I was going to write about something else this week. And then the reversal of Roe vs. Wade in the United States was announced and in its wake, several states passed legislation banning abortion. I cannot ignore this here.

I’ve studied in the United States and I lived there for many years. I often look back to those times with regret, wondering whether it was a mistake to leave. I was happy there. I felt free. I was able to express myself as a human being, free from pressures to behave and feel a certain way just because I am a woman.  

That the United States of all places has chosen to inflict such violence on women is a betrayal beyond words.

Rhiannon Lucy Cosslet has today written a stark piece in The Guardian about what being forced to carry a pregnancy to term means for a woman (and surely anyone able to get pregnant): ‘The point is forced birth, which amounts to torture.’ And she goes on to observe that, ‘It can be hard to find the words when faced with such hatred’ (my emphasis).

That’s what this is: Violence. Torture. Hatred.

No human being should be forced through any such experience. No-one should be told that their life matters less than another’s.

No-one’s body should be turned into a tool to torture them.

That is what may now happen to women and girls in the United States.

The message I take from this is that we must not be lulled into a false sense of security. For as long as women are underrepresented in our parliaments, for as long as women continue to be paid less than men, for as long as women are measured by different values: women are not safe from such attacks on their lives and their status as human beings and citizens.

Anywhere.

Ever since reading Sharon MacDonald’s work on the Nazi party rally grounds in Nuremberg I have wanted to visit the site myself [1]. The grounds are of course the ultimate example of, as MacDonald calls it, ‘difficult heritage’. In her 2009 book of the same title, MacDonald gives a very interesting account of the City of Nuremberg’s approach to the site’s management over the years. I was particularly interested in MacDonald’s visitor research there and her observations of guided tours. It was Sharon MacDonald who coined the term ‘preferred reading’ which had a lasting impact on my own thinking and work.

Despite having read all this reseach about the site, I still wasn’t quite prepared for experiencing it when I went there last month. A lot has been written about the buildings’ monumentality, but to physically be there gives that word a different meaning. I first saw the façade of the Kongresshalle (congress hall) across the waters of the Dutzendteich (a lake), and it still seemed enormous. It also looked seductively handsome from this angle.

This caught me by surprise: I know that the stone for the building was quaried by people imprisoned in concentration camps, and MacDonald makes many comments about tour guides trying to dissuade visitors from appreciating the buildings’ aesthetic. Yet here I was, not quite admiring the Kongresshalle, but certainly being aware that its architectural language – albeit on a ludicrously enlarged scale – is not at all unlike that of other buildings I enjoy, starting with Rome’s Colosseum.

This prompted an intriguing internal conflict. At which point should the knowledge of the context of a building’s genesis – and its ideological underpinnings – take precedence over everything else, and indeed itself become its meaning? In allowing that conflict to play out I realised that it was in fact through that flicker of appreciation that a sensation of being unsettled emerged within me. As I continued along the lakeside path with the Kongresshalle persistently within my view, I had a deeper confrontation with the entirety of the horror for which that building stands than any words could have initiated.

In contrast, standing within the circular inner yard of the Kongresshalle had a different effect. The building is of course unfinished, it never had a roof and has been pretty much left to decay as a ruin. Spaces seem to be let out for storage and workshops, and there is a general atmosphere of neglect. I know that this ‘profanation’ was and apparently still is one conscious approach to dealing with the building. I purposely write ‘dealing with the building’ because it really did nothing in my eyes for dealing with its history. On the contrary, this backyard shabbiness made it so profane, so ordinary and ugly that I just wanted it gone. That may well have been the sentiment that prompted this approach in the first place, but personally, I felt quite strongly that this was a cheap way of dodging responsibility, including the responsibility to confront this history and our own feelings about it.

I did then wonder what the effect might have been if the Kongresshalle had actually been completed according to Albert Speer’s original plans. What if they had then decided to actually put the building to use, for example as a cultural venue. Would that have amplified the unsettlement that I had felt looking at the façade from far away? Could that have deepened my confrontation with the past? And would the enjoyment of liberal, democratic, diverse art have been able to quash the horrendous ideology of those who had conceived of this building until the Kongresshalle actually became a symbol of the ultimate power of good over evil? [2] I don’t know.

