Author Archives: drnicko

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Cultural Architect

Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player: 2nd set, how to win at Wimbledon (6th game).

Success is an instrument for the torture of others (4-2)

This ‘Black Wednesday’ of Wimbledon is delivering more than its fair share of thrills, spills and unfortunate injuries today.

From the unenviable position of being two sets down, 0-5 down in the third, and facing almost guaranteed elimination within two minutes of returning to court after rain stopped play, I am amazed – sobered even – to report that the ‘Black Wednesday’ curse of unexpected injury has affected my match too.

My opponent – the Croatian, Milos Milosovich – returned to the locker room in the break during our game. He cooled down; he rested; he kept warm; he had a light lunch – and as they were announcing our return to court he immediately came down with a terrible bout of gastroenteritis (so the guys in the locker room are saying).

He was doubled up with pain and had to retire from the match with immediate effect. I felt quite sorry for him as things were going so well, from his point of view at least.

Not that sorry, mind you. His departure means that I am through to the third round.

I am of course over the moon despite Milos being as sick as a parrot. I accept that this is possibly one of the unlikeliest outcomes ever in the circumstances but tennis, as my newfound coach, Hac, reminded me, is a funny old game. You never know when a knee injury or gastroenteritis are going to strike these days, especially on grass.

So, I am now preparing for my next opponent – the Bosnian, Djelko Djelkovich, a player I’ve never heard of before.

But that doesn’t matter.

I’m into the third round at Wimbledon and anything is possible. Back to the beer and coaching with Emma Raducanu!

Confesssions of an Ageing Tennis Player: 2nd set, how to win at Wimbledon (5th game)

Success is an instrument of torture (3-2)

I’m fuming.  Absolutely fuming.

I’ve just come off court after what must have been one of the most ridiculous days in recent Wimbledon history. And it’s all down to the prancing and preening of several so-called tennis VIPs , so-called pros and their fluffed up youthful wild card ilk.

When the chalk dust settles, I shall have strong words with the blazers, leather arm patches, twinsets and pearls that make up the LTA establishment, make no mistake.

The morning had started so well. I started my match against Milos Milosovich (Croatian, court 28, 2nd round if you’ve not kept up) in reasonable form. Not great, I grant you, but certainly reasonable. I was 0-5 down after eight minutes and he was playing like a possessed Balkan demon, but I was holding my nerve, if nothing else.

But then lo and bloody behold who appears court side as I serve to save the first set? None other than the sneering Gerd Fistingburger and his mate Alois, both wearing ridiculously expensive wrap around shades and their baseball caps shoved firmly the wrong way around on their short-cropped heads.

I catch them out of the corner of my eye as I bounce the ball eight times prior to my specialist underarm serve and one of them yells ‘fault’ at the top of his tinny little continental voice and I promptly belt the ball right up and out over the court towards Henman Hill.

I duly protest straight after this outlandish behaviour but am cautioned by the so-called umpire. Five seconds later he’s given me another caution for racket abuse.

Now, I will admit my racket is no great technological marvel – but it’s well versed in being kicked around tennis courts and is used to a volley of expletives if it gives up on me at crucial times. It’s used to a bit of abuse – it’s why we get on so well and it’s the main reason I’ve got this far in my tennis career (such as it is).

So, giving me a caution for treating my racket with the contempt it occasionally deserves is like the proverbial suspect line call to a McEnroe. Needless to say, I lose the first set 0-6 and a red mist descends all around me as I struggle to compete in the second.

It goes from bad-to-worse. Not only do Gerd and Alois put their feet up on the railings and snigger and giggle at my hapless progress, but they’re joined by the other wildcard of Wimbledon, Emma Raducanu, who for some inexplicable reason is generating huge waves of enthusiasm from the fickle Wimbledon crowds everywhere she floats.

Emma adds to my general misery by outrageously flirting with one of the line judges at crucial times. Eight times my serve goes in, eight times he calls it out after she has distracted him with her fluttering eyelashes. Before I know it, I am 0-3 down in the second and the world is imploding.

