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Sun - June 28, 2009Manikay at Gikal'Here's a new video just up from ididjaustralia , purveyors of videos, music,
books and more about the yidaki, showing excerpts from an evening of song
and dance at the Gikal' outstation. Lots of interesting details, from the
texture of the instrument to the cues the musicians share with one
another.
Posted at 11:40 AM Sun - April 26, 2009Blak ArtsIn recent weeks I've been following a number of
distinct threads relating to Indigenous performing arts in Australia. The
status of Indigenous actors on Australian television was the subject of a recent
article in The Age ("A pale limitation," March 29, 2009) featuring
the man who has perhaps had the most success in breaking through the barriers of
race and type-casting in recent years, Aaron Pederson. Pederson had a small
role in the miniseries Heartland, itself a groundbreaking 1993 television
event that starred Ernie Dingo and Cate Blanchett. He went on to become a
mainstay of the series Water Rats, Wildside, and City
Homicide. He has received critical acclaim for the film My Brother
Vinnie as well as for his role as the embattled lawyer discovering his
Aboriginal roots in The Circuit. But according to The Age,
Pederson is "acutely aware of being a lone figure." But Pederson's success and
his recognition is almost an anomaly among Indigenous actors on the small
screen, especially in his ability to go beyond the typecasting that has dogged
David Gulpilil and, to a lesser extent, Ernie
Dingo.
Outside the world of the visual arts, the visibility of Indigenous artists in Australia often barely clears the horizon. A recent publication in the series Platform Papers: Quarterly Essays on the Performing Arts addresses this issue squarely. Hilary Glow and Katya Johanson interviewed eighteen prominent artists working in dance and theatre to produce 'Your Genre is Black': Indigenous Performing Arts and Policy (Currency House, Platform Papers no. 19, 2009). This slim volume serves as an overview of the history and the current state of Indigenous performing arts, looking at the challenges practitioners face in both the community and mainstream worlds. Most recently, ABC Radio's Awaye! broadcast an interview this weekend with Wesley Enoch on the question of whether there is a need for an National Indigenous Theatre Company (NITC), which was also the subject of a story in the Sydney Morning Herald on March 24, 2009, "No more fading to black." As soon as the subject of Enoch's call for the creation of a National Indigenous Theatre Company enters the conversation, the word "controversy" follows almost immediately. The Morning Herald quoted Sam Cook of Yirra Yaakin as saying "If Wesley wants his own theatre company, why doesn't he be honest and say so, instead of professing it to be something else? It looks to me like this is Wesley's grab for power." Enoch, perhaps stung by such remarks, commented on Awaye! that the opposition to the idea of NITC is "amazing" and countercharged that some people (naming no names) would rather abstain from the discussion than build a positive proposal and enter into a focused and productive debate. There  are
certainly grounds aplenty for such a debate. The picture that Glow and Johanson
paint in 'Your Genre is Black' is one of contradictions. Much Indigenous
dance and theatre arises from and serves the needs of individual, small
communities, and as such, reflects local priorities. While community
organizations provide the outlet for much creativity, they also have a limited
reach. Such groups can serve as a focal point for pride in the performers'
heritage, but at the same time restrict the chances to communicate that pride to
others. The potential to create change and to energize awareness may flourish,
but it runs the risk of
suffocating.Local companies are sometimes driven by the dreams and talents of an individual or a small group for whom the work of theatre satisfies a profound creative impulse. But without significant funding and without the ability to move beyond a restricted horizon, what becomes of these individuals? How can their creativity be nourished, their growth as artists be assured? Too often, it seems, they burn out from the pressure. Or the talent stagnates for want of encouragement, training, and opportunity for growth. There may be no real careers for such individuals. Similarly, artistry thrives when it is challenged and critiqued. And yet constructive criticism and the growth it engenders may be blunted by a sort of political correctness that dares not apply rigorous standards to Indigenous theatre. Community standards and mainstream standards may differ widely, and the artist who tries to serve both may end up failing both. The most convincing argument in favor of the NITC that Enoch (photo, right, by Quentin Jones) put forth in the Awaye! interview was the need to preserve the canon of Indigenous theatrical  works,
not simply on printed pages but as living theatrical performances. A corollary
argument was the need to provide such works with broad exposure by allowing them
the opportunity to tour both nationally and internationally. Indeed, the two
arguments are mutually reinforcing. How long, Enoch asks, has it been since
audiences saw a live performance of Jimmy Chi's Bran Nue Dae, or Jack Davis's trilogy
The First-Born (No Sugar, The
Dreamers, and Barungin) or Bob Merritt's The Cake Man? A more recent production like
Tony Briggs's The Sapphires (which Enoch directed) wowed
audiences at the Victorian State Theatre and at the Belvoir Street Theatre in
Sydney almost five years ago, won praise and awards, and is only now making its
way to Perth for a revival at the Black Swan State Theatre
Company.Enoch acknowledges the role and importance of the state theatre companies, and insists that a successful national company would need to work in concert with them, rather than in competition. To those who claim that an NITC would pauperize the state companies, he replies that the funding sources would be different, with 80% of the money coming from the Commonwealth rather than the states (though he admits there are no promises on this score). More importantly, he notes, it is a truism that no enterprise gets more money to do what it is already doing. In order to augment the total bucket of resources available for Indigenous theatre in Australia, it is necessary to dream of new enterprises and expanded horizons. This could include raising funds from private philanthropic sources. Additionally, a national company might be truly national in the manner in which the National Theatre of Scotland operates: rather than settling itself in one location, the Scottish company sets up shop wherever there is promise, a new initiative to be developed and nurtured. A National Indigenous Theatre Company wouldn't have to exist in Canberra, and the fear that Canberra would suck the life out of regional theatre must be met head on. Both Enoch and Glow and Johanson point out that money for the regional and community operations is becoming scarce; Glow and Johanson are particularly good in documenting the troubled financial history of Indigenous theatre and the current threats to existing models. Enoch would argue that the NITC could lift all boats by bringing new interest as well as new resources into play. A national theatre directed at large, ambitious projects should generate pride and enthusiasm at the local level. Ideally, it would enrich the possibility for theatre that is responsive to local needs, whether that be cultural survival, rehabilitation programs in prisons, or a nurturing of nascent talent. Enoch also proposes that the national company been overseen by four bodies: a council of elders entrusted to oversee cultural protocols; a committee of directors charged with making the machinery of management operate efficiently; a council of artists to direct programming; and a "council of champions" who who undertake fund-raising activities. 'Your Genre is Black' is clearly if not quite overtly sympathetic to Enoch's position, but Glow and Johanson are scrupulous in presenting the arguments that support continued development and funding for state and community based theatrical companies. It is an excellent introduction to the issues, and a good history lesson that helps to put Enoch's zeal into perspective. In the end, I found myself swayed by Enoch's argument on Awaye! much more than I was by Glow and Johanson's book--which is not to criticize the latter. Enoch speaks with a genuine ardor for his cause, with a visionary enthusiasm that made me wonder if his critics were seeing a tall poppy rather than a prophet. Enoch is right at least in saying that it is important for the debate to continue out in the open. And Glow and Johanson have furnished an important and cogent reference that will be indispensable to those who wish to take part in that debate. ***
The question of audience is central to much of 'Your Genre is Black' : is Indigenous theatre primarily meant for Indigenous audiences? And if so, what happens if it tries to move into the mainstream? These thoughts were much in my mind when I stumbled, entirely coincidentally, into a realm of literature where I almost never venture: the Young Adult Novel. A recent feature story ("Culture not colour," April 3, 2009) from the BBC Radio featured Nukunu writer Jared Thomas, characterizing his fictions as describing "a world where white can be black, and black can be into hip hop, cricket and country & western, as well as ceremony and ancient 'dreaming' stories." Thomas is a lecturer in Aboriginal Studies at the Unaipon School of the University of South Australia. His theatrical CV includes Flash Red Ford, which toured to Uganda and Kenya, and Love, Land and Money at the Adelaide Fringe Festival. Intrigued, I did a little research on Thomas, and was able to put my hands on a copy of his debut novel, Sweet Guy (IAD Press, 2005).  It
is in many ways a conventional coming-of-age story about an eighteen year old
boy from a broken home who surfs with his best mate until he goes off to
university. There he struggles a bit with his studies, has a doomed love
affair, and tries to sort out his past (a stormy relationship with his father)
and his future (including true love and forgiveness).
