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Lessons from a debate on the National Trust

December 31, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

On 11th November 2020, there was a short debate in the UK House of Commons on the future of the National Trust in England and Wales. It is worth analysing in particular the contributions of the debate’s initiator. They make for a textbook lesson on history vs. heritage, the power structures of hegemonies, and why professional heritage interpretation needs to be based in polyvocality where applicable.

Dr Andrew Murrison complains that a Trust report on the connections between the Trust’s properties in care, and colonialism and historic slavery ‘diminishes towering figures in British history, notably Winston Churchill…a man who, more than any other, stood against fascism, racism and antisemitism’.

Dr Murrison does not challenge the facts presented in the report about Winston Churchill [1]. His critique, implied but not made explicit, is that these facts are given importance. To him, the facts that should be stressed are presumeably that Churchill fought and won against Nazi Germany – thus his reference above to what Churchill, in his eyes, stands for. This is a selective focus and emphasis: Dr Murrison stresses some historical facts, while he mutes others. The facts that he gives importance to convey a meaning and a narrative, namely, about what Britain stands for, and therefore about what it means to be British. We call this heritage values.

The above illustrates a key element of the definition of heritage: it is selective, it tells a story about identity/identities, and it is consequently emotionally charged. Dr Murrison’s statements also highlight that heritage is not history. It is not an attack on history that he objects to (i.e. the facts); rather, it is what he perceives as an attack on his heritage (i.e. the valuing of certain facts), although again, he does not make that clear (and I’m arguing below that this is a function of hegemony).

Dr Murrison criticises that in his view, the facts in the report, i.e. those that challenge his heritage values, are not given sufficient context. This might at first glance be mistaken as the call for polyvocality. It isn’t. Instead, it is an example of hegemonic power structures at work.

Dr Murrison actually dismisses the giving of context on site as unnecessary. At length he argues that at country houses, the ‘inequality’ on which they were built (note the euphemistic choice of word here) ‘is there and it is in your face’. To point it out, he suggests, is to ‘force-feed’ visitors. He says, ‘It is also plain to most visitors that the wealth required to throw up those mini-palaces did not often come from a post office savings account.’

This phrase in particular is very informative. Dr Murrison does not acknowledge, even in words, the true source of this wealth – slavery, colonialism, with all the pain these exploitative structures caused. In his sentence, he not only obscures what might otherwise be a true challenge to his heritage values, i.e. his positive narrative of what Britain stands for, but he dismisses it completely through flippancy (‘a post office savings account’).

Dr Murrison goes even further than this. He suggests that at country houses and other Trust properties, no interpretation of history is required at all. Again, it is instructive to note that he arrives at this conclusion through reference to his own experience only, assuming that most other people’s will be the same. He states that the purpose of visiting a National Trust property is ‘to admire an elegant pile of bricks or a beautiful landscape before going for a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake – job done, and happy days’.

Dr Murrison is full of praise for a 2013 English Heritage report on Slavery and the British Country House. So let us turn to that report in the attempt to understand Dr Murrison’s statement better. The report notes that, ‘The British country house, that symbol of refinement, connoisseurship and civility, has long been regarded not only as the jewel in the nation’s heritage crown, but as an iconic signifier of national identity’ (p. 13). That, then, is the value widely associated with country houses such as the National Trust care for: they are a representation of a national identity that sees Britishness as being refined, being civil, and being connoisseurs. Without additional interpretation, that is what a country house stands for. They are their own interpretation.  

I do not know if this is in fact the heritage value that Dr Murrison shares – he does not make his values transparent except for objecting to interpretation based on the Trust’s report (and movements such as Black Lives Matter). However, since the above is the hegemonic value, the issue as stated remains. Consequently, to suggest that no further interpretation needs to be offered is to defend the status quo.  

That is of course the aim of all hegemonies: to preserve themselves, by dismissing, suppressing and keeping invisible the values of others. But it cannot be the aim of professional heritage interpretation. Nor is it in the interest of the cohesion of increasingly diverse societies.

What must happen instead is precisely what the National Trust has done: we need to collect all historical facts, even where they are inconvenient to the hegemonic heritage values. And we need to engage with relevant heritage communities who contest these values in order to understand theirs. And then we must push to have these values acknowledged and represented also.

Crucially, this is not just so that currently margenialised views can be appeased, as Dr Murrison implies. Rather, it is an intrinsic part of a pluralist democracy and its ongoing agonistic struggle. It makes possible the renegotiation of heritage, and the creation of new heritages as diverse societies come together as one.