Slowly though. It implodes very, very slowly. The ball slows right down. I run at the pace of a slug. The crowd applauds as if it’s in a trance. The seagulls over-head seem to hover for ever, and you can see their droppings leaving their backsides and falling slowly, inevitably and inexorably towards the umpire’s head. I think about warning him but it’s pointless. The way this tennis universe is operating, my warning would take over a week to reach his ears.

Before I know it, I’ve lost the second set 0-6 and I’m in the process of repeating the experience in the third set.

I get to 0-5 down and have to serve to save the match when all of sudden the heavens open.

The rain comes down unlike any other day in Wimbledon history and the umpire has no choice but to postpone proceedings and get the BBG onto the court, dragging the covers behind them.

I look at Milos and shrug my shoulders. There’s not a lot I can do about the English weather. I apologise but he ignores me, packs his bags and scarpers off to the locker room.

Meanwhile, Emma Raducanu cheerfully skips onto the court (what is she on? I ask myself)  swops my racket for a black and gold supercharged version and tells me to go practice hitting balls against the BBGs until it stops raining.

“From a young age, my parents always drilled into me that my attitude was the most important thing, and it’s either going to make or break my career,” she cheerfully confides in me. “So sort out your head, pull your socks up and try and stay here as long as you can. It’s what I intend to do. I feel like I’m on a holiday!” she trills and swans off to sign autographs for the wildebeest feeding frenzy that is the Wimbledon mob.

At two sets down and 0-5 down in the third, I really can’t see the point of it now. My so-called success at Wimbledon has become an instrument of torture.

But I do as she suggests, penning letters of complaint in my mind to keep the boredom of hitting balls against a motley collection of BBGs at bay. We’re back on court later this afternoon to no doubt finish off what has been an excruciating morning.

The sooner I can get the hell out of Kansas the better.

Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player: 2nd set, How to win at Wimbledon (4th game).

The mysteries of the grass court and why the sun struggles to set on the British Empire (2-2)

“I don’t like your attitude!” snapped the club captain to me as we squared up to each other over the debatable state of the club’s grass courts.

And I don’t like yours!” I volleyed back at her before she swanned imperiously back off to the club house, no doubt to complete some kind of complaint form about stroppy club members who don’t know a good court when they play on one.

The reason for this members’ tiff has been the cause of many members’ anguish – not to say damaged knee ligaments – in recent years.

The club’s grass courts although serene to look at from over half a mile away, are actually treacherous minefields when you actually play on them. They are potholed; some have moles residing under the service lines, and, as I suggested earlier, court five has its own species of hazard under its surface – continuously moving snooker balls which shift during a point so that on one occasion a ball can bounce perfectly logically and the next it will either stop dead in its tracks; not bounce at all and roll along the ground; or rear up at you at double the pace you thought it was travelling  and strike you on the temple with all the force of a supercharged cricket ball.

The undulating surface that is the Centre Court has led to many a concussed ageing tennis player. Like the British Empire, you never know what you’re going to get, what it’ll do when it gets there and what damage it will wreak later on.

This is a problem, however, that will not only not go away, it is one that is unfixable. The grass tennis court is a source of national identity and pride that is lodged so strongly in the English psyche that no amount of damaged knees, black eyes or litigation claims will ever persuade the club committee to bite the bullet and say “Yes, grass has had its time, but no more of this antiquated surface. The way forward is Astroturf! And god bless all who play on her.”

Our devotion to grass is admirable in the way it conjures up memories of Pimms, cucumber sandwiches, and serfs who know their place and maintain the right attitude to those in authority.

Nevertheless, in the 21st century, these memories of empire enshrined on our grass courts continue to cause lasting damage not just to the political terrain, but, more importantly, to our knees as well.

It’s about time we concreted over the lot of them.  The courts that is, not our knees.

Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player: 2nd Set, how to win at Wimbledon (3rd Game)

Not everyone loves a success (2-1)

I was shocked earlier tonight when I was hanging around the locker room (as the guys calls it) to find that, contrary to my belief that everyone (i.e. the guys) would be pleased for me and my early wild-card success, that there are certain tennis players (so-called professionals) who are actually quite dismissive of my achievement so far.

I heard one of them muttering rudely about the wild-card system and using words like ‘loser’ and ‘amateur’ and ‘tosser’ in the same sentence. When I tried confronting him with a hard stare, he just stared back, spat out his chewing gum at me, and fiercely pulled on his tennis hat backwards, in that irritating Leyton Hewitt style. And no, it wasn’t LH – he’s much too much a sporting gentleman to drop his standards so far.

No, I think it was a mate of the person who was my prospective doubles partner, Gerd Fistingburger, a Frenchman called Alois. He may have taken offence at my earlier jokey attempt to engage him in some ‘Allo ‘Allo banter (‘allo ‘allo Alois, how’s life in Rheinland Pfalz?) but I can’t be too sure. I’m pretty sure though I saw the two of them in the showers whispering to each other and casting me baleful glances in between washing each other down.

But his hostility has certainly been a wake-up call and has shown me another side to the green and pleasant lawns of Jerusalem.

I’ll have to tread carefully tomorrow in my second-round match – which, incidentally, I’ve just found out, is against the Croatian, Milos Milosovich, a very handy player I’m told, who specialises in long baseline rallies but is terrified to get too close to the net. I’ll need to get some more practice in tonight. I’ll just finish this pint and get on court with the guys until the sun goes down. Wish me well!

But if you’re Alois – you can go stick your racket up your arschloch.

You can also check out the Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player Podcast here!

Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player: 2nd set, how to win at Wimbledon (2nd game)

Everyone loves a success!

I’m amazed how popular I’ve become on the tennis circuit ever since getting through to the second round at Wimbledon. I’m getting phone calls asking me whether I’d like to join a doubles team with the German, Gerd Fistingburger (no. 944 in the world) and a mixed doubles pair with the British woman from Acton, Julia Spetsi – our one-time no. 64.

I’ve declined all their offers as I want to focus on my singles journey. But this recognition by other players in the tennis fraternity is both gratifying and humbling – success breeds interest and everyone wants to get a bit of the action, in whatever way they can. Indeed, I’ve even alarmed myself by thinking about ‘going pro’ as the guys in the locker room call it. Still, I manage to rein in my ambitions and ground myself in the realities of the here and now.

I’ll need to keep my eyes on the skyline, feet on the Astroturf and get a new racket as well. That wooden one is well past its prime.

Confessions of an Ageing Tennis Player: 2nd Set, how to win at Wimbledon.

I’ve got into the first round at Wimbledon! (1-0)

I never thought I’d see the day but my wild-card entry at Wimbledon finally came through yesterday. Apparently, there’d been a mix up between the LTA and the local clubs in the North West Division section 5(d) that caused several players who had been awarded wild cards to not be informed of their fortune and so they didn’t turn up.

Their fortune-turned-misfortune turned into my fortune when I got the call from the guys in the blazers at Wimbledon – probably the best tennis club in the world (notwithstanding the Carling claim of supreme ownership). I had to get onto court 32 at 7.30 in order to complete my first, first-round match against the Serbian thirteen-year-old, Slobodan Slobovitch.

Imagine!

Me at Wimbledon!

After so many years spent enviously watching all those bright young things slugging it out on the green and pleasant lawns of Jerusalem!

The best was yet to come. I turned up on time to find the 13-year-old loitering on court, clearly nervous at the prospect of playing a more seasoned campaigner. And he had every right to be nervous.  Before long I was in the zone. The ball was as big as a football in my eyes and flying at the pace of a snail. I picked off every shot with ease. I played my best high risk, low percentage tennis ever. I was living in the moment. I was in the here and the now. I felt immortal.