Sweet Guy struck me as "Australian": there's too much sex and beer and a bit of ganja for it to make it past the bulwarks of moral rectitude in the USA (irony intended). But it didn't strike me as "Aboriginal." While Flash Red Ford addressed racism in land-owning and Thomas's work in progress Calypso Summers deals directly with a youth trying to connect to his cultural roots in the Aboriginal country north of Adelaide, Sweet Guy is almost "raceless." Michael, the narrator-protagonist, might equally well be white or Indigenous, and I suspect that this is a deliberate piece of artistry on Thomas's part. Although the story itself looks none too original from my perspective on the far side of fifty, the book's notable strength is that Australian boys of either white or Indigenous ancestry can probably connect with it and identify with Michael. It manages to sidestep the question of whether Aboriginal literature should or must address either the community or the mainstream. (In a footnote to this footnote, I would mention that I was able to borrow this book from the G. R. Little Library at Elizabeth City State University, one of the historically black colleges in my home state of North Carolina, serves the poor seaboard of the state, and which is also located near some of the best surfing on the east coast of the United States.) An underlying point is that there need not be a distinction--a necessary distinction--in the arts between Anglo and Indigenous culture. There is, as T. S. Eliot phrased it, tradition and the individual talent. They come together in the work of art, as has been amply demonstrated in the visual arts over the past quarter century and more. In his BBC interview, Thomas talks about the thrill and pride of being an Indigenous Australian watching the quintessentially Anglo sport of cricket being championed by black West Indians. Artists who can address both sides of the current cultural divide, bringing the concerns and issues of the one to the audiences of the other, stand a chance to advance the cause of reconciliation. Posted at 12:16 PM Sat - October 25, 2008Bangarra's InventionsI've had the luck to see Bangarra perform three
times in as many months:
Mathinna
at the Sydney Opera House in August and
Awakenings
twice at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC last week. I also recently
purchased the DVD of Urban Clan, a
film made over a decade ago that details some of the company's earliest efforts.
And I've been following the reviews of their performances in Europe during September. This
immersion in Bangarra's work has given me a new perspective on the company's
accomplishments, and especially on the styles and workings of choreographer
Stephen
Page.
Awakenings, the program that Bangarra is touring through North America this month, is a new piece composed of older parts. In choosing to combine 2005's Boomerang with Brolga, which was originally performed in 2001 as one-third of Corroboree, Page has made interesting decisions that reveal much about his work. He has put on display in equal measure his indebtedness to the general traditions of ceremonial dance, to the particular inspiration of animal mimesis, and of course, to the modern dance vocabulary in which he was initially trained. Structural analysis of the component parts of Awakenings highlights these differing elements of his choreographic toolkit and reveals his connections to Yolngu worldviews. Finally, the fact that it is often difficult to tease one strand of this weave from another may explain why the press seems so often to misunderstand the richness of Bangarra's performances. The group's publicity and the tour's program notes characterize Bangarra as "one of youngest and oldest of Australia's dance companies," a nod to the predominantly modern-dance idiom that Page works in while using ancient Indigenous ceremonial movement that he describes as the "seed" for his choreography. In discussing his indebtedness to Indigenous tradition, Page makes it clear that it is most significantly the Top End styles of the Yolngu that have influenced him. He may note the traditions of the desert or the Kimberley, and speak of his experiences working with Pitjantjatjara people or performing in dry riverbeds, but it is interactions with Yolngu dancers, either in studios in Sydney or in outstations in the tropics, that have left their mark most strongly on his work. This Yolngu influence is especially evident in Awakenings, and not just because Djakapurra Munyarryun's presence so often dominates the stage as tutelary genius. Subtly, almost philosophically, Page's choice in pairing Boomerang and Brolga reinforces the importance of paired, symmetrical polarities that produce the living whole of experience. Boomerang is largely a men's dance; Brolga belongs to the women in the company. Modern dance aesthetics dominate the steps of Boomerang, where Brolga, in both dance and costume, owes a greater debt to ceremony for its inspiration. The men's dances are earthy and dark, drenched in reds and blacks; the women's piece is ethereal and shines white in costume and lighting design. Boomerang, as performed here, begins with parts of the "Gapu (Water)" section of the 2005 production. One of these, "Cocoon," is itself recycled from the early work Fish. Page presents them with "Hunting and Gathering," adapted from Skin, and the "Black" movement from Ochres. Within Awakenings, Boomerang comprises seven movements. There is a rough symmetry to its structure that looks something like this:
It is not quite so neat as that, of course, but I think there is a deliberate attempt on Page's part to build the dance along these lines, to introduce a rising and falling movement overall, one that peaks in the center with "Nukurr". The symmetry is less than absolute in that the second male solo, Patrick Thaiday's brilliant "Manta," also contains an extended coda for the male ensemble, and the concluding movement, "Black" does not neatly echo the opening "Looking": longer, weightier, it features only a subset of the men instead of the entire company and shares dramatic structures with he central section, "Canoe". Most significantly, though, Page has deliberately selected and arranged his dances here in a manner that contrasts with the more linear, and narrative, structure of Brolga, which takes us from a moment of spiritual birth or awakening, through initiation to maturity (and possibly, ambiguously, death). There are two ways in which the influence of traditional dance emerges in these pieces that comprise Act One of Awakenings. The first is in a limited use of traditional ensemble dance moves, seen most clearly in the first women's dance, "Raincloud," where the dancers clasp their hands in front of them, elbows turned outward, arms swinging back and forth like a pendulum in time with their stamping feet. There are moments in the final movement, "Black" where the men adopt similar stances, hands clasped behind their heads and rocking to the rhythm of their feet. Traditional dance forms also inform the "Nukurr (Canoe)," where elements of Torres Strait Islander paddling dance movements drive the opening sequence. More often though, when they exhibit traditional elements, the various movements of Boomerang draw on techniques of animal mimesis. In "Black" the men mimic the leaps of kangaroos, and hold their arms up close to their chests in a motion that seems equally derived from short fore-legged macropods and Paul Taylor's Cloven Kingdom. This is a premier example of the moments when the traditional and the contemporary fuse so seamlessly that the dance can appear to be both and neither, a state which bedevils many reviewers: see this week's New York Times review by Gia Kourlas, "Using a modern imagination to take a closer look into the past" (October 22, 2008). The  most
spectacular mimetic moments come in the two male solos, Sidney Saltner's
butterfly in "Cocoon" and Patrick Thaiday's spooky, almost frighteningly
metamorphosis into a manta ray in
"Malarrar."
Both dancers display a suppleness that makes them look as boneless as the
animals they channel. Both men keep close to the floor for much of their
dances, and they both work with arms akimbo and stretched out behind them to
form "wings." Thaiday also makes amazing moves with a leg splayed off to the
side like a ray whipping tail; Saltner's choreography calls for him to often do
something similar as he undulates and rotates across the floor, creating a
visual and thematic link between the two solos. The two performances also share
a breathtaking virtuosity.But despite all these elements, much of what is presented in the first act of Awakenings does have a distinctly contemporary feel, for example in the extensive use of the floor. (Interestingly, the two mimetic solos of "Cocoon" and "Manta" are performed almost entirely on the floor and thus manage to look strikingly modern.) There are moments in the duet section of "Hunting and Gathering" that reminded me of the Europeans in Mathinna and their ballroom dances of civilization; in general, there is more of the fluidity and sweep that Page favors in his modernist mode, especially when he picks up the tempo of the dance. In the "Canoe" section there are marvelous moments when the dancers, working with an abstract model of a canoe made of lashed saplings and taut ropework, engage in animated gymnastics that make them appear at one moment to be rowing the canoe, and second later to move like the wave that lifts the vessel suddenly skyward. As they leap and tumble about they suggest an outrigger or perhaps a school of dolphins leaping the bows of the boat. But even these are all movements that owe more to masters of modern dance that to ceremony. Mimesis  and
its transformative power in ritual, however, is central to
Brolga,
and thus the second act of
Awakenings
is anchored much more deeply in the traditional realm of Bangarra's dance
repertoire. Five women emerge from a nest in the "Female Brolgas" section; the
entire company on their knees pecks at imaginary corms in "Feeding"; and in the
penultimate movement, "Traditional Brolgas," the leaping dance of the birds
provides one of the most dramatic moments in the piece. The white-clay covered
bodies of the dancers along with the slash of a red crown and the black masking
of the eyes evoke the metamorphic mystery of ritual, even before Deborah Brown
as the dance's protagonist emerges transformed in the final
moments.Despite hewing close to traditional forms for much of the dance, Page's inspiration here is not held in check. One of the loveliest moment of the entire evening is the short second movement of Brolga called "Journey." After being called forth from darkness by Djakapurra's plaintive "Didgeridoo," principal dancer Deborah Brown is sent away on a spiritual journey. To convey the sense of movement through more than simple space and time, Page has choreographed an exquisite sequence, sharply lit by spotlights emanating from stage right. Brown seems to float through space at first on the backs of the male ensemble and then almost amidst clouds formed by the billowing mass of the men's white-painted, shadowy bodies. The opportunity to see this dance performed two nights in a row, echoing the performance of Boomerang I'd seen in 2005, and with this year's Mathinna still relatively fresh in my mind, gave me a different perspective on the work of the Page brothers and of Bangarra. The company has always struck me as sui generis; while it can evoke a ritual captured on film by Ian Dunlop 30 years ago or a performance by the Alwin Nikolais troupe, comparisons never seen to elucidate the company's ethos. To appreciate what Page is up to, one needs to have some familiarity with traditional Aboriginal dance as well as with contemporary Western traditions; one needs also to set aside the expectations of the different kinds of virtuosity that come with each format. Page tends to write for performers in unison: this is characteristic of ceremonial performance, but looks less than complex when the movements are drawn from contemporary Western vocabularies. The extent of his reliance on the traditional vocabulary is often hard to intuit: I'm always surprised, having seen one of his pieces, to read Page's notes on Bangarra's complex and extensive web site and discover how much deeper the movement and meaning of ceremonial dance are embedded (see for example what he has to say about "Black.") There is a strong didactic element to Page's work, which again sets it at odds with much modern dance, although Bill T. Jones, America's premier black choreographer, has turned increasingly to an overt didacticism in recent years. The mimetic qualities of the dance likewise can play poorly with audiences prepared for more abstract forms of modern dance. And yet Bangarra's dance looks contemporary: a viewer who encountered it in a vacuum, so to speak, without context, and was asked to label it either "tribal" or "modern" would almost certainly assign the choreography to modern dance. David Page's soundscapes, even when tightly wrapped around Yolngu song or didgeridoo, are unremittingly modern as well and reinforce the contemporary qualities of the performances. And yet the animal mimesis, the costuming, often times even the props all exert a pull toward the traditional. I expect that these latter qualities conditioned the response of Gia Kourlas in the Times this week when she wished that Awakenings was "more than old-school modern dance with body paint." Bangarra's dance is far more than that, however, more than Grahamesque narratives tricked out in a different ethnographic past. There is depth of allusion masked by the appearance of simple modernity; it is an art that looks easy to grasp and critics mistakenly think it can be easy to dismiss. In fact, its art lies in the unique manner in which the two traditions reflect and enlarge one another. Page is not in the least putting red-ochre lipstick on Clytemnestra. He is a modern dancer whose work grows out of a deep pride in his Aboriginality and his joy in discovering the depth of connection to it that he is able to experience. Like acrylic paintings that come out of the desert, the melding of previously divergent strands of both form and content in Bangarra's work are what give it its vitality and individuality. Further reading: Check out Nicolas Rothwell's lengthy appreciation of traditional Indigenous dance in The Australian this week ("Rhythm Sticks," October 25, 2008). Posted at 01:12 PM Sun - October 19, 2008Bangarra, North America 2008: AwakeningsWe’ve dared the most political city in the
United States less than three weeks before the election for a worthy good:
Bangarra was performing Thursday and Friday night at the Kennedy Center, on its
way to performances in New York and Ottawa. On the bill was
Awakenings,
a two-part performance stitched together from
Boomerang
(2005) and the Brolga
(Gudurrku) section of
Corroboree
(2001).
