Copyright 2008 by the
National Art Education Association
Studies in Art Education
A Journal of Issues and Research
2008, 49(3), 200-217
Scopic Regime Change: The War of Terror,
Visual Culture, and Art Education
David Darts
New York University
Kevin Tavin
The Ohio State University
Robert W. Sweeny
Indiana University of Pennsylvania
John Derby
The Ohio State University
Editorial correspondence
may be forwarded to
David Darts, Assistant
Professor of Art and
Art Education, New
York University–
Department of Art
and Art Professions, 34
Stuyvesant Street, 3rd
Floor New York, NY
10003. E-mail: darts@
nyu.edu
An earlier draft of this
paper was presented
at the 2007 NAEA
Convention in
New York.
1According to a Flat
Files Gallery press
release, Bilal’s site
received 80,000,000 hits
with 60,000 paintballs
shot during the 30day installation. See:
http://www.crudeoils.
us/wafaa/html/
closingmedia.html
200
This study examines visual dimensions and pedagogical repercussions of the war of
terror. Iconographies of threat and prophylaxis are explored through a discussion
of the actuarial gaze and the terr(or)itorialization of the visual field. Specific visual
culture fallout from the war of terror is examined, including artistic responses and
educational (ir)responsibilities and possibilities. Technologies of forgetting and
artistic and pedagogical strategies of remembering are also considered. The essay
concludes with an examination of implications and possible future directions for
contemporary art education in a post-9/11 world.
Democratize or We’ll Shoot: Framing War and Terror
May 10, 2007—Wafaa Bilal was tired, desperately so. He was shot at
around the clock for 5 consecutive days. With nearly 2000 rounds fired
already, he still had 25 days to endure.1 Bilal, an Iraqi-born artist who immigrated to the United States in 1992, readily admitted that carrying out this
30-day interactive art installation in a backroom of Chicago’s Flatfile Galleries
has been profoundly challenging, emotionally and physically (Artner, 2007).
The defining feature of Bilal’s sparsely furnished room was an ominous
paint gun, which is connected to the Internet via direct feed. Anyone who
visited the exhibit’s website could take control of the gun and fire at will.
Titled Domestic Tension, Bilal’s installation has been described as an artistic
rumination on the interconnections between technology, killing, entertainment, morality, and the global war on terror (Caro, 2007). Motivated
by a television report about a soldier remotely firing missiles in Iraq while
sitting comfortably in Colorado, Bilal devised this piece as a response to the
abstractness of contemporary war and its consequences—consequences that
are intensely personal to him, having lost both his father and brother in Iraq
as a result of the ongoing U.S. military campaign.
Studies in Art Education
Scopic Regime Change: The War of Terror, Visual Culture, and Art Education
Part of the poignancy of Bilal’s installation has lain in its challenge to what
Ranciere (1992) and Feldman (2004) referred to as the “police concept of
history.” In this scopic regime, history has been framed as a “visual dichotomy
of ideal safe space and dystopic, duplicit, and risk-laden space” (p. 333). This
ideological environment has been commensurate with the new globalized
economy and has flourished in the aftermath of 9/11. Privacy has been handed
over in return for supposed security. Fear has replaced freedom. Dissent has
not coexisted with patriotism. Bilal’s installation challenged these dichotomies by existing simultaneously as both a site of risk (e.g., emotionally,
artistically, physically) and a place of relative safety (e.g., paintballs replace
bullets while Chicago serves for Baghdad). Thus, by attempting to occupy
the liminal space (Garoian, 1999) between risk and protection, terror and
security, Bilal directly confronted the logic of this duality. By purposefully
sacrificing his own privacy—not in exchange for increased security but
for amplified physical and emotional risk—he artistically complicated the
police concept of history by undermining and transgressing the terr(or)itory
between order and disorder, freedom and imprisonment, killing and technologies of killing.­
Thus, Bilal’s installation has been a direct affront to the ongoing “war on
terror,” an umbrella term used to depict the broad sweeping legal, political,
and military policies promulgated by George W. Bush in response to 9/11.
The war on terror, which has been described by detractors, supporters, and
even the President himself 2 as a war that cannot be won, has been a defining
element of contemporary U.S. culture. While clearly a misguided and even
dangerous rejoinder to the threat of terrorism, the overarching pretenses for
the war on terror rarely have been challenged directly. Some astute observers,
however, have pointed out the impossibilities of carrying out a war against
an abstract noun, an ephemeral tactic, or a state of mind. While the term
itself follows in the historical footsteps of past metaphors used to describe
American domestic and foreign policies, including the “war on drugs” and
the “war on poverty,” this has been the first such campaign to include largescale military action. As Lakoff (2004, 2006) identified, by framing his
campaign against terrorism as a war, the President has successfully invoked
Article II of the Constitution, giving him broad political, military, and legal
powers as commander-in-chief. As a war president with war powers, he has
had extraordinary privileges that, if certain lawmakers have their way, will
only be withdrawn when the war on terror is “won.” And as Lakoff (2006)
explained, this can’t happen because “you can’t permanently capture and
defeat an emotion” (p. 30).
