Den blågröna majoriteten i Stockholms stadshus beslutade tidigare i år att lägga ner Internationella biblioteket (IB), ett av Europas främsta centrum för mångspråkig litteratur, och lördag 24 augusti hålls en stor demonstration på Odenplan för att försöka förmå politikerna att ändra sig. Kultwatch har intervjuat litteraturkritikern Viola Bao, som är med och driver rörelsen Rädda Internationella biblioteket. De har samlat nästan 10 000 underskrifter mot beslutet, som de menar slår mot både flerspråkiga läsare i hela Sverige, men också mot stora delar av Kultursveriges arbete.
Vad är det egentligen som händer med Internationella biblioteket?
—Kulturnämnden i Stockholms stad beslutade tidigare i år om att säga upp IB:s hyresavtal i Annexet där Internationella biblioteket idag har sin verksamhet, vilket innebär att det stänger för publik verksamhet den 2 september och flyttas till det betydligt mindre Kungsholmens bibliotek, där det kläms ihop med det redan befintliga lokala biblioteket där. IB är Sveriges största centrum för mångspråkig litteratur, ett av de största i sitt slag i Europa, som i tjugo år har varit en viktig samlingsplats för såväl nyanlända som etablerade invandrare som inte har svenska som förstaspråk, för allmänt språk- och litteraturintresserade, för översättare och för forskare. Det unika bokbeståndet om 200 000 böcker på över 100 språk splittras och den mycket kompetenta personalen – som talar ett tjugotal språk – kommer antingen att få sluta eller spridas ut.
—Själva poängen med IB är att den specialiserade personalen och böckerna finns på samma plats, för att ge en så bra och personlig vägledning som möjligt för låntagarna. I och med “flytten” rivs denna kärnverksamhet isär. I och med att Internationella Biblioteket har ett viktigt nationellt uppdrag som stödfunktion till alla landets bibliotek – som kan få vägledning angående inköp, upphandling, mångspråkig programverksamhet och kan beställa IB:s böcker via fjärrlån – så drabbas medborgare i hela Sverige av beslutet. Dessutom genomförs detta i en tid då Sverigedemokraterna driver frågan att ta bort litteratur på främmande språk från landets bibliotek – dessutom i Sveriges mest internationella stad, där 30 procent av befolkningen har utländsk bakgrund och där det bor en stor grupp nyanlända.
Demonstrationsskyltar utanför Internationella biblioteket. Foto: Viola Bao
Vad kommer det här få för konsekvenser?
—Nedläggningen är en seger för för den närsynta kulturprovinsialismen, och kommer påverka många kulturarbetares, översättares, kulturtidskrifters och bokförlags arbete – vilket speglas i de många namn som signerat protestlistan: företrädare för de största förlagen i Sverige, ett 50-tal professorer, en lång rad författare och kritiker.
—Det kommer också få långtgående konsekvenser för flerspråkiga medborgares tillgång till litteratur på sina modersmål och, befarar vi, för denna grupps läskunnighet. Biblioteksfrågan är en rättvisefråga, och frågan om IB i ännu högre grad än andra bibliotek. I Stockholm har hållbarhetskommissionen konstaterat att barn från svaga socioekonomiska förhållanden besöker bibliotek mycket mer än andra barn, och att de är särskilt viktiga för flickor med utländsk bakgrund.
—Samtidigt försvinner 40 tjänster i Stockholms stadsbibliotek i år – beslutet om att lägga ner IB är alltså en del av en större blågrön attack mot folkbiblioteken i Stockholm det senaste året. Att spara in på just Internationella biblioteket ser jag som ett resultat av en aggressiv nyliberal kulturpolitik i kombination med en rasistisk exkluderingspolitik – när staden pålägger Stadsbiblioteket besparingskrav väljer Stadsbibliotekets ledning (under Daniel Forsman) att dra in på de låntagare som har svårast att komma åt litteratur på sina modersmål, och som har sämst möjligheter att arrangera stora protester, eftersom det är en oerhört blandad grupp som är utspridd över hela Stockholm.
Vad kan man göra för att försöka stoppa det här beslutet?
—Signera och sprid protestlistan! Kom på vår demonstration på Odenplan lördag den 24 augusti kl 16 (Facebook). Och skriv till, ring och uppvakta de blågröna politikerna i Stockholms stad och Kulturnämnden på alla möjliga sätt!
Viola Bao från kampanjen Rädda internationella biblioteket. Foto: Privat
Kampanjen Rädda Internationella biblioteket drivs av en grupp volontärer som kräver att beslutet om att säga upp hyresavtalet i Annexet rivs upp, att IB:s personal och bokbestånd hålls ihop och får vara kvar i byggnaden. De arrangerade tre låneaktioner i juli som 4000 stockholmare deltog i, och har för närvarande 9000 signaturer på protestlistan.
Syntolkning, toppbild: Två demonstranter utanför Internationella biblioteket. På ett plakat står det: “Stoppa slakten av biblioteken! Rädda Internationella biblioteket! Bevara Annexet! Håll ihop personalen! Värna mångkulturen! Tack Miljöpartiet för biblioteksslakten!” Foto: Viola Bao
In her project The Suffering Workforce Behind Feminist Clothes, transdisciplinary designer Claire Bonnet explores the relationship between how the H&M group uses feminism to sell clothes, and the working conditions in the factories that make them, She writes herself for Kultwatch about faux feminism, marketing and who gets to be included in the lofty statements of the corporate social marketers.
Despite the fact that feminist movements have drawn attention in the media in the past few years, they are still subject to an extreme amount of stereotypes. These movements are either ignored or deemed as too radical. They are seen as movements propagating hate toward men and bringing confusion on genders. These kind of stereotypes affect whether feminism is accepted or rejected. Some people are questioning the use of the word feminist itself even though they might agree with feminist values. They are afraid to call themselves feminist.
Anti-feminist campaigns, usually organised online, are spreading false information about feminist movements but also mocking, harassing, trolling, doxxing and threatening members of feminist organisations, promoting rape and physical violence.
