8 HERITAGE AS A TOOL FOR INCLUSION

‘We speak of the virtues of memory, but forgetfulness has its own virtue […] [The ‘memorial cult’s’] favourite mantra, “Let us remember, so the same thing doesn’t happen again”, is unconvincing. A remembered massacre may serve as a deterrent, but it may also serve as a model for the next massacre’, writes Holocaust survivor Ruth Kluger.^[1] In 2017, recalling the massacres suffered by American Indians during the founding of the United States, Navajo activist and ceremonial leader Pat McCabe shared his reflection on the slogan ‘Never forget!’:

I began by addressing my ancestors. […] I said to them, that we would love them always, and forever, but that somehow we must forget, or let go of, all the violence that had come before now, or we ourselves would complete the job of genocide that the U.S. government began. I begged them, my ancestors, to let us go free. I told them they must find their way all the way home to the Spirit World. And then I prayed with all my heart, and all my tears, and asked for Creator to open the gate for them to travel, and to leave us in peace, and for them to find peace beyond the gate, and for each of us to travel in the correct way once again, each in our own world, me in this Earth Walk world and they, true ancestors in the Spirit World.^[2]

These two testimonies are collected by Lewis Hyde in his book with the suggestive title, A Primer for Forgetting: Getting Past the Past, where he illustrates the complex relationship between heritage and self-awareness. Heritage is manipulable and it manipulates us, it is memory and invention, it is wall and bridge. Hyde, for example, began writing his book when he learned something unexpected: oral societies maintain their balance by getting rid of memories that no longer have relevance in the present. They also change the story, to the surprise of the English settlers in Africa, who, after recording many of the stories and myths in writing, saw how, over time, these oral narratives did not match what they had recorded years earlier. For Hyde, this ‘stirred my own contrary spirit, for I began to scrapbooks of other cases in which letting go of the past is at least as useful as preserving it’.^[3]

His book emerged as a result of this interest. It is an exhaustive compilation of quotes, aphorisms, anecdotes, stories and reflections divided into four central themes around forgetting: mythology (‘Notebook I: Myth’), personal psychology (‘Notebook II: Self’), politics (‘Notebook III: Nation’) and creativity (‘Notebook IV: Creation’). However, the author warns us not to neglect memory, since both memory and forgetting ‘are the faculties of the mind by which we are aware of time, and time is a mystery’.^[4]

Nevertheless, Hyde asks: ‘[i]f the arts of memory are rooted in blood, could there be an art of forgetting that puts an end to bloodshed?’ ‘We do not control the unforgettable; it controls us’, he writes after studying Greek mythology, where ‘the spirits of such unforgetting are called the Furies, the Erinyes. They cling to the memory of hurt and harm, injury and insult, wound and injury […] They bloat the present with the undigested past’.^[5]

How do we regain this control? ‘The word was the magic solution used against the incarnated violence of the unforgettable. In the courts of Athens, the amnesty – which is a legal form of forgetting – ‘worked in part because there was a way for grief and anger to be spoken even as everyone swore to forget about actual action’, explains Hyde.^[6]

When Juan Perón took over the Argentine presidency in 1946, he relegated the writer Jorge Luis Borges to a peripheral position. Later, when the famous author was asked if he forgave Perón, he said: ‘Forgetting is the only form of forgiveness; it’s the only vengeance and the only punishment too. Because if my counterparts see that I’m still thinking about them, in some ways I become their slave, and if I forget them I don’t’.^[7]

Is to forget to let go? In the 13th century, the Zen master Dogen taught: ‘To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to become one with the ten thousand things’. ‘The Ten Thousand Things’ was also the title of an album by John Cage, who understood music as a way to free ourselves from memory. However, as Hyde points out using these sources: ‘as much as we might value the spiritual practice of thinning out the self, of noticing its contingency and transience, of muting its fears and greed — there can be no forgetting the self until there is a self. […] “You have to be somebody before you can be nobody”’.^[8]

This brings us back to heritage as a tool for self-awareness. The Kenyan communications consultant Esther Kiragu defines internal self-awareness as ‘taking note of one’s habits, behaviour, emotions, strengths and weaknesses, and how these impact on others’.^[9] In this sense, heritage and our feelings towards different heritage elements can act as a mirror of what is important to us, and of who we are, giving us important clues about what parts of our past make up our lives today. Understanding why, what and how we choose to remember or forget the past is key to understanding our core position in our present life, both towards ourselves and towards others. Heritage is a tool at the service of this essential exercise of self and collective knowledge and awareness.

