Dialling into Channel B

I wrote this while participating in Sophia Kosmaoglou’s Art + Critique course. Due to Covid restrictions, I was unable join my peers in person when they visited Nine Nights: Channel B at the ICA in November 2021. The text describes my experience of the exhibition via my browser.

Dialling in remotely, my experience of Nine Nights: Channel B is mediated by others navigating the exhibition physically at the ICA. Their phones are like appendages, scanning and reconfiguring the view – mostly dark – with sound and image coming in and out of focus. My perception is fragmented, subject to the jolting choices of my guides. Like archaeologists examining a network of chambers, they advance inwards and describe what they meet. There is a mood of excitement as passages open up to new discoveries. They relay fragments of text, reminding me of clues or warnings encountered on a mission in a game.

I can’t get a clear overview and although restricting this is also generative, stirring my imagination to fill in and expand the gaps, like in a dream. From what I gather, the experience of being there is immersive, participatory and multi-sensory, eliciting physiological responses. I imagine rumbling bass permeating skins and accelerating heart rates; dilated pupils contracting as flashes of light and colour illuminate the faces of those exploring.

My initial associations are of a nightclub or adult fairground in a dystopian present or future, with different rooms offering different forms of entertainment: a wellness area with projected visuals, a gaming station where multiple players can interact in parallel spaces. This strikes me as superficial at first, a form of escapism maintaining the short-term ‘pursuit of desire-satisfaction’ Adriene Piper describes as feeding and fed by unrestrained free-market capitalism.1 But there is something more complex going on.

I catch a glimpse of an inverted sun radiating darkness. Inversion as a motif keeps recurring to me. The classic white cube gallery with its distancing qualities has been transformed into a dark space obscuring ordinary vision, inviting attention towards other ways of sensing and sharing space together. And there is a politically subversive dimension to the way Black-owned art, music, and creative initiative Nine Nights have repurposed the gallery and its structures to centre the experiences, narratives, and wellbeing of those usually marginalised and exploited by these structures.

I read on the ICA website that throughout its duration, the exhibition is hosting contributions by a network of Black performers, musicians and artists, rearranging its functions as cultural platform, activist campaign and site for celebration and visioning. Interrupting individualistic tendencies in art, Channel B is utilised as a medium for redistributing resources, redefining rules of ownership and reclaiming the terms for imagining, in service of uplifting Black culture and communities.

As a remote spectator, it feels pertinent for me as a person racialised as white, member of the dominant, centred group, to be perceiving this from the margins. Reading the Nine Nights manifesto I feel challenged to reflect on my own position and to be ‘be part of the change, not the problem’. Something is compelling about the participatory nature of the installations on view, and the ways in which bodily responses are elicited by Channel B. They conjure the implicatedness of all bodies as positioned within, not outside of the societal dynamics addressed by the exhibition. It invites me to think about my own choices and agency in how I distribute resources, the channels I choose to tune into and amplify, and what forms of world making and imagining this serves.

1 Piper, Adrian. (2008) Political Art and the Paradigm of Innovation, p. 9

No-one left behind – Cultivating resilience for difficult work

“Without love, our efforts to liberate ourselves and our world community from oppression and exploitation are doomed.”1

bell hooks

I recently participated in a weekend workshop organised to examine our part in societal dynamics of privilege and oppression, with an emphasis on race, and to explore working towards collective liberation. Although difficult, the workshop was a big learning experience for me and I feel compelled to write about it. This comes with challenges as I am new to writing about social justice issues and making this process public. What follows are reflections that include concepts from Processwork and thoughts expressed by other workshop participants, to whom I am indebted for developing my learning from this experience.

One could say that the workshop fell apart, with several people of colour and one white person leaving midway. The absence of those who had chosen to leave greatly impacted the rest of the group. Although the experiences of the remaining (and absent) participants were diverse, there was general consensus around a sense of sadness and frustration that so often when people come together to address issues of social injustice, particularly racism, the same patterns inherent to those issues are repeated. Yet again we had not managed to create a safe and inclusive enough environment while engaging in these difficult but necessary conversations.

Trauma in the field

Working on themes of power, privilege and oppression is difficult work, and triggers trauma in all of us, whatever the degree. Often in this kind of work, love and kindness become marginalised, both towards one another and ourselves. In Processwork terms, when doing this work the themes of external and internal oppression will be present within the shared ‘field’ and felt by those engaging with it.

As a person who identifies as white, with many privileges, and feeling like I still have so much to learn about social justice issues, I felt strongly impacted by a self-critical voice influencing my interactions with other participants and what was happening between us. Following a Processwork understanding, this voice was not only internal, but also a manifestation of the wider dynamic of oppression within the field. This critical voice inhibited me from connecting with my feelings, which reduced my ability to relate to myself and others.

No-one left behind

The fear of ostracisation from the group often prohibits open and honest interaction. The tendency in a group to evaluate one another and project judgements onto individuals repeats the dynamics of a competitive culture that isolates us from one another and sets us up for distrust and division. To project onto and scapegoat individuals can be shortsighted as this doesn’t acknowledge how we are in this together and that one person’s unconscious behaviour is symptomatic of a wider dynamic of which we are all a part.

This doesn’t mean our experiences and responsibilities are equal or the same. Working towards collective liberation means it is essential for those of us with more privileges to be held to account and develop tolerance for discomfort and self-questioning. One way of developing such tolerance is through practices of radical inner work, making time and space to connect with our experience, which can relieve others from having to take care of us. But it is also a myth that we can provide all the love and support we need for ourselves.

When someone in a privileged position behaves unconsciously, a commonly repeating pattern is that the onus of awareness raising or compassion falls onto those who are most affected by structural oppressions. To counteract this pattern, it can help when others sharing the privileged position take responsibility to intervene and hold one another to account. At the same time, it feels important that those with the privileged positionality don’t leave one another behind, practicing empathy and awareness of the possibility that any one of us could be the one to behave or have behaved unconsciously at another moment.2 A question that follows is how we can facilitate deeper relationship to do this work across our differences and social positions.

Building a container

What emerged from the disintegration of the workshop was a shared recognition that feeling more connected to one another is essential for doing this work. This takes time and is difficult to achieve in a weekend-long workshop. Nevertheless, it is useful to reflect on what kinds of practices support this work to be sustainable in the long-term, even when our opportunities to come together are limited.

To make a conscious effort to slow down, make space and cultivate a sense of togetherness helps to form a container for holding difficulty. Slowing down gives the opportunity to check in with our bodies and take care of our needs in the moment, which might include needing to step out and be alone. Interactions that mainly take place through conversation privilege the communication styles of those who find it easy to talk. Balancing these interactions with other shared activities – such as cooking, moving and visioning together – offers grounding and the chance to share and experience different aspects of ourselves.3

Cultivating a container for being together is not about flattening difference or engendering a harmonious status quo. It supports the expression and valuing of our diversity of gifts and experiences, so that they can enhance one another. It emphasises the importance of relationship for being able to hold and deepen this challenging work and facilitate more related interaction. I appreciate how the learning from this workshop reminded me of the value of creative processes in supporting this. Making space for creativity and relationship enriches our connection to our hearts, cultivating our capacity to go deep, be challenged and lay the ground for honest conversation and community healing.

1hooks, b. (2008) Love as the Practice of Freedom, Outlaw Culture: Resisting Representations, New York: Routledge, p. 243

2Particular thanks to Cathy Rowsome for the conversation that developed this reflection.

3Particular thanks to Nish Doshi for the conversation that developed this reflection.