The show was wonderful, both nights, but I’ll save my review for next week when I’ve had more time to give it some thought, and to write more carefully, as the choreography deserves more than the rushed job I could make of it this weekend. (We’re about to leave Washington for a visit to the Kluge Ruhe Collection en route back home.) But in addition to the dancing, there was an all-too-brief question-and-answer session with Stephen Page and Djakapurra Munyarryun following Friday night’s performance. Questions were put at first by a moderator, who aimed to explicate some basics for an American audience who might not be familiar with the company. She got Stephen to delve into his family background, where his recognition of brother David’s score drew applauses and whistles of approval from the audience. Several questions, from both the moderator and the audience, probed the dialogue between contemporary and traditional dance that is the essence of Page’s choreographic art. Page likened the traditional elements—both in story and in movement—to the seed from which Bangarra’s performances grow through a modern workshop process. Eventually, of course, politics entered into the discussion, with one audience member questioning why permits were required to travel to Aboriginal land; Page was quite diplomatic in his reply, pointing to the need to ensure that the casual tourist was prepared to travel in the bush and that the bush was prepared to provide appropriate levels of hospitality: there are no Hilton’s in the bush, as he put it. More pointed politics emerged in a question from the audience about the possibility of seeing Bangarra’s performance as a means of resistance to colonialism. Page’s reply was modulated, focusing more on the need to retain culture, and the determination to do so. Here, as often in his remarks, Page made the issue of language central; indicating that without language, culture cannot survive. He did more than once assert the hope that in 100 years all people in Australia could consider themselves Aboriginal, and that perhaps one day Australia (too) might have a black president and become a republic. Afterwards, we waited at the stage door along with Margo Smith, curator of the Kluge-Ruhe Aboriginal Art Collection and a group of students studying Aboriginal art with her this semester at the University of Virginia. We missed most of the company as they emerged from backstage, but I did have the chance to chat for a few moments with a couple of the members. Daniel Riley McKinley is a relative newcomer to the ensemble, having joined only in 2007 but he is already making a strong impression on stage: his every movement is precise, muscular despite his relatively slight frame, well extended. He’s one of those dancers whose work in ensembles draws your eye, not because it’s showy and flamboyant, but because it is strong and on the mark. Leonard Mickelo shared a few reflections on the company’s recent performances in Europe; he was as enthusiastic about the French audiences as they apparently were about Bangarra’s performances with the Australian Ballet. (The London critics by and large panned the performances again, convincing me that there is a problem for modern dance in Britain.) Of course it was a thrill to actually shake Stephen Page’s hand, and an honor to be introduced as well to Djakapurra Munyarryun, whose presence is as imposing off-stage as on. While seated on stage during the Q&A, Djakapurra had seemed reserved and shy, but in the cool October evening, surrounded by an enthusiastic group of fans, he was as warm and voluble as those fans themselves. Bangarra is now off to the Brooklyn Academy of Music for performances on October 21-25 at the Next Wave Festival before traveling on to the National Art Centre Ottawa on October 28. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait another four years to see them back in North America! Posted at 03:32 PM Sun - April 27, 2008Indigenous Protocols: Kim Christen at the Kluge-RuheKim
 Christen
was at the Kluge-Ruhe
Aboriginal Art Collection this weekend, delivering two lectures within
five hours on her experiences building a digital archive of cultural and
historical material with the Warumungu people of Tennant Creek. Christen, an
anthropologist and assistant professor at Washington State University, is the
author the forthcoming Aboriginal
business: alliances in a remote Australian
town, soon to be published by SAR Press. She
also writes Long
Road, a premier blog on issues
Indigenous. And she is the architect of the
Mukurtu Wumpurrarni-kari
Archive, an Indigenous archive tool, that was
the subject of her talks.The first lecture, "Culture at the Interface" Digital Archives and 'Social' Rights Management in Aboriginal Australia," was actually given in the high-tech Scholar's Lab at the University of Virginia's Alderman Library to an audience interested in Christen's work from the point of view of "digital rights management" and the possibilities for encoding intellectual property protocols into software. The second, "A Safe Keeping Place: Shifting Museum Spaces and Embedded Aboriginal Protocols," appealed to the Kluge-Ruhe's dedicated lecture audience interested in Aboriginal art and culture. In her presentation examined the ways in which the Warumungu not only keep their culture alive but are working to integrate their sense of themselves and their traditions into the ongoing adjustments of black and white in a multicultural community. Tennant Creek in on the Stuart Highway smack in the middle of both traditional Warumungu country and Australia's Northern Territory. Christen has been working with the Warumungu in Tennant Creek since 1995 in a variety of capacities. At one point in her career she accompanied a group of people from the town to the South Australian Museum in Adelaide. There they were able to inspect thousands of artifacts that had been removed from Warumungu country since contact with white people began during the construction of the Overland Telegraph line in the middle of the nineteenth century. A subsequent trip to the Museum and Art Gallery of the Northern Territory was much less fruitful at first. Only three artifacts in MAGNT's collection were recognized by the visitors from Tennant Creek. They did, however, receive copies of about 700 pages of written material from the NT Archives relating to activities in and around Tennant Creek. These includied extensive records from cattle stations in the area that provided documentary evidence about the Indigenous people who worked in the area for the station owners. But on the way back down the highway towards home, the group stopped to visit at the home of a former missionary who had lived in Tennant Creek. There they were shown dozens of boxes containing thousands of photographs taken in the latter half of the twentieth century. Many people still living in Tennant Creek, and many of their deceased family members were included in these photos. The former missionary had already scanned about 500 of these photos into digital images, which Kim loaded up on her laptop and took back to the community. Inspired by this find, the community began contacting other people who had passed through Tennant Creek, and soon they had an extensive collection of letters, photographs, and even motion pictures. Kim continued to load much of this material onto her computer, sharing it with her Warumungu friends in the form of iPhoto slide shows. But she noticed as she did so that people often shied away or left the room as images of deceased family members or photographs depicting sensitive performances or site in the countryside were shown. Christen's sensitivity to these cultural protocols, taken together with the delight that the Warumungu people obviously took in seeing and possessing much of this historical material, led to a series of conversations with the members of the community. The challenge was to devise ways in which this wealth of information might be shared with all who had the right to see it, while protecting those who did not. From this came the fusion of technical and cultural expertise that is now known as the Mukurtu Archive. In her presentation at the Scholar's Lab, Christen noted that we in the west, when thinking of intellectual property management, are conditioned by a corporate and legal frame of mind that aims at creating proprietary systems that embrace centralized control and power. This tends to give the concept of "digital rights management" a bad name, especially in the United States. And indeed a discussion of the Mukurtu Archive appeared on the "news for nerds" website Slashdot back in January. The commentary quickly became quite heated, with allegations that "superstition mumbo-jumba gets in the way of progress." (The discussion was occasioned by an interview with Christen that appeared on the BBC News and is available as a podcast on Long Road.) But as Christen eloquently stated, in both of her lectures in Virginia this weekend, what she, some American technologists and, most importantly, her collaborators among the Warumungu have done is to encode something approaching the lived social fabric of behavior and access to knowledge. This is a protocol that is appropriate to the community in Tennant Creek, that is flexible enough to respond to changes in attitudes and beliefs among the people it serves, and at the same time permits people to preserve and enjoy a record of recent and contemporary culture. The Mukurtu Archive sets out content via the Warumungu's own dynamic cultural protocols. Along the way, it provides the rest of us with an opportunity to rethink the notion of access restrictions and to gain an understanding of different cultural systems. Once a photograph (for example) has been uploaded to the Archive, the "owner" of the photo can identify the subject and the names of the people depicted, and can associate the names of family, country, and skin. She can also note whether any of the people in the photograph are deceased. All of this information can be selected from drop-down menus, and can be easily modified at a later date. There is also an opportunity to set down a "story" related to the content of the photograph. In this way, the Warumungu people themselves get to annotate images of their culture in a way that is usually