Thus, by using conceptual frames like “the war on terror,” conservative
politicians and their messaging strategists have been able to manipulate public
opinion and generate civic and political support for their policies.3 Nearly 5
years of the war on terror has naturally led to what might be described as
Studies in Art Education
2During an exclusive
August 30, 2004
interview with Today
show host Matt Lauer,
President George W.
Bush stated that “I don’t
think you can win it”
in response to Lauer’s
question about whether
the U.S. could expect
victory in the war on
terror.
3Lakoff (2004)
explained that by
purposefully using these
structures to frame
political issues (e.g. tax
relief ’instead of tax cuts),
prominent Conservative
messaging strategists
like Frank Luntz have
successfully manipulated public opinion
and garnered bipartisan
popular support for
previously unpopular
policies.
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David Darts, Kevin Tavin, Robert W. Sweeny, and John Derby
the “war of terror.” This has been thought of as the “blowback” that has
resulted from the war on terror, which has terrorized many worldwide. War
and terror have existed as functions of power and positions, the former
waged by state agencies, the latter by state-less groups; what “we” engage
is war, “others” engage in terrorism. The effects of the two types of terror
have merely separated by degree and the power to name, not by kind; the
result being a perpetual cycle of symbolic or physical violence, depending
on one’s location in the police concept of history (Tavin & Robbins, 2006).
While the causes and consequences of the war of terror have been multifaceted and complex, its distinct visual dimensions have called for critical
examination and response by art educators. The urgency of this call has been
heightened by the increasingly mediated nature of our relationships with war
and terror in a post-9/11 world (Duncum, 2002a and b; Mirzoeff, 2005;
Nellis, 2004).
In acknowledging war and terror as significant social issues that have
been culturally and visually constructed (Garoian & Gaudelius, 2004; Pauly
2005), arts educators have been obligated to see something and say something (Tavin, 2006) about the war of terror in the context of art education.
In what follows, the concept of the war of terror will be expanded through
a discussion of the actuarial gaze and the terr(or)itorialization of the visual
field. Specific visual culture fallout will be examined, as will implications
for the teaching and learning of art. Technologies of forgetting and artistic
and pedagogical responses, responsibilities, and rememberings will also be
explored.
The Actuarial Gaze: Insidious Modes of Seeing
Art educators have for some time now been interested in different notions
of “the gaze.” Concepts of the gaze explored directly or indirectly in our field
include the male gaze (Collins & Sandell, 1988), masculine gaze (jagodzinski, 2003), scientific gaze (Eisenhauer, 2006b; Marshall, 2004), filmic gaze
(Nadaner, 1981), racist gaze (Delacruz, 2003; jagodzinski, 1999), totalizing
gaze (Eisenhauer, 2006a; Garoian, 1993), and the heteronormative gaze
(Sanders, in press). Garber (1992), for example, examined the male gaze and
feminist approaches to understanding art and education, while jagodzinski
(1997) addressed through psychoanalytic theory the Getty’s disciplined and
disciplining gaze. More recently, Sweeny (2006) discussed notions of the
panoptic gaze and its relationship to art education and war. Another concept
of the gaze directly related to the discourse on war, terror, and art education
has been “the actuarial gaze.”
Allen Feldman (2005) described the actuarial gaze as:
A visual organization and institutionalization of threat perception and
prophylaxis, which cross cuts politics, public health, public safety,
policing, urban planning and media practice … Threat-perception
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is subjected to rumor, the imaginary and to marketing. The visual
culture of risk reportage circulates catastrophic images as a psychosocial and, ultimately, political desire and currency, from which
dubious equivalences and linkages are carved and facile political
values are extracted. (pp. 205-206)
The actuarial gaze has been understood in part as an insidious mode of
looking that is activated by and sets in motion a socially constructed and
visually mediated registration of hierarchical difference. This practice of
looking (Sturken & Cartwright 2001) “sees” risk, “looks” for danger, and
“watches” catastrophes in all directions through the modalities of xenophobia, racism, and religious and political intolerance (Giroux, 2006). The
gaze has attempted to connect a risk-object (i.e., an individual, a group,
a nation state, a virus, etc.) to the “practices of intervention mandated to
identify, classify, underwrite, and interdict threat and hazard” (Feldman,
2005, p. 206).