In the working sphere, these kinds of harassment are often a direct obstacle that could prevent feminists from working freely. There is almost no legal framework protecting the victims of these harassment campaigns. Consequently this situation often leads feminists to practice auto-censorship. Especially when they have a public identity, such as journalists, activists, researchers or artists. In the end, they are often afraid to use their real name on their work. They soften their voices or even stop themselves from working with feminist issues. Anti-feminist movements are especially virulent towards anyone that threatens white male identity.
By contrast, today’s fashion industry is glamorizing feminist movements and reducing it to a slogan or a narrative. They use pink and pastel colours, create glossy ads and print feminist slogans directly on products as marketing tools. But what lies behind these new ways of communicating?
In her lecture Calling Bullsh*t on Faux Feminism as a Marketing Commodity, communications consultant Katie Martell uses the term faux feminism for the exploitation of feminism by the advertising industry. She denounces what lies behind the scenes of some brands using feminism to sell products, like the personal care brand Dove, which raised its sales from 2.5$ to 4$ billion with its campaign promoting a vision for beauty equality. Brands are using feminist narratives to profit from women’s engagement. They have seen an opportunity to sell more products to more women while glorifying their brand image.
Some employees and customers may think they are contributing to a good cause by selling or buying empowering slogan garments from a company that seems progressive and feminist. They may think that wearing feminist slogans printed on products is one way of engaging in a direct dialogue with the people who react to it and therefore spreading political messages. Also, they may believe that they are a part of a company fighting for equality, standing for feminist values. But in reality, a lot of these companies are just using feminist narratives as marketing tools while enslaving women. It is what Katie Martell has called the illusion of progress.
For the past few years, I have been working on a research project at Konstfack University in Stockholm called Femme: extinct stereotypes. It was presented as a retro-futuristic exhibition taking place in 2050, in a utopian world. It aimed to show, explain and deconstruct how women were portrayed around 2020; how society and (pop) culture were deforming humans into stereotypical women. One of my themes was about the commercialisation of the feminist movement.
I have focused my work on the garment industry, taking the H&M Group as a case study. It is an interesting example as this group has several brands – H&M, COS, WEEKDAY, MONKI, H&M HOME, & other stories, ARKET and AFOUND – all of which communicate in different ways.
One of their brands, MONKI, is constructed around feminist narratives. The brand uses pale pink, body diversity and feminist statement as part of its identity. For its 10-year anniversary, the campaign Monkifesto highlighted 10 statements, such as “knowledge is queen”, “please yo’self” or “salute sisterhood”. They were advocating for women’s empowerment and claimed that as their brand values. But what is behind this marketing strategy? Does this company really “empowher” the women working in it? Under what conditions do the women who make these slogan tees really work?
I have hijacked some of the H&M Group garments, the ones with feminist statements. I printed some parts of the report Gender-Based Violence in the H&M Garment Supply Chain, issued by workers’ rights group Asia Floor Wage, on top of the garments’ slogans. The workers’ voices, highlighting violence toward women in their factories, are disconnected from the initial message of the garment, denouncing what is happening inside the company.
Monki is also collaborating with organisations like RFSU, Mental Health Europe and The Cup Foundation, but is this just a marketing strategy to whitewash their image? One press release states that “female empowerment is at the core of everything we do at Monki. I’m very proud to launch our collaboration with Lunette and The Cup Foundation and to provide young women in Kenya with access to menstrual care and education.” This can be read on Monki’s website, in the section about their campaign “periods are cool”. But what is happening in their factories? Are periods cool for all the women working for them?
You cannot empower some women while enslaving others. It is important to connect the products we buy to the women workers’ voices, too often forgotten and hidden by faux feminism used by companies. By superimposing the workers’ voices from some H&M suppliers on top of the H&M’s slogans used as feminist marketing, the reality behind these shiny clothes is revealed. It shows the way fashion industries are capitalising on feminist movements and how companies profit from them.
Screenshot of H&M instagram account
In April 2019, while I was finishing printing these garments, H&M created an Instagram post with this statement: “where are your clothes made?”. In the caption of this image, they even claim to be proud of their transparency. But what does transparency mean when the H&M supplier factory list contains suppliers who are enslaving women? How ironic that this picture was posted while few months before, protests were happening on the streets in Bangladesh. International organisations were also raising alarms about workers’ conditions at the H&M Group’s suppliers. It is a perfect example of the illusion of progress this marketing strategy is creating. They are playing with the naivety and trust of their customers, who are often disconnected and unaware of what is happening in their factories overseas. At the same time as this image is posted, liked and shared with the hashtag #conscious, women in factories are starving, assaulted, raped and underpaid. While they are opening more shops, for the 2019 financial year around 335 new stores are planned to open, not a single worker is making a living wage.
Sadly, H&M Group is just an example amongst others. The global North is using the global South to profit from a cheap underpaid workforce. While feminist prints are appearing on mass produced garments, companies are neglecting to deal with their responsibilities in producing inequalities. Fast fashion is dictating the cadence of garment production, making the production targets harder to meet, which consequently brings violence. Apart from a change in the marketing strategies, industries are failing to take action. From underpaid workers to physical violence, the range of oppression and abuse, especially toward women, is deeply ingrained in the fashion industry.
These companies are tricking people with their communication. Let’s give more voices to the workers, let’s take our responsibilities and let’s keep awareness of the workers suffering instead of buying the next trendy tee.
“Whoever, who is going to wear these clothes, I hope they can feel me. I hope they can see my tears. I hope they can feel my blood. And I hope they can just give me a chance to be free of this suffering.” Nasreen Sheikh – Founder & Executive Director: Local women’s handicrafts
Visual interpretation of head image: A slogan from the H&M group on a pink background. The slogan says “It’s your body, you have the right to own it”. Upon the slogan a quote from, Gender based violence in the H&M Garment Supply Chain – workers voices from the global supply chain: A repport to the IOL 2018, is placed. The quote says: «If a woman worker does not meet the sexual desires of the supervisor, she may get more overtime hours. She may not be allowed to take her break. The supervisor will start to find fault with everything she does. She won’t be able to take leave.».