It was all over before I realised it and I had beaten him 6-0, 6-0, 7-6 with the tie-break going to a massive 26-24 point game.

He was devastated. Afterwards, he slumped, a broken figure, on the side of the court. His father couldn’t console him, but both had the good grace to shake hands with me before we left the court at shortly after 9pm.

So, I am through to the second round, and due to play early tomorrow afternoon. It has been an amazing adventure so far and anything else in the future is a bonus.

(Now available on Spotify too!

Bullseye! Look at what we could have won…

“That’ll kill you,” I cheerfully called out to the car parking attendant at the Covid-19 Vaccination Hub as he lit up a surreptitious cigarette on the side of the road. No doubt attuned to the futility of my off the cuff remark, he ignored me and kept his stare on the argumentative pair of security guards who were at it hammer and tongs down at the security gates.

“If you don’t like the fucking job why don’t you just fuck off?” remonstrated an elderly man heatedly to his younger colleague who was no slouch when it came to returning the insults. I missed the rest of the barbed comments between them as I turned the corner and entered the inner sanctum of the Hub: a long queue of hopefuls and sorrowfuls were stretched out in front of me, all waiting our turn for what we fervently hoped would be our promise of happier days ahead.

The inner sanctum had in a previous life been the hallowed ground of the Central TV studios where the ITV gameshow, Bullseye, was produced. Mixing general knowledge questions with darts, Bullseye was fronted by its once famous compère, Jim Bowen, who used to encourage his participants with several catchphrases: “Super Smashing Great” (although he disputed he ever said that); they’d receive their “BFH: Bus Fare Home” if they gambled but lost; “Keep out of the black and in the red; nothing in this game for two in a bed” referred to how contestants would have to avoid hitting the dart board in the same place twice; and perhaps the biggest killer catch phrase of all time, particularly in these Covid-sensitised times, “Look at what you could have won!”.

There was plenty of time to think about the irony of a site of a popular TV quiz game turning into a mass Vaccination Hub where the only prizes were of the Oxford / AstroZeneca or the Pfizer variety because the queue wended its way slowly into and around and through the studios.

There was no random throwing of darts into an outsize dartboard though; just the careful and attentive work of many NHS staff and volunteers, ensuring we were all focused on one common purpose: our salvation and wishes for better days for our friends, families, communities and nations after the disasters of 2020.

Look at what we could have won. You just had to read the news on your phone or in your newspaper to catch up with the recent mortality figures. 121,000 and still counting inthe UK; unimaginable numbers across the planet.

But for all the solemnity and patience of the queue, the ability of the staff to react swiftly to an ever changing situation was remarkable: one young lad with diabetes was brought through the Hub at pace. He’d been struggling but his carers were dealing with it swiftly, directly and with the minimum of drama or game show pizazz.

It was one tiny insight into the myriad of struggles that people here, across the country, across the world, have been enduring over the last year. “Look at what you could have won!” I nearly called out to the car park attendant on my way out but thought better of it. He was enjoying his cigarette in the warm early Spring afternoon air and didn’t need any more reminders of what is just around the corner.

From Toy Story to Treseder: what are we fighting for? Perspectives on Youth Voice

On Tuesday 3 November at 12.15hrs EEST, I’ll be presenting my paper, From Toy Story to Treseder at the International Research Conference “Impacts of Arts and Cultural Education: arguments and evidence. The conference is being promoted by the Latvian Academy of Culture and will be live streamed from 11.00am EEST online on the Academy’s YouTube Channel and Facebook page.

My presentation explores the phenomenon of ventriloquation, hypnotism and impersonation as channelled through Disney’s Toy Story 4 and identifies the challenges to fighting for the creative voice of children and young people. It asks when it comes to your time to hearing the voices of young people, how do you perform? Are you a hypnotist, ventriloquist. Impersonator or something else?

In case you can’t make it, here is my presentation.

And if you prefer to read it, here it is.

