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CULTURAL TRANSFORMATION: NEW MODES OF STAGNATION
Maksim Zhbankov
Summary
The post-electoral splash of cultural protest activity turned out to be chaotic, short-lived, and failed to develop into a coherent ideological confrontation. Immediately after the elections, it became blatantly obvious that the Belarusian cultural field was in a stalemate situation: the regime had survived, servile culture was dead, but partisan culture was incapable of winning. With the authoritarian system focused mainly on self-preservation, creative culture has been reduced to a limited set of tactical manoeuvres, particularly cultural collaborationism and cultural emigration. Creative culture now exists on the margins of an inert mainstream which includes occasional alternative projects devoid of any growth stimuli.
In the absence of any real movement up on the "higher levels" of culture, it is only natural that more intensive cultural expansion is occurring among Belarus' more dynamic neighbours, and that lower-level trends are developing - amateur styles multiplying in the professional field.
Trends:
• The continued devaluation of "state" and "protest" cultural resources has preconditioned the appearance of a new mainstream - a series of products with emasculated ideological messages, mediocre style, and ambiguous cultural identity;
• Due to the cultural environment, which is still mostly inert, borderline cultural initiatives are becoming more active. These are marginal projects (from the standpoint of Belarusian pro-state culture's usual priorities) that have developed thanks to foreign stimuli;
• The lack of improvements in the cultural situation, as well as the country's unchanged status as a European outcast, are leading to an aggravation of the internal "culture war" - a struggle being waged between various segments of the "permitted" and alternative cultural elites in order to divide up spheres of influence, and win additional symbolic capital.
Mutual capitulation: the status quo as a style and position
For the culture war to be effective, it would require a distinct aesthetic/ideological conflict, embodied in influential cultural events by competing clans of cultural activists. In recent years, the noticeable
watering down of each conflicting side's ideological platforms has left the struggle with no "elevated" meaning, thus turning it into mere short-term practices aimed at winning votes. The fairytales have dried up, leaving nothing but mass-appeal techniques.
Characteristically, there was no heightened cultural tension at the peak of the political electoral confrontation. The lack of intrigue in the political show was patently obvious: it is ridiculous to fight if the end result is predictable. A couple of election campaign tracks by Lavon Volski & Co. — Havary praudu! ("Tell The Truth!") and My prorvyomsya ("We'll Break Through") — only emphasised this general apathy.
It was difficult not to notice the general collapse of 1990s-style hysterical culture of struggle (intractable berserkers like rock singer Mikhalok and playwright Khalezin preferred to spend their year outside of Belarus). However, the authorities' unrefined provincial lexicon also exhausted itself in exactly the same way. Immediately after the 2010 elections, it became blatantly obvious that the Belarusian cultural field was in a stalemate situation: the regime had survived, servile culture was dead, but partisan culture was incapable of winning.
In this respect, two events proved to be significant. The first was the premiere of Belarusfilm's only(!) feature of 2011, Na pereputye ("At The Crossroads"), directed by Vitaliy Dudin. It flashed on and off our screens without a trace — a lyrical ballad about mandatory work placements for university graduates, a tedious tale in the best traditions of Soviet agitprop. Clearly, the state system had shifted into distraction mode. The second event was a crucial interview with Artur Klinau, a former ideologist of the cultural resistance, in his own magazine pARTisan: "The main thing now is to change the partisan paradigm of Belarusian culture. Enough hiding underground. The time of the partisans is coming to an end... Today we need a formula for collective action".1 The ex-radical Klinau attended the Venice Biennale as part of the official Belarusian delegation, and stood calmly beneath the regime's red-and-green flag during the opening of the Belarusian pavilion. In so doing, he demonstrated the essence of this course-change: enough fighting; the authorities will be here for a long time; it's time for negotiations.
A series of similar collaborations from 2011 all add up to a clear trend. The most sensational example was perhaps the Vyshe neba
See: http://artaktivist.org/belarusy-%D1%9E-venecyi-aktualnae-mastactva-ci-salamyanyya-pudzily/.
("Higher Than The Sky") project. This "first Belarusian youth series"2 was launched by playwright and producer Andrey Kureychik, with support from the United Nations Development Program in Belarus. This "radical" bilingual series about AIDS, young people, cops, and rock'n'roll was made with state television channels in mind and... was prepared in advance to be cut by the censors. According to Kureychik, the "real" film might be released on DVD, and will be exported for screening at festivals, while the edited version will be broadcast locally. "Officially permitted speeches" for state TV.