After a chance meeting at a graphic design workshop in Santo Domingo, Dominican graphic designers Steven Catalino and Vanessa Vallejo created Unzine. A playful, partly improvised reinterpretation of the city around them and its myriad of cultural and commercial signals, it turns the tables on any idea of a hermeneutic classical canon and elevates the mundane and culturally opaque. Exclusively for Kultwatch, Steven and Vanessa show off individual pieces from the project and talk about the motivation behind it and its relation to advertising culture.
Steven Catalino (SC): —I’m a Dominican graphic designer. I got a BFA in graphic design at Utah State University in the United States. I work as the lead graphic designer for one of Dominican Republic’s most prestigious universities. I resort to my personal projects as a way of dealing with the stress from work and the pains of living in a chaotic city. Santo Domingo is a city with a few attractions but with many more issues, ranging from faulty infrastructure, daily traffic jams, blackouts, high crime rates, economic inequality and a classist society, to the everlasting humid heat, loud neighbors, and unaesthetic public spaces. It gets to you, makes you feel stagnant and repressed.
Vanessa Vallejo (VV): — I was born in Mexico City, where I lived for ten years. I’m also half Dominican and currently live in Santo Domingo. Right after graduating from The Altos de Chavón School of Design, I started working as an In-house Graphic Designer for the school’s Cultural Center Foundation, which also includes an archaeological museum and art gallery. Then I began working for one of the Dominican Republic’s leading companies in the field of cocoa production and exports; where I currently design packaging, digital and editorial pieces for their various products and services.
We’ve frequently picked up elements from advertising, without any particular intention to do so, because it’s always out there right in our faces.
SC: — I met Vanessa at a design workshop last year. We only had a short conversation, yet I quickly realized how much we had in common as designers. Months later, we went out for a drink and decided to start a personal project together. We came up with the idea of making a zine.
The premise of the project is to portray any interesting visual or conceptual objects we encounter in our everyday lives. Often inspired by the mundane, this exercise makes you more attentive and insightful to your surroundings, sparkling a little nuance into an otherwise monotonous environment. We’ve frequently picked up elements from advertising, without any particular intention to do so, because it’s always out there right in our faces.
Formally, our designs have no rules besides the format, an 8-page, 4.25×5.5” zine. There’s no intentional narrative nor mutual agreement about the direction of the pieces.
VV: —Without any other rule than the quarter-letter-page format, our pieces result in random graphic interpretations of events, feelings and peculiar eye-catching phenomena that we encounter within our messy surroundings in Santo Domingo.
Thanks to Steven’s initiative to start the Unzine project, I’ve managed to drive my energy towards less serious, yet equally interesting, creative goals than what I’m used to with my work. I tend to rationalize a lot, but he reminds me that the idea of our side project is just letting go and experimenting with the power of a totally unnecessary communication task.
SC: — The cover for this zine is a collaboration between Van and I. The individual pieces of the zine are inspired on personal experiences, so we figured that the cover must be based on a mutual experience. In one of our meetings at a bar, they were showing the movie Legend of the Guardians. We just thought it was funny and weird to see owls with human-like facial expressions, as portrayed in the movie. We went on to split an image and manipulate it without any mutual coordination.
VV: — Steven and I got to manipulate a different half of the image without having established any intention, technique, or style. It was intriguing to reveal our finished halves to each other and discover an odd-looking remix after putting them together.
On my side of the cover, I feature some paper coasters that I grabbed at the bar where I met with Steven to discuss the project. I ripped them apart and scanned their pieces, so I could rearrange them digitally, merging both Dominican beer brands.
SC: — This piece is a fake ad for the National Institute of Transit and Terrestrial Transport (INTRANT). The INTRANT is one of the government institutions in charge of dealing with public transit infrastructure, which is partly the cause for the awful traffic we experience daily in Santo Domingo.
One day I was in a long line to pay the taxes to renew my driver’s license. I realized while I was there that I could pay them online, so I did just that. I left the queue and told the person behind me “goodbye, I just paid my taxes online”. I felt like a living ad communicating the services of this company. So I made a generic fake ad for that.
VV: — I made this piece to share a Spotify playlist I had recently put together. Fosforos Relampago is the most common brand of matches in the Dominican Republic. Their packaging features a dynamic and colorful design besides its simple but catchy name (which means lightning in Spanish). I recreated the matchbox’s cover design, adapting it to the zine’s format.
Even though I created the playlist right before Valentine’s Day, it doesn’t contain any love songs nor sad heartbreaking tunes. Instead it features only female artists evoking different moods from energetic anger to exciting lust and finally the nostalgic aspect of moving on. I thought each of these feelings could be accurately represented by the object of a match; not only because of their purpose of catching fire quickly, but also because of the ephemeral utility of the little wooden sticks that end up disfigured, broken and ashy after the initial spark.
SC: — This piece is based on a sign for an informal business seen on the streets. It was painted on an old piece of plywood and placed in the median strip of some avenue in Santo Domingo.
It was written in Spanish with many spelling errors. It was interesting to me because of how poorly written it is, it shows how informal the business is, yet the sign is an honest attempt at advertisement. The emojis were added afterwards as complements to the original ad, also working as contrasting elements to the DIY traditional sign.
VV: — I was contemplating the view across the street on my way to work, noticing many different ads next to each other. After trying to read some of them from afar; I noticed a refreshing break from the visual cacophony thanks to a rectangular space that was just covered in plain white paint. I imagined it was ready to be filled again with new information, so I depicted this thought by juxtaposing the urban canvas I had just captured with a blank digital artboard from Adobe Illustrator.
On any given corner of our streets there are lots of messages to be found; like if the urban landscape was a magazine spread full of ads that are begging for our attention, trying too hard to be seen at the same time. It is very easy to ignore this just by tuning into our phones (to focus on another stream of ads) which I usually do. But this particular time I decided to look at my surroundings outside of the car window. After encountering all these ads, I began taking pictures in order to read one of the signs. I couldn’t manage to do it on time before the car started moving again, so I ended up with a couple of blurry pictures. It was an interesting coincidence to notice that within the blurred motion of the images, my cell phone camera did manage to focus on the white area correctly, which created an anomaly that I continued to exploit when designing the piece.
