The Cultural Turn in International Aid: Impacts and Challenges for Heritage and the Creative Industries 9780815382294, 9781351208598

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The Cultural Turn in International Aid

The Cultural Turn in International Aid is one of the first volumes to analyze a wide and comprehensive range of issues related to culture and international aid in a critical and constructive manner. Assessing why international aid is provided for cultural projects, rather than for other causes, the book also considers whether and how donor-funded cultural projects can address global challenges, including post-conflict recovery, building peace and security, strengthening resilience, or promoting human rights. With contributions from experts around the globe, this volume critically assesses the impact of international aid, including the diverse power relations and inequalities it creates, and the interests it serves at international, national, and local levels. The book also considers projects that have failed and analyses the reasons for their failure, drawing out lessons learnt and considering what could be done better in the future. Contributors to the volume also consider the influence of donors in privileging some forms of culture over others, creating or maintaining specific memories, identities, and interpretations of history, and their reasons for doing so. These rich discussions are contextualized through a historical section, which considers the definitions, approaches, and discourses related to culture and aid at international and regional levels. Providing consideration of manifold manifestations of culture, The Cultural Turn in International Aid will be of great interest to scholars, students, and practitioners. It will be particularly useful for those engaged in the study of heritage, anthropology, international aid and development, international relations, humanitarian studies, community development, cultural studies, politics, or sociology. Sophia Labadi is a Professor of Heritage and Archaeology at the University of Kent in the UK.

Routledge Studies in Culture and Development

Paul Basu, Wayne Modest, and Tim Winter, Series Editors

There is a burgeoning interest among academics, practitioners, and policy-­ makers in the relationships between ‘culture’ and ‘development’. This embraces the now well recognized need to adopt culturally sensitive approaches in development practice, the necessity of understanding the cultural dimensions of development, and more specifically the role of culture for development. Culture, in all its dimensions, is a fundamental component of sustainable development, and throughout the world we are seeing an increasing number of governmental and non-governmental agencies turning to culture as a vehicle for economic growth, for promoting social cohesion, stability, and human well-being, and for tackling environmental issues. At the same time, there has been remarkably little critical debate around this relationship, and even less concerned with the interventions of cultural institutions or creative industries in development agendas. The objective of the Routledge Studies in Culture and Development series is to fill this lacuna and provide a forum for reaching across academic, practitioner, and policy-maker audiences. The series editors welcome submissions for single- and jointly authored books and edited collections concerning issues such as the contribution of museums, heritage and cultural tourism to sustainable development; the politics of cultural diplomacy; cultural pluralism and human rights; traditional systems of environmental management; cultural industries and traditional livelihoods; and culturally appropriate forms of conflict resolution and post-conflict recovery. Global Heritage Assemblages, Development and Modern Architecture in Africa Christoph Rausch The Cultural Turn in International Aid: Impacts and Challenges for Heritage and the Creative Industries Edited by Sophia Labadi ht t ps: //w w w.rout ledge.com / Rout ledge - St ud ie s -i n- Cu lt u re - a nd-­ Development/book-series/RSCD

The Cultural Turn in International Aid Impacts and Challenges for Heritage and the Creative Industries Edited by Sophia Labadi

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Sophia Labadi; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Sophia Labadi to be identified as the author of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-8153-8229-4 ISBN: 978-1-351-20859-8 Typeset in Sabon by codeMantra

Contents

List of figures List of tables List of contributors 1 The cultural turn in international aid? Setting the scene

vii ix xi 1

S O P H I A L A BA D I

PART I

Definitions, approaches and discourses: international and regional perspectives

15

2 Creative economy and development: international institutions and policy synchronization

17

CH R IST I A A N DE BEU K ELA ER A N D A N TON IOS V LASSIS

3 Culture in EU international relations: between discourse and practice

37

C H R I S T I A N E DA B D O U B N A S S E R A N D FA N N Y B O U Q U E R E L

4 Heritage development: culture and heritage at the World Bank

55

K AT H RY N L A F R E N Z S A M U E L S

5 UNESCO, culture, aid and development in the new millennium

73

S O P H I A L A BA D I

PART II

National policies and ethnographies of international aid for culture 89 6 Whose tool for what purpose? The struggle for cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia B E N J A M I N A . M O RG A N

91

vi Contents 7 Behind the facade of the diplomacy of international culture aid

109

I B R A H I M A T H I AW A N D M O U H A M E D A B DA L L A H LY

8 Life and death of a community library: a case study in micro-development

123

C O U RT N E Y K U R L A N S K A

9 Traditional performing arts under the influence of NGOs: myth or reality?

139

S U P P YA H É L È N E N U T

10 Blowing hot and cold: culture-related activities in the deployment of Australia’s soft power in Asia

152

W ILLIAM LOGAN

PART III

Donors funded cultural projects and global challenges 171 11 Reconciliation through cultural heritage in the post-Yugoslav space: an apolitical endeavour

173

V IŠNJA K ISIĆ

12 Reducing disaster vulnerability through local knowledge and capacity

192

D R . RO H I T J I G YA S U

13 Heritage, human rights and Norwegian development cooperation: the our common dignity initiative and World Heritage

207

PET ER BI LLE LA RSEN A N D A MU N D SI N DI NG -LA RSEN

14 Clowns in crisis zones: the evolution of Clowns without Borders International

224

T I M CU N N I NGH A M

PART IV

Conclusions 241 15 The future of international aid for cultural projects

243

S O P H I A L A BA D I

Index

253

Figures

13.1 The Old City of Sana’a Yemen – Inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1986 (copyright Amund Sinding-Larsen) 211 13.2 Baltit Fort and Royal Palace above Karimabad, the capital of Hunza District in Gilgit-Baltistan Province on the Karakoram Highway, Pakistan Northern Areas (copyright Amund Sinding-Larsen) 213

Tables

2.1 Institutional demarcations and definitions of the creative economy 25 4.1 World Bank financed projects with substantial cultural heritage focus (adapted from projects.worldbank.org by the author) 64 14.1 Minimum standards for child protection in humanitarian action six principles and approaches (Child Protection Working Group 2012) 227

Contributors

Fanny Bouquerel is a researcher, trainer, and consultant in cultural policies and project management with 20 years of experience. She has worked with European cultural networks, independent theatre companies and festivals, private entities, public institutions as well as national and regional authorities in Europe and the Mediterranean area. She was the capacity development expert  for the technical assistance unit of the EU funded Med Culture programme (2014–2019). In parallel, she develops research projects and publications in the field of Cultural policies and European studies. She has a PhD in Social Sciences – European studies and is professeur associée at the University of Paris 8 where she teaches European cultural institutions and policies.  Tim Cunningham is the director of the Compassionate Care Initiative at the University of Virginia where he holds a joint faculty appointment as an assistant professor in the School of Nursing and Department of Drama. Since 2003, he has worked with Clowns Without Borders as an artist, member of the Board of Directors and from 2010–2015, he served as the executive director of Clowns Without Borders-USA. He became an emergency nurse in 2009 and then completed his Doctorate in Public Health from Columbia University in 2016. Christiane Dabdoub Nasser  is an international expert in sustainable development, project management and project monitoring and evaluation with an extensive knowledge of the Mediterranean region, cultural heritage development, and cultural policies. She was the Head of the Technical Assistance for the EU-funded regional programme Med Culture. Previously, she was the Head of the Technical and Monitoring Unit for another EU-funded programme Euromed Heritage IV. She specializes in formulating project strategies and streamlining their implementation, with expertise in the fields of research, communications, and public relations. She has worked with leading agencies supporting development aid as well as with regional and national public authorities. Christiaan De Beukelaer is a lecturer in Cultural Policy at the University of Melbourne School of Culture and Communication, where he teaches in

xii Contributors the MA of Arts and Cultural Management. His work focusses primarily on the connections between cultural industries and processes of (human) development. In 2012, he won the Cultural Policy Research Award, as a result of which he published Developing Cultural Industries: Learning from the Palimpsest of Practice (European Cultural Foundation, 2015). He is also co-editor of the book Culture, Globalization, and Development: The UNESCO Convention on Cultural Diversity (Palgrave ­Macmillan 2015, with Miikka Pyykkönen and JP Singh). Rohit Jigyasu is a conservation architect and risk management professional from India, working at ICCROM as the Programme Officer at its regional centre in Sharjah. Since 2010, Rohit has been working as UNESCO Chair holder professor at the Institute for Disaster Mitigation of Urban Cultural Heritage at Ritsumeikan University, Kyoto, Japan. He was the elected President of ICOMOS-India (2014–2018) and president of ICOMOS International Scientific Committee on Risk Preparedness (ICORP) since 2010. Rohit has been the Elected Member of the Executive Committee of ICOMOS since 2011 and is currently serving as its Vice President for the period 2017–2020. Before joining ICCROM, Rohit worked with several national and international organizations on consultancy, research, and training on Disaster Risk Management of Cultural Heritage. Višnja Kisić  is an assistant professor at the Faculty of Sport and Tourism Novi Sad, and lecturer at UNESCO Chair in Cultural Policy and Management at University of Arts Belgrade, University Lyon II and University Hassan II in Casablanca, where she teaches heritage studies, management, and politics. Apart from research and teaching, she is active as a curator, manager, and trainer in museum and heritage field in Southeast Europe, acting as Secretary General for Europa Nostra Serbia since 2011. She received the European Cultural Policy Research Award for book Governing heritage dissonance – Promises and Realities of Cultural Policies. Courtney Kurlanska is an economic anthropologist who conducts both interdisciplinary and applied research, examines global issues from an ethnographic perspective, examining local phenomena and placing them within their global context. After witnessing dozens of unsuccessful development projects as a Peace Corps volunteer, she realized that something needed to change. Whether working in academia or as a practicing anthropologist, she promotes public anthropology and strongly advocates that anthropologists use their knowledge to inform public policy and debate. Sophia Labadi  is a professor of Heritage and Archaeology at the University of Kent (UK) and an AHRC (Arts and Humanities Research Council) Leadership Fellow on Heritage for Development. She also regularly acts as consultant for international organisations on projects and policy-making on culture. She is the author of UNESCO, Cultural

Contributors  xiii Heritage, and Oustanding Universal Value (Altamira Press, 2013), Museums, Immigrants and Social Justice (Routledge, 2017) and L’Impact de la Culture en Europe (L’Harmattan, 2016), as well as the co-­editor of Heritage and Globalisation (Routledge, 2010 with C. Long) and Urban Heritage, Development, and Sustainability (Routledge, 2015, with W. Logan). Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels is an associate professor of Anthropology at the University of Maryland. Her work integrates archaeological and sociocultural anthropology around issues of cultural heritage, focussing in particular on the transnational relations of heritage practice in international economic development, human rights, democracy building, and responses to global climate change. Her recent book is Mobilizing Heritage: Anthropological Practice and Transnational Prospects (2018, University Press of Florida), and she is co-editor of Heritage Keywords: Rhetoric and Redescription in Cultural Heritage (2015, University Press of Colorado) and Making Roman Places: Past and Present (2012, Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplement Series). Peter Bille Larsen  is a Danish anthropologist with two decades of conservation practitioner and research experience in Southeast Asia, Latin America, and at the global level. He currently undertakes research on sustainable development, environmental governance, and heritage at the University of Geneva. He has worked actively with UNESCO, the Advisory Bodies to the World Heritage Convention and academic partners to strengthen analysis and policy discussions on human rights and heritage. Publications include Post-frontier resource governance (Palgrave, 2015), The Anthropology of Conservation NGOs (Palgrave, 2018), World Heritage and Human Rights (Routledge, 2017) and World Heritage and Sustainable Development (Routledge, 2018). William Logan is Professor Emeritus at Deakin University and Fellow of the Academy of Social Sciences in Australia. He was previously UNESCO Chair of Heritage and Urbanism at Deakin, a member of the Victorian Heritage Council and president of Australia ICOMOS. International projects undertaken for UNESCO and ICOMOS include World Heritage advisory and monitoring missions to Bangladesh, China, Laos, Pakistan and Vietnam. He has published extensively on cultural heritage, co-­edited the Routledge ‘Key Issues in Cultural Heritage’ book series and the Wiley-Blackwell Companion to Heritage Studies (2016) and is a member of the International Journal of Heritage Studies Editorial Board. Mouhamed Abdallah Ly  received his doctorate degree from the University of Montpellier III (France). He is an anthropologist specialized in the Sciences of Language. He is a researcher based at the Institut Fondamental d’Afrique noire (IFAN) in the University of Dakar. He is currently the Head of the Laboratory of Linguistics of the IFAN.

xiv Contributors His research interests include sociolinguistics, discourse analysis, and the anthropology of language. His publications encompass these different perspectives with a focus on the intricacies between language and religion, verbal abuse, the study of social referents in public debates and the words of migration. Benjamin A. Morgan is a PhD candidate and researcher at RMIT University in Melbourne. His international fieldwork draws on work with institutions of economic development (World Bank), diplomacy (German Federal Foreign Office), community NGOs (Robertsport Community Works), and poverty outcome evaluation (Innovations for Poverty Research), as well as fifteen years in the U.S. music industries. His empirical observations and social research perspective inform his analysis of meaning and values in cultural industry practice. Ben’s PhD is part of the research project Music Usage Metrics and the Future of the Australian Music Industry. This chapter is based on research originally conducted at Babeș-Bolyai University (Romania). Suppya Hélène Nut is an associate lecturer of Khmer language (Literature and Lexicology) and Performing Arts in Southeast Asia, Institut national des langues et civilisations orientales (INALCO), Paris, France. She is also an associate lecturer of Khmer language and history of Cambodia at Universität zu Köln, Cologne, Germany. Her latest publications include “The Cambodian Court Theatre: Towards a Decline of Women’s Supremacy?” published by the Asian Theatre Journal in 2015. Amund Sinding-Larsen is a Norwegian independent researcher with an architecture degree from Bristol University, UK and a PhD from NTNU, the Norwegian University of Science and Technology, Trondheim. Since the early 1990s his focus has been on research and academic collaboration in the Himalayan Region. He has also contributed to numerous local community development projects where built heritage represented a major resource in Africa, Asia, the Middle East, and Europe. He has been involved with ICOMOS and UNESCO since the early 1980s, initiated and coordinated the Our Common Dignity Initiative ­(2007–2016) and was ICOMOS Focal Point for Heritage and Human Rights (2011–2016). Ibrahima Thiaw is a professor of Archaeology at IFAN, a research institute at the University Cheikh Anta Diop of Dakar, where he directs the Archaeology Laboratory. He holds a PhD in Anthropology from Rice University (Houston, Texas, USA) since 1999. From 2007 to 2012, he directed Museum Théodore Monod d’Art africain of IFAN. His publications focus primarily on the archaeology of global encounters, slavery, material culture, identity and commemorations, the politics of the past and community engagement. He has been involved in cultural heritage management in Senegal and elsewhere in Africa including Guinea, Guinea Bissau, Sierra Leone, and Congo.

Contributors  xv Antonios Vlassis is a lecturer and researcher in the Center for International Relations Studies at the Department of Political Science, University of Liege (Belgium). His research and teaching fields deal with global cultural politics, international and regional cultural policy, cultural diplomacy, and cultural globalization. His scientific contributions have appeared, among others, in Media, Culture and Society, European Journal of Communication, Third World Quarterly, International Journal of Cultural Policy, Politique européenne, Cuadernos de Informacion y Comunicacion and Etudes internationales. He is the author of Gouvernance mondiale et culture: de l’exception à la diversité (Presses universitaires de Liège, 2015).

1 The cultural turn in international aid? Setting the scene Sophia Labadi

International aid is often associated with humanitarian assistance. Humanitarian assistance is arguably the most visible aspect of international aid because it is often reported in the press. Images of planes full of basic necessities fill news reports as noticeable responses to natural or man-made disasters, such as the 2010 Haiti Earthquake, the 2017 landslides and flooding in Nepal or the ongoing Syrian Civil War. Yet, humanitarian assistance is only one aspect of international aid. For researchers in the United Kingdom, international aid might increasingly be associated with the Global Challenges Research Fund (GCRF), a portion of the UK official international development aid dedicated to practical research that addresses the challenges faced by developing countries. Some academics have readily and enthusiastically engaged with this fund, applied to its numerous schemes and implemented projects tackling global challenges, including poverty and inequality, gender equality or climate change. However, some academics have shown some resistance, especially in the Humanities (AHRC, 2018) to implement such a scheme and the GCRF has faced similar criticisms as the wider international aid machine. For some, these schemes further neocolonialist approaches where they operate asymmetrical power relations between the Global North and South and top-down approaches (Noxolo, 2017: 342–344). Despite its importance and also its controversial nature, surprisingly little has been written on international aid and culture. A greater consideration of culture has often been presented as a way of addressing some of the criticisms just expressed of the international aid machine (The World Bank, 2001; Sen, 2004: 37–58). Previous publications on this topic have assessed whether taking greater account of local communities and their culture (defined as the knowledge, beliefs and customs of a society) has helped to address the shortfalls of externally imposed development projects (Escobar, 1995; Rao and Walton, 2004; Mosse, 2005), the impacts of cultural identities and cultural diversity on aid-funded development projects (Nederveen Pieterse, 2010) or the approaches and impacts of specific international organizations on heritage and development (Labadi, 2017a: 45–69; Lafrenz Samuels, 2018).

2  Sophia Labadi The present volume of commissioned papers moves beyond existing publications. Whilst a number of books take for granted the cultural turn in international aid (Willis, 2005; Nederveen Pieterse, 2010), this volume takes a different stand. Its main aim is to discuss whether and how cultural projects funded through international aid fulfil the characteristics of the cultural turn. It is through such questioning that a real critical assessment of aid-funded cultural projects can happen. This volume is also unique in its broadened understanding of international aid, not considered solely as economic development, but also as human development as well as cultural and heritage diplomacy. Such understanding aims to complicate the discussions on international aid and culture. This volume defines culture primarily as intangible and tangible heritage, cultural and creative industries as well as the creative economy. Heritage (sometimes associated with creative products) is the only cultural form directly mentioned in the 2015 United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, the framework that guides international aid spending until 2030. For this reason, it is fundamental to describe the connections between international aid and such understanding of culture. This is another aim of this volume. To explain further these points and aims, the introduction starts by clarifying the notion of international aid and charting its origins. It then discusses the multifarious dimensions of the cultural turn in international aid covered in this volume. This introduction then details the selection of authors in this volume. The final section details a running concern of this volume: the need for critical self-reflexive questioning.

International aid: the White Man’s Burden? International aid can be defined, rather restrictively, as the voluntary transfer of public resources from donor governments, usually rich countries from the Global North to developing ones, multilateral institutions (such as the UN and its specialized agencies) and nongovernmental organizations. This transfer of resources is accompanied by the transfer of ideas, values and practices from the Global North to the South. Such aid aims to promote the economic development and welfare of developing countries, including democracy building and reconstruction, humanitarian relief, or the prevention and mitigation of conflicts. With the adoption of the Millennium Development Goals in 2000 and the Sustainable Development Goals in 2015 by the United Nations (see chapter by Labadi, this volume), international aid increasingly aims to tackle global challenges, including poverty, climate change and gender equality. This type of international aid is also referred to as ‘official development assistance’ (ODA), a term coined by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and its Development Assistance Committee in an effort to measure international aid flow. This committee is made of the 29 major donor countries, including the US, France, the UK and Australia. This committee compiles a list of countries

The cultural turn in international aid?  3 that can receive ODA every three years, identifying ‘least developed countries’, ‘other low-income countries’, ‘lower middle-income countries or territories’ and ‘upper middle-income countries and territories’, according to their per capita gross national income (GNI). For the proponents of international aid, this system is important as it monitors the percentage of the GNI provided by donors as ODA. Through this system, the OECD can check which countries reach the goal of allocating 0.7% of their GNI on ODA. This figure of 0.7% is rather arbitrary, but most countries do not reach the threshold. For instance, it was not until 2013 that the UK became the first G7 country to spend 0.7% of its GNI on international aid, in the wake of the ‘IF campaign’ and ‘Make Poverty History’ movements. Conversely, Australian international aid is at its least generous level ever, at just 0.23% of GNI, as explained by Logan in this volume (DPC, ANU 2018). For critics, this model maintains the two invented categories of ‘developed’ and ‘developing world’, as well as their associated asymmetrical power relations with the domination and control of developing countries by developed ones (Escobar, 1995). Knowledge and power to define and describe ‘“The Other”/recipients of international aid’ is bestowed upon donors in this system. In addition, whilst official international aid might be understood as a benevolent system where rich countries’ disinterested goal is to make the world a better place, in reality a number of major donor countries use aid to fulfil their own national priorities and to strengthen their trade and investment opportunities. The UK and Australia have made clear that they will use international aid to further their own national interests (DfID, 2015). That international aid is tied to the national agenda of donors and not the needs of receiving countries has fuelled debates about the nature and effectiveness of international aid (Mosse and Lewis, 2005). However, it is rather restrictive to define international aid as the official public resources spent by donor countries from the Global North for the development and welfare of developing nations. International aid is increasingly fragmented and complex. South–South cooperation between countries has been a reality since the Bandung conference of 1955 that aimed to promote nonaligned, postcolonial economic, cultural and political cooperation in the Asian–African region (Gray and Gills, 2016: 557). South– South cooperation has been reinvigorated with the economic achievements of the so-called BRICS countries: Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa. Whether these new dynamics are reproducing existing power relations and geographies of inequalities, imposing neocolonialist agendas and promoting outdated notions of progress are issues for debate that go beyond the realm of this volume. Nongovernmental and not-for-profit organizations are also major actors of the international aid landscape. They often fund their activities through voluntary contributions and government grants. An increasing number of these organizations originate from and work in the Global South on contemporary challenges, although the market is still dominated by institutions from the

4  Sophia Labadi Global North that might be better known, such as Oxfam or Save the Children. The scandals that have hit a number of these organizations, for example the revelation in early 2018 of Oxfam staff sexually exploiting victims of the 2010 Haiti earthquake and reports of funds mismanagement, have resulted in distrust from public and private donors. This, coupled with new social media platforms and the easiness of fundraising through crowdfunding or social networks has led to fragmentation and individualized approaches to international aid making. For example, the French social media star Jerôme Jarre was able to raise nearly $4,000,000 to aid people in Somalia in September 2017, from his 15 million followers across social media. These new models are flexible and can raise significant funds quickly. Yet, these approaches might also lack in-depth understanding of the complex geopolitical situations on the ground, and a long-term vision (see also the chapter by Kurlanska in this volume). The present volume adopts a definition of international aid as a fragmented landscape, to reflect fully on its multifarious and complex forms. The first section discusses the intellectual framework and approaches to international aid and culture by multilateral agencies, including UNESCO, the European Union and the World Bank. The other two sections focus on bilateral aid provided by governments, NGOs and humanitarian agencies. These sections also discuss the impacts of aid for receiving countries and on tackling global challenges The roots of international aid can be traced back to colonialization (Eyben, 2014: 22–40). Colonization was an enterprise of exploitation, repression, subjugation and alienation (Loomba, 2005). It was also conceived, for some, as ‘well-intentioned’, with the aim to bring civilization, education, progress and the latest scientific and medical discoveries to the colonial world. In the words of Kipling’s poem, colonization is The White Man’s Burden: ‘To fill full the mouth of Famine / and bid the sickness cease’ (Kipling, 1899). Some heritage sites from colonial times depict the White Man’s Burden. The Musée National de l’Histoire de l’Immigration in Paris, for instance, is housed in what used to be the Palace of the Colonies, built in 1931 for the International Colonial Exhibition. Frescoes decorating the walls of the function room, executed by Pierre Ducos de la Haille, celebrate the ‘civilizing’ and ‘positive roles’ that France played in its then colonies, as well as the ‘positive contributions’ brought, including medicine, justice or science (Labadi, 2013, 2017b). There is a continuity between the work of colonization and international aid, with the aim of aid being to bring progress, development and welfare to receiving countries. This continuity can also be seen as characterizing the 1950s and 1960s with the fast expansion of specialized intergovernmental agencies from the United Nations and the World Bank, as well as the creation of departments on international aid within national governments. These institutions recruited staff and consultants with colonial service backgrounds (Kapur et al., 1997; Kothari, 2006: 118–136; Murphy, 2008; Eyben, 2014: 38). Eyben even mentions that her then husband changed the subject of his MA degree

The cultural turn in international aid?  5 on his CV from colonial studies to development (Eyben, 2014: 38). At that time, what mattered was not the local understanding of a place, but the technical and general knowledge on the economy, infrastructure development and health that these administrators had acquired during the colonial period (ibid., 92; Coles, 2007: 125–141). There is a long-running debate, both in academia and in the general press, about the nature and effectiveness of international aid (Sachs, 2005; Easterly, 2007; Moyo, 2010). For some, the colonial mindset and the belief in ‘The White Man’s Burden’ still characterize international aid. Aid workers have been found to be behaving, voluntarily or involuntarily, as zealous neocolonial ‘missionaries’, to use the categorization developed by Stirrat (2008: 414). These workers’ goal is to convert targeted communities of international aid to a new promised life of modernity and development, as well as to liberate these populations from ignorance, poverty and injustices. Meanwhile, in aid-receiving countries, like in colonial times, structures of privileges characterize the lives of aid workers, who are physically separated from local communities and local counterparts (Chowdhry and Nair, 2002; Kothari, 2002, 2006: 124; Biccum, 2005: 1005–1020). In their autobiographic and self-critical exploration of their world as international aid workers from the North, Martini and Jauhola describe their lives in developing countries as characterized by good salaries and benefit packages, expensive shopping trips, cosmopolitan consumerism, parties with other expatriates and houses with swimming pools in exclusive neighborhoods (Martini and Jauhola, 2014: 76–96). In other words, for some, the international aid machine is maintaining the very system of domination, inequality and inequitable power relations that it is intended to address.

Cultural turns in international aid? The cultural turn in international aid refers, in this volume, to three phenomena: first, the cultural turn in projects on economic development, second, the cultural turn in human development projects and finally cultural and heritage diplomacy. The cultural turn in economic development projects funded by international aid is already well covered in past publications (Schech and Haggis, 2000; Radcliffe, 2006; Nederveen Pieterse, 2010), including in volumes published in this series (see Basu and Modest, 2015; Stupples and Teaiwa, 2016). It is generally agreed that this cultural turn was caused by the failure of development models as narrow technical exercises that aimed to bring progress, modernization and economic growth to developing countries (Labadi and Gould, 2015: 199; Labadi, 2018: 38). The cultural turn in international aid, in this context, aims to take better account of the specificities of cultural contexts and local communities (Nederveen Pieterse, 2010: 64) and is based on bottom-up approaches, so that economic development projects are better aligned with and respond to the actual needs of these

6  Sophia Labadi communities. This cultural turn is also characterized by the inclusion of cultural heritage in, and as, economic development projects. At least until the 1980s, cultural heritage was considered as useless and backward, and often destroyed in the name of development, progress and growth. A turn occurred in the 1980s with the utilitarian consideration of heritage for development. The protection, restoration and rehabilitation of heritage could bring significant economic growth through job creation in the building trade, tourism, foreign investment and lead to rising property prices. The World Bank has been at the forefront of such uses of heritage (see Bigio and Licciardi, 2010; Throsby, 2012; but also Lafrenz Samuels, this volume). Development professionals believed that this model would reduce poverty. Heritage for development projects would create economic opportunities for the poorer segments of societies through greater use of their traditions and knowledge, considered as their key assets. However, this approach has exactly the same goal as traditional development projects, which is to bring economic growth to targeted communities, although this time it is through greater consideration of heritage. In other words, the methods might have changed but the goal and end results are the same as before. This volume moves beyond this understanding of the cultural turn as economic development, to take greater account of alternative models of a fulfilled life. One such form promotes culture as key to peace-building, postconflict reconstruction and reconciliation, which are increasingly included as components of sustainable development (UNCSD, 2012). Culture, primarily understood as material and intangible heritage but also as including the creative industries, is often considered the basis for rebuilding the identity, resilience and self-confidence of communities as part of postconflict or postdisaster reconstruction (see chapters in this volume by Nut and Kisić). The assumption here is that intangible and material heritage as well as the creative industries are some of the most visible signs of identity and belonging. Restoring material heritage and reviving intangible manifestations and creative industries can lead to rebuilding individual and collective forms of identity, as well as cohesion and social relations, which have been damaged by conflicts or disasters. This logic obviously obeys a universalizing view of culture as appreciated by all and an idealistic understanding of societies that ignores the past conditions and social relations that have resulted in violent conflicts. Another problematic aspect of this approach, as covered by Nut in this volume, is the revival of the creative industries solely for tourists and not for the benefits of locals. A fulfilled life cannot be achieved without respect for human rights. For this reason, this volume discusses critically cultural projects funded through international aid that aim to protect the rights of children and of adults. A human rights–based approach is an essential component of an ethical framework to heritage management and conservation. It shapes fundamental questions about whose heritage should be protected, whose rights are affected and how stakeholders influence these processes (see Larsen and

The cultural turn in international aid?  7 Sinding-Larsen, this volume). Another aspect of the cultural turn considered is how creative play, artistic interventions and laughter can make a real change to children affected by humanitarian disasters. This is a way of fulfilling Article 31.1 of the 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child which recognizes ‘the right of the child to rest and leisure, to engage in play and recreational activities appropriate to the age of the child and to participate freely in cultural life and the arts’ (United Nations, 1989). A final phenomenon covered is the use of international aid for cultural diplomacy (including heritage diplomacy) by governments. Cultural diplomacy can be defined as soft power, that is the capacity to obtain a benefit without the use of economic or military means, but by generating a positive attraction that facilitates the accumulation of other forms of power (Nye, 2004: 5). For Zamorano, two types of cultural diplomacy exist. First, a culturalist and benevolent approach of artistic, intellectual and cultural– pedagogical exchanges that aims to promote a country’s culture and, in this process, acts as soft influence. The other model is a neo-propagandist approach which instrumentalizes culture for national, political and economic gains and interests (Zamorano, 2016: 178–179). Cultural diplomacy as soft power has been used both by capitalist and communist countries to expand their economic and geopolitical spheres of influence over the past 50 years. To win the ‘hearts and minds’ of African leaders, North Korea, for instance, used cultural and heritage diplomacy (see e.g., Kersel and Luke, 2015) as part of their African foreign policy. This took the form of ‘gifts’, including the construction by Pyongyang of the 50 meter-tall Tiglachin monument (meaning ‘our struggle’ in Amharic) in Addis Ababa (Ethiopia), offered to Ethiopia in 1984 to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the overthrow of Emperor Haile-Selassie (Jopela, 2017: 124–125). In the context of the Cold War, for North Korea, diplomacy with newly independent African nations was a strategy to gain some influence, recognition and legitimacy. In a postCold War context, cultural diplomacy can help a government to be more visible and influential in the international arena, as has been the case for Japan with its international aid programmes for heritage conservation projects, for instance in Hue in Vietnam (Akagawa, 2014; Logan this volume). However, cultural diplomacy can also have insidious, negative and unforeseen consequences. As a mechanism where the tastes, practices and lifestyles of donor countries (usually from the Global North) can affect targeted populations, cultural diplomacy can lead to downgraded senses of collective and personal identity, pride and self-achievement among aid receiving societies, who tend to be from the Global South (see Thiaw and Ly, this volume).

The volume This edited volume of commissioned papers aims to fill a gap in academic knowledge through critical analyses of the complex and multifarious dimensions of the cultural turn in international aid. This volume also assesses

8  Sophia Labadi whether the cultural turn characterizes aid-funded cultural projects. The first section addresses how international organizations have defined the cultural turn in international aid, whether and how these approaches have changed over time. It also considers the limits of these models. To do so, this section provides a historical and genealogical contextualization of international aid for culture by engaging in critical discussions about the different definitions, approaches and discourses developed by international and regional organizations over time. Furthermore, this section critically assesses to what extent and in what ways broader aid and development frameworks (e.g. the Millennium Development Goals and Sustainable Development Goals) have had an impact on international cultural approaches and discourses. More specifically, De Beukelaer’s and Vlassis’s chapter discusses how key international organizations define the ‘creative economy’ and the implications of these definitions for aid, funding, collaborations and policies. The chapter by Dabdoub Nasser and Bouquerel examines culture in the European Union (EU) aid programme for the Mediterranean region and links it to the EU discourse on culture since 1995. In doing so, it highlights key changes and challenges, including the increasing bottom-up use of culture to prevent radicalization, whilst also addressing the ambiguities of the EU’s actions. Lafrenz Samuels charts the cultural turn in international aid and economic development at the World Bank from the 1980s onwards, details critically its implementations in urban projects and exposes its limits in dealing with some key transnational challenges. Finally, Labadi charts the attempts by UNESCO to put culture at the heart of the international aid and development agenda in 2000 and 2015, and brings forward possible explanations for the failures of such efforts. The second section shifts to in-depth critical analyses of donor-funded cultural projects at national and local levels. This part assesses why projects have been funded, and discusses their short-, medium- and long-term impacts on the ground. It also assesses whether these projects created relations of power and inequality between stakeholders of aid funded projects and how these have manifested on the ground. Whenever relevant, these contributions consider whether these initiatives have been used for negotiating broader geopolitical, diplomatic and economic agendas. Some contributions also critically assess the reasons why donor-funded projects often fail and the lessons that can be learnt. More specifically, Morgan provides an autoethnographic insight into his work on the Liberian music industry sector, which had been undertaken as part of a consultancy project for the World Bank. Morgan self-consciously engages with the assumptions which had guided his research, and the failures of his approach. Staying in Africa, Thiaw and Ly discuss the recent renaming of a square on Gorée Island in Senegal as the Place de l’Europe, following a grant from the European Union, and consider international aid and power relations, knowledge making and memory politics in relation

The cultural turn in international aid?  9 to this case study. Using a similar method as Morgan, Kurlanska, another US scholar, reflects critically on the community library she set up in Nicaragua, during her time as a Peace Corps volunteer, and the reasons for the relative failure of such a project, in terms of sustainability and the empowerment of community members. Nut assesses how international aid for cultural NGOs has transformed the traditional performing arts sector in Cambodia, charting their increasing move towards commercialization and international tourist markets. Continuing the reflection on Asia, Logan charts Australia’s use of soft power and cultural diplomacy over the past 25 years, and discusses its weak status compared to other aid sectors in Australia and other countries from the region. The third and final section assesses whether and how donor-funded cultural projects help to address global challenges. This part pays particular attention to the reasons why culture (understood primarily as heritage) is considered the best medium to address these challenges, whilst also examining the motives behind donor-funded projects. It also assesses the effectiveness of using culture to address global challenges, as well as the short-, medium- and long-term impacts of such approaches. More specifically, Kisić critically considers whether and how cultural heritage can contribute to postwar reconciliation through the case study of post-Yugoslav heritage reconstruction, professional capacity building and the (re)interpretation of heritage. Jigyasu reflects on post-disaster reconstruction for heritage sites. Broadening his reflection, he considers whether traditional knowledge and techniques can be integrated into the design and construction of housing as well. Larsen and Sinding-Larsen consider whether international funding of cultural heritage projects can promote and protect human rights. They then present the ‘Our Common Dignity’ project and reflect candidly on issues and lessons learnt when implementing this approach. Finally, Cunningham covers an issue that has rarely been addressed in academic literature: the integration of playfulness and laughter in humanitarian responses through artistic and interactive interventions targeting children. The conclusion to this volume discusses the key issues which emerged from all of the chapters and provide concrete solutions and suggestions to move forward.

Critical self-reflexive questioning In 2009, I implemented a large-scale EU-funded project as a consultant for UNESCO. The project goal was to use culture (understood primarily as the creative industries) for poverty reduction in selected developing countries in Africa and the Pacific islands. This project was my first encounter with and incursion into what was then, to me, the unknown world of international aid and development. I had up to then worked solely on projects on heritage conservation and management. Because of my ignorance and/or naivety, I readily accepted the strategies, approaches, narratives and outputs on culture for development proposed by senior staff to fulfil

10  Sophia Labadi the goals of this project. This included the development of copyright laws in the targeted countries, which were copied from Western models; the provision of entrepreneurship training for people working in the creative sectors and the identification of new market opportunities for cultural products. It was only when my consultancy mission was over and when I was reflecting upon my achievements that I realized how uncritically I had accepted these dominant Western ideologies of using culture for development and had embedded them in my everyday implementation of this EUfunded project (Brookfield, 2000: 36; Sandlin and Bey, 2006: 257). When reflecting on this project, to my own dismay, I might have involuntarily become one of those ‘colonial missionaries’ I described at the beginning of this chapter using Stirrat’s categorization (2008: 414), in my attempt to convert the targeted beneficiaries to a new life aligned with Western aspirations and values. Inspired by the limits of my own experience, I wanted this edited volume to be firmly anchored in critical (self) reflexive questioning (see for instance Mosse, 2013: 227–246; Martini and Jauhola, 2014: 76–96). Such critical reflexive approach is characterized, first, by a detachment from and questioning of the main assumptions, discourses and practices relating to culture and international aid. In other words, this positioning helps to question why and how certain approaches and ideas are acknowledged as more valid than others and are thus adopted to frame and direct cultural projects. This approach also critically analyses the understanding of what constitutes ‘best practice’ and ‘successful projects’, examining the form and nature of categorization and normative practice. This questioning might be more successful when applied to both theories and practice (see Stanley-­ Price et al., 2006: 185). This is a reason why a number of the authors selected for this volume work simultaneously as practitioners and academics. A self-aware and reflective practice requires the consideration of one’s own biases and complicities in hegemonic practices (Cunliffe, 2004: 408). At the heart of this approach is a denunciation of objective reality, impartial assessment and universally applicable principles. The goal is for authors to reflect upon and understand the underlying assumptions and motivations behind their work and choices. This helps to avoid the pitfalls of international aid as a (neo)colonialist endeavor that produces the opposite of what is aimed for, including the continuation of (neo-) colonialist realities, spatiotemporal inequalities and inequal power relations between the Global North and South (Stirrat, 2008: 19). The chapters in this volume by Morgan and Kurlanska, two American scholars who used to work in the international aid industry prior to moving to academia, are examples of this in-depth self-awareness and reflective questioning. However, self-reflexive questioning is not only about the self in isolation. To be truly effective, such method of enquiry needs to recognize the ‘positionality’ of researchers and practitioners. This involves understanding that an author’s socioeconomic and ethnic background as well as their

The cultural turn in international aid?  11 gender and geographical origin(s) will influence their approaches, visions and thinking (Hodder, 2003: 55–39; Sandlin and Bey, 2006: 258). For this reason, many of the contributors from this volume come from the very country they are writing about, whether it is Nut on Cambodia, Thiaw and Ly on Senegal or Kisić on the post-Yugoslav space. But this volume also reports on the domination of the international aid sector by Westerners, with contributions by a number of Europeans and North American authors. The positionality of authors also requires the consideration of projects in their wider institutional contexts. This is reflected in multivocal narratives proposed by researchers on projects on international aid. Indeed, this consideration of the positionality of authors helps to reveal, engage with and deconstruct competing approaches and realities, as authors connect their personal self to the social and institutional contexts of projects. Kurlanska’s chapter provides an example of this, as it charts the different views on funding libraries with aid from the US. She deconstructs why it is widely believed that libraries are successful projects and are often funded, whilst she is of the belief that libraries tend to fail. This notion of multivocality as defined by Bakhtin (1981; Mizzi, 2010) also reflects the multiple and sometimes conflicting ideas and desires expressed by people and institutions. This means that multiple realities and narratives on culture and aid exist both for people and institutions. It might therefore be difficult to arrive at one coherent understanding of reality. For instance, the chapter by Dabdoub Nasser and Bouquerel forcefully explains the complex factors influencing the design and implementation of projects on culture funded by the EU, including political considerations, local socioeconomic situations as well as the fight against terrorism and radicalism. But this entanglement of priorities, visions and understanding also affects people. This is discussed by Morgan in his chapter in this volume and his autoethnographic assessment of his changes of understanding of what constitutes a successful cultural project, according to new knowledge acquired and greater understanding of the music sector in Liberia. The conclusion of this book will reflect on these self-critical reflexive approaches, highlight their shortcomings and propose novel solutions to improve these models.

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14  Sophia Labadi Stirrat, R.L., 2008, Mercenaries, Missionaries and Misfits: Representations of Development Personnel. Critique of Anthropology, 28(4), pp. 406–425. Stupples, P. and Teaiwa, K. (eds.), 2016. Contemporary Perspectives on Art and International Development. London: Routledge. Throsby, D., 2012. Investment in Urban Heritage: Economic Impacts of Cultural Heritage Projects in FYR Macedonia and Georgia. Urban Development Series Knowledge Papers 16. Washington, DC: World Bank. UNCSD, 2012. The Future We Want. Rio de Janeiro: United Nations. Available at: www.uncsd2012.org/content/documents/727The%20Future%20We%20 Want%2019%20June%201230pm.pdf [Online] (accessed 01/07/2017). United Nations, 1989. United Nations Convention on the Right of the Child. Available at: www.unicef.org.uk/what-we-do/un-convention-child-rights/ [­Online] (accessed 19/12/2018). Willis, K., 2005. Theories and Practices of Development. London: Routledge World Bank, 2001. Cultural Heritage and Development: A Framework for Action in the Middle East and North Africa. Washington, DC: The World Bank. Zamorano, M.M., 2016. Reframing Cultural Diplomacy: The Instrumentalization of Culture under the Soft Power Theory. Culture Unbound, 8, pp. 166–186.