The contemporary artist Ruslan Vashkevich had an exhibition at the State Museum of Art, but ended up in a cramped little hall with his pictures hanging in three rows, and his objets d'art almost falling onto spectators. Vashkevich's attempts to initiate a game with the current cultural context were only partially successful. The overall orthodox content of the state museum's collection overpowered the solo adventurer, confidently squeezing him into a designated ghetto. Andrey Kudinenko and Artur Klinau's project Shliakhtich Zavalnia ("Zavalnia the Nobleman") also vanished from Belarusfilm's plans for the same reasons: such non-format pranks with historical material turned out to be incompatible with the interests of the state culture industry.
The National Music Prize — a pompous "Belarusian Grammy" established this year — demonstrated an absolutely non-transparent, illogical choice of prize-winners, as well as a penchant for the glamorous beau monde, albeit slightly diluted by "non-format" nominees like the group Serebryanaya Svadba ("Silver Wedding") and producer Aleksandr Bogdanov. Naturally, these latter won no prizes and were not let on stage for the state festivities. The folk trio Troitsa did win a prize, however, but were only allowed to stand on the stage with their awards.
The regime needs new blood, and the artists need symbolic legalisation. We could call this trend new cultural pragmatics. Every accomplice plays to win, which is why the final result is overtly compromised.
Cultural transit: life on the edge
The state culture industry, which specialises in reproducing "stability", has no internal stimuli for qualitative growth. It operates
2 See: http://news.tut.by/culture/253847.html.
chiefly in "repressive distraction mode" by duplicating decorative mass culture for all the "tame" media channels. All innovation is stifled by the state's methods for introducing anything into the inert Belarusian environment. The new CDs by rock hooligans The Toobes and aesthetes Petlya Pristrastiya are openly self-referential. Even the most active names are fading into stale clichés and standard formats. On their latest CD, Serdechnaya muskulatura ("Heart Musculature"), the former freak-band Serebryanaya Svadba sound like Zhanna Aguzarova from the 1990s. And after successfully selling their immortal song Sanya ostanetsya s nami ("Sanya Will Stay With Us") to ONT, the radical minstrels RockerJoker finally redefined themselves as corporate clowns.
The stagnating mainstream is simply turning creative projects into outsiders suitable for presentation either in subcultural "reservations" (like y Gallery, the only contemporary art gallery in the country) or abroad. The "borderline" nature of cultural innovations, as a mix of traditions and styles, is acquiring a literal meaning in the current Belarusian context. Here, new culture functions underground (really or virtually) and is always ready to emigrate, fill catalogues, and feed off foreign ideas.
Journalist and writer Viktor Martinovich preferred not to publish his new novel Sciudziony vyraj ("Freezing Climes") and made it available online for free. If there are no printed copies, there is no distribution problem. An additional aspect of this "move into the shadows" is that Martinovich switched to writing in Belarusian, consciously exchanging his potentially large Russian-language readership for circles of advanced pariahs from the "conscious" Belarusian-speaking ghetto.
The rocker Lavon Volski, the best songwriter of the past two decades, also published a book of prose. His Milarus (which had been biding its time for years) also exists on the edge, however, just like its author, who is mostly prominent today as a musical satirist on Radio Liberty. It is less than literature, just a collection of tattered sketches. Deficient chronicles of redundant heroes of a cultural revolution that never happened.
In the generally inert context, it is a problem to speak out with one's own point of view. Artists have no development strategy in the cluttered cultural space, and instead engage in appropriating and regrouping other people's material. The best books of 2011 were experiments in patchwork: encyclopaedias, catalogues and collections. This is how Algerd Bakharevich's Malaja medychnaja
encykliapedyja Bakharevicha ("Bakharevich's Short Medical Encyclopaedia") was put together — a move away from direct speech by the author towards personal experience and irrelevant associations. It is how Logvinov publishers' Kalekcyja pARTyzana ("pARTisan Collection") was constructed — three monograph albums released back-to-back, featuring Vladimir Tsesler, Ruslan Vashkevich, and Belarusian avant-garde of the 1980s. It is how Pavel Kostyukevich's book Zbornaja Belarusi pa niehalounykh vidakh sportu ("The National Belarusian Minor Sports Team") was assembled — a patchwork quilt of mundane nonsense, snatches of TV programs, colourful dreams, and the author's sarcasm (he won the Jerzy Giedroyc literary prize). And it is also how Siarhiej Khareuski condemned life to the museum of his personally-compiled hit-list, Sto tvorau XX stahoddzia ("100 Works of the 20th Century").
