Blog

By Mette van Zoest

mettevzoest@gmail.com

Globally, we see arts and culture being under pressure as a result of undemocratic tendencies, authoritarian polices and leaders. Attempts to control narratives, cultures and the artistic sector also influence the work and position festivalmakers have within these contexts. The question of what role the arts are or should be playing within these contexts is much debated and complex one. Two main perspectives can be mentioned here. On the one hand people advocate for the recognition of the ‘resistant power of culture’, and the ways in which the arts can diversify our understanding and perspective on cultural, political, or social matters. From this perspective festivalmakers have a clear, and active voice within discourses and calls for (more) democratic societies. On the other hand, however, we are also faced with the reality in which the arts, and festivals included, are being instrumentalized by some politicians to push singular political ideologies. Here, the arts are strategically used by politicians and other actors to sustain or build one dominant cultural identity rather than taking a more democratic approach.

 Douzan Arts Center (Center for Syrian arts based in Türkiye).

In reality, these two perspectives are obviously not as clear cut. Festivalmakers (are forced to) operate in much more dynamic and shifting manners, moving between various grey zones due to safety issues, mobility restrictions, or financial opportunities. These types of contexts ask for a more grounded understanding of tensions between festivalmakers and, for example, politicians, audiences, private entities, volunteers, funders and more, in order formulate a better understanding of the role and position of festivalmakers in contexts marked by undemocratic tendencies. 

To get insights into these tensions, I spoke with 7 festivalmakers originally from, and/or still working in 6 different countries: Iran, Syria, Serbia, Poland, Senegal, and the United States. For safety reasons, nobody currently living in ‘strict authoritarian regimes’ with high potential of personal or professional risk has been asked to participate in this research. These conversations built the foundation of the research for my MA thesis and the research underlying a toolkit publication conducted for The Festival Academy.

Based on these conversations and a broader literature review, I formulated three terms indicating qualities of relations, through which we can talk and understand the tensions and relations between festivalmakers and other actors. The three terms proposed are that of ‘Conversation and Understanding’, ‘(Dis)trust’ and ‘Space’. Within the thesis, I connected these terms to the existing body of literature. Thereby, I argue that when looking closely, some links are already present in relevant discourses. By putting more emphasis on these connections and establishing a deeper understanding of what these terms and connections mean, we can strengthen our understandings and perspectives within conversations about festivalmakers, democracy and organizational struggles in contexts marked by un-democratic tendencies.

Conversation and Understanding

One term through which we can understand these types of cases is that of ‘Conversation and Understanding’. Although it sounds like quite an obvious theme to include within questions around democracy, it highlights various important relations and tensions. These include the relations between festivalmakers and politics, (and) the question of democracy and the social environment in which these are positioned. Additionally, it points out one of the characteristics that is often attached to arts and culture, namely that of being able to start conversation and establish certain (new) types of understandings of cultural expressions. Hence, it should not be overlooked within the context of this research. A strong connection can be found with the idea of democracy as public reasoning (Sen 2009) and the conversing qualities of festivals as often put forward in both academic and popular writing. Furthermore, conversations with festivalmakers highlight how relations and tensions can result from (a lack of) conversation with political actors, audiences and others, which strongly affects working methods, funding and festival structures. Hereby, examples include strong connections with volunteers and communities, but also the lack of response from political entities, and strong debates or conversation happening between festivalmakers and funders. Besides that, an urgent call was made by a number of festivalmakers highlighting the importance of conversation happening between festivalmakers themselves, and education processes happening within the sector as such. Sharing knowledge and education helps them to better understand their own impact in society and strengthen their positions and voices.