Part I

Definitions, approaches and discourses International and regional perspectives

2 Creative economy and development International institutions and policy synchronization Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis The creative economy: framing arts and culture in economic terms In 1988, John Myerscough published The Economic Impact of the Arts in Britain with the Policy Research Institute (Myerscough 1988). This controversial work both marked and advanced a shift in cultural policy thinking: The value of culture should no longer be defended as a mere public good that deserves public funding to compensate for widespread ‘market failure’ in the sector, it can also be defended through the multiplier effect the sector has on the economy as a whole. Pointing out the economic impact of the arts served as a basis to try persuading governments to increase public funding for the sector (Selwood 2010). This has proven both useful and dangerous. The argument that cultural production, both of the publicly funded and the private kind, are of economic importance was not entirely new. Thinking about the arts and the cultural industries had come a long way since the advent of a designated Ministry in 1959 in France (under André Malraux as the first Minister of Cultural Affairs) and the foundation of the Arts Council in 1946 in the United Kingdom (UK) (with John Maynard Keynes as its first Chairperson). In the period after the Second World War, a strict distinction between the arts and popular (i.e. commercial, mass) culture remained. This distinction allowed critics to dismiss the ‘culture industry’ as a travesty undermining the value of the arts (Adorno 2001), while justifying public spending on ‘high arts’ for their intrinsic value and the need to disclose such works to the greatest possible audience. In the 1980s, this distinction became difficult to maintain. First, it became obvious the market is able to supply existing demand for most people (see Keat 2000). Second, the arts and culture actually had large audiences (at least when including ‘popular’ art forms most people engage with in the definition of culture), but did not receive the attention of governments’ cultural policies (Looseley 1995, 113ff). Third, the postmodern critique of rigid distinctions between ‘high’ and ‘low’ art made the postwar arrangement difficult to uphold (Eling 1999, 128ff).

18  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis The shift from an intrinsic defence of funding for arts and culture to a more instrumental defence has been accelerated by two key moments that would give way to a far more optimistic reading of the sector, soon renamed ‘creative industries’ and later ‘creative economy’. First, the ‘New Labour’ Party government in the UK (DCMS 1998; Smith 1998) and Australia (Government of Australia 2005) adopted mapping and policy documents that promoted the ‘creative industries’ as a driver of economic growth in their deindustrializing (and already largely deindustrialized) societies (Hesmondhalgh, Oakley, and Lee 2015). While the adoption of the ‘creative industries’ term created a break with the more critical connotation the ‘cultural industries’ had in this context (Hesmondhalgh 2013; O’Connor 2010), it also served as a way to include software in the light of the late-1990s excitement and optimism about the information society and digital technologies (Garnham 2005; Tremblay 2011). This gave way to a widespread optimism, or ‘celebratory’ interpretation of the creative industries (see De Beukelaer and Spence 2019), echoed in a wide range of semi-academic publications (Florida 2002; Howkins 2002). Second, the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) started to engage with the ‘creative industries’ at their ‘XIth Session’ in São Paulo (2004). This gave way to UNCTAD’s mandate to develop the empirically informed and policy-oriented Creative Economy Reports (UNCTAD and UNDP 2008, 2010). While UNCTAD’s reports proved very influential around the world, and in particular in ‘developing countries’, their particular definition and scope is merely one among many that circulate in policy discourses around the world (Vlassis and De Beukelaer 2019). In sum, the ‘culture industry’, a term coined to critically challenge the increasing reduction of art and culture to their economic worth became a ‘celebratory’ term (‘creative industries’) that would help revive economies, regenerate cities and create employment in a post-manufacturing UK economy (De Beukelaer and Spence 2019). Once embraced as the ‘creative economy’ by the international institutions (Vlassis and De Beukelaer 2019), these organizations equated its potential with the neoliberal development doxa: more economic activity would boost economies, create jobs and increase exports. The development they propagate is neither self-evident nor inevitable. More importantly, this kind of development relies less on ‘aid’ than on a shift in discourse. This is important because the term ‘development’ went through a similar narrowing of its meaning, as the term became synonymous with efforts to have ‘underdeveloped’ postcolonial countries ‘catch up’ with industrialized ones in terms of standard of living and life expectancy (Yanguas 2018). Indeed, ‘development’ itself is a discursive formation of both what ‘underdeveloped’ countries are and how ‘development’ can help overcome the problem it discursively creates (Escobar 1995;

Creative economy and development  19 Nederveen Pieterse 2010). This means that ‘a particular meaning of development orients social activity in particular directions, defines what constitutes legitimate knowledge, and shapes whose knowledge matters’ (Barnett and Duvall 2005, 3). Because development ‘aid’ exists in this context means ‘aiding’ countries and people, there has to be some agreement on what the problem is and how it can be solved. This is what underlies the use of cultural and creative industries as drivers of development: the discursive construction that outlines the ‘creative contributions’ that arts and culture make to overcoming underdevelopment (Stupples 2014). International institutions, in this crucial respect, help to identify the problems that need to be solved, define the problem in relationship to a category of actions and goals, produce classifications for others and offer judgements about what kind of problem it is (Barnett and Finnemore 2005, 179). In this chapter, we explore the definitions of the ‘creative economy’ and related terms as they are used by international and intergovernmental organizations. We clarify that the ‘aid’ these organizations provide is mainly discursive: they are able to produce systems of meaning and signification, thereby legitimizing a focus on arts and culture through the ‘creative economy’ by claiming this supports development. In order to do so, we explore the definitions and models of the sector – cultural industries, creative industries, creative economy – across five key international institutional players: UNCTAD, UNESCO, World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO), the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (OIF), as well as the British Council. We highlight the historical pathways of the discourse used in each institution and thereby aim to clarify the definition and scope of each of these organizations’ use of the ‘creative economy’, to expose tensions and overlaps, and discuss implications for aid, funding, collaboration and policy.

Institutional perspectives Intergovernmental organizations (IGOs, such as UNCTAD, UNESCO and WIPO) and International organizations (IOs, such as the British Council and the OIF) have played significant roles in the spread and uptake of key policy terms across a range of issues. Sustainability, development, governance and social cohesion are clear examples of this. Political scientist Pertti Alasuutari describes this process in his book The Synchronisation of National Policies (Alasuutari 2016), by pointing out that a ‘tribe of moderns’ who are often part of the same social and cultural network, but employed by different organizations and governments have tremendous influence over global policy discourse. The claim that the creative economy can drive development has made this discourse visible and appealing to diverse groups of people within the influential global ‘tribe of moderns’. But despite ‘synchronization’ of policy discourses across individual countries in relation

20  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis to the ‘creative economy’, there are clear differences in the terms used by differences around the world. He points out that, This shift from seeing cultural policy servicing democratic access to art and social cohesion of the people to conceiving of culture as a tourist attraction and as a means to enhance ‘creative economy’ has swept throughout the advanced economies, and the creative city is now a standard catchword that can be found in the strategy documents of almost any city in the world. (Alasuutari 2016, 154–155) The central tenet of the uptake of the ‘creative economy’ in virtually all its guises is that ‘cultural policy, which has traditionally been justified by art as valuable in its own right, is now commonly justified by the claim that it is beneficial for business and economy’ (Alasuutari 2016, 156). But in their respective struggles for influence, these organizations have promoted different perspectives on the ‘creative economy’ (Vlassis and De Beukelaer 2019). Here, we explore briefly what these differences are before discussing why they matter so much. These organizations hardly engage in ‘aid’ (through funding). Their concern with ‘development’ is mainly a discursive one. Before turning to a comparison and discussion of their respective perspectives, it seems useful to highlight the key characteristics of these organizations in brief. UNCTAD UNCTAD was founded in 1964, in response to the realization that ‘developing’ countries encountered great difficulties in exporting manufactured goods to ‘developed’ countries. UNCTAD started focusing on culture and creativity sectors in the late 1990s. In 2004, at the XIth interministerial meeting in São Paulo, there was a high-level panel on the creative industries. This meeting led to the creation of a designated Creative Economy Unit headed by the economist Edna dos Santos Duisenberg, who went on to elaborate the Creative Economy Report series (UNCTAD and UNDP 2008, 2010) as well as an overview of international trade in creative goods and services as part of the UNCTAD statistical database (Vlassis 2018). In the Creative Economy Reports, UNCTAD provides a working definition in which the creative industries: • •

are the cycles of creation, production and distribution of goods and services that use creativity and intellectual capital as primary inputs; constitute a set of knowledge-based activities, focused on but not limited to arts, potentially generating revenues from trade and intellectual property rights;

Creative economy and development  21 • • •

comprise tangible products and intangible intellectual or artistic services with creative content, economic value and market objectives; stand at the crossroads of the artisan, services and industrial sectors and constitute a new dynamic sector in world trade (UNCTAD and UNDP 2008, 8)

UNCTAD’s focus on the creative economy is parts of its commitment to export diversification as a driver of economic development, as part of its ‘trade not aid’ doxa—now more commonly ‘aid for trade’. UNESCO UNESCO was founded in 1946 as the United Nations’ agency with a mandate for Culture (alongside Education and Science), it is also the only UN agency with a legitimate and clearly recognized interest in culture. UNESCO’s 1972 World Heritage Convention, which recognizes cultural and natural sites of significance to mankind, is its best known and most visible initiative in the field of culture. But alongside forays into the role of culture in processes of development (WCCD 1996; UNESCO 1998), it has also focused on cultural industries in the past decades. This includes the report Cultural Industries: A Challenge for The Future of Culture (UNESCO 1982), the World Decade for Cultural Development (1988–1997), the Dakar Plan for Action (OAU and UNESCO 1992), the Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (UNESCO 2005), a ‘special edition’ of the Creative Economy Report (UNESCO and UNDP 2013). UNESCO’s 2005 Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions, is particularly interesting as it includes explicit engagement with the role cultural industries can play in the social, cultural and economic development of ‘developing’ countries (De Beukelaer, Pyykkönen, and Singh 2015; Vlassis 2015a). The Convention defines the cultural industries as follows: Article 4(4): “Cultural activities, goods and services” refers to those activities, goods and services, which at the time they are considered as a specific attribute, use or purpose, embody or convey cultural expressions, irrespective of the commercial value they may have. Cultural activities may be an end in themselves, or they may contribute to the production of cultural goods and services. Article 4(5): “Cultural industries” refers to industries producing and distributing cultural goods or services as defined in paragraph 4 above. (UNESCO 2005, Article 4) UNESCO established the International Fund for Cultural Diversity in 2010, as stipulated in Article 18 of the Convention (Vlassis 2014).

22  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis This fund is meant to help ‘developing’ countries that are parties to the Convention finance policy development and training to strengthen their cultural industries in order to make them more competitive internationally. During the period 2010–2019, the IFCD has funded 105 projects in 54 countries for a total sum of some US$7.56m. Through this fund, UNESCO has established itself as an intermediary of development aid: it administers voluntary donations through a fund that directly aims to ‘develop’ the cultural industries. The development of these cultural industries is, in turn, meant to foster greater development of host societies as a whole. Though in the context of a billion-dollar aid industry, the IFCD’s contribution is negligible. World Intellectual Property Organisation The WIPO is – alongside UNCTAD and UNESCO – a specialized agency within the United Nations system. It was founded in 1967 in an attempt to both strengthen and harmonize intellectual property legislation and enforcement around the world. Among UN organizations, WIPO is unusual in that it is almost entirely self-financing. In the context of multilateral discussions on the creative economy, WIPO established a Creative Industries division in 2005. Given WIPO’s focus on intellectual property rights and copyright, their definition and classification of the ‘creative economy’ come under the name of ‘copyright industries’. In this view, the WIPO legal perspective uses the so-called copyright factor in order to protect the product/service of creative industries and to strengthen the link between creativity, innovation and development. In other terms, WIPO considers copyright protection as a policy prerequisite for the development of creative industries: ‘copyright law aims to foster an environment in which creativity and innovation can flourish’ (WIPO 2017, 4). The goal of the organization is first to collect systematic evidence regarding the economic contribution of the copyright-based industries in terms of their share in gross domestic product, generation of employment and trade. Second, the WIPO seeks to focus on the specific impact that copyright and related rights have played in the performance of the creative industries. In this sense, WIPO sees the copyright protection as a key priority of governmental authorities insofar as this factor is of major importance in sustaining the creative economy and facilitating the exchange and consumption of creative products and services. As Francis Gurry, WIPO’s Director General, stressed, copyright is the central mechanism in the creation of the market for creative works, in the interface between the world of creativity and the economy and it is the principal means for the financing of the production of creative works. (WIPO 2016, n.p.)

Creative economy and development  23 The Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie The Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (OIF) is based in Paris and was founded in 1997, in Hanoi, Vietnam. It has its roots in the Agence de Coopération Culturelle et Technique, founded in 1970 (in ­Niamey, ­Niger). In 1999, the OIF was the first intergovernmental organization to adopt a resolution in favour of an international legal instrument on cultural diversity in Moncton, Canada (OIF 1999). The OIF engages with cultural industries through program funding and education. Their use of the term ‘industries culturelles’ is influenced by UNESCO, and this choice of terminology and classification is strengthened by UNESCO’s use of ‘cultural industries’ in their Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions. The OIF primarily serves to maintain a Francophone sphere of influence, through which France can assert its political, economic and cultural importance. The work it does in terms of the cultural industries is therefore in function of power and influence. The OIF’s training courses in cultural industries at the Université Senghor in Alexandria, Egypt, is a case in point. British Council The British Council was founded in 1934 as a quasi-autonomous nongovernmental organization (‘qango’) charged with public diplomacy through culture and education. Its engagement with the ‘creative economy’ follows the international interest in and uptake of the UK’s approach to the ‘creative industries’ under its New Labour government (1997–2010). The UK Department of Media Culture and Sport created a classification of the ‘creative industries’ as part of their attempt to map the sector (DCMS 1998). The British Council follows this classification in its work with cultural organization in over 100 countries around the world through its local offices. The British Council provides very limited support through grants-in-aid. Most of its work is in strategy and training, and most of this cross-­subsidized by its own language training and examination around the world.

Implications: why definitions and demarcations matter Since the 1990s, economic performance and impact have become a proxy to describe the value of arts and culture. The creative economy became the key imaginary to capture debates around this value. But in ascribing ever greater analytic and predictive importance to the economic side of arts and culture, the question of what should be measured became increasingly important. One key way in which this manifested is through the question of the demarcation of the cultural and creative industries. Academic debates concerning definitions are abstract and fundamental in nature. See, for example, the debate between Daniel Mato (2009)

24  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis and Toby Miller (2009) on whether we should define industries as cultural based on their input (the creative work going into the products and services) or in their symbolic use (where cars could be seen as part of the cultural industries because the social meaning of any car is at least as important as its use value). Though when former Korean President Park Geun-hye argued that automobiles are a key part of the Korean creative economy based on the creative input into the sector, this merits a critical assessment (De Beukelaer and Spence 2019). Policy-oriented organizations care much more about the statistical implications of the terms they use than the intellectual merit of their reasoning. The economic measurement of the creative economy increasingly served to justify private investment and public spending on the sector in order to boost its growth, and thereby social and economic development. When looking at data, definitions imply demarcations; these demarcations in turn imply scope; and scope in turn implies size. This means that claims about the size (economic turnover, employment, exports, etc.) can easily be inflated by changing the definition and thus demarcation of the sector. ­Table 2.1 shows which activities are part of the ‘creative economy’ according to different organizations. The stark differences concerning the inclusion of particular activities across these organizations have two significant implications. First, the classification used indicates which activities are part of the cultural, creative or copyright industries. By including very different activities, the classification used will impact the measured size of the sector – and even the place of countries or regions in the economy of creative goods and services. For instance, the UNCTAD classification strongly puts in question the dominance of the United States or of the Western economies in the global market of creative goods and services. In this sense, China’s exportations are much larger than those of the United States or the combined exportations of Germany, the United Kingdom and France (De Beukelaer 2014). This has been a significant point of critique, where some commentators have noted that the inclusion of sectors like software, architecture or design have significantly increased the size of the ‘creative industries’ (Garnham 2005; Tremblay 2011). Second, the inclusion or exclusion of particular activities will impact whether or not they will fall under policies for the sector. Some commentators have noted how the expansion of the ‘creative industries’ led to a distorted view of the sector where newer additions (software, design, architecture) generate significant economic revenues, dwarfing the contributions made by the arts (Oakley 2009; Stupples 2015); and even some the most vocal proponents of the creative economy now admit cultural policy is about more than the creative industries alone (Bakhshi and Cunningham 2016). And yet, there are some overlaps between categories and classifications. UNCTAD, for example, uses first and second level categories, with Visual Arts being a first level category that includes paintings, sculptures,

X

X (‘antiques’) X

Architecture

Art and antiques market

Blank recording material Books Book fairs Celebrations Clothing and footwear Consumer electronics Copyright collecting societies

X

X

Amusement and theme parks Archaeological sites

Audiovisuals

X

Advertising

X X

X (‘audiovisual and interactive media’)

X (‘archaeological and historical places’) X (‘architectural services’)

X

X (‘advertising services’)

(‘Cultural industries’)

(‘Creative industries’)

(‘Cultural industries’)

UNESCO (UNESCO UNESCO (2005 Institute for Statistics) Convention)

UNCTAD

Table 2.1  I nstitutional demarcations and definitions of the creative economy

X X X

X

X (‘advertising agencies and services’)

(‘Copyright industries’)

WIPO (‘Industries culturelles’)

OIF

X

X

X

(Continued)

(‘Creative industries’)

BC

X (‘film’)

Film and video

X

X

Festivals

Fine arts Furniture Gambling Graphic design Cultural and natural heritage Household goods

X X

X (‘art crafts’) X (includes ‘creative R&D, cultural & recreational’) X

Digitized creative content Fashion

Design

Creative services

Crafts

X X X

X

X (‘fashion design’) X (‘festivals fairs and feasts’) X

X (‘design and creative services’)

X

(‘Cultural industries’)

(‘Creative industries’)

X

X

(‘Copyright industries’)

WIPO

X

X

X

(‘Industries culturelles’)

OIF

X

X

X

(‘Creative industries’)

BC

X

X

X (‘festivals and events’) X X X X (‘cinema/ (‘motion picture and (‘film industry’) audiovisual arts’) video’)

X

X

(‘Cultural industries’)

UNESCO (UNESCO UNESCO (2005 Institute for Statistics) Convention)

UNCTAD

X

X

X

X (‘libraries (also virtual)’ and ‘museums (also virtual)’) X

X

X

X X (includes: ‘live music, theatre, dance, opera, circus, puppetry, etc.’) Photography X X X Photocopiers, photographic (‘printing equipment’) equipment etc. Printed press media X X (‘newspaper and magazine’ and ‘other printed matter’)

Music Musical instruments New media Paper Performing arts

Landscape design Media arts Museums galleries and libraries

Interior design Jewellery

X

X

X

X (‘press and literature’)

X X

X X

X X

X (‘jewellery and coins’)

X

X (‘theatre and performing arts’

X

X

X

(Continued)

X

Toys

X

X (includes ‘online games’) X (‘visual arts and crafts’)

X (includes ‘charter travel and tourist services’ and ‘hospitality and accommodation’)

X X (includes ‘physical fitness and well-being’) X

X

X

X (‘visual and graphic art’) X

X (‘toys and games’) X (‘toys and games’)

X

X (‘software and databases’)

(‘Copyright industries’)

WIPO

X

X

(‘Industries culturelles’)

OIF

Source: The Authors, based on the organisations’ classifications; terms in brackets indicate slight deviations from those listed in the first column.

Wall coverings and carpets

Visual arts

Video and computer games X (‘video games’)

Tourism

X (also includes ‘broadcasting’)

X X

Television and radio

Sound equipment Sports and recreation

Sculptures Software

(‘Cultural industries’)

(‘Creative industries’)

(‘Cultural industries’)

UNESCO (UNESCO UNESCO (2005 Institute for Statistics) Convention)

UNCTAD

X

X

X

(‘Creative industries’)

BC

Creative economy and development  29 photography and antiques; most of which are independent categories in the definitions of other organizations. This means that the comparison above is not as refined and detailed as the table implies. The additional complexity is that independent of what these organizations measure (international trade, domestic turnover, employment, etc.), they rely on existing international datasets where activities are categorized in greater detail according to Standard Industrial Classification (SIC) codes and Standard Occupational Classification (SOC) codes, which do not always neatly align with the activities as defined in the table above. The classifications of the five organizations we discuss thus conceal which precise activities feed into the aggregated datasets presented by these organizations.

‘Development’: the struggle for influence In her book Politicizing Creative Economy, Dia Da Costa strongly criticizes intergovernmental institutions such as UNCTAD and UNESCO for promoting the ‘creative economy’ as a novelty, rendering it ahistorical through its temporal disconnect with existing and previous practices (Da Costa 2016). She stresses that this discursive influence ‘perpetuate[s] a hierarchical vision which assumes that innovation and creativity is advanced in the global North, while the rich repertories of the global South are untapped, unproductive creative traditions’ (Da Costa 2016, 13). We do not follow Da Costa in this argument because it overlooks the existing approaches in creative economy business models around the world. But do take on board her critique of the need for ‘novelty’. The creative economy used as a buzzword by several IGOs (or ‘catch-words’ as Andrea Cornwall puts it) is a key way of imagining and communicating how to go about ‘doing’ development. But they are key of thinking about what development is too: Language does matter for development. Development’s buzzwords are not only passwords to funding and influence; and they are more than the mere specialist jargon that is characteristic of any profession. (Cornwall 2007, 471) Critical development studies scholars have therefore not only criticized the practice of development by exposing the power relations between people, organizations and governments. They have also, and perhaps more forcefully, condemned the discursive construction of development, as it is language that creates both the problems and their solutions (see, for example, Escobar 1995; Sachs 2010). While critical reflections on development discourse have been useful in exposing their violence, much like cultural studies has been able to expose the violence of race, class and gender, there is a need to better understand the messy and contradictory institutional practices that maintain (and often exacerbate) this violence, while claiming to resolve it. The language

30  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis used by the international institutions we discuss is itself a key feature of the discursive struggle for influence – and this power. Particularly at the level of intergovernmental and international organizations, these tensions arise manifestly. Pertti Alasuutari argues that ‘actors engaged in epistemic governance focus on three objects: ontology, identifications, and norms’ (Alasuutari 2016, 40–41). These organizations are not monolithic entities without contradictions. Power struggles over ideas, influence and power are at their core (Vlassis 2015b). It is revealing that by the end of the 1990s, an alliance of actors including national governments, such as Canada and France; intergovernmental organizations, such as Organisation internationale de la Francophonie and non-governmental organizations (National Coalitions for Cultural Diversity1), have mobilized in favor of ‘the diversity of cultural expressions’ and the establishment of an international policy tool on this principle (Vlassis 2015a). They made a strong plea for the recognition of cultural policies’ importance for balanced and equitable flows of cultural goods and services around the world, whereas the US administration called for two key norms: free trade and free flow of information and images. Following hard negotiations on a number of issues (see von Schorlemer and Stoll, 2012), UNESCO’s General Conference adopted the Convention on the Protection and the Promotion of Diversity of Cultural Expressions (henceforth The Convention) in 2005. The Convention recognizes the specificity of cultural goods and services and the importance of cultural policies for the protection and promotion of the diversity of ‘cultural expressions’ – that is, the ‘goods’ and ‘services’ created in the ‘cultural industries’. In this view, countries, such as France and Canada that made a strong plea for the Convention appeared reluctant to the inclusion of the concept ‘creative economy’ in the UNESCO’s framework (Vlassis 2018) because this includes a far broader range of products and activities than used in UNESCO’s definition. The main reason for their reluctance – or even resistance – is that the amalgamation of cultural industries and creative economy harbors a real danger: that of watering down the specificity of cultural industries by broadening them to the creative industries could undermine justifications for public support for those activities within the cultural industries that are prone to market failure (Tremblay 2011). UNESCO also published a ‘special edition’ of the Creative Economy Report in 2013. The organization’s ‘intention is not to reach a final consensus about concepts, but to understand the nuances of the creative economy in order to support its advancement as a feasible option for development at the local level’ (UNESCO and UNDP 2013, 19). In its reluctance to opt for one particular model – or perhaps its deliberate choice not to develop yet another model – UNESCO acknowledges the difficulty of working within the diversity of existing models and stresses the need to maintain a grounded and critical approach that reflects practice (‘at the local level’). With this

Creative economy and development  31 pluralistic approach to the discursive questions around the nature and role of the ‘creative economy’, UNESCO makes a comparative engagement with the sector difficult, as many stakeholders will maintain different interpretations and definitions while using the same terms. This means that employees of these organizations, much like anyone else operating in this discursive environment, need to vie for influence and balance the three objects of which Alasuutari speaks: ontology, identifications and norms (2016, 41). Ontologically, ‘actors representing different stakeholders and views will definitely disagree on details, but the paradigmatic premises of the ensuing discourse are crucial in setting limits for counterarguments that are considered sensible’ (Alasuutari 2016, 41). While the five organizations we discussed will disagree on the details, for the sake of pragmatics and tactics, they will readily use the same terms (in casu, ‘creative economy’) while they would (and do) in fact retain their own preferences – strongly based on institutional path dependence and different configurations of power. While UNESCO’s Creative Economy Report built on the ‘brand’ of the creative economy as established by UNCTAD, they would in fact have preferred using the term ‘cultural economy’ – which is both narrower and more specific (De Beukelaer and Spence 2019), but also more ambiguous and political (Hesmondhalgh 2019; O’Connor 2010). The report’s lead author, Yudhishthir Raj Isar (2015), implies this in his reflections on UNESCO’s role in shifting the focus of the Report series. Identifications in the context of the ‘creative economy’ refer to people and institutions identifying themselves as being part of a particular group or idea, in this case the creative economy. Unlike identifications that are less subject to trends and fashions (such as nations, gender, class and race), identifications of people working in both culture and development are very prone to buzzwords because these buzzwords are often intertwined with funding bodies and their programs (Cornwall 2007) – which can be both confusing and tiring for those involved (van Graan 2010). As a result, definitions and demarcations have an effect on the tasks of ministries of culture. This is the result of either the institutional competition between international organizations or different ways in which different national ministries (e.g. trade or culture) opt to follow one of these organizations. Norms refer to the ‘commonly held values and principles […] as grounds for or against particular policies’ (Alasuutari 2016, 43). While the organizations we looked into above clearly have a different focus and rationale for ­ ften engaging with the creative economy, they share (also with those who – o reluctantly – identify with the creative economy) a general set of norms about what the sector’s characteristics are that should be highlighted and what kind of ‘development’ purpose they serve.2 Never mind that there is little evidence that the creative economy is socially inclusive or environmentally sustainable. Quite to the contrary: it is in fact inherently exclusionary

32  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis in terms of gender, race and class (e.g. O’Brien et al. 2016) and extremely polluting (e.g. Maxwell and Miller 2012), even if progressive policies could help to mitigate such issues (Duxbury, Kangas, and De Beukelaer 2017). In as much as UNCTAD, UNESCO, WIPO, the OIF and the British Council provide ‘aid’ they provide development support primarily in the form of discursive and normative influence. Where available, budgets are very limited. But the struggle to gain the upper hand in terms of discursive influence reflects the objective of ‘development’ more generally: promoting a normative view of what societies should be. The ‘aid’ they offer thus mainly consists of (often unsolicited) advice about what kind of political economy countries should adopt and of defining problems in relationship to a category of actions and goals that they view as good and legitimate. This is precisely why this chapter provides an analytical account of why and how these organizations try to weigh in on the ‘synchronization of national policies’ (Alasuutari 2016), rather than providing an evaluative account of whether (or to what extent) they provide ‘aid’ through the creative economy.

In conclusion The importance of ontology, identifications and norms in the struggle for dominance in terms of discourse and policy means that the ‘creative economy’ simultaneously refers to one idea and many practices as it has spread around the world: Since nation-states are to a considerable degree replicas of each other and since they are interlinked with each other through the global economy and through constant cross-border flows of people, products, services, art, and popular culture, it is no wonder that people on different corners of the world often come up with similar ideas at the same time. (Alasuutari 2016, 93) However, while the entire world is (or perhaps was, as the influence of the creative economy is subsiding) taken by the promise of the creative economy, it is becoming clear that it will not deliver on its many promises (Banks and O’Connor 2017; De Beukelaer 2015). And yet, few people likely expect it will. But from a strategic perspective the term remains useful because the grand claims create an audience while its vagueness makes creative applications and use possible. It would, however, be misleading to argue that the ‘creative economy’ is a simple solution to a difficult problem, even if the ‘fast policy’ fix does bear that promise (De Beukelaer and O’Connor 2016). It is rather a multifaceted term that functions as a discursive vortex: while problems and solutions are vastly more complex than the term (and key literature) suggests, it is both pragmatic (because strategic) and convenient (because visible) to use the term as a shorthand for a wide variety of possible solutions.

Creative economy and development  33 The attempts of intergovernmental and international organizations to influence policy discourse cannot be dismissed as futile, for they jointly form and maintain the discursive vortex that is of strategic use to those identifying as working in the ‘creative economy’. They are, however, as much a part of a global momentum as they are able to contribute to it. Whether it is one or another organization is less important than the extent to which the particular discursive toolboxes manage to capture the context, needs and objectives of stakeholders involved in the sovereign synchronization of policies around the world.

Notes 1 In September 2007, 42 national coalitions for cultural diversity created the International Federation of the Coalitions for Cultural Diversity, by grouping in the aggregate more than 600 cultural professional organizations representing creators, artists, independent producers, distributors, broadcasters, and editors in the publishing, motion picture, television, music, performing arts, and visual art fields. The Federation is incorporated in Canada and has its Secretariat in Montreal. 2 See for example UNESCO’s 2013 Creative Economy Report: This Report will therefore focus on the contributions that cultural resources can make to drive sustainable development processes as a whole. Culturally driven ways of imagining, making and innovating, both individual and collective, generate many human development “goods”, and these in turn can contribute to inclusive social and economic development, environmental sustainability and the attainment of peace and security, all goals upon which the post-2015 United Nations development agenda is predicated. (UNESCO and UNDP 2013, 39).

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34  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis Da Costa, D. (2016). Politicizing Creative Economy: Activism and a Hunger Called Theater. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. DCMS. (1998). Creative Industries Mapping Document. London: DCMS. De Beukelaer, C. (2014). Creative Industries in ‘developing’ Countries: Questioning Country Classifications in the UNCTAD Creative Economy Reports. Cultural Trends, 23(4), 232–251. De Beukelaer, C. (2015). Developing Cultural Industries: Learning from the Palimpsest of Practice. Amsterdam: European Cultural Foundation. De Beukelaer, C., & O’Connor, J. (2016). The Creative Economy and the Development Agenda: The Use and Abuse of ‘Fast Policy. In P. Stupples, & K. Teaiwa (Eds.), Contemporary Perspectives on Art and International Development (pp. 27–47). Abingdon: Routledge.De Beukelaer, C., Pyykkönen, M., & Singh, J. P. (Eds.). (2015). Globalization, Culture and Development: The UNESCO Convention on Cultural Diversity. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. De Beukelaer, C., & Spence, K.-M. (2019). Global Cultural Economy. London: Routledge. Duxbury, N., Kangas, A., & De Beukelaer, C. (2017). Cultural Policies for Sustainable Development: Four Strategic Paths. International Journal of Cultural Policy, 23(2), 214–230. Eling, K. (1999). The Politics of Cultural Policy in France. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Escobar, A. (1995). Encountering Development: The Making and Unmaking of the Third World. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Florida, R. (2002). The Rise of the Creative Class. New York: Basic Books. Garnham, N. (2005). From Cultural to Creative Industries. International Journal of Cultural Policy, 11(1), 15–29. Government of Australia. (2005). Creative Nation: Commonwealth Cultural Policy. Canberra: Government of Australia. Hesmondhalgh, D. (2019). The Cultural Industries (4th ed.). London: Sage. Hesmondhalgh, D., Oakley, K., & Lee, D. (2015). Culture, Economy and Politics: The Case of New Labour. New Directions in Cultural Policy Research. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Howkins, J. (2002). The Creative Economy : How People Make Money from Ideas. London: Penguin. Isar, Y. R. (2015). Widening Development Pathways: Transformative Visions of Cultural Economy. In K. Oakley, & J. O’Connor (Eds.), The Routledge Companion to the Cultural Industries (pp. 477–487). Abingdon: Routledge. Keat, R. (2000). Cultural Goods and the Limits of the Market: Beyond Commercial Modelling. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Looseley, D. (1995). The Politics of Fun: Cultural Policy and Debate in Contemporary France. Oxford/Washington DC: Berg Publishers. Mato, D. (2009). All Industries Are Cultural. Cultural Studies, 23(1), 70–87. Maxwell, R., & Miller, T. (2012). Greening the Media. New York: Oxford University Press. Miller, T. (2009). From Creative to Cultural Industries: Not All Industries Are Cultural, and No Industries Are Creative. Cultural Studies, 23(1), 88–99. Myerscough, J. (1988). The Economic Importance of the Arts in Britain. London. PSI Research Report 672. London: Policy Studies Institute. Nederveen Pieterse, J. (2010). Development Theory (2nd ed.). Los Angeles: Sage.

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36  Christiaan De Beukelaer and Antonios Vlassis Vlassis, A. (2015b). Culture in the Post-2015 Development Agenda: The Anatomy of an International Mobilisation. Third World Quarterly, 36(9), 1649–1662. Vlassis, A. (2018). The International Politics of the Nexus ‘Culture and Development’: Four Policy Agendas for Whom and for What? In V. Durrer, & T. Miller (Eds.), The Routledge Handbook of Global Cultural Policy (pp. 417–429). London/New York: Routledge/Taylor & Francis Group. Vlassis, A., & De Beukelaer, C. (2019). The Creative Economy as a Versatile Policy Script: Exploring the Role of Competing International Organizations. Media, Culture & Society, 41(4), 502–519. WCCD. (1996). Our Creative Diversity: Report of the World Commission on Culture and Development. Paris: UNESCO. WIPO. (2016). The Global Digital Content Market: Opening Remarks by Francis Gurry, Director General, World Intellectual Property Organization. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. WIPO. (2017). How to Make a Living in the Creative Industries. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. Yanguas, P. (2018). Why We Lie About Aid: Development and the Messy Politics of Change. London: ZED Books.

3 Culture in EU international relations Between discourse and practice Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel Introduction In the field of culture, the European Union (EU) supports and supplements the actions of the Member States – in other words, due to the reluctance of the latter to delegate their culture competence to the EU, there is no cultural policy proper to the EU. However, thanks to the cross-cutting dimension of culture, the EU has designed a whole series of programmes and opportunities that allocate funding to culture, while also contributing to economic growth, social cohesion and reaching external relations and neighbourhood policies objectives. In the mapping of EU funding for culture in the ENP1 (European Neighbourhood Policy), the European Centre for Development Policy Management identified more than 15 financial instruments and programmes that fund cultural activities from 2014 to 2017 (ECDPM, 2017). 2 This reflects the complexity of this funding3 as well as the complexity of culture as a sector that includes a number of sub-sectors that vary from country to country. However, culture remains the poor relation of development aid, partly because development aid programmes lack goals entirely dedicated to culture, and it is not considered a priority by many beneficiary countries. Yet, in the Mediterranean region, the EU is a major funder of cultural programmes at both bilateral and regional levels, which it mainstreamed in other policy sectors. This chapter will examine the position of culture in the EU aid programme for the region and try to link it to the EU discourse on culture. It is based on desk research as well as on participatory observation and the professional experience of both authors.4 Various policies, agreements and programmes have shaped EU support for culture throughout the Mediterranean region during the past two decades. This development started with the Barcelona Process in 1995 and is still ongoing, which is evident by the most recent communication from the High Representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, Ms. Federica Mogherini, 5 together with the European Commission. Using Euromed Heritage (EH) and Med Culture as case studies, this chapter will explore to what extent these programmes have contributed to the

38  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel promotion of values that are important to the EU, notably the celebration of diversity, peace and security, democracy, freedom of expression, respect of fundamental rights while promoting social and economic development. It will also touch upon perceived perceptions of these contributions, as well as the scope of impact of these programmes on beneficiaries in partner countries. This research should address the role and position of the EU in the cultural development of the region and examine the perspectives that could be drawn out and that could contribute to rethinking future policies and approaches.

Mainstreaming culture in EU policies in the Mediterranean 1995–2020 Culture and the Mediterranean political EU framework For the purposes of this research, the Barcelona Process will be used to initiate a discussion of the framework of EU support for culture in Mediterranean Partner Countries6 for the following reasons: it formalized the EU’s strategic approach to the Mediterranean as a region; it introduced culture as an important pole of development and cultural heritage as a concrete field of the economy and policy action and it promoted a spirit of “partnership” and put the accent on the contributions of civil society “as an essential factor for greater understanding and closeness between peoples” (Council of the European Union et al. 1995). The Barcelona Process introduced a novel approach for EU relations with its neighbouring countries to the east and south of the Mediterranean. Signed by the Council of the European Union and the European Commission, together with 27 countries from Europe and the Mediterranean in November 1995, the Barcelona Declaration stressed the strategic importance of the Mediterranean sea as a link between the peoples who live around it rather than a separation and introduced the concept of a partnership between European Member States7 and their neighbours.8 The Declaration established partnerships in three main areas: a political and security partnership, an economic and financial partnership and a partnership in social, cultural and human affairs. The text is filled with references to peace, stability and prosperity to be achieved whilst promoting dialogue, democratic principles and the rule of law. It was also viewed as one of the ways in which the EU asserted itself as a “unique and autonomous global actor […] in the context of a constantly changing international environment” (Bianchi 2005: 285). The Barcelona Process has attracted attention, from both sides of the Mediterranean, which range from positive and laudatory to sceptical and hostile. While some praise it for laying the foundations of a new regional relationship between Europe and its southern neighbours (Hegazy, 2008) and introducing culture to the social development approach, others consider

Culture in EU international relations  39 it a fiasco due to its failure to establish and nurture a ‘real’ partnership between peoples of the region. The Barcelona Process has also been criticized for how it has contributed to instilling liberal economic practices, thereby impoverishing the communities it was meant to help economically. In addition, one of its flagrant failures was the Israeli–Palestinian peace process – while there were some hopes toward the resolution of the conflict at the time of signing the Barcelona Declaration, this is not the case today, which makes the presence of Israel in the programmes today an extremely sensitive issue. Culture constituted no more than a sub-branch of the third pillar. Not surprisingly, it received less funding than other programmes funded by the Commission’s Development Cooperation (DEVCO) through the main financial instrument of the Euro-Mediterranean partnership (MEDA 9). It saw the emergence of a number of regional programmes that confirmed the EU as the only partner to implement regional programmes while encouraging regional and/or sub-regional networking, which was one of the conditions for the funding. EH and Euromed Audiovisual programmes, implemented in successive editions respectively, were significant in the period between 1998 and 2014. In addition to regional programmes, the Delegations to the EU based in southern Mediterranean countries regularly published a series of calls for projects that encouraged civil society organizations to implement small-scale projects. This modest financial allocation gave the opportunity to cultural players to implement a limited number of innovative projects throughout the region while developing their capacities to apply for EU funding. In 2007, the European Agenda for Culture in a Globalising World,10 the very first document defining EU orientations in support of culture, established three sets of objectives: to promote the inter-cultural dialogue, to realize the contribution of culture to the advancement of the Lisbon Agenda11 and to increase the cultural component in the EU’s dealings with third countries, thereby reaffirming the role of culture in EU foreign relations. Following the failure of the Barcelona Process in achieving its main objectives, and the numerous voices that denounced this questionable political framework (Khader 2001), the Union of the Mediterranean was created in 2008 presumably to reinforce the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (Euromed). This development only added to the confusion of the framework that defined EU relations in the Mediterranean, and to culture’s weakened role within the Mediterranean programmes. When the Lisbon Treaty entered into force on 1 December 2009, following the accession of ten new member states into the EU in 2004 and a redrafting of EU policy frameworks for its global partners, a new partnership emerged on the scene, which defined relations of the expanded EU with its “neighbours” from the East and from the South12 of the Mediterranean. Through its European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP),13 a key part of the EU’s foreign policy, the EU works with its Southern and Eastern neighbours

40  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel to achieve the closest possible political association and the greatest possible degree of economic integration. This goal builds on interests and values that are fundamental to the EU discourse on democracy and which transcend the heterogeneity of the political systems of the countries involved, the varying degrees of their economic development and their diverse interests. This ENP framework together with the European Neighbourhood ­I nstrument (ENI) channelled funds for all new programmes in development aid,14 aiming to encourage democracy and human rights, sustainable development and the transition toward a market economy in neighbouring countries.15 Although culture only formed a small part in the initiatives aiming for social cohesion, it appears under the Development Cooperation Instrument and is part of the human development approach, which includes decent work, social justice and culture (European Commission 2014: 9). The creation of the European External Action Service (EEAS) in 2011 provided extra support for the guidelines of the ENP and DG NEAR (Directorate-­General for Neighbourhood and Enlargement Negotiations) and gave more weight to EU development work: It will help strengthen the European Union on the global stage, give it more profile, and enable it to project its interests and values more efficiently. (EEAS)16 The publication of the Joint Communication Towards an EU strategy for international cultural relations in June 201617 can be considered a breakthrough in the positioning of culture in EU foreign policy, all the more as A New European Agenda for Culture18 (New Agenda), published in May 2018, 11 years after the European Agenda in a Globalised world,19 stresses the importance of culture in EU International Relations as one of the main three objectives of EU action in culture. However, how this will translate into an effective strategy remains to be seen. The shifts of the cultural paradigm in EU-funded programmes dedicated to culture Over the last two decades, the programmes and policy papers that refer to culture indicate a shift in the EU’s approach to culture. The first two emblematic programmes that supported culture addressed well-defined disciplines: heritage and audiovisual, in line with the Member States concern for heritage as a vector both to strengthen identity and to contribute to employment, and the EU priority that sees in the creative industries an efficient tool to promote economic development. In this sense, the Med Culture programme (2014–2019), which targets the ‘creative sector’, marks a pivotal moment as it encompasses a broad spectrum spanning visual and performing arts to fashion and crafts, possibly including video games and

Culture in EU international relations  41 advertisement. Its ambitious scope and its focus on the creative dimension reflect the influence of the UNESCO 2015 Convention. Partly because of its limited funding, Med Culture could not address all of culture’s sub-fields so it focussed on a cross-cutting approach that could address issues that were relevant for the whole sector, such as policy reforms, partnership building, cultural entrepreneurship, broadening the base including minorities, promoting a public value of culture and encouraging advocacy for culture, etc. The second major development in the elaboration of cultural programmes was primarily concerned with the programmes’ beneficiaries. The first generations of EH and Euromed Audiovisual addressed governmental bodies and medium organizations from the private sector, respectively. Following that, target groups progressively included not-for-profit cultural entities and civil society organizations, which were involved in culture-related fields such as youth, sustainable development, human rights etc. The second generation of EH became more inclusive and opened up to civil society organizations. This can be seen by the creation of new partnerships that responded to calls for projects and by the inclusion of associations that dealt with the environment or social cohesion. The current Med Culture programme goes one step further as it encourages dialogue between authorities and civil society organizations through a number of activities that gather representatives from the government and cultural operators. The definition of a national strategy for culture in Jordan, which involved the Ministry of Culture and line ministries together with a group of cultural activists in 2016–2017, is probably one of the most significant examples in this revised approach. The last shift in the cultural paradigm of EU-funded programmes was the rapidly changing political and social environment. This changing environment had a significant impact on the design of cultural programmes, and their objectives and actions. As explained, the earlier programmes focussed on the implementation of projects that contributed to safeguarding heritage, or that supported the production and dissemination of audiovisual works while contributing to economic growth. However, current programmes aim to ensure the dissemination of EU values while addressing new EU orientations in the field of international relations, namely the prevention of violent extremism and the fight against radicalization. In other words, the developmental paradigm has given way to the priorities of the Global Strategy addressing a common framework for security and defence that was drafted at the initiative of Mrs Mogherini.