only available to curators or anthropologists. Someone who wishes to view material that has been archived must first create a personal profile, a process that is doubtless familiar to anyone who is reading this blog, who has ever shopped online, or who has taken part in online discussion forums. In the case of the Mukurtu Archive, the viewer supplies information about gender, skin, family, country, as well as father's family and country and mother's family and country. Then when that person attempts to view the archive, she is only presented with information that is deemed appropriate to her role and position in Warumungu society. (Two points of clarification here: I am using feminine pronouns simply as a rhetorical strategy to avoid infelicitous constructions like "when one views the archive, they see..."; information is accessible to all members of the community, male and female alike. Secondly, the archive, although it uses the technology of the web, is not online. It is available only in the part of Nyinkka Nyunyu that houses the community centre, which is currently accessible only to the Warumungu. Tourists who visit on their way through from Darwin to Alice Springs are admitted only to the shop and the museum in the building. Future development may allow some access to public, unrestricted images from a kiosk in the museum.) There are a host of other features available. Viewers may leave comments, enhancing the story as told by the original depositor or owner. They can build their own collections of selected images, and burn those images to a CD, a feature that promises to allow for future sharing of some material in school presentations. One-click printing is available. A viewer can report offensive material, or note if she comes across the image of a person who is now deceased. One of the most interesting features of the archive's implementation of Warumungu cultural protocols has to do with images of the departed. Fifteen years ago, Christen pointed out, there would have been no question that viewing images of the deceased would be inappropriate. Today, however, some people feel more relaxed about such matters. They recognize that it can be a question of personal choice. So instead of automatically suppressing such images, the program instead presents a pop-up window when someone clicks on a thumbnail or a category that contains a photo of a person no longer living. The pop-up warns the viewer and gives her the option to continue or not. Another feature of the Archive that members of both audiences remarked on was the fact that all the written information is in English. As Christen explained, Warumungu was only written down in the past couple of decades. Most people speak Warumungu and the local pidgin, but those who read, read English. In her evening lecture at the Kluge-Ruhe, Kim covered some of the same territory, but also provided us with some history of the creation of the Nyinkka Nyunyu Cultural Centre and some slides of the kind of visual presentations of Warumungu culture that are available in it. The Warumungu built en dioramas (roughly two by three foot) that present important stories from the people's history, including contact history, stories of cattle droving, and material from the NT Archives. Another exhibit explains the skin system, or puntu, through the use of large painted self-portraits. These bold images are wonderfully expressive of the individuals who incarnate the relationships embodied in puntu today. They are a far cry from the abstract information about kinship usually presented in tables in anthropological textbooks. There are several ways that you can experience the brilliance of Christen's work for yourself, although unfortunately none of them come packaged with Christen's own wit, eloquence, and enthusiasm in quite the same way that we got to experience them this weekend in Virginia. (It was quite wonderful to see her adapt her presentation and her responses to the audience to the different concerns that each group brought to her presentation, and to gain therefore a deeper appreciation for the intelligence and commitment that informs her work.) First, there is a demo site of the Archive that you can visit. It provides background information about the encoding of cultural protocols, and offers a few collections (mostly drawn from Kim's own family and friends here in the States) to browse and search. More information about the whole project is available from the online journal Vectors: Journal of Culture and Technology in a Dynamic Vernacular, where Christen and Chris Cooney have built a fascinating website called "Digital Dynamics Across Cultures." This website offers a taste of Warumungu culture in photographs and audio recordings and information about the history of contact in Warumungu country. Most importantly, is cleverly designed to force the viewer into experiencing something of the appropriate cultural protocols for herself. Christen's work has already proven invaluable in providing a means to preserve a slice of Indigenous culture in one part of the Territory. It has the potential to serve, through the technology that has built the Mukurtu Archive, as the foundation for many other treasuries of indigenous knowledge. And although what we saw this weekend is the culmination of years of work, it was incredibly exciting to feel that we were present at the start of an entirely new chapter in the preservation and presentation of cultural history. 
Posted at 07:30 PM Sun - January 27, 2008Law in LajamanuThe Lajamanu community was in the news last week
after reports of a serious breach in Warlpiri Law. Although the incident in
question occurred on January 10, it apparently didn't make the news at the time
because the lawbreakers were white police. What finally made a newsworthy story was a press release from the Central Land Council
followed by a video posted on YouTube by a group of Warlpiri
men.
I haven't been able to track down a lot of detail on what actually happened on January 10, but in broad outlines, it seems that a group of five police, one of whom was a woman, were engaged in a "traffic matter." This is a euphemism that falls on deaf American ears, but my guess is that they were chasing someone. In the event, the police stumbled onto a camp where young men had been taken, out bush, for a three-week period of initiation ceremonies. For anyone to have intruded on secret men's business like this would be a serious matter; that one of the intruders was a woman caused great upset in the community. It appears that the police promptly made themselves scarce when they realized what had happened, and that they have since offered formal apologies. They've also offered to work with the community to make sure that such an accidental violation of the Law doesn't occur again. The YouTube video is a simple set of speeches from Warlpiri men, talking-heads style, lamenting the intrusion, explaining its offensiveness, and asking for an increased respect on the part of the police for Warlpiri Law. There is deep sorrow and a hint (no more) of anger in what these men have to say. There's been precious little else reported. The story was picked up at Crikey.com, and the responses there and on the YouTube site seem to be the extent of commentary on it so far. Sadly, a great deal of that commentary congratulates the Internet for allowing marginalized communities to raise a voice in the media. So, in the end, I don't know what happened, what was seen that shouldn't have been seen. But the reactions of the men in the video allow one to judge the seriousness of the offense that occurred. These are men who are old enough, for the most part, to have been through the Law at a time when Lajamanu or Yuendumu barely existed as government settlements, in the days before there was a great deal of territorial control by whitefellas in the Tanami. That would have been a time when an intrusion like this might have been engendered serious consequences. And to me, that's the story that's being kept silent today: the way in which blackfella Law has been rendered powerless. After all, no one has raised the question of whether the police should be in some way punished for breaking the Law. I don't know how a transgression of this sort would have been met fifty or a hundred years ago. Would the offender have been speared? Exiled? No one's said. The press has applauded the police for apologizing; and it's good that the police have done so. But Warlpiri Law cannot punish them. The old men can only ask " why can't the police ... respect our sacred sites and our law?" The police say that the area was not posted. Whitefella law says that ignorance is no defense, but. This is not so different from the way things were in 1971 when when the High Court decided against the Yolngu plaintiffs in Milirrpum v Nabalco on the grounds that neither Crown Law nor common law had provisions for recognizing a claim made under Yolngu Law. The next time the hue and cry is raised over "lenient" sentences for black offenders, over how "traditional culture" excuses child abuse, or how powerful old black men control their communities in tight-fisted and oppressive regimes, remember the story of the police who violated sacred ground at Lajamanu. How they were never arrested, arraigned, or held accountable for their actions, let alone judged or sentenced. But mostly, ponder how inconceivable such a scenario seems. For despite all the rhetoric about justice and law, despite talk of "two laws," and despite the comments at Crikey and YouTube about two legal systems working together, there's really only one law at work here, and it's not blackfella Law. Posted at 01:30 PM Sun - January 13, 2008Aboriginal Rules: Yuendumu MagpiesIt wouldn't be Christmas without presents, and
this holiday brought some good ones. Among the first to arrive was one I gave
myself, the new documentary from the Warlpiri Media Association:
Aboriginal Rules: definitely more than a
game,
written and directed by Liam
Campbell.
It begins and ends with short, humorous clips
of Francis Jupurrula Kelly as an old-time Warlpiri warrior in the
Bush
Mechanics mode. Here, instead of a Dreamtime
Hero who can fix a busted-up transmission, we are treated to the mythical
arrival from the sky of a football: Magpie Dreaming at its
finest.