This is not about never forgetting, because this, physically, mentally and spiritually, as we have seen, is not healthy. Nor is the opposite better: living in an imaginary present where the past does not exist. What this is about is understanding heritage as a large map where we can find references that help us build more cohesive, peaceful, fair societies. To do so, we need to investigate tangible and intangible heritage through this prism. We use the heritage and let the heritage use us.

The debate is complex and there is no single answer. Let us take as an example the struggle of some anti-racist groups against certain statues in public places, an action that has taken on great relevance in the United States and that has also been extended to different parts of the planet. The goal is to ‘liberate’ the place from these racist symbols. However, erasing patrimony for political purposes is common in all kinds of ideologies, especially in a totalitarian context, which seek to eliminate any impure past in order to impose its ‘new’ present.

History does not always suit our present interests. Not only does it usually not fit with the vision we want for society, but the opposite is often the case. Heritage, both tangible and intangible, reminds us of that bond; that continuity of which we are a part. However, this does not mean that we should always read heritage in the same straightforward way. For example, keeping the statue of a slave-trader does not imply that we should agree with what he thought or with his actions, but it can remind us that such a historical episode will not disappear even if we destroy the statue. If we place elements that explain history in a more inclusive and egalitarian way next to this statue, we will be able to understand heritage in a more complex and pedagogical way.

Like ancient idols, statues retain a power and capacity to act on their viewers in each age. Sometimes, as in the case of anti-racist protests, they continue to be a symbol – a material place to express anger, or a pole of attraction to channel a demand for a more egalitarian society, in the same way that other monuments continue to function as poles of concentration of mass demonstrations beyond the original reason they were built.

In this sense, heritage never allows a linear reading, and much less any one reading. Uncertainty and change are intrinsic parts of any individual and, as such, of any society, and the heritage used also responds to these changes and uncertainties. In a way, manipulating heritage is inevitable, in the same way that heritage manipulates us, that is, it challenges us, suggests alternatives to us and speaks to us. Between forgetting and remembering, between a more equitable future and a radically plural past, we can understand heritage as a tool for self-awareness as long as we take into account all these ambivalences and complexities. As the philosopher Kierkegaard pointed out: ‘Having perfected the art of forgetting and the art of remembering, one is then in a position to play battledore [a forerunner of badminton] and shuttlecock with the whole of existence’.^[10]

The democratization of heritage is the formula encapsulating how tangible and intangible heritage can respond to current needs in an open and inclusive way. One of the possibilities for carrying out this democratization is through community art. According to François Matarasso in A Restless Art. How Participation Won, and Why it Matters, community art is: ‘the creation of art as a human right, by professional and non-professional artists, co-operating as equals, for purposes and to standards they set together, and whose processes, products and outcomes cannot be known in advance’.^[11]

In this sense, Matarasso points out, all the people involved in the process have different roles and contribute different resources, but all those who participate have the same rights in the process: ‘They must negotiate, agree and share what will happen, because, in a rights-based process, there is no legitimate basis on which anyone, including the professional artists, can impose their vision or authority on the group’.^[12] This is in tune with the democratization of heritage, insofar as there is no single or regulated authority that establishes what is and what is not heritage and, more importantly, how we should interpret and use it.

