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But We Will Not Give Up The Categories! (De) Valuing The Categories in South Asian Performance Traditions
But We Will Not Give Up The Categories! (De) Valuing The Categories in South Asian Performance Traditions
But We Will Not Give Up The Categories! (De) Valuing The Categories in South Asian Performance Traditions
(De)valuing the
Categories in South Asian Performance Traditions” Global Performance Studies, vol.
5, nos. 1-2, 2022, https://doi.org/10.33303/gpsv5n1-2a112
Introduction
This article aims to offer a critique of the existing categories widely used in the
nascent field of Theater and Performance Studies in India and the larger field of
study of cultural performances in South Asia. In most cases, scholars working in
Indian and South Asian contexts continue to use the categories of dance, music,
and theater while also considering divisions based on modern, traditional, and
contemporary grounds. It is possible to extend this list further to include the
categories of rural and urban, sacred and secular, ritual and theater, textual and
oral, and so on. These categories become so normative in their values that all rural
communities-based performances necessarily become “traditional” and “ritualistic,”
and urban performances “secular” and “modern.” This classification immediately
creates a spatial and temporal hierarchy; indigenous performances are discussed
using the discourse of ritual and community studies, and urban elite and middle-
class performances from the perspective of colonialism, democracy, and
citizenship. I analyze the values enshrined in some of these categories and
investigate how they continue to perpetuate hierarchical values in terms of
aesthetic and cultural taste. Several such categories have colonial legacies but
continue to define the works of postcolonial and decolonial scholars.
I believe that devaluing these categories would be one step toward decolonizing
existing discourses. While past postcolonial analyses have raised these problems,
they did not seem interested in disrupting these underlying categories. This
perpetuation is also associated with the effects of language and the limits of
translation, which attempt to find categories similar to indigenous practices in
Euro-American performance traditions. Analytical categories are informed by the
dominance of the English language on the one hand and the Brahminical-
influenced Sanskrit, Hindi, and other regional languages of the native elites on the
other.[1] The problem also relates to the reasons behind the failure of decolonial
discourses to make a similar impact in their home countries, which have instead
largely become part of diasporic discourses, with what G.N. Saibaba describes as a
“conflated idea of Indianness as a style, a diction, a theme, a worldview” (64). More
dangerously, there has been a surge in the right-wing appropriation of the rhetoric
of decolonization in India. This can be described as reverse decolonization and
consolidates the discourse of cultural nationalism, or the idea of “Indianness”
through majoritarian ethnocentricism.[2]
Against this background, and drawing on the works of Walter Mignolo, this essay
asks what an “epistemic reconstitution” should be based on in the case of Indian
and South Asian performance culture. Using the performance works of Kabir Kala
Manch and Samta Kala Manch (two cultural organizations based in the Indian state
of Maharashtra), I discuss the problems with decolonial discourse in India and
South Asian studies. I assess the blind spots of these categories that reproduce the
hierarchies described above. Adopting a Fanonian approach and drawing on my
previous works, I discuss the “4D model of decolonization” in the following ways.
First, decolonization by rejecting the supremacy of the Western model of theater,
performance, and aesthetic categories at the level of denaturalizing these
categories. Second, decolonization through de-brahmanization, taking Brahminism
and the caste system as a structure of internal colonialization seriously. Third,
decolonization through the de-elitization of cultural institutions, language, and
artists to break the aesthetic hold of the nationalist bourgeois. Fourth,
decolonization through the democratization and diversification of art and cultural
practices (Prakash, Cultural labour 249).
To begin with, I seek to lay out the hierarchies and exclusions of existing categories
in relation to the policies and funding of postcolonial institutions, university
departments, and scholarly engagements. Although I discuss this problem with
regard to the categories of dance, music, and theater, the problem pervades artistic
genres, including the division based on arts and crafts in India.