Kapitalismen breder ut sig över staden och näthandelns logik sprider sig till intima och privata sfärer. Den finns där i jakten på skor såväl som i sökandet efter kärlekspartners. Konsumtionsbeteendena som uppstår styr människor och påverkar deras emotionella dimensioner. Den enda känslan som får finnas är begäret, fundamentet i det marknadsekonomiska samhället. Alexandra Torsell Starud skriver om dejtingappen Tinder och kapitalismens epidemi.
Som femtonåring läste jag Jan Myrdals bok Gubbsjuka (2002) och skrattade högt när han hävdade att varken pandor på zoo eller människor i en liberal marknadsekonomi kan föröka sig. Jag var, tekniskt sett, barn i en liberal marknadsekonomi, beviset på att han hade fel. Nu är jag tekniskt sett vuxen och jag vill bjuda in dig till en historia om kärlekens omöjlighet under kapitalismen.
Jag sitter på ett kafé med min Tinder-dejt och under tiden jag med ett halvt öra lyssnar till hennes berättelse om uppväxten, utvärderar jag min egen insats. Har jag ställt tillräckligt många frågor? Har jag hållit mig till de förplanerade samtalsämnena? Är mina kläder och min frisyr av en typ och karaktär som skulle kunna tänkas tilltala någon som henne? Jag förhåller mig till hela dejten så som jag förhåller mig till en första anställningsintervju. Jag lanserar en marknadsanpassad version av mig själv. Den förnimmer bara vagt om att jag någonstans, eventuellt bara i den tomhet som skall utgöra mitt inre liv, är mänsklig.
Vad människor som rekryterar, vare sig det är tinder-dejter eller anställda, vill ha är knappast existentiell ångest, svaghet och misslyckanden. Så jag låtsas som att jag aldrig kedjerökt mig ur rejektion. När dejten är klar åker jag således hem och inväntar att höra av henne, skulle hon vilja ha någon sådan som mig?
Steg ett i denna säljprocess inleddes dock redan i den stund jag laddade ned appen. Jag har valt ut bilder av mig själv med omsorg. Jag har skrivit en presentationstext som i ett fåtal tecken skall väcka betraktarens intresse. I ett sista steg, just innan jag kastar mig ut på relationsmarknaden, ger jag Tinder information om min ålder och mitt yrke. Jag sjösätter en tvådimensionell version av mig själv i samarbete med Match Group Inc.
Jag behöver bli en relationskonsument för att få veta om någon nappat, vill ha mig.
Ute på det hav som internet utgör guppar så en entitet vilken utgörs av mitt eget välretuscherade, kommersialiserade subjekt. Men min del i produktionen av potentiell åtrå räcker inte för att navigera sig fram till en tinder-dejt. Jag behöver bli en relationskonsument för att få veta om någon nappat, vill ha mig. Jag lägger 200 personer på min wish-list och väntar på om de vill låta sig konsumeras av och konsumera mig. Hon jag var på kaféet med kunde uppenbarligen tänka sig träffa mig. Nu är det upp till mig att ta reda på vilken position som är ledig i hennes liv och hur jag kan övertyga henne om att jag är rätt person att fylla den.
Kapitalismens miasma, den patogena stank som förgiftat människan sedan industrialiseringen, breder ut sig över staden. Det är nog därför fröna av mig själv jag sått i andras jordar vägrar gro. På grund av luftföroreningarna, eller, på grund av att ingen har tid att vänta på att något skall växa fram.
Jag tänker på människorna i Platons grottliknelse som sitter fastkedjade. Platon argumenterar att personerna i grottan sitter fixerade med blicken vänd mot skuggfigurer. Dessa skuggfigurer avges när verklighetens beståndsdelar passerar elden som lyser upp grottan. De kedjade lever i övertygelsen att skuggfigurerna är verkligheten. På detta sätt förklaras begreppet idévärlden, där det vi ser bara är en suddig skugga av var saks idéversion. I våra avbildningar förhåller vi oss ständigt till idévärlden, hävdar Platon, vill vi tillverka en stol blir den så en efterapning av idéstolen.
Själv brukar jag hänfalla i tron att jag inte är kedjad, varken som pandan på Myrdals zoo eller vid den liberala marknadsekonomin. Att jag är kapabel att skapa relationer utanför min politiska kontext. Vid närmare eftertanke står det dock utan tvivel att jag inte bara sitter fast i grottan, jag kastar också pinnar på elden i och med mitt tindrande.
När jag känner en inre oro tar jag bara ett djupt andetag av miasman och öppnar antingen Tinder eller någon annan app som kan leda mig till ett konsumerande ut ur krisen.
Vad Platon inte räknat med är Googles roll i människans sanningssökande. Där vår egen fantasi en gång måhända var vår enda länk mellan verklighet och idé, har nu kommersiella intressen faciliterats av sökmotorns ständiga besvarande av våra begär. En fantasi och vision kan nu, dygnet runt, omsättas i ett köpbeteende. Du behöver med andra ord inte längre börja snickra ihop någon stol utifrån vaga föreställningar, du bär ständigt med dig hela stol-marknaden i din smartphone. När jag känner en inre oro tar jag bara ett djupt andetag av miasman och öppnar antingen Tinder eller någon annan app som kan leda mig till ett konsumerande ut ur krisen.
Idévärlden blir så synonym med vår backlight-upplysta digitala arena (en paradox i sig) och min tinder-profil blir en del av en uppdaterad idé om människan som sådan. Du googlar flickvän och får upp min marknadsanpassade skugga av jaget. Diskrepansen mellan den jag försöker sälja in på Tinder och den komplexa varelse jag och alla andra människor är, förblir stor. Det är inte i första hand en fråga om att jag, eller andra, ljuger på Tinder, det är en formatsfråga. Varandets komplexitet kan inte rymmas i 9 foton och 500 tecken inklusive blanksteg. Trots detta är det med Tinder miljontals människor söker tillfredsställa sin längtan och åtrå. Så vad händer med våra allra mest mänskliga aspekter, de som inte överlever en överföring till Tinders tvådimensionella format? Vad förväntar vi relationskonsumenter oss efter att ha swipeat “like”?
