When the invader comes, we burn our fields to deny them our grain.
We must learn to thrive in the ashes of the scorched earth; the earth we scorch, to deny it to those who would take from us that which we have, not to use it for themselves, but to take it from us.
Only by demonstrating the worthlessness of what we have; its replaceability, our ability to go without, our ability to make do, our ability to create anew for ourselves, do we take away the incentive of the invader. Only by demonstrating that what we have has no value in being taken, because the value is us, do we show the pointlessness of trying to take what we have.
That is the lesson of Adelaide Writer’s Week, the lesson of Bendigo Writer’s Festival, the lesson of the Venice Biennale & Creative Australia, and several years before that, the Sydney Biennale.
As long as we, as artists, and as an arts community show that we value our festivals as institutions, the right wing will attempt to take them from us, and through controlling them, dictate the art we make. Not because they want it for themselves, not because they have art they want to exhibit, but to take the venue from us, to make our art serve them.
Whether it’s George Brandis suggesting artists who refuse fossil fuel sponsorship for their work (or refuse to exhibit in events sponsored by the fossil fuel industry) should be denied grant funding, or that grant funding be 50/50 co-funded with corporate interests (to guarantee the availability of artswashing opportunities), or a writer’s festival cancelling the appearance of a Palestinian author, the result is the same.
If we participate in an event that has been compromised, that has asked or demanded compromise, we are compromised.
As Louise Adler so succinctly put it:
The raison d’être of art and literature is to disrupt the status quo: and one doesn’t have to be a student of history to know that art in the service of “social cohesion” is propaganda.
We must maintain our integrity, by withholding our participation, by withholding our consent. As soon as we allow ourselves to be bought, as soon as we cross that picket line, as soon as we break solidarity, we are forever tainted.
Festivals die, let them. Let them be ephemeral. Instead of investing 20 years in a single institution, invest in making a new institution every year. Become so good at building from scratch, that the scorched earth contains no fears. Build Yurts, not castles, so that when the invader comes, you can in strength say:
“Weep.” That is your answer from the Scythians.