(Dis)trust

As a second term, I propose the idea of (dis)trust as a crucial element within the discourse about (un)democracy and festivals. Here, I argued that we should not understand trust and distrust as given, or static phenomena. Rather, I see actors move around, negotiating and (re)formulating (dis)trust as part of their relations. On top of that, I observe the group of festivalmakers within my research to be critical and very much aware of the (dis)trust happening between them and other actors, which gives them the possibility to formulate and apply strategies and the active choice to (not) put energy in certain relations as a result of (mutual) (dis)trust. The interplay of actors negotiating their position, while in full awareness of what the other might, or often indeed does, think of them, adds a layer of strategy and tactfulness to the organization of festivals. This is highlighted by, for example, double agenda’s, ‘playing along with the game’, and choices between unofficial versus official work in relation to underground or institutional organizing. Other key elements regarding (dis)trust include relations with local communities and audiences, (international) collaboration, shared/ing struggles, ethics, and shared values. Hereby it is important to critically look at how these relations and phenomena are shaped over time and influence organizational choices. These examples already indicate how relations and tensions can be understood from different perspectives and can transform, depending on changing (social and political, but also private and professional) dynamics and shifts in the position and agenda of the actor involved. This creates complex images of (mutual) (dis)trust between actors.

Space

The last term I put forward is that of ‘Space’. Taking the lens of space can help us understand tensions, relations, and positions in at least two ways. We can understand the implications of space both in terms of physical space and perceived space. First, approaching space as a physical concept, we can observe the tensions such as the interruptions and destructions of cultural spaces and the choice made by festivalmakers (not) to make use of public or institutional venues. On a larger scale, more structural or systematic policies are set up to reduce mobility between places, to confiscate passports or create administrative and financial obstacles to establish and maintain cultural spaces based on a given agenda. Second, ‘perceived space’ relates to the idea of influencing behavior or (creating) a sense of belonging. Here, examples include pushing a singular perception of culture and ‘what it means to be a citizen of a certain place,’ (local) authorities practicing social censorship or structural attempts to erase certain cultural groups and their cultural expressions of identity. Perceived space can shrink, with as result self-censorship, the need to ‘hide’ cultural activities or moving an organization underground or outside institutional spaces.

Taking a closer look at the movement of festivalmakers within and between various spaces, conversations I had with festivalmakers highlighted how we should not consider their position as static or stable. Many are actively making the decisions to work, for example, partly within institutional boundaries to gain advantages or space (both perceived and physical) for more independent work. At the same time, we can also recall the instrumentation of festivals by politicians, using them as platforms for their own political agendas, which can be subject to (seemingly) sudden changes of political agendas, changing social dynamics and positionality in relation to a festival. The presence of certain people within certain spaces does not always show how relations and tensions are situated in reality. We should understand positions, tensions, and relations in these cultural and political spaces as nuanced and being well thought through by all types of actors involved.

Concluding This set of terminology might seem straightforward or simplistic at first, but my research shows that there lies a lot more complexity behind these words, particularly within the specific cases included. Being aware of the complexities lying behind these terms can help to (re)draw the picture of how politics, relations and actors interact and behave with each other. On top of that, when talking about, and wanting to understand these types of vulnerable and complex contexts, there is a need for the creation of a shared language. I think both academics and cultural makers are constantly in search of these shared languages to both understand their own position and that of others. The creation of these languages is more important within the process of understanding than the final set of terms itself. Part of the creation of a shared language is active listening and making efforts. In other words, ‘simply’ sharing space, establishing trust and being in conversation with each other.

By Candela Castrillo Rivas (ccastrillor@gmail.com)

Bad Bunny’s music video “El Apagón” is more than just a song, it’s a powerful story about Puerto Rico’s history and struggles. Puerto Rico is a Caribbean island with a rich culture and long colonial history. It was ruled by Spain for over 300 years and has been under U.S. control since 1898, which means it still lacks full political independence.

Puerto Rico faces several serious socio-political problems. The island has a complex relationship with the United States. Although its people are U.S. citizens, they cannot vote. This leaves many decisions in the hands of the U.S. federal government without participation by Puerto Ricans themselves. This deeply affects their ability to address their own economic and social issues effectively. A major challenge is gentrification, with US investors buying properties and driving up rent prices, forcing local families out of their homes and breaking apart communities that have existed for generations. The videoclip shows how tax laws, such as “Ley 22”, which aims to attract US capital intro the island through tax breaks, clashes with local interests as they feel exploited and displaced. These issues added to power shortages in the island, leave locals feeling neglected from both corporations and government agencies responsible for basic infrastructure. This unreliable energy supply creates problems for vulnerable groups and it impacts the island’s overall development. These economic issues and political limitations push forward bigger debates of Puerto Rican identity, culture, and sovereignty. There is a strong push from the people to reclaim their culture in fear of a continuous “Americanization” of the island. After the devastation caused by Hurricane María in 2017, many of these existing problems worsened. The island’s history of colonialism and ongoing struggles for self-determination are key to understanding its present challenges.