The case of two regional programmes: Euromed Heritage and Med Culture The EH programme substantially contributed to the development of cultural heritage in the region (www.euromedheritage.net). As already mentioned, this programme20 is the offshoot of the Barcelona Process, and the principle underpinning the EU approach is that heritage is a marker of

42  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel identity as well as a resource for social and economic development, and a total of 57 million euro were invested through the programme in the period between 1998 and 2013. Perhaps the most important aspect of the programme was that it gave cultural heritage a full share of funding, 21 which enabled it to pursue a proper course of development, and it applied a processual approach throughout its four phases. The main goal of EH I (1998–2004) was the creation of heritage inventories and the facilitation of networking between museums and other cultural institutions; it involved the authorities as the main interlocutors/actors. The main goal of Phases II (2002–2007) and III (2004–2008) was the increasing of Mediterranean countries’ capacities in managing and developing their cultural heritage with a special focus on intangible heritage. During these two phases, civil society became incorporated as a stakeholder. EH422 represented a further milestone in the process of recognizing ‘culture’ as a ‘catalyst for mutual understanding between the people of the Mediterranean region. 23 It also facilitated the appropriation of national and regional cultural legacies by their peoples by facilitating access to education and knowledge on cultural heritage. Inspired by the Strategy for the development of Euro-Mediterranean Cultural Heritage: priorities from Mediterranean countries 2007–2013 (European Commission 2007), the specificity of EH4, relative to the three previous phases, was that it applied a holistic approach to heritage development and put local populations at the heart of the development process. It developed a specific action targeting decision-makers and technical professionals within ministries: through this action, it aimed to underline specific needs for reforms and updates in the legislation and organizational structures responsible for cultural heritage preservation and management. It also introduced new themes, such as preventive conservation, cultural landscapes, documentation technologies, apprenticeship, to the typical cultural heritage preservation repertoire in partner countries, and drew attention to the value of heritage of the everyday. 24 Finally, it introduced cutting-edge approaches to public ­participation – cultural mapping, interactive group method, etc. The biggest challenge in implementing EH4 lay in its design and the objectives it set, which involved too wide a scope of work for the period assigned (three years, which was extended by 18 months). Amongst these challenges was the improvement of existing institutional and legal frameworks, which are key to managing cultural heritage properly. The technical assistance (Regional Monitoring and Support Unit – RMSU) took into account the existing international framework of reference, such as legal conventions, international panels and workshops, and followed an approach that took all these aspects into consideration, facilitating the development of shared methodologies and the exchange of results between the Mediterranean Partners countries. This challenge was exacerbated by the onset of the Arab Spring in 2011, which affected results at the level of authorities. However, EH4 has generated an awareness amongst some decision-makers

Culture in EU international relations  43 for the need to reform and update legislation and organizational structures that are responsible for the preservation and the management of cultural heritage in the region. Another phase of EH could have followed up on the recommendations that the RMSU provided concerning these reforms and that were elaborated in consultation with the stakeholders. At present, only Algeria has benefited from a fund for cultural heritage development in the aftermath of EH4. This fund is embedded in the partnership accords between Algeria and the EU dating from 2005, and could also be linked to the priority needs expressed by the Algerian government. The grant projects themselves posed another challenge as the guidelines, which were dense and proposed several lines of action, compelled candidates to cram in as many lines of action as possible within their proposals (with many ambitious objectives and unrealistic expected results) in order to secure the funding. While some projects managed to realize most of their objectives within the required standards, others did not, and this fact reduced the expected results and the quality of deliverables. Finally, heritage is a field characterized by transversal interventions that require collaboration across diverse public authorities, as well as with universities, specialized schools and the media. This represented a substantial challenge as drawing such a diverse group around the same table can be an incredibly difficult task. At the closing conference of EH4, it became clear that the participants, who mostly included programme beneficiaries, had integrated the principles promoted through EH4. Amongst them the need to pursue policies and institutional reforms, the need to address the sector as inter-­disciplinary and the need to secure a holistic approach. They also understood that beyond the intrinsic value of safeguarding heritage, improving the quality of life of the people is a requirement. They underlined the need to provide adequate funding to cultural heritage development and called on the EU to continue its support for the sector. As a successor programme, Med Culture integrated heritage as a dimension of cultural work. Med culture: a pioneering approach The overall objective of the Med culture programme is to ‘support cultural policy reforms in the South Mediterranean region’25 while accompanying the development process of the culture sector and encouraging regional exchanges amongst the many players in the region. Med Culture’s ambitious aims follow the conclusions that emerged from the Conference of Ministers of Culture that took place in Athens in 2008 in the framework of the Euromed Partnership. The Ministers focussed on dialogue between Cultures, and more surprisingly on cultural policies, underlying their wish to continue to explore this area. 26 The Med Culture initiative started in January 2014 for a duration of four years, it was then extended until March 2019. It is part of the “Media and culture for development in the Southern Mediterranean” programme with

44  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel an allocated budget of 17 million euros which was more or less evenly distributed between media and culture. Med Culture constitutes two strands: a Technical Assistance (TA) unit responsible for capacity development, addressing policy issues and promoting networking and dissemination; and a grants scheme securing a redistribution of funds to sub-grants at micro level (see below “mechanism”). In principle, Med Culture encompasses expressions, activities, goods and services in relation to the core arts sectors, cultural industries and creative industries, which implied addressing a very large spectrum of activities. Its potential beneficiaries included public authorities and agencies as well as civil society actors and the private sector, which represents an eclectic group of stakeholders with correspondingly diverse needs. The core activity of the TA provided by Med Culture involved improving the governance of the sector and related policies, enhancing capacities of the stakeholders and developing a number of tools to enhance performances within the sector. It was also tasked with promoting networking at national and regional level. Its actions were supported by robust communication and dissemination provided by the TA that reached out beyond the sector to the wider public. The TA’s guiding principle was to ensure a participative approach throughout the duration of the programme, which was elemental in securing the strong and continuous commitment of target groups within its field of work. This approach translated into initial national consultations throughout the Mediterranean region, thereby helping to define priority needs and the TA’s action plan.27 This approach also instigated a number of open calls, which helped to widen the scope of participants to more remote regions outside of capital cities where arts and culture are often perceived as being strictly reserved for the elites. By involving stakeholders in the programme’s designing process, it enabled the TA to identify themes that were of regional importance, such as cultural entrepreneurship, partnership building or even advocacy for culture. It also focussed on peer-to-peer exchanges and innovative learning methods, which were of great interest to participants (cultural activists, representatives of authorities, civil society actors, etc.) and secured their high engagement throughout the programme. Another important aspect of the programme implementation was its margin of manoeuvre, as it had to adapt to the fast-changing environment of the South Med region of recent years. The programme also highlighted the dynamism of the culture sector in spite of a challenging and all too often daunting context, and underlined the skills and knowledge of cultural operators who have consistently worked to improve their operations, creative skills and connectivity amongst peers in the region. It also underlined their commitment to see through initiatives that serve the sector, as was the case in Jordan where authority representatives, civil society actors and artists defined a national strategy for culture in Jordan, one of the programme’s major successes. The opening of programme activities to participants from other culture-­ related fields, such as higher education and non-formal education, human

Culture in EU international relations  45 rights and gender equality, and environment and sustainable development, proved successful as it brought fresh perspectives to the discussions, generating new ideas and methodologies that prompted the cultural field to open up and to address essential societal and political issues. For example, the street theatre projects implemented through Drama Diversity and Development28 had a direct impact on audiences and fostered dialogue about diversity and discrimination and migrant rights; they also raised the capacity of local artists and NGOs and raised awareness on the high potential of participatory street art to generate social dialogue and thus social cohesion. Another example is the training for trainers organized through the programme’s TA, which was process-oriented. The team of trainers co-­ facilitated and co-designed the entire programme together, which was then fine-tuned and adjusted according to participants’ capacities and needs. The perception of culture as a cross-cutting sector whose influence can transcend the social and professional boundaries to which it had been limited formerly is now established amongst many operators. Moreover, the introduction of new knowledge and management skills and cutting-edge tools provide these operators with the confidence to confront the many challenges that keep emerging. Two major challenges the sector is currently facing and that could threaten its dynamism is the rise in radicalization and extremist ideas that threaten many communities and are taking roots in vulnerable rural and urban areas, and the re-emergence of authoritarian regimes that are clamping down artists and activists. Many cultural operators across the region and some governments consider the pursuit of cultural development as an avenue to counter the effects of radicalization and extremism that is beleaguering their societies. What is required at this stage is to explore ways to mobilize cultural and artistic projects that promote citizenship and social integration and that carry the weight of the development discourse promoted by governments and funders. Efforts should be made to develop cultural spaces in remote areas that are increasingly becoming hotbeds of radicalism and violent extremism, to encourage artistic educational activities, and engage citizen-­driven debates on issues of common concern. However, some cultural practitioners who participated in the regional Med Culture Forum that took place in Amman in November 2017 stated that this new orientation, which is in line with the EU current discourse and increasingly promotes a correlation between culture and resilience on the one hand, and culture and security on the other, needed to be reviewed and readjusted.

Reflections on EU policies and programmes involving culture and challenges Despite its many failings, the Barcelona Process did have an impact, if only at the level of culture. One could even suggest that the programmes that this partnership engendered have had an impact on the cultural landscape

46  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel of the region and the transitions and transformations it has witnessed since the Arab Spring, notably the change in how a number of people relate to power, the change of perceptions and expectations, the change in the role of women, confidence building of a new generation of civil society actors, etc. In fact, the EU action for culture in the Mediterranean raises a series of questions and opens new avenues that are explored below. Underlying these questions lurk many assumptions that affect the discourse on either side of the Mediterranean and probably explain the mutual disenchantment that keeps remerging. This disillusionment probably stems from seemingly irreconcilable interests where both parties are concerned, in spite of undeniable successes. A fragmented action In 2014, regional programmes for the Neighbourhood South became the remit of Directorate General Neighbourhood and Enlargement (DG NEAR), but other Directorates, including DEVCO and Directorate General Education and Culture (DGEAC), have their own programmes addressing (or partly addressing) culture. Any recent coordination between these directorates has yet to have an impact on concertation in decision-making processes. At national level, Delegations are publishing calls for small local projects and are implementing cultural activities that aim to promote European culture(s) amongst local populations. In some countries, such as in Jordan, Morocco and Tunisia, cultural institutes of Member States have been forming clusters (gathering under the name of EUNIC – European Union National Institutes for Culture) in order to better coordinate their action and increase their chances for getting EU funding to implement cultural activities. In Tunisia, the EUNIC cluster is managing a large chunk of the bilateral programme for culture. In addition, and as mentioned below, culture is mainstreamed in different programmes/instruments with little complementarity between them. As a result, the EU action for culture in the region appears to be fragmented, developed by many players at different scales, and lacking sustainability. The ambiguities of the EU discourse EU discourse, from the perspective of South Neighbourhood countries, raises serious questions, particularly related to coherence. EU current discourse can be perceived as inconsistent as it increasingly promotes a correlation between culture and resilience on one hand, and culture and security on the other, yet culture remains low on the EU development agenda. Were it not for the advocacy initiative of Med Culture Technical Assistance, led in 2016–2018, with the support of colleagues from EU institutions, More Europe29 and Med Culture beneficiaries, the support for culture might have dwindled with the conclusion of Med Culture.

Culture in EU international relations  47 This initiative has currently secured a 14-month extension, during which time NEAR worked on developing the guidelines for a new programme, which were launched at the end of the initiative. Another glaring inconsistency in EU discourse that has to be addressed is the gap between the policies and declarations the EU promotes and its politics in the region. For instance, the EU has a long history of supporting dictators who constantly infringed upon the rights and freedom of their own peoples, ­particularly in the era preceding the Arab Spring. Notwithstanding the EU’s stance vis-à-vis Israel’s infringement of Palestinian rights. A third issue of contention are the references30 the EU makes about its being a cultural ‘super power’ smacks of colonialism and paternalism and are incongruous with the relationship of ‘partnership’ the EU promulgates with its South Neighbours. The approach of the EU to its ‘partners’ The ambiguities of the EU approach transpire at many levels in its practices in the region. Its Mediterranean interlocutors have repeatedly put into question the term ‘aid’, asking to be considered as partners rather than passive beneficiaries. In fact, the populations targeted by the EU action are willing to play a more active role in the definition of the programmes that are supposed to respond to their needs although they essentially aim at reaching EU priorities. Moreover, Western concepts and communitarian trends need to have been mitigated by a proper knowledge of the context, particularly prior to the Arab Spring, which would have dealt the region more effective support, particularly when it concerns a neglected civil society that was completely stifled by authoritarian governments. Instead, the EU had further legitimized these governments and was party to letting dictators reinforce their grip on civil liberties and the freedom of expression, in total opposition to the shared values it was supposed to promote. Through Med Culture and other regional programmes involving civil s­ ociety, it became clear that there has been a spiral of progress in civil society’s perceptions of its role in the advancement of society and the influence it can pull in introducing change, notably in culture. In fact, the capacities of non-­governmental actors and the preponderant role that they played in contributing to the societal cohesion through activities addressing education, human rights, equal opportunities or culture, further underlined the EU’s poor comprehension of the political and societal stakes during the dictatorship. As the Arab Spring started fading in mid-2012, mostly due to violent responses from the authorities, the EU revised its Neighbourhood Policy, 31 applying pressure on civil society to deliver in the direction of democracy (along a preconceived European model). Such pressure reflected another lack of understanding of the processes –historical, political and social – that have governed the peoples of the countries concerned, and an unfair measure of impatience from the EU.

48  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel Today, civil society organizations are given a major role in the EU endeavour to lead a communitarian policy with its southern neighbours, aiming at creating a peaceful and prosperous region. However, this category of stakeholders includes extremely diverse entities, and the EU official definition of civil society organizations published in 201232 makes it difficult to fully take into consideration profiles that combine profit and not-for-profit activities, which are rather common in the cultural field. Also, some researchers have shown that the EU operates with, or even contributes to, the makeup of a civil society that is compatible with its own interests and priorities, which may omit key players with more critical views of the communitarian action (Visier 2003; Sanchez-Salgado 2014). In other words, the EU shift toward the Civil Society offers a new, tough, contrasted way to set up its priorities and implement its policies in the Mediterranean region. The mechanism Obtaining EU funds and implementing EU programmes represents a major challenge. EU procedures are daunting to applicants from the South, and the preparation of a proposal involves a big investment both in financial terms and in well-trained human resources, a fact which has primarily benefited European institutions, organizations and experts in programmes such as EH amongst others. The challenges to design and implement EUfunded projects are well documented in EU programmes’ reports involving cultural players, 33 even more so in the South where most cultural organizations are rather small and fragile. However, the EU has progressively strived to take into account the specificities of the cultural scene in the South Neighbourhood. In 2014, the Med culture programme offered an interesting innovative funding mechanism through a “cascade effect”, allowing small size cultural entities from the civil society to access these funds. At the beginning of the programme, three consortia won a tender published by the EU amounting to around 1.5–2 million, which had to be redistributed through calls for projects managed by the consortia. The only one led by a South Neighbourhood organization was not able to implement this process due to Egyptian restrictions for the management of foreign funds. The two others, led by European organizations with Southern partners, published several calls defining their own eligible criteria for projects with budgets spanning from a few thousand euros to around 60,000 euros. Only the organizations based in the South Neighbourhood countries were eligible for these calls. This fact was extremely popular and offered the opportunity to reveal the great dynamism of unknown cultural entities at the grassroots level. The development of the sub-grantees’ projects in parallel to the work of the Technical Assistance in providing capacity development, advise, advocacy and communication activities, gave way to synergies that could be explored further.

Culture in EU international relations  49 The new political orientations and the evaluation of cultural programmes The shift in the EU’s approach to culture in the context of international relations can be put into perspective with the ongoing global debate addressing the value of culture. Numerous articles have attempted to provide evidence for the traditional benefits generated by a strong cultural sector while underlining the difficulties and ambiguities to lead such researches (Belfiore, Bennett 2010). Today, culture is widely recognized as a vector to strengthen societies’ identities, as well as to contribute to their cohesion and more broadly to their well-being, while also raising their economic development. Culture is also credited with developing critical thinking, and the cultural scene is elemental to increasing this capacity: as Pascal Gielen asserts, ‘the value of culture is determined by the interplay of socialization, qualification and subjectification, and the value of cultural sectors is precisely that they engage in such activities in a reflective manner’ (Gielen, Lijster 2015: 34). Indeed, as extremism and armed conflicts have spread in the region over the last decade, culture has been progressively mobilized as a vector to fight the disarray and helplessness of the youth who lack the intellectual tools and thinking that could drive them away from the indoctrination of extremist groups. Both the EU and several States from the region share this perspective, especially Tunisia and Jordan, where the role of culture has been recognized as key to fighting terrorism and to raising the Mediterranean society’s resilience. However, this increased awareness of the power of culture to address such issues does not translate into substantial funds: culture still has limited importance in Jordan, operational expenses in T ­ unisia are often funded by the country’s public budget of culture, and culture is definitely not part of the EU core business. However, this orientation could also highlight the limits of Culture’s cross-cutting approach: to paraphrase the famous adage ‘religion is the solution’,34 culture is envisaged by quite a number of operators in the South Mediterranean as the solution – as if it could be expected to solve the many challenges the Southern Mediterranean is facing today. The new focus on the prevention of violent extremism in the Med culture programme also raises a number of practical issues. When resources dedicated to culture remain so scarce, it becomes necessary to ensure that it is explicitly integrated to other development programmes such as human rights, gender, resilience and the fight against radicalization. It also raises technical issues: how to evaluate the cultural impact of programmes that use culture as a medium but cater to non-cultural objectives, such as strengthening democratization or fighting radicalization as already mentioned concerning a number of EU funded programmes? UNESCO’s framework for cultural statistics is considered an elemental tool in assessing the role of culture and of cultural policies, and could help assess the impact of culture in development programmes (UNESCO 2009). Offering a robust methodology and defining a series of indicators

50  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel based on national statistical data, this framework, which is adaptable to contexts, provides new opportunities to implement monitoring and evaluation of development programmes that integrate culture as a component. Potentially, it could contribute to identifying new directions and appropriate solutions for improving policies, governance and effective implementation.

Conclusions The Barcelona Process was a seminal moment inasmuch as it promoted a new partnership between the EU and the Mediterranean region. Today, the Joint Communication addressing culture in EU external relations35 as well as the New Agenda36 are other thresholds because they reconfirm the partnership approach, but they also promote a new form of cultural diplomacy that shifts away from financing cultural and artistic events that give visibility to Member States to development activities and collaborations with partner countries. Mrs Mogherini’s Joint Communication has created a stir within EU institutions, where decision-makers are seeking ways in which to implement its stipulations. So far, this document has contributed to creating a momentum that stresses the importance of culture in the EU’s foreign action, yet it could also potentially have a significant impact on future policies. It focusses on cultural heritage and on the need to tackle it at a bilateral level; it stresses the value of culture for development and job creation, particularly amongst the youth; it also focusses on the creative industries, promoting hubs and clusters, entrepreneurship and the need to support Small and Medium Enterprises (SMEs). In addition, the Joint Communication on culture in EU external relations stresses the necessity to address cultural policies, including at the local level, where municipalities are playing a major role. More recently, the issue of cultural resilience has emerged on the scene. This new development needs to be analyzed carefully and from the perspective of the European context where acts of terrorism are considered a real threat, emigration and the issue of refugees is a serious preoccupation, and a rise in the populist right wing discourse could threaten democratic processes. Moreover, the fact that resilience is very much an intrinsic part of cultural operators’ approaches and practices in the South Neighbourhood needs to be underlined. Given this reality, and the mobilization of culture to address the most threatening societal and political challenges of Southern Mediterranean societies indeed makes sense, although tackling resilience per se sounds rather incongruous for cultural operators in the region, if not totally nonsensical. One question keeps resonating from the Southern Mediterranean’s civil society: what does the EU want from us? Contrary to Central and Eastern European countries prior to the enlargement of the EU, where the adoption of norms and acquis communautaires were propaedeutic for the candidates before joining, there is no such perspective for Southern Mediterranean countries.37 This puts them in a paradoxical position, as on one hand, they

Culture in EU international relations  51 desperately need the EU countries for their trade as well as their educational and cultural exchanges, whereas on the other, they may turn to other parties that could offer more interesting incentives. Even if the United States is currently taking a less dominant role on the international scene, other actors, such as China or the Gulf countries, have a significant and an increasing influence in the region, including in the field of culture. If we merely consider the tragic flow of migrants and refugees across the Mediterranean Sea, we can see how Europe and the Mediterranean are inextricably linked and how vital it is to cultivate their partnership toward better mutual understanding. In this sense, culture still has a major role to play.

Notes 1 The European Neighbourhood includes 16 countries of which 10 are in the Neighbourhood South – Algeria, Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya, ­Morocco, Palestine, Tunisia and Syria. 2 This funding is not exclusive to partner countries of the Neighbourhood South. 3 The Directorate responsible for the Neighbourhood Enlargement at the Commission (DG NEAR) is only one of several players. DG DEVCO, as well as EEAS through the Delegations to the EU based in third countries, also include culture in their programmes. 4 Mrs Christiane Dabdoub Nasser was a partner of two projects developed in the framework of Euromed Heritage 2 and the Team Leader of the Regional Monitoring and Support Unit of Euromed Heritage 4. She was also the Team Leader of the Med Culture programme technical assistance unit (TAU). Mrs Fanny Bouquerel has developed different cultural projects in the Southern Mediterranean area funded by the EU, and is currently the capacity development expert of the Med Culture TAU. 5 Towards an EU strategy for international cultural relations, JOIN (2016) 29 final, published in June 2016. 6 This term is henceforth used throughout the paper to what is currently referred to as the Neighbourhood South, a term which emerged in 2004 after the 2004 enlargement of the European Union. 7 Austria, Belgium, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Italy, Ireland, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, Sweden and the UK. 8 Algeria, Cyprus, Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Malta, Morocco, Syria, ­Tunisia Turkey and the Palestinian Authority. 9 Council Regulation (EC) N. 1488/96 of 23 July 1996 (Council of the ­European Union, 1996). MEDA stands for “financial and technical measures to accompany”. 10 Communication on ‘European Agenda for Culture in a globalising world’ (Commission of the European Communities, 2007). 11 The Lisbon Agenda, or Lisbon Strategy, was a plan to make the EU “the most competitive and dynamic knowledge-based economy in the world”, see www. europarl.europa.eu/summits/lis1_en.htm. 12 The so-called South Mediterranean countries include Algeria, Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya (in 2014) Morocco, Palestine, Syria and Tunisia. 13 https://eeas.europa.eu/topics/european-neighbourhood-policy-enp_en. 14 As the funding instrument for ENP, the ENI covers cooperation with South Mediterranean countries (Algeria, Egypt, Lebanon, Libya, Jordan, Israel, M ­ orocco, Syria, Tunisia, the occupied Palestinian territory and East neighbourhood

52  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel countries (Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Georgia, Moldova, Ukraine) either bilaterally or regionally (in this latter case also Russia is included. The ENI is managed by DG NEAR. 15 The transition towards a market economy was considered one of the ills of the Barcelona process. 16 ht t ps: //eeas.eu ropa.eu / headqua r ters / headqua r ters-homepage /36 48/ creation-eeas_pl 17 JOIN(2016) 29 final (European Commission 2016). 18 COM (2018) 267 final (European Commission 2018). 19 See note 10. 20 As well as its sister programme Euromed Audiovisual. 21 Since 2013, cultural heritage has been incorporated to the broader definition of culture that the EU adopted, as can be seen in Med Culture and the bilateral programme in Tunisia; it is only in Algeria that the EU is financing a consequent cultural heritage development programme at bilateral level. 22 www.euromedheritage.org/intern.cfm?menuID=7&submenuID=1. 23 See note 21. 24 What is referred to as the petit patrimoine in French. 25 Terms of reference for the Technical Assistance of the Med Culture programme. The countries involved are Algeria, Egypt, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya, ­Morocco, Tunisia, Palestine. 26 Agreed conclusions of the third Euro Mediterranean Conference of Ministers of Culture, Athens 29–20 May 2008. 27 These consultations continued on a regular basis throughout the duration of the programme. 28 Drama, Diversity and Development (DDD) is a grant project funded under Med Culture and managed by Minority Rights Group International. 29 More Europe is cultural civil initiative, composed of a public-private partnership of foundations, civil society networks and national cultural institutes, whose objective is to highlight and reinforce the role of culture in the ­European Union (EU)’s external relations, www.moreeurope.org/?q=about-us/mission-statement. 30 See JOIN(2016) 29 final. See also the speech of Federica Mogherini at the Culture Forum in Brussels in 2016, (Mogherini, 20016). 31 in 2011, A new response to a changing Neighbourhood COM(2011) 303, and in 2013 European Neighbourhood Policy: Working towards a Stronger Partnership JOIN(2013) 4 final. 32 COM (2012) 492 final (European Commission 2012). 33 See for instance the Report on the Implementation of Regulation (EU) No 1295/2013 (…) establishing the Creative Europe Programme (Committee on Culture and Education 2017). 34 This phrase echoes the slogan that many Islamist groups use: “Islam is the solution”. 35 JOIN(2016) 29 final (European Commission 2016). 36 COM (2018) 267 final (European Commission 2018). 37 See for instance the works of Laure Delcour, such as ‘Transformer le voisinage: jeux d’acteurs, production et mise en pratique de modèles européens de réforme dans le cadre du partenariat oriental’ (2017).

References Belfiore, E. & Bennett, O., 2010. Beyond the “Toolkit approach”: Arts Impact Evaluation Research and the Realities of Cultural Policy-Making. Journal for Cultural Research, 14(2), pp. 121–142.

Culture in EU international relations  53 Bianchi, R., 2005. Euromed-Med Heritage: Culture, Capital and Trade ­Liberalisation – Implications for the Mediterranean Cities. Journal of Mediterranean Studies, 15(2), pp. 283–318. Commission of the European Communities, 2007. European Agenda for Culture in a globalising world. COM(2007) 242 final. Brussels: Commission of the ­European Communities. Committee on Culture and Education, 2017. On the implementation of Regulation (EU) No 1295/2013 of the European Parliament and of the Council of 11 December 2013 establishing the Creative Europe Programme (2014 to 2020) and repealing Decisions No 1718/2006/EC, No 1855/2006/EC and No 1041/2009/ EC. Brussels: European Parliament. Council of the European Union et al., 1995. Barcelona declaration. Barcelona: European Commision. Council of the European Union, 1996. Council Regulation (EC) N. 1488/96 of 23 July 1996. Brussels: Council of the European Union. Delcour, L., 2017. Transformer le voisinage: jeux d’acteurs, production et mise en pratique de modèles européens de réforme dans le cadre du partenariat oriental. Revue française d’administration publique, 161, pp. 103–116. ECDPM, 2017. Mapping of EU funding for culture in the ENP. Brussels: European Commision. European Commission, 2007. Strategy for the development of Euro-­Mediterranean cultural heritage: priorities from Mediterranean countries (2007–2013). Brussels: European Commission. European Commission, 2012. The roots of democracy and sustainable development: Europe’s engagement with Civil Society in external relations. COM(2012) 492 final. Brussels: European Commission. European Commission, 2014. Programming Thematic Programmes and Instruments: Programme on Global Public Goods and Challenges 2014–2020. Brussels: European Commission. European Commission, 2016. Joint Communication to the European Parliament and the Council. JOIN(2016) 29 final. Brussels: European Commission. European Commission, 2018. A New European Agenda for Culture. COM(2018) 267 final. Brussels: European Commission. Fernandez, A. & Youngs, R., 2005. The Barcelona Process: An Assessment of a Decade of Euro-Mediterranean Partnership. Madrid: Real Instituto Elcano de Studios Internacionales y Estrategicos. Gielen, P. & Lijster, T., 2015. Culture: the Substructure for a European Common. In: P. Gielen, ed. No Culture, no Europe. On the Foundation of Politics. ­A msterdam: Valiz. Hegazy, I. A., 2008. The Barcelona Process: Do we Need A Revised Strategic ­Focus or A Revised Setting of Priorities. Conference paper, The EU and its Neighbours: In Search for New Forms of Partnership. Sounio, ELIAMEP. Khader, B., 2001. Le partenariat euro-méditerranéen vu du sud, Paris: L’Harmattan Mogherini, F., 2016. Speech of the HR/VP Federica Mogherini at the Culture Forum in Brussels. [Online] Available at: https://eeas.europa.eu/headquarters/ headquarters-homepage/5164/speech-hrvp-federica-mogherini-culture-­forumbrussels_en (accessed 13/12/2018).

54  Christiane Dabdoub Nasser and Fanny Bouquerel Sanchez-Salgado, R., 2014. Europeanizing Civil Society: How the EU Shapes Civil Society Organizations. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. UNESCO, 2009. The 2009 UNESCO Framework for Cultural Statistics (FCS). Montreal: UNESCO Institute for Statistics. Visier, C., 2003. A la recherche de la “société civile internationale”: le cas de la coopération non gouvernementale en Méditerranée. Politiques et management public, 21(2), pp. 165–185.

4 Heritage development Culture and heritage at the World Bank Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels

A sea change is taking place for the field of heritage management, especially for heritage practices that cross national borders.1 Development and conservation have long served as two sides of the same coin as the rationale for heritage management, with conservation traditionally seen as the leading priority and development the adversary to be contained. However, global heritage practice is increasingly influenced by development priorities rather than conservation concerns, as development interest in cultural heritage has grown from its initial incubation within the large development banks, especially the World Bank, and circulated beyond through transnational networks of expertise and community interests. In the following I discuss the institutional pathways for the rise of heritage development, including its basis in the turn to cultural approaches to development, supported by the key tenets of sustainability, capacity-­ building, and participation. The growth of development interest in cultural heritage began with the social and environmental safeguards at multilateral development banks, especially the World Bank. The 1986 World Bank operational policy OPN 11.03 mandated a “do not harm the heritage” approach to development, so that projects were required to avoid, minimize, or otherwise manage the adverse impacts on cultural property (Goodland and Webb 1987; Taboroff and Cook 1993; Taboroff 1994; Wigg 1994). The World Bank established its safeguards to mitigate the worst impacts of development projects, and borrowing countries are required to comply with the safeguards during the course of any project financed by the World Bank. As a leader in multilateral finance, safeguards at the World Bank set the bar for standards that other multilateral development banks, as well as private financing and multinational corporations, have since followed suit in adapting and adopting. The World Bank’s safeguards included provisions for dealing with cultural heritage, and it was through the compliance work needed to meet these safeguards that the World Bank gained familiarity with and developed their expertise in cultural heritage management. Large infrastructure projects that involved moving earth, for example dam and pipeline projects, generated archaeological finds that were recovered during the course of those

56  Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels projects. Therefore, the safeguards created an institutional mechanism for managing archaeological remains and choosing courses of action for mitigation. The safeguards were largely adapted from cultural resource management laws in the United States, albeit with some important differences, such as significance assessments that take into account economic considerations (Lafrenz Samuels 2008).

The growth of heritage development Significance assessments—specifically, the criteria by which an individual site or resource is determined to be significant—represent one key transformation between conservation-led versus development-led heritage management. Unlike the international sphere of heritage management, and most national frameworks, significance determinations at the World Bank include the contribution to, or potential for, economic growth as one of the primary criterion for assessing significance (Cernea 2001; World Bank 2006a, 2006b). Beginning with the revised 1999 framework, the economic value of cultural heritage is made the centerpiece of heritage management at the World Bank, whereas placing an economic value on cultural heritage had otherwise previously been widely considered taboo, for instance within international heritage institutions, and certain national contexts such as significance determinations in the United States (Lafrenz Samuels 2008). As a result, cultural heritage is considered significant for the World Bank’s projects and expertise when it has the potential to spur economic growth through, for example, attracting foreign investment, rising property prices, or growing heritage tourism revenue. We can look to this change in the process of significance assessment as not simply a transformation from conservation-­led to development-led approaches to heritage management, from international to transnational styles of heritage work, but also as providing a key pathway within the World Bank from compliance heritage work to heritage development. While significance assessments are some of the foundations of compliance work, the concept was carried over and given a life of its own in prioritizing the economic value of cultural heritage within heritage development. Starting in the mid-1990s, another important institutional pathway for the rise of heritage development at the World Bank was the cultivation of expertise in managing heritage resources. Compliance work generated by the safeguards for World Bank–financed projects entailed the refinement of heritage expertise, especially in shaping the form of knowledge produced to be made “sensible” to development purposes. Contracted out to consulting firms and research groups, the knowledge produced in development projects is in many respects determined before work begins. The terms of reference in environmental assessments act as both the stipulations of the loan or grant, and in the hiring of consultants. Therefore, the knowledge to be produced is highly structured in advance by the World Bank: specifying the

Culture and heritage at the World Bank  57 kinds of information needed, the time frame, and how it should be written up. The contractor of the environmental assessment often has ownership over the report and data produced, and the knowledge and data associated with the World Bank acquires a great deal of legitimacy and wide circulation (Ferguson 1990; Goldman 2001). MacEachern (2010) has usefully described how the knowledge produced during the course of compliance archaeology on a pipeline project financed by the World Bank was constrained within predetermined terms, and required packaging according to the aesthetic sensibilities of report writing, as a genre of knowledge production. Similarly, the classic strategy of “preservation by record” framed compliance work associated with the Metolong Dam in Lesotho, to mitigate the impact to cultural heritage that would be lost during the course of construction work, even though heritage experts and community members sought more material means of preservation (Nic Eoin and King 2013; King and Nic Eoin 2014). Through recognizing the economic significance of heritage resources, as well as the growth of institutional experience in heritage matters, gradually the World Bank came to recognize that their operational policy OPN 11.03 was an inherently passive approach to heritage management. It limited the World Bank’s involvement to isolated finds of chance discovery, and excluded the physical cultural heritage already known (Cernea 2001: 30). A revised 1999 framework thereupon built upon the idea that all development intrinsically involves cultural and social dimensions. The revised 1999 framework (1) expanded the management of cultural heritage from isolated finds to “core physical patrimony,” (2) sought a proactive “capturing” of the economic value of cultural heritage by focusing on economically high-impact cultural heritage projects, and (3) focused on the intersection between cultural heritage and development, employment creation, and poverty reduction (Cernea 2001: 31–32). In sum, we can see a shift from the safeguards set in place in 1986 to those more than a decade later, wherein cultural heritage went from being a risk to be managed during the course of other projects to being recognized as having inherent developmental value itself, which could be leveraged for economic growth. The safeguards pertaining to cultural heritage were further updated in 2006 (World Bank 2006a, 2006b; Campbell 2009), and most recently in 2016 (World Bank 2016: 119–124). Therefore, whereas cultural heritage was once seen as an impediment to the progress of development projects, during the late 1980s and 1990s cultural heritage underwent an important transformation at the World Bank and came to be seen as a means for development. Moreover, this transformation followed broader trends within international development, and in many respects cultural heritage represented the ideal resource for the new approaches to development—sustainable development and the human capabilities approach—that were being pursued in the 1990s. These new approaches will be discussed further below, but in

58  Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels general the landscape of development thinking at the time was shaped by the struggle between advocates for development “from above” versus development “from below” (Stöhr and Taylor 1981; Mihevc 1995; Horowitz 1996; Hackenberg 2002). Development from above is based on neoclassical economic theory, and generally focuses on large projects that are urban and industrial, capital intensive, and high technology (e.g. dams and transportation systems). Development from below, in contrast, is human labor intensive, small scale, rural, technologically appropriate, and concerned with basic needs. The World Bank pursued both strategies, and Hackenberg (2002: 289–290) places the adoption of cultural heritage as a middle ground between the “from above” and “from below” approaches to international development. The internal push for reform at the World Bank was influenced by the persistent and intense criticism directed towards international development throughout the 1980s and 1990s, which included critique from anthropologists (e.g. Ferguson 1990; Escobar 1995; Scott 1998). Anthropologists documented the harsh effects of “structural adjustment” policies, which were written into the terms of loans and required borrower countries to undertake fiscal reforms in line with neoliberal rationalities: decentralization, privatization, trade liberalization, and the withdrawal of the state from social provisioning. The failure of the narrowly economic development paradigm to reduce poverty was rolled out as evidence that development experts lacked the proper indicators to account for what precisely economic improvement was, or was meant to be doing. Anthropologists instead emphasized the cultural specificity of conceptions of “the good life,” and the fact that rising economic growth might not figure in local cultural priorities—especially since economic growth often meant rising affluence for some and not others, promoting widening inequality even as Gross National Product (GNP) rose (Horowitz 1996). That poverty could deepen even as GNP improved emphasized the dubious utility of per capita GNP as a measurement of growth. Instead, anthropological studies on development foregrounded how social issues such as class relations and gender dynamics structured differential access to productive resources. James Ferguson (1990) also pointed to the widespread failure of development projects to meet their intended results to argue that development expertise in fact required this failure, indeed fed on it, as failed projects provided the rationale and impetus for further development projects. Overall, international development was characterized as out of touch with the communities these projects were meant to benefit and amongst whom the projects were being implemented. The projects failed without the support of local communities, with no sustainability after the project period ended. However, over the years the World Bank has been remarkably adept at incorporating critique to fashion new approaches to development (Hibou 2000; Sarfaty 2004; Edelman and Haugerud 2005; Goldman 2005). Whether the reforms were genuine or simply a matter of changing

Culture and heritage at the World Bank  59 the discourse has been a point of debate, but several lasting development trends found their origin from calls for reform: sustainability, participation, and capacity-building. As mentioned above, cultural heritage occupied a critical position in these reforms. It bridged old and new development approaches within the World Bank, since it was a principal area of the Bank’s involvement in cultural matters under the old model of large infrastructure projects such as urban revitalization and dam building. Cultural heritage offered an ideal lynchpin between bottom-up community development and the large-scale integrated development approach favored by development agencies and organizations. From the development of safeguard policies for cultural property during the course of such work, the World Bank could draw on this expertise to map out the most immediate points of contact between the new call for culture and the older style of development it knew well. More importantly, heritage usefully represented the cultural context that development banks had been criticized for ignoring, and was seen as offering a more sustainable approach to development. It was thus within this context that cultural heritage was embraced by the largest multilateral development banks such as the World Bank and Inter-American Development Bank.