Applying theories of the actuarial gaze to visual culture may help name the
institutional context from which the interventions emerge and the normative
context from which risk perceptions and classifications arise. These classifications, “particularly since 9/11, have been arbitrarily fused with categories of
race, class, ethnicity, religion, immune system status and political geography”
(pp. 207-208). For example, through what the American Civil Liberties
Union (ACLU) described as the “surveillance-industrial complex” (Stanley,
2004, p. 1), public and private surveillance programs, such as Marine
Watch, Highway Watch, Real Estate Watch, Block Watch, Eagle Eyes, CAT eyes
(Community Anti-terrorism Training Institute), and hundreds of state and
local reporting programs, have employed the actuarial gaze and interpellated
people to be on the look-out for the Other. To quote CAT eyes, for instance,
individuals should look for “people who don’t seem to belong in the workplace, neighborhood, business establishment or anywhere else … If a person
just doesn’t seem like he or she belongs, there’s probably a reason for that”
(Stanley, 2004, p. 6). This language has deployed a clear-cut example of the
actuarial gaze in the service of surveilling others, with the presupposition of
knowing who or what someone looks like when they belong and when they
do not.
Through the actuarial gaze one can claim the national marker of belonging
and define one’s identity in part as being “risk-insulated” (see Feldman,
2005), taking comfort in the ever-present watchful gaze of the surveillanceindustrial complex that accounts, protects, and regards “our” well-being. On
the contrary, one can also be positioned as “profiled bearer of risk,” caught
in a panoptical nightmare of control and maintenance, or perhaps a “synoptical” web, where, according to Bauman (1998), the majority watches a select
minority. This is “a world whose main distinctive feature is precisely the
quality of being watched—by many, and in all corners of the globe: of being
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David Darts, Kevin Tavin, Robert W. Sweeny, and John Derby
global in their capacity of being watched” (p. 53). Of course, it is never clearcut whether, as [President George W.] Bush declared, “You are with us or
against us,” since we move, consciously and unconsciously, in between and
among those positions depending upon the current “terr(or)itorialization”
of the visual field, and the gaze of those in power and the power of their
actuarial gaze.
As our identities coalesce and our perceptions are structured through the
actuarial gaze, we look for and are seen as potential objects of alarm. The
gaze is a form of policing “who is safe and who is not, who is a threat and
who is worthy of citizenship, who can occupy the space of safety and who
cannot, and ultimately who may live and who must die” (Giroux, 2006, p.
9). Another clear-cut and tragic example came under the “watchful eyes” of
the United Kingdom’s Underground security network on July 22, 2005. The
British police ultimately decided that Jean Charles de Menezes, a Brazilian
immigrant, “must die.” This was due in part to the way he “looked” like a
possible terrorist. According to the police, de Menezes looked like a Somali
or Ethiopian and “had Mongolian eyes.” Jean Charles de Menezes was shot
seven times in the head and once in the shoulder. He was innocent and
unconnected with the attempted terrorist bombings in London.
The Terr(or)itorialization of Art Education
The terr(or)itorialization of the visual field has been aligned with the
police concept of space and place, dividing public and private space into
safe and unsafe, ordered and disordered structures that house, albeit temporarily, those who belong and those who are out of place. According to
Feldman (2005), “This form of policing emerges with the disappearance
of enforceable physical national borders and compensates for the loss of
tangible borders by creating new boundary systems … including spatial metaphors, such as homeland security” (pp. 210-211). The terr(or)itorialization
of the visual field has required a particular ocular preoccupation with the
both transcendental sovereignty of the state and vulnerability of individuals
within the state. As the de Menezes catastrophe pointed out, “To be riskfree or risk-insulated becomes a claim on sovereignty and the elevation or
reduction of risk exposure defines citizenship and its alters” (p. 207). The
others (as opposed to the good citizens) have been the secret, violent, and
dis-eased (Garoian & Gaudelius, 2007), and, for art education, the radical
teachers and students who continue to legitimate the actuarial gaze through
an economy of fear (Darts, 2008)—“fear of an omnipresent enemy who
could be anywhere, strike at any time and who in fact could be ‘among us’”
(Crandall & Armitage, 2005, p. 20).
For institutions of higher education, the actuarial gaze has created chilling
symbolic environments where non-affirmative thought is increasingly marginalized. This has been demonstrated, for instance, through the reallocation
of public monies vis-à-vis the Department of Homeland Security’s various
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initiatives that underwrite the development of “terror studies” programs at
major universities in the U.S., while appropriations for other programs (such
as art education) diminish.4 Other examples have included the incessant war
against professors waged by cross-over hits like David Horowitz pushing the
“Academic Bill of Rights” to increase the representation of self-identifying
and pro-war conservatives in academia (Tavin & Robbins, 2006).