Jag scrollar vant runt bland sneakers för att till slut klicka “beställ” under den platta bilden för att få något tredimensionellt levererat till dörren. Förfarandet är mig mycket bekant. Konsumtionsbeteendet reproduceras på Tinder, appen är så lik appen jag beställer skor via. Med tanke på denna likhet är det måhända föga förvånande att jag per automatik byggt upp min Tinderprofil i linje med den visuella diskurs inom vilken vår kapitalistiska kommunikation sker. Hur annars skulle jag kunna sälja mig, konkurrera med sneakers och stolar på den digitala marknaden?
Jag har lanserat en konceptualiserad version av mig själv som partner utifrån en marknadsanalys; vad vill tjejer ha?
I presentation utgick jag instinktivt inte från någon gammal idé om det mänskliga, jag utgick från den kapitalistiska verklighet där en diffusion mellan människa och företag är ständigt pågående. Jag har lanserat en konceptualiserad version av mig själv som partner utifrån en marknadsanalys; vad vill tjejer ha? Vad av mig kan jag anpassa till att korrespondera med slit-och-släng-samhället?
I filmen The Corporation från 2003 diskuteras det orimliga i att moraliska förväntningar och lagar framställda för att reglera dödliga människor med samvete appliceras på företag. Robert Monks konstaterar i alarmerande ton att “The great problem of having corporate citizens is that they aren’t like the rest of us. […] ´They have no soul to save, and they have no body to incarcerate´”. Men historiens dödsryckningar till vingslag har inte lyckats föra Monks varnande finger in i vår tid.
Våra imitationer av kommersialismens formspråk, våra kärlekstransaktioner som sker inom den visuella diskurs marknaden etablerat, befäster om och om igen människan som bärare av företagets mest omänskliga egenskaper. På Tinder är vi glada, positiva, vi kan vara en perfekt partner och framförallt har vi inga egna behov. Vi är bara service-minded. Så vi säljer och säljer utan socialt ansvar under förevändningen att det är casual, ständigt signalerande att vi inte söker vare sig själens tröst eller kroppens definitiva bindning till vårt tvådimensionella Tinder-subjekt.
Dejten har gått bra, efter att ha svarat “ja” på ett sms med ros-emojin har jag gått vidare till nästa epi. Jag har dejtat henne över en månad och vi har aldrig frågat varandra hur vi mår. Vi klär upp oss, ses, lajvar våra Tinder-jag som är snygga och helt frånkopplade några andra mänskliga behov än måhända sex. Vi håller på att producera en relation inom ramen för en kapitalistisk marknadsekonomi där den enda acceptabla känslan är begär. Längtan efter att ha och äga som får konsumtionen att snurra, börsen att gå upp, köpandet som likställt med agerandet. De andra känslorna, de som inte har någon funktion för kapitalismen som samhällssystem, är bara levandets slaggprodukter. De känslorna hör inte hemma här, mellan oss, som gör det här så bra nu.
Jag tänker: jag vill ligga naken bredvid dig när sommarnatten vägrar mörkna och inte känna något alls. Miasman.
Jag tänker: jag vill ligga naken bredvid dig när sommarnatten vägrar mörkna och inte känna något alls. Miasman. Jag vill vinka åt det mänskliga, sköra, ensamma och ledsna när det står borta vid horisonten, “säga c’est la vie, hej då”. Jag vill aldrig ha material nog att skriva som Kerstin Thorvall, om hudabnormaliteter och slappa överarmar. Vi kommer bara stanna i det polerade. Jag minns aldrig några älskare eller hur de brukade ta på mig, jag minns bara alla mina tinder-dejter och hur de inte berörde mig.
Den dag Tinder läcker alla mina uppgifter, varenda litet meddelande till mina 100+ matchningar, kommer min potentiella arbetsgivare säga “henne ska vi ha, hon verkar död inombords, en perfekt deltagare av produktionen”. Jag kommer mästra intervjun efter all min erfarenhet av att sälja in mig själv, helt avtrubbad inför all form av anknytning. De kommer vilja ha mig och när de får mig kommer de kunna vila i vetskapen att jag aldrig någonsin kommer låta mitt innersta sippra ut och befläcka kommersialismens glans med något mänskligt.
Bild på ben och en hand som håller i en svart remsa med texten: This mind is the curse of rejection.
Foto: Alexandra Torsell Starud
Toppbild: Skribenten står framför en målad vägg i lila, vitt, orange och gult. Skribenten har på sig en stickad mönstrad kofta i rött, grönt och vitt. Det långa håret vilar på skribentens högra sida och axel när på tittar neråt mot sina händer längst ner på magen. Foto: Alexandra Torsell Starud
In the Dominican Republic, where the supposedly moral society and the Church espouse often virulent homophobia and transphobia, an unusual alliance has appeared among the very poorest: singers and producers of popular music genre Dembow are working with queer people and trans women, who have become huge stars in their own right. Princess Jiménez writes for Kultwatch about how some trans women are using ultra-visibility and social media fame to navigate a hostile environment.
“Because no one can be shinier than me!” says La Shakata (as she is known in social media) to her fans in one of her Instagram videos, while applying an industrial amount of highlighter on her cheekbones, before going out with her friends to a non-gay night club in Bonao, a small town in the Northwest of the Dominican Republic. This flamboyant 19-year-old, who’s usually yelling out catch phrases, twerking, and wearing fabulous outfits in almost every one of her social media posts, is part of a group that refer to themselves as Mujeres Modernas.
Mujeres Modernas, or Modern Women in English, is a term created by working class and poor trans women in the Dominican Republic, widely used by queer social media influencers like La Shakata and La Kisty to define their gender identity. They have transformed their queerness and experience of growing up in poverty into a powerhouse expression that uses colorful language to talk about confidence, self-esteem, perseverance, and claiming a space in the mainstream through, surprisingly, Dembow.
I have a love and hate relationship with Dembow. When I was younger, I used to hate this loud and popular music. I recall when I lived in the Dominican Republic, when taking the public guaguas (buses) the driver would often play the music on the radio at a volume so high I felt like if I could not listen to my own thoughts. Hoping this unbearable torture would end quickly, and biting my tongue in order to stop me from yelling at the bus driver, while sweating profusely in the middle of a hot, normal day in the island… Imagine listening to the same songs everywhere, loudly; pure hell. Nowadays, after years of reflection, travelling, and after having read Paulo Freire, I understand Dembow’s daring and resilient origin, and enjoy it (in small doses). The general idea in Dominican society about this music genre is that it lacks class, that it is tacky, annoying, and with extremely problematic lyrics, which only reflect some of Dominican society’s values, normativity, inequality, and expectations. With time, this genre, which came out of the poorest Dominican neighborhoods, has become one of the most profitable, famous, and mainstream music genres in the Dominican Republic.