Culture in sustainable development: “a constructive, constitutive, and creative role” A central structuring theme for the World Bank’s vision of its heritage expertise is that it is a specifically cultural expertise, contrasted to economic expertise (Cernea 2001). There was a deep anxiety and frustration inherent to the World Bank’s operations in trying to find the right formula for development, which it sees as balancing these two types of knowledge. “Culture” had become a rallying cry within the World Bank for reform, as shorthand for creating more socially inclusive and responsive approaches to development, with projects engineered for the specific social and political contexts they were meant to benefit (Arizpe 2004). An appeal to culture was a radical move, essentially flipping on its head prevailing development wisdom that culture and tradition often hindered economic development. As project after project were shown to fail due to a misunderstanding of the social conditions of development projects, anthropologists and other social scientists were able to demonstrate that blaming culture for poverty was not the solution, and moreover that blaming culture was akin to blaming the victim (Horowitz 1996: 8). Cultural heritage therefore offered the World Bank a tangible and direct line into the new paradigm of sustainable development that arose in the early 1990s, which focused on social, economic, and environmental sustainability. Social sustainability required the promotion of social inclusion and diversity for dynamic societies. UNESCO had led the international community in drawing attention to the role of culture in development

60  Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels through a series of conferences and initiatives during the 1980s and early 1990s. The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) adopted the term “human development,” following a broad definition of culture laid down at the 1982 World Conference on Cultural Policies held in Mexico City. This broad definition of culture was picked up by UNESCO’s World Commission on Culture and Development, founded in 1992, in its important report, Our Creative Diversity (UNESCO 1995), which describes culture as “the whole complex of distinctive spiritual, material, intellectual, and emotional features that characterize a society or social group.” The Intergovernmental Conference on Cultural Policies for Development held in Stockholm in 1998 was pivotal to shaping the sustainable development paradigm, urging states to “design and establish cultural policies or review existing ones in such a way that they become one of the key components of endogenous and sustainable development” (UNESCO and Government of Italy 2000: 275). UNESCO’s definition of culture and the vision of sustainable development laid out in the Stockholm conference were adopted by the World Bank, as relayed in one of its earliest position papers on the subject (Duer 1999). According to Duer, the World Bank’s Task Group on Social Development announced culture to be an essential dimension of development. “Culture” included creative expression (e.g. oral history, language, literature, performing arts, fine arts and crafts), community practices, and material or built forms. Projects should be tailored to “locally relevant traditions and institutions” and an effort made to support “social inclusion, pluralism, and collaboration within society” (Duer 1999: 13). Culture was seen to be especially significant to “the poor” because their main “endowments” were sociocultural, and development projects could help create employment and income based on their traditions (Duer 1999: 8, 14). The World Bank became heavily involved in international discussions about best practices for socially sustainable development and cultural heritage. A 1998 conference in Washington D.C. (Serageldin and Martin-Brown 1999) was followed shortly by the Culture Counts conference and volume (World Bank 2000), also known as the Florence Conference, which includes a particularly eloquent statement on the shift in development thinking at this time, offered by representatives from UNESCO and the Government of Italy (2000: 275–277, emphasis my own): Cultures and cultural activities also enrich us in many ways that cannot be measured quantitatively… Creative expression in all its forms helps to shape society, develop our understanding of ourselves and of others, and give us a sense of pride in who we are. The values of culture also provide the building blocks of identity and belonging, mould attitudes to work, saving and consumption, motivate political behavior and inspire collective action. Thus culture affects development action and conditions its vitality. It can provide dynamic resources for

Culture and heritage at the World Bank  61 successful development or, if ignored, provoke development failure… It is not simply a matter of how to consider and use cultural assets for developmental ends but to go beyond such an instrumental vision and to award culture a constructive, constitutive and creative role. We must therefore envision development in terms that encompass cultural growth and community well-being. Thus purely economic opportunities must be reconciled with meanings and values, including non-use values. Once this is recognized, then poverty of spirit, of belief and of expression are bound to be perceived to be as debilitating as poverty of goods. By the same token, the safeguard of cultural diversity is as important as the achievement of economic self-sufficiency. In general no single, commonly accepted, definition of sustainable development applies to every project, but rather is determined in the context of project needs and desired outcomes. However, a core philosophy can be gathered from the above statement, where development becomes sustainable on account of its provision for social inclusion and cultural expression, and the promotion of human capabilities through a strong sense of identity and belonging. Moreover, we see here an essentially creative outlook for culture in development: in the case of cultural heritage this means not simply using cultural heritage resources for development, but making heritage a key source of development, to recognize heritage as a society’s building blocks for inspiration and creative adaptation. Indeed, understanding heritage as a creative capacity, reworking endowments from the past to serve present and future conditions, differentiates development approaches from previous preservationist approaches to cultural heritage. The above passage also cites the importance of cultural diversity, which Duer (1999: 14) had described as a core concept of inclusive and sustainable development, offering a quality of uniqueness that could be “leveraged” into attracting tourism development. This emphasis on diversity and uniqueness mirrors environmental understandings of sustainability, and indeed the concept of sustainable development employs similar treatments of natural and cultural resources. Both kinds of resources are inherited from previous generations, have the potential for deteriorating, and therefore invoke a duty of care for the resources, in order to be handed down to following generations (Throsby 2003, 2005; Rypkema 2010). Sustainable development for both natural and cultural resources involves long-term management that provides for “intergenerational equity,” meaning it provides for the needs of the present generation without compromising the capacity of future generations to meet their own needs. Sustainable development also includes what is known as the precautionary principle, which assumes a risk-averse approach where irreversible consequences of loss are possible (Throsby 2012). It could be argued that loss in the case of environmental resources, such as species loss, are more straight-forward than is the case

62  Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels for cultural resources, but the precautionary principle is at least raised as a consideration during strategies of conservation, upgrading, adaptive reuse, and demolition. Other approaches to sustainable development, for example in the urban rehabilitation and revitalization work undertaken by the Inter-American Development Bank (IDB), have used diversity as an indicator of how sustainable a development initiative is likely to be. The IDB has been quite active in the field of heritage development in the past decade, as a key partner alongside the World Bank in building heritage expertise and sharing best practices (Rojas and de Moura Castro 1999; Deruyttere 2006; Galvani 2007a, 2007b; Rojas 1999, 2007). In recent years the IDB has been shaping sustainable development approaches to historic city cores through its experience in such cities as Quito (Jaramillo 2010), Salvador de Bahia (Mendes Zancheti and Gabriel 2010), and Oaxaca (Quatersan and Romis 2010). Eduardo Rojas (2012) defines the conservation of historic city cores as sustainable according to its diversity, where diversity is indicated and showcased through a wide variety of actors and heritage values. Overall, then, the idea of cultural heritage and the expertise built through safeguard compliance arrived at a key moment in international development, when a shift towards more culturally informed and then more sustainable approaches to development were gaining traction. Cultural heritage fulfilled an ideal role in international development projects in that it addressed both culture and sustainability, where sustainability encompassed not simply environmental sustainability but also the kind of social sustainability for development projects provided by participatory and capacity-­building approaches. As a result, cultural heritage pushed beyond its earlier limited role—in safeguard compliance for other projects, typically large infrastructure-based ones—and became an arena of human development and engine of economic growth in its own right.

Heritage development at the World Bank Heritage development therefore grew out of a constellation of factors within and without the multilateral development banks. The World Bank in particular led the way through its experience with safeguard policies pertaining to cultural heritage and the resulting expertise cultivated in those contexts. Societal and academic challenges to the shortcomings of development projects meanwhile stoked reforms to development practice that prioritized sustainability, participation, and capacity-building. Cultural heritage was seen as key to these new approaches to development, and projects were designed to pursue economic growth and social sustainability through the development of heritage resources. However, the promises of heritage development were difficult to achieve once deployed on the ground.

Culture and heritage at the World Bank  63 In general, cultural heritage at the World Bank may be the sole focus of the project, as a “stand-alone” heritage project, or it may be one component of many, making it part of a “multi-component” project. Heritage development has been pursued through two main axes at the World Bank: within urban rehabilitation projects, and projects aimed at generating revenue through heritage tourism and cultural tourism more broadly. The World Bank’s early experience in the 1980s and 1990s with culture in development was based on the restoration and the conservation of historic city centers, and projects that had supported the conservation of monuments and sites were justified on the grounds of tourism development. The Bank’s portfolio consisted of urban projects in Lahore, Tunis, and Fez, tourism projects in Bethlehem and Jordan, cultural site conservation linked to tourism development in Croatia Split/Kastela Bay, Turkey, Ethiopia, and Lebanon, and restoration and conservation components within larger investment projects, as for example in the Yunnan Earthquake Reconstruction Project. Urban rehabilitation work experience in historic cities has been particularly influential within the World Bank, so that most heritage development work is institutionally structured as a “theme” within the urban development sector of the bank, and the results are pointed to as best practice for heritage development (Serageldin 1998, 1999a; Serageldin et al. 2001; World Bank 1998, 2008; Ebbe 2009; Bigio 2010; Bigio and Licciardi 2010; Licciardi and Amirtahmasebi 2012; Lindblom and Paludan-Müller 2012). Meanwhile heritage tourism, and leveraging heritage resources within cultural tourism more generally, has been another avenue for World Bank financing of heritage development, especially for targeting contexts outside urban centers and fostering community participation in development (Endresen et al. 1999; Hawkins and Mann 2007; Mesik 2007; Arezki et al. 2009; Bernstein and Kudat 2011). As of 2018 the World Bank project database (projects.worldbank.org, last consulted June 1, 2018) lists approximately 100 projects either dedicated solely to heritage development or, more typically, as part of a multi-component project. The projects exhibiting the most focus on developing cultural heritage are given in Table 4.1, which shows a trend of increasing funding commitment (in US$ millions) with time as heritage development strategies and associated expertise at the Bank became well established, and borrowing countries were willing to take on larger loans to support heritage development. Another trend may be seen in the early emphasis in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region, with the first projects listed above in the late 1990s and early 2000s, following from expertise in the region cultivated in the 1980s and 1990s, In addition to being organized by sectors and themes, development strategy and project management at the World Bank are also organized regionally, and the MENA region has been particularly important to the growth of heritage development. The World Bank

Table 4.1  World Bank financed projects with substantial cultural heritage focus (adapted from projects.worldbank.org by the author) Project title

Second Tourism Development Project Cultural Heritage Project Fes Medina Rehabilitation Project Cultural Heritage Project Bethlehem 2000

Country

Jordan Georgia Morocco Romania West Bank and Gaza Cultural Heritage Preservation Project Azerbaijan Cultural Heritage Pilot Project Bosnia and Herzegovina Cultural Heritage Project Mauritania Cultural Heritage Project Tunisia Cultural Assets Rehabilitation Project Eritrea Cultural Heritage Project Ethiopia Cultural Heritage and Urban Development Project Lebanon Regional Development in the Copan Valley Project Honduras Jordan Cultural Heritage, Tourism, and Urban Jordan Development Guizhou Cultural and Natural Heritage Protection China and Development Russia Cultural Heritage 2 Russian Federation Shandong Confucius and Mencius Cultural China Heritage Protection and Development Project Thimpu Strategic Cultural Heritage and Bhutan Sustainable Tourism Plan Regional Development Project Georgia Second Regional Development Project Georgia Additional Financing for the Cultural Heritage Lebanon and Urban Development Project Anhui Yellow Mountain New Countryside China Demonstration Project Abraham Path: Economic Development across West Bank and Fragile Communities Gaza Cultural Heritage Preservation and Tourism Sector Haiti Support project Third Regional Development Project Georgia Local Economy and Infrastructure Development Armenia Project Hubei Jingzhou Historic Town Conservation China Project Second Regional Development Project Additional Georgia Financing Project for Integrated Urban and Tourism Albania Development Second Gansu Cultural and Natural Heritage China Protection and Development Project Punjab Tourism for Economic Growth Project Pakistan

Funding (in US$ millions)

Year approved

32.0 4.49 14.0 5.0 25.0

1997 1998 1998 1998

7.5 4.0

1999 1999

5.0 17.0 5.0 5.0 31.5 12.0 56.0

2000 2001 2001 2002 2003 2003 2007

60.0

2009

100.0

2010

50.0

2011

0.3

2012

60.0 30.0 27.0

2012 2012 2012

100.0

2013

2.32

2014

45.0

2014

60.0 55.0

2015 2015

100.0

2016

9.0

2016

71.0

2016

100.0

2017

50.0

2017

Culture and heritage at the World Bank  65 publication Cultural Heritage and Development: a Framework for Action in the Middle East and North Africa (Cernea 2001), offered one of the first programmatic statements on heritage development and the World Bank’s expertise in this newly emerging field (see also Parker 2001; Hurlbut 2002). In some respects, the publication was a rallying cry for further developing the Bank’s expertise in heritage, as the MENA regional office was considered the leading example for cultural heritage management at the World Bank, and promoted as setting the standard for the other regional offices (Bigio and Licciardi 2010). However, other regions such as East Asia and Pacific (EAP), Europe and Central Asia (ECA), and Africa (AFR) have yielded more projects, especially when taking multi-­component projects into consideration. Further, Table 4.1 shows that stand-alone cultural heritage projects have been of particular development interest to China in recent years. With respect to the early refinement of heritage development in the MENA region, expertise gained from initial projects in the early 1990s was capitalized on for implementing further projects. There is a clear citational progression from the earliest World Bank involvement in heritage in the region—the rehabilitation of the Tunis Medina in the 1980s with the Third Urban Development Project—which is then applied to an urban rehabilitation project in the Fez Medina, which in turn is built on for a whole sector (heritage sector) approach in the Tunisia Cultural Heritage Project (TCHP). While the TCHP was being implemented an even larger sector-wide project in Jordan was already building on the experience of the TCHP. Each World Bank heritage project in the MENA region became grander in scale and ambition, solidifying the World Bank’s heritage expertise in the region, as well as that of the associated consultants and coordinating transnational actors. Craig and Porter (2006) have analyzed how authority in making knowledge claims is built through the traveling and translational abilities of World Bank heritage projects, where experience in one project is traded on for the implementation of further projects, usually greater in scope, within the same country or across a region and beyond. They describe how expertise is built by framing one place in terms of lessons distilled from elsewhere, developing by analogy, retrospect and overreach… for the universal to assert itself over the particular, the traveled over the placed, the technical over the political, and the formal over the substantive. (Craig and Porter 2006: 119–120) This process is abetted by the many transnational consultants and development experts maneuvering to be involved in the next large project, “trading on apparent success somewhere, publicly overplaying its impact, building an overblown reputation for certain kinds of work, and getting resources to upscale their efforts at the first blush of success” (Craig and Porter

66  Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels 2006:119). Similar processes and dynamics may be seen at work in the circulation of heritage expertise within World Bank projects in the MENA region (Lafrenz Samuels 2009). Heritage development at the World Bank and other big banks, whether through urban rehabilitation or heritage tourism, has struggled in its task to offer more sustainable and socially-attuned foundations for economic growth. Urban regeneration slides too easily into gentrification, while tourism revenue tends to exacerbate rather than narrow existing social and economic inequalities. The central role of participation and capacity-building in heritage development also runs the danger of encouraging the sort of internal self-regulation that mimics neoliberal market mechanisms, and directs blame for project failure downward to local government and community levels (Mohan and Stokke 2000; Cooke and Kothari 2001; Mosse 2005a; O’Meally 2014). Capacity-building in particular was part of the push for “good governance” policies, also known as “soft conditionality” policies, which were introduced in development reforms in response to the backlash against the “hard conditionality” policies of structural adjustment that characterized international development projects in the 1980s and 1990s (Hibou 2000; Anders 2005; Mosse 2005b; Roitman 2005; Craig and Porter 2006). Therefore, despite being put forward as the instrumental fixes for the damages wrought under the unfettered neoliberalism of structural adjustment, the development pillars of sustainability, participation, and capacity-building remain open to co-optation by moneyed interests and market forces within the continued push for decentralization, liberalization, and privatization. However, responses to the dangerous or challenging facets of heritage development, and the commoditization and appropriation of heritage more broadly, may be found in the elaboration and expansion of these development pillars to other transnational domains of heritage practice, which offer lessons on how to push back against such co-optation.

The development paradigm beyond the development banks The maturation of heritage development as a domain of economic growth and knowledge production is also visible in its extension beyond the large multilateral development banks to a suite of transnational actors such as consulting firms, NGOs, and private investment. One particularly straightforward institutional expansion for heritage development has been effected through the International Finance Corporations’s (IFC) adoption of the World Bank’s safeguard policies for cultural heritage into its ‘Equator Principles’ (IFC 2003; Fleming 2008). The Equator Principles therefore extend World Bank cultural heritage compliance standards to other transnational actors involved in project financing for sustainable development, such as the private financial sector and multinational corporations. Some noteworthy examples include Barclays (Barclays 2005) and mining multinational

Culture and heritage at the World Bank  67 Rio Tinto (Bradshaw et  al. 2011). The extension of safeguards to multinational corporations has picked up speed as businesses seek to project an image of themselves as socially-responsible entities, through the pursuit of corporate social responsibility (CSR) initiatives (Sharp 2006; Raman 2007; Welker 2009; Dolan and Rajak 2011; Duarte 2011; Starr 2013). Therefore, an important translation from development circles to a broader transnational sphere has been the corporate adoption of social and environmental safeguards, including those of cultural heritage. CSR will be an important arena of transnational governance in the coming decades, and a prime opportunity for innovating governance tools for cultural heritage that respond to transnational issues such as global climate change, global justice, and human rights. Beyond the example of the Equator Principles, then, the growth of transnational activities in heritage development addresses a range of emerging transnational interests and issues for which the international system has been ill-equipped or incapable of addressing, issues like transnational communities and publics, human rights, and global climate change. Moreover, these issues follow from key priorities of participation, capacity building, and sustainability, respectively, priorities that were absorbed in response to development critiques and amplified across the globe as core values of transnational governance (Lafrenz Samuels 2016, 2018). The elaboration of these three heritage development priorities to other transnational domains of activity increasingly takes on the responsibilities of governance left in the wake of state withdrawal from social services and international dysfunction. These include the building blocks of sustainable development expertise being mobilized to confront global climate change, where heritage development experience is informing mitigation and adaptation efforts; the expansion of participatory approaches in heritage work to include transnational communities and other forms of democratic practice such as deliberative democracy; and the extension of human capabilities approaches from capacity-building in heritage development projects to talk of social justice, global justice, and human rights, including the nascent field of heritage rights practice.

Note 1 This chapter is a revised excerpt from the author’s book Mobilizing Heritage: Anthropological Practice and Transnational Practice (University Press of ­Florida 2018).

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Culture and heritage at the World Bank  71 Rypkema, D., 2010. The Role of Heritage Conservation in a Sustainable Economy. In: M. Mälkki & K. Schmidt-Thomé (eds.) Integrating Aims: Built Heritage in Social and Economic Development. Aalto: Aalto University, School for Science and Technology/Centre for Urban and Regional Studies, pp. 195–210. Sarfaty, G., 2004. The World Bank and the Internationalization of Indigenous Rights Norms. Yale Law Journal, 114, pp. 1791–1818. Scott, J. C., 1998. Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the ­Human Condition Have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Serageldin, I., 1998. Culture and Development at the Millennium: The Challenge and the Response. Washington, DC: World Bank. Serageldin, I., 1999a. Very Special Places: The Architecture and Economics of Intervening in Historic Cities. Washington, DC: World Bank. Serageldin, I. & Martin-Brown, J., 1999. Culture in Sustainable Development: Investing in Cultural and Natural Endowments. Washington, DC: World Bank. Serageldin, I., Shluger, E. & Martin-Brown, J., 2001. Historic Cities and Sacred Sites: Cultural Roots for Urban Futures. Washington, DC: World Bank. Sharp, J., 2006. Corporate Social Responsibility and Development: An Anthropological Perspective. Development Southern Africa, 23(2), pp. 213–222. Starr, F., 2013. Corporate Responsibility for Cultural Heritage: Conservation, Sustainable Development, and Corporate Reputation. New York: Routledge. Stöhr, W. & Taylor, F., 1981. Development from Above or Below? Dialectics of Regional Planning in Developing Countries. New York: John Wiley and Sons. Taboroff, J., 1994. Cultural Heritage in Environmental Assessment. Environmental Assessment Sourcebook Update 8. Washington, DC: World Bank. Taboroff, J. & Cook, C. C., 1993. Cultural Property Conservation and the Development Process. Africa Region Findings Good Practice Infobrief 11. Washington, DC: World Bank. Throsby, D., 2003. Sustainability in the Conservation of the Built Environment: An Economist’s Perspective. In: J. M. Teutonico & F. Matero (eds.) Managing Change: Sustainable Approaches to the Conservation of the Built Environment. Los Angeles: Getty Conservation Institute, pp. 3–10. Throsby, D., 2005. On the Sustainability of Cultural Capital. Department of ­Economics Research Paper No. 10/200. Sydney: Macquarie University. Throsby, D., 2012. Heritage Economics: A Conceptual Framework. In: G. ­Licciardi & R. Amirtahmasebi (eds.) The Economics of Uniqueness: Investing in Historic City Cores and Cultural Heritage Assets for Sustainable Development. Washington, DC: World Bank, pp. 45–74. UNESCO, 1995. Training Strategy in the Conservation of Cultural Heritage Sites (Information Document WHC-95/CONF.203/INF.11B). Paris: UNESCO. UNESCO and Government of Italy, 2000. Towards New Strategies for Culture in Sustainable Development. In: W. Bank (ed.) Culture Counts: Financing, Resources, and the Economics of Culture in Sustainable Development. Proceedings of the Conference held in Florence, Italy (October 4–7, 1999). Washington, DC: World Bank, pp. 274–284. Welker, M. A., 2009. “Corporate Security Begins in the Community”: Mining, the Corporate Social Responsibility Industry, and Environmental Advocacy in Indonesia. Cultural Anthropology, 24(1), pp. 142–179. Wigg, D., 1994. Of Mosaics and Mosques: A Look at the Campaign to Preserve Cultural Heritage. World Bank Development Essays 3. Washington, DC: World Bank.

72  Kathryn Lafrenz Samuels World Bank, 1998. Cultural Heritage and Development Action Network: Working Group Meeting (January 26–27, 1998, Washington, DC). Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank, 2000. Culture Counts: Financing, Resources, and the Economics of Culture in Sustainable Development. Proceedings of the Conference held in Florence, Italy (October 4–7, 1999). Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank, 2006a. Operational Policies 4.11 – Physical Cultural Resources. Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank, 2006b. Bank Procedures 4.11 – Physical Cultural Resources. ­Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank, 2008. Social Analysis in the Urban Sector: A Guidance Note. ­Washington, DC: World Bank. World Bank, 2016. World Bank Environmental and Social Framework: Setting Environmental and Social Standards for Investment Project Financing. ­Washington, DC: World Bank.

5 UNESCO, culture, aid and development in the new millennium Sophia Labadi

At the heart of the cultural turn in international aid stands greater considerations for local contexts and people’s ways of lives. In other words, this turn aims to take better account of culture. Despite this turn, culture was not mentioned at all in the eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs; 2000–2015), a framework adopted by the United Nations to meet the needs of the world’s poorest and for international aid spending. In 2015, this framework was replaced by the more ambitious and encompassing 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), that aim to address global challenges and define priorities for international aid spending over the next 15 years (2015–2030). History repeated itself and culture is only marginally mentioned in the SDGs. This chapter, adopting an historical approach, analyzes critically the efforts made primarily by UNESCO to contribute to the international development agenda and the reasons why culture is still marginalized in this agenda. Through this historical exploration, this chapter also aims to fill a gap and provide innovative analyses of the link between culture, international development and aid. This chapter focuses on UNESCO as the key international and intergovernmental organization working on culture. In doing so, it complements the other chapters from this section of the book which concentrate on other major international and regional organizations and on similar genealogical considerations of culture and international aid. I do not define culture from the start, as I use the different definitions proposed in the documents analyzed in this chapter. The first part of this chapter assesses the reasons why culture is not mentioned in the MDGs. The second section charts the efforts by UNESCO to gather evidence to demonstrate the link between culture and development, and to identify a common definition for the concept of culture, as a strategy to include culture in the post-2015 international development agenda. The final section assesses critically why culture is only marginally mentioned in the SDGs. This chapter is based on archival research at UNESCO, reflection on first-hand engagement in some of UNESCO initiatives on culture for development, as well as semi-structured interviews with key practitioners on these topics.

74  Sophia Labadi

Culture does not count for the millennium development goals The cultural turn in international aid and development that started in the 1960s has been well documented (Rao and Walton, 2004; Basu and Modest, 2015: 2; Labadi, 2018a: 40). Triggered by the growing failure and connected dissatisfaction with models of development based solely on economic growth, modernization, and progress, this turn was characterized by reflection and policies integrating culture within development. This turn also gave rise to new models that are people-centred, including those focussed on sustainable or human development (Meadows et  al. 1972; Sen, 1992). One of the earlier approaches was the 1982 UNESCO World Conference on Cultural Policies (known as MONDIACULT; Vlassis, 2017: 49–50). Its final document, the Mexico City Declaration on Cultural Policies, has an entire section on the ‘Cultural Dimension of Development’ which calls for a reconfiguration of development that would not be based only on production, profit, or consumption, but would be more humane, be based on people’s well-being, take account of their cultural aspirations, and respect non-renewable resources, such as the world’s natural and cultural heritage (UNESCO, 1982: 42–43). The impetus created by the 1982 conference was pursued with the UN World Decade for Cultural Development (1988– 1997), led by UNESCO (Stupples and Teaiwa, 2017: 7). Its objective was to change the model of economic development which, because of the accelerating globalization of the economy, is gradually imposing itself on the planet with no consideration for cultural context and disregarding the wealth of human resources acquired over thousands of years of civilization. (UNESCO, 1995: 12) A seminal output from this decade was Our Creative Diversity (World Commission on Culture and Development, 1996; see also the chapter by Lafrenz Samuels in this volume) drafted by the World Commission on Culture and development (1992–1995). It had the ambitious goals of clarifying and promoting the links between culture and development the way the Brundtland Report had made clear the links between development and the environment. Our Creative Diversity was conceived as a call to action, with the definition of an International Agenda requesting, among other things, the preparation of an Annual Report on World Culture and Development, the release of new culturally-sensitive development strategies, the mobilization of cultural heritage volunteers or the development of an international plan for Gender Equality. The call to action from Our Creative Diversity created a momentum characterized by a number of events and initiatives on culture and development orchestrated by UNESCO, including the 1998 Stockholm Intergovernmental conference on Cultural Policies

UNESCO, culture, aid and development  75 for Development or the two World Culture Reports (1998 and 2000). This momentum also spread to other organizations, most notably to the World Bank which co-sponsored, alongside the Government of Italy, the Culture Counts conference (1999). This conference aimed to provide a forum to expand the range of proposals, programmes, actors, and sources of funding on culture for development. This momentum and these events occurred at the same time as the reflection on the international development agenda that aimed to guide and frame the future of international aid spending. Despite this calendar match, culture was not at all mentioned in the eight MDGs adopted by the UN in 2000 to address global challenges for the next 15 years, including the goals to eradicate extreme poverty and hunger (Goal 1), to achieve universal primary education (Goal 2), or to promote gender equality and empower women (Goal 3) (Kovács, 2010). The exclusion of culture can be explained, first, by the narrow process of identifying these goals. This process was led primarily by the developed world and the World Bank, International Monetary Fund and the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, with little involvement from civil societies and developing countries (Kabeer, 2005; Amin, 2006; Fehling, Nelson and Venkatapuram, 2013: 1111). This exclusion can be explained, secondly, by the narrow focus of the goals on developing countries, whilst most of the issues tackled are also of concern to the developed world. Thirdly, key issues for development, including peace, security, disarmament, human rights, and democracy were not included in these goals (Hill, Mansoor, and Claudio, 2010). Private interests further dictated themes to be left out, such as ‘affordable water’, which was dropped from the list of goals because of the privatization of this sector (Fehling, Nelson and Venkatapuram, 2013: 1114). Poverty was defined as being $1 per day and reduced to material issues, despite being much more complex and multi-dimensional (Maxwell, 2003: 5–25; Lafrenz Samuels, 2010: 204–205). This complexity was further revealed by the concept of capability which moved the debate on human development to focusing on what people can achieve and the obstacles to such a situation (Sen, 2004: 37–58; Labadi, 2017: 23–36). Another example is the target for Goal 3, which centres on eliminating gender disparity in primary and secondary education. It has been heavily criticized for silencing key issues preventing gender equality and the empowerment of women, including violence against women, discriminations, or social, cultural, and economic inequalities (Subrahmanian, 2005: 395–407; Fehling, Nelson and Venkatapuram, 2013: 1109–1122; Labadi, 2018b: 90). Elsewhere, I argued that the continuing consideration of culture as constituting an obstacle to development could explain its exclusion from the MDGs (Labadi, 2018a: 44). Culture is still an obstacle to development as it represents the past rather than the future, traditions rather than progress and modernity (see also Rostow, 1960; Abraham and Platteau, 2004: 210–233; Basu and Modest, 2015: 1–32). However, according to one of

76  Sophia Labadi the experts I interviewed for this chapter1, a number of mistakes were also made by UNESCO and other proponents of a culture for development approach that led to the exclusion of culture from the MDGs. First, lack of evidence prevented the narrative that culture contributes to development to be backed up. No major projects had been implemented by then that could have provided some data and indicators as evidence of the contribution of culture for development. This meant that UNESCO’s approach was only declaratory. In addition, the rhetoric used was confusing, as different definitions of culture were used by UNESCO and its partners. At times, ‘culture’ was defined solely as heritage; other times it was narrowly referred to as the UNESCO programme on Dialogue Among Cultures and Civilisations, an initiative undertaken in cooperation with the UN at the time. Finally, the different events, publications and activities organized on culture and development at the turn of the Millennium targeted primarily cultural organizations and had limited impacts outside the cultural sector (see also Torggler et al., 2015: 6). In other words, all of these initiatives preached to those who were already convinced by the culture for development narratives but had no impact beyond this small circle.

Culture, a driver and enabler of development? By 2006, progress towards the achievements of the MDGs was uneven. For this reason, the Spanish Government under the Spanish Agency of International Cooperation for Development (AECID) and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) established the MDG Achievement Fund (henceforth MDG-F), to accelerate progress towards attainment of these goals in selected countries (UNDP/Spain Millennium Development Goals Achievement Fund, 2007: 2). ‘Culture and Development’, and this is a first within the international development agenda, was selected as one of the eight thematic areas funded, as a strong recognition of the power of culture to accelerate achievement of the MDGs. AECID supported 18 programmes under this thematic window on ‘Culture and Development’, with a total financial allocation of US$95.6 million. Why did Spain make such significant investment? Culture is recognized in the Master Plan on Spanish Cooperation (Plan Director de la Cooperación Española, 2005–2008) as the very fabric of society and the internal force for its development (Calvo Sastre et al., 2007: 9). This plan refers to and uses not only UNESCO’s rhetoric and legal instruments, particularly the then newly adopted 2005 Convention for the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions, but also the 2004 UNDP Human Development report on Cultural Liberty in Today’s Diverse World, which recognizes the importance of culture and particularly cultural diversity for human development (UNDP, 2004). This targeted approach to accelerating the implementation of the MDGs reflects Spain’s goal to maximize the impact of its international aid spending,

UNESCO, culture, aid and development  77 which doubled between 2003 and 2009, from 0.23% to 0.46% of its national wealth (OECD, 2011: 11), but remained nonetheless below the international target of 0.7% of its gross national income. This more strategic approach by Spain is also a reaction to the evaluation of its international aid strategy by the OECD, which criticized this spending for being too thinly allocated to too many recipients (ibid.). As such, this aid did not have as much of an impact. As a result of this evaluation, Spain reduced the number of countries and projects benefiting from its aid. Spain’s interest in funding a window on ‘Culture and Development’ might also reflect a diplomatic and political positioning, as the lead organization for the implementation of these 18 projects was UNESCO and its post of Assistant Director General for Culture (the highest ranked post of the culture sector) went vacant in 2014 and was subsequently attributed to a Spaniard, Alfredo Pérez de Armiñán, in 2014. These 18 programmes provided UNESCO with a perfect opportunity to gather the evidence that was missing at the end of the 1990s on the role of culture for development, identified as one reason that led this theme to be excluded from the MDGs. A diversity of UN organizations took part in the implementation of these projects, as part of the ‘Delivering as One’ system, where different UN organizations joined forces to work more effectively and efficiently in tackling major challenges and delivering tangible results. As the lead organization for these projects, UNESCO could also demonstrate the value of culture to the rest of the UN system. These 18 MDG-F projects were rather ambitious in their approach, as they aimed to address fundamental issues for long-lasting change (Throsby, 1995: 201). Whilst the MDGs, as explained earlier, had a narrow, and at times, rather problematic focus, these culture for development projects attempted to address some broader developmental issues. This is the case, for instance, with the ambitious project: ‘Strengthening cultural and creative industries and inclusive policies in Mozambique’ (August 2008–February 2012). Mozambique is one of the poorest countries in the world, according to official statistics and the Development Assistance Committee list of Official Development Assistance Recipients. Benefiting from a total budget of over five million USD, this project aimed to generate income and decent employment opportunities in the tourism, craft, and music industries for all, particularly the poor, as well as to promote lifelong learning prospects through different training options. Traditional systems and knowledge were to improve forestry management. Gender equality and the empowerment of women was a cross-cutting theme. Women were going to access specific training and decent employment opportunities in tourism, so that they could earn a decent living by using their culture. Workshops and training sessions were also organized to enable women to gain a better understanding of the ways traditions and associated power relations shape sexual and reproductive health and rights. In other words, the MDG-F project in Mozambique and the other 17 projects on culture and development were ahead of their time,

78  Sophia Labadi as they included a number of ideas and concerns to be found in the SDGs, the new development framework that replaced the MDGs in 2015. The empowerment of women through equal access to vocational trainings (SDG 4; target 4.3) and equal rights to decent employment (SDG 5; target 5.a) are key themes from the SDGs, as is the idea of economic opportunity for marginalized groups (SDG 8; target 8.9) or the need to halt biodiversity loss (SDG 15; target 15.5). In addition to UNESCO as the lead agency, to ensure the realization of its ambitious goals, this Mozambican project also saw the participation of the UN Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), the International Labour Organization (ILO), the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) and the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), as well as the participation of ten ministries, including the Ministry of Education, of Culture, of Tourism, of Industry and Trade, or the Ministry of Health (Eurosis, 2012: 7; UNESCO, 2012: 17). Following the completion of these 18 projects, UNESCO published evaluation reports full of impressive results, data, and statistics. Let us look at the example of the project in Mozambique. According to the official knowledge management report by UNESCO, the project benefited directly over 21,600 people (34% of whom were women), including: 72 ­community-based cultural tourism service providers who increased their market opportunities; 5,764 refugees who benefited from the cultural activities implemented in Maratane Refugee Camp; 678 artisans, artists, and creators, as well as 27 micro-entrepreneurs and 20 experts who improved their capacity to market their products and protect the intellectual property related to their craft. Finally, 100,890 people benefited indirectly from the project, 52% of whom being women, particularly family members of direct beneficiaries (UNESCO, 2012: 20). These evaluations thus provided UNESCO with much needed quantitative evidence of the impacts of culture for development projects that was missing in the 1990s. In parallel to developing these evidence-based case studies, from 2010 onwards, UNESCO organized a flurry of events and published a number of reports to promote one narrative and one message on culture for development. The aim for this organization was to become more audible and to convince international and national experts external to the culture sector of the importance of this narrative. The message was short and clear: culture is a ‘driver’ and an ‘enabler’ of development. Culture is a driver because it is a means or a resource to achieve development objectives: it contributes to poverty eradication through income generation and job creation in the creative and cultural economy, as well as in cultural tourism. Culture is also a driver of human development as it is a source of resilience, innovation, and creativity (Hosagrahar, 2012: 4). Culture is also an enabler of sustainable development because development needs to be sensitive to cultural contexts for it to work (ibid.). Here the principles of the cultural turn presented at the beginning of this chapter are used again to justify the central space that culture should occupy within the development discourse. Culture is

UNESCO, culture, aid and development  79 also defined as an enabler of social cohesion, which can only grow through respect for and understanding of cultural diversity and intercultural dialogue. In addition, both cultural and biological diversity, as well as local and indigenous knowledge and management practices contribute to sustainable environmental management practices and to ensuring environmental, agricultural and food sustainability. Culture is also presented as key to education. ‘Educational curricula that take the local context into account are most likely to be effective in providing quality education and cohesive societies’ (United Nations, 2014a: 2), in particular through the recognition, protection and promotion of multilingualism, which can also make education more attractive to disadvantaged groups. Finally, culture is an enabler of peace-building through ‘empowering communities to participate fully in social and cultural life and facilitating governance and dialogue’ (United Nations, 2015b; see also Van Oers and Pereira Roders, 2014: 123–124). These messages reveal UNESCO’s ambitions to see culture at the heart of the post-2015 international development agenda. The most important initiative of that time may have been the 2013 Hangzhou International Congress ‘Culture: Key to Sustainable Development’, the first international gathering of experts on this topic since the 1998 Stockholm conference. I had first-hand experience in this congress, as I prepared the background paper on Culture and Social Cohesion. What distinguished these initiatives by UNESCO from earlier ones is the diversity of external partners involved in and invited to this congress. The goal was for the message on culture for development to be widely accepted by and integrated into the work of institutions outside of the culture sector. This strategy to reach non-cultural institutions took also the form of different UN resolutions. Between 2010 and 2013, no less than three UN resolutions were adopted on either Culture and Sustainable Development (UN Resolution 68/223, 2013) or Culture and Development (Resolution 66/208; December 2011 and Resolution 65/166; December 2010). The participation in events organized by other UN organizations was also a strategy to promote the rhetoric on culture and development beyond the culture sector, as exemplified by UNESCO’s participation in the high-level meeting on ‘Science, technology and innovation, and culture for sustainable development and the MDGs’ organized by the UN Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC, July 2013). Finally, a ‘Group of Friends on culture and development’, a coalition of 30 governments, was launched in September 2013 to integrate culture and development in the UN debates. At the same time as all of these events and lobbying, a campaign ‘The Future We Want Includes Culture’ or ‘#culture2015goal’ was launched in 2013 for a specific goal on culture to be added to what would become the SDGs as well as for specific dimensions of culture to be integrated across the other goals. This campaign involved a number of NGOs, including the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS), the International Federation of Arts Councils and Culture Agencies (IFACCA), a

80  Sophia Labadi worldwide network of national arts funding agencies in 80 countries; the Committee on Culture of United Cities and Local Governments (UCLG) that develops local cultural policies and sustainable development; the International Federation of Coalitions for Cultural Diversity (IFCCD); as well as Culture Action Europe, the major European voice of the cultural sector linking over 110 national and European networks. This coalition released a number of documents, including proposed possible targets and indicators on culture to be integrated across different goals. However, these initiatives remain largely declaratory (Vlassis, 2017: 58). All of these efforts to lobby for one specific goal on culture, to gather evidence on the impacts of culture for development, to provide one coherent narrative on this theme and to work on integrating this narrative in the programmes of organizations external to the culture sector did not bear fruit. Culture is marginally mentioned in the 2015 SDGs (Torggler et al., 2015: 47). Worse, these rare references do not at all present culture as enabler and/or a driver of development. In a sense, this is rather surprising, as the SDGs adopted a more encompassing approach to sustainable development than the MDGs, moving beyond ending extreme poverty alone, to considering broader environmental, social, and economic challenges, as well as integrating issues of power relations and inequality that need to be taken into account to address fully these issues (Fukuda-Parr, 2016: 45). Sustainable Development Goal 4 on inclusive and equitable quality education is the first to mention directly culture, with target 4.7 aiming to ensure access to knowledge on the culture of peace and non-violence, appreciation of cultural diversity and of culture’s contribution to sustainable development. However, this is far from the ideas promoted by UNESCO and others that a goal related to education should take account of local contexts and multilingualism and that culture, arts, and creativity should be included in education policies (UNESCO, 2008; see also IFACCA et al., n.d.: 8). Target 8.9 and Target 12.b. refer to policies to promote sustainable tourism and job creation for local populations. This focus on tourism is rather restrictive; some of the proposed indicators suggested by the ‘#culture2015goal’ campaign took a broader approach to monitoring the number of people in cultural employment in general. This broader approach moves away from a sole focus on tourism, which can be a double-edged sword. The ambivalence towards tourism and its negative effects on local culture is clearly reflected in some of the proposed indicators from the campaign, including the need to have ‘“a cultural impact assessment” as a prerequisite of all tourism development plans’ (IFACCA et  al., 2015: 4ff). However, these cautious approaches to tourism development have not been integrated in the official list of SDGs and related targets. Finally, Target 11.4 aims to ‘strengthen efforts to protect and safeguard the world’s cultural and natural heritage’, as part of Goal 11 that aims to ‘Make cities and human settlements inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable’. However, this target does not link the protection and safeguarding

UNESCO, culture, aid and development  81 of heritage to any of the broader issues and concerns related to the SDGs (e.g. poverty reduction, environmental protection or gender equality). It is as if the ‘#culture2015goal’ campaign and all of the efforts by UNESCO were been taken into account at all. Worse, target 11.4 reflects a standpoint that has long been dismissed (Labadi, 2013, 2019; Labadi and Gould, 2015), that the protection and safeguarding of cultural and natural heritage is a virtuous approach that leads automatically to sustainable development. To conclude, the SDGs largely ignore the narratives, suggestions and efforts made by UNESCO and associated organizations on culture for development. So, what went wrong?

Explaining failure The main drawback lies in UNESCO not supporting officially a full goal on culture. Its then Director-General, Irina Bokova, supported a goal on education when the SDGs were being drafted. As a result, UNESCO currently leads the implementation of SDG 4 and the Global Education 2030 agenda. But why didn’t UNESCO support two goals, one on culture and one on education? According to the interviews I conducted, it was a safer strategy for UNESCO to lobby for the lead of one and only one goal. Lobbying for two goals was a riskier and a more difficult strategy. Most importantly, lobbying for the goal on education was easier. Culture is still not a priority of many countries, I was repeatedly told by my interviewees. This lack of support from UNESCO, the key intergovernmental organization on culture, might have weakened the efforts made by other lobbying groups. The lack of support from UNESCO’s Director General for a full goal on culture in the SDGs reveals also the marginalized space still occupied by culture within the international development agenda, despite the number of UN Resolutions on this topic and the different initiatives presented above. Members of the campaign ‘The Future We Want Includes Culture’ tried to team up with lobbyists from other sectors, including from the environment. However, they soon realized that culture needed these sectors, but that these other sectors did not need culture. Hence the power relations were against culture, considered as a minor player in the negotiations on the international development agenda. The exclusion of culture from the SDGs also reveals the lack of unity between international actors on culture. The campaign ‘The Future We Want Includes Culture’ was a unique lobbying platform of non-state actors, and one of the first of its kind. Yet, a number of key non-state actors did not take part in this campaign, ICOM (the International Council on Museums), for instance. This stands in stark contrast with other sectors, such as the environment, described by my interviewees as having better structured lobbies which are also better funded, more unified and more experienced of international negotiations, than the culture sector.