Another form of terr(or)itorialization has manifested in McCarthy-like
elicitations of consent at colleges and universities, including major sites
for the study of art education. At The Ohio State University (OSU), for
example, all new employees must sign a Declaration Regarding Material
Assistance/No Assistance to a Terrorist Organization (DMA).5 This material
manifestation of the actuarial gaze which “exposes, classifies, and creates
zones of visual editing, [and] structural invisibility” (Feldman, 2005, p. 213)
has been one part of the so-called Ohio Patriot Act, the legislative pet project
of ultraconservative State Senator Jeff Jacobson. The form has required that
educators answer six yes-or-no questions correctly. If one responds “yes” to
any question, refuses to answer, or simply leaves it blank, she or he has been
considered a threat and denied or terminated from employment.
The humiliating and useless exercise in signing the DMA has signaled to
all OSU faculty that they are vulnerable and ultimately under the “watchful
eyes” of their institution, and more importantly, the State. While the DMA
has not been primarily a visual phenomenon or targeted only toward art
educators, it has nonetheless another form of psychosocial threat perception
that affects how one is “seen” in the academy, real or imagined. Under the
rubric of public safety, dubious equivalences have been constructed between
terrorist and teacher, unless one chooses the correct prophylaxis: The answer
“no.” This non-choice has echoed the larger battle cry of the war of terror:
“There is no alternative.” While the dialectic structures of attention and
distraction instigated by the actuarial gaze have been circulated and reinforced within the institutions of higher education in the U.S., their visual
manifestations, ultimately, have been found in the pedagogical force of the
broader culture, circulated repetitiously, and received and mediated within
regimes of representation and structures of authority concerned with social
and moral regulation (Altheide, 2006).
The War of Terror: Visual Culture Fallout
4For example, in
September 2005,
the FBI appointed a
National Security Higher
Education Advisory
Board in part to “assist
in the development
of research, degree
programs, course work,
internships, opportunities for graduates, and
consulting opportunities
for faculty relating
to national security.”
FBI Director Robert
Mueller stated, we “want
to foster exchanges
between academia and
the FBI in order to
develop curricula which
will aid in attracting
the best and brightest
students to careers in
the law enforcement
and intelligence
communities.” Graham
Spanier, President of
Pennsylvania State
University, chairs the
Board, and former
members include such
notables as Secretary of
Defense Robert Gates,
the former President of
Texas A&M University,
and the former Director
of the CIA (U.S.
Department of Justice,
2005).
5See: http://www.
homelandsecurity.ohio.
gov/dma/dma.asp
Numerous other mediated manifestations and transmutations of
terr(or)itorialization and the actuarial gaze have thrived in our post-9/11
world. This visual culture fallout from the war of terror has generated
profound symbolic, cultural, and pedagogical repercussions. In September
2005, for instance, the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten published the
results of a political cartoon contest that asked artists to respond to current
issues regarding the depiction of Islam. These controversial images—the
most iconic being the visage of Mohammed, his turban replaced with a
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David Darts, Kevin Tavin, Robert W. Sweeny, and John Derby
6Taheri-azar has since
plead not guilty to nine
counts of attempted
first-degree murder, and
nine counts of felonious
assault (Rocha, 2007,
August 23).
7First acknowledged as
Ali Shalal Qaissi, the
identity of the prisoner
has not yet been accurately identified (Kurtz,
2006, March 18).
bomb— were later reprinted in newspapers around the globe, leading to
a series of violent protests. Danish and Norwegian embassies in Iran were
stormed and firebombed while Pakistanis demonstrated against EU nations
(Navqi & Coghlan, 2006). In the U.S., the reprinting of the images in the
University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign student paper, The Daily Illini,
resulted in the suspension and eventual termination of student editor Acton
H. Gordon. At the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (UNC),
meanwhile, former student Mohammed Reza Taheri-azar drove through a
crowded thoroughfare intentionally hitting and wounding nine pedestrians
in protest of the publication of a similar cartoon in the UNC student newspaper (Orlando, 2006).6
This controversy provided an important opportunity for art educators
to seize upon a contemporary visual moment, one that resonated with
political, social, cultural, and historical weight. The limited response of the
art education community has been perhaps best encapsulated by another
cartoon, the animated television comedy South Park. In “Cartoon Wars,”
a two-part series that first aired in April 2006, the show’s creators critically
examined the events surrounding the Jyllands-Posten cartoon controversy. Of
particular note was a scene in the first episode in which the citizens of South
Park participate in a town hall meeting to discuss possible courses of action
in light of an impending airing of Mohammed images on the Fox Network’s
The Family Guy. The solution put forth by the town’s academic, Professor
Thomas, seemed sadly representative of the status quo educational approach
(Sweeny, 2006) to dealing with controversial social, cultural, and political
issues. He recommended that the townspeople bury their heads, literally, in
sand.