Naming and categorization are some basic criteria through which others are pushed
aside. Institutional claims such as your movements are not dance; your rituals are
not theater; yours is song, not poetry, become the usual rhetoric through which
artistic and cultural activities are disseminated and dismissed. Royona Mitra has
raised this problem of categorization in relation to the label of “kathak” used by the
British Bangladeshi dancer Akram Khan. She argues that “Khan’s kathak becomes
contemporary only when it comes into contact with his western dance training” (32).
Similarly, cultural institutions create a framework in which only individual artists or
those trained in “legitimate” institutions are recognized as dancers, musicians and
theater makers, in a society where marginalized sections remain uneducated. In
this regard, Anna Morcom has critiqued genre as a frame for research in the south
Asian context, arguing that genre-based classification is leading to classicization of
Hindustani music. Instead of this genre-based classification, she advocates
emphasis on the “immersion in performing” and the use of “performance
methodology” in research (472). Morcom’s reference is classical Hindustani music,
where genre becomes the basis of selection. In folk forms and popular cultural
performances, genres remain important, but they tend to crossover and maintain
more organic links in comparison to the categories and genres borrowed from
Western categories such as dance, music, and theatre. The same challenges also
come to the fore in the community-centric production of art and culture, where the
role of the individual is accentuated.
Let me start with a plain provocation that decoloniality in Indian and South Asian
Studies is a discourse of the diasporas. It is the discourse engaged with by
privileged, upper-caste scholars trying to escape India’s social reality of caste, class,
gender, and other hierarchies. One hardly finds Dalit-Bahujan, indigenous, minority,
or Marxist scholars engaging to the same extent with the discourses of
postcolonialism or decoloniality. There are significant reasons behind this
discomfort with the current decolonial scholarship, as it has also led to an
immobilizing ideology. As described above, conservative right-wing forces have also
appropriated the rhetoric of decolonization. For example, Rakesh Sinha, an
ideologue of the Hindu right wing, used the well-known phrase “decolonizing the
mind” to justify the ethnocentric Hindutva project (see Sinha).
Furthermore, as Jangam writes, caste “has been an experiential social reality in the
Indian subcontinent for centuries which not only defined the social existence of
millions of people into caste groups but also drew boundaries of accessibility to
political power and material wealth while defining their mentalities” (65). He
further elaborates that the very construction of “the elite,” “the subaltern,” and “the
native” is used as a modernist perspective that overlooks premodern inherited
privileges (65). Caste maintains and sanctions these privileges, thereby rendering
the categorization incomplete as well as skewed. Regarding the intervention of
subaltern studies, scholars have pointed out the fundamental flaws associated with
the failure to recognize caste as a category in the Indian context (see Chandr;
Jangam). Shiasta Patel’s remarks summarize the problem:
In other words, in Indian and South Asian contexts, the decolonial perspective itself
needs to be decolonized in the first place. The decolonial project must be
committed to the transformative politics enshrined in it; otherwise, this decolonial
discourse reinforces the hierarchies of knowledge. There is an inherent danger that
the decolonial project may become a networking platform for white scholars and
native upper-caste elites, universalizing the interests and experiences of the Indian
upper castes as the Indian and South Asian experience. This problem has already
been discussed in the African and Latin American contexts. Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui
has criticized scholars who are now in positions of power both at home and abroad
for “building a small empire within an empire” and “strategically appropriating” the
contributions of local and native scholars for their own economic and professional
gain without meaningful dialogue with their counterparts. Thus, they create new
canons in their ivory Global North universities, establishing new hierarchies and
gurus. Rather than the “geopolitics of knowledge,” Cusicanqui discusses the
“political economy” of knowledge” that is “not only an economy of ideas, but it is
also an economy of salaries, perks, and privileges that certifies value through the
granting of diplomas, scholarships, and master’s degrees and teaching and
publishing opportunities” (103). She remains critical of the multiculturalism of
Mignolo and other scholars who, in her view, “neutralize the practices of
decolonization” by using the concept in limited ways (103). While questions of