Now before I go any further, I have to confess up front that I've never been the sports-minded type at home in America, and so Aussie sport has been until this year a total mystery to me. (Let's not talk about cricket at all, OK?) When someone said "football," I had no idea whether they were talking about what Americans call soccer, or this strange AFL business, or maybe rugby. And believe me it didn't help to find out that rugby is never football, but it can be Union or League. I understand the distinction between those two may be the most important of all, but don't hold a knife to my throat and ask me to explain it or things could get messy, very quickly. But I'm losing the point here. I just wanted to say that I'm grateful to the producers of Aboriginal Rules for including up front a brief, amusing, simple, and clear explanation of how the game is played and scored. Given that a good deal of the drama that follows in the film's 55 minutes relies on having at least a minimal understanding of the game, these preliminaries ensure that even outsiders can follow the story. And it's a great story to follow. Of course, a lot of what makes this a wonderful cinematic experience is the excitement of the game on the field. There's speed, there's dazzle and dexterity, and let's face it, there's a fair amount a brutal physical contact that can leave you breathless. There's some humor too, as in the scene where one of the Magpie grapples an opponent from behind, grabs his shirt, and keeps traveling by. The other fellow loses his shirt, inexorably. And afterwards, when I thought the Magpie was bending down to haul his adversary back to his feet, it turned out he was only retrieving the shoe that he himself had lost in the tussle. But there's more than that. The Yuendumu Magpies, the footy team whose members regard themselves as Warlpiri warriors, won the Premiership among Indigenous teams three years running, from 2003 to 2005, a remarkable achievement. But in 2006 the team lost the thread, and it's fascinating to see that this story of defeat and disarray become the focus of the film: this isn't your conventional hagiographical (or even redemptive) athletic saga by any means. But despite its willingness to chronicle hard times, it remains inspirational. Much of the latter half of the film is devoted to the rebuilding process, to the stresses that operate on the team, and to the relationship between the team and the community of Yuendumu. The filmmakers are honest about the debilitating effects of grog on some members of the Magpies, and of the tension between autonomy and personal freedom on the one hand and community and team commitment on the other. It turns out, for example, that the team bus, used to transport members to games in Alice, or Papunya, or Pukatja, has been smashed. As a result, team members are driving to games, or being driven, in small groups in private cars. Sometimes the trip home for one or more cars ends up at a grog shop or a hotel, and the players don't turn up for practices or games. There's footage of the arguments over replacing the bus: demands for a licensed driver and for use restricted to the football team; admission that the bus has been wrecked too often in the past; the importance of supporting the team; the importance of the team to the community. In the end, the council agrees to buy the new bus, and there's a wonderful moment of quiet and sincere triumph when the new driver passes his license exam. The importance of the team stepping up as role models, too, leads to a discussion of the rehabilitation program at Mt Theo, where the twin activities of hunting and football provide young sniffers and abusers with meaningful alternatives and a structured life. Footage of the young man shooting a kangaroo is followed by barefoot practice in the red dust oval. Other problems are alluded to, but not explored: the threat of violence at the end of games is present in the prayers that the players offer, in the admonitions to a losing team to take a shower and go home, in the memorial ceremonies organized to honor past players that seem equally designed to keep the focus of the events positive and preclude rivalries escalating after the final whistle. As the players themselves admit, they once were warriors, now they play football. The rivalry seems to be particularly intense against their Warlpiri "brothers" from Lajamanu, and some sports weekends have been marred with paybacks. It becomes clear that Yuendumu (at least) has built footy into their definition of culture, and that culture arises from a set of connections to community (people) and land. In this way, it is not hard to understand what some of the veteran players mean when they talk about football as a way in which you can sense "you're owning something; you're owning that jukurrpa." Or as someone else has it, "Football is like a ceremony." Football in Yuendumu demonstrates how the Walrpiri can find that consonance between ancient traditions and modern institutions. It is one of the ways in which the Dreaming is kept alive: by renewing it and incorporating contemporary manifestations into the idea. And so it turns out that Jupurrula Kelly is not just making a joke when he appears at the film's conclusion, in the company of a young boy, both clad in hairstring pubic skirts. They carry spears across the red stone country, and a large bag, which turns out to contain Magpie guernseys (sponsored by Warlukurlangku Artists). These scenes with Kelly are in fact extracts from a short film called Japu Japu that is included among the bonus features on the DVD: it chronicles how a football once came hurtling down out of the sky, and the long trek that Jupurrula took to return in to the land whence it came--which turns out to be (of course) the MCG. He brings back from that sacred ground the guernseys with which he will paint the countryside and teach the new Dreaming to his countrymen. The other extras on the DVD contain traditional contests like spear-throwing from the Sports weekend along with some classic Jupurrula comedy. The "Training Tips" not only show how to build a weight training regime using billycans full of sand or two tires and an axle as dumbbells, but also more advanced techniques like constructing a sauna using an electric kettle and the ventilation system of an otherwise broken-down utility vehicle, or building a jacuzzi out of an inflatable swimming pool and a vacuum cleaner. (You'll have to buy the video yourself to find out exactly how it's done.) You can get some previews from YouTube, though, if you check out the excerpts posted by AboriginalRules. The Warlpiri Media Association is offering a Christmas 2008 special for purchasers of the video: a special deal on the soundtrack album. Like most soundtrack albums, it contains lots of music that's only hinted at, heard in the background, or minimally developed in the film itself. Mostly the work of Big Bear (Thomas Jupurrurla Saylor), it's a great mix of country, hip-hop, reggae, rock tunes, and some surprises, like the Latin jazz stylings of "Warlukurlangku." My favorite track, though, is "1234," which start from the piano beats that are used to such great effect to build an air of relentless suspense during the film's highlights from the matches themselves. Here on the soundtrack they are the base for some outrageous high-speed rapping. And if all that's not enough Warlpiri culture for you, check out the DVDs on offer that feature the Battle of the Bands performances from the Yuendumu Sports Weekend in 2003 and 2004. The production values aren't great, and sometimes the performances aren't as tight as they could be. That's especially true of the 2003 weekend performances, which comprise the rock 'n' roll show; the 2004 country music battle is more polished all around. It's also a bit less exciting and a lot less predictable. The rock concert features a lot of audience participation--dancing on the stage and some persistent vamping with a blond wig. However, when the bands are cooking and the saxes are wailing, it's only rock 'n' roll but I like it. The concert ends with a couple of songs from the Papunya School Band: these kids can't be fifteen years old, shivering in the cold August night air of the desert, but maybe they'll be back for concerts in the future. Let's hope the Warlpiri Media Association will continue recording them for a long time to come. The record of the richness of contemporary culture that WMA offers here is unparalleled. And, for the record, the final credits note that "Two kangaroos were killed and eaten in the making of this film."  The Yuendumu Magpies, led by Steven Japanangka Brown, circa 2000. From the collection Centre Bounce: Football from Australia's Heart by Jesse Marlow. The photographs were exhibited in Melbourne by Alcaston Gallery and published as a book by Hardie Grant in 2003. Posted at 03:08 PM Wed - December 12, 2007Aboriginal Internet MemeWarning: Frivolity
ahead!
Wikipedia defines an internet meme as "a catchphrase or concept that spreads in a faddish way from person to person via the Internet." This particular version is a bit like a chain letter, in that you are asked by someone to respond with eight answers to each of eight questions, and then to "tag" three people to follow on with their own answers. Normally, I would pipe this to the "null" device (which is techspeak for the trash, the bit bucket, the place where the internet goes to die). But since I got tagged by my friend Jonathan, to whom I owe the habit of blogging in the first place, and since I realized it was an opportunity to sum up a few themes pertinent to this blog very quickly, and heck, since it's the holiday season and we all deserve a break, here's my contribution to the electronic chain. 1) Eight things I am passionate about: Aboriginal art Aboriginal culture Australia Blogging Reading Libraries Rock ‘n’ roll Appropriate access to information 2) Eight things I want to do before I die: Turn this blog into a book that someone else will want to publish Learn to speak an Aborginal language, at least a little Live in Sydney for an extended period of time Live in Perth for an extended period of time Live in an Aboriginal community for an extended period of time See Nabarlek in concert Kick around Alice Springs for a day with Neil Murray Celebrate the appointment of Australia's first Indigenous president (or even Governor General or Prime Minister) (stole this one from Jonathan Shaw, who got me into this meme in the first place) 3) Eight things I say often: Aboriginal value systems are way different from our own. Imagine Martians landed in your back yard and took total control of your town…. As the great anthropologist W. E. H. Stanner said…. These paintings can be read as maps of country. It all started when we saw the Dreamings exhibition in New York in 1988…. Someone needs to hear what Aboriginal people themselves want. Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Damn! 4) Eight books I've read recently: (Sticking with titles I haven’t reviewed here yet) Howard Morphy, Becoming Art: exploring cross-cultural categories (Berg, 2007) Philip Jones, Ochre and Rust: artefacts and encounters on Australian frontiers (Wakefield, 2007) Quentin Beresford, Rob Riley: an Aboriginal leader’s quest for justice (Aboriginal Studies Press, 2006) Tara June Winch, Swallow the Air (Queensland, 2006) W. E. H. Stanner, People of the Dawn: religion, homeland, and privacy in Australian Aboriginal culture (Solas, 2001) Elizabeth Povinelli, Labor’s Lot: the power, history, and culture of Aboriginal action (Chicago, 1993) N.G. Butlin, Economics and the Dreamtime: a hypothetical history (Cambridge, 1993) Mary Durack, Keep Him My Country (Constable, 1955) 5) Eight songs I could listen to over and over: Warumpi Band, "Kintorelakutu" Warumpi Band, "From the Bush" Yothu Yindi, "Treaty" Lajamanu Teenage Band, "Teenage Band" NoKTuRNL, "Neva Mend" Chris Jones, "Get a Grip" Nabarlek, "Najorrkon" Sammy Butcher, "Dancing Brumbies" 6) But if I were doing a triple CD set, I’d include (8 x 3 = 24) The rest of the Warumpi Band’s Big Name, No Blankets and Go Bush! albums. 7) 8 things that attract me to my friends: They laugh at my jokes Their jokes make me laugh Curiosity Generosity Kindness Courage The ability to listen and ask good questions Humility, which is a very complex virtue (I stole all 8 of these from Jonathan, because I couldn’t improve on them.) 8) 8 movies I've watched at least into double figures (I’ve never watched a movie 10 times, but here’s a few I’d consider:) Yirrkala Film Project: Djungguwan at Gurka'wuy Yirrkala Film Project: Dhapi Ceremony at Yirrkala Yirrkala Film Project: Madarrpa Funeral at Gurka'wuy Benny and the Dreamers Where the Green Ants Dream Black Fella/White Fella Yolngu Boy Australian Rules With some trepidation, I must now tag three others to fully expiate the meme, so I salute fellow bloggers whom I know only internetly, Jangari, Deborah, and Megan. To quote Jonathan one last time, I won't be offended if none of you takes up the challenge, preferring to continue having a life. Posted at 08:45 PM Tue - December 4, 2007Terpsichore 2The Chooky Dancers have scored another YouTube
hit: a second clip of their interpretation of
Zorba the
Greek has been posted. This one is shot from
close-up, on stage, and the lighting makes it look almost like a dance done by
the light of a campfire. There's less of a sense of the dance overall, but the
atmospherics are great. Thanks to Bernie Eggington of Austrade-Darwin for
bringing this to my
attention.