Of course, the Muhammad cartoon controversy has been just one of
many teachable moments provided by the unrelenting stream of images that
help make up the war of terror. In the greenish haze of “shock and awe,”
from George W. Bush proclaiming “mission accomplished” on the deck of
the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln, the media manipulation of the toppling of the
statue of Saddam Hussein in Baghdad, and the fabricated heroism of private
Jessica Lynch, to the images of U.S. military casualties illegally obtained by
Tammy Silico, and the images from Abu Ghraib, the false binaries of the
actuarial gaze have been reinforced: with us or against us, patriot or traitor,
victory or defeat. In the service of the war of terror, the complexity of these
images has been reduced to mere caricature, which, as we have seen, can
result in horrific acts of violence.
Abu Ghraib
Perhaps the most violent image that has surfaced from Operation Iraqi
Freedom and the global war of terror has been that of the still-unidentified
hooded man standing on a cardboard box, with wires attached to his fingers.7
Known as the “Vietnam,” the prisoner stood on the box for hours at a time,
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afraid that if he stepped down or fell, he would be electrocuted (Mirzoeff,
2005). This image, as Sontag (2004) wrote, will not go away. Nor should it.
The digital image has been copied, pasted, up and downloaded numerous
times, its media existence firmly in place long before the mainstream media
was able to rebroadcast it on 60 Minutes II in 2004. This image has since
been appropriated numerous times by artists including Billie Lynn8 and Julie
Weitz9. It has been used in public art campaigns by individuals and groups,
including Freeway bloggers, who post images on highway overpasses across
the globe (Sweeny, 2007).
While the image will not go away, its meaning certainly changes through
the process of reproduction. When replicated in the visual style of the
ubiquitous iPod advertisements, for example, does the image successfully
address the complexities of the war of terror, the necessity of the Geneva
Conventions, or the ethical dilemma of extraordinary rendition?10 Or, does
it sell more iPods? Perhaps it does both, which is not necessarily contradictory. Contemporary artists are directly connected to the culture industry
that many in Western avant-garde movements of the 20th-century resisted
(Drucker, 2006). The lines are not clearly drawn now, if they ever were,
calling into question notions of resistance and subversion. This complicity
suggests that, perhaps, criticality in a contemporary age must work from
within the system it tries to change. This is indeed the case, if, as Hardt
and Negri (2004) stated, there is no more outside. Everything is contingent,
interconnected. Even the most banal art activity has political dimensions:
This extends to commonplace art lessons like the color wheel, which can be
seen in a different light through the use of color to gauge terrorist threat in
the United States.
8Tortured, 2005
9Abu Ghraib I and II,
2005
10Extraordinary
rendition describes the
extrajudicial transfer of
a person from one state
to another. This has been
described by some as
‘torture by proxy.’
11While initially
displayed by all major
news stations in the
United States, currently
only FOX News keeps
its viewers updated on
the status of the alert
system.
The Color of Terror
Whereas red is supposedly the color of rage and excitement, and of AIDS
fundraising for Africa, it also has represented the “severe risk of terrorist attack”
according to the Homeland Security Advisory System (HSAS). Unveiled by
the Department of Homeland Security on March 12, 2002, the advisory
scale ranged from red to orange (high risk), to yellow (significant risk), to
blue (general risk), and ending with green (low risk). The advisory system
was initially set at yellow and later raised to orange on March 17, 2003. The
system has never been set lower than yellow, indicating that the U.S. has
been under significant risk of terrorist attack since March 12, 2002.11
Not surprisingly, the HSAS has also been appropriated and subverted
by contemporary artists. The Improvisational Comedy Troupe Four Day
Weekend (2004), for instance, has produced an advisory system designed
for the nation’s children in which the terrorist threat levels are represented by
crayon colors (unmellow yellow, wild blue yonder, and so on). In the words
of a fictitious Tom Ridge on the group’s website: “Why should they have the
luxury of living in this false sense of bliss while us adults are having to carry
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David Darts, Kevin Tavin, Robert W. Sweeny, and John Derby
the burden of being scared shitless? This is our way of saying: Wake up and
smell the terror” (Four Day Weekend, 2004). Upon consideration of the
use of color as terrorist warning system, the color wheel has taken on new
significance, representing the amount to which the global war on terror has
insinuated itself in the fabric of everyday life.
Another terror chart circulating online has depicted characters from the
Cartoon Network’s animated series Aqua Teen Hunger Force (ATHF). This
chart took on additional significance in January of 2007 when a guerrilla
promotional campaign for the ATHF movie raised the official terror scale
in Boston. This, after ten suspicious-looking boxes were distributed around
the city, each complete with an illuminated Mooninite character extending
a middle finger. Jim Samples, the head of Cartoon Network later resigned
over the controversy, made much more ironic by the fact that the Mooninite
represents blue, or the low chance for terrorist attack (Levenson, 2007).