diversity and inclusivity in the context of the university institutions are important,
they also tend to conceal the hierarchies that exist within them. Gopal succinctly
demonstrates this concern:
The decolonizing project of theater, dance, and performance studies in India and
South Asia has yet to locate its sites of colonization. It needs to start from the
movement of decolonizing itself. It first needs to ask the fundamental questions
beyond the rhetoric Thiong’o (1986) posed in the African context: “What literature,
what art, what culture, what values? For whom, for what?” (106). Facing these
challenges of the decolonial categories, Bala underlines that the porous
boundaries between theater and performance, and the contexts in which they
emerge, prompt us to question what the university’s decolonization implies for the
field of theater and performance studies (334). She asks us to consider viewing this
hierarchy in relation to what is included and excluded. What is the basis of this
exclusion and inclusion, if not the economy of knowledge and what she terms as
“epistemic privileges” of the Global North? The logic remains the same regarding
universities and institutions in South Asia. Whose plays are written, who has been
part of the state and global funding, and so on?[4] A decolonial perspective must be
found outside the nation and state institutions and, instead, located within the
languages of struggle and culture of resistance. In the next section, I think through
the works of Kabir Kala Manch and Samta Kala Manch, two activist performance
groups from the Indian state of Maharashtra, to suggest that the existing categories
not only create obstacles, but also do not lead to any radical interventions in the
field.
07:00
Forbidden Notes: Documentary film about arrests of Kabir Kala Manch Members. A film by Sonam
Singh, reproduced with permission.
Kabir Kala Manch (KKM) and Samta Kala Manch (SKM) sing and perform the song
“Jhopadpatti” in the Indian state of Maharashtra in various formats. They perform it
as a song, enact it as a theatrical piece, and use it as part of movements. The
cultural groups offer an interesting model of decolonization. KKM was formed after
the genocidal attacks on Muslim minorities in Gujarat in 2002 to engender political
consciousness among those from marginalized communities. The organizations
comprise theater artists, musicians, singers, writers, students, and activists, and the
singers and performers of KKM and SKM often collaborate and perform together on
various issues. They primarily come from the laboring caste social background. In
their decolonizing project, the organizations engage with the questions of class,
caste, gender, imperialism, language, and other issues of oppression that larger
decolonial scholarships tend to miss. Their primary works remain focused on anti-
caste and anti-imperialist agendas and fit within what Banerji and Mitra term the
“undoing of imperialist episteme” (22).
Both KKM and SKM practice ethnography as well as theater. Like trained
ethnographers, they go to a locality, listen to the problems of the inhabitants, and
take notes of those problems. They create songs, stories, and dances for the
communities based on their observations. They identify themselves as anti-caste
activists, feminists, Marxists, and humanitarians who draw their power from the
laboring body and words. They are flexible with their forms and approaches. The
group sings, dances, and participates in educational training, they bring their issues
to the local government authority, and they organize protest music and
performances. They sing folk and urban songs, moving between rural and urban
spaces. They attempt to bridge the gaps that exist between rural and urban,
language and metalanguage. Through the work of these activist, cultural
organizations, I believe that we can critically perceive the politics of decolonization
in Indian and South Asian Studies, expanding the idea of decolonization, which
remains nation-centric. Consequently, decolonization acquires a more profound
meaning when democratizing processes are at the center, as in the case of the
practices of KKM and SKM.
In a short span of time, both KKM (from 2002) and SKM (from 2007) have made a
crucial intervention in language, culture, and political mobilization in the Marathi-
speaking region in India and beyond. The KKM came to prominence after Indian
filmmaker Anand Patwardhan featured some of their songs and performance in his
documentary Jai Bhim Comrade in 2011. Owing to their radical decolonizing works,
they were soon perceived as a threat to state authorities and have faced constant
harassment. As the organization grew in popularity in the region, the state charged
the activities of KKM under the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act (UAPA). In 2013
and subsequent years, the state has continued to arrest many of KKM’s members,
and three remain imprisoned on anti-national activities charges, while artists from
SKM have been termed “official offender” by the authorities (see The Hindu;
Haygunde).