What I realised yet again visiting the Nazi party rally grounds in Nuremberg was just how powerful ‘the place where history happened’ is, even if it is such terrible history as happened here. There truly is something about bodily experiencing a place and its memory that is more transformative than any documentary can ever be. No matter how many images we may see of that man standing on the Zeppelin Tribüne (grandstand), preaching his hateful ideology to the masses, nothing will impact you quite like standing by that very same platform yourself. I couldn’t and wouldn’t step onto it.

There are and always will be many differing opinions on how the buildings the Nazis left behind should be dealt with. I’m sure there is not one right approach. It also changes as time passes and new generations are born. Personally, I am glad that there are at least those remains left that are there today. They can and should unsettle us.  

Notes

[1] MacDonald, S., 2009. Difficult Heritage.  Negotiating the Nazi Past in Nuremberg and beyond. London and New York: Routledge

[2] No point telling me that this would have cost a ton of money and that there might have been a danger of some people turning it into a site of Nazi pilgrimage. I know that.

My organisation is currently leading on an Erasmus Plus Strategic Partnership dedicated to the Third Space, and more specifically, to negotiating (European) identities therein [1]. The project is in its final year, and while we’ve really moved forward a lot in our understanding of the Third Space, we’ve spent far less time talking about the negotiation of identities. One reason for this seems to be that, as the project has progressed, we’ve come to realise that we’re not entirely agreed on the relevance of this aspect.

Members of the Irish group, for example, have previously spoken about the concept of a global identity, which apparently is gaining traction in Ireland, particularly among young people. We’ve not been to Ireland yet, so there hasn’t yet been any in-depth discussion of this. However, in its brief mention it was suggested that a global identity transcends all others, and in particular a national identity. This global identity is so inclusive and all-encompassing that it makes negotiation between people superfluous: we all partake in it. In a sense, therefore, this global identity also turns identity in general into an outdated idea.

A brief Internet search led me to an article in the Irish Times published in 2016. The then 23-year-old author describes what I perceive to be that concept of a ‘global identity’. He writes, ‘[Young people in Ireland] subscribe to a homogenous and pervasive culture that exists without nationality. To be Irish, British or American on the Internet is defunct because for the most part there is no fundamental difference between our cultures.’ He goes on to note: ‘To be Irish becomes a passive description and to a certain extent nationality is renounced in favour of joining this global network of people. We forgo our Irishness to become an Earth citizen, which is a far more harmonious and inclusive concept.’

For the author, the source of this global (sense of) identity is the Internet [2]. The Irish partners in our project also referred to the Irish Diaspora as making any ‘Irish’ identity necessarily global, in that ‘Irish’ people now live all around the world. This opens ‘Irishness’ up to include other ‘nationalities’ (if I understood this correctly). In an article titled ‘Globalised Ireland, or, contemporary transformations of national identity?’ [3], G. Honor Fagan also points to the Irish experience of emigration. But in her account, instead of making Irish identity transcendentally global, she rather suggests that the Diaspora have, not the least in a joint effort with the people left in Ireland, re-invented the Irishness of the Irish identity.

For example, Riverdance, along with Irish films and other phenomena, are today widely viewed as Irish culture (and thus an expression of an ‘Irish’ identity). Fagan notes, however, that these ‘may be partly constituted locally but it is with reference to a global cultural market’ (117). Traditions play a central role in this process (as did Irish dance in Riverdance), but Fagan rightly stresses that traditions have never existed as immutable. They were always invented, and the Diaspora has played a central role in these re-inventions of Irish traditions. Even the framing of Ireland as ‘home’, which apparently has been pushed more recently by Irish politicians, is part of this joint creation of Irishness, and thus Irish identity.

What emerges, then, is not so much a global Irish identity, but rather a globally constructed Irish identity still reliant on inventions of Irish traditions and notions of (a geographical) Irish home.

