During the 20th Century, Latin America became a battleground for clashes between leftwing and rightwing ideologies; it was a microcosm of the larger, contemporaneous struggle which engulfed the world as global powers tried their hands at influencing the region’s politics. Moving forward into the 21st Century, the effects of these clashes and of the older era of colonization are palpable as their memories are kept alive and well. Movements such as the Socialist Pink Tide continue to gain traction such as with the victory of the Leftist Andrés Manuel Lopez Obrador in Mexico’s presidential election and the ensuring popularity of Socialist Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva in Brazil despite accusations of corruption. On the other hand, such leftist movements have met fierce reaction from actors like Peru’s brutal anti-communist Alberto Fujimori, who served as president from 1990 to 2000, Brazil’s far-right presidential candidate Jair Bolsonaro, and historically, the American Government. As anyone can see, Latin America’s politics are as fiery as their cuisine.
In 2018, the Museum of Anthropology on the University of British Columbia’s campus hosted an exhibit showcasing art born from these political struggles, entitled “Arts of Resistance”, which I visited with friends for a project in my ASTU class with the class topic of individual and collective memory in mind. Before going to the exhibit, I honestly expected much of the artwork to take on a pro-US, pro western stance due to the negative portrayal of Latin America’s anti-US socialists like Venezuela’s Nicolás Maduro, Cuba’s Castro Brothers, or Bolivia’s Evo Morales. Adding to that, the exhibit was hosted at a university in a western country closely allied with the United States. Perhaps it was my own personal biases but I had few reasons to believe that it would criticize western influence in Latin America. And I was wrong.
One of the most striking artworks which I encountered was a mural which depicted US onslaught against Peruvian farmers and peasants. This is the main artwork I will focus on for today. Perhaps the surprising aspect of the artwork was depicting that it was not just oppression at the hands of US soldiers but also at the hands of the Peruvian government, leading me to believe that the event depicted President Fujimori’s US-backed repression of the communist group, Shining Path which claimed 69,280 lives according to a post-Fujimori presidential commission. Seeing as the work was created in 2018, it is likely that the work was the manifestation of a memory of these events.
While I already saw this justification as a farce, this exhibition furthered my distrust of the American government and its claim as a protector of democracy. The Museum’s website explains that “communities in Latin America use traditional or historical art forms to express contemporary political realities”. In this case, the traditional artwork is mural and such a reality is that the United States contributes to and in many cases causes the socio-economic shortcomings experienced by Latin America’s lower classes, therefore constructing knowledge not usually accessible through Western Media.
Also, the artwork depicted the oppressed rallying behind communist guerrillas. While I had my own favourable biases towards these communist guerrillas, a part of me believed in claims made by the Western Media that these more radical leftist groups were unpopular with Latin America’s masses, usually drawing again to Venezuela as an example. However, the artwork made me question this narrative and whether or not Western media is as objective as its reputation claimed it to be as the artwork shows the political realities as contrary by depicting popular support for these groups.
The artwork also spoke to me on a personal level. My Uncle on my Mother’s side was part of a communist guerrilla in the Philippines and was tortured by forces loyal to the US-backed dictator, Ferdinand Marcos, while my Father and Grandfather had been a member of the Soviet Red Army, the largest communist force at its hight.
The whole experience made me recall the class topic of memory. In terms of the personal relation, it made me wonder whether my resentment of the US government was based at least partially on collective familial memory, that it was based on the fact that various family members of mine had been been part of anti-American military groups. I wondered and reflected on whether their memories of being part of these groups had been passed on to me to become a lens at which I first saw the United States.
In terms of the artwork itself, I wondered whether much of Latin America’s own resentment of the US derived from their memory of centuries of imperialist domination. First at the hands of Spain and Portugal (and to a smaller extent, France, the UK, and Germany), Latin America fell under the US’s weight soon after securing independence due to the adoption of the Monroe Doctrine in 1823. While the Doctrine was evoked more in the later part of the 19th century, it was nonetheless used as a justification for US incursions against their neighbours’ sovereignty. These made me believe that the Latin American art my friends and I saw was a means to protest and escape the political reality of foreign hegemony which plagues the region to this day by depicting it outright in a simple form, a mural.
This also drew me to a film that we watched in class called Stories We Tell directed by actress Sarah Polley. One of the main premises of the film was that personalities are but performance to other people which can differ depending on the situation. I contemplated whether on not this may be true for nations as well, that their actions may be situation based performances; the US may act as a defender of rights and democracy towards some countries such as NATO allies or rivals Russia and China as a way to gain political clout, but also behaves based on its imperial hubris towards countries it deems inferior or part of its own back yard, in this case Latin American nations.
Another, even more saddening artwork was a similar piece, this time set in El Salvador. What was most jarring about it was the fact that it was actually a drawing done by a child depicted US soldiers destroying a village and murdering the author’s compatriots. By using simplistic drawings of soldiers and blood, the artwork constructs knowledge that the American incursion in El Salvador was unethical as it caused children to be exposed to events unsuitable for a child. This is further emphasized the the use of crayon, highlighting a sense of innocence in the drawing. This begs the question: is it events like these which shape a national memory of distrust for nations or political entities? I definitely believe so.
Other important artworks were the various traditional Mayan tunics my friends and I were greeted proudly by upon entering the exhibition. One of the most immediate questions which came to my mind was whether or not it was ethical to transport these tunics out of Central America. I recalled that Britain did something similar by transporting treasures to the UK stolen from foreign lands through imperial conquests. I wondered whether this may enforce colonialist ideas about groups deemed as “others” by transporting them away from their homeland and studying them in an almost condescending manner.
This changed slightly, however. During class it was mentioned by our teacher, Professor Luger, that they were purchased and that the curator acquired them as ethically as she could. However, I was still left wondering on whether or not it is ever ethical to remove valued cultural artifacts from their homeland as it is a colonialistic action.
The experience at the museum was a very reflective experience on the political instability of colonization and hegemony, the scars they left behind on their victims’ memories, and how these memories affect their views and actions today. While much of what I talked about in today’s posted is focused on Latin America and her colonizers, I believe these ideas may be extrapolated to other communities with similar power relations as multiple communities have similar memories of imperial domination.
Until next time,
Aleksei Zhukov