The performance begins as both groups walk together onto a makeshift stage. KKM
members are dressed in red kurta and white payjama, and SKM wear blue kurta and
blue payjama. Suvarna Salve from SKM takes the microphone and speaks about the
ongoing atrocities on Dalits and the nature of unequal Indian societies before they
break into song. Two young women jump from two sides and perform various
pieces mixing song, dance, theater, and comedic skits, blurring the categories of
genres and formats. They march with the protestors, distribute leaflets, and quote
passages from the Indian Constitution and anti-caste literature, much like activists
would do. However, in between, they also improvise songs and compose music that
addresses their new audience and emerging situations. One member sings while
others perform the chorus; alternatively, many take the front microphone. They use
the local dance forms of baalya of the Adivasi (indigenous) community and tarpa
from the local region accompanied by duff, harmonium, and ghunghuru (anklets).
Sometimes musicians take the lead, or they are accompanied by singers and
dancers. The performers keep tuning their bodies to the beat of dafali (hand
drums).
They stop at a corner of the stage where they see a small crowd, intervening and
inviting them to join their performance. They stop and perform a short theatrical
piece and move ahead with songs and slogans. They describe stories of empathy,
compassion, heroism, historic failure, and tragedy, depicting their anger,
compassion, love, and vulnerability. They suddenly break into satire before
returning to seriousness. The groups sing in Marathi, Hindi, and other languages to
reach their respective audiences. They break the defined genres of theater, dance,
and music. They move from oral to print, print to oral, and oral to digital means,
reading song scripts from their smartphones. The performers keep switching from
revolutionary songs to the songs and contents of the everyday struggle of the
oppressed communities. Their audiences are the working class, middle class,
students, and intellectuals. It is difficult to categorize the group either as a
conventional theater group or as a group of singers, dancers, and musicians.
How do we situate the performances of KKM and SKM in relation to dance, theater,
and music studies discourse? Are they doing theater, dance, music, or performance?
How do we place their performances under the rubrics of traditional, contemporary,
and modern, or in relation to rural and urban? As I have indicated, they participate
in stage and street performances and perform folk songs in urban spaces. The KKM
and SKM turn slogans into songs and songs into slogans, switching between orality
and textuality and between song, music, performance, and speeches. They perform
on the historical site of Bhima Koregaon and Diksha Bhoomi, as well as on live
television. Furthermore, their performances break the division between genres,
space, text, and performances. While colonial frameworks insist on these divisions,
the boundaries of the categories blur. This blurring allows these cultural activists to
articulate their performances, making dialogue possible. They create “the
possibilities of bringing the humanities and cultural practices together” (Prakash,
Performers meet the Humanities 25). The problem I am outlining is not only a
problem associated with KKM and SKM, as these shifting genres, spaces, and fluidity
of forms have been part of most performance practices in India. Radical performers
move through the channels created by the blurring of these categories to find a
wider audience and maintain their own survival.
Rather than attempting to impose divisions based on theater, music and dance, if
we use terms such as lila or attam (play), kuttu or naach (dance theater), or gana
(song-music-dance) and gatha and katha (storytelling) traditions, then the
categories are more relevant to the cultures in which these practices are rooted.
However, such nativist and vernacular categories have their own problems; for
instance, they tend to become too parochial and particular and thus can evade
theorization. This can lead to another problematic outcome whereby local and
vernacular are further stereotyped. In this case, the challenge would be to
understand local categories as universal ones or at least as categories that are
possible to generalize for theoretical purposes. Thiong’o (1993) would argue that
“the universal is contained in the particular just as the particular is contained in
the universal.” He provides the example of language “as a universal human
phenomenon not in its abstract universality but in its particularity as the different
languages of the earth” (26). Thiong’o’s observation presents interesting
methodological frameworks in relation to regional cultural and performance
traditions in India. For example, if South Indian languages use atta or attam to
denote specific kinds of devotional performance, then northern Indian ones uses
an equivalent term (lila) to indicate similar types of performances. The problems
arise when approaching translation into English, which may not have the equivalent
category or the sphere of belief in which one performance and aesthetic practice
operates.