In my reading of the above, I feel that there is a lot of negotiation of identity going on after all. Even the young author of the Irish Times article concludes that, ‘… the notion of sacrificing my Irishness is too much for me…I’m an Irishman.’ His anguish at being torn between the desire for a harmonising global identity and his experience of, and love for, a particular national identity is probably something many of us share. It is perhaps also the reason why we so often avoid talking directly about (national) identities. They just sound like a certain recipe to engender conflict and divide people. Nobody wants that.

However, to negotiate identities to me is actually the opposite of othering people and excluding them. To negotiate means to be transparent and open, and to engage in a dialogue among equals. The developments of recent years, from Black Lives Matter to #MeTwo and #vonhier, have all highlighted the existence of unspoken definitions of identity (such as Germanness) that have in fact excluded people. It is only through these movements that we’ve finally acknowledged real issues and begun a discussion. To me, negotiating identities means we can mould them into a vision that can accommodate and inspire us all toward a peacefully shared future.

The Third Space seems a really good way of facilitating that negotiation. I look forward to thinking more about that in the months ahead.

Notes

[1] I’ve blogged about the Third Space before here.
[2] In terms of Third Spaces this is quite interesting. It is on the Internet, in a virtual space, that people jointly created, in the author’s view, a new global identity. This has all the markings of a Third Space. And yet, in our project, views are divided on whether a virtual space can be a Third Space at all. But more about that another time.
[3] Fagan, G. H. (2018). ” Globalised Ireland, or, contemporary transformations of national identity?”. In The end of Irish history?. Manchester, England: Manchester University Press. Retrieved May 24, 2022, from https://www.manchesteropenhive.com/view/9781526137715/9781526137715.00012.xml

I’ve taken a rather long break from this blog. Now it is time to restart.

However, the scope of this blog will widen. It will become clear why, and how, once I’ve set out where I’m currently at in my experiences and my interests.

It’s been two years and eight months since I left the formal museum (and heritage) sector. I was recently asked if I would not consider going into museum consulting in Germany. Participation and to some degree co-creation and power sharing have finally arrived at least on the political agenda, as the recent establishment of the Zentrum für kulturelle Teilhabe (Centre for Cultural Participation) in the State of Baden-Württemberg shows. And participation, co-creation and power sharing have always been the primary goals in my professional practice.

Unfortunately, in the three years that I worked in the German museum sector upon my return, these goals were also the ones which I was repeatedly forced to defend. In the end, this meant taking several steps back in my professional practice and fight for something that to me and most of my international colleagues is a given. I was not prepared to do that. I am still not prepared to do that. I leave that fight to others.

I am now fast approaching my three-year anniversary in the further education sector, which in its day-to-day practices is firmly rooted in what in Germany is called Soziokultur. There is no term for that in English. This is highly illustrative of the underlying issue of my experiences in the German museum sector: museums are high culture, fairly separate from wider society, while Soziokultur is all about people and how they live together.

In other words, I have arrived in a professional environment that is dedicated to what has always been most important to me. I still work with heritage, and indeed we are currently in a collaborative project with our local Roman history museum. However, I am now engaged with the dynamics of heritage, history and culture far, far beyond museums and heritage sites. Where before I used to reflect on heritage primarily in the context of interpretive practice and heritage management, I am now challenged to think much more deeply about the role of lived heritage and its impacts within societies, as well as the impacts of history and culture.

I now work in an organisation whose very reason for existing is democracy. Volkshochschulen were founded to enable people to participate fully. Every course we offer relates back to that vision in one way or another. Not being bound to a museum collection or a particular site gives me the freedom to engage with issues that perhaps at first glance are nothing do with heritage. Take for example the Symbolic Elections that we organised last year for all the people in our town who were not allowed to vote in the German Parliamentary Elections on the grounds of their nationality. Upon closer examination, this has everything to do with history, our culture, our definitions of Germanness and who we want to be as a society. In other words, it has everything to do with questions about our heritage now and in the future.  