At the end of such a process, we may well arrive where Dr Murrison claims to be today: at a glorious state of shared and equal reclaiming of the places that were built on inhuman exploitation and pain suffered. Perhaps these country houses will then no longer stand for an idealised vision of a wealthy and civilised Britain full of beauty and art. Instead, they may represent a nation’s courageous and just struggle toward reconciliation over a shared past that for some was brutal.

Personally, I think that’s the better Britain.  

Notes

[1] The report notes that Churchill was Secretary of State for the Colonies from 1921 to 1922; that he was PM during the Bengal Famine of 1943 for which Britain has been heavily criticised; and that he opposed the Government of India Act in 1935 and Indian independence in 1947, which ended three hundred years (!) of colonial rule (p. 55 of the report).

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Personal reflections on home, heritage and Heimat

November 18, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

Just over a year ago, I moved back to the south of Germany, and specifically the Swabian Alps, where I was born and grew up. One unexpected aspect of this has been my awareness of the landscape and culture here, and their impact on my experience of home, heritage and Heimat.

Home

I haven’t lived here for the better part of 20 years, and yet I felt immediately at home. The landscape played a big part in this: it was familiar, with practical implications. The land has been shaped by agricultural practices in ways that I know and understand. This in turn means that my expectations about how paths cut across the land are generally correct, and I can find my way around. In contrast, when I lived in the north of Germany, I got lost regularly because my chosen direction was blocked by ditches or boggy ground. I had the almost physical sensation of rebalancing once I was back on the rocks of the Swabian Alps.

I also felt immediately at home among the people here: they speak my dialect, and they do things in a way that I recognise and appreciate. I felt immediately in sync with them.

Now, I have felt at home in other places, too. Whenever I think of Scotland, for example, I feel homesick, I miss it so much. And still, it had a different quality that I cannot quite put my finger on. Perhaps it has something to do with the next two concepts.

Heritage

I don’t come from the field of natural heritage. The way in which the heritage aspect of nature has generally been explained to me was in terms of the study of the natural world – ecology, geography, zoology. I have always struggled to see why this is considered heritage, for I understand heritage as a human process. Now that I am back on the Swabian Alps, however, I suddenly do have a sense of heritage that is connected to nature. I feel connected to this landscape in ways that are shaped by my own memories of people and events against the backdrop it provides. I cherish it, and derive comfort from it. It is a factor in how I experience my own identity, and how it is established by others. In fact, I remembered a term that was applied to people like myself at my first university: someone who ‘has come down from the Alps’. It was meant as an insult, but I now take pride in it: yes, I hail from this beautiful place. Isn’t it awesome? [1]

Although I felt a similar sense of identification with the Scottish Highlands, I would hesitate to call the Highlands my heritage in the ways that I am experiencing the Swabian Alps. Maybe, after a few more years, that might have changed: heritage, after all, is also created and evolving.

However, I am not entirely sure, and that’s because of the last concept I want to explore.

Heimat

Heimat is of course a German term. There is no agreed translation into English. I used to think it’s similar to heritage, but now that I am back here in the south of Germany, I no longer think that’s correct. My experience of Heimat is largely constituted in a sense of instinctive familiarity, about place, about people, their customs and their mentality. I need no explanation. Just as importantly, I also feel that those around me view me with the same instinctive familiarity. As I recognize myself in them, I feel they recognize themselves in me. It is this mirroring, this element of belonging to each other, that to me make this place Heimat.  

Mind, none of this necessarily means that I identify with what I am familiar with here, or that I like it (although incidentally, I do). But it is, still, my Heimat, undeniably so to myself and to others [2].

Fluid stages of being human

Home, heritage, Heimat: I described these concepts as separate, but there are many overlaps, and indeed perhaps one leads into the other. As time passes, and we spend time in new places with new people, we may move from home to heritage to Heimat. We may even have been gifted those places and people through our families: our parents and grandparents.

The point is, the last year has been a very personal experience of these concepts that I have spend much of my professional life considering. And it’s been such a wonderful and healing experience.

Notes

[1] I do feel reminded here of a conversation with my doctorate supervisor, Rodney Harrison, about his concept of the ontology of connectivity. The landscape here is, of course, the non-human actor that plays such an important role in creating heritage.

[2] In fact, when I lived in the north of Germany, my being from the south was always a topic of conversation raised by others. It was clear that ‘the north’ was not my Heimat, and that the people around me weren’t prepared to pretend otherwise either.

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The Discriminatory Practice of Heritage?