Untitled image

Bad Bunny’s “El Apagón” video captures these local realities. He uses his lyrics, combined with a documentary format to his videoclip with interviews to tell the story of displacement, inequality and resistance, giving voice to locals. The video shows how Puerto Ricans are proud of their culture but frustrated by the economic and political powers that marginalize them. It gives voice to those directly affected by gentrification, privatization of public spaces and power failures. By doing this, Bad Bunny transforms his music into activism. Turning entertainment into a way to spread awareness and challenge injustice.

Cover image of Lincoln Bergman’s (1977) Puerto Rico resistance

“El Apagón” is a creative and urgent call for justice in Puerto Rico. It shows that despite ongoing challenges, local Puerto Ricans continue to resist, reclaiming their culture and land. This video invites people everywhere to listen, learn, and support voices fighting for dignity and self-determination that might often be silenced.

By Martina Denegri
m.d.denegri@rug.nl 

In the summer of 2024, the Utrecht-based foundation Creative Coding Utrecht (CCU) hosted the art exhibition “Composting Computers”. For two weeks, the headquarters of the organisation, the “Tree Tower”, was the backdrop of artworks and a series of workshops exploring relationships between human, nature and technology through the creative repurposing of e-waste and its encounters with organic materials. The final day of the exhibition marked a moment of transformation: CCU became a Zoöp. In the contract that formalised this shift, the signature of a plant appears among the signatures of human members of the organisation. This symbolic yet legally binding gesture demonstrates the commitment at the core of this pioneering model: organising as a multispecies collaboration aimed at ecological regeneration.

The Tree Tower. Photograph by author, March 2025.

Unlike modern approaches to organising and sustainability, the Zoöp Model grounds the human and its institutions in the web of life, working alongside non-humans for the flourishing of the ecosystems they share. The term is short for Zoöperation, a combination of the Greek word for life, zoe, and cooperation. The concept first appeared in 2018 in the context of the research project “Terraforming Earth” at Het Nieuwe Instituut (HNI), which became the first Zoöp in the world in 2022. At the time of writing, there are six Zoöps –HNI, Bodemzicht Foundation, De Ceuvel, Kunstfort Vijfhuizen and Creative Coding Utrecht, Waag Futurelab– but more Dutch and international organisations are expected to adopt the model in the upcoming period. Drawing from posthuman relational ontologies (in particular Rosi Braidotti), Indigenous cosmologies, the Rights of Nature movement and ecological economics, the Zoöp Model foregrounds the potential –and responsibility– of organisations to participate in the creation of shared, more-than-human worlds. 

In my thesis titled “Organising as Attuning” I studied CCU’s implementation of the Zoöp Model as an ecologically attuned mode of organising, a potential site of worldmaking where more-than-human forms of knowing, caring and working together can emerge. The concept of attunement was developed as a dialogue between organisation scholar Frank J. Barrett and ecological philosopher Timothy Morton. Attunement was thus defined as both an organisational capacity –cultivated through an aesthetic sensibility and practices of attention and surrender– and an ethico-political commitment to inviting more-than-human others in the processes of organising. The Zoöp model provided an interesting case to explore how such multispecies attunement could take shape in practice. 

Attunement diagram.

My findings, built on ethnographic research as well as the analysis of technological and artistic interventions, showed that being a Zoöp not only opens up new relational possibilities –or spaces of attunement– but also stimulates practices for sensing and making decisions amidst complex ecological relations. As a governance framework, it includes more-than-human voices and needs in decision-making, harbouring the potential to expand the organisation’s space of attunement. As a method, it takes organisations through a learning journey to become better participants in more-than-human ecologies, a process that requires attuning to situated bodies and rhythms. 

