Art is a powerful form of protest; it communicates a language that can be universally understood. The power of art is feared by authoritarian governments as it reveals truth-provoking change. Many dictatorships censor art and even go as far as imprisoning artists who create dissent, but also within so-called democratic countries, censorship occurs institutionally. I decided to explore political art censorship in this post as I have been a victim of censorship and feel the stories of those who have experienced the same and much worse need to be heard and uncensored.
The Turkish government is known for their surveillance, criminalisation, and censorship of journalists and activists, which is justified ‘in the name of protecting the nation from external and internal threats’ (Yesil, 2014). In 2017, Zehra Doğan was sentenced to nearly 3 years in prison for her digital ‘Painting of the destruction of Nusaybin’ depicting the aftermath of the Turkish military’s destruction of the city. The piece portrays demolished buildings bearing the Turkish flag; this being the specific feature causing her arrest, even though the Turkish government “are the ones who created this picture” she “only illustrated it.” (Doğan, 2019) as seen in the reference used for the piece (see figure 2).
Doğan’s experience mirrors that of a dystopian novel, where restrictions on freedom of expression are taken to such extremes not only to attempt to remove her identity – by banning Doğan from using art supplies in prison – but also by censoring and eliminating documentation and evidence of the government’s destructions, highlights the urgency of the painting and its ability to challenge people’s perceptions of the Turkish government (Doğan translated by Bourges, 2019). Looking closely at the compositional decisions in Doğan’s painting, such as the military tank in the forefront depicted as a dinosaur-scorpion monster hybrid with black soulless silhouettes of soldiers marching out of its open mouth. This imagery is post-apocalyptic and further resembles the brutality of the military like robotic killers that listen to all commands given by the government. Moreover, the washed-out colours used to illustrate the city landscape blurs into the bleak white sky – becoming invisible and therefore forgotten. There is a dialogue created in the artwork between forgetting and remembering – as through Doğan painting the destruction of Nusaybin she created a form of evidence for people to remember, but also the symbolic drowning out of the city landscape foretells the Turkish government censoring the art – an attempt to remove and forget. It is clear why the artwork was censored as it sheds light on the brutality and lives lost at the hands of the Turkish government.
Similarly, the idea of art as evidence is communicated through Forensic Architecture (FA) a ‘research agency of architects, artists, filmmakers, journalists, lawyers, scientists and software developers that investigate state and corporate violence’ (Whitworth, 2021). The group aims to ‘provide evidence for communities that are in the frontline of struggle’, director Eyal Weizman highlights when you put something in an exhibition space there is another kind of vision, gaze and understanding that it produces – it acts as a way of interrogating images and interrogating the history as the work is also a catalyst for dialogue opening up important conversations on colonialism (Weizman, 2021). The group’s Cloud studies exhibition at Whitworth art gallery caught my attention as they breakdown the different types of clouds; tear gas clouds that spread poison, bomb clouds that vaporise buildings, signifying how ‘our air is being weaponised’ and our clouds are toxic (Whitworth, 2021). This exhibition proves the power of protest art as the audience’s perspective on clouds has completely changed, they are no longer symbolic of just the weather, rather, they are ‘architecture in gaseous form’ it contains everything a building once was – ‘plaster, plastic, glass, fabric, and sometimes even human remains’ (Weizman, 2021).
The exhibition analyses clouds after the bombing of Rafah (where an Israeli drone dropped tear gas canisters on protestors in Gaza) and visualisations of the spread of airborne Glyphosate weed killer into Gaza. This focus on Palestine links back to the theme of this blog post – censorship – as the artwork was censored by the University of Manchester and was described as ‘propaganda’ and using ‘inflammatory language’ because of a statement the group posted at the entrance of the exhibition that addressed the struggles of Palestinians and ‘Israel’s 11-day war on Gaza in May’ 2021 (Bishara, 2021) – which was subsequently removed. The FA defended its statement and threatened to pull the exhibition if the poster was not put back up as a result, the Whitworth gallery reversed its decision (Bishara, 2021). However, censorship of the Palestinian struggle is extremely common as almost every time the mistreatment of Palestinians is mentioned in a public space/institution accusation of ‘anti-Semitism is deployed to silence criticism of the Israeli government’ (BBC News, 2016). Therefore, the FA’s protest art in the form of architectural evidence is uncompromising and creates a new perspective on what can be considered protest art.