September 15, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

At the end of August, I participated in the fantastic Association of Critical Heritage Studies’ 2020 Futures online conference. There were many interesting papers but the one that really stuck with me was on Reconstruction, Spatial Reclamation and Restorative Justice by Prof. Erica Avrami of Columbia University.

Prof. Avrami referred to the 2018 Warsaw Recommendation on Recovery and Reconstruction of Cultural Heritage. The recommendation is primarily concerned with war contexts in which heritage has been destroyed. It argues for its speedy reconstruction ‘as a means [for affected communities] to reaffirm their identity, restore their dignity and lay the conditions for a sustainable social and economic recovery’ (p. 3).

Prof. Avrami’s point was the recognition in the recommendation that reconstruction can play an important role in re-establishing the spaces in and through which recognition of a community and its experiences happens, in other words: in delivering justice.

However, here also lies the crux: Prof. Avrami highlighted that the recommendation requires, as a prerequisite to reconstruction, ‘Proper documentation and inventories, including documentation of building methods…’ (p. 7). This prerequisite is also enshrined in the World Heritage Convention. The Operational Guidelines of 2019 clearly state that, ‘Reconstruction is acceptable only on the basis of complete and detailed documentation and to no extent on conjecture’ (p. 27, paragraph 86).

Prof. Avrami then proceeded very poignantly to highlight the many historic circumstances in which people were prevented from leaving behind built structures, never mind documentation: those excluded from owning property, those excluded from the decisions made about the built environment (so their own villages, for example, were removed), those forced to live in environments where for example floods destroyed the physical traces of their existence. And so on.

On one hand, this is simply another illustration of the structural exclusion exerted by definitions of heritage as (still) primarily material. It discriminates against the heritage of those who were prevented from leaving behind material traces in the first place.

Prof. Avrami turned the spotlight on the fact that in preventing reconstructions on the basis of the argument of (a lack of) documentation in effect continues this discrimination. She suggested that reconstructing buildings once important to these excluded sections of society would mean to enable a physical, spatial encounter with their experiences, and thus with their heritage. It would make them visible where before they were kept in the shadows. In other words, reconstruction could be an act of restorative justice.

I found this line of argument immensely powerful. Who can deny that some people were, and still are, excluded from the processes that will enable them to leave behind lasting material traces? In tying definitions of heritage, and thus approaches to reconstruction, so narrowly to material attributes and their documentenation, we perpetuate these exclusionary and discriminatory practices. Not only that: we distort the truth of the past, hiding many people’s very existence, all the while claiming that we are doing so in service of authenticity and science.

Toward the end of her presentation, Prof. Avrami asked a question which perfectly summed it up (referring to debates about the reconstruction of slave quarters at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s home):

‘What is less authentic: slave dwellings reconstructed based on limited dcoumentation and some degree of conjecture, or an 18th century Southern plantation that does not include an encounter with the spatial experience of enslaved people?’ 

What indeed.

 

 

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Imagining Museums in 2030

August 24, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

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.

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Agonistic (Third) Spaces: Now more important than ever

May 25, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

Last week I came out of my personal, Corona pandemic-induced paralysis by presenting a paper at the Interpret Europe web conference. My topic was agonistic (third) spaces, and in preparing the presentation, I felt that creating such spaces is now more important than perhaps ever before.

 

I have already blogged about agonistic interpretation and agonistic spaces here. In summary, an agonistic space is a space in which those views generally obscured and obliterated by the dominant consensus are made visible, and those who are silenced within the framework of the existing hegemony are given a voice [1].

 

Through an excellent Erasmus + project that I was fortunate to be part of between 2017 and 2019 I became aware of the concepts of Third Place and Third Space. Third Place is an idea that goes back to American urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg. In short, he speaks of our homes as the first place, our work places as the second, and the third place are communal spaces such as cafés. For Oldenburg, those third places are crucial for community cohesion: they are social levellers, where we are all equal and where we can discuss and shape our communal futures together.

 

Personally, I have always felt that Oldenburg’s idea of the impact of such third places is exaggerated. Although I think that he does have a strong point about the need to create physical spaces that are perceived as generally open to all, I think more needs to happen in those spaces to truly deliver equality and shared agency. This is where Third Space theory comes in. It was Homi Bhabha who promoted the idea of the third space as what I like to describe as a facilitated space. Reminiscent of representation theory, Bhabha argues that in the third space culture is co-created as all involved bring to bear their own cultural concepts upon the conversation and creation taking place.  Bhabha comes from post-colonial theory, so an important element of his concept is that in the third space, the past with all its injuries and representations is (I’m paraphrasing here) actualised in the present and thus (now we’re back to agonistic spaces) made visible. Only in pausing and examining the underlying representations and dynamics of the past can true equality and shared agency, and thus co-creation of communal futures happen.