Introduction

Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Unlike Leonard Sachs in the BBC TV series The Good Old Days, I shall try and avoid any sesquipedalianism (The practice of using long, sometimes obscure words), try hard not to asservate (assert over emphatically) but enjoy the myriad multipotency and polyphony of our session together here in Riga, or where-ever you may be based.

“Begin with art, because art tries to take us outside ourselves. It is a matter of trying to create an atmosphere and context so conversation can flow back and forth, and we can be influenced by each other.” (W.E.B. Du Bois)

In accordance with the author and historian, WEB Du Bois, I’d like to start with another piece of art, the film, Toy Story 4. In this clip, Buzz Lightyear is trying to persuade our hero, Woody, to give up his quest to find Bo Peep and go home. Woody refuses so Buzz asks his inner voice what he should do next.

Thanks a lot, inner voice. Something we all might recognise in times of trouble when it comes to listening to what we think our intuition, our gut feeling or what we might think of as our authentic voice is telling us.

Buzz’s awareness that his inner voice has its limits is important in the phenomenon of ‘youth voice’. In this presentation, I’m going to discuss the challenges these limits present, especially in these times when the voices of the people and young people in particular are called upon to inform public cultural policy. I’ll be exploring this by considering the concept of Authentic Voice and how this relates to the concept of Performative Voice; and how voices can inform civic dialogue as part of a wider call for Cultural Democracy.

Youth Voice: the impulse for this paper

You can’t go far these days without hearing about the importance of pupil voice in school improvement, planet climate warnings or, at the older end of the age spectrum, the Brexit referendum, perhaps the biggest pretence at listening to the voices of the British people in recent years.

We’ve learned a lot in the UK from the Brexit referendum about how voices are manipulated, distorted and selectively listened to; and there’s some learning here for when it comes to considering how young people’s voice – or voices – are heard and acted upon. At a macro level, this has been one provoking incident which has led to a consideration of what we mean by public voice and democracy.

 Creative Voices: an organisational perspective – what are we fighting for?

Coming closer to home, as CEO of the charity, The Mighty Creatives, we place great store by our brand strapline, ‘Fighting for the creative voices of children and young people’. It’s an aspiration woven through our organisation since it began and as such it helps mark ourselves out as deserving of special attention in the cultural marketplace: it’s at the heart of our mission statement. My colleague Emily York expresses it thus:

Children and young people are feeling more and more empowered to share their views and to have them valued. It is our duty to listen to them, respond to them and embed their views within our organisation’s practice where appropriate. We cannot authentically provide for children and young people if we do not do so. With this there is an undeniable responsibility, not only to provide children and young people with rich arts and culture opportunities, but to also organically embed youth representation and voice within our infrastructure.

There are several concepts here which I’ll explore through this presentation

Firstly, that of authenticity: the idea that an organisation has to ‘walk the talk’ if it is to be taken seriously by the beneficiaries it claims to be working for. Authenticity suggests a fundamental, state of being which represents the true self of the organisation’s intentions and motivations. Being seen to be authentic can be comforting in that it provides a sense of moral rectitude when the world is replete with fake news, illusion, ambivalence and ambiguity.

Secondly, that of civic duty: by listening to young people and actively taking steps in order to transform organisational policies, practices and structures, we can demonstrate that we are fulfilling a wider civic role, rooted in traditions of participation and democracy.

So the second impulse for this paper has been to stimulate debate with colleagues, both within TMC and externally, about what we really mean by Youth Voice; how and why it should be fought for and what’s at stake for us all: artists, educators and young people themselves.

What we understand by Youth Voice

At its simplest level, youth voice is a term for how children young people are able to express themselves in order to influence the world around them. This is not just about the spoken word but the many different ways we express ourselves: laughing, crying, gazing, pointing and grasping amongst many others.

Youth Voice is central to many engagement and participation strategies and I’m going to reference three of which inform our work at TMC: Hart’s Ladder of Participation, Phil Treseder’s Degrees of Participation model and Lundy’s Model of Child Participation.