Heritage is a great resource for community art when it is understood from this perspective, that is, as a multifaceted, open and current legacy capable of responding to current issues or, in any case, raising questions or offering other views on the issues that concern us. As Matarasso explains, in the practice of community art, the premise is not only to create something good, but to collectively decide and agree on what ‘good’ means:

the purpose and standards of community art are integral to the meaning of the work and must be established and agreed by the people who make it. Finally, and as a direct consequence of the previous two statements, the processes, products and outcomes cannot be known in advance. […] Community art is not a score to be conducted. It is improvisation, like jazz. Its players agree themes and boundaries at the outset: after that, art emerges as they pay attention and respond to one another.^[13]

When the main resource to build this collective and open score is heritage, we need to understand (as explained in the chapter on exclusive versus inclusive heritage) the importance of rereading, adjusting and listening to the tangible and intangible heritage that we have inherited in order to nurture artistic work. While an exclusive or rigid view of heritage gives us little room for creativity and performance, the perspective of inclusive heritage, in contrast, facilitates imaginative processes, creativity and art and is an ideal tool for community art.

One of the first acts required for this to happen is to determine what type of heritage we want to work on or what is the most appropriate for starting a community artwork. If, for example, those involved live in the same neighbourhood, we can collectively investigate and share the different heritage in the area. As explained in the chapter on inclusive heritage, we can explore the assumed origins of this heritage to find the intersections, mixtures and complexities which forged this heritage element. Ultimately, we will come to an understanding of the way it speaks to us today and how we can use it in our discourse.

One example of this is found in some forms of community theatre, such as is found in the Bambara heritage in Mali. The Bamana have many variants of traditional community theatre called Koteba, whose semantic origin has been linked to the phrase ‘Ko te maaw minniw bali’ (those who can’t be stopped by anybody) or ‘Kote anw bali’ (nothing is impossible to us).^[14] When a modern group interested in community theatre wanted to work on social problems, they turned to the heritage of ‘koteba’ to combine entertainment and social harmonization, turning social problems into comedy, but also into tragedy:

Koteba constantly conveys the idea of individual-society interaction. The repertoire therefore includes scenes from everyday life as well as historical sketches, the aim being to highlight the value of the system of social relations. Koteba has to evoke both the virtues of man and his faults, the latter constituting a latent danger to society. Laughter and derision are used to express criticism and ideas that would be inconceivable in other circumstances.^[15]

Here, heritage (in this case, traditional theatrical technique) is used to elaborate current community work in an always fruitful dialogue between tradition and modernity, heritage and current affairs. It is important to note the central dimension of community work and participation in the entire creative process. In this way, the democratization of heritage, like the democratization of art, implies real and consensual participation that dilutes the barriers between professional and non-professional artist. As the late Ngugi wa Mirii, of the Zimbabwe Association of Community Theatre (ZACT), explained, this is one of the premises of community theatre in Africa that gathers the theatrical heritage of each region to generate current works: ‘The foreign approach to community theatre (where you show the work, talk to the people and leave) – I think it is an insult to the intelligence of the peasants and workers. Those who come from abroad assume that the community has no potential, no communication capacity and that it cannot think for itself’.^[16]

The Parapanda Theatre Lab (PTL), which is one of the leading groups in Tanzania that promotes of this type of theatre, explains what they do:

The process seeks out and analyses problems and offers community members the opportunity to find solutions through debate and consensus. The plays, performed by the same community, are based on the experiences and problems that affect them, such as gender, economics, politics, children’s rights, sexual health and HIV/AIDS, governance, environment or projects for teenagers who have dropped out.^[17]

This community involvement, as with many of the African performing traditions, encourages improvisation as a key element for those who wish to participate but do not have training in theatre. As Oga S. Abah explains: ‘The technique of improvisation democratises dramatic creation, and allows each person to contribute with her skills in the role she plays. Furthermore, the space where it occurs becomes a forum for debate’.^[18]

Thereby, the cultural heritage of the region – where oral and theatrical heritage is central to the entire community in being used to explain myths and legends while serving as a space to create cohesion and resolve conflict – remains a living source of inspiration to generate new community works.

Although the examples are located in a specific geographical context (Africa) and in a specific discipline (theatre), we can find examples of this same community urge to democratize art and heritage on other continents. One example is the Theatre of the Oppressed that began in Latin America and which is now gaining territory as a basic methodology for community involvement in many European contexts.

Community art – and heritage democratization through community art – is a formula that can be replicated anywhere and in all creative disciplines. To get started, all you need is the intention.