 

I argue that creating agonistic (third) spaces is the purpose of (agonistic) heritage interpretation. In these spaces, the representations inherent in heritage, their origins, contexts and present-day impacts are made visible. In doing so, we also give a voice to those heritage communities whose heritage values are not part of the dominant consensus. In turn, the performance, negotiation and (re-)creation of heritage in and by diverse communities is made possible. Therefore, an agonistic space is the prerequisite for the democratization of heritage management and interpretation. Considered more widely, agonistic (third) spaces are the prerequisite for a pluralist democracy, of which heritage management is a part.

 

Regularly, when I speak about the need for agonistic interpretation, that is, interpretation that gives voice to diverse views, some in the audience will raise the issue of ‘hate speech’. This was also the case in the discussion that followed my talk last week. The fear is that an agonistic space may become a platform for extremists and haters. While I understand that fear, I am troubled by the fact that extremism is what we end up discussing – rather than the everyday occurrence of minority views being muted by the dominant consensus. I believe that that, too, is an expression of the hegemonies of which we as interpreters, educators and managers are a part. We know – or could learn – how to respond to hate speech. Hate speech is not the pressing issue in this case. In focusing on hate speech, we are turning a blind eye to marginalisation and the many real ways in which it impacts on our societies. Brexit, Trump – these are all recent examples of the outcome of this process, and Coronavirus may turn out to give rise to yet another. We must become facilitators of agonistic (third) spaces if we want to avoid further splits in our societies.

 

Notes
[1] Mouffe, C., 2014. Agonistics. Thinking the world politically. London and New York: Verso, p. 93.

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German Museums after Hanau

March 2, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

About 18 months ago, I wondered whether #MeTwo was going to be German museums’ Ferguson moment. It wasn’t. There was no initiative similar to #museumsrespondtoferguson, no MASS action project, no discussions at any of the museum conferences I have attended since.

 

Just over a week ago, nine Germans with what we in the German language insist on calling ‘migrant backgrounds’ were murdered in the city of Hanau.

 

Will this be German museums’ Ferguson moment? I hope so, but I am sceptical.

 

Ferguson was the recognition that a focus on collections is not enough. That museums must engage with the social, political, economic and cultural inequalities and expressions of racism within their societies. That they must face their own institutional biases and racism, be it in the narratives of their exhibitions or their recruitment practices.

 

The emphasis in the German museum sector is still very much on collections, as I have noted in my last post. This would be somewhat acceptable if at the very least and simultaneously a solidly inclusive collections strategy were demanded, i.e. a strategy to collect objects that represent all communities within the locality a museum serves. This, however, is not the case.

 

In fact, there is little critical discussion about museum narratives and the collections these nourish (and vice versa). The most discussion in this area is fairly narrowly centred on provenance issues, which in Germany almost exclusively focus on cases from Nazi Germany, as well as on decolonization, although the latter is mostly limited to a relatively small number of (large) museums.

 

Moreover, the personal subject specialisms and associated profiles of museum directors and curators generally receive more attention, and are more highly valued, than their ability to facilitate community engagement and participation. Consequently, a lack of (experience in) visitor research, evaluation, audience development and diversity is not considered a serious issue at many museums.

 

Finally, because of the above, there is currently very little pressure for museum professionals to consider their own personal positioning in the social, political and cultural contexts of their institutions. In other words, there is little incentive to question their own privileges and biases. It enables museum managers to dismiss, for example, questions about the discursive manipulations behind the construct of “German-Turks” (as opposed to “Turkish-Germans”, as is customary for example in the UK and the US) by suggesting directly, ‘Die wollen das so’ (‘That’s how they want it’).

 

Someone with this attitude and this apparent lack of willingness to take a moment to consider is unlikely to act differently now in their museum practice after Hanau.

 

And yet, it is precisely this kind of change, this acknowledgment of not-so-subtle mechanisms of othering and exclusion that museums should spearhead. Where, if not in museums, can our society expect to have these narratives revealed and challenged? They are part of our history and our present, and we must not let them be part of our future. That must be the job of museums, especially in Germany.

 

My scepticism about Hanau becoming German museums’ Ferguson may be proven wrong. I hope so. There is a young generation of museum professionals slowly coming into positions of power who have a different outlook. Participation, inclusion, sharing power – these are mainstays of museum practice for them.