Boston has been by no means the only U.S. city that closely monitors
terrorist threats, both real and imagined. New York City was once called
the most dangerous city in America, long before 9/11. The epicenter of this
danger was surely Times Square, where adult bookstores and peep shows
attracted prostitutes and pimps, drug dealers, and the occasional tourist. This
view of Times Square was nothing like what you see when standing in the
intersection of Broadway and 42nd Street today.
Former NYC mayor and 2008 Republican presidential hopeful Rudolph
Giuliani would like to attribute this radical change to the adjustments that he
put in place in the late 1980s, assigning more police to the area and cracking
down on “quality of life” crimes. While this surely changed Times Square,
and the climate of the city in general, the new Times Square has become
policed not by police, but by a roaming mass of volunteers, their presence
unmistakable, armed not with guns, but with cameras, ready to document
the weather report of Good Morning America, the studios of MTV, or perhaps,
a mugging or violent attack.
This army of decentralized media users has furthered not only the agenda
of the police, by deterring illicit activity, but also that of advertisers, as icons
such as M&M World are prominently displayed alongside the masses of
grinning tourists patronizing Broadway shows (Altman, 2006). This, the
same decentralized media that has allowed individuals throughout the world
to shoot Wafaa Bilal, has made it impossible to clean up the images from
Abu Ghraib.
Fire-and-Forget: Technologies of Forgetting
and the War of Terror
As the proliferation of networked media and insidious systems of observation and dataveillance from the war of terror clearly has demonstrated, we
have been living in a society of surveillance where the amassing and storage
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of immense amounts of information is now commonplace (Sweeny, 2006).
As such, it has seemed counterintuitive that new media technologies and the
surveillance-industrial complex, which record virtually every moment and
iteration of contemporary life, can also facilitate specific kinds of “memory
loss.” As “technologies of forgetting,” however, the objects, systems, and
representations from our surveillance society have played a critical role in
how personal and cultural understandings and memories are created and
maintained. This has been significant, for the “way a nation remembers a war
and constructs its history is directly related to how that nation further propagates war” (Sturken, 1997, p. 122). By framing and shaping the dominant
images and narratives of post-9/11 life, these technologies of forgetting
have obscured deviant representations and countercultural accounts—thus
helping to maintain the social and political conditions required for waging
and promoting the war of terror.
“Fire-and-forget,” to borrow a phrase directly from the military lexicon,
has described third-generation advanced missile systems that do not require
manual guidance after launch. These systems, which allow armaments to store
the characteristics of enemy vehicles and other targets directly onboard, have
also been thought of as the most lucid manifestation of the technologies of
forgetting used in the war of terror. The operators of such weapons have been
freed from the responsibility of “watching” once they’ve lifted off. Designed
to allow soldiers to attend to their other combat duties, fire-and-forget has
represented the ultimate in “out of sight, out of mind” technologies. Like the
soldier remotely firing missiles comfortably in Colorado, operators everywhere and anywhere have fired and then promptly forgotten—the weapons
themselves literally retain the memories of war.
Clearly the most pervasive technology of forgetting used in the war of
terror, however, has been television. Whereas the Persian Gulf War was the
first “television war” of the U.S.,12 the 2003 invasion and subsequent occupation of Iraq has lived up to U.S. Central Command’s director of strategic
communications Jim Wilkinson’s prediction as “the most covered war in
history” (Katovsky & Carlson, 2004, p. xi). Twenty-four-hour news channels
like CNN, MSNBC and Fox News broadcasted a nearly uninterrupted feed
during the first six weeks of Operation Iraqi Freedom, creating the illusion of
a virtual voyeuristic omniscience. Four years later, advanced digital communication technologies, direct satellite links, and embedded news crews have
produced a constant supply of images and stories from the war zone. The
effects of this recurrent coverage, however, have been successfully offset by its
inescapable ephemerality. Mirzoeff (2005), adapting a phrase from Hannah
Arendt, described this phenomenon as the “banality of images” (p. 14). He
wryly contended, “for all the constant circulation of images, there was still
nothing to see” (p. 67). Mirzoeff argued the banality of images represents a
deliberate attempt by those waging the war to diminish its visual impact by
Studies in Art Education
12Sturken (1997)
reminded us that while
the Vietnam War was the
first “living room war,”
the war footage itself was
shot almost exclusively
on film and thus subject
to the developing process
which resulted in delays
of 24 hours or more
before being aired in the
United States.