Phil Treseder’s Degrees of Participation emphasises that there should be no limit to youth participation, with each degree of participation being equally valuable, dependent on the proposed project and the objectives of the participants. These degrees are:

 Assigned by informed;
Consulted and Informed;
Adult-initiated, shared decisions with children;
Child-initiated, shared decisions with adults and
Child-initiated and directed.

Lundy’s Model of Child Participation provides a sense check of whether we are ensuring that every child and young person we engage with, through any degree of participation, has their voice heard and acted on.

Her model provides a way of conceptualising a child’s right to participation, as laid down in Article 12 of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. It is intended to focus decision-makers on the distinct, albeit interrelated, elements of the provision.

The four elements of the model have a natural and rational order of Space, Voice, Audience and Influence. A safe space and open space must be available for young people to share their views, children and young people must be facilitated well enough to express them correctly, these views, ideas and opinions must be actively listened to and acted on if and where appropriate.

In 2012, Andreas Karsten identified 36 different models of youth and citizen participation in which the importance of youth voice plays various degrees of importance. I’m not going to compare and contrast all those models here but suggest that this proliferation of models is perhaps a sign that trying to define youth voice as a singular entity is a lost cause from the outset.

Rather than trying to define a complex phenomenon under one all encompassing model or metaphor, it might make more sense to see it as a polyphonal phenomenon: multi-faceted, multi-structured, multi-purposed and multi-voiced.

 The mirage of the authentic voice

When in times of ambivalence and complexity, it’s time to turn to art again and I’d like to show you this brief clip to give us another perspective on the challenge of youth voice.

Let me introduce you to Kenny Craig, hypnotist from the BBCTV series Little Britain of a few years ago:

Whilst youth voice has been central to much child centred learning pedagogy across the world, there’s a risk that claiming to privilege children’s voice as the central plank of your cultural policy making can become a tokenistic attempt at democratic education, which can, with a hypnotistic Kenny Craig waving away of the hands – Look into my eyes, look into my eyes, the eyes, the eyes, not around the eyes, don’t look around my eyes, look into my eyes, you’re under – mask several other agendas – pupil compliance, customer satisfaction, and the inexorable marketisation of education – in full flow.

The sight of the young woman not remembering agreeing to go on the date with Kenny reminds me of student subject choices being strangely limited at critical times in their education development. When she’s discouraged against her will to choose the set menu over lobster and water instead of champagne, I ask myself whether this tells us something about how often young people in school can be hypnotised into expressing their school’s desires rather than their own.

When we find ourselves asking ourselves, whose voice are we actually listening to? The voice of the young woman or that of Kenny Craig? Then it’s time to resort to art again – this time in the shape of some more old English Music Hall Tradition – to gain some further insights into the ephemeral concept of youth voice.

It’s always interesting to see the ventriloquist dummy fighting against the will of it’s operator; not least because it’s the operator’s own voice is expressing the revolt, through the voice of the dummy.

Ventriloquation – when a speaker speaks through the voice of another for the purpose of social or interactional positioning (Wertsch, 1991, Bakhtin, 1981) – is not just a spooky music hall act but is brilliantly demonstrated in Toy Story 4, when Woody, on his quest to return the trash toy, Forky, to his owner Bonnie, chances upon a doll called Gabby in an antique store and her slavish ventriloquist’s dummies, the Bensons.

The conflict between Woody and Gabby Gabby is at its heart, a fight for the voice of the child. Gabby Gabby’s voice box has been broken and her desire to replace it leads to her capturing Woody and offering a deal – give me your voice box and I’ll give you back your lost toy, Bo – and by implication his long-lost love.

The Bensons are instrumental in her fight to regain her voice box, and Woody, ever the Tom Hanks hero, obliges. He donates his voice box to her through a surgical procedure; which leads to her eventually gaining the attention of a lost child at the end of the film which ensures both the toy’s and child’s happy ever afterness.