 

Also, it seems that the new Germans have finally had enough. I have the impression that the way they talk to the (old) German majority has changed, away from the sense of being victims toward the demand to be acknowledged as what they are: Germans. Between these converging forces, maybe German museums will change after Hanau.

 

I really do hope so.

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‘Working professionally’: Thoughts on new museum guidelines

January 31, 2020 by Nicole Deufel

The German Museum Association has recently published guidelines on ‘Working Professionally in a Museum’. The guidelines are intended as a snapshot of current roles in museums. What the guidelines also reveal, however, is a continued imbalance between the focus on collections and museums as institutions for the public.

 

On one hand, the guidelines acknowledge the need for visitor focus, participatory formats, decolonization and provenance research. They highlight that professionalism is required in each of these areas and they call for strengthened collaboration between respective roles.

 

However, from the discussion of these roles themselves emerges a more traditional picture of museums. The guidelines repeatedly declare collecting, collections care and collections research to be the core of museum practice. Curators are consequently established as those with overall responsibility for anything visitors encounter, providing the core concepts and frameworks. Their required qualification is an academic degree in a discipline related to collections.

 

‘Education and Interpretation’ is also stated to be a core task of museums, but not until the forth section of the guidelines. Nor are acitivies engaging communities and visitors, and particularly heritage communities, on heritage values mentioned anywhere as a must. This applies even to the engagement with collections. Of note is also that the guidelines do not consider specific qualifications in museum education and interpretation necessary.

 

And here lies the imbalance. The emphasis is still placed squarely on collections. It is from collections that everything else flows. ‘The public’ are framed as consumers of collections, in ways that are determined by those in control of said collections. Collections are where the power lies. It is the roles concerned with collections that make the decisions. Working with and for the public is considered most strongly in terms of increasing the museum’s profile: an ultimately inward-looking, self-serving objective.

 

The museum that emerges from these guidelines is therefore a museum that still defines itself and its collections without recourse to people. Its primary purpose is not to be an institution for the public, but one concerned with its collections.

 

In many, if not most cases, this is indeed the reality on the ground. Visitor focus, participation, democratization: these are all too often lip service, and not at all reflected in museum roles and resources. When pressed, museum managers will consequently argue freely that they consider these activities to ‘detract’ from the core of museum practice.

 

I will not go into the argument why museums can no longer be defined by collections and collections research only; I’ve done so in numerous posts on this blog. My point today is that unless and until the roles and their responsibilities, and thus the power relations within museums change, the current situation will remain the same. Museums will remain a closed shop. The knowledge and expertise of heritage communities will remain marginalized in museum practice. Museums will fail to speak to the majority of their surrounding community. They will become less and less relevant. They will not fulfil their responsibility as public institutions, particularly where they are publicly funded.

 

I hope the next iteration of the guidelines start with roles that focus on communities and visitors, stipulating specific academic and practical qualifications for such work, and paying staff accordingly.

 

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Back to Basics, Or: A few Do’s, and mostly Don’t’s, of Guiding Tours

December 31, 2019 by Nicole Deufel

Since my return to Germany, I have been on many guided tours that have truly made me want to weep with frustration. I’ve had guides who held lengthy monologues; guides who asked not a single question to get to know their audience; guides who talked about things that were nowhere in sight.

 

I could continue this list of examples that fly in the face of every professional principle of interpretation. Those familiar with Germany’s museum sector will not be surprised. interpretation as an academic discipline and professional practice is mostly unknown. Museumspädagogik, as the German discipline that comes closest (but which is not Interpretation), is still dismissed as secondary by many museum directors and curators. As the Bundesverband Museumspädagogik e.V., the federal association for Museumspädagogik, notes, there are only limited opportunities to study Museumspädagogik at an academic level. In fact, it lists only one academic course taught in Germany, Austria and (the German-speaking part of) Switzerland. In general, those practicing Museumspädagogik are subject specialists such as (art) historians, with no or only limited knowledge of Museumspädagogik acquired through short courses.

 

The outcome for visitors is as predictable as it is regrettable – not that the impact of these visitor programmes is regularly evaluated, if at all [1]. Again, this shows just how little value is often attached to them. It may be an indication, however, that participation levels at German museums (excluding tourist destinations) are shockingly low. So perhaps it might be a good idea to start offering guided tours that follow some basic do’s and don’ts.

 

Here’s my list:

 

Consider your role

I advocate for tour guides to think of themselves as hosts and facilitators. How would you behave if you had invited strangers over to your house? What would you do to ensure they have a great time with whatever it is you’ve planned for their stay with you? Take that as your guidance for being a tour guide. It should at the very least prevent you from being a bore who only talks about themselves, their knowledge and their interests.