So, getting back to the scope of this blog. I will still write posts purely on cultural heritage, and heritage interpretation, too. However, I will also write more broadly about heritage, history, and culture, and especially about how they manifest, impact, and (re-)shape society. Occasionally, I may write about technology and the Third Space, or developing a co-created vhs programme. The essence of this blog will remain the same: I am all about furthering professional practices around heritage and culture that are inclusive and people-centred.

I do hope that many of you will continue to accompany me on this journey. Do share your thoughts with me. I look forward to exchanging ideas with you.

A local project invited me to write an article on culture for an imaginary newspaper in 2030. It got me thinking about what I hope (German) museums will be like then [1]. Here are my thoughts.

In 2030, as soon as I step through the doors of a museum, it is clear that this is a place for discussing the past, negotiating the present and imagining the future. This is a lively space, open and welcoming, with stuff going on right there in the entrance area. In the exhibition, it’s obvious that the relevant (heritage) communities have had a huge say in creating this space. There is transparency: I always know whose voice I am hearing when. Polyvocality is everywhere, giving me the opportunity to engage with all the different perspectives on this heritage, even where they are contradictory or controversial. I am able to respond to what I see/hear/do, and I can leave my own traces for visitors that will come after me. This exhibition is a reflection of the rich and diverse fabric of heritage expressions and our society, and I and everyone else become part of it.

The museum that is about my heritage in 2030 creates plenty of opportunities for me to do heritage work. I can engage with, express, reaffirm, and reinvent my sense of heritage and thus my place within this society. The museum knows that this is precisely it’s job: to facilitate engagement and heritage work. There are no preferred readings here. It’s a place of making visible what may otherwise be hidden. It’s a place of negotiation.

A museum in 2030 is consequently all about people and providing an infrastructure for the above. It is not about collections. In fact, the most progressive museums no longer have their own collections at all. They focus on facilitating a third space, leaving collecting, research and collections care to archives, libraries and universities. What objects they need for an exhibition, they either crowd-source or borrow from other collection holders.

This is also reflected in staff expertise. The best museum directors and curators in 2030 are those who entirely blend into the background. They are outstanding at supporting (heritage) communities in expressing what is relevant to them and their societies; they facilitate co-created exhibitions and activities to the highest interpretive standards and so create opportunities for visitors. Interviews with these celebrated museum folks focus on the input from (heritage) communities and the relevance of the outputs to these communities and visitors. The previously called ‘subject specialists’ have migrated to other institutions along with the collections they were experts on.

In 2030, every museum has detailed knowledge of their visitors’ and staff profiles, particularly around ethnicity (in German ‘migrant background’) and socio-economic background. Museums understand that this is the prerequisite to ensuring there are no lingering racist biases within their structures and processes. In fact, any museum unable to produce such data stops receiving any public funding because the task is clear: a museum must be fully representative of, and fully serve, the whole of their society in all its diversity. So, when I search for the percentage of museum directors with a ‘migrant background’ this information is not only immediately available, I also find out that yes, the proportion is about the same as people ‘with migrant background’ in our society as a whole.

The same is true for audiences. Consequently, in 2030, every museum has an Audience Development Plan alongside a stringent Audience Research Programme.

In 2030, museums understand that they themselves have sometimes troubling histories; that they are part of socio-political hegemonies, and that they are as receptive to behaviours detrimental to inclusion and equality as other institutions. Therefore, they are in a constant process of self-reflection, constantly rechecking and recalibrating their efforts so that they remain the polyvocal, democratic and representative third spaces they intend to be.

And finally, in 2030 I am no longer forced to leave my coat and hand over my handbag because the museum will actually treat me as an adult.

Notes

[1] I am primarily thinking of museums here that traditionally fall into the broad category of ‘history’ museums. Art museums that present art as cultural heritage will be similar in 2030 to what I describe in this post, at least I hope so. Art museums that present art ‘just’ as art, well, I would like to consider that separately. However, since I come from a cultural heritage background, that’s not where my immediate interest lies. Maybe another time.