Posted at 08:15 PM Sat - December 1, 2007Elizabeth Povinelli on Digital ArchivesLast Monday I had the good fortune to hear
Elizabeth Povinelli lecture at Duke University. The opportunity arose through
another piece of good fortune, my recent acquaintance with Jane Anderson, who is
doing a post-doc this year at Duke after a year at NYU where she worked with
Fred Myers and Faye Ginsburg. Jane
is a scholar of intellectual property (with a Ph.D. in law from the University
of New South Wales) with an emphasis in her work on legal systems and indigenous
knowledge. She has worked for many years at AIATSIS, and was responsible
for
much of the research that went into the
Native
Title Business exhibition and
catalog (Keeaira Press, 2002). On our first meeting about a month ago, Jane
charmed me right out of my socks. So the chance to meet up with her again, in a
forum that focused on a shared interest in digital archives, and right after the
elections--well, there was too much to celebrate and every reason to skip out of
work early.
Nor did Dr. Povinelli disappoint. Povinelli, Professor of Anthropology at Columbia University, is the author of (among other works) Labor's Lot: the power, history and culture of Aboriginal action (University of Chicago Press, 1994) and The Cunning of Recognition: indigenous alterities and the making of Australian multiculturalism (Duke University Press, 2002). (I wrote about the latter a year ago in a couple of posts, "The Burdens of Multiculturalism" and "The Economics of Aboriginal Work.") Both of these monographs explicate the ways in which non-indigenous knowledge, discourse, and systems conflict with and seek to control indigenous self-definition in Australia. For the purpose of illustration, let me reduce her thesis in The Cunning of Recognition, a vast and complex work, to a single sentence: Australian Aboriginal land rights law requires Indigenous people to prove their Aboriginality and their connectedness to land in terms defined wholly by the requirements of non-indigenous Australian law. Povinelli's talk at Duke on Monday was entitled "Recognizing Digital Divisions, Circulating Socialities." It is a chapter-in-progress from her latest work, and is concerned with the means by which indigenous knowledge is currently being captured, encoded, and preserved in web-accessible digital formats. There's a lot of this going on right now. Desart is exploring means of preserving the activities and records of its art centres, and has recently completed work on two pilot projects. One of these had as its goal digitizing the certificates of authenticity created over the last two decades for paintings created under the auspices of Warlayirti Artists in Balgo. The other inventoried the records of Mangkaja Artists in Fitzroy Crossing: when I visited in July, the project archivists were poring over scrapbooks of photographic prints of the painting of the Ngurrara canvases. Other digital archives incorporate materials relating to Aboriginal culture into more widely defined projects such as Picture Australia, wherein a search for the term "aboriginal ceremony" will retrieve photographs that Povinelli pointed out are probably not properly seen by most of the people who can access them in this online medium. (At the very least, the archive provides no information about the circumstances under which many of these photographs were taken, who authorized them for what purpose, and offers only the most standard of "cultural warnings" about viewing the images of deceased persons.) In terms of giving due consideration to Indigenous protocols, more successful digital archive projects include Ara Irititja, whose aim is "to bring home materials of historical and cultural significance to Anangu" people of the Central Desert. Another newly launched endeavor is the Mukurtu archive created by the Warumungu community at Tennant Creek with the assistance of Kim Christen, Craig Dietrich, and others. (For a glimpse of this project, check out the Digital Dynamics Across Cultures site.) In approaching the topic of digital archives, Povinelli is concerned here ultimately with questions of what happens when two modes of “sociality” meet. Concretely, here is the intersection of Indigenous knowledge and cutting-edge technology. The two have vastly different fundamental structures and underlying assumptions, and Povinelli is intrigued to discover what happens when they intersect: will they produce new, intercultural forms of social interaction, will one come to dominate and potentially extinguish the other, or will the interaction of the two transform the form and structure of each? She noted that archives, and now digital archives, are usually framed by issues of preservation, circulation, and access to the materials contained in them. This indeed looks to be the intentional focus of sites like Mukurtu and Ara Irititja. These archives want to hold material for the Indigenous communities out of which they grew; they help to keep history living and may also aid in reaching out to younger generations, providing a way for young enthusiasts and computer literate teenagers to involve themselves in culture. In the case of the Ara Irititja project, the developers are making the software available to other communities beyond the APY lands. Indeed, the software has been adopted by the Northern Territory Library’s and Knowledge Center Model. A key feature of both these projects is the ability to control access to their contents. In Povinelli’s words, they force the viewer or user to have a “social skin” that enforces rules about the circulation of knowledge, and highlights awareness of cultural protocols. But these Indigenous protocols are not the only ones at work in the digital arena. Povinelli spoke repeatedly about the collaborative nature of the development of these projects and about how much depends on having “the right people” around the table as development proceeds. (And she noted that part of the challenge is determining who “the right people” are in the first place.) Intellectual property protocols on both sides of the indigenous/non-indigenous boundary come into play, as do capital, legality, and more. During the Q&A period that followed the lecture she told of a software developer whose work could hold great promise for mapping projects relating to Indigenous knowledge of land and sea. However, his strong commitment to the notion of the the notion that “information wants to be free” would cause serious strife in the sphere of restricted Indigenous knowledge protocols. Characteristically, Povinelli went deeper than this, delving into the logic of digital means of communication as it is expressed in the programming code itself. She described the ways in which programmers who create the software are bound by the conventions of the languages themselves, and by the concepts that underlie the expression of content through their code. In the javascript coding that underlies these websites, there are events (digital objects such as text and graphical files) and “gateways” of Boolean logic (and, or, not, and other logical operators). These gateways can be exploited to control the circulation of information in both Indigenous and non-Indigenous spheres: given the “social skin” of the user, certain gateways can be open, or they can be blocked. The world outside the community that owns the information, or that created it, can be given only limited access to viewing some of the information, and can be denied the ability to modify or contribute information. Or people outside can contribute information, but only in ways that affirm the rights of the community to accept it or modify it or place restrictions on access to it. Thus in the end, these logical programming structures that enable digital storage, retrieval, and circulation emerge from a decidedly non-indigenous context built upon a framework that fundamentally assumes, for example, that everything can be reduced to a binary opposition, yes or no, open the gateway or keep it closed (or open it if a certain condition can be established in a binary fashion—true or false). It is important that people involved in the creation of these archives hold this fundamental truth about the nature of the information system in mind as they adapt it to profoundly different arenas of Indigenous discourses and systems of thought. Sometimes, Indigenous knowledge cannot be adequately represented in such a framework of binary oppositions. Ultimately, Povinelli dreams of digital archives that move beyond the realm of merely circulating, preserving, and providing access. She would like to someday see digital archives that enhance social obligations, build responsibility, and create attachment. While freely admitting these things are not “programmable,” she nevertheless spent some time speculating on how such conditions might be simulated. She asked, for example, what if the purpose of “coming to knowledge” were not to gain information. What if gaining knowledge from a digital archive were instead a means of creating social attachments to other people? She illustrated this in a material-world sense by describing the ways in which time spent with elder women near her research locus of Belyuen, during which she gained much information about the seasonal variations in climate and insect life, tides and fish, gradually brought about a sense of attachment to country and to individuals that survived the passing of some of these women. The physical experience of being in country afterwards was sufficient to revive a palpable sense of attachment. Clearly, the current state of digital archives—which represents a huge advance over only a year or two ago—is far from providing the locus for social relations that Povinelli imagines. Internet technologies promise to deliver ever-increasing approximations of sociality via, for example, gaming simulations and virtual reality applications, which have their own fraught implications, as the controversy over Telsta's representation of Uluru in Second Life has already raised. And Povinelli recognized that digital media will never really be able to reproduce the corporeal element of social experience. She described the stress of nearly drowning as she and a group of women tried to negotiate tidal waters at the mouth of a creek near Melik Beach, and alluded to the negotiations with the Dreaming that can calm those waters (described beautifully in Labor’s Lot). But she dreams, a bit puckishly, of ways that programming might effect such experiences. In these notes I have glossed only the simplest of the ideas Povinelli floated in her lecture at Duke. Her thinking is subtle, complex, and challenging; her ideas are still very much in development, as she quickly cautioned several times. It was undeniably exciting to watch a great thinker in action as she speculated about what the future might hold. The inspired thinking is Elizabeth Povinelli’s; the mistakes in representing it are wholly mine. 