 

Give a duration…

There are a myriad of reasons why visitors may need to know how long a guided tour takes: They may have plans later on and require the information for their decision making. Some in their group may not wish to join the tour and instead meet up again later. I could go on. The point is that to withhold this information is inconsiderate. It is power play and poor hosting. It also puts up totally avoidable barriers.

 

…and stick to it (1)!

When you do tell visitors how long a tour will be (and remember that often, like I do, they ask!), then do stick to the time. Otherwise, visitors are forced to make the decision to either stay and jeopardize their other plans, or to feel rude and leave while the tour is still going on. It creates an uncomfortable situation which begins as soon as visitors realize that the original end time nears, but the tour is nowhere near conclusion. This is just the opposite of an environment that supports new experiences and learning. Which, one should imagine, are the whole point of a guided tour.

 

Be clear about your topic…

You need to let people know what your guided tour is about. I’m not talking about a theme here [2]. I mean the broad topic: is it the art works in an exhibition? The personal history of the artists? The curatorial decisions? Your topic is what lets people decide on whether or not to join your tour. Otherwise, you’re asking them to sign up for the unknown, which only the most die-hard will do (and thus you’ve put up another unnecessary barrier for everyone else). Or, which is just as undesirable, they’ll arrive with their own assumptions, which may have nothing to do with your intended topic.

 

…and stick to it (2)!

Once you’ve let people know your topic: Do.Not.Talk.About.Everything.Else.You.Know. It is false advertising. Think of it like a contract. People have given you their time because they’re expecting to get something specific in return. They’re not there to provide you with the (captive) audience to impress with your vast knowledge. Remember: you want to be a good host, not a bore (see above).

 

Get to the point

This is Communication 101 stuff, but it clearly needs stating again: if you know what you’re trying to say, then say it. Don’t meander. Don’t get side-tracked. Don’t get too fond of hearing your own voice. Here’s a clue: if you stay more than five to ten minutes in one spot, then you’re not getting to the point of what can and should be said at that spot. And if you’re not sure about what your point is, then take some time beforehand to gain clarity.

 

Focus on what is there

Talk about what people can see. Do not have them stand in front of something and then talk at length about something else. It frustrates people, and loses their interest. If there is a connection to what they can see, point it out to them.

 

And finally: Asking questions does not make a dialogue

Do not confuse asking questions such as, ‘What can you see in this painting?’ and ‘Do you know what this is?’ with facilitating a dialogue. These questions are more reminiscent of school teachers than tour guides. They are, in essence, about people’s knowledge relating to what you are showing them. A dialogue is something different. Of course you can and should ask questions of your audience to initiate a conversation. But these questions should be about them. Ask them why they’ve come. What are they interested in? Is there anything in their personal experience that resonates with what is on site? It’s also good practice to offer something of yourself as well: what is your background? What interests you? Let the ensuing conversation guide the tour: that is dialogical; that is participation.

 

 

Notes

[1] In Germany, visitor research, which includes evaluation of programmes, is still considered by many to be superfluous. And thus, many museum directors, who really should be interested in the outcomes of their programmes and thus the impact of their work, don’t actually know what they achieve, if anything at all. The German Museum Association has therefore launched a laudable effort to persuade more museums to engage in visitor research.

[2] see Ham, S. 1992. Environmental Interpretation. A Practical Guide for People with Big Ideas and Small Budgets. Golden: North American Press

 

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Aesthetic Value is not an Excuse, Or: Why (Art) Museums Need Democracy

November 28, 2019 by Nicole Deufel

A couple of weeks ago, DIE ZEIT published an article on democracy in art museums.

The article accepts that a museum is ‘a political space’ [1] and that there is validity in arguments calling for greater democracy and diversity therein [2]. However, the article asserts, these developments ‘almost inevitably endanger the freedom of art’ [3] since museums no longer ‘[defend] the freedom of art against all protests’ [4]. This defense, the article concludes, should be based on aesthetic value.

 

Much of what goes on in the article is illustrative of the wider museum-related discourse in Germany, so I feel like making a few observations.

 

  1. The language of war

I find it truly revealing that the language used is that of war. Democracy (and participation) in museums ‘endangers’ the ‘freedom’ of art, which museums must ‘defend’. In other words, this is a scenario of museums vs. the rest of the world; museums ‘defending’ a higher good. It is this kind of attitude that shores up resistance to democratisation processes within museums.