Nonetheless, the work of attuning is not much about harmony as it is about navigating frictions and continuous negotiations amidst uncertainty and complexity. Moreover, structural and institutional limitations often hinder this relational work. Cultural, economic, and political systems grounded in anthropocentric and extractivist paradigms not only fail to support more-than- human attunement but actively resist it. Yet, the difficult encounters with such constraints open spaces to question dominant logics. It is in the cracks opened by moments of friction and hesitation that alternatives can be imagined, and, however slowly, enacted. Rather than aiming for rapid or large-scale change, the attunement work of the Zoöp Model unfolds in these narrow spaces through small, situated interactions: the choice to listen before acting, to attune rather than ignore, to care rather than control. 

Read the full thesis here. 

Bio

Martina Denegri is a researcher, writer and curator. A graduate from the ReMa in Cultural Leadership at the University of Groningen, her research focuses on digital archival practices, the role of non-human agents in artistic production, and cultural policy. She currently holds a teaching position in the Department of Media and Journalism Studies at the University of Groningen. She is also the co-founder of WILLOW Online Art Space, a non-profit organisation creating spaces for autonomous art on the web, and critically investigating the digital and its infrastructure.

By Jin Liu

Much of the attention given to minority groups in society often stems from the protests and social unrest they initiate, while ‘well-behaved’ minorities are labelled as models because they are ‘harmless’ to public safety and social order. Silence is encouraged with the result that problems are covered up. The bias and marginalisation faced by these model citizens is often negotiated and internalised within the individual sphere. This process is tortuous and emotionally damaging, as well as autonomous and exploratory.

Due to the political turmoil following the Vietnam War, some Lao Hmong migrated to France in the late 1970s. Now, nearly 20,000 French Hmong make up the second largest Hmong community in the West after the United States. In France, where immigration issues have long been acute, the integration challenges faced by the friendly yet silent Hmong community have become further invisible. Especially for the 1.5 generation (those who came to France with their family at a young age) who lived through environmental changes and the 2nd generation who faced up to generational gaps. Their self-identification is shaped by policies, cultural environments and social values, which in turn affect the social bonds they build in France.

Source: https://hmongarchive.wordpress.com

In my recent study I observed that the 1.5 generation of French Hmong have a relatively clear Hmong cultural and ethnic identity. It is partly attributed to the cultural exclusion brought about by the democratisation of France in the 1970s, which led to the isolation of the Hmong community. On the other hand, those who spent their childhood or adolescence in foster care with French families developed a sense of ‘compensation’ due to their absence from their Hmong families, which later led them to devote themselves to reclaiming their ethnic art such as embroidery, dance, and Hmong song poetry (Kwv Txhiaj) rather than building a French cultural identity. The latter case shows the enduring influence of family values and emotional ties on Hmong’s self-development and the one-way ‘return’ can be seen as a policy consequence of the incompatibility of bicultural belonging. Their bond with France as a country to settle in, however, is enhanced because the traumatic memories of the war in their home region make them appreciate the present and, more importantly, the significant cost of the time and effort invested in getting citizenship constitutes an important part of their real lives.

Those 2nd-gen Hmong born in France around 2000 face less direct exclusion than their parents, but share the same fragmented sense of identity common to many in their generation: the selective neglect of Hmong history in schools makes them feel ‘betrayed’ and ignored, but their partial assimilation into French culture prevents them from fully embracing the traditional Hmong views of their elders. This places them in a dilemma, but at the same time inspires proactive cultural practice strategies: selectively accepting parts of French and Hmong culture that benefit their personal growth or exploring alternative forms of cultural expression, such as street art which is more closely related to the suburbs they grew up in.