Scratch the surface of Toy Story 4 and there are several other delights in store when it comes to understanding the complexities of youth voices.

Heteroglossia (roughly translated as ‘multi-languagedness’) is described by Bakhtin in his work “Discourse in the Novel.” And refers to the idea that there are several distinct languages within any single (apparently unified) language or text: and that different languages each have a different voice which compete with one another for dominance.

This is exemplified in this clip from Toy Story 4: in his search for Woody, Buzz Lightyear, who all through the film has been advised to listen to his inner voice, struggles to listen to the voice he wants to hear from the button-induced phrases from his own voice box:

“It’s an unchartered mission in unchartered space” doesn’t cut it.
“No time to explain!” isn’t what’s needed.
“To infinity and beyond!” is missing the point.

But finally, the inner voice phrase “The slingshot manoeuvre!” does the trick and Buzz is off to save the day again, reminding us in the process that the ‘inner voice’ is also, far more complex, more heteroglossic, than we might imagine.

Toy Story 4 also shows how children’s voices are constructed through acts of impersonation.

In one of the final chase sequences through the carnival at the end of the film, one of the toy gang, Trixie, impersonates the family car’s GPS system and the toys manipulate the controls, so taking control of the car.

Also worth a listen to how Buzz responds to Rex the Dinosaur when asked what he’s doing as he presses his voice box buttons.

So, bearing in mind the hypnotists, ventriloquists and impersonators which construct our inner voices, we can conclude that always in transition, voice is not a fixed entity. We do not speak consistently for long. We are always learning; and always listening to new voices which we try to ignore, assimilate, pass off as our own or wrestle into a completely different form.

Our authentic voice can never be completely pinned down or determined because our lives depend on flux and flow, confluence and influence.

Listen to your inner voice says Buzz Lightyear throughout the film. But which one, we might ask ourselves?

So, is the search for authenticity a false one, given the heteroglossic, provisional and fluid nature of voice? And if so, then what hope is there for organisations like ourselves, and at a macro level, policy makers who great place value on the need to hear the voices of young people and the wider community at large?

The hope lies in the very plurality that the word ’voices’ suggests and the recognition that voice is dynamically constructed and reconstructed, shaped by many different, counter or affirmative voices. To channel the voice of Judith Butler and her work on identity: we do not have a voice, we perform multiple voices. Voice is a performative act, not a state of authentic, inviolable being.

Policy perspectives: How plurality supports cultural democracy

Bearing this in mind, what are the implications for policy makers and practitioners who genuinely want to ensure that the influence and agency of young people can felt in their organisations and practice? How does policy contend with ambiguity, ambivalence and multiplicity of voices and views?

The Mighty Creatives and many other cultural organisations are not alone in wanting to hear from the voices of our beneficiaries. This desire stems from the recognition that arts have a critical role in the civic life of nations: and for this role to play out to its full effect, listening and acting upon the voices of citizens is critical.

The study undertaken by Kings College London for the Gulbenkian Foundation in 2016 makes the case for the civic role of the arts in the following ways:

The inherent argument: Article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights establishes ‘a right to participate in the cultural life of the community’ and that it is in the duty of every arts organisation to reach out and be an active part of their communities, especially if they receive public funding or protection.

The social justice argument: We live in unequal and divided societies and arts organisations are well placed to articulate this disparity and (furthermore) enable social action by, with and for the disadvantaged to ameliorate the situation.

The intrinsic argument: Arts organisations are uniquely placed to engage in civic matters since they are seen as neutral or third spaces and that people respond to the material of the arts using different values and faculties from those they apply to explicitly political media.

The dutiful argument: In a society in which trust, engagement and investment in traditional civic organisations (such as churches, political parties, etc.) is seemingly declining, arts and cultural organisations represent a last resort (or perhaps preferred agency) through which to mobilise and animate citizens in democratic processes.

The Kings College study highlights the work of Bacon and Korza (1999) and their argument that it’s the very presence of the multiplicity of voices which leads to civic dialogue and democracy.