 

  1. Aesthetics as Power

The article places aesthetic values above ethical values such as, for example, animal rights (see below). Ethics, of course, is something that concerns all of us in our daily lives. It is the basis of human societies through laws and religion, it deals with how we want to be treated and how we treat others. In one way or another, we each of us have knowledge, or at least an informed opinion about ethical values which we can voice and argue. Aesthetic value, however, is something quite different. An evaluation of aesthetic value requires knowledge of art history and artistic techniques in order to be more than a simple, and thus easily dismissed statement of personal taste. By placing aesthetic over ethical value we are therefore back to an authorizing, that is, power-giving discourse that asserts that only experts (i.e. museums) can understand and thus determine the value of art. The public’s values, which in this case are ethical values, are being dismissed as less important.

 

  1. Museums in a bubble

To assert that ethical value matters nothing in the evaluation of art and that, in essence, only the expert’s (i.e. the museum’s) aesthetic evaluation should count, is to say that both art and the museums that show it are entirely separate from society and context (see point 1 above). Accordingly, the values, even the laws of society are not to be brought into the bubble. This is why the article can decry the ‘ready’ removal by the Guggenheim Museum in New York of ‘Dogs That Cannot Touch Each Other’ by Penk Yu and Sun Yuan after 830.000 people petitioned for it because, alas, animal rights matter nothing when it comes to art. Art and museums are thus a law upon themselves, a separate universe: one which must be defended.

 

  1. Expert cowardice

Ludicrous as I personally find the dismissal of ethical values when it comes to art, I actually have no objection to museums ‘defending’ art on aesthetic grounds. What I do find objectionable, however, is that most museums aren’t actually ‘defending’ their opinions at all – they are simply not putting them up for debate. They use their control of the museum space to present only their own view. So while many, like this article’s author, bemoan the supposedly negative impacts of democracy on museums, in reality most museums are still not engaging in true democracy at all.

 

  1. Political correctness

In my experience of museum discourse in Germany, there are many who, like this article, will readily grant that there must be more participation in museums, more diversity, more inclusion – you name it. I pose that this is said not out of conviction, but out of  political correctness. For when it comes to let action follow words, which can only mean to allow greater debate within museums, to share power, and to make visible other views, these same people argue that for reasons of expertise, science and knowledge more participation/diversity/inclusion isn’t possible. The spectre of lessened quality and false information is raised to scare everyone back into accepting what is really little more but those in power doing everything they can to hold on to it.

 

 

 

Notes

[1] ‘ein politischer Ort’, my translation.

[2] ‘[Museums] have understood that [official art history]…has mostly been told from a Eurocentric, white, male perspective’ (‘Sie [Museen] haben begriffen, dass die klassische Fortschrittsgeschichte der Kunst, die in der Avantgarde ihren Höhepunkt fand, viele bline Flecken aufweist, weil sie meist aus einer eurozentrischen, mnnlichen, weißen Perspektive erzählt wurde.’) My translation.

[3] ‘Allerdings gerät damit die Freiheit der Kunst…fast unweigerlich in Gefahr.’ My translation.

[4] ‘Sie [Museen] hätten die Freiheit der Kunst gegen alle Proteste verteidigt.’ My translation.

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Our Shared Heritage?

November 3, 2019 by Nicole Deufel

I have recently read ‘[Eure] Heimat ist [unser] Albtraum’, a book on the concept of Heimat, or heritage [1] with essays by writers with ‘a migrant background’, as the classification in German has it. It raises many points that we in the heritage and culture sectors must engage with even more than we have done to date, and there are no easy answers. [2]

 

The book’s challenge begins with the title: ‘[Your] heritage is [our] nightmare’, with the words ‘your’ and ‘our’ embossed without colour so that they can only be read at a closer look. The title thus emphasizes both a sense of separatedness and of a threat. That treat emanates from the concept of Heimat, which is contested in Germany, but which in large parts of society enjoys a revival as the feeling of belonging to a place or group [3].

 

The issue, as several essays in the book make clear, is how Heimat is defined and who has access to it. More specifically, it is about who does the defining and the granting of access. The writers argue that it is the dominant (non-migrant) group. It is they who establish a norm and classify people accordingly into those who belong to this Heimat,  and those who do not.

 

Several authors argue that speaking the language fluently, upholding the values of the German constitution, and even holding a German passport does not ensure that people are considered as belonging to the German norm. The examples they cite are numerous: from being constantly asked ‘Where are you from?’ to having their loyalty to the German state questioned [4]. One writer, Mithu Sanyal, also notes that the history of the new Germans [5] is not represented: they are not part of the German Erinnerungskultur, or memory culture, she argues, and thus of those who are remembered and those who do the remembering.

