The Forgotten Art of Discourse
In October of 2014, The Metropolitan Opera in New York City staged a 1991 opera entitled The Death of Klinghoffer, which explores the murder of Leon Klinghoffer, a Jewish passenger in a wheelchair who was killed during the 1985 hijacking of the cruise ship Achille Lauro by members of the Palestine Liberation Front. The critically acclaimed work has been staged globally to little controversy, yet, in one of the most culturally sophisticated cities in the world, the shit hit the fan.
Many people wanted the opera cancelled. According to a New York Times article, “one protester labeled the baritone a fascist. Another called for the set to be burned to the ground.” Peter Gelb, the Mets general manager, received death threats. Abraham Foxman, director of the Anti-defamation League, a prominent Jewish organization, praised the Met and felt the opera was not anti-Semitic. He received vitriolic emails, one labeling him a “kapo,” an insult referring to a Jewish inmate who oversaw fellow Jews in concentration camps. Protests occurred opening night– most of the people picketing had not even seen the opera. Disgusted by all the drama I stopped paying attention.
The histrionics around the Met affair reminded me of the 1996 work of Polish artist Zbigniew Libera, whose LEGO Concentration Camp set was exhibited in 2002 by the Jewish Museum of New York City in a show entitled Mirroring Evil: Nazi Imagery/Recent Art. Given that the exhibit occurred before the omnipresence of social media, it still received a great deal of press and was viewed as highly controversial. The art was shown, some people loved it, many hated it, screamed bloody hell about it, and nobody died. I repeat, NOBODY DIED! There was a heated debate and then it was over. At the time I personally felt that Libera's work was
immensely thought provoking. I still do. He challenged taboo subject matter and pushed boundaries as far as he could. What’s not to love?
But it seems that the era of “we’ll agree to disagree” is over. I feel the hypersensitivity around the opera metaphorically represents a growing inability within our society to tolerate differing points of view or a deep exploration of ideas. There’s indignation, a new type of oxygen that feeds into a reactivity that makes discourse too scary, where many of us second-guess everything we say for fear of offending someone. Our present culture has lost sense of what dialogue means and art is what is needed to light the way to rediscovery.
The purpose of art is not to identify right or wrong. Art honors difference by embracing terror, cruelty, and despair.
Art helps us to make meaning of why we exist. As Terry Gross, host of NPR's Fresh Air, eloquently stated in an interview, "...art helps with the personal, the societal, all the things that trouble us, all the things we’re ashamed by and don’t want to, or can’t talk about." And because art doesn’t tell us how to think or feel, there’s space to observe what scares us if we dare to take a look. Someone once told me that we must turn toward our fears and lean into the crap in order to break free of them. Perhaps then we can create a new perspective, a different type of conversation, one that leads to harmony, acceptance, and healing. The only way to find out is to talk and listen to one another openly and honestly. We need art to help us with our journey along the path of the human condition because it provides a means to speak our truths and is the doorway to the singular component vital to our very existence—freedom.
In October of 2014, The Metropolitan Opera in New York City staged a 1991 opera entitled The Death of Klinghoffer, which explores the murder of Leon Klinghoffer, a Jewish passenger in a wheelchair who was killed during the 1985 hijacking of the cruise ship Achille Lauro by members of the Palestine Liberation Front. The critically acclaimed work has been staged globally to little controversy, yet, in one of the most culturally sophisticated cities in the world, the shit hit the fan.
Many people wanted the opera cancelled. According to a New York Times article, “one protester labeled the baritone a fascist. Another called for the set to be burned to the ground.” Peter Gelb, the Mets general manager, received death threats. Abraham Foxman, director of the Anti-defamation League, a prominent Jewish organization, praised the Met and felt the opera was not anti-Semitic. He received vitriolic emails, one labeling him a “kapo,” an insult referring to a Jewish inmate who oversaw fellow Jews in concentration camps. Protests occurred opening night– most of the people picketing had not even seen the opera. Disgusted by all the drama I stopped paying attention.
The histrionics around the Met affair reminded me of the 1996 work of Polish artist Zbigniew Libera, whose LEGO Concentration Camp set was exhibited in 2002 by the Jewish Museum of New York City in a show entitled Mirroring Evil: Nazi Imagery/Recent Art. Given that the exhibit occurred before the omnipresence of social media, it still received a great deal of press and was viewed as highly controversial. The art was shown, some people loved it, many hated it, screamed bloody hell about it, and nobody died. I repeat, NOBODY DIED! There was a heated debate and then it was over. At the time I personally felt that Libera's work was
immensely thought provoking. I still do. He challenged taboo subject matter and pushed boundaries as far as he could. What’s not to love?
But it seems that the era of “we’ll agree to disagree” is over. I feel the hypersensitivity around the opera metaphorically represents a growing inability within our society to tolerate differing points of view or a deep exploration of ideas. There’s indignation, a new type of oxygen that feeds into a reactivity that makes discourse too scary, where many of us second-guess everything we say for fear of offending someone. Our present culture has lost sense of what dialogue means and art is what is needed to light the way to rediscovery.
The purpose of art is not to identify right or wrong. Art honors difference by embracing terror, cruelty, and despair.
Art helps us to make meaning of why we exist. As Terry Gross, host of NPR's Fresh Air, eloquently stated in an interview, "...art helps with the personal, the societal, all the things that trouble us, all the things we’re ashamed by and don’t want to, or can’t talk about." And because art doesn’t tell us how to think or feel, there’s space to observe what scares us if we dare to take a look. Someone once told me that we must turn toward our fears and lean into the crap in order to break free of them. Perhaps then we can create a new perspective, a different type of conversation, one that leads to harmony, acceptance, and healing. The only way to find out is to talk and listen to one another openly and honestly. We need art to help us with our journey along the path of the human condition because it provides a means to speak our truths and is the doorway to the singular component vital to our very existence—freedom.