Similarly, one would need to take a different approach to textuality and orality,
which do not necessarily function in the same way in South Asian contexts as in the
Euro-American context. Recitation traditions in South Asia complicate this binary
understanding of orality and textuality, undermining the role of the text and
narratives in many South Asian performances. Essentializing orality dismisses the
role and scope of text in performance and discredits the significance of the body,
space, and material culture. For example, Stuart Blackburn’s study of bow song
illustrates the significant role of text and narrative in folk performance. He believes
that “no approach can afford to downplay the narrative force” in folk performance
(xvii). Blackburn’s “total incorporation of context into the text” (148–149) reiterates
the vitality of text in performance. Moreover, one also must understand this
relationship in other ways, to consider the extent to which performance propels
and interprets a text depending on the time, space, and communities in which it
occurs. A more nuanced analysis than Blackburn’s would also need to recognize
how the texts of bow songs are different from the canonical and textual narrative of
the elite culture found in the shastras. Narayan Rao accurately notes that, despite
being oral, “the puranas have a literary quality so that their orality is different from
that of folk narratives” (95). In this regard, one must differentiate between the
recitation of the text and the singing of a text—that is, thinking this relationship
beyond the binarism of textuality and orality.
While the study of cultural performances based on categorization into dance,
theater, and music, or into sacred and secular, is too narrow and
compartmentalized, the approaches based on performance studies become too
broad, undermining cultural specificities. Performance studies, with its wide
spectrum, have provided a new opening to see the creative expressions in dialogue;
however, it becomes so unspecific that it tends to undermine the specific
formations and analysis of the body and materials embodied in particular cultural
practices. The approach often becomes ahistorical as well as an oversimplification
of performance as embodied knowledge. Here, I am suggesting to bring global and
vernacular categories in a dialogue and seamlessly moving between them without
atomizing the field —the field itself is inherently organized through its cracks and
networks.
That being said, this does not mean that we do not require categories at all. South
Asian performance studies needs to identify the fundamental problems and
categories in the field for a specific cultural context. One of the interesting ways in
which South Asian performance studies can challenge and reshape themselves is
by emphasizing the border, margin, and transition. As local traditional
performances are mobilized and radically constituted to address new challenges, it
is becoming difficult to make such obvious distinctions between traditional,
modern, and contemporary, as well as between ritual and secular. The works of KKM
and SKM, and community-based performances in general, do not fit into these
categories.
Conclusion
Notes
[1] They also include specific usages of Indian languages such as Sanskrit-
influenced Hindi and Malayalam.
[2] Self-proclaimed decolonial scholars J. Sai Deepak and Rakesh Sinha represent
this new trend.
[3] It would be difficult to determine the first use of the term “colony” to describe
settlements in India. However, from all accounts, we can say that it came into
existence during the colonial period. In some of the first instances, the term was
used for residences allotted to accommodate railway workers. Later, the term
“colony” was widely used for all other settlements, such as those of workers,
professors, and officers, as well as the caste-based colony, usually for the
settlements based on the same class of professionals. The term also reinforced the
existing settlements based on caste division in India.
[4] Extending Bala’s question, one must also ask why Indian and South Asian
scholarship recognizes the works of artists and directors people who worked with
national cultural institutions such as National School of Drama and not the works
of Kabir Kala Manch, Samta Kala Manch, and the marginalized artists who remain at
the forefront of fighting authoritarianism and decolonizing knowledge.
[5] The “Jhopadpatti” song is written and composed by the artists of Kabir Kala
Manch and translated by the author from Hindi to English.
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