In recent decades, Europe has experienced a decline in religious teaching, although we should first ask to what extent this concerned teaching about religion in general terms (e.g. the history and foundations of various religions). In some European countries, religion in education was associated with indoctrination in the Christian religion. Today, we find privately run Christian centres that continue to offer such teaching, along with other private educational centres that offer religious training in a specific denomination. In this way, in Europe today, we find private educational centres for children and adults, which offer education, for example, in Catholic, Evangelical, Muslim or Buddhist traditions. The range of options, formats and quality of content is enormous and plural, from formal and traditional indoctrination to introductory courses. These centres may take cultural, therapeutic, pedagogical or artistic approaches, from the theological explanation of dogma to a psychological approach to meaning making. In this sense, any pedagogical practice in the religious sphere must be considered relevant today when discussing religion in the classroom, although a class on Catholic catechesis naturally differs greatly from one on Buddhist Vipassana meditation.

Today, an officially secular Europe is, at the same time, a multi-religious Europe, where diverse religious experiences coexist and collide. The classroom is one of the places where this difficult and complex management of religious diversity is intensely experienced. The Catalan theologian and anthropologist, Francesc Torradeflot, director of the AUDIR organization for interfaith dialogue, explains that:

in plural democratic societies the social function of religion no longer makes sense, unless by social function we understand the facilitation of spiritual experience. So it does make sense, but not when you want to play a role of power and control. The important thing about religions is that they help you to see and live the reality more fully and be happier, and we have found other forms, more inclusive and plural, of social cohesion thanks to democracies that, I hope, will be increasingly more participatory. That is why I believe that spirituality fits very well in such a society, because it generates more creative, innovative, free people, better able to cooperate and work as a team, to put themselves at the service of others because they are not so dominated by the ego.^[19]

Hans Küng, one of the most important theologians of our time, writes: ‘No religion—neither Judaism nor Christianity nor Islam (nor the religions of Indian and Chinese origin)—can be satisfied with the status quo in this time of upheaval. Everywhere there are amazingly parallel questions about a future renewal.’^[20] It is that search for common questions that makes Küng, in addition to his well-known criticism of Christianity, one of the figures who have most insisted on dialogue between religions in a way that goes beyond mere formality.

Although in recent decades in Europe there has been no direct opposition to interfaith dialogue – except in the most reactionary sectors – there are not so many who have delved into other beliefs with real interest and conviction – the conviction of finding a mirror in the other, of finding a truth in the other. That is why Küng argues that religious truth is impossible without personal truthfulness. Just as Judaism is not a unitary and rigid monolith, but a dynamic and complex entity that is constantly changing, neither are Christianity and Islam fixed and monolithic. Perceiving global responsibility means getting to know one’s own problems better in the mirror of others, and transmitting to others one’s experiences in order to solve conflicts within one’s own religion.

Küng’s stated aim is to develop an understanding of the heritage of religions as part of the human condition: ‘[…] religion is ambivalent. .In any religion, essence and form, the abiding and the changing, the good and the bad, saving and damning, essence and perversion are interwoven and can never clearly be separated by human beings, who are themselves deeply ambivalent.’^[21]

Küng’s pedagogical proposal is that one’s own religious heritage should be open to the rest of the world’s religions. Fidelity to one’s own religious belief (inward perspective) is not, he argues, incompatible with openness to other religious traditions (outward perspective). Only in this sense can we obtain necessary reciprocal information, engage in mutual discussion and, finally, realise mutual transformation. The ultimate goal of all our efforts cannot, then, be some kind of unified religion, but a true peace between religions.

Additionally, he states:

Faced with a deadly threat to all humankind, shouldn’t we demolish the walls of prejudice stone by stone and build bridges of dialogue, including bridges to Islam,rather than erect new barriers of hatred,vengeance and hostility? I am pleading neither for opposition to be swept under the carpet nor for a syncretistic mixing of religions. I am pleading for an honest approach and an attempt at understanding, based on mutual self-awareness, on objectivity and fairness, and on the knowledge of what separates and what unites.Is such an effort naïve, as pessimists and cynics in politics, business, science and journalism think? On the contrary, it is the only realistic alternative, if we are not to give up hope for a better world order altogether.^[22]

In the debate about how to teach religion or what type of pedagogy we should apply, we are faced with a trend that wants to appropriate heritage and petrify it, that is, make it exclusive and distinguished over and against another perspective that interprets and uses it in an inclusive way.