Courtesy of Nicholson Cartoons, 2007. Posted at 12:21 PM Read More Sat - November 3, 2007Terpsichore in RaminginingJust in case you've been vacationing in
Antarctica for the last week and haven't heard the news, the latest
international YouTube sensation (71,000+ views as of this morning) features the
Chooky Dancers from Elcho Island performing at the Ramingining Festival back in
September. Dressed in
nagas
or soccer shorts, ochred up, and driving the audience wild with a soundtrack out
of Zorba the
Greek, the young men had the crowd howling
with delight. The ten dancers mix unequal parts of traditional Yolngu steps,
disco line dancing, Busby Berkeley, and Greek
syrtaki
moves with plain old foot stomping rhythm. According to ABC Radio National, the Chookys have gotten
invitations to perform in Canberra and at Darwin's Greek festival, Glenti, and
have been broadcast in the town square of the Greek Island of Kastelorizo.
According to comments left on the YouTube site, the group has an unfilmed Bollywood dance in their repertoire as well. Maybe we'll have a chance to see that soon. In the meantime, enjoy this one. Posted at 01:01 PM Sat - August 11, 2007Western Desert Nganampa Walytja Palyantjaku Tjutaku Initiative for Dialysis SupportSeven years ago, artists from Kintore and
Kiwirrkura created four large collaborative paintings in support of the Western
Desert Dialysis Appeal. These works (a men's painting collaborative and a
women's from each community) were auctioned off and raised $1 million to support
the establishment of a dialysis unit at
Kintore.
The benefits of having such a unit available in the sparsely populated Yanangu lands on the border of the Northern Territory and Western Australia were obvious. It allowed people with life-threatening renal disease to receive treatment in their homelands. It alleviated some of the problems inherent in having to travel to towns like Alice Springs, provided comfort to those who were afflicted, reduced the well-documented problems associated with family needing to be far from home in order to be close to ailing kin.
Now the Western Desert Nganampa Walytja Palyantjaku Tjutaku Aboriginal Corporation wants to take their work a step further by introducing a mobile dialysis unit that can travel the Western Desert lands, from Kiwirrkura to the west, Blackstone to the south, Nyirrpi to the North, and Hermannsburg to the West. Again, the benefits are many and obvious. By bringing treatment to the communities, the project can, it is hoped, provide health education in a less threatening and more culturally appropriate manner. It can help preserve in situ cultural transmission by allowing aging patients the opportunity to pass on their knowledge in their own communities, an opportunity too often cut short by the need to relocate to urban areas. The artists of the area are once again ready to participate by creating paintings that can travel with the unit, which again can help to sanction its use and overcome cultural obstacles emplaced by fear, misunderstanding, or lack of knowledge. The Corporation has created a document which outlines the hope and the scope of the project's plans. I recently received a copy of this paper from Papunya Tula Artists, and am making it available for downloading here. This is summary of the project's objectives as stated therein. Firstly, and most centrally, the mobile dialysis unit will extend WDNWPT’s capacity to return people to country for extended visits and, in doing so, allow them to re-engage as important members of their Western Desert groups and to transfer through language and performance valuable knowledge, stories and rites to those coming up behind them. Please help to spread the word by passing the link or the document itself along to anyone who may be interested. Inquiries can be directed to the WDNWPT Manager Sarah Brown. Sarah Brown <wdnwpt@bigpond.net.au> PO Box 5060 Alice Springs NT 0871 T. 08 89 532002 Addendum: Thanks to Glenn, a faithful reader from Brisbane, for letting me know that WDNWPT has successfully secured three year funding for the mobile renal unit. Tax-deducatible contributions are welcomed to help with ongoing costs, made to the organization at the address given above. Posted at 01:39 PM Sat - March 10, 2007Denial of CultureI expect that most of you have by now read Louis
Nowra's "Culture of Denial," which appeared in
The
Australian
Literary
Review on March 7. I hope that you have also
gone back to read the comments that were posted online since its
publication. It's interesting to note that the earliest comments were generally
outraged at Nowra's racist abuse; over the course of the week the tone seems to
have swung more to the other side, reiterating Nowra's outrage at the violence
and his condemnation of Aboriginal
culture.
There is no point in denying the existence of violence and abuse, and little hope of refuting how out of proportion it is in some Aboriginal communities as compared to the rest of the country. And although the past year has seen much reporting on it in the press and on the ABC, the history of violence has been well documented for decades in anthropological studies, word-of-mouth reports, and even from sympathetic incomers to communities (see, for example, Neil Murray's fictionalized history of the Warumpi Band, Sing for Me, Countryman, recently republished by Griffin Press). I find these reports appalling and frightening and profoundly depressing. And the intractability of the problem magnifies its obviously lamentable qualities. But beyond all that, what I find depressing and unnecessary is the constant need to draw in "Aboriginal culture" as the primary motivating force, the special circumstances that explain the problem and that need to be rooted out in order to resolve it. I'd like to say I don't understand why seemingly intelligent people like Nowra have to resort to racist diatribes to urge the need for a solution. And I do believe that racism is at the root of Nowra's complaint--unlikely as that might seem coming from someone who wrote the screenplay for Rachel Perkins' Radiance and was married to Rachel Maza, one of its stars. Pace Noel Pearson, who wrote in another Australian opinion piece ("Failure to act also criminal," December 30, 2006) that claims of racism do not advance a solution. But articles like Nowra's likewise do nothing to solve the problem. More importantly, they make solutions more difficult to achieve by promoting the notion that Aboriginal people are beyond hope, are the cause of their own problems, and are condemned to this cycle of despair and violence unless they break free of the chains of the culture that has brought them to this impasse--and the "culture" so implicated in the indigenous one, not the colonizing one. Take for example the following paragraph from Nowra's article, in which he offers an example of how anthropological studies have helped us "gain a clearer picture of the relationship between Aboriginal men and women." Betrothal was universal across the continent, with some marriages arranged before a child was born. A feature of Aboriginal life was that of the considerably older man, a middle-aged elder, marrying a girl barely into her teens. Polygamy was also practised. I've recently been working my way through several works on Tiwi culture that support and document this practice in great detail. No arguments there. But how does Nowra get from that statement of fact to the following conclusion mere sentences later: Despite local variations, there is a consistent pattern of traditional men's treatment of women that could be exceedingly hard and sexually aggressive (gang rape, for instance). Given its pervasive nature across Australia, we can say that it was ancient and long-lasting. That is not analysis; it's not even logic. It is one man's repugnance at a custom that conflicts with his own cultural prejudices. And from that custom of child betrothal he extrapolates a culture of gang rape! Are not the statistics on the prevalence of sexually transmitted diseases and the evidence of women horribly scarred by beatings enough of a call to action? Why does he need to drag in child betrothal as a generating cause? Why is there this need to blame traditional Aboriginal culture, to single it out as the wellspring of a modern malaise? The permit system is similarly abused as a significant contributing factor--and as a uniquely Aboriginal one. The silence of the Moree community and its refusal to cooperate with the prosecution of Phillip Boney for rape is given similar prominence in Nowra's litany of condemnations. If one wants to invoke ethnographic studies, surely one can point to the similar culture of protection of abusers among orthodox Jews, or the violence that is hidden behind the concept of omerta in Italian societies. Similarly, Nowra states that "[r]etribution by relatives of the accused is common." That is true enough, but not only among Aboriginal people. It is not a defining and differentiating mark of Aboriginal culture, but a commonplace in many cultures. Throughout, Nowra displays his ignorance of traditional Aboriginal culture far more than an understanding of it. (And while understanding does not and should not imply approval, it is nonetheless important in an analysis of social problems that seeks solutions rather than simple complaint and condemnation.) He is shocked that no one intervenes in public brawls, failing to take into account that there are no private brawls in communities where life is conducted out of doors. More importantly, he fails to understand that the presence of onlookers in such public fights often acts as a deterrent. Yes, the abuse is publicly condoned. But the public presence can also assure that the violence does not go too far, as Basil Sansom has described in great detail in The Camp at Wallaby Cross. As with drunkenness, it is the public nature of the behavior at least as much as the behavior itself that is being judged. It offends our "civilized" eyes, and thus relegates the offender to the category of "uncivilized." Civilized people come home from a bad day at the office, close the door, kick the dog, and get quietly drunk in the privacy of their parlors. The kind of sloppy thinking and selective logic that characterizes and undermines much of these ad hominen arguments extends in a particularly vicious way to the concept of "defense." Nowra perpetrates a common myth and misunderstanding of the facts when he makes statements such as "[c]ustomary law or traditional law began to be used as a common defence." Customary law has been invoked by lawyers pleading (in non-indigenous institutions) for lenient sentencing in cases where the accused has already been found guilty of the crime. I'm not aware that it has ever been used--at least successfully--to defend the actions prior to the verdict being handed down. You can accuse me of splitting hairs here, but it seems that the legal system under which these prosecutions take place excels at splitting hairs and making distinctions that are in themselves highly culturally biased. Remember that for many years Aboriginal people could not testify in a court of law because, not being Christians, they could not swear on the Bible to tell the truth, and without that sanctified assurance could not be trusted. How ironic now that Aboriginal people are now condemned for not stepping forward to offer evidence! I will freely admit that in writing all the above, I am being as selective in choosing my arguments as Nowra has been in choosing his. I guess I am attempting to assert that there are more sides to the story than are being told here, and I am frustrated at the persistent racism that underlies quality of the ongoing media attention to a matter of humanitarian concern. "Human rights come before cultural rights," Nowra concludes, oblivious to the fact that "human rights" as he blithely proffers them is a cultural construct that varies in time and space. What remains constant is the condemnation of the other. Racism is insidious in its workings. It is also extraordinarily hard to understand if one has never been the victim of it. Twenty years ago I went back to graduate school while working full time, and to accommodate my working schedule, enrolled at North Carolina Central University, the first college in the state founded to offer higher education to "Negroes" in a state predominantly Anglo-Celtic in its ethnic composition. Its student body remains 95% black today. I told friends and colleagues that it was "interesting" to find myself a minority student and surprising to be offered a "minority scholarship" as an inducement to contributing to the diversity of the student body. It wasn't so interesting to be looked at with suspicion as I made my way across campus to classes. One winter day, wearing black Levi's and a leather jacket against the sharp wind, I was crossing the parking lot when I heard another student shout, "Don't matter how much black you wear, you still white." I was shocked. And speechless. It wasn't just that I couldn't come back with a snappy retort. Even afterward, thinking over the incident, I just couldn't work out any response that sounded good, that didn't sound hostile, defensive, or just plain whiny. I had been silenced. And that made me angry. And I viscerally understood something about racism that had always eluded my liberal sensibilities until that moment. There is no doubt that lives are being destroyed in Aboriginal communities by the violence in them. But screeds like Nowra's do nothing to advance a solution, and I assert that they in fact do more harm than good. The demonization of Aboriginal culture only adds to the lack of mutual understanding, to the simplistic, thoughtless reaction, to the offhand, casual, and cruel dismissal of the humanity of the people who are trapped in the mire of poverty, substance abuse, boredom, and yes, violence. We may not be able to leave race out of these discussions, and we may not be able to leave racism out of the conversation either. But let us please be very, very careful about what we do with our racism. Posted at 01:11 PM Sat - February 3, 2007Hail and FarewellRon Ramsey is going home to
Canberra.
