Museums: Start Speaking Up
We know museums aren’t neutral — why are they so afraid to have an opinion?
Black Lives Matter protests worldwide. Out of control police brutality. Covid-19. The rise of radical, right-wing, anti-humanist and fascist governments in countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, and Brazil. Brexit. Climate change. The utter failure of capitalism.
It’s 3 June 2020, and I am a White man who runs an independent museum. What the hell am I supposed to do about all of this?
Do I post a black square on my museum’s Instagram? Am I using the right hashtags? Am I saying the right thing? Am I an ally? Am I complicit? Merely by being involved with a museum — institutions that were born out of the Enlightenment era’s embrace of colonialist power — doesn’t that mean I support the history of colonialism? Why else would I choose to carry on the museum tradition?
Well, I didn’t post a black square on my museum’s Instagram yesterday (though, full disclosure, I did post one on my personal account). Rather than join the chorus of museums releasing much agonised-over statements of vague ‘support’ approved by a board of directors, I decided to continue business as usual — but one of my museum’s social media posts that day did contain a strategically placed Museums Are Not Neutral t-shirt.
Rather than stepping onto every single social media cause’s bandwagon, it’s my belief that our everyday actions as museum professionals must actually embody the change those causes seek. Beyond the correct hashtag, we should be striving every day to not only tell stories that amplify diverse contributions to culture, but to also use our institutional ‘power’ — whatever that may be — to support causes beyond just using proper hashtags that all the cool museums are using.
At the root of nearly every problem currently faced by museums is capitalism: do we have enough money in the budget for that? Who should we accept sponsorship from? Can we do more fundraising? It always ends up being about the money, and the money is used as the excuse for every time we cut a corner, every time we don’t upgrade that still-kinda-racist vitrine or object label. Institutions like the British Museum accept funding from an oil company because they claim they are using ‘bad’ money to do ‘good’. But are they really? Are they using that corporate money to pay their employees a living wage? Are they giving any of that corporate money to Black Lives Matter or Amnesty International? Sure, they invest the money into bigger and better blockbuster exhibits (no matter how ironically inappropriate the subject matter)— but what else could they shift that ‘bad’ money to? If their hands are tied financially and they can’t shift money directly to a cause, what else can museums do?
Those of us who choose (or, perhaps more appropriately, luck into) a role within the museum profession in the twenty-first century must assume responsibility for the problematic history of museums.
As a White man who decided to open an independent museum in 2015, I (at least partially) knew what I was getting myself into. I knew that I was creating an institution whose predecessors don’t just have a hugely problematic history, they practically embody and continue to perpetuate that history through their very form: choosing what is ‘important’ in the world and putting it on display. Museums are about power — the power to collect, the power to decide, the power to display, the power to determine what is not only important, but also what is beautiful. That is a massive amount of power, a vast responsibility.
Those of us who choose (or, perhaps more appropriately, luck into) a role within the museum profession in the twenty-first century must assume responsibility for the problematic history of museums. We need not assume blame — those sins have already been committed — but we must assume the responsibility to do everything we can to atone for them, to change museums into institutions that not only regret the past, but also improve the present and future. By their very existence, museums take a stand; they exist to declare certain things to be important. They should not only preserve the past for the future; they must also engage with the moral issues of the present.
Through my work for my own museum, the Museum of Portable Sound, I try to raise awareness about sound’s place in cultural history. I try to encourage my museum’s audience to listen — not just to the sounds in my museum, but to previously unheard voices. I strive to use my museum to tell stories about more than just White male aristocrats. Although my museum operates on a shoestring budget and I have no other source of income at the moment, I make a small donation to Amnesty International every month. I do my best to use my institution’s voice to comment on injustices and inequalities, to encourage its audience to not just listen but to also speak up for those who are unable. Quite obviously, I can do much, much better than I already do — after all, I’m only human. But as a museum professional, I have accepted a duty of care — not just to my institution’s collections, but also to the world my institution exists within, here, now, at the present moment. I have accepted the responsibility for my museum to have — and to express — opinions.
Museums are human institutions — by, about, and for humanity. If they are not allowed to have a human voice of their own, then what good are they?
For years now within the museum profession, various movements have tried to encourage museums to listen to their audiences. After all, museums have spent centuries telling audiences what (and who) is important, so it was long overdue for museums to finally start listening. Listening is also the foundation for my own museum. But listening without hearing, without conversation, is just meaningless and one-sided. Museums hide behind a veil of neutrality, believing themselves to be somehow magically detached and objective about the world. But we all know now that museums, as the saying goes, are not neutral. Therefore, they shouldn’t try to speak as if they are.
Museums are human institutions — by, about, and for humanity. If they are not allowed to have a human voice of their own, then what good are they?