209
David Darts, Kevin Tavin, Robert W. Sweeny, and John Derby
13According to
Rampton and Stauber
(2006), the Bush administration aggressively
worked to minimize
reporting on the military
and civilian deaths in
Afghanistan and Iraq.
inundating our senses with non-stop “indistinguishable and undistinguished
images” (p. 14).
Mirzoeff ’s theory has been congruent with Hoskins’(2004) assessment
that TV news images from the 2003 invasion of Iraq led to a politics of
forgetting. He explained that televised images uneasily facilitate contemplative forms of memory work and tend instead to “force upon audiences an
amnesia of events not deemed newsworthy” (p. 5). As Sturken (1997) and
others established, the “knowledge” such television produces has not been
apt to accumulate, partly because each new image serves to obliterate what
was broadcast before it. She explained that stories delayed by military censors
for more than a few hours rarely see airtime. In an era of 24-hour breaking
news, television producers have considered most information that is not live
to be irrelevant.
The unmemorability of television’s steady stream of war coverage also
has been attributed to the types of images and reports that have been transmitted. Whereas media coverage of the Vietnam War was characterized
by graphic portrayals of wounded soldiers, maimed civilians, and torched
villages, coverage from Iraq overwhelmingly has consisted of bloodless explosions and “military hardware voyeurism” (Sturken, 1997, p. 130) where body
counts13 have been replaced by weapon counts. Even the spectacular images
of supposedly significant war events like the recovery of Private Jessica Lynch,
the toppling of Saddam’s statue, and George W. Bush’s fighter jet landing on
an American aircraft carrier were each so contrived and choreographed that
they played like reruns of Hollywood movies rather than as compelling news
stories (Duncum, 2002b). These clichéd images and narratives only served to
further obscure the complexities and consequences of war.
Artistic Memorials: Re-Membering With Art and Education
This has not been to say that technologies of forgetting have succeeded
completely in creating an American culture of amnesia. Contemporary representations of war and terror have been regularly contested, reconstructed,
and re-circulated by critical and media savvy members of the network
society. This has included oppositional artists who have contributed to the
production of countercultural memories around the war of terror. Rather
than erecting national monuments to soldiers and leaders, these artists have
created unsanctioned “memorials”—living sites of memory that challenge
the anesthetic effects of the war’s technologies of forgetting. As locations and
artifacts of remembrance, oppositional images and objects have functioned
as memory aids by refusing to interface with “the dominant power’s machine
of forgetting” (Kincheloe, 2003, p. 3).
A compelling example of oppositional art has been the online performances of Joseph DeLappe, who has been frequenting the U.S. Army’s online
recruitment game and propaganda tool, America’s Army, since March of 2006
210
Studies in Art Education
Scopic Regime Change: The War of Terror, Visual Culture, and Art Education
(Craig, 2006). Using the login name “Dead-in-Iraq,” DeLappe has refused
to play the game, opting instead to access the system’s chat interface —a
communication device intended for gamers to strategize with one another.
By methodically typing out all of the names of U.S. service personnel who
have been killed in Iraq, DeLappe has co-opted the Army’s own technology
to undermine official representations of soldiers and military service, thus
reminding players about the very real consequences of war.
Jean-Christian Bourcart’s 2005 series of projections entitled Collateral14 has
been another important site of cultural memory. Provoked by the gruesome
images of dead Iraqis posted online as objects of ridicule by U.S. soldiers,
Bourcart appropriated some of these photographs and preserved them as an
embalmer would, literally “re-membering” the Iraqi bodies in the process. By
projecting the ghostly images on American houses, supermarkets, churches,
etc, his visual interventions have become cogent forms of “hauntology”
(Derrida, 1994), a phenomenon Tavin (2005a) described as the “voices,
epistemologies, and temporalities that haunt history and awareness, where
the past, present, and future come together” (p. 101). Serving as memorials
to the fallen, Bourcart’s projected apparitions also have haunted American
sensibilities and perceptions of the war by disturbing the sterile government
and mainstream media representations.
Alonso Gil and Francis Gomila’s 2007 Guantanamera15, meanwhile,
literally has given voice to the sounds of torture and hypocrisy resonating
from the war of terror. A multimedia sound installation that reflected on the
use of music as a torture instrument, Guantanamera too has challenged the
war of terror’s technologies of forgetting by establishing audioconceptual sites
of remembrance and reflection. Located inside one of the air vents of Madrid’s
busy subway system, Guantanamera has utilized a high-amplification sound
system to blast multiple versions of “La guantanamera,” a popular Cuban
folk song, out onto the street. Serving as a direct reference to the infamous
U.S. military base and detainment camp at Guantanamo Bay, Guantanamera
has encouraged reflection on the American use of pop, rap, and heavy metal
music as a mode of sleep deprivation and interrogation of detainees.