 

Max Czollek adds to this an excellent analysis of the discursive system of representation through which the German norm is established. He argues that it stems from Germany’s desire for normalcy after the Holocaust. In the ensuing narrative, Germany is no longer racist, because it cannot be: to acknowledge racism would end that normalcy the country craves, a normalcy it is too emotionally invested in to give up. Thus is born the Integrationsparadigma, or integration paradigm, he writes, with an all-encompassing expectation for those outside the dominant group to ‘integrate’.

 

Czollek in particular offers a suggestion on how we might move forward. For one, he suggests a focus on Gegenwartsbewältigung, or Coming to Terms with the Present, as opposed to Vergangenheitsbewältigung, or coming to terms with the past. The latter is at the root of the current narrative of German normalcy, he argues, as a focus on the successful (yet equally past) efforts of the country to take responsibility for the Holocaust. Gegenwartsbewältigung, he suggests, would make the country tackle current issues of racism so that the events of the (German) past are not repeated. Furthermore, he suggest ‘an acknowledgement of radical diversity’, which moves beyond classifications and instead acknowledges that contemporary Germany is already “all of the above”. The norm, therefore, is radical diversity.

 

The points raised in this book are a challenge to heritage and wider cultural practice. The easiest part, one might imagine, is to include ‘migrant’ narratives in the stories we tell, and that’s something that we’ve discussed in the sector for years. And yet here we are, with people still telling us that their stories are missing.

 

The book’s essays engage forcefully with the systems of representation that are at work, and I believe it is those very systems that prevent us from radically changing our practice. In Germany, for example, we may indeed, as Mithu Sanyal implies, require a shift in our memory culture. However, as Max Czollek has pointed out, for non-migrant Germans this represents a deeply engrained narrative which to challenge is difficult [6]. And yet, if we are serious about true inclusion and equality, we must do more to understand the underlying dynamic and move beyond it.

 

Both Czollek’s concepts of Gegenwartsbewältigung and radical diversity seem an excellent start, but they require of us a focus away from the past and into the present, away from repeating existing narratives to negotiating new and shared narratives instead. On the surface, that sounds simple. Digging deeper, the waters immediately become murky. In practice, I think we need to start by creating spaces where the representations applied to people are made visible and an open and respectful discussion about those representations can take place.

 

 

Notes

[1] ‘Heimat’ is sometimes translated as ‘home’, but the English word ‘home’ does not by far come close to the multifaceted and highly charged (as well as contested) meaning of the German word ‘Heimat’. ‘Heritage’, in its encompassing senses of origin, inheritance, and belonging to a group or country seems much more appropriate. This also becomes evident in the translation of the book title, which is likely to engender a similar response in English readers when using ‘heritage’ to translate ‘Heimat’, whereas ‘home’ makes the meaning of the title just a little odd but not a real, emotionally charged challenge.

 

[2] The book is written in a German context, and some of it is quite specific to that context. Nevertheless I feel there are points that are relevant beyond Germany’s borders, especially regards the processes of othering and exclusion, and the creation of a strong and shared heritage and culture.

 

[3] The foreword more specifically relates the sense of threat to the Ministerium des Innern, für Bau und Heimat, or Ministry of the Interior, for Construction and Heritage, which – as ‘Heimatministerium’ – was established in 2018. Of course it didn’t help that the minister in charge immediately proceeded to question whether Islam was part of that German Heimat.

 

[4] As happened with footballer Mesut Özil who, despite being born in Germany, was given a prize for integration and then had his loyalty to the German state questioned because he posed with the Turkish president Erdoğan (the point being also that another footballer, Lothar Matthäus, met Russian president Putin yet his loyalty was not questioned at all – presumably because he is part of the dominant group).

 

[5] This seems a term often used by those ‘with a migrant background’. It seems to offer a real sense of inclusion. And if we must still have a distinction between German people, I’d rather it be ‘old’ and ‘new’. Point is, we’re all Germans.

 

[6] Not just, I would argue, because ‘we’ – and I suppose I must include myself in the non-migrant, dominant group – require validation that we have overcome our country’s horrific actions of the past and have atoned for them. It is also difficult because the discursive boundary to right-wing rejections of the need for remembering, and taking responsibility for the Holocaust seems like such a thin line. (And no, while I am supportive of a widening of our current memory culture I am in no way suggesting that we should forget our responsibility for the Holocaust. See the definition of Gegenwartsbewältigung. And to non-German readers: me feeling the need to add that illustrates the difficulty.)

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