They have transformed their queerness and experience of growing up in poverty into a powerhouse expression that uses colorful language to talk about confidence, self-esteem, perseverance, and claiming a space in the mainstream through, surprisingly, Dembow.
Dembow is inspired by Jamaican Dancehall music and Panamanian Reguetón from the 90s. It was created by Dominican low-income and working-class teenagers during that same decade by changing the tempo, structure, and instruments, and performing in a local vernacular. DJ Boyo, Dominican Dembow’s first DJ, used Jamaican dancehall music to create the first Dominican Dembow song in Guachupita, one the poorest neighborhoods in Santo Domingo.
In the middle of its campiness, its butchering of the Spanish language, its sensual and fearless dances, and its problematic lyrics about women and money, it seems like some queer and transgender working-class people have found a space where they can express themselves.
How come some queer people seem to be able to thrive in such a subculture?
“Well, first of all, I am a super fan of Dembow. It’s a valid music genre and the public, from different ages and social classes, connect immensely with it. I can say without a doubt that in Draguéalo parties it is pivotal to include Dembow music, and the whole audience dances it ‘bien bailao’. Say yes to Dembow!”
Carlos Rodriguez is a Dominican LGBTQ+ activist, director and founder of Draguéalo, an artistic collective which encompasses entertainment, art, and cultural events focused on inclusiveness, which celebrates artistic expression and diversity in the Dominican Republic through parties and live shows. Draguéalo parties, inspired by the popular 80s New York Ballroom scene, are about offering a festive and mixed space where people compete in different categories and themes for prices, as well as just coming to enjoy all the spectacular performances. Draguéalo produces other type of events as well: from drag shows, bingo afternoons with drag queens, voguing classes, drag make-up classes, and cinema forums, to storytelling for children. The end goal is to offer alternative events that can also educate and entertain. The latest edition of Draguéalo was the “Maldita Primavera” (Damned Spring) party.
Photos from the Draguéalo “Maldita Primavera” party, May 2019. Photo credit: Draguéalo
Carlos Rodriguez, left, is the director of Draguéalo. Photo credit: Draguéalo
Dembow has always had a reputation of being a homophobic music genre and being for “tigueres” and machos, but nevertheless we see that some Mujeres Modernas have been able to work and make events in places where this music is played, as well as to visit non-gay nightclubs, why do you think they are able to do that?
Carlos Rodriguez: —I believe there have been artists who have helped to break those taboos about Dembow being homophobic, or at least do not promote homophobic attitudes in their discourses. “Crazy Design” (member of the former Dembow duo Los Teke Teke”) has been one of the first artists of this genre who since the beginning of his artistic career has been LGBTIQ+ inclusive.
—On the other hand, regarding Mujeres Modernas, Dominicans like to celebrate people with diverse gender expressions from a popular imagination perspective. This is very palpable during the (Dominican) carnival, even in the LGBT Pride parades that take place in the country. It has to do with the stereotyped idea that people have about the LGBT community, that it is circus-like and flamboyant. In my understanding, these expressions and how the people receive them are valid, regardless of whether the receiving end handles the topic of diversity with the correct terminology and from an inclusive perspective. What really happens is the general public is being sensitized to the LGBTQ+ community, and for me this is a good way to start educating the masses.
Los Teke Teke (now dissolved) was one of the most succesful Dembow duos in the Dominican Republic. During the peak of their career they made this song and video, where they only have Dominican Drag Queens as models, and no cis-women as dancers. The message is calling for the normalization of transgender people in society. One of the parts of the song says “She is a woman without a pussy, so what?!”
Both the Mujeres Modernas and Dembow artists come from poor Dominican neighborhoods. These queer social media influencers grew up listening to that music and might have also seen teenage boys improvising rap lyrics in the slums with their friends, dreaming about becoming as famous and rich as their idols.
Another important characteristic both Dembow and the Mujeres Modernas have in common is that they have invented words and terminology in order to express their craft and interpret the world that surrounds them. Sometimes it feels like if one is witnessing the creation of a new language, and sometimes even I am unable to keep up with the new words and phrases that Dembow singers seem to pull out of their flamboyant blouses. It’s like both groups create a sovereignty within themselves, using it to navigate a society that, thanks to social inequality and racism, has tried to limit the spaces they can navigate. Their curious creation of new words is also a consequence of the lack of education and cultural activities in their communities.
A lot of Dembow singers and Mujeres Modernas haven’t even finished high school. However, their “reinterpretation of the Spanish language” and creation of new words have been part of them claiming a space in the Dominican mainstream and thriving. La Shakata and La Kisty have capitalized on their social media success and make a living thanks to endorsements and gigs in mostly non-gay night clubs. Their shows are very popular among working class and poor Dominicans. Dembow, which started as music for the people of the poorest neighborhoods in the Dominican Republic, today is listened to by all social classes in the Dominican Republic.
It’s like both groups create a sovereignty within themselves, using it to navigate a society that, thanks to social inequality and racism, has tried to limit the spaces they can navigate.
However, not everybody in the Dominican LGBTQ+ community see Mujeres Modernas and Dembow music as positive forces.
A few months ago, La Shakata said very homophobic and transphobic comments on an Instagram live video, trying to sound funny and raunchy for her thousands of fans. Because of this incident, she was disqualified from participating in the “Trans Queen Category” in the Pride celebration in the Dominican Republic 2019.
Jean Sano is a Dominican LGBTQ+ rights activist and human rights advocate. He is a member Youth Advisory Panel of the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) in the Dominican Republic, where he is currently working on the design of the 2019-2030 National Youth Plan, which will contain public policy actions to improve the quality of life of LGBTIQ + youth in the country. At the same time, he is an ambassador of the United Nations Free and Equal Campaign. This initiative promotes equal rights for the LGBTIQ + community in the Dominican Republic.