For the past three years, Ron has served as the Director of Cultural Relations at the Embassy of Australia in Washington DC. Prior to accepting that post, he worked at the National Gallery of Australia in the senior administrative position of Access Director. He will be returning to the NGA as Assistant Director, Development, Marketing and Commercial Operations. Our loss will most certainly be Canberra's gain. The article in the Sydney Morning Herald which profiled Ron upon his appointment to Washington in 2004 made much of his ability to move easily in the worlds of art and politics and of the breadth of his responsibilities for promoting Australian culture in the US. Equally at ease with United Nations politicos and chamber orchestra impresarios, Ron joked that in 2004 no one in the USA identified Australia any more with Crocodile Dundee. "Now it's Steve Irwin," he deadpanned. Today, Emily Kngwarreye may still not be a household name over here, but the profile of Aboriginal art in the States is certainly higher, thanks to Ron's unflagging enthusiasm and energy. In May of 2004, the Queensland Indigenous Arts Marketing Export Agency brought a marvelous show to America, called Out of Country. The show opened at Gallery 1601, the ground-floor exhibition space of the Embassy of Australia at 1601 Massachusetts Ave NW, Washington DC, for which Ron had recently become responsible. The exhibition included fifty-six works showcasing the diversity of indigenous art from the Sunshine State: huge canvases from the Lockhart River Gang, bronze and wooden sculptures from Aurukun, Aleck Tipoti's prints and Brian Robinson's 3-D constructions representing the Torres Strait Islands, Richard Bell's take-offs on Roy Lichtenstein's comic book romances, painted rivers by Joanne Currie alongside prints by Judy Watson and triptychs by Ian Waldron. Craig Koomeeta was there at the opening, resplendent in a tux; Ken Thaiday was less formal--just a jacket and tie--but no less commanding a presence. Late in the evening, someone asked Fiona Foley (who was in town visiting while on a six-month residence in New York City) if her works were in any American collections and she replied, "Well I heard these two guys bought a couple of my paintings off the internet...," an introduction I stepped right into. I don't remember who introduced us to Ron that night in 2004, but I do know that it was one of those fortuitous encounters that seem to characterize our adventures in Aboriginal art. By the end of the evening, Ron was offering letters of introduction and photocopies of recent articles on Aboriginal art collections. In the years since then our paths have crossed many times. Later that same summer, when Out of Country toured to the Kluge-Ruhe Aboriginal Art Collection, Ron was there again, helping us with croc-shipping arrangements. The following spring, once more at the Kluge-Ruhe, we enjoyed Ron's company at the conference Media Matters: representations of the social in Aboriginal Australia (and at the party afterwards). Fast forward another year, and there's Ron again, helping us make contacts at the Australian Embassy in Paris prior to the opening of the Musee du Quai Branly. A few months later, he chauffeured us back to our hotel after the opening celebrations at Ambassador Richardson's home for Dreaming Their Way in Washington, DC. Last October, as we sped out of our hotel to the same exhibition's debut at the Hood Museum on the campus of Dartmouth College, there was Ron, just arrived on a delayed flight up from New York City and stopping in Hanover for an evening in town before heading on to another event the next day in Boston. Apart from the purely aesthetic pleasures of being involved with Aboriginal art, there are wonderful friendships that we have formed from Perth to Paris and points in between. I'm glad to count Ron among those friends. I'm even looking forward now to another trip to Canberra...and not solely for the aesthetic pleasures of the NGA. I'm sure that all of us here in the United States will miss Ron's warmth, enthusiasm, and generosity, and will join me in wishing him every success in this new phase of his career.  Posted at 02:46 PM Tue - September 26, 2006Poms Slaughter Dancers; Fall AsleepI've been amazed in recent weeks to read the
reviews of Bangarra's performances in London at the Sadler's Wells Theatre on
September 14 - 16, and then on tour.
While the best parts of the show - which feels long for its 75 minutes - are a lush and hypnotic celebration of nature ... other sections suggest not much beyond girls in strappy tops doing a Jane Fonda workout in downtown Sydney. ... I sensed shuffling and heard yawns. --The Independent OK, I confess that I've chopped and tortured these
reviews, and they did have some good things to say about parts of the
performance. The British Theatre Guide actually published a review that was complementary in its entirety
and concluded insightfully:
All in all, though, Bush is a wonderful piece of storytelling through dance, and evokes the Dreamtime and Aboriginal Australia in a way which complements the ritual, tradition and modern day living. One of the dancers, Jhuny-Boy Borja, had some
reservations of his own, which he published on his blog
:
Last night Bangarra opened Bush at Sadler's Wells and a handful of enthusiastic fellow alumni were in audience. As far as our performances go, it was possibly a bit too excited. It was our first performance for about a month after extensive cleaning and sensing the importance that comes with performing at this venue I was trying so hard to keep calm. "It's just another show." Am glad to get that first show out of the way now. What was the audience expecting, The Royal Ballet?
Actually, they probably were.
As I think I've said in other posts, I live in a
progressive college town (Chapel Hill), and there are two other large
universities within twenty-five miles of the one I work for. Durham, the next
town over and the home of Duke University, has been host to the prestigious
American Dance Festival for at least 30 years now. And Raleigh, home of North
Carolina State University (an engineering and agricultural school) is where I
first saw Bangarra perform: they were on tour of the US with
Bush
in 2004. So we get to see a lot of dance here. The American Dance Festival,
despite its name, brings in many, many international modern dance companies. In
the 20 years or so that we had season tickets we saw companies from Argentina to
Israel, India to Japan, China to Canada. I think in all that time there was one
British company. So part of the problem in London was probably that the
audiences don't even have the exposure and the vocabulary to appreciate modern
dance, much less when it is leavened with Aboriginal
elements.
If I had to try to come up with an explanation for
the reactions contained in these reviews, it would be that the work was too
opaque--that the Aboriginal elements were incomprehensible, or at least
obscure--or that the "modern dance" elements weren't quite up to snuff. In
essence, the reviewers were reacting badly to the hybrid nature of the
choreography. Unable to judge it on its merits as indigenous performance, they
fell back on the standards they could relate to and found the work wanting. In
a few cases, they showed a stunning inability to open themselves to the
unfamiliar: surely it can't take too great a leap of imagination to conceive
that a "mysterious pouch" might have some ceremonial significance.
I'm not sure I have a point to this essay, other
than outrage to get off my chest. I found
Bush
to be mesmerizing; it was the only the second time I'd seen anything of
Aboriginal dance live--before that my experience had been mostly ceremonies that
were part of the Yirrkala Film
Project--but I found that the two traditions
blended in a supple and invigorating manner. The second time around with
Bangarra
(Boomerang
at the Sydney Opera House in 2005) there were moments that were almost sublime:
the Manta Ray segment was on the brink of terrifying in its transformations and
its power. I remember thinking at the end of the performance, "Pina Bausch,
eat your heart out." Bangarra is a world-class act; it's too bad that the
London press isn't cosmopolitan enough to recognize that.
Posted at 08:27 PM |
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