One example is French author Marie Balmary, psychoanalyst and exegete of the Bible, who has published numerous works. From Genesis to the story of Abraham, from the origins of the people of Israel to Jesus, her comments enrich and open us to new readings in an unexpected, liberating way. As she confesses, the invariability of the Scriptures is answered by the multiplicity of voices that, from generation to generation, narrate and converse thanks to these Scriptures:

I claim here Jewish freedom: as many interpretations for each verse as there were Hebrews on Sinai (600,000) […] If these texts constitute our memory, each itinerary, each human experience can visit them again. If they are truly our memory, they must contain what is necessary so that they can be read again until the end of time.^[23]

Nevertheless, she is aware that the Bible and its heritage ‘can become a liberator that enslaves, if we consider it so sacred that there is only room for repetition or pious worship. Repeated incessantly, or not even open, the Bible is reduced to silence, without interpretation’.^[24] Here, an extreme respect for the Book of Books ‘leaves the spirit unable to create a living reading, to find any new access, to personally appropriate its content’.^[25]

Balmary’s opinions on how to approach heritage and what elements have been silenced or ignored are very relevant to the religious question. She concludes that:

Psychoanalysis has taught me that the human spirit does not silence a memory for no reason. Have we repressed the Bible? Why? What was so dangerous about it? I thought, then, that after the experience of psychoanalysis, and with it, it would be interesting to read from this new awareness those Scriptures on which our civilization has been founded; and it would also be interesting to try to understand why our culture, which preserved them, seemed as if at the same time it wanted to hide them. […]

And further:

That the Bible is the most commented upon book also allows, in my opinion, that new things can always be found: where two, three or a hundred … have already spoken to say different things, the space is open to any word that does not receive the previous comments like an order to be silent, but as an invitation to speak as well.^[26]

As the Franco-Moroccan professor and author Rachid Benzine points out:

Analysing your beliefs is like scrutinising a reality that flows through your veins. Abandoning what you learnt during your childhood is an assault on your body, heart and mind. […] To talk about God is to reveal a part of oneself, a deeply intimate dimension. One can feel a sense of shame. This is one of the reasons why it is so difficult for the believer to accept criticism. For the latter risks destabilising what is most personal, most secret and most precious to them, in their understanding of themselves, but also of their relationship with the world and with others.

^[27]

Benzine believes that entering such a delicate field is an essential task and, as a professor at various French universities, it is one of his main missions. In his book, Le Coran expliqué aux jeunes, he collects numerous questions that his students ask about Islam and answers them from a perspective that implies knowing how to be critical of one’s own belief and heritage without having to deny them. Benzine argues that: ‘Criticism is not an act of disloyalty towards those who are religious. Nor is it a crime of lèse-majesté against the institutions, and even less an act of atheism.’ He adds:

Criticism does not prevent anyone from participating and adhering. One could even argue the opposite: it is precisely because there is room for criticism that participation can become real. True appropriation of a faith cannot consist of regurgitation or repetition of official discourse. Adherence to a faith requires personal reappropriation, which inevitably involves questioning, by looking back at the construction of the belief, and by discovering those centuries when the belief was still in its infancy before it became established.^[28]

As this Islamicist and political scientist assures us: ‘I have not sought to impose any ‘truths’ on my readers that are in opposition to or in competition with other ‘truths’. I have simply attempted to provide them with elements of knowledge that will enable them to explore and delve deeper into a Qur’anic Reality that will never cease to amaze us.’^[29] Benzine quotes the philosopher Jacques Derrida in claiming that it is necessary to remember that heritage does not solely consist in maintaining dead objects or archives, but that every heir to heritage has the responsibility to act with ‘unfaithful fidelity’ (infidèle fidélité), conscious of his own beliefs, without this implying the total rejection of that which is inherited.^[30]