What is the situation of LGBTQ + activism? how do you see the future of LGBTQ+ rights in the Dominican Republic?
Jean Sano:— LGBTIQ + activism in the country began a few decades ago to fight HIV/AIDS in the (LGBTQ+) community. Being one of the affected populations, different leaders emerged to make the collective visible and make sure it had access to health services. Today the country has moved on to other issues, like guaranteeing the rights of all and all members of the Dominican LGBTIQ + community. There are more than 20 LGBTQ+ organizations that are usually associated with specific groups, so there are trans women networks, lesbians’ associations, gay men’s groups, etc. At this moment, the (LGBTQ+) community is focused on two fights; to promote an anti-discrimination law and to guarantee access to justice. The law will create a legal framework that will protect sexually diverse people and other vulnerable groups. On the other hand, we are working to make sure that the Public Prosecutor Office does not ignore cases in which LGBTIQ + persons are victims of violence, and that the perpetrators are judged by the Dominican justice system. This is a fight that will take us years. If we manage to get the anti-discrimination law enacted, the next step will be to promote bills that would legalize civil unions or marriage among LGBTQ+ people, changing name and gender in documents, etc. However, one of the biggest challenges the (LGBTQ+) community is facing is not agreeing on these issues. It will be necessary to work together with all the organizations in the community to articulate our demands and work out concrete proposals. On the other hand, the government, which is widely influenced by both Catholic and Evangelical churches, has not been so receptive to our proposals, therefore I do not believe that the current situation will change considerably in the near future, unfortunately.
We know that our country is very conservative and homophobic, but at the same time we see that Mujeres Modernas like La Shakata and La Kisty are part of the mainstream. Do you believe that their experience helps more LGBTQ+ Dominicans to navigate Dominican society? Why do you think they are so successful in the world of Dembow?
— The exposure of people like La Shakata and La Kisty does not help the conquest of LGBTQ+ rights in the Dominican Republic, quite to the contrary. Although it is true that the new generations are more receptive to queer people, there are still many stereotypes about LGBTIQ + people in the country. La Shakata and la Kisty fulfill one of those stereotypes: to make people laugh. They reaffirm the biggest cliché that society has about queer people, which is that sexual diverse people are clowns. That’s precisely the reason why they have been so successful in the world of urban music. They behave like society expects non-heteronormative people to behave. In the long run, this generates a vicious circle in which society expects everyone in the group (LGBTQ) to behave like that. You only need to watch Dominican films or local TV to realize that gays are always ridiculed in comedies.
— This inherently prevents LGBTIQ + people in the country from occupying other spaces because they would always have their behavior questioned: if they “suelta mucha pluma”, if they are too effeminate, if they are too noisy, etc. I will not be pessimistic and say that the fact that those Mujeres Modernas are big social media influencers contributes nothing. It is true that their visibility is a form of activism that allows society to understand that there are different types of people. However, the characters they portray in order to maintain a following in social media are often exaggerated and vulgar and can show a bad image of the LGBTQ+ community.
La Shakata may only have been trying to appeal to her Instagram audience or trying to be funny, but it’s not hard to understand how extremely problematic such statements can be. Nevertheless, one must also keep in mind her background and that, as Paulo Freire explained “the oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines, are fearful of freedom”. The fight for equality in marginalized minorities must also happen within those communities. I think is important to know how Christian churches have a lot of social presence and power in the country, and how she said these horrible and bigoted statements while navigating her own identity.
In their quest to express themselves and create new languages Dembow singers and Mujeres Modernas have made mistakes, sadly. However, neither group has ever had an intention to become society’s moral compass – unlike the upper class, which is also homophobic and transphobic, but presents itself as the ideal in the creation of a perfect and functional Dominican society. There are complex discussions within the Dominican LGBTQ+ community that are worth listening to (which the interviews included in this article are a small sample of) and learn from them as quiet but supportive allies, while also rejecting transphobia and bigotry in general. Nevertheless, I am not excusing what La Shakata said.
We know that our country is very conservative and homophobic, but at the same time we see that Mujeres Modernas like La Shakata and La Kisty are part of the mainstream. Do you believe that their experience helps more LGBTQ+ Dominicans to navigate Dominican society?
Carlos Rodriguez:— Yes. It is evident how the Dominican people receives them. Right now, they are the influencers with a diverse gender expression who have the most impact in social media. Coming from a country where those expressions regularly get dismissed, I can tell they have both contributed to increase understanding among a lot of people. What they have done has great merit.
Even though there are a few female Dembow female singers, it is always the male performers who have worked with Mujeres Modernas and drag queens. They don’t just follow each other on social media but is not weird to see Dembow groups collaborating with not only dominican queer social media influencers, but with also drag queens and other queer performers and dancers, mostly without using them as props or to make fun of them, but as performers, including sometimes producing their music. One example of the latter is La Delfi, whose first successful song in 2012, called “Dame Leche” (please, don’t ask) was produced and featured Jhon Distrito, a very popular Dembow singer and producer back then. This song was mainstream and extremely popular among the general public, including working class, cis Dominican men.
La Delfi started her career in the 2009, becoming a very successful mainstream Dembow performer, and performing in mostly non-gay night clubs in and out of drag. In “Mariquiqui” (which was also very popular among non-gay people) she challenges homophobia and transphobia in Dominican macho culture.
When it comes to homophobia and transphobia in Dembow songs, I listened to more than 30 Dembow songs while writing this article, and none of them had any transphobic or homophobic lyrics, messages, or words, including the songs in this article. I tried to find Dembow songs with transphobic or homophobic lyrics, but I couldn’t. The “negative messages” that one can see reflected are sex, partying, drugs, and easy money, like in any traditional rap or pop song. Two big reasons why Dembow is perceived as extremely problematic can be that Dominican society is very conservative, and that the music is associated with uneducated and low-income people. Interestingly, merengue and bachata (also Dominican music genres that nowadays are considered national treasures) were also rejected by upper class people for a lot of years when they started out, because they were considered too vulgar and unsophisticated.