82  Sophia Labadi The exclusion of culture from the SDGs might also denote the deficit of credibility of the very narrative that culture is a driver and an enabler of sustainable development. More than just credibility, for some, culture is seen as a problematic topic. Vlassis saw, in the absence of culture from the SDGs, ‘the resistance and reluctance of the majority of European and North American governments, which are the major contributors to international development aid and the fundamental actors in agenda setting’ (2015: 1656). Yet, this comment needs to be fine-tuned. The previous section presented the major investments made by Spain for the creation of a thematic window on culture and development as part of the MDG-F, although Spain’s priorities changed with the arrival of Rajoy as Prime Minister of Spain in 2011 (and culture is not mentioned at all in the 2014–2017 Strategic Plan of the Spanish Agency for International Development Cooperation). France, Greece and Italy were part of the group of friends created to lobby for the inclusion of culture in the international development agenda. However, it is true that the UK, the Netherlands, and the Scandinavian countries, all leading donor countries, were absent from these discussions and lobbying. One reason for this absence might be that culture is related to a number of politically difficult and sensitive topics, such as religions or languages. Promoting culture can also lead to cultural relativism which can be a barrier to the implementation of other development goals, including the promotion of human rights or gender equality (see also Vlassis, 2015: 1657). The issue, it has been argued by cultural institutions, is that cultural practices are diverse and their possible conflict with human rights, human dignity or equality would depend on their particular context (Donders, 2010: 18). Hence the difficulty for cultural institutions to take a firm stance against some particular cultural practices, leading in some cases to their acceptance. The World Heritage List, for instance, which seems so benign, contains a number of sites which can be considered as standing against gender equality. Mount Athos in Greece, inscribed on the List in 1988 is forbidden to women, as is Okinoshima in Japan, inscribed in 2017. This latest inscription does not reflect the provisions of the 2015 UNESCO Policy on World Heritage and Sustainable Development which indicates that these practices need to have received the full consents of all concerned stakeholders through transparent consultation processes (Labadi, 2018b; UNESCO, 2015). Besides, despite all of the efforts described above, the evidence provided of the contribution of culture to development does not seem to have been robust enough. The published project management files for the 18 MDG-F projects all present impressive figures. Yet, these figures do not stand up to critical analysis. Let us take again the example of the project ‘Strengthening cultural and creative industries and inclusive policies in Mozambique’, presented earlier. According to its official evaluation, 390 artisans benefited from artistic training. However, no information is provided on whether these artisans completed the training, how they increased revenues using the knowledge acquired during these trainings, or whether they

UNESCO, culture, aid and development  83 could generate a decent income. Further examples of this oversight are the 72 community-based cultural tour providers who benefited from four new cultural tourism tours set up in Mozambique Island and Inhambane City (UNESCO, 2012, 28). It is not clear how these tours have been able to address the structural and power inequalities inherent in tourism. It has been well documented that pro-poor and community-based tourism is riddled with difficulties, as tourism providers tend to be first and foremost Westerners who have the necessary capital to invest in companies in destination places, in addition to core tourism tools such as air travels, hotel, and e-commerce being concentrated in the North (Chok, Macbeth and Warren, 2007: 144–165). These power relations tend to exacerbate the precarious positions of the poorest (Oakley, 2006: 255–273; De Beukelaer and Freitas, 2015: 209). In other words, the official evaluations provide weak proofs of the implementation of the project objectives (see also Grincheva, 2016: 242). These documents do not clarify how existing institutional, structural, and power relations had been addressed, particularly concerning gender relations and issues of inequalities faced by the poorer members of societies. Because of this lack of information, figures are not understandable. They seem to be inflated (see Labadi, 2016 for similar trends in evaluation of culture-led regeneration projects in Europe), and have also been found as not being convincing or coherent (Grincheva, 2016: 246). Besides, the credibility of the MDG-F window on culture and development and its 18 projects seems to have been challenged right from the start, and not only at the end with their evaluations. One way to assess such credibility is to identify whether and how this window and associated projects were mentioned in the international monitoring framework for the MDGs. This framework took the form of a yearly report written by an inter-UN Agency and expert group that used indicators and available information to assess progress towards the MDGs. Not a single report released between 2007 and 2015 mentions culture at all, not even once (United Nations, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014b, 2015a). Surprisingly as well, ‘tourism’, one of the fastest growing industries in the world, is not mentioned at all in any of these reports, except in 2009 as a threat to protected areas (United Nations, 2009: 40). The conclusion is that these MDG-F projects seem to have been unnoticed at UN level and in the monitoring of the implementation of the MDGs, despite the participation of UNESCO as one of the contributors to these reports and the availability of indicators on the importantce of culture for development projects. A final issue concerns the request by the UN to provide quantified data to monitor the implementation of the SDGs and associated targets. However, basic data is missing on a number of key indicators on culture. For instance, how much does culture weigh in a country’s GDP? This is an essential indicator, yet it is not available for many countries. In addition, identifying relevant and accurate measures that can be agreed upon internationally is very difficult, as also exposed by the UNESCO project on Culture for

84  Sophia Labadi Development Indicators (see also De Beukelaer and Duxbury, 2014). As explained by one of my interviewees: ‘When some scientific measures, such as greenhouse gases are the subject of controversies and debates, how can a consensus be achieved on a topic like culture?’2 The narrow indicator identified to monitor Target 11.4 of SDG 11 (the total amount per capita each country spends to protect their cultural and natural heritage) reflects the difficulties with identifying relevant and agreeable data for culture. But this requirement to quantify international goals means that culture is considered first and foremost through an economistic and utilitarian lens, as also explained above when detailing the SDGs and the focus on tourism. Besides, this necessity means that some dimensions of culture might get forgotten, due to the difficulty in measuring them. Under these circumstances, culture as a process or as a lens through which development is framed, which is what the cultural turn is all about, and which cannot be measured, might never be integrated within any development goal (see also De Beukelaer and Freitas, 2015: 205–208).

Conclusion This chapter has explained some of the intertwined, political, diplomatic, and practical reasons for the total exclusion of culture from the MDGs and its marginalization from the SDGs. This includes the decision by the then Director-General of UNESCO not to support a full sustainable development goal on culture, the difficulties in providing evidence for the contribution of culture to development and the problematic nature of some cultural practices, considered as standing against human development, including human rights or gender equality. These issues might demonstrate that the cultural turn in aid and development has not yet become a reality, at least not within the international development agenda. Whilst the cultural turn was about finding new models of development that would not be dictated by economy, progress and growth, culture, when it has been taken into account, has been considered primarily as a cash making machine. The focus of some of the SDGs targets on tourism is a telling example. In other words, culture has been used as a contributor to growth and the economy (even if this has meant that the culture on which this growth is based is threatened in this economistic approach, as has been the case with wide-scale tourism). Culture has not been used to find new models of growth centred on people or on the specificities of localities. These shortcomings reveal the need for more research and evidence on the transformative role played by culture in human development as well ason the need for more data and indicators p to measure culture. More research is also needed on the negative impacts of culture and cultural practices on human development and on how these negative impacts can be mitigated. Such research could then be integrated within the 2030 Agenda and impact the future of international development and aid.

UNESCO, culture, aid and development  85

Notes 1 Interview, 21 April 2016. 2 Interview, 7 June 2016.

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88  Sophia Labadi United Nations. 2015a. The Millennium Development Goals Report 2015. New York: United Nations. United Nations. 2015b. Resolution on Culture and Sustainable Development. New York: United Nations. Van Oers, R. and Pereira-Roders, A. 2014. Aligning agendas for sustainable development in the post 2015 world. Journal of Cultural Heritage Management and Sustainable Development, 4(2), pp. 122–132. Vlassis, A. 2015. Culture in the post-2015 development agenda: The anatomy of an international mobilisation. Third World Quarterly, 36(9), pp. 1649–1662. Vlassis, A. 2017. UNESCO, creative industries and the international development agenda: Between modest recognition and reluctance. In Stupples, P. and Teaiwa, K. (eds) Contemporary Perspectives on Art and International Development. London: Routledge, pp. 48–63. World Commission on Culture and Development. 1996. Our creative Diversity. Paris: UNESCO.

Part II

National policies and ethnographies of international aid for culture

6 Whose tool for what purpose? The struggle for cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia Benjamin A. Morgan

In this chapter, I will reflect on my experience in Monrovia 2010–2013 as an expatriate concert promoter participating in the local music industries,1 and the subsequent research in 2014 as a consultant to the World Bank at a time when the sector was considered for inclusion in the country’s Private Sector Development Strategy (PSDS). Using the autoethnographic method (Chang 2008; Ellis et al. 2010), I will interrogate my participant observation as a cultural outsider, privileged foreign expert and local stakeholder, and revisit the research output I produced for the World Bank. Literature from cultural policy, media, and development studies will frame the analysis of the roles of culture2 in aid and development which I witnessed on the ground in Liberia, noting both flaws and positives. Acknowledging the discourse and institutional frameworks constraining the current path towards supporting musicians as that of the creative and cultural industries (CCIs), I reflect on why more integration of informal activity would be useful in future efforts at strategic music industry sector expansion in Liberia, rather than a punitive approach towards the informal sector.

The dream of the creative economy vs. the reality of cultural subordination While CCIs seemed to enjoy significant global attention as drivers of economic growth and human development in the pages of institutional reports and national policies, 3 this optimistic Creative Economy discourse had not reached the Republic of Liberia during the years 2010–2013. Economic plans and humanitarian aid agendas both appeared silent in Liberia when it came to supporting CCIs. Arts and cultural sectors were not addressed in Liberia’s Poverty Reduction Strategy, which was the main document that framed development projects during my time there (IMF 2008). The 2012–2013 Ministry of Information, Culture, and Tourism section of the national budget allocated ‘core grants’ to only two organisations: Miss Liberia Beauty Pageant and Liberia Movies Union (Republic of Liberia 2012, p.  130).4 The Liberian Daily Observer reported (Uncredited 2016) that President Johnson-Sirleaf did not acknowledge the creative sector in any of

92  Benjamin A. Morgan her annual addresses. Efforts were underway to update the country’s intellectual property system as a requirement to ultimately accede to the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) and the World Trade Organization (WTO) (Mengistie, Ababa & Ouma 2009), but otherwise I saw no strategic policy or activities supporting the CCI sector. The CCIs, it seems, were not just a low priority. They were not yet invited to the discussion. Music has an existence, meaning, and value separate from an economic role, 5 and concentration on the economic output is only one approach to developing the arts. Advocating for investment in Liberian musicians from a non-economic, socio-cultural perspective highlighting the intrinsic value of the arts was also challenging and limiting, in particular within the human development industry. While the value and importance of arts and culture as part of a healthy community was always given lip service in conversation with other development workers, the lack of a specific cultural goal under the blueprint of the United Nations Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) made it difficult for aid industry stakeholders to advocate for a cultural project without either attaching it to another instrumental social change objective, or going back to framing it as economic activity and facing its low-priority economic sector status. Due to this lack of support for the CCI sector as an economic priority, advocates for arts and culture found themselves tying the creative work of artists into humanitarian agendas aligned with the MDGs, framing activity in terms of measurable social impact outcomes for evaluation. Artists were often hired by humanitarian Non-Governmental Organisations (NGOs) to help spread messages through murals, commissioned songs, and other cultural vehicles to promote change agendas, but direct investment in building the capacity of artists to create the work they themselves desired was rare.6 Upon reflection, it can be easy to see how the need for a framework such as Creative Economy policy or a cultural goal in the MDGs was necessary to argue for government investment or NGO capacity building in a specific CCI such as music, film, literature, theatre, etc. In the field at the time, it simply appeared that the cultural industries only had value as tools to facilitate external agendas. Without knowledge of how to engage with policy, I came to understand that attracting donor interest in the Liberian music industry sector meant embracing either the small-medium-enterprise economic development discourse and face the lack of enthusiasm for the CCIs, or embrace the instrumental, music-as-a-tool-for-social change agenda (a problematic and limiting imposition of constraints on creativity, e.g. Stupples 2014).

Public/private expatriate worker As a work of autoethnography, it is important to examine how and why I was an expatriate US citizen advocating for musicians in Liberia. I lived in Monrovia from October 2010 until June 2013, and though I was a concert

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  93 promoter producing live concerts for most of this time, I also held several jobs in the NGO sector. I was hired and brought to Liberia by American friends to manage a bar/nightclub they had started with a Liberian partner. Following many years of work in the US music industries, this was an opportunity for a job abroad where I felt my expertise would be valuable, and I could experience a new musical culture. I arrived full of enthusiasm to work with the musicians of Liberia, but completely lacked any formal training or experience working in low-income countries. I expected to encounter new ways of conducting business there that I would need to learn about, but also that my expertise was a form of knowledge that Liberians artists and stakeholders lacked and desired: the roots of a normative approach. Whether Liberian or expatriate, most people I interacted with held jobs in the non-profit humanitarian aid and development sector. Those who were in the private sector also framed their work in similar ways: business workers also spoke of helping, developing, and building capacity, while development workers held personal career goals and would talk about their need to establish relationships to secure future employment. The discourse and practices of the development sector permeated into the private sector, and as I came to hold jobs in both sectors, I also spoke of my work – whether for-profit or for a non-profit NGO – using a similar language. I understood my private sector work producing concerts with musicians as an effort to improve local systems and infrastructure through the discourse of capacity building.7 I believed that I was contributing to local standards, professional practice, and sharing valuable expertise as I created economic opportunities. Once I learned that many development institutions were for-profit companies (e.g. Chemonics, Development Alternatives Inc.), and that large companies engaged in corporate social responsibility (CSR) programs which resembled development interventions, the line was blurred further. While an international petroleum company (e.g. Total S.A.) has different aims than a humanitarian institution (e.g. Oxfam), I overheard constant overlap in how employees reflected verbally on the impact of their activities. While large business CSR activities were a more obvious area of discursive similarity to humanitarian projects, the managers and business owners of commercial companies spoke of training their employees as building capacity, and how their business was helping to develop infrastructure. Combined with my background in the US popular music industries, I came to view the idea of economic interventions to stimulate cultural markets in Liberia simultaneously as human development, capacity building, and economic investment. I was quite unaware of the critical policy issues with making arts and culture subordinate to economics, and had no problems seeing the desire to support the music industries to be simultaneously an economic and cultural concern. As noted brilliantly by Stirrat (2008), I oscillated between development worker identity stereotypes as a missionary (I was there to help Liberian musicians transform their lives), mercenary (I was there to improve my career

94  Benjamin A. Morgan prospects and enjoy the privileged expat lifestyle), and misfit (I could not figure out my life goals at home so I went in search of meaning e­ lsewhere – somewhere where I was automatically important). While I did contribute to Liberia’s culture and economy, I see how some activities I engaged in were problematic and flawed. I hope that future endeavours to stimulate cultural industries might benefit from my observations. I hope to be critical through (auto)ethnography and remind policymakers of social issues outside their decision-making process (e.g. Mosse 2004), but not directly comment on the tense relationship between the academic criticism and policy impact (Schlesinger 2013). I see how the collaboration between development experts and citizens ‘creates learning spaces where co-production of knowledge which can contribute to broader processes of change is possible’ (Wilson 2006, p. 519). I am a practitioner-turned-academic offering reflective perspective on a very specific moment in policy making: approaching the development of a cultural industry in a low-income country.

Foreign institutional experts who believe in the transformative power of music I was hired in late 2013 by an American economist working for the World Bank to draft a chapter on the Liberian music industry sector for inclusion in the Liberian PSDS. I had just left Liberia a few months prior, after three years living in Monrovia. My mandate was to ‘focus on both the challenges and potential of the industry and provide a series of comprehensive interventions for sector development,’ as stated in the terms of reference (World Bank 2014a). This meant describing sector deficits, advocating for the importance of the music industries, then recommending interventions to stimulate their growth. Successful inclusion of the music industry sector in the PSDS would initiate the process for allocating government funding, as well as off-budget NGO planning, to projects designed to develop the Liberian music industries by creating a policy framework for proposals within the economic development realm – where CCIs were not considered a priority. The economist who hired and supervised me was another foreign worker who enjoyed Liberian music and noted the lack of institutional support for musicians. Our work was a small scoping project to evaluate the sector, advocate for support, and see what the Government of Liberia thought. While the Liberian PSDS was an economic plan concerned with commercial output of the private sector, we decided that arguments for social impact had to be inserted in order to warrant inclusion of the relatively small music industries as a priority. Both my supervisor and I were guided by personal belief in the social value and power of musical expression to positively impact society. The rhetorical ‘transformative power of the arts’ (Belfiore 2011) led our search for both social and economic impact to justify the relevance of the sector’s inclusion as an economic priority. The terms of reference for my consultancy referenced youth empowerment, inclusion,

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  95 and post-conflict peace building as potential socio-cultural contributions of the sector, in addition to nation-branding and employment (World Bank 2014a). We attached our policy concern to other issues which occupied more central positions in the political discourse, a perfect example of the practice of policy attachment (Belfiore 2006; Gray 2002). We fully believed, as we argued, that we would be helping the Republic of Liberia achieve economic growth and economic spill-over effects in addition to the beneficial social impact of more local music. A well-intentioned, possibly naïve attitude worthy of critique due to its grounding in the ideology of the transformative power of music, perhaps, but I stand behind the belief system which motivated our work as benevolent. It is when I reflect on how we described the challenges and potential of the sector, that I now see where the project was flawed. For readers who question whether this effort to support the Liberian music sector might have been based on more formal research into the sector and its potential vs. others, the unfortunate fact is that there was no information available on the CCI sectors in Liberia, neither formal nor informal. Our research was based primarily on my three years of participant observation and experience there as a concert promoter, and a tele-conference focus group discussion with key Liberian industry stakeholders that I had identified, held in January 2014. It is to the credit of the World Bank economist who hired me that our process was participatory and based on brainstorming sessions with stakeholders that I had worked with or identified as important, as well as my observations from my own personal interactions with artists and industry workers over the years. In retrospect, however, the research was based primarily on the input of artists, managers, and some patrons and aspiring record label owners. A notable absence from our focus groups and my experience was the voice and perspective of the retailers. The street vendors selling music, and the warehouse distributors who supplied them with goods were notably absent, though at the time the fact that they were dealing unauthorised copies seemed to make their inclusion less important. Though I had spent years working in the sector and knew a great deal about what musicians did for money, we were ultimately cultural outsiders doing our best to advocate for the local insiders.

Applying the creative economy discourse: the normative approach and the copyright problem It was through this consultancy for the World Bank that I was introduced to the UNESCO/UNDP Creative Economy Reports and economic terms such as agglomeration externalities and network spillover.8 I absorbed this new CCI economic discourse. While the PSDS chapter we submitted was still attached to social impact, the focus was the economic potential of the sector. Though it was not explicitly stated in the terms of reference, it soon became clear that describing the ‘challenges and potential’ of the

96  Benjamin A. Morgan sector meant conducting a gap analysis. I was encouraged to draw on my background in the US music industries to identify gaps in the sector value chain. This seemed perfectly logical to me at the time, but it is where the trouble began. I was not aware of the theoretical concerns with such a direct comparison to the US sector, and why this normative approach could be problematic. I was unwittingly part of an attempted dialogue between the Creative Economy and the Culture in Development policy agendas: two approaches that still ‘need to learn to talk to one another’ (De Beukelaer & O’Connor 2017, p. 35). I felt qualified to analyse the Liberian music industries given my years of experience there and looked forward to writing about the sector. When it came time to recommend specific interventions, however, I became anxious. This was an opportunity to lay the groundwork for policies and programmes that could directly impact the artists and stakeholders I worked with, and I wanted to avoid the problems I knew were plaguing the global recording industry when it came to copyright. Knowing the global recording industry had been radically impacted by the emergence of digital file trading via the internet (Morris 2015; Wikstrom 2013) and realising that broadband access for Liberians would be arriving at some point in the not-too-distant future, I was wary of advocating steps towards the implementation of foreign strong IP-systems that seemed to be collapsing and re-inventing themselves back home. The imposition of strong copyright laws while trying to emulate the US market intuitively seemed like the wrong short-term approach for Liberians, though I lacked the research background to articulate specific reasons why, not to mention the ‘capacity’ to generate ideas for alternative approaches. The UNDP & UNESCO Creative Economy Report (2013) was a main source for my arguments and language. It advocated obtaining data on cultural activities and a creative approach to the informal market, but when it came to specifics on creating sustainable incomes for creators, ‘the key enabling factors are the strength of infrastructure and institutional capacity to ensure that copyright laws and policies deliver the resources that communities need to foster local development’ (p. 94). While it did suggest finding creative ways to integrate the informal market, it offered few examples of how this could be done. This lack of alternative approaches to copyright was unfortunate, and it was only later with exposure to scholars who have tackled the problem of intellectual property in countries where informal markets dominate (De Beukelaer 2015; Larkin 2004; Lobato 2010; S­ miers 2002) that I am able to conceptualise a better approach. At the time, I was stuck with my own knowledge base, and the perspective that creating intellectual property and copyright infrastructure would ultimately create revenue structures. The tension I instinctively felt was a reaction to the complex issues with imposing foreign definitions of ‘what ‘African’ CCIs do and should look like’ onto Liberia (De Beukelaer 2017, p. 583). Much of this was specifically

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  97 about advocating strong copyright policies that I knew would be particularly problematic for Liberia’s existing informal media market, but more broadly there were problems I had not anticipated stemming from starting with a normative vision of what the Liberian music industry sector should resemble. Whether the US model specifically, or the more abstract vision of a Creative Economy, it was a fundamental flaw in our approach to begin on the premise of what the music industries should be. I was only able to fully unpack these criticisms after reflection and engagement with literature. This foreign-expertise approach is well critiqued in development studies literature (e.g. Escobar 2011) and acknowledged by most development aid workers I knew as problematic, yet imposing foreign models was still pervasive throughout development projects I observed in the field. Unsure of how to verbalise my anxiety and conceptualise an alternative approach to the proposed method based on strengthening copyright and comparing markets, I concentrated on performing my assigned duties: I described the gaps between the Liberian and a developed (i.e. US) music industry sector, and I advocated for interventions to help the Liberian music industries more closely resemble those of my home country. By basing my recommendations on the normative ideal of my own modernist CCI lived experience, my recommendations contributed to what Linje Manyozo calls the ‘spectacle of development’ (Manyozo 2017): the knowledge infrastructure was simply imported from a donor country and applied to the recipient culture. Copyright reform, education, and enforcement formed the first part of our recommendations, followed by improving production and service standards through training and infrastructure, access to finance, and support for international promotion and the export of Liberian music.

PSDS strategy negotiation outcomes Our draft was delivered in March 2014, and this ended my official involvement in the effort. My supervisor at the World Bank kept me updated as revisions were made. It was relayed to me there was scepticism at the need to include the sector in the strategy as a priority. By the summer of 2014, an outbreak of Ebola was becoming the focus of all planning, and expat aid organisations began pulling their staff out of the country later that year. As of June 2015, it was my understanding that the music industry sector was no longer included in the PSDS strategy. I was told the chapter had been condensed and downgraded to a policy note. Though the chapter was not included in the PSDS, stories in the Liberian press indicate that some of the strategies advocated have come into practice. It would appear that elements of the copyright strategy are in line with government objectives (Copyright Law to be Enforced, Liberian Observer 2015) and education campaigns are underway (Forget Bureaucracy, Copyright Your Work!, Bropleh 2016). No other recommendations appear to have been implemented, though this is difficult to confirm from abroad.

98  Benjamin A. Morgan Before diving deeper into the reflective criticism of our work, a brief look at the state of the sector will help to clarify why some of the recommendations now concern me.

Being a tool Most Liberian popular musicians earned income solely from performing live concerts. A few of the more popular performers described how they had been paid fees to deliver recordings to local distributors of compact discs who invested in their recording, but this practice seemed to be declining; a local example of the international trend of shrinking revenue in sales of recordings.9 As in the Global North, this drop was blamed on the ease of copying digital media. Only a minority of the artists that I worked with had produced their own recordings, and artists who had recordings were rarely selling compact discs or other physical merchandise at their performances. The other revenue streams for performers of popular music were instrumentalised variations on the performance income: endorsement appearances for companies or politicians and work for behavioural change or awareness campaigns run by humanitarian NGOs were the main examples. During the Liberian presidential election campaign of 2011, candidates hired artists to record campaign theme songs for them, and to perform at their campaign rallies. Larger companies, particularly the local telecom providers, hired musicians as brand ambassadors and were almost always involved as sponsors of larger concerts. Artists frequently asked me if I knew of any NGOs that they could record songs for. These sorts of agenda-driven opportunities paid well and were highly sought after. An anti-rape song campaign arranged by PCI-Media Impact and UNICEF featuring hipco rapper Takun J was a high-quality example of a social change song campaign (Morgan 2015), and songs recorded with NGO funds that employed local artists to deliver educational messages were common, in line with the trending ‘education entertainment’ concept (World Bank 2014b).10 It is fair to view these social change campaigns as positive examples of locals and foreigners working together to try and solve social problems. Opportunities for artists that are primarily intended to promote a social or behavioural agenda can certainly be good for the community, but there are also issues in this cross-cultural collaboration dynamic when there is a change agenda. The instrumental use of art in international development carries substantial criticism involving power dynamics, post-colonialism, and overemphasis on the utility of art (Stupples 2014). Given highly unequal positions of power in a post-colonial context, hiring artists to create works that promote a change agenda envisioned by an international NGO is not only seen as a problem to critics who are uncomfortable with international development in general. At the minimum, it should be easy to agree that hiring an artist to produce work for social messaging campaigns is certainly a constraint on the agency of the artist to produce the artwork

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  99 they want to be making. Some artists and activists feel that art has a responsibility to free the people in low-income countries ‘from the shackles of development both as an ideology and as a practice’ (Mbembe 2009). At the time, live concerts and instrumental opportunities seemed to be the totality of income opportunities for musicians. While instrumental opportunities are limiting and problematic, they were providing income when there was no formal market for Liberians to consume recordings in a legitimate manner. Songwriting royalties, synch licensing, royalties from public performance and mechanical reproduction, broadcast fees, and other revenue sources from abstract intellectual property were concepts only some artists I spoke with were aware of. Creating more intellectual property infrastructure is certainly a way forward towards better livelihoods for artists, but in our hurry to focus on what the sector should be, we overlooked much of what it already was doing well.

The efficiency of telechargeurs Finding ways to earn money was a constant issue, but most musicians I  worked with had arrangements with many clubs and were performing somewhere in town several times per week. Though artists faced low-­ quality opportunities when compared to more developed sectors in other countries, the market was providing them work. While detailed accounts of low or non-existent standards in live performance and other sectors were outlined in our PSDS value-chain gap analysis, it is far more useful to look at what did function well in Liberia, rather than what is lacking. For that, we must look at the informal distribution and sales marketplace. The average Liberian consumer did not often have the technological means to directly copy music themselves. They were buying music from telechargeurs,11 the street vendors offering to transfer unlicensed files of song recordings onto cell phones, as well as distributors of unauthorised copies of mostly foreign physical media. Local Liberian music was difficult to find in physical formats, but the telechargeurs were distributing copies. One popular Liberian artist told me that he had encountered copies of his music for sale in unauthorised physical formats, but the main trade in local music was in digital copies on phones and laptops. The consumer pays for the music in this informal scenario, but the composer and performers are not compensated. This method of consuming unlicensed music is normalised and not widely understood as infringement.12 Whether physical copies or digital files on a phone or SIM card, the informal marketplace was extremely efficient at providing consumers with the music they desire at a price point that they could afford. No research on the level of revenue in this sector exists. A few of the more popular Liberian artists I spoke with resented the fact that their music was being sold on the streets without revenue flowing to them, but the informal market was the only option for consumers to have

100  Benjamin A. Morgan access to copies of songs. The topic of using holograms on stickers to distinguish authentic copies of releases was a main topic of discussion at the 2011 Intellectual Property conference I attended. The holograms finally came into circulation in 2016 (Dopoe 2016), and this only is a stopgap measure for physical media. The tendency to view this informal trade in recordings as criminal, parasitic, and a drain on creativity is a reaction influenced by the northern countries’ conception of piracy of goods. Liberian musicians who were active during the pre-digital, pre-civil war era during which selling recordings was lucrative have also contributed to the narrative of the existing informal market as immoral, and called for government intervention to criminalise it (Menkor 2018). Class tension between street vendors and more elite Liberians in government is also an element to be considered. However, purchasing pirated media goods was as normal as buying coconuts. Every Liberian I was friendly with had a cell phone and was happy to let me hear their current favourite played on it. It cannot be overstated that this informal market was the only media market in Monrovia. I will now unpack the reflective criticism of our work: the approach to copyright policy reform, and the issues with using the US industries as the desired template for the Liberian sector.

Formalising the informal: enforcing copyright by integrating existing systems Given the comparatively larger scale of informality within the developing world, a global perspective inevitably requires some recalibration of policy settings and orientations. A different, indeed creative, policy approach is required for effective engagement with this [informal] sector. (UNDP and UNESCO 2013, 27–28) The Collective Society of Liberia have signed an 11-count position statement titled, ‘The Monrovia Declaration’, aimed at corralling and utilizing every possible resource to stop piracy and other infringements on intellectual property within the Republic of Liberia. (Daily Observer 2014) The copyright office of Liberia faces mighty challenges. They are tasked to educate the public to respect legal rights that are based on the concept of intellectual property, a relatively new concept to their culture. Their first Liberian copyright law was passed in 1997. Markets of unauthorised goods have been operating openly for decades. Vendors selling unlicensed DVDs of movies and television programmes are ubiquitous on the streets of ­Monrovia, including directly in front of the Ministry of Commerce where the Office of Intellectual Property was operating.

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  101 For copies of recorded media, informal vendors like the telechargeurs were the only retailers in Liberia. There was no record or video store selling legitimate copies. There were vendors selling media out of wheelbarrows, bags, and baskets, feeding their families like any other productive member of Liberia’s main marketplace – by selling goods on the street. The large distribution warehouses could be visited, but they were selling bulk product to the vendors and were not organised for retail browsing. Genuine copies of Liberian goods were supposed to carry holograms certifying their legitimacy, but I never once noticed this. I also never actually saw local Liberian content for sale on the street – counterfeit foreign goods completely dominated in the physical format. The street vendors carried mostly Nollywood and Hollywood films and television series. Many contained Asian language subtitles and packaging, though certainly there are distribution networks within Africa of pirated DVDs as well (Larkin 2004). The telechargeurs and street vendors are the record store clerks of ­Liberia – curating collections of songs and convincing consumers to listen to certain artists. These are the purported enemies of the Liberian musicians and the copyright office – profiting from copying music illicitly. This adversarial perspective is unnecessary and detrimental. These informal vendors can be legitimised and licensed in the interim while Liberia develops formal systems, and these informal vendors are the best candidates to become the formal workforce. While the 2013 UNESCO Creative Economy report is sensitive to the role of informal markets and advocates a collaborative approach to integrating informal systems into formal copyright structures, the problem of integrating informal markets into a legitimate copyright system is daunting, and minimal specific advice is given in the report. While criminalisation does not always bring strict enforcement, examples of strong penalties for commercial infringement are more easily found than accounts of successful formalisation. For example, a gesture by informal cassette vendors in Ghana to the Ghanaian government in the 1980s to legitimise their unlicensed activities by paying fees to the Ghanaian performing rights organisation were squashed by lobbying from the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (Collins 2006), and the Ghanaian copyright collection agency now sends infringers to jail for selling music from their laptop (De Beukelaer 2015). By recommending increased enforcement of copyright without a strategy for informal workers to work towards legitimacy, my policy recommendations in the PSDS chapter contributed to an anti-piracy strategy which pursues the vilification of the music sales force of Liberia. This could result in their unnecessary exclusion from future legitimate market structures. While it might seem the recording (and film) industries typically pursue strategies to fight infringement based on prosecution or litigation, that is not always the case. It is also possible to legitimise and extract revenue

102  Benjamin A. Morgan from  infringement, an approach I was not familiar with in 2014. Three examples where legitimate revenue was extracted from existing unlicensed activity to create formal market structures are: 1 In 2011, China’s most popular website Baidu was a major source of unauthorised downloading activity. Negotiations with the world’s largest record labels (Warner, Sony, and Universal) resulted in the unprecedented levy of fees onto an ISP/website for the activity it was hosting (Lee 2011). 2 Home/private recording levies on blank recordable media such as cassettes and blank CDs are collected and distributed to content creators in numerous countries, including the US, UK, Australia, and most of Europe (Wijminga et al. 2016). 3 The Nigerian film industry has been able to create a remarkably efficient worldwide distribution system and extract enough revenue from it to create a successful and influential cultural industry. While it can be difficult to understand how revenue flows back to creators, Lobato (2010) posits that this is possible when production and distribution costs, ­remain low enough to keep prices for legitimate goods equivalent to pirated while relying on the efficiencies of existing international informal distribution networks: goods are kept affordable and easily accessible. Updating copyright laws and creating structures for the protection of intellectual property are necessary for the accession to the WTO, so it must be noted that this issue cannot be viewed in a vacuum. The livelihoods of many Liberians outside the music sector are affected by WTO membership, so intellectual property strategies are not solely about the music industries, or even just the CCIs. Ethnographic work into the relationship between local practice and copyright in countries that are developing copyright infrastructure, such as that of Larisa Mann (2011) on Jamaican music and copyright, can help to advocate for appropriate exceptions and limitations to ensure that compliance with international copyright treaties benefits both local producers and consumers as well as foreign copyright owners concerned about enforcing their rights. As both Mann (2012) and Drahos & Braithwaite (2003) note, there are structural similarities between colonialism, feudalism, and the enforcement of the IP rights of a large foreign country in a fragile economy in the Global South. These were not concerns we considered when drafting our PSDS chapter. We assumed international media companies and other investors hoping to finance Liberia’s music industries will want to see a strong copyright system and enforcement of rights before putting money into Liberian music ventures. The first priority interventions we advocated in the PSDS strategy focused on copyright education campaigns, updating copyright laws, and strengthening protection of intellectual property rights, including ­enforcement and confiscation of informal goods. These objectives seem to

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  103 be progressing in Liberia with the passage of new copyright laws in 2016 (Republic of Liberia 2016) and the establishment of a Collective Management Organisation to provide administrative structures for royalty collection. Efforts to curtail infringement and improve legitimate systems do not need to include treating informal vendors like criminals. As of early 2018 there are no reported campaigns to confiscate goods or arrest vendors, and Liberia has a newly elected government. Aside from a power struggle over who will run the copyright office (Dopoe 2018), there have not been any notable news reports since the passage of the new copyright law.

Telling them what they want An important question is: are vendors interested in legitimising their activity?13 Imposing this strategy to formalise their activity is irrelevant if that is not what they want. The young entrepreneurs are not likely to be registered as businesses that pay taxes and unlikely to be in a hurry to document their revenue. Legitimising them should allow them to sell more openly and unlock opportunities for them to take loans, expand their business, and eventually open retail stores, but what really matters is what they see as their path: the Liberian way forward. As an outsider, it is not my position to tell Liberians what their music industry should look like, and this returns us to the second major criticism of the work: using the US industries as a normative ideal and the linear approach of having a desired model. Looking at the Nigerian music industries as a better comparative model might be a good start, but ultimately Liberians must decide what sort of goals they will set and what kind of industries they wish to see. The Liberian music industry stakeholders that I collaborated with told me frequently that they wanted international assistance and intervention. This made it easy for me to feel comfortable with my approach and to feel that I was helping, but I ought to have been focussed on what innovations were going on in the country in the informal market and seeking to build from there. Mobile broadband is where Africa’s telecommunications sector is heading (Kende 2017). Like any re-organisation of a business sector, some will gain while others will lose. Music street vendors who are trained to work in the infrastructure of rights management and digital music services could benefit from this shift, whereas others might simply lose their livelihood as Liberian consumers likely migrate from physical media and local copies towards access to streaming and cloud services. It is unclear how long this shift will take – 20.6% of Liberian cell phone users were using internet services in 2016 (Liberia Telecom Authority 2016). While it might be easy for Liberian musicians to look abroad and see services they would appreciate (e.g. streaming services, download stores), a realistic approach for modest and achievable growth must reflect on what (informal) practices are working in Liberia, rather than the frustrations of what does not exist or does not function correctly.

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Conclusion The comparative approach to the value-chain gap analysis that I conducted was problematic by starting from foreign normative notions of what the Liberian music industry sector should look like, rather than looking at what was already working well in the informal sector. My initial efforts in the private sector as a local stakeholder were influenced by the discourse of capacity building and human development, and this confidence in my own foreign expertise led to a failure to identify local visionaries who had innovative ideas on how to improve the sector from within. By focussing on artists and creators, we failed to include vendors, telechargeurs, and local entrepreneurs in our research for the PSDS strategy, a major omission. Meanwhile, the NGO community failed to contribute to developing sustainable livelihoods for musicians. Constrained by a lack of cultural industry goals in policy frameworks while justifying instrumental uses of the arts for their humanitarian agendas as a form of development, the constraints of the MDGs led to a reluctance to support artists without attaching their efforts to social change agendas. While all these approaches are flawed and limited, they all do benefit the sector in some way. Future efforts to support CCIs in Liberia could benefit from strategic integration of existing local (informal) systems, as well as encouraging NGOs interested in working with artists to look more into projects which allow musicians to create non-instrumentalised, autonomous works. Liberia has passed new copyright laws and joined the WTO. Looking ahead to how it handles the existing informal market represents an opportunity to avoid repeating the results exemplified by Ghana in the 1980s when informal cassette vendors seeking a path toward legitimisation were still criminalised. The Government of Liberia can still remain WIPO compliant, increase revenue, and reduce infringement if it can take a proactive stance to negotiating terms to license and monetise informal structures, as well as make appropriate exceptions to copyright that integrate existing local practice. The vendors and telechargeurs have already created highly efficient distribution and sales systems that Liberian consumers are using. To legitimise, monetise, and improve the existing market can be the goal alongside improving and strengthening copyright systems in anticipation of an eventual shift to digital streaming services. A realistic, localised, and non-linear approach to developing the music industry sector is a better way to approach developing cultural industries in the short term than a normative comparative method focussed on copyright infrastructure.

Notes 1 Due to a tendency to conflate the recording industry with the broader music industry sector, I prefer to use the plural music industries as much as possible. When the term music industry sector is used, it will refer to all economic opportunities for artists broadly, in particular live performance, the dominant revenue stream in Liberia. 2 I will be using a more limited definition of culture, one that is often specified by using arts and culture and implies an artist, a creative process, and an output

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  105 in the form of a product or experience that normally carries symbolic meaning and is often intellectual property 3 This optimistic view of CCIs as engines of economic development enjoyed widespread institutional support, documented in reports from UNDP & UNESCO (2013), UNCTAD (2010), and the EU Commission (2010) among others. The Creative Economy strategy of the UK is an example of national cultural policy based on this approach. 4 The inclusion of a lonely $35,000 USD grant to the Miss Liberia Beauty Pageant in the cultural sector is an interesting example of what the Government of Liberia chose to fund as a priority cultural activity. The 2012–2013 ­National Budget  also identifies $79,500 USD “contingent” expenditure for National Collective Societies, clarified in Liberia’s update to WIPO as ‘Liberian Musicians’ Union, the Liberian Movie Union, Liberian Cultural Union, the Liberian Artists Union and the Liberian Association of Writers’ (Addy 2015, p. 3). This nascent support of five industry trade societies is likely related to the need to create a collective management organisation in accordance with accession to WIPO, as laid out in their 2009 accession plan (Mengistie et al. 2009). I observed the connection to the WIPO accession plan at the 2011 Intellectual Property conference I attended where these societies were informed about current and potential policies in accordance with WIPO accession. 5 There are countless theoretical frameworks for how to value and define arts and culture. Of particular note in international development is the perspective of Yuìdice (2003) who explores the emerging view of culture as a resource that can be invested in and developed to further other goals. De Beukelaer (2015) notes the fluid historical definitions of the words culture and development and debates where to draw the line between culture as merchandise and something sacred. 6 A rare example of a non-instrumental cultural industries capacity building project was the 2013 Film Festival: Image of (Liberia) funded by the Prince Claus Fund, see http://princeclausfund.org/en/annual-report/2013/activities/42/ the-magic-lantern-cinematheque-de-tanger-tangier-morocco. 7 See Eade (2007) for the problematic evolution of capacity building from its origins in the works of Paulo Freire and Amartya Sen, its popularisation by UNDP, to the use by institutions such as the World Bank in service of a ‘neo-liberal agenda of rolling back the state, privatising public services (the ‘marketisation’ of social welfare), good governance, and democratisation’ (p. 632). 8 ‘Agglomeration Externalities: Growth of bars/restaurants, vendors, around successful concert venues. Network Spillover: Firms gain benefits from other firms that are located nearby, such as in the clustering of music venues or record stores in particular areas’ (Morgan 2014) 9 Gospel artists seemed to be an exception. Gospel CDs by Liberian artists were available. I confess to be less knowledgeable of the nuances of certain genres such as gospel and rural traditional music. Urban popular music was the area I was working in. 10 For one example of an NGO song, see Too Young to be Pregnant, commissioned by NGO Jump Liberia https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qSWJDi1hW7o 11 For more information on telechargeurs, see Polgreen (2015). 12 At this time, the Liberian copyright law of 1997 covered infringement of copyright on physical goods, but no laws regarding digital piracy existed. New IP laws were passed in 2016. 13 We did not think to approach telechargeurs when creating PSDS focus groups, a huge oversight. We did reach out to the operators of distribution centres for physical media. They were nervous and difficult to engage. The path to legitimacy is often resisted (in many business sectors), because legitimacy means paying taxes means and sharing revenue. Either prices must be raised, or the vendors must take less money.

