in white saviour modes of analysis. A popular idea in Western ways of knowing puts forward the idea that the marginalised needs a voice. It is very common to hear people say that we need to empower people to have a voice. A part of reclaiming this narrative is grappling with this idea of benevolence because such acts are embedded within histories of assuming one is in need of civilising. The recent events have showed us that people have a voice and that it is up to the us to construct more meaningful ways to listen. I think another aspect of radical political imagination should grapple with these notions of ‘coming here and being here’.
Speaking as someone who was born in Jamaica and taken to Britain, the question of belonging has always brought with it some challenges. To belong to a space, city, a nation, a village, means playing an active role in the space’s formation. However, that can only come about when we acknowledge history for what it is; the joys, the sadness and trauma. We have to construct ways to democratise history and centre our work within a moral code of understanding. The recent critical engagement with statues forms part of this work, but also opens up new questions around how we can situate ourselves in this global and sometimes virtual village.
SM: The question you’ve asked is one that is important. How do we begin to see ourselves in places that have absorbed or eroded our identity? I think we can begin to see ourselves through architectural styles from these histories that have been marginalised and fuse them with newer interventions to create cities or public spaces that cater for the needs of the people. This can further be done with the textures, sounds and food that are markers of culture.
This will mean that the task of reshaping our spaces is not only given to urban planners and architects and so forth but the older generation who are living libraries of how certain spaces functioned for bringing people together. It will mean learning different forms of knowledge systems from them and integrating these to everyday living.
When this begins to be the norm we will see and celebrate people’s individuality in different spaces. This means that people will not feel they have to assimilate when they are within these institutions. Sometimes at exhibitions for instance, I have started sitting on the floor whilst looking at work or during speeches because it feels weird to be standing at times. With further introspection, I realised in my culture one does not simply stand in a room for hours on end without a function. So, when a person such as myself practices an alternative way of being in such spaces perhaps one day it will become the norm and there will be no pressure even self-imposed to assimilate.
CS: Women have long been invisible within the architecture and public spaces in cities, how does your work acknowledge their histories and reclaim their existence and contribution within the historical narratives, for example, women protests and involvement in the anti-Apartheid legislation? But also, in relation to the role of women within histories of slavery and colonialism in relation to colonised and oppressed women.
SM: The Public Holiday Series (2013-14) was to highlight the significance of black women in the South African (political) landscape by asserting my body in public space as a living sculpture through a process of temporary monumentalisation. This further alludes to the appreciation of women’s participation in the liberation struggle of South Africa.
Kwasuka Sukela: Re-imagined Bodies of a (South African) 1990s Born Woman (2015-2016) journeys through the narratives of various black women – from history, contemporary women, mothers, single women and spiritual women in different part of Africa– in rethinking public and private spaces as including black women’s histories.
The body of work takes us on a non-linear route through the stories and realities of select black women, reminding us that once upon a time they too existed and influenced their societies.
CS: There is a need to think about what comes after the toppling of these statues and not take these revolutionary acts as a moment mentality, as we have witnessed repeatedly. Is the acknowledgement of these violent histories by removing their traces, or writing over their existence enough? How do you think these histories of shame should be included within the broader narratives of history following from their public erasure? In relation to how institutions will tell this history, whether in schools, universities, museums interpretation, etc.
AG: We need to first acknowledge that statues embody symbols of honour, veneration and civic commemoration. Once we acknowledge this, then we can understand that such statues have outlived their significance in contemporary society. The question of removing statues has got nothing to do with erasing history; it is about acknowledging history within its moral context. The push back on removing statues of slave traders has demonstrated the ways in which Black lives continue to be pushed to the bottom of an oppressive hierarchy of whitewashing history. For example, everybody would find it unsettling to have a commemorative statue of Hitler outside a university or Museum, so why isn’t it the same when it comes to acknowledging histories of imperialism and colonisation…
When I co-founded the Young Historians Project in 2015, it was driven by a need to document Black history in Britain, which I felt had been intentionally silenced and overlooked within a colonial regime. For many young people in Britain, their idea of Black history was only seen through the United States or slavery; many could name Martin Luther King, but no one could name Olive Morris. Dealing with a historic Western regime of erasing and silencing Black history requires multiple modes of engagement and critical thinking to counter the epistemological violence. It involves disrupting false constructions of the white saviour and creating dynamic ways of learning and unlearning.
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Bio
Aleema Gray is Community History Curator at the Museum of London and PhD candidate at Warwick University. Her research is funded by the Yesu Persaud Centre for Caribbean Studies and uncovers a community-engaged history of the Rastafari movement in England. Aleema’s work focuses on documenting Black British history through the perspective of lived experiences. Her practice is driven by a concern for more historically contingent ways of understanding the present, especially in relation to notions of belonging, memory and contested heritage. She tweets @AleemaGray.
https://twitter.com/Aleemagray
Sethembile Msezane was born in 1991 in KwaZulu Natal, South Africa. She lives and works in Cape Town, South Africa.
Using interdisciplinary practice encompassing performance, photography, film, sculpture and drawing, Msezane creates commanding works heavy with spiritual and political symbolism. The artist explores issues around spirituality, commemoration and African knowledge systems. She processes her dreams as a medium through a lens of the plurality of existence across space and time, asking questions about the remembrance of ancestry. Part of her work has examined the processes of mythmaking which are used to construct history, calling attention to the absence of the black female body in both the narratives and physical spaces of historical commemoration.
http://www.sethembile-msezane.com
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References
1 David Olusoga, The toppling of Edward Colston's statue is not an attack on history. It is history, The Guardian on 8 June 2020. Available on: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/jun/08/edward-colston-statue-history-slave-trader-bristol-protest
2 Boris Johnson: Anti-racism protests 'subverted by thuggery', BBC, 8 June 2020. Available on: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-52960756
3 Stop Trump Coalition official website, https://www.stoptrump.org.uk/topple-the-racists/
4 Arundhati Roy, The pandemic is a portal, The Financial Times, 3 April 2020. Available on: https://www.ft.com/content/10d8f5e8-74eb-11ea-95fe-fcd274e920ca
5 https://www.facebook.com/sethembile.msezane/posts/10221679812174019