Another thing both Dembow singers and the beautiful Mujeres Modernas might have in common is their fashion style. Male Dembow singers still dress like cis men, but they sometimes play with the boundaries of “masculine” clothes by wearing very flamboyant and flashy outfights, jewelry, and primped hairstyles, even in their everyday lives. The main aesthetic objective of Dembow artists is not to look tough or macho, but to look good flashy, expensive, and cool. For example, one time Dembow singer El Mayor was criticized for wearing Gucci women’s shoes, and his reply was “I think they are really cool”. Sometimes I wonder myself which one was first, El Mayor or Las Mujeres Modernas? Both groups seem comfortable in their own skins and care very little about people questioning their fashion choices and how they present themselves in society.
El Mayor is one of the biggest and most popular Dembow singers in the Dominican Republic. The main model in this video is La Kisty, one of the Mujeres Modernas who are famous social media influencers in the Dominican Republic. The song’s main message is to tell haters to “go fuck themselves” while twerking.
One of the most important characteristics Mujeres Modernas and Dembow artists have in common, which seems to help them to connect with each other, is that both groups are openly and constantly looked down on and criticized by most of the Dominican middle and upper class, including in the media. They are considered uneducated, low-class, tacky, and that they both represent the worst things of Dominican society. For example, Niní Cáffaro, director of the Dominican National Theater, has vehemently said that he would never allow Dembow artists to perform in such a prestigious stage, in order to “protect it”. Both Mujeres Modernas and Dembow singers are constantly used unfairly as scapegoats for society’s evils. The exaggerated perceptions about both communities may be due to the fact they are looked at through the lens of an extremely conservative society.
What’s your opinion on Dembow?
Jean Sano:— For me Dembow is a musical style that is looked down on. It means that it is a rhythm that was born from the most marginalized and excluded communities in the Dominican Republic, especially from the outskirts of Gran Santo Domingo. Dembow is the result of a combination of the lack of cultural activities that the youth from those areas have access to and foreign musical styles, mainly from African American culture. That rhythm is contagious without a doubt, and with time it has acquired characteristics which distinguishes it from other musical genres in the region. Nowadays Dembow is an unique musical style. Dembow’s lyrics showcase the everyday in the country’s low-income neighborhoods, which is why violence, machismo, and toxic masculinity are the main message in the lyrics. I personally try not to judge Dembow lyrics from my own moral values. I believe that one of art’s main objectives, in any of its forms and expressions, is to reflect the interpreter’s reality. You can’t expect Dembow artist to write about anything else because the machista, misogynistic, and violent reality they sing about is the only thing they know. Nowadays there’s a discussion (in the Dominican Republic) about how Dembow influences the youth negatively. I believe that everyone who lives in this country knows about our society’s many vulnerabilities. One doesn’t need to listen to a Dembow song to know about men being violent against women or planning drug trafficking. To me, if one wishes to change Dembow lyrics, society must change first. As long as the country remains immersed in poverty, Dembow lyrics will showcase all of poverty’s evils.
Even though both Dembow music and Mujeres Modernas are mainstream and famous, there are certain echelons of privilege they have a hard time accessing. For both groups it is hard to travel outside of the Dominican Republic because is hard for them to get travelling visas due to their social class. Some Dembow singers, even though they are very popular, must be sponsored before travelling to perform for Dominican communities in the United States and Europe. To this date, none of the most famous Mujeres Modernas have travelled outside of the country. For both groups is also almost impossible to access certain social circles, like upper-class and educated circles. Gay night clubs in the country are usually for middle-class, upper-middle class and rich people, and some, a few years ago, would even forbid drag queens and transgender people from coming because they were “too queer”.
The worlds of Dembow and Mujeres Modernas seem to connect, flow together, cooperate, and claim spaces with their craft. And these amazing displays of campiness, ratchetness, and magic are, considering all their limitations, art forms that have helped them navigate society, and use whichever tools they can to thrive. One of the main tools Mujeres Modernas use is social media, not only to make a living, but to use their visibility as a form of activism. Thanks to La Shakata I came across Draguéalo, which has received support from internationally famous drag queens like Laganja Estranja and the Puerto Rican April Carrión, who even traveled to Santo Domingo and worked with them. They also showcase non-conventional drag and gender expressions.
Do you feel that Dominican drag scene is gaining new momentum thanks to social media?
Carlos Rodriguez:— Yes, that’s a big part of it. Social media and the internet in general have helped people to be able to access all types of information. The Dominican queer scene has become more well-known and is growing, and every time the number of people who come to Draguéalo events grows. I believe it is not only for the queer community but also for the general public that is looking for alternative options for fun and entertainment, which has connected with the queer and diverse community.
Draguéalo is also a form of activism, why is art as a form of activism important?
— Yes, Draguéalo is a form of activism. After several years of diversity-focus activism through photography, film, and education, Draguéalo is a new form of activism. Actually, it has been a wider and a more direct form of activism because of the audience that goes to Draguéalo events and the way the public interacts with it, how they have received these events, how they identify themselves with the brand, and how they have become frequent patrons at our events, and in one way Draguéalo becomes part of those people’s night-life/mariconistica (gay) “religion circuit” in Santo Domingo. To see people’s support is what motivates us to keep putting love and dedication into this project that is still in baby steps. Having Draguéalo’s family growing within the community (LGBTQ+) is the end goal.
Hija de Perra, the queer Chilean artist, once said “Of course! Because the crossdresser has no other space but to be a hairdresser or in street prostitution.” Ideally, we would see queer people everywhere, not only as performers, comedians, or social media influencers, but also as people who can go and be whatever they want, who can navigate society easily and go wherever they please. But while we wait for that to happen, this bunch of queer, working class people have built their own way to navigate society and thrive; by being loud and having the nerve to exist as publicly as possible, and using a space like Dembow culture. They might look like two different galaxies, but they coexist in an unusual symbiosis in a post-colonial and warm Caribbean island. What does the future hold? I cannot tell, sometimes is hard to see it when every day is summer, but I celebrate the little battles and recognize the ones who are giving visibility to transgender people in unusual spaces, those creating a queer window in Dembow music.
Image description, featured image: One of the most successful Mujeres Modernas, social media influencer La Shakata. Photo credit: Carlos Rodriguez