By highlighting the contradiction between the idealism of the U.S.’s
stated goals in the war on terror—democracy, peace, freedom—and the
sordid realities of violence, torture, and the curtailing of human rights and
freedoms, these artists have established counter-cultural narratives and sites
of memorial that contribute to and enhance cultural memory around the
war of terror. Accordingly, oppositional artists and their work also have
offered valuable opportunities for art educators and students to examine
how technologies of forgetting can be artistically challenged and subverted.
Introducing students to this work has reinforced the social power and role
of art and artists in contemporary society and provides vital insights into the
complex relationships between art, culture, politics, and power.
Studies in Art Education
14See: http://jcbourcart.
com/pages.php?sec=ART
%2F&page=collateral&
media=photography
15See: http://www.
madridabierto.com/
eng/2007/alonso_gil_
francis_gomila.html
211
David Darts, Kevin Tavin, Robert W. Sweeny, and John Derby
Art Education and the War of Terror: Closing Shots and
Democratic Openings
16There are many art
education scholars and
K-12 practitioners whose
critical work outside of
the War of Terror has
been passed over due
to the limited ‘scope’
of this manuscript.
See Chalmers (2005),
Duncum (2006), and
Tavin (2005a) for diverse
practices within the art
education community.
212
Barely 5 weeks after the attacks on the World Trade Center, New York
Times reporter Richard Rothstein (2001, October 17) wrote that “Teachers
should be encouraged to explore whether there are specific policies that may
give rise to terrorism, without being accused of undermining patriotism and
national unity.” He explained that students who are not taught to question
these policies “will be ill-prepared as adults to improve on them.” Rothstein
was clearly responding to the unbridled nationalism and intolerance that
had swept across the U.S. in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. This cultural
hostility to introspection, critical dialogue, and dissent impacted education
across all disciplines and levels, including the field of art education. As
jagodzinski (2002a) later pointed out, moments of reflection were slow to
emerge after the World Trade Center attacks.
Some art educators did rise to the challenge of critically reflecting upon
the social, cultural, and educational implications of 9/11 and the resulting
war on terror. Sullivan (2002) reminded us to “keep an eye on the big picture”
(p. 107), Lankford (2002) called for the development of humanness into
the curriculum, while Garber (2002) urged for “critical self-reflection and
an eventual redefinition of ‘America’ … as a collaborator, not a dictator, for
world peace and social humanitarianism” (p. 37). They were joined by others
in the field who examined post-9/11 pedagogical implications and dimensions (Galbraith, 2002; Orr, 2002; Sandell, 2002), and who offered analyses
of and tactics for identifying and interrogating images and signs of war
(Darts, 2004; Duncum, 2002a; Friesen, 2004; Garoian & Gaudelius, 2004;
jagodzinski, 2002b; Smith-Shank, 2005), xenophobia (Amburgy, Knight,
& Green, 2004; Zimmerman, 2006), censorship and civil liberties (Darts,
in press; Pistolesi, 2007; Sweeny, 2007), violence (Cohen-Evron, 2005;
Duncum, 2006; Green, 2004), terror (Tavin & Robbins, 2006), control
(Eisenhauer, 2006a; Sweeny, 2006), and torture (Pauly, 2005).
While some art educators16 have begun to identify, analyze, and respond
to the visual, cultural and ideological components of our post-9/11 world,
clearly much work still needs to be done. As Desai and Chalmers (2007) have
recently written, if we are to keep democracy alive in these “unsettling times”
of “the war on terrorism, the curtailing of civil liberties under the Patriot Act,
the censorship of civil society, and the increased militarization of everyday
life” (p. 6), we as responsible educators must “encourage dialogue and debate
about the social, economic, and political issues that affect our lives” (p. 11).
Accordingly, art education should seize upon the visual moments created by
our contemporary visual culture’s relentless image stream and utilize them
as opportunities for interpretation and production. For example, applying
theories of the actuarial gaze to visual culture can help identify the iconographies of threat and prophylaxis as pedagogical. Examining the war of terror’s
Studies in Art Education
Scopic Regime Change: The War of Terror, Visual Culture, and Art Education
technologies of forgetting and oppositional artistic strategies of remembering can offer insights into how cultural memories and national histories
are created, manipulated, and maintained. Combined with developing
perceptual, analytic, and artistic skills to interrogate specific visual culture
fallout from the war of terror, art educators can help students identify, deconstruct, and challenge sites of cultural and ideological influence, power, and
control. As Toni Morrison (2001) succinctly cautioned, if the institution of
education does not take its role seriously and rigorously as “guardian of wider
civic freedoms, as interrogator of more and more complex ethical problems,
as servant and preserver of deeper democratic practices, then some other
regime or ménage of regimes will do it for us, in spite of us, and without us”
(p. 278).
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