106  Benjamin A. Morgan

References Addy, A. M. 2015. Country Report on the Intellectual Property System, Republic of Liberia. In: 55th Series of Assemblies of WIPO Member States. Geneva, Switzerland: WIPO. www.wipo.int/edocs/mdocs/govbody/en/a_55/a_55_lr.pdf (accessed on 02/03/2018). Belfiore, E. 2006. The Social Impacts of the Arts–Myth or Reality? In: Mirza, M. (ed.) Culture Vultures: Is UK Arts Policy Damaging the Arts? London: Policy Exchange Limited. Belfiore, E. 2011. The ‘Transformative Power’ of the Arts. In: J. Sefton-Green, P. Thomson, K. Jones & L. Bresler (eds) The Routledge International Handbook of Creative Learning. New York: Routledge. Bropleh, T. 2016. Forget Bureaucracy, Copyright Your Work! Daily Observer, 5 May, 2016. Chang, H. 2008. Autoethnography. Autoethnography as Method. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Collins, J. 2006. Copyright, Folklore and Music Piracy in Ghana. Critical Arts, 20, pp. 158–170. De Beukelaer, C. 2015. Developing Cultural Industries: Learning from the Palimpsest of Practice. Amsterdam: European Cultural Foundation. De Beukelaer, C. 2017. Toward an ‘African’ Take on the Cultural and Creative Industries? Media, Culture & Society, 39, pp. 582–591. De Beukelaer, C. & O’Connor, M. J. 2017. The Creative Economy and the Development Agenda: The Use and Abuse of ‘Fast Policy’. In: P. Stupples & K. Teaiwa (eds.) Contemporary Perspectives in Art and International Development. New York: Routledge. Dopoe, R. 2016. Liberia: Only Awareness Can Make the Copyright Law Impactful. Daily Observer, Liberia. 4 August 2016. http://allafrica.com/stories/ 201608040916.html (accessed on 02/03/2018). Dopoe, R. 2018. Fight over Intellectual Property Office Leadership. Daily Observer, Liberia. 26 January 2018. www.liberianobserver.com/lib-life/fight-over-­ intellectual-property-office-leadership/ (accessed on 02/03/2018). Drahos, P. & Braithwaite, J. 2003. Information Feudalism: Who Owns the Knowledge Economy? New York: New Press. Eade, D. 2007. Capacity Building: Who Builds Whose Capacity? Development in Practice, 17, pp. 630–639. Ellis, C., Adams, T. E., & Bochner, A. P. (2011). Autoethnography: An Overview. Historical Social Research / Historische Sozialforschung, 36(4 (138)), 273–290. Escobar, A. 2011. Encountering Development: The Making and Unmaking of the Third World. Princeton: Princeton University Press. European Union Commission. 2010. Green Paper: Unlocking the Potential of Cultural and Creative Industries. Brussels, COM (2010). European Union Commission. Gray, C. 2000. Local Government and the Arts. The Politics of the Arts in Britain. London: Palgrave Macmillan UK. IMF. 2008. Liberia: Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper. International Monetary Fund. www.imf.org/en/Publications/CR/Issues/2016/12/31/Liberia-Poverty-­ReductionStrategy-Paper-22145 (accessed on 02/03/2018). Kende, M. 2017. Promoting the African Internet Economy. Internet Society. www. internetsociety.org/resources/doc/2017/africa-internet-economy/ (accessed on 01/03/2018).

Cultural industry infrastructure in Liberia  107 Larkin, B. 2004. Degraded Images, Distorted Sounds: Nigerian Video and the Infrastructure of Piracy. Public Culture, 16, pp. 289–314. Lee, M. 2011. Baidu in Landmark Deal with Record Labels. Reuters. www.­ reuters.com/article/us-baidu-music/baidu-in-landmark-deal-with-record-labels-­ idUSTRE76I0WN20110719 (accessed 01/03/2018). Liberia Telecom Authority. 2016. Public Consultation Document on the Definition of Relevant Telecommunications Markets. Monrovia, Liberia: Liberia Telecommunications Authority. www.emansion.gov.lr/doc/CONSULTATION-­ DOCUMENT.pdf (accessed on 19/11/2017). Lobato, R. 2010. Creative Industries and Informal Economies: Lessons from ­Nollywood. International Journal of Cultural Studies, 13, pp. 337–354. Mann, L. 2011. Decolonizing Networked Technology-Learning from the Street Dance. In: S. Pager, and A. Candeub (eds.) Transnational Culture in the Internet Age. Cheltenham: Elgar. Mann, L. K. 2012. Decolonizing Copyright Law: Learning from the Jamaican Street Dance. PhD in Jurisprudence and Social Policy, University of California, Berkeley. Manyozo, L. 2017. Communicating Development with Communities, Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY, Routledge. Mbembe, A. 2009. African Contemporary Art: Negotiating the Terms of Recognition. Interview with V. Pailissen. http://jhbwtc.blogspot.com.au/2009/09/­ african-contemporary-art-negotiating.html (accessed on 19/11/2017). Mengistie, G., Ababa, A. & Ouma, M. 2009. Intellectual Property Development Plan for the Republic of Liberia. Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. Menkor, I. F. 2018. Liberia: Nyan Dokpa Wants Young Musicians to Fight Piracy. Daily Observer, Liberia. 2 March 2018. http://allafrica.com/stories/ 201803020043.html (accessed on 02/03/2018) Morgan, B. A. 2014. Revised Draft: Development of the Liberian Music Industry. The World Bank (unpublished consultant draft report). Morgan, B. A. 2015. Popular Music as Vehicle for Cultural Change Intervention: Takun J’s Cultural Diplomacy in Post-conflict Liberia. Studia Europaea, 60(3), pp. 233–244. Morris, J. W. 2015. Selling Digital Music, Formatting Culture. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Mosse, D. 2004. Cultivating Development: An Ethnography of Aid Policy and Practice. London; Ann Arbor, MI: Pluto Press. Polgreen, L. 2015. A Music-Sharing Network for the Unconnected. New York Times Magazine. www.nytimes.com/2015/06/07/magazine/a-music-­sharingnetwork-for-the-unconnected.html (accessed on 01/03/2018). Republic of Liberia. 2012. National Budget for Fiscal Year 2012–13. Monrovia: Republic of Liberia. www.cabri-sbo.org/uploads/files/Documents/liberia_2012_ approval_external_enacted_budget_ministry_of_finance_ecowas_english_1. pdf (accessed on 01/03/2018). Republic of Liberia. 2016. An Act to Repeal an Act Adopting a New Copyright Law of the Republic of Liberia approved July 23, 1997; and the Industrial Property Act of Liberia approved March 20, 2003, constituting Title 24 of the Liberian Code of Laws Revised, and to enact in their stead a New Title 24 to be known as the “Liberia Intellectual Property Act, 2016”. In: LEGISLATURE, L. 24. www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/details.jsp?id=16994 (accessed on 02/03/2018).

108  Benjamin A. Morgan Schlesinger, P. 2013. Expertise, the Academy and the Governance of Cultural Policy. Media, Culture & Society, 35, pp. 27–35. Smiers, J. 2002. The Abolition of Copyrights: Better for Artists, Third World Countries and the Public Domain. In: R. Towse (ed.) Copyright in the Cultural Industries. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar Publishing. Stirrat, R. L. 2008. Mercenaries, Missionaries and Misfits: Representations of ­Development Personnel. Critique of Anthropology, 28, pp. 406–425. Stupples, P. 2014. Creative Contributions: The Role of the Arts and the Cultural Sector in Development. Progress in Development Studies, 14, pp. 115–130. Uncredited. 2014. Collective Society Endorses ‘Monrovia Declaration’ against Piracy. Liberia. Daily Observer, 21 February. www.liberianobserver.com/lib-life/ collective-society-endorses-monrovia-declaration-against-piracy/ (accessed on 01/03/2018). Uncredited. 2015. Copyright Law to Be Enforced. Daily Observer, Liberia. 6 August 2015. www.liberianobserver.com/lib-life/copyright-law-to-be-enforced/ (accessed on 19/11/2017). Uncredited. 2016. Creative Sector Undermined. Daily Observer, Liberia. 4 February 2016. www.liberianobserver.com/lib-life/creative-sector-undermined/ (­accessed on 02/03/2018). UNCTAD. 2010. Creative Economy: A Feasible Development Option. United Nations Conference on Trade and Development. http://unctad.org/en/Docs/ ditctab20103_en.pdf (accessed on 02/03/2018). UNDP & UNESCO. 2013. Creative Economy Report 2013 Special Edition: Widening Local Development Pathways. New York and Paris: United Nations Development Program/United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. www.unesco.org/culture/pdf/creative-economy-report-2013.pdf (­accessed on 02/03/2018). Wijminga, H., Klomp, W., van der Jagt, M. & Poort, J. 2016. International Survey on Private Copying: Law & Practice WIPO: Stichting de Thuiskopie. www.wipo. int/publications/en/details.jsp?id=4183 (accessed on 02/03/2018). Wikström, P. 2013. The Music Industry: Music in the Cloud, 2nd Edition. ­Cambridge, UK: Polity. Wilson, G. 2006. Beyond the Technocrat? The Professional Expert in Development Practice. Development and Change, 37(3), pp. 501–523. World Bank. 2014a. RE: Terms of Reference: Liberia Private Sector Development Strategy (PSDS) Music Industry Value Chain. Type to Morgan, B. Unpublished document. World Bank. 2014b. World Development Report 2015: Mind, Society, and ­Behavior. https://elibrary.worldbank.org/doi/abs/10.1596/978-1-4648-0342-0 (­accessed on 02/03/2018). Yuìdice, G. 2003. The Expediency of Culture: Uses of Culture in the Global Era. Durham: Duke University Press.

7 Behind the facade of the diplomacy of international culture aid Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly

Introduction For the World Summit on Sustainable Development held in Johannesburg in South Africa, in 2002, it was reported that sustainable development remains elusive in many parts of Africa (United Nations 2002). Africa is generally portrayed in media coverage as the continent where poverty, social and ethnic conflicts, diseases, environmental disasters, and poor access to basic resources such as clean water and food, high unemployment rate, corruption and mal governance, rapid and unplanned urban growth are endemic (Hassan and Priscoli 1997; Martínez-Cortina et al. 2010; Lane 2011). One most immediate response to such misfortunate is international aid to either alleviate or cure the ailment, pain, and hunger of affected African communities. In the face of these multiple problems, many countries of the Global South are unable to support the cultural sector that appears like a luxury investment. As a result, a number of cultural projects are more and more reliant on international culture aid, posing serious challenges to their sustainability as they become towed to global fads and trends (Murimbika and Moyo 2010). However, investment in culture is first and before all a matter of national sovereignty and each nation is the prime caretaker of its own heritage that is mobilized in distinctive ways to define one’s own culture, history, and identity. For many African and people of African descent, Goree Island (Senegal) symbolizes a difficult historical experience, that of the Atlantic slave trade, which is a major landmark in world history marked as it was by the capture, enslavement, and forced exile of millions of Africans to the New World. Processes unleashed by Atlantic slavery have had enduring legacies in different parts of the modern world. This included the enslavement of Africans and the formation of an African diaspora in the Americas, the development of racist ideologies and extreme physical and psychological violence against people of African descent, but also their political and economic marginalization. In the African continent, this was followed by the imposition of colonial rule, the confiscation of civil liberties, forced labour,

110  Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly and the extraction of wealth that all together disrupted completely or partially African social life and political economies (Thiaw and Richard 2013). European and African agency was engaged in the unfolding of these processes that constitute the modern foundation of African poverty and dependence. Equally these processes contributed to the accumulation of capitalist wealth in Europe (Rodney 1982) and, hence the moral obligation of international aid as a form of reparative action. Through the case study of the UNESCO World Heritage site of Gorée Island (Senegal), this chapter examines the corpus of the discursive surge caused by an announcement of the European Union’s Delegation in Senegal and, the City of Gorée, of the inauguration of a Place de l’Europe on May 9, 2018. The organizers of this event wanted it to coincide with the 40th anniversary of the listing of Gorée Island on the UNESCO World heritage as well as the 70th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and, the Day of Europe. This symbolic amalgam rarely imagined for the inauguration of a Square was supposed to give to the ceremony an exceptional character. But what will be exceptional in the aftermath of this inauguration is the discursive surge in the social media and online press. The denomination Place de l’Europe was abundantly decried and the centrality of Goree in the commemoration of transatlantic slavery and African Diaspora imaginations of the African homeland reiterated. Goree was symbolically too important and too popular to allow such practice to unfold unnoticed. In revisiting this controversy, we explore the ambiguities and dilemma of international culture aid to better understand the memory politics between Europe and its former African colonies. The critical question is how can Europe re-shine its role and image about Atlantic slavery and colonization that were the shabbiest episode in human history? Does international culture aid on such sites offer alternative reparative possibilities that can reshape the polarized memory politics of this difficult historical experience? Memory is always a source of conflict but is memory dispossession in the form of site renaming or, erasure in the form of archival destruction, admissible as fair processes in that conflict? Can we simply discard facts and data and privilege fiction and emotion in that process (Thiaw and Wait 2018)? Is it not a better therapy to confront the hard facts of history and work through its pain and anguish to reconcile us with our past (Blake 1999)? In the context of international aid and reparative history, shall we place more focus on the role than on the goals? In the first section we briefly analyze the languages and practices of international aid. In the second section we discuss processes through which Goree Island rapidly grew as an important place of memory thanks to the UNESCO’s label of World heritage property that opened the way to international culture aid both at the bilateral as well as at the non-governmental levels. In the third section, we diagnose the genesis of the Place de l’Europe as it articulates to international culture aid and examine the media

Behind the facade of the diplomacy  111 controversy following the inauguration of the Square. We also expose the processes behind the façade including silences, intimidation and suspicious erasure of archaeological material archives followed by re-inscription of a European memory in the form of site renaming and landscape transformation that were the ‘blind spots’ in the media debate. The corpus consists essentially of statements drawn from articles and comments in social media and the online press as well as, letters to national and international institutions well before the controversy entered the public sphere in Senegal.

The language and practices of international culture aid For many, the economic hardship and developmental challenges that many countries from the Global South face today is an emanation, at least partially, of colonial and neocolonial domination that divorced them of their cultural heritage. Colonial governance thrived with the introduction of novel behaviour, new tastes, and worldviews that were sometimes imposed by the force of colonial laws and regulations. Quite often, colonial governance was ethnographically informed and under the veil of science or religion, conducted censuses, survey, and mapping to legitimate land appropriations, populations’ displacements, and eventually the looting of cultural goods, etc. (Schmidt and McIntosh 1996; Pwiti and Ndoro 1999; Schmidt 2009). These colonial entanglements that inextricably mediated the experiences of Africa and European colonial powers are key to understanding processes of marginalization of the continent in world affairs, the roots of underdevelopment (Wallerstein 1974; Rodney 1982), and the negative images awash in the media coverage today. The legacies of Atlantic slavery and colonial domination continue to unfold in the present in complex ways in the form of neocolonial dependency, political and social instability, and endemic poverty. This explains today the diplomacy of international aid, destined as it is, in theory, to bring relief and comfort to affected communities. However, the products of aid include artifacts and ideas that are both associated with behavioural practices, consumption patterns, and lifestyles with major consequences on receiving communities (Thomas 1991; Stahl 2002). Their imbued tastes can be profoundly transformative and particularly fatal to the cultural identity and maintenance of receiving communities. These tensions are reflected in historical processes of expropriation and appropriation but also in modern claims for reparation, repatriation (of human remains, artifacts, monuments), image rights, ethnic rights, and collective or community ownership that populate today conversations between former colonizers and formerly colonized. Such conversations reaffirm heritage as a resource but one with exclusive belonging and authorship albeit desirable to all. Thus, cultural heritage is an economic, political, and emotional capital in which, nation states, racial-, ethnic-, religious-, gender-, or class-based groups invest and compete for its control and appropriation.

112  Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly At the bilateral level, this explains the dilemma of the diplomacy of international culture aid that negotiates, regulates, and balances tensions between desire, fantasy, fear, or contempt of other cultures while promoting one’s own. Similarly, ideas of universal heritage promoted by UNESCO since the 1970s whose cosmopolitan sensibility is prone to deafness about difference, race, and inequality call for caution on the ways in which international culture aid is decided, provided, and administered. While the state party is the primary caretaker of World heritage properties in its territory, UNESCO maintains a right of inspection. Because resources for heritage preservation are scarce in many countries of the Global south, UNESCO also enables the mobilization of resources from rich donors, which gives preeminence to its voice in the management of those World heritage sites, a process that weakens the state party as well as local communities in decision-making about what and how to preserve it. Finally, that decision rests largely in the hands of the wealthy donors who ought to decide which cultural resources to support, when, where, and how (­Murimbika and Moyo 2010). Since independence in the 1960s, the discourse on international aid in general is one important topic in African’s political discourse and cultural production. It is pregnant in artistic and literary productions including, hip-hop and popular songs, cinematographic works, which have produced an important body of literature on the politics of ‘extending the hand that refers to international aid (Sembene 1992). Writers, poets, rappers, singers, and filmmakers denounce international aid that is blamed for fattening the ruling elite that controls it to feed its political clientage to maintain itself into power. They also criticize international aid for cutting off collective dignity in the name of assistance to poor countries. Many of these critical discourses point to the inanity of international aid whose steady growth paradoxically, parallels the persistence of impoverishment. International culture aid has also many elements in common with international aid in general. This includes the actors (rich versus poor countries; foreign donors, local politicians and helpless communities), the protocols, the folklores, and everlasting impacts such as processes of dependency and acculturation, etc. One critical discourse on international aid that particularly struck popular imagination is ‘Guelwaar’ by Senegalese filmmaker and novelist Ousmane Sembene (1992). In a remarkable mise en scene, this film portrays the ways in which international aid is handed over to receiving communities. This is staged in a scenario that reproduces the protocols and folklores of international aid’s giving procedures as observed anthropologically in postcolonial Senegal and Africa in general where it is not simply destined to relief needy populations. With local politicians acting as brokers in the process, international aid largely contributes to tame receiving communities and to control their votes, their identities, and their futures in the global world.

Behind the facade of the diplomacy  113 While ‘Guelwaar’ deals with international aid in general, it also addresses important cultural facets that go with it. This includes cultural productions that go along with it and including, political meeting like gatherings on a platform to accommodate the officials, flags and banners with the effigy of the donor that floats. Aid receiving communities are gathered to welcome, not only their donors but also their political leaders in an entertaining setting that displays their cultural identities via songs, dances, and multiple other cultural manifestations to express their happiness and thankfulness. Like most other cultural productions on international aid, ‘Guelwaar’ is a fierce denunciation of the diplomacy of aid in general that kills African pride and dignity transforming local communities into eternal beggars unable to sustain without international aid. Local communities become dependent to a system where they have very little initiative and spend their lives ‘extending’ their hand to receive aid, a situation where they are presented as masters in the art of saying, ‘thank you’ to their givers. In such processes, the real political motivations of the donors are not always stated. Also significant is that international aid has the potential to reshape the tastes of the receiving communities, redesign their landscape and restructure their beliefs and worldview. The controversy posed by the naming of a site Place de l’Europe in the UNESCO World heritage property of Goree Island is an ideal pretext to throw light on those processes.

Gorée: a place of memory According to documentary sources, Portuguese sailors were the first Europeans to sight Goree Island in 1444 but never settled there. However, it was the Dutch who established the first fortified settlement there in the early second quarter of the 17th century and named it Goeree. French and subsequently British colonists arrived later in the last quarter of the 17th century onward to impose their authority over the Island (Delcourt 1952; Machat 1906; Cultru 1910). Gorée Island (Senegal) and the castle of São Jorge da Mina in Ghana (­Decorse 2001), are some of the earliest European settlements off the coast of Western Africa. Such heritage sites owe much of their historical importance to the growing fever for heritage in the 20th century but first and before all to the UNESCO Convention (1972) following their listing as World heritage properties. Soon thereafter, they become progressively shrines for the pilgrimage of uprooted people of African descent (Ebron 1999). This coincided with a difficult economic context marked by despair, structural adjustment plans, and sociopolitical strife following the euphoria of the first decade of African independences in the 1960s (Arasi and Thiaw 2013). International culture aid from the NGOs and bilateral cooperation was then critical for the promotion of such sites that become major tourist attraction particularly for the African Diaspora.

114  Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly After 1978, Goree Island grew rapidly as a controversial commemorative site of transatlantic slavery where heritage was imaginatively constructed and consumed by various audiences in multiple and complex ways (Thiaw 2008). The renaming of the Square Place de l’Europe is the product of such processes where memory is subject to contest and complex forms of re-appropriation and where history is intensely negotiated in the present (Trouillot 1995). In addition to African and people of African descent, former European colonizing nations including, Portugal, Holland, France, and Great Britain have also memories links to Goree. They contributed to shaping the cultural landscape and even exchanged genes, participating in processes of hybridization that characterized the Atlantic world. Goree Island is a site where various European colonial powers deployed differing colonial systems of governance, which coalesced with African ones (Pels 1997; Stohler 2002). It is also an ideal site where processes of hybridization were experimented and lived out (Brooks 1976; Mark 1996; Hinchman 2000; Thiaw 2008). It is a site where the universalism promoted by UNESCO via its concept of world heritage clashes with other cultural experiences on the Island that displays difference, inequality, and cultural exclusivity. With such a heritage, Goree Island appears like a forum and a place constantly exposed to contests and controversies where different identities battle to maintain themselves and negotiate their existence in the present (Curtin 1969; Roux 1996; Samb 1997; Thiaw 2008, 2011a, 2011b; Tillet 2009). The notion of community is very blurred which complicates decision-­making about heritage management that necessarily requires wide consultations and consensus. The poor presence or quasi absence of the state party in financing the Island heritage is generally filled by international culture aid donors including, in general, NGOs, former Europeans nations that colonized the Island, and African Diaspora groups. That funding become determinant of what stands as heritage and what is promoted as so. Additionally, resources generated by tourism are sources of conflicts between the city of Dakar and the city of Goree, which results in the over-­ taxation of visitors (Thiaw 2014). Processes of hybridization as a result of long-term involvement in the Atlantic world and rapid development in global tourism by the 1980s makes of Gorée Island more than a ‘fixed’ heritage site with geographical coordinates situated in Senegal. It is also an ‘unfixed’ place of cultural significance through the historicities of the individuals and the collective memories of various groups of belonging who claim it or contest it, be it via images, texts, narratives, and reveries (Sather-Wagstaff 2011: 48). Viewing memory and historicity as despatialized cultural sites opens new possibilities for understanding the differences of opinions about the same site as well as the processes of meaning making, which characterizes Gorée Island today (Curtin 1969; Roux 1996; Samb 1997; Thiaw 2008, 2011b; Tillet 2009).

Behind the facade of the diplomacy  115

From Euro aid to Place de Europe Aid money and site renaming A naming act is not strictly linguistic. To give a name to a place is also beyond the referential act of naming, a decision of great cultural significance that is embedded in identity and memory politics with immense consequences in the present. It can be a highly symbolic act either in defiance or in commemoration of a given past. As such, place naming might easily cause profound sociopolitical tensions and symbolic confrontation. This was particularly true when it came to naming a site, ‘Place de l’Europe’ in an island like Gorée whose symbolic and historical significance is particularly charged. This designation quickly generated tensions, passions, and contradictions that eventually degenerated into harsh oppositions. The event is recent, and the media coverage of it was quite abundant. We focus here on the social media and the online press and ignore what was said on television, radio, and in other spaces of public debate. The online press including forums and social media offered a wealth of perspectives to analyze the controversy raised by the renaming of a site in Goree Island, Place de l’Europe. These new spaces of speech were real discursive arenas where the different enunciative and argumentative positions of this controversy that opposed ordinary citizens, academics, editorial writers, and politicians, including the Mayor of Gorée were deployed. Following the baptismal act of the ‘Place de l’Europe’ in Goree Island on May 9, 2018, the different protagonists clashed over international aid, the politics of memory and identity, and the enduring legacies of transatlantic slavery and colonization in the present. From the review and analysis of the various statements, it appears that the naming of a ‘Place de l’Europe’ in Gorée Island was understood and experienced by the large majority of those who expressed themselves in those medias as an insidious and unfortunate enterprise of re-symbolization of space. The renaming and renovation of ‘Place de l’Europe’ although spearheaded by the city of Gorée and approved by the Direction du Patrimoine culturel et historique was an initiative to redesign the site to meet European standards, tastes for modern landscape, and cleanliness thanks to European Union Euros. Hence, despite all the modern rhetoric on European guilt articulated in racialized terms that developed in Goree’s famous Maison des Esclaves and that is served to both local and international visitors, by the power of money, Europe remained in practice one of the main co-manager of memory on Goree Island. While European historical role has long been decried in the handling of the African human cargo across the Atlantic Ocean for later consumption in the America, the fact of the matter is that many European nations, France in particular, continued to fund and shape Gorean’s landscape well into the 20th century via international aid. In doing so, it largely used naming to memorialize French colonizers who are portrayed even today

116  Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly as heroes at the expense of either anonymous export slave or indigenous slaves used locally for domestic tasks (Thiaw 2011a). This is epitomized by street names like Saint Germain, building names such as Chevalier de Bouffler, Fort d’Estrée, William Ponty, etc. Mixed-blood afro-European women locally known as signares and who made their fortunes marrying European expatriates also received commemorative attention after 1960. However, besides the Maison des esclaves, the rue des Dungeon, and the Bambara slave quarter, export slaves who were forcefully deported and put to labour for the growing capitalist economy in the Americas and, indigenous slaves who were locally ripped of their labour, honour, and dignity remained largely invisible in the Gorean landscape today (Thiaw 2008, 2011a). Consequently, although the narrative of the Maison des Esclaves is maintained, European Union and France in particular subtly continue to shape processes of memorialization by investing via international aid in the cultural landscape of the Island. This is intended to evacuate European guilt and negative perceptions thanks to the magic of aid, site naming, and landscaping that appear as powerful processes of re-memorialization that counter the narrative of the Maison des Esclaves. It can then be argued that the aid, the redesign of the site, and its inauguration aim to blow up the hermeticism of local and diasporic narratives on slavery and the guilt of Europe they inhere. The negative perception of European responsibility in transatlantic slavery that is crystallized and polarized in a series of abundant gestures of remembrance and commemoration then ultimately melts under the effect of euros aid. The aid was therefore perceived by many as a work of dispossession of local and diasporic narratives that hitherto sanctified Goree as a symbolic and emblematic referent of the transatlantic slave trade and for which Europe and the Europeans were the primary beneficiaries. The ambivalence introduced by the ‘Place de l’Europe’ seeks to weaken such narratives and complicates possibilities of place identification, affinity, and victimhood in a transnational site like Goree Island. Indeed, this ambivalence blurs the sameness that situates exclusively the genealogy of the victims and their descendants on the African side. By promoting a regime of re-memorialization that gives voice to Europe and to the Europeans, it imposes an entanglement of the figures of the victim and the executioner, which were hitherto fixed in the narrative of the Maison des Esclaves. In this controversy with deep ideological and political connotations, the rhetoric of the people hostile to the Place de l’Europe spoke of ‘indignity’, ‘larbinism’, ‘revisionism’, ‘absence of self-esteem’, ‘memory blindness’, ‘Stockholm syndrome’, ‘deficit of patriotism’, ‘re-colonization’, ‘alienation’, ‘treason’, ‘corruption’, ‘desecration’. The study of the corpus reveals that at the argumentative level, a way to assuage the difference of opinions was to focus on an Africa/Israel comparison to show that the Jewish people would never have agreed to add the toponymic referent ‘Germany’ to any symbolic entity referring to the pogrom.

Behind the facade of the diplomacy  117 They also challenged the legitimacy of the act of naming the site Place de l’Europe because the Mayor of Gorée and his City Council made that decision unilaterally for a symbolically supra-local place (a World heritage site) that it is perceived as connecting a deterritorialized community comprising all of Africa and its diaspora. In fact, the decision-making protocol leading to the designation of the place would therefore have deserved, according to them, to be inclusive, if not consultative, at least participatory. Finally, they tried to make their speech performative by strongly updating the imperative (‘we must’, ‘we must’, ‘we must’, etc.) around incentives for mobilization and revolt. A revolt that was intended sometimes ‘regulatory’ (call for legal proceedings against the Mayor, request for his resignation, etc.) sometimes ‘libertarian’ (destruction of the place, pissing and defecating on the spot, etc.) as was the case with the ‘Rhodes must fall’ protest in South Africa. Moreover, Guy Marius Sagna, leader of the collective ‘France Dégage!’ (France Clear!), ripped off the banner that was hanging on the Place during inauguration day. This will result in his arrest by the police. The response of the Mayor and his supporters sought to discredit these attacks from two counter-arguments that do not downplay much of these criticisms but instead their temporalities. The first counter-argument was that, Place de l’Europe was developed since 2003 and was even inaugurated then by the President of the European Union Commission at that time, Romano Prodi. This diachronic counterargument bears in its hollow the question of ‘why do we become indignant only now?’. With this argument, the Mayor sought to give the criticism the appearance of a ‘false debate’. The second counter-argument of the Mayor and his supporters is synchronic and poses the following questions: why be indignant about the Place de Europe when there are everywhere across Senegal, including in Goree Island, places that bear European names including former colonizers (e.g. Ponty, Faidherbe, etc.)? Why revolt against the Place de l’Europe at the very moment when thousands of young Africans are trying to rally Europe on canoes and dugout boats? Why would we refuse this place name while accepting to open Gorée to global tourism? Why set us up against the Place de l’Europe when the European Union invests considerable sums of money for the preservation of our cultural heritage and memorial policies to fill the voids and laxness of our leaders? This second counter-argument sought to present criticism under the outside of a ‘selective indignation’. The blind spots of the controversy: archaeology and culture heritage Over the past decades Goree Island has been in the midst of several controversies (Curtin 1969; Roux 1996; Samb 1997; Ebron 1999; Thiaw 2008; Tillet 2009). This most recent one illustrates how international aid is used today to alienate and uproot communities receiving it. However, the fact that the renaming of the site gained the official support of the City

118  Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly of Goree, the Direction du Patrimoine culturel et historique du Senegal, UNESCO’s local Office in charge of culture to name only the most important institutions involved (Diene 2016; PPL and CPM-UNESCO 2016; Ly 2017; Sambou 2017) is troubling and poses the issue of ambivalence and hypocrisy of the very institutions in charge of protecting and defending the heritage of ‘poor’ aid receiver against all forms of alienation, degradation and destruction. Despite repeated alerts by one of us beginning in May 2017, the project proceeded without any heritage impact assessment, which resulted in the destruction of the archaeological deposits that underlay the site (Actusen 2017). This breached not only Senegalese law but also UNESCO Convention and, EU-ACP Cotonou Agreement (2000, revised in Luxembourg in 2005). Several correspondences were also sent to UNESCO officials by one of us. In early 2018, Senegal’s National Commission for ICOMOS was commissioned to assess and report on the situation. Although this was a positive move, the fact that the assessment was not entrusted to a more neutral non-Senegalese team of evaluators was astonishing. Today, eight month after the assessment, the report is still waiting which perhaps indicate the discomfort and malaise within the Senegalese commission in charge of this mission. Equally, UNESCO’s official position is belated. Such insensitiveness and sluggishness about threats on a World heritage site with such importance is concerning. Curiously, senior Senegalese heritage officials conjugated their efforts in support of not only the renaming of the site but also of development activities that caused considerable damages to the archaeological deposits. One of them even likened the protests against the uncontrolled excavations of the archaeological deposits and site renaming as ‘a storm in a glass of water!’ In the midst of all of this, rapid post-destruction excavations were organized to make public opinion think that the proper procedures were being followed. In light of previous controversies on Gorée Island and Atlantic slavery, the destruction of archaeological deposits and the renaming of a site Place de l’Europe – courtesy of financial contributions in Euro – looked suspiciously like an act of memory erasure and re-inscription (Curtin 1969; Roux 1996; Samb 1997; Hinchman 2000; Ndiaye 2006; Thiaw 2008). The destruction of archaeological deposits was equivalent to burning and getting rid of archival evidence and, in this case, an archive related to Atlantic slavery. It looks suspiciously like an act of memory erasure because many see Europe as the primary responsible and beneficiary of that trade. Therefore, destroying empirical archaeological evidence of the Atlantic slave trade and replacing it by new landscapes powered by international Euro aid money appeared more positive for the image of Europe. The renaming of the site Place de l’Europe makes it look even more suspicious of being an act of re-inscription aiming at replacing memories of Atlantic slavery with other features of European identity. The name of

Behind the facade of the diplomacy  119 Europe and, the Europeanization of the Gorean landscape with a bowling field, a public space and public toilets and, a garden were to complete that process. This adds to a number of other European/French street and building names that layer the Island as part of a memorialization process that privileges features of European over African identity and that silences largely the theme of slavery. Sadly though, some of the primary enablers of such heritage policies are, ironically, Africans who act and talk in the name of Africa while pursuing a very different agenda. This raises the question of funding for the heritage of the poor, international aid and its conditionality and who decides on what to keep as an archive, what to preserve and, who make that decision?

Conclusion Like many former colonies, culture and heritage were central to the project of nation building in postcolonial Senegal. In the early years of independence in the 1960s, culture, including language, monuments, archaeological sites, cinema, music, songs, dances, food, museums, archives, and even clothing and hair styles, etc., were staged to incubate and hatch out a renewed sense of national identity, pride, self-achievement, unity, and hope for the future (Arasi and Thiaw 2013). This was largely inaugurated with the First World Festival of Negro Art that many see as a critical moment in the definition of postcolonial African artistic and cultural identities. National languages, national heroes, and national heritages sites and monuments were erected to transcend ethnic particularisms and to forge a new sense of national identity and citizenship. However, soon thereafter independence, state-funded cultural projects dwindled considerably as the country was crippled by an economic crisis followed by structural adjustment plans, and sociopolitical upheavals. From that time onward, NGOs and other state donors funded most cultural projects. Notably though, such projects were largely designed without the input of local communities that ultimately became debased and marginalized in decision-making concerning the production, consumption, and management of their own cultures. Communities benefitting from aid then become artisans in the art of saying thank you. As illustrated in the case study of the UNESCO World Heritage site of Gorée Island in Senegal, the diplomacy of international aid might be well intentioned but also quite often masks other agendas that collide with local community preoccupations and needs. It is argued that local communities’ disengagement with aid-funded cultural projects such as museums, monuments, archaeological sites, cinema, or even literacy and language revival are rooted in the cultural, economic, sociopolitical, and philosophical disjuncture between donors and receivers. The renaming of a site Place de l’Europe – courtesy of contribu­ uros – instead of act reparation has more the aspect an act of tions in E re-­colonization. Today, the majority of place names in Gorée Island are

120  Ibrahima Thiaw and Mouhamed Abdallah Ly reminders of the European colonists, not as oppressors, but as heroes. This ambivalence characterizes the processes of memorialization in Goree Island and is largely structured by a diplomacy of aid too often articulated to neocolonial power relations. If the funding determines the sites, the place names, the types of memorials, as well as processes of commemorations, then evidence does not matter anymore and any fiction can be admitted as history or as memory. If such ambiguities are permitted by international culture aid and a universal heritage perspective that negates difference, inequality, power, class, race, and gender, can sites of memory like Gorée Island continue to epitomize the painful experience of slavery? For international aid, it is perhaps time to put the focus on the goals rather than on the roles. The goal of international aid is not more aid but instead to create the conditions of its own demise by helping build self-reliant communities that can sustain for themselves. There is need for donors to work with aid receivers for power and skills’ sharing for capacity building that meet the demands and needs of the receivers without alienating key elements of their culture identity. Today, it is critical that international culture aid be grounded on alternative research practices informed by ‘community participatory approaches’ that defy academic wisdom inherited from colonial science (Lane 2011; Atalay 2012; Schmidt and Pikirayi 2014) and alienating donors’ practices that looe sight of the fact that, although aid is morally a good act, it does not feel good to receive it no matter what.

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8 Life and death of a community library A case study in micro-development Courtney Kurlanska Globalization has made the world a smaller place. We feel more connected to those across the globe than ever before, even as global inequality continues to increase. Despite its best efforts, decades of development policy have done little to slow the growing inequality between the minority, those who live on more than ten dollars a day, and the majority of the world population (the other 80%). This disparity impacts all aspects of life, more than just the struggle to provide food, shelter, and clothing, those living in poverty also deal with structural violence and social stigma. Using ethnography, this chapter provides an in-depth exploration and analysis of one small-scale attempt to make a difference for those living in poverty via micro-development.

The fragmentation of aid in a global society International development has gone through a number of stages in the past 80 years. Shifting with the political, economic, technological, and ideological trends, the nature of the development endeavor has gone through numerous transformations (Escobar, 1995; Edelman and Haugerud, 2005; Gardner and Lewis, 2015; McMichael, 2017). Rooted in the colonial project and emerging alongside decolonization, the emphasis of development is often a reflection of what might be termed first-world priorities. Early development projects were often a push towards modernization, an attempt to transfer “modern” values to the developing world via technology and education. The end goal was to create societies based high-level mass consumption. Critiqued as setting up systems of dependency, the developing world was given political independence, but maintained an economic reliance on developed countries preventing their ability to develop mature and independent economic structures. Neoliberalism emerged as another trend, emphasizing a reduction in the role of the state, free trade, and cuts in governmental spending. It was this period that primed the developing world for the onslaught of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) that stepped in to fill the void left by the withdrawal of state resources. In rural development settings, the evolution of development strategies followed a trajectory

124  Courtney Kurlanska that contained four major, overlapping themes. From the 1950s to the mid1970s, modernization and the development of a dual economy dominated. Starting in the mid-1960s and continuing into the 2000s, policy focused on yield increase and small farm efficiency. Early in the 1980s we began to see an emphasis on citizen participation and empowerment, which continues today. And most recently, starting in the mid-1980s, emerged a focus on sustainable livelihoods (Ellis and Biggs, 2001). Many of these trends continue to influence mainstream development projects. Engagement, empowerment, and sustainability A greater understanding of the focus on citizen empowerment and sustainable livelihoods is essential to effectively understand and critique the current state of development and the trends that will be discussed below. Empowerment, engagement, and sustainability have all become overused buzzwords within the realm of development. This does not mean that the concepts are not important, however, instead it reveals the need to examine how these terms are used when they are employed within development projects. While different levels of citizen participation, from manipulation to citizen control, have long been recognized (Arnstein, 1969), the level at which citizens are actively engaged in development projects is often brought into question. While many organizations state that they promote engagement and participation, it is often found to be superficial or based on sweat equity, despite the existence of successful strategies for deep engagement (Bowen, 2007; Crocker, 2007; Toomey, 2009; Watkins, 2017). Sweat equity, or the use of manual labor as a substitute for capital, can be a useful strategy for those living in poverty to contribute to development initiatives; however, it is often inappropriately equated to empowerment. Within the realm of development, a fundamental goal of engagement and empowerment should be to enable citizens to have an increased level of control over their lives, not only at the individual level but also within social and public arenas (Craig, 2002). This depth of engagement is difficult to achieve for many reasons including cultural, political, and economic factors, but one of the greatest challenges to engaging participants in a manner that leads to empowerment is the structure of development aid itself. Often, the goals of the project or program being implemented are already determined before development practitioners arrive in a community. The funding supporting these initiatives dictates how the resources must be used and to what ends. Often there are restrictions on the types of programs or projects that can be funded and what can be purchased with the money. When these restrictions are imposed by outside agencies it inherently disempowers citizens. The concept of sustainability has also had a large influence in the development sector and one must be careful to define how the term is being used. In everyday contexts sustainability is associated with environmental issues and the protection of resources for future generations. Within the context

Life and death of a community library  125 of development, this is referred to as sustainable development which focuses on three pillars of sustainability: social equity, environmental sustainability, and sustainable economic development. When the term sustainable is used on its own, however, and not followed by the word development, it has a different meaning; in this context, sustainable simply refers to the ability of a project or program to continue to sustain itself after the departure of the development or aid worker. Projects that would need ongoing inputs or assistance are not seen as sustainable or empowering because they would place participants in a position of dependence once the aid organization departs. As a result, projects or programs often need to be framed as sustainable in order to acquire funding. In the current development milieu, the importance of empowerment and sustainability has not faded. When linked with neoliberalism they are often found to be the key driving concepts behind a number of development initiatives, both large-scale and small-scale. It is important, however, not to confuse this with sustainable development as described above and discussed at length in Chapter 10 of this text. Fragmentation The current state of international development has been described as one of fragmentation, suggested by the growing role of NGOs in the development sector and the plethora of organizations with diverse agendas and approaches attempting to meet the various needs of the population (Kharas, 2007b; Klingebiel et al., 2016). In the past, there were a handful of development actors that directed larger initiatives as discussed above. While these actors still exist, the way their funding is distributed has shifted towards specific goals and is spread more widely than before. At the same time, there has been an emergence of a number of new donors, countries such as China, India, and Brazil promote South–South development, while philanthropic organizations like the Gates Foundation have also taken on an increasing role, changing the way development is both practiced and understood (Klingebiel et al., 2016). This creates an environment where aid is distributed and received in a much less systematic way than previously. The fragmentation of aid has a number of implications. From a critical perspective, it is often seen as increasing the transaction costs associated with aid, weakening the influence of receiving countries, duplicating efforts, complicating coordination, and bringing into question issues of accountability (Acharya et al., 2006; Klingebiel et al., 2016; Pietschmann, 2016). Others note potential benefits of fragmentation, such as the possibility for “mutual learning, innovation and competitive selection” (Klingebiel, Mahn, and Negre, 2016: 5). Despite these possible advantages, the concern for the growing ineffectiveness of aid due to fragmentation is at the core of the literature on the topic with the recognition that “[a] key challenge for the new era of development assistance will be to understand how coordination, information sharing and aid delivery will work in the new aid architecture” (Kharas, 2007a: 15).