Apart from trivia and museums, escaping abroad is also an option. Zmicier Vajciushkevich's new disc Chara ("Magic Spell") was based on verse by Swedish poets, and resulted in the artist's brightest and most original album of the last six years. The latest round of the music project Budzma! Tuzin. Pierazahruzka ("Budzma! Dozen. Reloaded") invited Ukrainian Vopli Vidopliasova, Russian Mumiy Troll, Moldovian Zdob Si Zdub, and pop artists from Europe's Belarusian diaspora (including Alyona Sviridova in Moscow and Aleksandr Rybak in Norway) to cover their own hits in Belarusian. In the case of Reloaded, however, it would be more precise to describe it as a series of promotional events and advertising discharges ("Lagutenko sings in Belarusian!") that did not bring new meaning, just brief public acclaim.
Due to the lack of any major musical events on the local scene, some attention was gained by "New Year, Belarusian style" — a Moscow attack tour by Belarusian rockers, in the brave genre of a "holiday for Belarusians and sympathisers". On December 31 in the neighbouring capital, Lyapis Trubetskoy and Krambambulya played a concert under banned white-red-white flags. Several dozen Belarusian visitors joined the audience in the hall, but exported protest is also life on the edge.
The most noticeable feature of 2011, however, was the Polish transit of Belarusian culture. The brilliant vocalist Nasta Niakrasava and her band FolkRoll released their debut album in Poland. The first Belarusian film festival BulbaMovie was held successfully in Warsaw. Polish cultural institutions commissioned an extensive Rapart ab stane belaruskaj niezaliezhnaj kultury i NDA ("Report on
the state of Belarusian independent culture and NGOs"). Finally, on the initiative of the Polish Embassy in Belarus, the Jerzy Giedroyc literary prize was established for the "best Belarusian-language book of prose published in 2011".3 The main aim of this prize was to promote the inclusion of Belarusian literature into the European context.
The general situation seems rather ambiguous. Alternative culture cannot be sustained "on a drip" forever just to keep it alive artificially. Outside support for Belarusian culture is not capable of changing the internal cultural situation. Moreover, considering the status quo, this kind of assistance is likely to stimulate cultural emigration — the departure of the most creative artists to more comfortable venues abroad.
Local wars, street style
Working inside the closed, authoritarian space of Belarusian culture, which has successfully blocked all attempts to reboot itself, means that those involved in cultural processes are forced not to engage in formal experimentation or building new floors of "high" culture, but instead to redistribute spheres of influence and play with low-level material. The main cultural events of 2011 were scandals and new experiments in "national" writing. The generally stressful post-electoral situation was intensified by the renaissance — after a brief period of "liberalisation" — of the repressive practice of blacklisting. Everything was repeated exactly as in identical experiments from 2005 — 2007: lists of undesirable cultural figures were distributed secretly among state media, state bodies completely denied the existence of such lists, the Ministry of Culture kept total silence, and measures were taken to ban concerts by NRM, Zmicier Vajciushkevich, Krambambulya, Lyapis Trubetskoy and Neuro Dubel. The regime is striving to maintain its leading role in culture by using the only method it has available — prohibitive manoeuvring by state-controlled bodies.
Independent cultural circles were also touched by internal conflicts inside closed communities. There was an intense public response to the splitting up of NRM, a band which had been so symbolic of national romanticism in the 1990s. Its frontman and
See: http://n-europe.eu/announcement/premiya_gedroitsa_za nailepshuyu_knigu_prozy.
creative force Lavon Volski left the group and, as a result, the remaining trio of musicians are still playing under the old name. Volski is now devoting himself entirely to his side project Krambambulya, but this has not stopped him singing his old band's hits during solo concerts. For many people, NRM's crisis symbolised the end of the heroic era of national protest rock.