As an artist and activist myself, I have been a victim of censorship during my current studies at Loughborough University. This occurred when I was emailed about the possibility of having my mural, I designed for a competition, to be displayed ‘in a prominent public location’. However, some concern had been expressed about the Free Palestine slogan in the design which ‘could cause offence to some Jewish students or staff’ and was asked whether I would consider removing the slogan from the mural. I emailed back educating the member of staff and defending my choice to incorporate the slogan as the design competition brief itself was created around inclusivity and equality – therefore to attempt to censor an important movement is contradictory as the aim of my mural was to stand up for all those who face injustice – including the Palestinian people. To conclude, the mural will not be going up because I chose not to undermine the integrity of my artwork to appease those who took offence to the phrase. In a way, I achieved the aim of protest art; If artists didn’t have people questioning/raising ‘concern’ over their work we would be doing something wrong. Overall art censorship is not only harmful in terms of freedom of speech and expression, but it’s also detrimental to the people/issues artists create a platform for, as many unrepresented/oppressed groups need the help of those with a certain amount of privilege to ‘be a voice for those with prisoner tongues’ (frangipane, 2020).
Bibliography:
Batycka, D., 2020. Art and Creative Acts That Were Censored in 2019. [online] Hyperallergic. Available at: <https://hyperallergic.com/534808/art-and-creative-acts-that-were-censored-in-2019/> [Accessed 15 April 2022].
BBC News. 2016. What’s the difference between anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism?. [online] Available at: <https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-36160928> [Accessed 20 April 2022].
Bishara, H., 2021. Pro-Palestinian Artwork by Forensic Architecture Was Censored by University of Manchester. [online] Hyperallergic. Available at: <https://hyperallergic.com/670910/pro-palestinian-artwork-by-forensic-architecture-censored-by-university-of-manchester/> [Accessed 20 April 2022].
Bower, C., 2021. Cloud Studies is filled with hope not hate. [online] The Meteor. Available at: <https://themeteor.org/2021/08/13/cloud-studies-filled-with-hope-not-hate/> [Accessed 20 April 2022].
Chomsky, N. and Pappe, I., 2015. On Palestine. London: PENGUIN Books LTD.
Doğan, Z., 2019. Zehra Dogan: Turkey’s rebel with a pen and a paintbrush article by Burcu Karakas
frangipane, A., 2020. I Would Leave Me If I Could. [S.I.]: Simon & Schuster, p. A story like mine.
Glaser, M., Ilic, M., Heller, S. and Kushner, T., 2017. The Design of Dissent, Expanded Edition. Minneapolis: Rockport Publishers.
Goldstein, C., 2019. After Three Years of Prison for a Watercolor, Outspoken Kurdish Artist Zehra Doğan Has Been Freed in Turkey | Artnet News. [online] Artnet News. Available at: <https://news.artnet.com/art-world/almost-three-years-prison-outspoken-artist-zehra-dogan-released-turkish-prison-1473943> [Accessed 17 April 2022].
Lucie Bourges, R., 2019. Zehra Doğan at the Tate Modern in London. [online] KEDISTAN. Available at: <https://www.kedistan.net/2019/05/11/zehra-dogan-at-the-tate-modern-london/> [Accessed 15 April 2022].
Pappe, I., 2006. The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine. Oxford: Oneworld publications.
Tamir, C., 2016. Censorship in Israel | The Guggenheim Museums and Foundation. [online] The Guggenheim Museums and Foundation. Available at: <https://www.guggenheim.org/blogs/map/censorship-in-israel> [Accessed 15 April 2022].
Weizman, E., 2021. Manchester international festival, Forensic Architecture in conversation with Alistair Hudson | Artist Talks | MIF Live. Available at: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgZJaPLhZoY&t=579s> [Accessed 19 April 2022].
Whitworth, 2021. Cloud Studies part of MIF21 | Whitworth Art Gallery. [online] Whitworth.manchester.ac.uk. Available at: <https://www.whitworth.manchester.ac.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/currentexhibitions/cloudstudies-mif/> [Accessed 20 April 2022].
Yesil, B., 2014. Press Censorship in Turkey: Networks of State Power, Commercial Pressures, and Self-Censorship. Communication, Culture & Critique, 7(2), pp.154-159.
Amina Pagliari 
Leave a comment