126  Courtney Kurlanska A prime example of the large-scale application of fragmented aid would be the focus on microcredit and microfinance loans. Described as implementing neoliberalism at the community level (Bateman, 2010), microcredit and microfinance loans are given to individuals (often women) who do not have access to the traditional banking system. The loans are intended for women to start small businesses that earn a sufficient amount of income to be able to pay back the loan and make some profit. The ultimate goal is for the recipients to be able to work their way out of poverty (Rahman, 2004; Hiatt and Woodworth, 2006; Hulme, 2007). Money from large donors and aid organizations is often distributed to different organizations who then administer the microfinance and micro credit accounts. In the name of sustainability, the organizations administering the loans must be able to recover all of the costs associated with the loan programs, leading to incredibly high interest rates and fee structures for borrowers. While these loan programs continue to be popular after more than 30 years of implementation, they have yet to be very successful at reducing poverty. Numerous academics and development practitioners have criticized the role of microcredit and microfinance in creating social and community discord and even increasing economic difficulty rather than alleviating poverty. Social problems associated with the loans range from increased spousal abuse, to public shaming and violence against debtors, to the loss of land and homes due to excessive microdebt (Hulme, 2007; Bateman, 2011; Karim, 2011; Sinclair, 2012). While the benefit of microcredit and microfinance for providing a smoothing effect, allowing households to get through difficult times, cannot be denied, the effectiveness of microcredit at reducing poverty or creating economic growth has remained elusive. It does, however, on paper, meet the basic requirements of sustainability and empowerment. Individualized development What becomes increasingly clear is that this disparate nature of aid appears to be the new normal, and innovative strategies are needed to address these problems. The reality is that while official aid is fragmented, it is only one type of funding that goes to support development. In fact, official development aid from the US government only accounts for 9% of US economic engagement with developing countries, the rest comes from private philanthropy 12%, remittances 30%, and private capital flows 49% (Hudson Institute, 2016). What does this mean for development actors in countries that receive this aid? While a large percentage of this money comes from foundations and goes towards larger projects, a significant amount of resources goes towards small-scale independently initiated development projects. These projects are so small and so numerous; however, they are virtually impossible to track. Unlike microcredit and microfinance loans the majority of these projects are not organized or overseen by a larger

Life and death of a community library  127 institution, instead they are implemented on an individual basis. While this can mean that the projects are better suited to the needs of the community, it is not necessarily the case. Additionally, the small scale of these projects brings into question their ability to create long-term change. Think of the church groups that go to build a local school in Thailand, the high school senior that raises money for beehives in Honduras, or the migrant that decides to pave the road to his village. What emerges is a micro-fragmentation of development initiatives, something very similar to the small businesses supported via microcredit and microfinance loans but with absolutely no oversight. If we consider mainstream development to be fragmented because of the variety of interests reflected by large donors, imagine the variety of projects implemented at the micro scale. These types of projects are not new, but due to the increasingly globalized world we inhabit, they are much more feasible. Often inspired by a personal connection or experience, individuals or groups are motivated to act on the inequality or injustice that they have witnessed or has been brought to their attention. Students can skype with peers across the globe, cellular signals are in remote villages around the world, and international travel is a viable option for many in the developed world, making what were once just ideas, a plausible reality. While some of these projects are simply inappropriate (think one million T-Shirts for Africa), many are well thought out, highly planned, include input from locals, and often meet a basic need of the community. When that is the case, do these projects equate to effective development? Do they meet the development expectations of empowerment and sustainability? Can these types of projects effectively complement large-scale or mainstream development? While these questions will be addressed more extensively later in the chapter, we can begin to think about them now. One thing to ask is, how do we want to define effective development? What should the goal be, and who determines that goal? Small projects can have the flexibility to allow locals to make these decisions and promote development on their own terms, providing opportunities for empowerment. The scale of these projects, however, brings into question their sustainability and longevity as they often lack larger networks of support. If there is some way that these small-scale projects can get the long-term support they may need, or be connected to larger projects or networks, then they may effectively complement mainstream development initiatives. As stand-alone initiatives, however, without long-term goals, it is difficult to imagine how these types of projects will ever be anything more than stop-gap measures. Small project assistance grants It is not just private funding that promotes this type of micro development. Since 1983, a minute portion of official US development aid also goes to small-scale projects that are funded via the United States Agency

128  Courtney Kurlanska for International Development (USAID) and implemented by Peace Corps volunteers1. The Peace Corps currently has over 7,000 volunteers in 65 countries across the globe. Each of these volunteers has a primary assignment which is overseen by a local government organization. During their two years of service volunteers live in the community, interact with the locals, and integrate themselves into daily life as much as possible. In addition to their primary assignment, Peace Corps volunteers are encouraged to become active in side projects in the community where they live. The Small Project Assistance (SPA) program is a “quick funding mechanism to support low-cost, high-impact projects developed by communities and Peace Corps Volunteers working together at the local level” (MSI, 1995: iv). A report published in 1995 states “SPA projects not only produce visible results, but also strengthen a community’s sense of empowerment and self-­sufficiency” (MSI, 1995: 85). While a fundamental aspect of the Peace Corps mission is to provide skills and training for local community members, not monetary or physical resources, SPA grants and other similar programs are an exception to this approach. Many volunteers appreciate the opportunity to leave behind a physical reminder of their time in the community where they were living and working for two years of their life. While there are restrictions on how SPA funding can be used, there is still a great variety of projects that are implemented ranging from baseball fields, to rabbit breeding programs, to the construction of libraries. In fact, these three projects were all initiated within a few miles of one another in Nicaragua in 2002. As if reflecting the aid fragmentation discussed above, there are now at least five additional small grant programs for volunteers all with funding for different interests such as HIV/AIDS related projects, environmental projects, education, and food security (Peace Corps, 2015). No matter their focus, all SPA projects must adhere to the following guidelines as outlined by the Peace Corps: be initiated and directed by the community, meet a need determined by the community, build community capacity, be monitored and evaluated, include cross-sector programming when possible, have defined goals and objectives and be a stand-alone activity, be planned to be completed during the final year of services but at least three months before the close of service, have a cost of less than 10,000 USD from the SPA grant itself, and include a community contribution of at least 25% of the cost of the project (Peace Corps, 2015). If we consider the size and scale of these SPA projects, they are similar to those micro-development projects and microfinance loans mentioned above. While they are capped at 10,000 USD many are only a fraction of that amount. They have other similarities as well. Often seen as a one-off project, they are not meant to be scaled up or replicated elsewhere, but are styled to the local needs of the community and are expected to be completed in a rapid time frame. One potential advantage that the projects implemented by Peace Corps volunteers have over other micro-development projects is that Peace Corps volunteers have lived in the community for at

Life and death of a community library  129 least a year before the project is proposed, and therefore should have some insight on the wants, needs, and capacity of the community to support and sustain the project after the volunteer leaves. From a development perspective, the requirements outlined by the Peace Corps should lead to the implementation of projects that, while small scale, should not only meet the needs of the local community, but also have longterm sustainability. The idealized version of a SPA project, however, may not reflect the reality of the implementation. While just one example, this chapter takes an in-depth examination of a community library constructed in Nicaragua with SPA funding in 2002.

Case study: a community library The community where the project took place is a small village outside of Condega, Nicaragua, located approximately 190 kilometers north of the capital city of Managua. The majority of residents are subsistence farmers who plant corn and beans, and seasonally migrate to Honduras and Costa Rica during the dry season. The village has regular inter-regional bus service, spring-fed running water, and electricity. The majority of community members self-identify as Sandinista and were engaged in the revolution that lasted from 1979 to 1990. Many of the residents were given their farmland in the community during the land redistribution that occurred after the war, in the early 1990s, although they had still not been granted formal titles when this project was conducted in 2002. At that time, the community had 112 households and about 500 people lived in the village. I had been living in the community or over a year as a Peace Corps volunteer focusing on agriculture when I first proposed the idea for the SPA grant to the Peace Corps office in Managua. I was a member of the first groups of Peace Corps agriculture volunteers in Nicaragua after the revolution, we were sent to areas of the country where the Peace Corps had limited presence previously. Our communities tended to be a bit more isolated than other volunteers and we had minimal oversight. I quickly found that the farmers I was supposed to be working with were well versed in all of the sustainable agriculture techniques I was expected to teach them and I spent an increasing amount of my time working with the women and children in the community. Through these interactions, villagers expressed to me the need for a community health center. They found it expensive to go to the one located in Condega (it was a bus ride away) and the center that was closer was very difficult to access for the elderly and the young as it was at least an hour’s walk over difficult terrain. The government had recently built a new elementary school in the community and the old school had been abandoned and left in disrepair. Community members felt that it would be an excellent location for a health center. I took my proposal to the Peace Corps office and spoke with them about getting a Small Project Assistance grant for

130  Courtney Kurlanska the health center. The Peace Corps representative explained to me that a health center was not a feasible project and that they would not fund it because of the associated ongoing expenses. For this reason, it was not seen as sustainable. The Peace Corps did make it clear, however, that the fiscal year was almost over and they had just about 3,000 dollars left in their SPA grant budget, so if I could come up with a project, a library for example, I was just about guaranteed the money. I returned to the community and I explained to different groups of people that I could not get money for a health center, but if they wanted we could transform one of the classrooms in the abandoned school into a community library. The village had an elementary school and the first two years of secondary education, neither of which had books for the children or the teachers. There was clearly a need for a library in the community. Community members are savvy people. They told me that of course they could use a library, education is important after all. As a way of promoting community buy-in the Peace Corps required that the community donate a portion of the cost of the project either in funds, materials, or labor. Since I had not witnessed much communal labor in the village I was a bit concerned about the willingness of the community to work on the rebuilding of the structure. Community members assured me that they had worked together to construct the school in the first place and did not like to see it in disrepair. I went from household to household gathering signatures of individuals who agreed to contribute their labor to the project. The school donated some bricks and from there the project moved forward, slowly. What the community members had neglected to tell me was that while, yes, they had built the school, it took them several years to actually complete the work and they had to call in masons from another community to actually finish the job. It was these delays in construction that may have actually contributed to poor condition of the building, as it had been left without a roof for over a year. The library project ran into similar difficulties. Work groups of four had been created and tasked with specific assignment based on skill level. Often, however, only one or two of the group would show up and refuse to work if the others did not show. Eventually, the project was completed with the herculean effort of a few of the young community members. The reluctance of the community to contribute, even at this early stage, set the tone for what was to come. One of the reasons the Peace Corps frowned upon the heath center was a concern for staffing; they were far less concerned about this with the library. The Peace Corps was content with the idea of volunteer staffing for this venture. I worked in conjunction with the director of the local school to arrange a rotational schedule where one teacher opened the library for one hour each day after school so students could attend. The teachers agreed and volunteered to staff the library in this manner.

Life and death of a community library  131 The funds from the grant were used to cover the building materials as well as the cost of the books. I worked with a number of booksellers in Managua and Estelí to purchase copies of both school textbooks that could be used by students, as well as reference materials and literature. The majority of the texts were from Nicaragua or other Latin American countries. As this was a public library, there was also an emphasis on topics of local interest such as agriculture and animal husbandry. From the perspective of the Peace Corps the fundamental aspects had been met. There was community buy-in and support displayed through their willingness to provide labor in the rehab of the space and the construction of the tables, chairs, and bookshelves. The library met a basic need within the community providing an important resource for the students, and with the formation of the library committee to make decisions about the future of the library, oversee its maintenance, and manage any donations the project was community directed. Volunteers were trained to work in the library building community capacity and monitoring the use of the resource. Additionally, the library appeared to be sustainable due to the support of the local school. The school district has signed over the abandoned classroom and the director of the school coordinated with teachers to make sure that the library was staffed. Once the project was completed, the library was opened with a great ceremony. Students performed both traditional and modern dances to music blasting from a loud boom box, poetry was recited and of course, volunteers and officials from the Peace Corps came to the ceremony. For the first few months it functioned quite well. Each afternoon the library was filled with children doing homework or reading stories, there were over a hundred patrons coming on a weekly basis. I also worked with some of the older youth in the community to open the library on the weekends and have special activities. We read Harry Potter in Spanish and also held English classes in the space. All was going well until the director of the school was killed in a tragic accident. Without her support, the teachers, most of whom were from different communities, no longer wanted to continue working at the library. They complained to the Ministry of Education and I was accused of forcing them to work beyond their required hours. I was quite surprised as I had been led to understand that their agreement to open the library had been made on a voluntary basis. I was unaware of the fact that the director of the school had forced them into that position. Recognizing that volunteer labor was no longer a feasible option I looked for donations from the US and decided to pay a community member who was working on her high school degree to open the library. She was paid 1 dollar (a half-day wage) to open the library for two hours each day after school. This is how the library stayed open on a fairly regular basis for around four years. However, the conditions of the books began to deteriorate due to use and the environmental conditions. Some of the books began

132  Courtney Kurlanska to go missing and there were also controversies over the selection of the librarian. Why was this person chosen over someone else? As resources became scarce the library began to open only a couple days a week. Books began to crumble and mice and other animals increasingly made their home in the library. One day a child was running across the roof and fell through the clear plastic roof panel that allowed enough light to enter the room for students to read and that was replaced with regular zinc. Just another setback for the library. In the community, the number of high school students continued to grow and as a result in 2010 the ministry of education decided that they wanted the abandoned classroom that held the library back. They had rehabbed the other two rooms connected to the building and wanted to expand into the third. The library committee stood their ground and pulled out the legal document as evidence that the ministry of education had given them the space. The committee tried to open the library on a voluntary basis a couple of days a week but they could never make it function. In September of 2017, 15 years after the project began, the library was finally demolished. What remained of the books were distributed to different classrooms and the furniture and other building materials were scavenged by community members. The Ministry of Education had decided to build a new school and found no opposition from the community or the library committee. The problem with libraries Libraries are a popular project with Peace Corps volunteers, in fiscal year 2011 30% of all volunteers in the organization reported that a library project was part of either their primary or secondary work as a volunteer (Carrel and Wadsworth, 2013). They are so popular that the Peace Corps has even developed training manuals for starting and maintaining libraries (Wendell, 2004; Carrel and Wadsworth, 2013). Many volunteers find the creation of a library appealing as it is easily justified by meeting a basic educational need and it is promoted a feasible project with a clear completion goal, once the library is finished the project is done. The popularity persists despite the fact that it is fairly common knowledge among current and returned Peace Corps volunteers that libraries are often not sustainable once the volunteer leaves. This can be seen in the responses of returned Peace Corps volunteers to a current volunteer in Paraguay asking for suggestions from other volunteers who have done library projects: Library projects were pretty common when I was a volunteer in Paraguay in the mid-nineties…Project/program sustainability is questionable, of course, as is always the case when you bring in resources from the outside…but in some cases it served as an invaluable catalyst for the PCV’s sustainable work in the community. (Luisapet, 2017)

Life and death of a community library  133 Libraries were a common SPA grant proposal…No one questions the value of a library but what happens to it when the volunteer leaves? Someone has to run it, books disappear, and equipment stops functioning. Volunteers have the knowhow and the drive to keep things running but HCNs [Host Country Nationals] frequently don’t. (Blide, 2017) Clearly, the sustainability of library projects has been under scrutiny for some time, yet they continue to be supported by SPA grants. One reason for this is that there is an underlying assumption held by the Peace Corps that the library will be staffed and run by volunteer labor once the PCV leaves the community, an assumption that would be considered absurd for a health center. While community members often receive library training, it generally revolves around cataloguing books and best lending practices, it does not include fundraising or acquisition of new materials. It is not that community members do not see the value in having a library, they simply do not have the time or resources to keep one active once the volunteer has left and volunteers are not expected to develop long-term financial plans for libraries. Some might argue that the library in the case study was a success, it stayed open for at least four years after I left the village and community members withstood pressure to dismantle the project for a decade beyond that. By Peace Corps standards it would have been evaluated as successful, as the only long-term study I was able to find by the organization looked at SPA projects three years after they were implemented (MSI, 1995). I am not so sure I agree. Like many of the other projects implemented at the time, the driving force for the library came from me and the Peace Corps office, not the community members. Despite the expectation that the project be community initiated and directed as noted above, that was not the reality of the situation. The community had wanted a health center. Only when it became clear that a health center was not an option, did they support the library. This is one of the fundamental problems with development today, donors dictate the use of funds, outsiders determine priorities, and the needs of the locals are set aside. Even after living in the community for over a year and with the knowledge that the community wanted a health center, I went forward with the library project. As a volunteer, I wanted to make my mark and leave something behind, I wanted to be remembered as someone who contributed to the community. From my perspective, a library was better than nothing. If a project with that level of insider knowledge is deeply flawed, how can we expect the typical micro-development project to be successful?

Small is beautiful? Clearly one of the best strategies for a successful development project is to create something that the community wants and supports. With the increasing fragmentation of aid, however, and the fact that many projects are

134  Courtney Kurlanska donor driven, this is often not the reality. While the best solution would be to change the nature of development aid to better reflect the voices of the recipients, that type of culture change is a long and difficult process. While it should be a long-term goal within the realm of development, it is important to ask what can be done in the short term, while we work on creating that culture change? I believe that the world of development can take a page from the social and solidarity economy (SSE) in thinking about scale and organization. Scale has often been a key aspect of development as reflected in the shifting development trends discussed at the beginning of the chapter. The largescale projects of modernization increased inequality, while the small-scale grassroots initiatives have shown to be effective at improving lives (Shylendra et al., 2003), but can be costly and are difficult to implement. Small microcredit and microfinance initiatives are often seen as unsustainable because they are unable to scale-up. Yet, the evaluation of small scale SPA projects found that “few development programs can claim as high a rate of achievement for their projects as was found for the SPA program” (MSI, 1995: iv). From an economic perspective, it is often argued that organizations need to scale-up in order to be competitive, but we also know that in development when we scale-up and replicate projects they lose their ability to meet the needs of locals. If bigger is not necessarily better, than what is? Within the SSE there is a focus on three types of scaling, horizontal, vertical, and transversal (Utting, 2015), instead of just scaling up, organizations also seek to scale out. The concept of transversal scaling is most relevant to this discussion. In this type of scaling, the purpose “is to develop dense, diversified networks of mutually supporting SSE enterprises that can provide a basis not just for the growth of SSE enterprises, but for an entire local economy dominated by SSE production and exchange” (Reed, 2015: 103). The focus is on networks of support so the different aspects of the SSE can assist one another. Emphasizing this type of mutual aid structure, may be one way to address a key weakness of micro-development. Currently the multitude of small development projects exist in a state of isolation, or in some cases competition with one another. This creates a destabilizing environment. When the library in the case study above was being constructed, it was one of three being funded by the Peace Corps during the same period. I often found myself in competition with other volunteers when in search of donations from local organizations, essentially the other libraries became a liability instead of a source of support. Instead, imagine if the libraries had coordinated to support one another after the volunteers left the community, sharing tools, resources, and strategies for success? For example, there could be a community library app where libraries are able to list books for trade if they have multiple copies, they could join forces to do fundraising to support a traveling librarian that visits different locations on different days of the week, or they could update each other on what organizations are in the area to coordinate requests for donations. Each library would

Life and death of a community library  135 still be autonomous, but they would have the support of a larger network of libraries. This idea is not as far-fetched as it may seem. In 1987 an article was published that asked the following question, Can a species of development flourish that maintains the virtues of smallness – but at the same time reaches large numbers of people, transfers genuine political power to the poor, and provides high quality social services that are delivered by permanent, adequately financed institutions? (Annis, 1987: 129) The author, who at the time was working with the overseas development council, went on to argue that across Latin America there was a growing network of grassroots organizations emerging, often working with each other, but also with the state. The author proposes that with the right support, this may be a feasible way of addressing the needs of the local population and promoting long-term sustainable development. While what the author was describing may have been the beginning of the fragmentation of aid, the hope and possibility expressed by Annis about the intertwined web of organizations is worth revisiting. When this observation was made in 1987 it was pre-internet, pre-cellphone, and pre-social media. The capacity of organization to create the webs and linkages was limited by time, distance, and resources. While it has been argued that the kinds of connections made before contemporary technical innovations were stronger and deeper (Tufecki, 2014), the capacity for organization and coordination via modern technology should not be underestimated. It could be that the struggles seen in the fragmentation of aid and the weaknesses of the micro-­ development have similar solutions. Coordination and cooperation.

Micro-development of the future Small-scale development projects are here to stay for the foreseeable future. The question is how can we make them more effective, sustainable, and empowering? Drawing on the research and the case study detailed above I argue that there are two strategies that would go a long way in making micro-development more effective. The first is creating a culture change with those providing resources. A shift in the development mindset needs to take place that recognizes the importance and value of local knowledge and insights. While this is very difficult in bureaucratic, large-scale, development projects, it is a much more feasible goal within micro-development. Attitude change is always difficult and time consuming, but promoting this transformation at the individual level with those who already acknowledge the weaknesses of traditional development and are willing to think outside the box to address the inequalities to which they have been exposed, is a reasonable goal. Convincing small-scale donors, small-grant administering

136  Courtney Kurlanska agents, and even loan officers that they do not have all the answers, and that deep citizen engagement is necessary for project success has the potential to alter their approach to micro-development. This way, less libraries and more health centers will be built! This also begins to address the deep power inequalities found within development. The second strategy is to create networks of support and coordination that will serve these projects long after the donors and volunteers leave the community. More than just networking, structures need to be developed that would encourage and promote the continued cooperation and integration of different micro-development projects. A network of independent libraries, for example, that could share strategies or coordinate to create a library consortium expanding their reach and strengthening their base. This type of system would need support from the local government to provide policies that encourage this type of behavior. NGOs could also take on a role of coordination in acting as a clearing house or umbrella organization assisting in making linkages between different groups and organizations. With the right type of support, small projects have the potential to become sustainable as we have seen with the SSE. While micro-­ development initiatives may never replace traditional development, they have the potential to make a profound, long-term impact on the lives of those living in the developing world. The strategies outlined above are a small step in creating a vison for micro-development that is engaging, empowering, and sustainable.

Note 1 USAID was established by President John F. Kennedy in 1961 as the primary US government agency to fight against global poverty and promote democratic societies.

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138  Courtney Kurlanska Rahman, A., 2004. Microcredit and Poverty Reduction: Trade-off between Building Institutions and Reaching the Poor. In: H. Lont & O. Hospes (eds.) Livelihood and Microfinance: Anthropological and Sociological Perspectives on Savings and Debt. Amerstam: Eburon Delf, pp. 27–42. Reed, D., 2015. Scaling the Social and Solidarity Economy: Opportunities and Limitations of Fairtrade Practice. In: P. Utting (ed.) Social and Solidarity Economy: Beyond the Fringe. London: Zed, pp. 100–115. Shylendra, H. S., Rani, U. & Patel, M. R., 2003. Towards Human Development: Impact Assessment of a Micro-Development Intervention in Western India. Development in Practice, Volume 13, pp. 89–97. Sinclair, H., 2012. Confessions of a Microfinance Heretic: How Microlending Lots its Way and Betrayed the Poor. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler. Toomey, A., 2009. Empowerment and Disempowerment in Community Development Practice: Eight Roles Practitioners Play. Community Development Journal, Volume 46, pp. 181–195. Tufecki, Z., 2014. Social Movements and Governments in the Digital Age: Evaluating a Complex Landscape. Journal of International Affairs, Volume 68, pp. 1–18. Utting, P., 2015. Introduction: The Challenge of Scaling up the Social and Solidarity Economy. In: P. Utting (ed.) Social and Solidarity Economy: Beyond the Fringe. London: Zed, pp. 1–40. Watkins, H., 2017. Beyond Sweat Equity: Community Organising beyond the Third Way. Urban Studies, Volume 54, pp. 2139–2154. Wendell, L., 2004. Libraries for All! How to Start and Run a Basic Library. ­Washington, DC: Peace Corps.

9 Traditional performing arts under the influence of NGOs Myth or reality? Suppya Hélène Nut

The development of NGOs is a global phenomenon and their impact on developing countries has been widely analyzed (Delcore 2003; Exell and Rico 2014).1 Cambodia was one of the countries to receive massive aid from international institutions and NGOs during the early 1980s and 1990s. While a number of research projects have attempted to assess the impacts of these aid efforts on the Cambodian society and its regional politics (Shawcross 1979), no study has focussed on the actions of NGOs that specialize in the field of culture, notably those engaged in traditional performing arts, an ensemble of artistic practices including dance, theatre, music, painting etc. (Fisher 1997). 2 Thus, many questions remain unanswered: – Do these NGOs help to maintain and develop performing arts as they claim? And more specifically, do they provide support for performing arts which have been significantly undermined since the 1990s due to the modernization of the society and the introduction of a market economy? – Does the financial help and technical assistance provided by these NGOs contribute to all performing arts or only a section of them? – And, what kind of relationships do these NGOs have with official institutions and the so-called ‘civil society’? In order to answer these questions, the chapter is organized into three sections. The first section provides a general overview of the state of performing arts before the Khmer rouge regime took power in 1975. The second section studies the emergence and development of so-called ‘cultural NGOs’ and the third section analyzes the interactions of these NGOs with both private and institutional Cambodian partners.

Situation of traditional performing arts before the Khmer Rouge The musicologist and specialist in Cambodian culture, Jacques Brunet, wrote a few words in 1963 about the longstanding musical practices that were well anchored in Cambodian society:

140  Suppya Hélène Nut Whoever wanders in Cambodia can observe how music forms an integral part of the Khmer people’s way of life. Whether it relates to a wedding, to a village festival or a funeral, all these ceremonies are accompanied with music. Even today, traditional performing arts are practiced collectively, according to precise calendars that follow religious traditions and agricultural cycles. Performing arts form part of popular celebrations that gather neighboring villages and communities together. These celebrations are organized by people from different social classes and age groups. The festivities are traditionally held in Buddhist monasteries which also serve as places of rehearsal for artists and of storage of musical instruments, costumes and props. The cost of these activities is shared among members of the community. Some localities maintain specific musical and dance traditions, for instance the village of Svay Andet that owns a troupe of Khol (male masked theatre genre) (Sem 1967; Khoury 2012, 2014) or the Wat Bo monastery in the city of Siem Reap, which is home to the troupe of Sbek Thom (shadow theatre) (Kong and Preap 2014). Aside from these collective community practices, there are professional artists, notably itinerant bards who roam the countryside singing stories of myths, playing long-necked zithers (chapey dang veng), and popular theatre troupes, including Bassac (Sino-Vietnamese theatre) or Yiké (chanted theatre) who are invited to perform in a village’s festivity or private ceremony. After gaining its independence in 1953, Cambodia followed a Western model of statecraft and founded the Royal University of Fine Arts (RUFA) in 1967. Within the five sections that composed the university, the Fine Arts Department aimed to make an inventory of living art forms, to preserve them and to pass them down to students of the School of Fine Arts (Burridge and Frumberg 2016). The students benefited from a general education that was certified by a diploma thereby enabling them to enter the civil service. Only one art form did not depend entirely on the RUFA, the Royal Ballet, which remained under the direction and patronage of Queen Sisowath Kossomak (r. 1955–1970), the mother of prince Norodom Sihanouk, Chief of State of Cambodia from 1953 to 1970 (Meyer 1969, 1970; Nut 2009, 2015). In 1970, a coup d’état overthrew Sihanouk and put an end to the constitutional monarchy, replaced by a Republican regime. A few months later, Cambodia was engulfed in a civil war between Republican, royalist and communist forces. This war of ideologies took on a more international dimension when the South Vietnam and the United States backed the ­Cambodian Republican forces against a coalition made of Communist and Royalist forces supported by the North Vietnam and China. The war and indiscriminate bombings caused social disruption in the countryside and put an end of artistic community practices. The takeover of the capital Phnom Penh by the Khmer Rouge troupes in April 1975 tolled the death knell of all living traditional art forms.

Traditional performing arts under NGO influence  141 Pich Sophon, Director of the Department of Higher Vocational and Technical Training at the Ministry of Education, Youth and Sports, who experienced this tragic period said: On 17 April 1975, the Khmers Rouge conquered Phnom Penh which led to the evacuation of the capital and other Cambodian cities. The following weeks saw the extermination of identified groups such as educated people, Buddhist monks, civil servants, people who spoke foreign languages and even people who wore glasses. Anything remotely associated with foreign learning was considered “decadent” and had to be destroyed. The goal was to go back to an agrarian state controlled by the Khmers Rouges. Long and endless days of hard labor, combined with state indoctrination sessions almost destroyed the essence of family life and Khmer culture. Within days of taking power, the Khmer Rouge evacuated all of cities and towns, forcing an imposed labor called ‘back to the land’ on the population where every member had to participate in the building of a new society, adults and children included. Music, dance and theatre were forbidden during these years of terror, most of the artists were killed or died of illness, malnutrition or the hard labour imposed by the new masters. According to the Khmer Rouge ideology, the past had to be eradicated from the memory of the population. As such, any cultural form had to be destroyed and any person practicing music or keeping traditional texts etc. were severely punished or killed.

Emergence and development of NGOs in Cambodia and along the Thai–Cambodian border The political situation in Cambodia became disastrous after the invasion of the Vietnamese army in 1979 who drove the Khmer Rouge forces back to the Thai border. The situation within the country was utterly chaotic as people were freed from five years of physical hardships yet were left to fend for themselves because the Khmer Rouge organization had collapsed very quickly. It resulted in food shortages that drove more than half a million Cambodians to flee to the Thai border. It triggered a large charitable movement led by some Western countries, such as the United States, Canada or Japan, although some may not have had purely humanitarian motives. The United States particularly wanted to protect Thailand from Vietnamese encroachment. To do so, they used Cambodian refugees as buffer as well as militiamen for resistance forces who were reconstituted along the border (Shawcross 1984). The period between 1980 and 1991 saw the emergence of international institutions on the Thai–Cambodian border, such as the World Food Programme and UNHCR among the most prominent, to feed and care for a starving and sick population that had been exposed to years of

142  Suppya Hélène Nut severe physical and psychological hardship, malnutrition and displacement. A small part of the Cambodian population was accepted under UNHCR’s mandate, while the largest part of the displaced people was stranded on a small strip of land 20–35 km along the border of Thailand and Cambodia, running from Oddar Meanchey province in the north to Pursat province in the south. In 1981, approximately 250,000 displaced Cambodians lived in improvised and under-resourced camps, unable to flee due to conflicts between Cambodian military factions and victims of regional game-play between China and Vietnam (Shawcross 1984; Chanda 1988). Indeed, after having won a relatively quick war against the Khmer Rouge, Vietnam installed a pro-Vietnamese government which was only recognized by the Communist bloc of Eastern European countries including the USSR. The rest of the world, including China, failed to recognize this new government, as many countries still supported the Khmer Rouge, up until 1997 (Chanda 1988).3 The Vietnamese army stayed in Cambodia for a decade (1980– 1990) in order to consolidate a regime that it endorsed called the People’s Republic of Kampuchea (PRK) formed by disaffected Khmer Rouge highlevel officials. The international community imposed a severe embargo on Cambodia (Misliwiec 1988) and preferred to support an opposition front composed of Khmer Rouge officials and two small non-communist forces that represented the seat of Cambodia at the United Nations in 1982.4 The NGOs that worked along the Thai–Cambodian border, such as ­Catholic Relief Services (CRS), International Rescue Committee (IRC) and the Oeuvres Hospitalières de l’Ordre de Malte (Benson 1993: 16), responded to emergency situations, even though their presence would be required at the border for over a decade (1981–1993). They provided essential basic needs for the people, and developed educational and vocational training to help prepare them to return to their country after the troubles had ended. The displaced camps were gradually gathered into three immense camps (Site I, II, III) in which the population was taken care of by UNBRO (United Nations Border Relief Operations).5 NGOs gradually enlarged their help to education and traditional performing arts to meet demands from people who were cut off from their native villages and towns. For example, the troupe of Voan Savay, a former dancer of the Royal Ballet, received subsidies from UNBRO and COERR (Catholic Office for Emergency Relief and Refugees) to sustain a dance school. These dance schools were mostly led by former artists of the Royal University of Fine Arts and depended entirely on external aids. This situation radically changed the practice of traditional performing arts which was done outside of a traditional context of collective festivities but to assert the Cambodian identity shaken by the tragic history of the country and by the separation of the native land. Thus, these NGOs participated in the construction of traditions vested with ‘national’ emblem linking the population with the country and not necessarily with specific localities. They participated actively to foster associations among displaced persons such as the association Phare, created in 1986 in Site II camp, which worked to disseminate circus arts in Cambodia to take care of

Traditional performing arts under NGO influence  143 children and stimulate their creativity by teaching drawing lessons. This association became an NGO, known as Phare Ponleu Selepak when it moved to Cambodia following the repatriation of the displaced population in 1993 after the Paris peace Agreement signed in 1991. It mirrors one of the most successful cultural models in Cambodia as examined below. The years 1992–1993 marked a tremendous change in Cambodia where a number of NGOs, mostly from the border, were dispatched inside the country to help rebuild the country after UNTAC (The United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia) was instituted to keep the peace and to organize elections.6 This international institution was created under the mandate of: forging a new political culture; reconstructing and developing the country’s economy, infrastructure, and human capital, with particular attention to rural development; and giving rebirth to Cambodian society-­creating new ways of behavior appropriate to a modern, developing state that avoid, in particular, ‘the practices of the recent past’. (Curtis 1998: 2) Before 1992, only a small number of NGOs, such as Oxfam and Caritas, were allowed to work in the country but they were limited only to fulfilling people’s most basic needs and confined to certain areas (Benson 1993: 12). The elections organized in 1993 saw the victory of Funcinpec, the Royalist party, against the Cambodian People’s Party. Between 1991 and 2002, 18 major bilateral donors, and several multilateral ones, including UN agencies, the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the Asian Development Bank (ADB) and the EU provided more than four billion dollars to promote various projects averaging 13% of GDP annually (Richmond and Jasons 2012). The newly established Royal Government of Cambodia articulated its vision for rebuilding the country through a National Programme to Rehabilitate and Develop Cambodia, prepared with the technical assistance from the United Nations Development Program (UNDP) and 11 inter-ministerial groups. Since 1993, the reconstruction of Cambodia has advanced quickly, transforming the physical and social landscape. The adoption of the market economy has accelerated a movement towards urbanization, with a massive migration of rural people to towns and the emergence of new artistic forms which have fundamentally altered the ways of life of rural and urban communities. The opening of the country to the outside world has deeply impacted practices of traditional performing arts anchored in religious traditions and in agricultural calendar. The adoption of a liberal model favoured by international instances like the Asian Development Bank, the World Bank the United Nations agencies caused a progressive disengagement of the state in different sectors of education and culture. In parallel, there has been a dramatic rise of cultural NGOs that are seen as more flexible and adaptable than official institutions,

144  Suppya Hélène Nut which are renowned for their heavy bureaucracy inherited from years of Communist regime. The highly disparate nature of NGOs makes it difficult to identify between small informal groups that live on touristic performances, especially in the cities of Siem Reap and Phnom Penh with no development vision, and more professional associations that want to develop and transform living art forms. Six NGOs are selected for the study: 1 Sovanna Phum Theatre Association7: The association has been created in 1993 by an artist of the School of Fine Arts, Mann Kosal to promote Cambodian culture. It offers private performances with entrance fees, classical and folk dances, as well as different genres of theatres, Sbek Thom (shadow theatre), Khol (male masked theatre) and circus acts. 2 Phare Ponleu Selpak8: Founded in 1986 in Site II, a displaced camp along the Thai border, the association relocated to the city of Battambang after its repatriation, situated in north-west Cambodia. Since 1994, it works with street children and offers a wide range of programmes: a school, drawing and music courses, circus training and lately computer design courses. 3 Kok Thlok9: The association of the Artists of Kok Thlok, formed by a collective of comedians and musicians, was created in 2007 to revive different genres of Cambodian theatre. It offers Yiké (chanting theatre), Sbek Toch (small shadow theatre), Sbek Thom (big shadow theatre), Sbek Poar (coloured shadow theatre) and Western style theatre. Its approach is very original and differs from other NGOs because actors and musicians choose to perform their creations in provinces and villages. 4 Khmer Arts Ensemble10: Founded by Sophiline Cheam Shapiro, a former dancer of the Royal Ballet and her husband John Shapiro. The association is a professional dance troupe composed of young dancers from the School of Fine Arts and trained by Cheam Shapiro in court dance techniques. The troupe wants to renew the traditions and experiment new theatrical forms beyond the norms of court traditions. 5 Amrita Performing Arts11: Created in 2003, the association wants to be a facilitator between foreign choreographers and Cambodian artists at the School of Fine Arts. It has succeeded in initiating a number of productions while reviving traditional forms of theatre. In 2013, Amrita decided to focus on contemporary dance and has since tried to foster young contemporary Cambodian choreographers. 6 Cambodian Living Arts12: The association was founded in 2009 by Arn Chorn Pond, a Cambodian living in the US, and is registered as an American association.

Traditional performing arts under NGO influence  145 It serves as an intermediary between private and institutional donors and official institutions in Cambodia. It works for the safeguarding of living art forms (theatre, dance, music). Even though it has no troupe, it organizes touristic performances by hiring private troupes and stage sessions between artists and youngsters. These NGOs share the same goals: – to safeguard, maintain and develop performing arts, – to transmit knowledge to the younger generation, – to rebuild a civil society through the arts. Nevertheless, do they fulfil their missions? Could they replace official institutions that were often blamed – with good reason – for bureaucratic slowness and conservative immobilism? It seems that the results are mixed, as explained below.

From intermediary to representative of performing arts In the early 1980s, the six NGOs just presented confined themselves in their roles of logistical and financial support, thereby helping Cambodian private or public initiatives to safeguard various living art forms. However, since the year 2000, they have tended to act more as representatives of Cambodian culture than as partners. Their actions have become more visible as state institutions have become weaker due to lack of resources, of political willingness and especially due to unclear political strategies. Furthermore, the entire administration was plagued with rivalries and tensions between the two political parties, the People’s Cambodian Party (the former pro-Vietnamese Communist) and the Funcinpec (a united national front for an independent, neutral, pacifistic and cooperative Cambodia), even if the latter won the 1993 elections. It resulted in an institutional standstill. Corruption and land speculation prior the 1993 elections caused many official buildings situated in the centre of the capital to be sold off massively. Civil servants were relocated to the fringes of the city (Strangio 2014). The consequences were disastrous for the School of Fine Arts and the entire national troupe. The only theatre in the country, Bassac which had been damaged during an arson attack was abandoned and then sold to a foreign company, displacing more than 200 artists. In 2005, the land owned by the School of Fine Arts was also sold which led to the School moving to a faraway suburb. It caused a significant reduction in the number of students that could attend classes and disrupted teaching due to financial strains imposed by the cost of transportation (Turnbull 2006). Due to these circumstances, some artists decided to create their own schools following the NGO model, as was the case with Sovanna Phum or Kok Thlok.