Their emphasis on dialogue between multiple voices can direct us to how we might better develop our intentions to listen to and act upon the voices of young people.

They argue, in their publication, Animating Democracy: the Artistic Imagination as a Force in Civic Dialogue, that cultural organisations play a key role as catalysts, conveners, or forums for civic dialogue, beyond their basic role of producer, presenter, or exhibitor.

By offering space, organisational and interpretive capacity, cultural organisations can build local relationships to encourage various publics to engage in civic dialogue and participatory democracy:

“civic dialogue plays an essential role in the workings of democracy, giving voice to multiple perspectives on challenging issues; enabling people to develop more multifaceted, humane, and realistic views of issues and each other; and helping diverse groups find common ground.

Dialogue can help diverse groups find common ground on a particular issue. Face-to- face exchange prompts people to develop a more multifaceted, human, realistic picture of their fellow citizens and of an issue, in the absence of which there is a tendency to stereotype opponents and reduce issues to extremes.”

This leads me to three final questions. If we could recognise our own multiple voices of ourselves, might this lead to the democratisation of ourselves, and an acceptance of our differences to ourselves first of all, from which acceptance of The Other might follow?

Could recognising the hypnotists, ventriloquists in our own lives somehow lead to greater tolerance of the multiplicity of the voices of The Other and lead to societies which are more at ease with themselves?

And finally, when it comes to your time to hearing the voices of young people, how do you perform? Are you a hypnotist, ventriloquist. Impersonator or something else?

I’ve leave this with you for our Q and A session, but in the meantime would like to end with a return to art.

In 2019, The Mighty Creatives promoted a conference entitled Creating the Future: Challenging Perspectives and Broadening Horizons for Children and Young People. Designed, developed and delivered by 5 young people, the conference produced many challenging conversations about how young voices could inform their futures.

We asked the poet, writer and creative producer Charley Genever, to capture the day’s conversations and happenings, of which she crafted into ‘Notes for Change’ which I shall finish my presentation with. The last note provides a partial answer to the question I have just posed.

SLIDE NOTES FOR CHANGE by Charley Genever

1. We all know how the world is, we feel it in our fists, the evidence is there, we’re failing at least two million of our kids and not one of them deserves it.

2. A shut door is a barrier. A bus ticket is a barrier. Education is a barrier. Your 35+ staff team with the same average age is a barrier.

3. The system is an ancient ocean and provision comes in paddling pools. The figures go over our heads to the ebb of rich, white hands. Look at them wave, floating their tick boxes and funding loops to our shoreline for us to ascribe our lives to.

4. This is not how it should be. Kids do not come culture free and every turned cheek becomes a disaffected memory.

5. Imagine how fresh democracy would be if we showed every child, they’re worthy of creativity.

6. There’s so much noise when you’re young. Layers and layers of it. A slow story, a clock for a tongue, all the words come out wrong. Shame slots in-between, breeding on the lack of opportunity.

7. Jargon is only good for lingo bingo. It’s condescending. Get it off your posters.

8. Art is the business of people, the right for everyone to belong, for new minds to find their tribes, to create thriving humans.

9. If you don’t wear this sentiment across your chest, you’re not a youth engagement officer, you’re a security guard.

10. Are you being honest with yourself? Are you riding your high horse to the estates, the academies, the prisons, or are you watching the horizon shrink from your office?

11. LISTEN. The youth will speak. GIVE SPACE. The youth will fill it.

12. In the right light even dust will ignite. Sparks in school visits, in workshops with guest artists, in museum trips and paid internships. Don’t tell me you can’t evaluate a twinkle. You are asking the wrong questions.

13. Remember when you were first gifted the power to make the ground sound magical? Turn tarmac to fairy-tale. Open the curtains and let the whole street in.

14. There is no alternative to hope. It’s all we’ve got.

15. There is no alternative to hope. It’s all we’ve got.

END

The full conference schedule is here Konferences programma_15.10_ENG-2.

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