Another local war broke out inside the alternative Belarusian Writers' Union. A short essay by Algerd Bakharevich, giving a non-traditional appraisal of the creative evolution of the national poet Janka Kupala, led to an outburst of disgruntled remarks from dogmatic defenders of national culture's "crume de la crume". The literary community was instantly split into "progressivists" and "conformists". A wave of passionate criticism also erupted during the Union's congress (and with the tacit agreement of its leaders) against this author who had dared to touch one of the "sacred cows" of the national canon. As a consequence, Bakharevich — one of the most talented authors of the new generation — handed in his resignation.
In these conditions, the fighter image has come back into relevance, albeit in an oversimplified, caricatured form. Struggle is becoming a pop-attraction, while the real war of cultures is turning into an ostentatious fight between paper dragons. This trend was extremely evident in the work of Sergey Mikhalok, leader of the band Lyapis Trubetskoy. Having evolved from a nanve street romantic into a stadium rock star, Mikhalok has finally transformed into a tattooed "iron-pumper" who condemns the "bourgeoisie", quotes Mayakovsky, and boldly sings "Belarus Freedom! Byelorussia Liberta!". His latest battle songs (and no less militant videos), such as Nie byc' skotam! ("Don't Be A Swine!") and Puti Naroda ("The Ways of the Nation" or "PutiNation"), are propaganda resources for a non-existent revolution. Showy noise for sale.
Another ornamental warrior, the political activist Franak Viachorka, went further when he received financial support from Poland to make a full-length film based on... his own biography. Judging by the working version of the script, the film will assemble a striking collection of "alternative" clichés: heroic underground rock concerts, army hazing (involving a courageous fight for the right to keep one's mobile phone), the brave years of youth, the vile secret services, not to mention the fearless, valiant knight Miron Zakharka — rocker, blogger, people's deputy, and Hero of The Square — who will play My vyjdziem shchylnymi radami ("In close
ranks, we shall march onwards") for the peasants... on an electric guitar... from the back seat of an open top VIP limousine.
In the absence of a consistently-educated, advanced audience, all that remains is to flirt with "simpletons". In his novel Shalom, Artur Klinau attempted to combine the incompatible: a popular adventure novel genre and a Bohemian non-conformist hero. To quote the author himself, the text of this "first Belarusian bestseller" was unnecessarily pretentious for the average reader, and too shallow for the art community.
In 2011, the alternative cultural elite's shift into amateurish dialects was not only cemented by Lyapis Trubetskoys agit-pop, but also by Volski's satirical songs (the Sauka dy Hryshka ["Sauka and Hryshka"] project), and the new album Ne nalivay ("Don't Pour Me A Drink") by pidgin-Belarusian art band Razbitaje sertsa patsana ("A Lad's Broken Heart"). Other eminent artefacts from 2011 also fit easily into this series: the fantasy-political-adventure comic Andrej Trasianok i Zahadka ploshchy Kalinouskaha ("Andrej Trasianok and the Riddle of Kalinouski Square") by Liolik Ushkin and Co.; the Budzma! campaign's Belarus For Dummies-style animated advert; and the local stage debut of a mysterious figure named Dima Skoo — a hyperactive, dilettante designer performing rough, DIY-style "puffing yells".
The boundary between conceptual primitiveness and rambling amateurishness is becoming less and less distinct. Perhaps this is because the collapse of any cultural system inevitably leads to the development of a "new wild bunch".
Conclusion
The dynamics of the cultural situation in 2011 allow one to speak of a consolidation and intensification of trends mentioned in previous reviews. The simultaneous deterioration of both the pro-state cultural canon and the protest culture of struggle is causing the political dimension of the cultural process to devalue even further. However, the contradiction is becoming more acute between the administrative/bureaucratic cultural management model, and independent cultural initiatives (which are forced all the more frequently into internal emigration) with no right to designate their presence in the public space. The issue of relations with neighbouring cultures (Europe and Russia) has moved into the background, making local recognition more important.
This latter factor has lowered the bar for quality in the cultural process, reducing the fight for European quality to the level of provincial inter-area punch-ups. True creativity is mutating into a collection of tactical manoeuvres, with state-tolerated games replacing creative risk. In future, we can expect a further escalation of internal tensions, new conflicts between various clans of the official and alternative cultural elites, and the final maturing of "culture for export" — a group of convertible Belarusian artists who are unable to find their place in today's cultural order.