However, the latter’s career path faces obstacles, as recent restrictive measures on street culture in France have blurred the lines between subculture and the mainstream. The de-undergrounding of street art has devalued the subcultural capital held by Hmong artists, putting them at a disadvantage in mainstream and commercialized competition once again. This has shaken the confidence of young Hmong in forging their new cultural identity in France, pushing many to return to the more welcoming—but still somewhat closed—Hmong community. In doing so, it subtly sustains and even deepens the existing social divides.

Silent groups are perhaps the most easily overlooked contributors to social fragmentation. Yet the issue of historically rooted cultural exclusion is a long-term challenge. So rather than debating values, policymakers should focus on the basics: ensuring the effective implementation of anti-discrimination measures, creating fair opportunities for competition, and delivering clear symbolic recognition of minority cultures to enhance their sense of belonging in society.

Liu Jin is a master’s student in Arts, Policy and Cultural Entrepreneurship at the University of Groningen. She holds a BA in Spanish and currently focuses on the sociology of art, cultural policy, and ethnic minority art practices. Outside of her academic work, she engages in jazz, experimental music, and Chinese ink painting.

jinliu995@gmail.com

by Marcell Bárdos
University of Groningen

As an aspiring academic and emigrant from a country under autocratic rule—the infamous Viktor Orbán’s Hungary—I have long had a natural interest in how contemporary art is used as means of manipulation by larger social and political forces. Accordingly, I devoted this project to investigating how culture is instrumentalized in my troubled home country. I chose to focus on a building I know well, Magyar Zene Háza, or the House of Music Hungary, which is a dazzling piece of architecture located in Budapest, a futuristic golden shelter that structurally imitates nature and music.

Promotion picture of the House of Music
(https://ligetbudapest.hu/projekt/magyar-zene-haza)

The House of Music was part of a highly expensive, state-financed prestige project to build cultural venues in Városliget, the city’s oldest and largest park. Its construction was surrounded by constant controversy, yet the final product was surprisingly well-received. Today, it hosts popular events as a museum, archive, and performance hall. However, the celebratory reception and commercial success conceals the more troubling aspects of its existence.

An explicit goal of the institution’s curators and star architect, Sou Fujimoto, was staging an immersive, multisensory experience for the visitors. For this reason, and to keep the project grounded in lived experience, I started my research with a field visit: documenting and immersing myself in the building’s tangible designed space. Prior to analysis, I observed how the House of Music’s spatial elements, like its golden canopy ceiling with leaf-like geometric patterns, shape my perception.

The building’s main hall (photography Marcell Bárdos)

The golden canopy ceiling with lamps hanging like tendrils (photography Marcel Bárdos)

My experience was twofold. I felt awe and aesthetic pleasure from the futuristic yet nature-like, disorienting interior. At the same time, I sensed an atmosphere of artificiality pervading the entire space; something I termed calculated organicity. This internal tension between amazement and alienation revealed to me that my wonder was artificially engineered. I intuited that the building wanted to enchant my perception in order to obscure something else.  

After my encounter, I began reflecting on my intuition, gradually uncovering a story of political deceit and corruption. Investigative reports from the Hungarian independent press exposed that the House of Music’s construction involved the destruction of cherished green spaces, the displacement of environmental protesters, and the funneling of public funds into the pockets of government-aligned businessmen. I drew on sociological studies on Orbán’s Hungary to frame these developments within the country’s broader politico-economic system. I found that the regime enforces an authoritarian form of capitalism which relentlessly accumulates wealth to the detriment of the country and its inhabitants.

To analyze the building’s social and cultural function, I used marketing and critical theory, that is, the concept of the “experience economy” and Adorno & Horkheimer’s critique of the culture industry. I arrived at the argument that the House of Music functions as a brand designed to sell an experience that not only commodifies art, but also markets and legitimizes the regime that financed it. Overall, I learned that contemporary immersive architectural design easily lends itself to political instrumentalization because of its illusionistic aesthetics. It erases underlying social relations and seduces the beholder through heavy impact on the senses. In this light, the House of Music is a lens onto contemporary soft propaganda, which increasingly operates not through plain repression, but orchestrated wonder.

The work of Marcell can be found on his Academia.edu page.

bardosmarci@hotmail.fr