146  Suppya Hélène Nut When one examines the NGOs’ actions, it quickly becomes apparent that they favour the most visible art forms (to appeal to a foreign public) and the most economically profitable, such as royal ballet or folk dances. The Apsara dance, a dance created in the mid-1960s by the court theatre troupe, for instance, is featured in every dance programme, with the expected target audience being tourists. On the other hand, other theatres such as Yiké (sung theatre) or Bassac (Sino-Vietnamese theatre) are rarely performed in front of tourists. The inscriptions of the Royal Ballet of Cambodia in 2003, and Sbek Thom (Shadow theatre) in 2008 on UNESCO’s list of Intangible Heritage of Humanity reinforced the decision made by NGOs to feature the same dances in every performance, regardless of the quality of the practitioners (Foley 2014). The Apsara dance is actually the most popular dance performed in Cambodia but also the most incorrectly performed! Except for the Kok Thlok association that chooses to show the different genres of theatre to Cambodian audiences, the others shape their performances’ contents to tourist audiences. The quality of the performances is rather questionable. In general, dances are performed by young people who have not mastered the techniques in the same way that students trained at the School of Fine Arts have. A number of NGOs are not concerned with the safeguarding of traditional performing arts and tend to use performances by children to collect funds for their own profit like the Apsara Arts Association or small associations in Siem Reap (Tuchman-Rosta 2014). Others strive to keep up the traditions like Sovanna Phum or Phare Ponleu Selepak which provide a good quality of performances even though they are also intended to attract a more touristic audience. Nevertheless, uninitiated audiences are unlikely to be able to tell the difference between a good and a bad performance as they lack cultural references or cultural information which is sometimes provided by the NGOs. Cambodian Living Arts claims a quality of performances based on Trip Advisor ratings which seems odd as its audience is only composed of foreign audiences. Each of these cultural NGOs claim to safeguard traditions that are disappearing, and thus to reconstitute oral and iconographic archives. It would appear that each NGO works in isolation from each other and without any global overview or dialogue with the Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts. Khmer Arts Ensemble, Amrita Performing Arts, or Phare Ponleu Selepak systematically record their performances but do not have a policy to disseminate them. Cambodian Living Arts produced some DVDs of traditional music but does not give any pedagogic elements to attract Cambodian audiences (Billeri 2017). Another goal claimed by NGOs is to open up job opportunities to artists who are under-paid by the Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts. The most successful example is Phare Ponleu Selepak which has succeeded in training several generations of poor children to perform circus arts, providing them with a decent livelihood. Performances are usually sold out, notably

Traditional performing arts under NGO influence  147 at Siem Reap, the city close to the Angkor archaeological park complex, where there is little touristic nightlife. For Khuon Det, one of the founders of Phare Ponleu Selepak and director of the department of performing arts: ‘The arts have changed my life and give me the hope for a better future. Every child must be given a chance.’13 In the same way, Khmer Arts Ensemble, whose troupe is formed by some 20 dancers and musicians, is entirely dedicated to new choreographies created by Sophiline Cheam Shapiro. Tuchman-Rosta, an anthropologist who carried out a study on dance performances in Siem Reap, confirms that some children trained by cultural NGOs could find a job in restaurants or private theatres (2014). Nevertheless, these opportunities are very limited because the tourist-oriented market is at its premise. For instance, in 2016, Thailand welcomed more than 32 million tourists whereas only 5 million visited Cambodia. Furthermore, out of the six NGOs studied, only one, Phare Ponleu Selepak is localised in provinces (Battambang and Siem Reap) while the others are in Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capital, which only attracts a small number of tourists in comparison to the Angkor temples. While they position themselves as an alternative solution to heavy structured state institutions, these NGOs are not financially independent and rely largely on public and private donors. In consequence, they are extremely fragile and at the mercy of private donors who are not necessarily aware of the situation in the country. Khmer Arts Ensemble for example could benefit from American donors, and in spite of attempts at diversification, half of its budget is reliant on external aid. Other NGOs, such as Sovanna Phum or Kok Thlok, have financial difficulties which alter their daily operations. The input from NGOs has been decisive in raising awareness of what a Western understanding of civil society means, with its civil rights, the freedom of press as well as the opinions and free market advocated by Western countries. It is towards this conception of civil society that the Cambodian Living Arts and Phare Ponleu Selepak built up their discourses: ‘Transforming Cambodian society through the arts.’ Yet which kind of civil society are they referring to when their actions are mostly directed towards foreign audiences? Performances are set in decontextualized settings, at differing times and they are staged within Western style theatres mainly during the touristic season. These NGOs are largely influenced by a Western vision where performing arts are ‘consumed’ like any other disposable item. This only underlines the importance of why Cambodian Living Arts and Phare Ponleu Selepak performances must reach a certain percentage of Cambodian audience. But this vision conveys a profound misconception of Cambodian society, as these traditional performing arts are usually performed collectively around their cultural center: the Buddhist monastery (Condominas 1968). However, if performing arts still exist today, then they own their existence to the civil society that succeeded in reviving them in 1980 after the Khmer Rouge regime in spite of extreme poverty and

148  Suppya Hélène Nut without of help from official or state institutions. Nevertheless, this cultural model does not really interest NGOs as they base their actions on the commodification of performances and not on collective and interactive participation. They prefer to focus their actions with other NGOs who speak the same language, such as the Cambodian Living Arts who organize music and dance workshops for humanitarian organizations. While it is possible to critically scrutinize such cultural NGOs, their existence enables a new way of practicing performing arts, although this is undoubtedly more in line with the globalization and the accelerated urbanization that currently affects Cambodian society. The NGOs’ actions were crucial at a time when Cambodia underwent a period of societal tragedy. They supported exiled artists in the refugee and displaced persons camps along the Thai–Cambodian border and later in helping rural, Cambodian communities and official institutions within the country. For example, ­A mrita Performing Arts collaborated with the School of Fine Arts to create new ballet productions by financially helping the artists. Since its installation at Battambang city, Phare Ponleu Selepak has provided schooling and a professional training to street children and poor families thereby relieving the state of this heavy burden. Nonetheless, the rise and development of these NGOs poses a threat to official institutions as they increasingly become representative of ­Cambodian culture, whereas the Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts should really be the one leading this movement. A perfect example of this cultural prominence is when Cambodian Living Arts raised funds for a landmark tour in the United States in 2013 (www.nyc-arts.org/collections/55313/­seasonof-cambodia-2). More than 200 artists performed dances, plays as well as exhibitions on the New York stages (Broadway theatre, Guggenheim theatre or the MoMA Museum). In 2017, the same NGOs organized the first festival of World Music in Siem Reap ‘RepFest’ (27–29 October). If these NGOs continue to overshadow the state, as they do today, they are at risk of exhausting the human resources they need. Such is the case of Khmer Arts Academy who recruits well-trained students from the national school to constitute its own troupe, as do Amrita Performing Arts, Kok Thlok and Sovanna Phum. By recruiting from these national institutions, these NGOs are sure to guarantee good quality artists, without bearing the financial and administrative burdens of having to train them. Indeed, to become a good artist, one needs to be trained in music or and dance for at least eight to nine years. These cultural NGOs benefit much from the country’s liberalization and start to challenge the state in the promotion of Cambodian Living Arts. They are flexible, responsive and can demonstrate an entrepreneurial ability by attracting a new market, in the form of tourists who increase every year. Furthermore, their discourses focusing on the preservation of the arts and the well-being of the artists appeal to prospective donors who tend to consider the state inefficient and obstructed by bureaucracy.

Traditional performing arts under NGO influence  149

Conclusions Cambodia is a country which has received four distinctions by UNESCO for its performing arts: the Royal Ballet (2003), the Sbek Thom (Khmer shadow theatre) (2008), the Chapei Dang Veng (Khmer zither) (2016), the Lokhon Khol Wat Svay Andet (Male masked theatre) (2018). The NGOs display a ‘savoir-faire’ that the state severely lacks due, in part, to the bureaucratic system inherited from the Communist regime and the inadequate training of its staff which are ill equipped to market and promote the rich dance and music repertoire. Nevertheless, most of these NGOs are fragile because they depend entirely on foreign subsidies as the touristic market remains a niche, unable to sustain these organizations. It is thus paradoxical to see some of them looking for help from the state when faced with financial difficulties, as exemplified by Sovanna Phum. Sarin Chhuon, who is in charge of the programme of Cambodian Living Arts, recognizes that ‘there isn’t enough work for artists, and there is a lack of local and government support’ (­Muong and Wilson 2016) which contradicts, in a way, one of his goals, to provide jobs for artists. Finally, these NGOs are still dependent on the state which provides human capital and the excellence of its artistic traditions in spite of a lack of resources and professional managers. They are not able to generate in their ranks their own artists except for Phare Ponleu Selepak who is specialized in circus, a tradition that has recently been introduced under the Communist regime in Cambodia (1980–1993). It seems thus more appropriate for these NGOs to establish a real collaboration, a balanced partnership, notably in helping the state to train efficient cultural administrators who could engage in dialogue between the private and state sectors, thereby enabling the sharing of resources and sustaining knowledge in the field of performing arts. In parallel, they should build bridges with the civil society who has been sustaining local performing arts since Cambodia recovered from the Khmer Rouge tragedy in the 1980s. Exchanges between these different actors, NGOs, state and civil society would contribute to nourish and nurture ‘a vibrant artistic scene’ claimed by Cambodian Living Arts, a mission that cannot be fulfilled by one partner only.

Notes 1 The term NGO or non-governmental organisation is relatively recent. This acronym was created by the United Nations in 1945 to name observers that do not represent state institutions. The definition is vague enough to include informal small groups than more professional agencies. 2 Traditional living arts designate all ephemeral arts (music, dance, chant, theatre, poetry), practiced during collective festivities or traditional ceremonies.

150  Suppya Hélène Nut 3 China ceased to support the KR after 1997 and developed a close relation with the current regime dominated by the Cambodian People’s Party. 4 Victim of the regionalist rivalries, and the cold war, Cambodia was used by different protagonists to assert their influences over the region, on one side, Vietnam and its protégé the Communist People’s Party and the other side, an uneasy political alliance forming of two smaller non-Communist forces, FNLPK (Republican Khmer People’s National Liberation Front) and FUNCINPEC (National United Front for an Independent, Neutral, Peaceful, and Cooperative Cambodia) and the Khmer Rouges. 5 The United Nations Border Relief Operation (UNBRO) was a donor-nation funded relief effort for Cambodian refugees and others affected by years of warfare along the Thai-Cambodian border. It functioned from 1982 until 2001. 6 The United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC) was a United Nations peacekeeping operation in Cambodia in 1992–1993. It was also the first occasion on which the UN had taken over the administration of an independent state, organised and run an election. 7 www.phnom-penh.biz/Restonet/pp/annuaire.nsf/3acef478e80cb135c12570 830061fe8d/f085ecae191500e147256f49001ed262!OpenDocument 8 https://phareps.org/language/fr/about-us/ 9 www.kokthlok-cambodia.com/ 10 http://khmerarts.org/ 11 http://amritaperformingarts.org/ 12 www.cambodianlivingarts.org/ 13 globalartscorps.org/home/khuon-det/

References Benson, C., 1993. The Changing Roles of NGOs in the Provision of Relief and Re-habilitation Assistance: Case Study 2 – Cambodia/Thailand. London: ­Overseas Development Institute. Billeri, F., 2017. The Process of Re-Construction and Revival of Musical Heritage in Contemporary Cambodia. Moussons, 30, pp. 91–109. Burridge, S. & Frumberg, F., 2016. Beyond the Apsara: Celebrating Dance in Cambodia. New Delhi/London/New York: Routledge. Chanda, N., 1988. Brother Enemy: The War After the War. New York: Collier Books Macmillan Publishing Company. Condominas, G., 1968. Notes sur le Bouddhisme populaire en milieu rural lao. Archives de sociologie des religions, 25, pp. 81–110. Curtis, G., 1998. Cambodia Reborn : the Transition to Democracy and Development. Washingtoon DC: Brookings Institution. Delcore, H. D., 2003. Nongovernmental Organizations and the Work of Memory in Northern Thailand. American Ethnologist, 30(1), pp. 61–84. Exell, K. & Trinidad, R. (eds.), 2014. Cultural Heritage in the Arabian Peninsula: Debates, Discourses and Practices. Farnham: Ashgate. Fisher, F. W., 1997. Doing Good? The Politics and Antipolitics of NGO Practices. Annual Review of Anthropology, 26, pp. 439–464. Foley, K., 2014. No more Masterpiece: Tangible Impacts and Intangible Cultural Heritage in Bordered Worlds. Asian Theatre Journal, 31(2), pp. 369–398. Khoury, S., 2012. Ramayana et cultes populaires au Cambodge: l’exemple du ­Lkhon Khol. In: G. Toffin & H. Bouvier (eds.), Théâtres d’Asie à l’œuvre: Circulation, Expression, Politique. Paris: EFEO, pp. 107–124.

Traditional performing arts under NGO influence  151 Khoury, S., 2014. Quand Kumbhakār libère les eaux. Théâtre, musique de biṇ bādy et ex-pression rituelle dans le lkhon khol au Cambodge. Doctorat d’Ethnomusicologie. Université de Paris Ouest-Nanterre: Paris. Kong, V. & Chanmara, P., 2014. Sbek Thom. Phnom Penh: UNESCO/Ministry of Culture and Fine Arts. Meyer, C., 1969. “Le Ballet royal du Cambodge.” Musique et danse au Cambodge. Musique de tous les temps, 50–51, pp. 25–39. Meyer, C., 1970. Ballet Royal du Cambodge. Nokor Khmer, 1, pp. 5–12. Misliwiec, E., 1988. Punishing the Poor: The International Isolation of Kampuchea. Oxford: Oxfam. Muong, V. & Wilson, A., 2016. Even Master Craftsmen Need to Pay the Rent. Phnom Penh Post, 10th June. Nut, S.-H., 2009. “Le théâtre royal.” Le Cambodge d’Adhémard Leclère ­(1853–1917) et le trésor indochinois d’Alençon. Verrières: Éd. De l’Étrave. Nut, S.-H., 2015. The End of Women’s Supremacy or Towards a Shared Role in the Cambodian Court Theatre? Asian Theatre Journal, 32(2), pp. 416–439. Richmond, O. & Jasons, F., 2012. Liberal Peace Transitions. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Sem, S., 1967. Lokhon khol au village de Vat-Svay-Andet, son rôle dans les rites agraires. Phnom Penh: Annales de l’Université Royale des Beaux Arts. Shawcross, W., 1979. Sideshow: Kissinger, Nixon, and the destruction of Cambodia. London: Andre Deutsch. Shawcross, W., 1984. The Quality of Mercy: Cambodia, Holocaust, and Modern Conscience. London: Andre Deutsch. Strangio, S., 2014. Hun Sen’s Cambodia. New Haven/Chiang Mai: Yale University Press/Silkworm Books. Tuchman-Rosta, C., 2014. From Ritual Form to Tourist Attraction: Negotiating the Transformation of Classical Cambodian Dance in a Changing World. Asian Theatre Journal, 31(2), pp. 524–544. Turnbull, R., 2006. A Burned-Out Theater: The State of Cambodia’s Performing Arts. In: L. C. Ollier & T. Winter, eds. Expressions of Cambodia: The Politics of Tradition, Identity and Change. New York: Routledge, pp. 133–149.

10 Blowing hot and cold Culture-related activities in the deployment of Australia’s soft power in Asia William Logan While those of us practicing and studying cultural heritage conservation might wish to see United Nations and UNESCO declarations and conventions taken up globally, in the end it is Nation States that determine what elements in these grand principle statements are taken up locally. Nation states always put their own interests first. Moreover, they seek to extend their interests beyond the nation’s territorial boundaries through the use of ‘soft power’ (Nye 1990, 2004), the two main forms being international aid and cultural diplomacy. But the picture is more complicated in states where governments change at not infrequent intervals as the result of national elections. The ideological vision of the nation and its future varies from one government to the next, and the application and content of soft power shift as a consequence. Australia’s use of soft power over the last half century has generally been relatively weak and narrow in its focus. This is true for its cultural diplomacy, particularly if we take the view commonly held today that the concept refers to ‘pretty much any practice that is related to purposeful cultural cooperation between nations or groups of nations’ (Eng et al. 2015: 366). Australia’s official cultural diplomacy program has been very rudimentary, consisting largely of overseas tours by performing and visual artists. Meanwhile its international aid program, known as Official Development Aid (ODA), has put the emphasis on the word ‘development’ in its title and has largely excluded culture. Moving beyond these generalities, however, the ideological differences between successive governments have influenced much foreign affairs international aid policy-making and many of its official programs. Australia’s electoral system has ensured that only two parties have dominated the political scene since World War II—the conservative Liberal Party, usually governing in coalition with the rural-based National Party, and the social democratic Australian Labor Party. An interest in developing cultural policies, cultural diplomacy and culture-based aid has been stronger under Labor governments. Building on the truism that foreign policy begins at home, the chapter sketches the changing public and political context in which the soft power aspects of Australian foreign policy developed as well as their peculiarities

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  153 and weaknesses. It was under Labor in the late 1980s and early 1990s that Australia experienced something of a cultural turn in the deployment if its soft power when it became engaged in several cultural projects aimed at protecting Asian urban heritage, notably the old sector of the Vietnamese capital, Hanoi, and at Luang Prabang and Tam Ting in Laos. An associated item was the seed-funding of AusHeritage, a private sector network of consultants and university experts wishing to find heritage work in Asia. While the 1990s’ cultural turn was short-lived, there was a brief revival in 2012, again under Labor but continuing under the Coalition, when Australian aid was given to provide interpretative panels at Hanoi’s royal citadel and Confucian temple of literature and to help protect the colonial core of Yangon in Myanmar. What is peculiar about these cases of assistance to Hanoi and Yangon is that none of them had their origins within the official foreign aid and cultural diplomacy programs and some barely complied with the official policies in these areas.

Australian ‘soft power’ in Asia: some generalities As international relations scholar, Jacquie True (2017) observes, it is surprising that Australia has been slow to use culture as part of its deployment of soft power. Australia is a middle ranking power1 but it is a Western country situated, at times uncomfortably, in the non-Western context of the Asia-Pacific region. Until World War II Australia relied on the British to support it militarily should this be necessary. Following the fall of Singapore in February 1942 Australia turned instead to the Americans, signing the ANZUS Treaty, a collective security agreement between the United States, Australia and New Zealand, in 1951 and establishing the Joint Defence Facility Pine Gap 20 kilometres from the town of Alice Springs in central Australia. In the early 2000s President George Bush and the Coalition prime minister of the time, John Howard, referred to Australia as ‘America’s sheriff in the Asia-Pacific’. Although this was probably intended to mean peacekeeper, much indignation was expressed by regional neighbours (Grubel 2003). The Malaysian Prime Minister, Mahathir Mohamad, for instance, is reported to have warned Australia that it ‘has to choose whether it’s an Asian country or a Western country. If you take the position of being a deputy sheriff to America, you cannot very well be accepted by the countries of this region’ (quoted in Fickling 2004). There are very good reasons, therefore, for Australia to employ a full range of soft power tools to allay the fears and hostility of its regional neighbours. Its ODA policy and programs do, of course, work in that general direction yet their effectiveness in this regard has been restricted because of an adherence to neoclassical economics which largely ignores the role that culture plays in development. The Australian Agency for International Development (AusAID), which was responsible for ODA until 2013, 2 followed the Rostowian linear and materialist concept of development and

154  William Logan modernization and believed in the primacy of markets as the drivers of economic growth. As a result, Australia’s ODA became, according to Corbett and Dinnen (2016: 89), ‘essentially a technical enterprise aimed at inducing economic growth, and thereby development, in recipient countries’. Expenditure was focussed appropriately on provision of basics such as water and electricity supply, road infrastructure and schooling. But cultural projects were not part of the vision, even when it could be clearly demonstrated, as in cultural tourism projects, that jobs and household incomes would be boosted in the local community. The Australian government’s direct use of cultural projects to project the Australian image overseas has been officially confined to a cultural diplomacy program that, again, has been poorly defined and fragmented in its administration. Touring art exhibitions, dance troupes and orchestras have been funded through the national Australia Council, which was established in 1975, and individual state arts funding bodies. An emphasis has been placed on displaying Indigenous culture (Bleiker and Butler 2016). These tours, however, have numbered only a handful each year, although building up recently. In 2016 eleven grants were awarded under what is now called the Cultural Diplomacy Grants Program run out of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) (Australian Government, DFAT 2017a). Of these, nine related to art and music, including three Indigenous, while two others were in the architecture/design field. This chapter’s focus on cultural heritage is based on the argument that, since cultural heritage represents those things that give us a sense of identity, it has particular relevance and usefulness for developing programs designed to enhance mutual understanding between countries and societies. While the Australian artists touring abroad draw on their own cultural heritage, no projects have been funded under the official cultural diplomacy or ODA programs to date that seek to safeguard or valorize the cultural heritages of the overseas recipient nations. Australia does not have an official permanent cultural presence abroad in any way comparable to that of France, Germany or the United Kingdom through their Alliance Française, Goethe Institute and British Council. Of course, these bodies are primarily concerned with bolstering the global status of the home countries and their languages, literature and cinema as distinct from providing aid to improve living conditions in the host country. In recent years, however, agencies such as the Netherlands’ Prince Claus Fund and Britain’s Prince’s Foundation for Building Community have shifted the emphasis to working in country and assisting in the conservation of heritage places that provide the basis for tourism-based job and income generation. John H. Stubbs and Robert G. Thomson (2017: 24) refer to such activity as ‘heritage diplomacy’; that is, foreign assistance for heritage-related projects that has also paved the way for allied interests that may be unrelated to heritage and its protection. They give as an example the financial aid for conserving Angkor’s temples that facilitated foreign trade and industrial interests in Cambodia.

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  155 Asia has not been merely the recipient of such heritage-related aid; much aid is generated within Asia itself. Japan, in particular, has financed many, largely cooperative conservation and skills training programs in Southeast Asia through the Japanese Agency for Cultural Affairs and the Asia-Pacific Cultural Centre for UNESCO. Natsuko Akagawa (2014) shows how Japan’s heritage conservation policy and practice was deployed through its foreign aid programs as one of the main means through which it sought to mark its presence in the international arena, both globally and regionally.3 In her research, Akagawa used as case study Japan’s involvement in cultural heritage conservation projects in Hue, Vietnam, including both the physical conservation of buildings in the Hue citadel and revitalizing the music of the royal court. By comparison with Japan, France, Britain and the Netherlands, Australia has not only been reluctant to shift its aid towards cultural development but also slow to use heritage conservation as part of its soft diplomacy in Asia. This was not due to a lack of heritage management expertise in Australia. Australia ICOMOS has been one of the largest and most active chapters in the peak international cultural heritage body, the International Council on Monuments and Sites, and its Burra Charter (Australia ICOMOS 1979) has been influential globally. It was more a case of politicians and policy-­ makers not appreciating the nature and significance of cultural heritage. There have been ministries handling, in a limited way, the fine, performing and Indigenous arts, sometimes alongside communication and technology. But, as in the United States, Australia’s governments generally do without ministries dealing with culture more anthropologically defined: culture in this broader, more modern sense simply looks after itself. One consequence of this structural bias is that Australia has resisted ratifying UNESCO’s 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage. This reluctance to focus on cultural projects, especially in relation to Asia and its cultural heritage, seems to reflect the uncomfortable relationship Australia has had with its own cultural identity. White settlement began in 1788 and subsequent years saw the decimation of the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island peoples by a combination of white people’s guns, diseases, arrogance and apathy. The European settlers themselves felt threatened when Chinese migrants began arriving during the gold rushes of the 1850s. This fear led to the development of a series of policies, collectively referred to as the White Australia policy, aimed at restricting the entry of non-Europeans. While these policies were dismantled between 1947 and 1973, as recently as 2006 cultural economist David Throsby thought that Australia still remained uncertain about what its cultural values were and in what direction they were changing (Throsby 2006). Achieving social consensus was not helped by the ‘culture wars’ that had broken out under the coalition government led by conservative Prime Minister John Howard (1996–2007) in which efforts were made to reshape the national narrative through interventions in educational curriculum development and museum curation (Logan 2007: 218; Abjorensen 2009). The national census of 2016 made quite clear

156  William Logan the multicultural character of Australia’s population,4 although this ethnic diversity is only slowly being represented in the make-up of Australia’s parliaments. Anglo-Celtic dominance still restrains efforts to shift official aid and cultural diplomacy programs more towards Asia and its cultures.

The 1990s: Australia’s soft power in Asia takes a cultural turn The Australian bicentenary in 1988 triggered debate in the public and political domains about the place of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders in the national narrative (Hawkings 2014) and eventually led to Australia’s first cultural policy document, Creative Nation (Australian Government, DCA 1994). This debate and policy development, which occurred under the Labor governments of PMs Bob Hawke (1983–1991) and Paul Keating (1991–1996), saw ‘culture’ redefined to emphasize the importance of Indigenous and migrant cultures in creating a hybrid national culture. It also reframed the cultural industries in economic terms and called for this culture to be exported to the global market. To do this, Australia had to cast off definitions of its culture that were based on its British colonial past and establish connections with the cultures of its neighbours. Indeed, some government leaders at the time were arguing that developing mutual cultural understanding within the region was the key to Australia’s security. The concept of ‘multi-dimensional security’—that is, security in all its dimensions—was a key element of Dr Gareth Evans’s ideological program as Minister for Foreign Affairs in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Evans’s Ministerial Statement Australia’s Regional Security (1989), regarded by some international relations experts at the time as ‘the most significant indication of the future direction of Australia’s regional security doctrine’ (Fry 1991: 12), emphasized the need for Australia to be fully sensitive in dealing with its regional neighbours—not by avoiding difficult and delicate issues, but by handling them with great care, conscious of the extent to which we are, and are perceived to be, culturally different from our regional neighbours. (Para. 163) The Ministerial Statement also recognized, under the heading of ‘Cultural Diplomacy’, that ‘Our cultural relations programs—which can embrace everything from fine arts to football—can help in reducing the sense of “otherness” that exists between Australia and regional countries’ (Para. 139). Hanoi, Vietnam It was in this context of growing interest in Asian engagement that the Australian government became involved in several heritage-related initiatives in Hanoi. The city had survived physically the two wars of independence—first

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  157 against France (1946–1954) and then the United States and its allies, one of which was Australia (1955–1972)—and it looked much as it had been in the 1930s. Prominent Vietnamese historians, Dr Phan Huy Le and Nguyen Vinh Phuc, led a campaign to save the city’s built heritage and they were backed by foreign ambassadors, especially of Australia, France and West Germany. On the Australian side, an important part was played by political and diplomatic figures such as Graham Alliband, Ambassador to Vietnam (1986–1991) and Gough Whitlam, former prime minister (1972–1975) and Ambassador to UNESCO (1983–1986). Whitlam had visited Hanoi in the mid-1980s and was impressed by its architecture, both pre-colonial and French colonial. In the early 1990s, he helped establish and was patron of the Friends of Hanoi Architectural Trust. Drawing together Australian business people wanting to establish a foothold in Vietnam, which at the time was opening up to the world economically under its 1986 Doi Moi (‘renovation’) policy, the Trust was a mutually useful, if short-lived, mechanism. It won favourable attention from the central government and Hanoi People’s Committee but also led to the restoration of an old sector temple and the hosting of the seminal ‘Developing Whilst Preserving Hanoi’ workshop in November 1993 (Logan 1995: 342). Whitlam, the foreign ambassadors and the Vietnamese historians urged the Vietnamese government to seek UNESCO’s assistance in protecting its old sector (Whitlam 1997: 58–59). At this time the World Heritage system was still in relative infancy and so the Hanoi project, instead of working towards World Heritage listing, aimed at establishing another of the ‘international campaigns for the safeguarding of the heritage of mankind’ [sic] managed through UNESCO’s Division of Cultural Heritage (DCH). The strong role taken by Whitlam led to UNESCO choosing an Australian consultant to undertake the project (ibid). I was appointed and worked closely with the Vietnamese National Institute for Urban and Rural Planning. The final report was presented in March 1990 (Logan 1990) and was approved by the Vietnamese Government and UNESCO’s DCH. It then floundered, however, caught up in an embargo imposed on all new largescale campaigns that was part of UNESCO’s response to the budgetary crisis caused by the United States, United Kingdom and Singapore leaving the organization in 1984–1986.5 Despite this, the 1990 project had an important impact. It was the first international ‘expert’ recognition of the world significance of Hanoi’s heritage—a recognition that was cited across the 1990s by Vietnamese and foreign conservationists and that led to other useful national and international heritage interventions (Logan 1995). From senior government ministers down to Hanoi People’s Committee planners, tacit recognition was now being given to the need for heritage controls. In 1984 only 80 sites had been officially listed for the whole of Hanoi but ten years later the Hanoi People’s Committee was boasting that Hanoi had listed 1,320 ‘relics of cultural history’, of which 337 had been classified as being of national significance (Logan 2014).

158  William Logan Other follow-on activities included international conferences and workshops, an extensive photographic survey by Japanese experts and restoration work by the French on several colonial buildings such as the Opera House and National Library in the lead up to the Francophonie conference hosted by Hanoi in 1997. The most extensive and potentially important activity, however, was the large Australia-funded ‘Hanoi Planning and Development Control Project’ (1994–1997). Australian funding for the project resulted from PM Keating having been captivated by the city’s old sector during a guided walk that was part of the program for his official visit to Vietnam in April 1994. The project took up the recommendations of the 1990 UNESCO report and expanded them into an attempt to put in place an urban management system, not just for the historic old sector, but for the entire metropolitan area. A team of Australian planners, lawyers and heritage specialists worked with the Chief Architect’s Office (CAO), an agency newly established by the Hanoi People’s Committee, to formulate planning and building codes, to prepare detailed local plans including heritage controls and guidelines, to train local staff and to establish an enforcement system that would ensure compliance with the regulations (Logan 1995: 334). More than 2.4 million Australian dollars (USD 1.9 million) were spent on the project, funds that came from the AusAID budget under the infrastructure development criterion and covered salaries of the Australian team and their Vietnamese counterparts, computer equipment and vehicles for the CAO. While the planning outputs of the project were approved by the Vietnamese authorities they were not implemented due mainly to the intense rivalry between the CAO and pre-existing government bodies, especially the powerful Ministry of Construction, a contest that ended with the closure of the CAO. Probably the greatest long-term benefit of these projects to Hanoi’s heritage conservation came from their training components which encouraged young Hanoi planners to see heritage controls as an integral part of strategic city planning and management. AusHeritage An initiative began in 1994 to expand the kind of activity undertaken in Hanoi through the establishment of AusHeritage, an incorporated group of private sector consultants and experts from universities and national collecting institutions wanting to work on Asian cultural heritage. This followed a survey of Australian heritage professionals by the Australian Heritage Commission and the federal Department of Communication, Information and the Arts in which many respondents, in the spirit of Creative Nation, thought that their services should be exported and that there were advantages in marketing as a group rather than individually. Although by the time AusHeritage was launched in 1996 the conservative Howard government had come into office, the small amount of funding was maintained as well as in-kind support for AusHeritage, mostly in the form of staff time provided by the then Department of Environment and Heritage (DEH).

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  159 Without the level of funding provided to the Netherlands’ Prince Claus Fund or Britain’s Prince’s Foundation for Building Community, AusHeritage was unable to achieve its ambitions. The marketplace was tough and it was probably naïve to have thought it would obtain many major consultancies for conservation work. Indeed, only a few paid projects eventuated. A notable exception was the cultural mapping of each of the ASEAN states, a project approved by ASEAN’s Committee for Culture and Information (ASEAN-COCI) in 2002 and resulting a decade later in the publication of a useful practice guide (Cook and Taylor 2013). The initiative had been first mooted following the signing of a Memorandum of Understanding between AusHeritage and ASEAN-COCI in 1997 and publicly announced in a joint press release from the Coalition’s Ministers for Foreign Affairs and Communications, Information Economy and the Arts (Downer and Alston 1998). The media release promised that half of the total funding (approximately USD 78,000) for the first stage would be provided by DFAT, the remainder coming from ASEAN. The project was clearly in line with the Coalition’s commercially oriented thinking on foreign aid, the media release stressing that ‘the agreement will enable Australia’s arts and heritage achievements to be showcased throughout the region, opening up substantial commercial opportunities for Australian companies and AusHeritage members’. The cultural mapping project was slow to reach conclusion in large part because the promised DFAT funding did not materialize and it did not lead to rush of other commissions (Ken Taylor, pers. comm., 21 May 2018). Instead of paid consultancies the organization fell back to providing policy advice on short-term, one-off, low-budget funding or gratis. In 2002 it engaged in a project in Indonesia developing heritage trails for the walled Kraton of Yogyakarta and the former Dutch East Indies capital of Batavia and its port of Sunda Kelapa in Jakarta. The project was underwritten by the Australia-Indonesia Institute, one of DFAT bilateral country councils, and led by Rodney Jensen. Advisory visits to India by AusHeritage delegations led by president, Vinod Daniel, also received some DFAT funding, on these occasions through the Australia-India Council. AusHeritage members often made up for funding shortfalls from their own pockets. In other instances, AusHeritage badged projects that were undertaken by members in their capacity as employees of Australian government agencies or universities. Bruce Pettman, for instance, took part in a four-person delegation that visited Taiwan in 2002 to assess a set of places for their potential as World Heritage sites. Pettman was Principal Heritage Architect in the New South Wales Department of Public Works and Services Heritage Design Services at the time and the mission was fully funded by the Taiwan’s Ministry of Culture through a local cultural foundation. Although AusHeritage seems to have convinced some Australian government members through these activities that heritage had a real place in soft diplomacy, it was never able to win AusAID enthusiasm.

160  William Logan Luang Prabang and Tam Ting, Laos There had also been a growing research interest in Asian heritage conservation in several Australian universities during the 1990s, fostered in part by the Australian Research Council (ARC) declaring ‘Understanding Our Region and the World’ as a priority funding area. Some of the funding shortfall for the ASEAN-COCI cultural mapping project was met by the Australian National University.6 At Deakin University a ‘Heritage in Asia Research Group’ was established in 1995 that led on to the opening of a UNESCO-endorsed Cultural Heritage Centre for Asia and the Pacific in 2001 and to ARC grants such as ones culminating in the publication of Hanoi: Biography of a City (Logan 2000 [2010]) and The Disappearing ‘Asian’ City: Protecting Asia’s Urban Heritage in a Globalizing World in 2002 (Logan 2002). The University of Melbourne meanwhile developed staff expertise appropriate for working in Asia on materials conservation projects such as painting restoration (Tse 2001). Some of these academics were also involved in AusHeritage. Since the early 1990s several universities have used ARC and other funds for heritage conservation work in the Lao People’s Democratic Republic (­Egloff 2001). Australian museums have also provided volunteers, as in Luang Prabang where an assistant curator was funded to work at the Royal Palace Museum following its reconstruction by the Swedish aid agency, SIDA. Archaeologists at Latrobe University spent many years on pottery kilns found at Ban Xang Hai, near Luang Prabang, and in northern Thailand. The University of Canberra funded a team, headed by Bruce Egloff, to conserve Tam Ting (Caves of Ting) located on the banks of the Mekong north of Luang Prabang. The caves are a shrine that embraces both Buddhism and the practice of phii, an ancient form of spirit worship. The project ran six years until 2001 when, under the Howard government, Australian aid to Laos was sharply refocused on rural health and development, education and HIV/AIDS awareness training. While not disputing the importance of these areas, Egloff (2001: 33) was nevertheless unhappy with AusAID’s refusal to consider funding rural tourism development projects, observing that Given that sustainable cultural and natural area tourism is regarded as a priority development sector within rural Australia, and one that builds local capacity and supports the development of infrastructure networks, it is surprising that this concept has not gained favour with AusAid.

The 21st century: governments blowing hot and cold National elections in 1996 swept the Keating Labor government out and brought in the conservative Coalition under PM Howard. While AusHeritage and the university interests in Asia heritage survived, the cultural turn

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  161 that had seemed to be extending cultural diplomacy and culture-based aid projects in the region did not. The concept of multi-dimensional security and the importance of cultural understanding were largely lost in the new government’s White Paper on defence7 (Australian Government, DD 2000). Although the government continued to provide funds to support the Australia Indonesia Institute, Australia China Council and the Australia ­Japan Foundation and the AusHeritage network, presumably because of their dual business and culture focus, none of the new cultural relations programs the Keating government may have had in mind materialized. Worse, as Egloff’s team working in Laos found, it became more difficult to obtain funding through official AusAID programs for cultural development projects, even where it could be demonstrated that this would lead to economic development as through cultural tourism (Egloff 2001: 33). Opposition spokesmen and some academic commentators lamented the lack of interest by the current government in Asia. Former diplomat based for a time in Beijing, Mandarin-speaking and later Labor prime minister (2017–2010, 2013), Kevin Rudd decried the apparent lack of concern for ‘the damage that has recently been done to perceptions of Australia in the region’ (quoted in Broinowski 2003: 13). However, in 2006 in another White Paper, this time on Australian aid, the Howard government asserted that for the next decade the overarching objective of Australia’s aid program would be to ‘assist developing countries to reduce poverty and achieve sustainable development, in line with Australia’s national interest’ (Australian Government, AusAID 2006: 20). In the ensuing aid policy statement this morphed into the main purpose being to ‘promote Australia’s national interests by contributing to sustainable economic growth and poverty reduction’, including through a strong emphasis on aid for trade and with the private sector as the engine of growth (my italics) (Australian Government DFAT 2014: iii, 1). The Ministerial Foreword made clear that ‘the aid program is not charity’ (ibid.). Government swung back to Labor again in the 2007 national elections. Just as Creative Nation had been closely tied to the PM Keating in the 1990s, it was under another Labor prime minister, Julia Gillard ­(2010–2013), that the cause of Asia engagement was taken up once more, particularly in her government’s Australia in the Asian Century White Paper (Australian Government 2012). While acknowledging the importance of economic opportunities, PM Gillard declared in her Foreword that there were also ‘great social and cultural benefits to be had from broadening and deepening our people-to-people links across the region’. The report itself insisted that these links were social and cultural as much as they were political and economic (p. 3). Among other initiatives, it mentioned the newly reconfigured Australia Network service, combining the Australia Network TV (now Australia Plus) and Radio Australia, as providing an’ effective public diplomacy tool with a large online component to build knowledge about Australia in the region’ (p. 25). This set the tone for the Labor government’s Creative Australia policy document launched the following year

162  William Logan (Australian Government 2013). The policy again stressed the importance of integrating the arts into other policy domains and strengthening the role of cultural diplomacy in Australian foreign policy, especially in Asia. It also provided the more supportive context for at least the following three further government interventions to protect Asian heritage, again in Hanoi and now also in Yangon. Hanoi heritage interpretation A small Australian cultural diplomacy initiative was connected with the celebration of Hanoi’s 1,000th birthday in October 2010. The Thang Long-­ Hanoi citadel was the centrepiece of festivities, having just been inscribed on the World Heritage List. Later in the month Hanoi hosted the 17th ASEAN summit, which was attended by Labor PM Julia Gillard. In the lead up to her visit the Australian Embassy in Hanoi proposed that a fitting birthday gift, which she could announce during the visit, would be the preparation of interpretation materials for some of Hanoi’s heritage sites. This was subsequently specified as the development of a set of interpretative panels for the citadel. The project was administered by DFAT through the Embassy in Hanoi and completed in 2012. The cost of around AUD 60,000 was covered by DFAT through an ambassadorial discretionary fund. This was a generous and well-received gesture although the level of funding pales in comparison with other aid promised by PM Gillard in talks with Vietnamese ­leaders—AUD 132 million for improving infrastructure in the greater Mekong sub-region, AUD 10 million to help stop the exploitation of migrant workers and 7,500 scholarships to study in Australia (Yaxley 2010). The Australian ambassador at the time, Allaster Cox, and his successor, Hugh Borrowman, evidently saw cultural diplomacy benefits in the citadel project and in 2015 funded the development of another set of interpretation panels by the same set of Australian experts, this time at the Van Mieu, Hanoi’s Confucian Temple of Literature. Their interest was a mixture of the personal and the professional: they were fascinated by the local culture and saw support for cultural heritage projects as unthreatening initiatives compared with economic or military exchanges and as a means to build up good will with the Vietnamese government and enable them to act more effectively in their role as conduits between Hanoi and Canberra. Yangon, Myanmar Twenty-five years after Vietnam’s liberalization, Myanmar began opening up to the world and since 2011 it has been undergoing rapid economic, social and political transformation. Australia was quick to position itself as a supporter of the democracy movement and as an economic investor and supplier of foreign aid. New economic investment, however, is impacting on the built environment of Myanmar’s major cities, especially the former capital Yangon and its historic quarters. Yangon is said to be the Southeast

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  163 Asian city with the largest number of intact, if rundown, colonial buildings (Martin 2004), a heritage that fits uneasily with the national narrative pushed by the Myanmar government which prefers to emphasize Buddhist religious buildings and royal structures (Logan 2016). The country’s heritage management system is probably insufficiently robust to achieve a satisfactory balance in Yangon between urban development and heritage conservation. In the absence of a government body responsible for managing the built heritage the task had fallen, with the blessing of former President Thein Sein, on the non-government Yangon Heritage Trust (YHT). Following a visit to Yangon’s historic centre in June 2012 accompanied by Thant Myint U, Chairman of the YHT, the Gillard government’s Foreign Affairs Minister, Bob Carr, gave a commitment to helping conserve the city’s built heritage (Carr 2012). Australia had already given an initial AUD 5,000 to support community participation in the YHT’s planning for downtown Yangon. The new commitment was to fund the secondment of an Australian expert to assist the YHT in drafting an urban conservation strategy to guide the Myanmar government and the Yangon City Development Committee (YCDC), Yangon’s municipal government. An invitation was also extended to a number of government officials and YHT professionals to travel to Australia to inspect heritage buildings and precincts that demonstrated Australian best-practice restoration and adaptive reuse of heritage buildings. A short training course at the University of Queensland was also arranged for them. Subsequently an Australia-Myanmar Institute was established in 2013 and has run several conferences both in Australia and Myanmar. Australian ambassadors past and present have been actively involved in establishing the Institute and Christopher Lamb (ambassador 1986–1989) is its founding director. It is too early to tell whether these international interventions in Yangon will have the same beneficial effect on the Myanmar government and YCDC as did Australia’s culture-related activities in Hanoi. A new Protection and Preservation of Ancient Buildings Law was passed in Myanmar in August 2015 and the municipal government is building up the heritage credentials of its planning staff. Myanmar is looking to increase its World Heritage standing8 and, although at the moment it is seeking this for Bagan in the north, it may in future consider Yangon or at least the city’s iconic Shwedagon pagoda. Calls for international assistance for this, however, would possibly meet a quiet response. The factor that has erupted since 2016 to complicate the continuation of all foreign aid to Myanmar is that country’s persecution of its Rohingya minority, including what the United Nations has called ‘ethnic cleansing’ (Logan 2018).

The Australia’s soft power in Asia today This chapter has shown that there have been significant differences between the way in which Liberal-National Party coalition and Labor governments have seen Australia’s relationship with its regional neighbours

164  William Logan and the amount and kinds of international aid and diplomatic overtures they have been prepared to provide. Successive governments have blown hot and cold on the inclusion of culture-related activities in their deployment of soft power in Asia. If Australia ever had short-lived cultural turns in the 1990s and again during the last decade, these occurred under Labor governments and clearly did not continue under conservative coalition governments. The last downturn occurred after September 2013 when the Liberal-­ National Party once again regained power, this time under PM Tony Abbott although he was replaced two years later by the current prime minister, Malcolm Turnbull. PM Gillard’s Creative Australia was abandoned. Within three months the new Coalition Foreign Minister, Julie Bishop, announced that, rather than build up Australia’s soft power in the region, its total ODA of AUD5.032 billion would be cut by $107 million in the April 2014 budget and thereafter would grow annually in line with the Consumer Price Index. Moreover, OAD would be tied to rigorous benchmarks (Tomar and Bruere 2014). The coalition government has cut international aid since then to $4.2 billion in the most recent budget (May 2018) and indexation has been scrapped for four years. Australian international aid is at its least generous level ever—just 0.23% of Gross National Income (DPC, ANU 2018), despite Australia having signed up to an international obligation under the UN Millennium Development Goals to spend 0.7% of GNI on aid by 2020 (Barlow 2014). Of course, Australia has not been alone in cutting foreign aid, with many developed countries arguing that this was necessary in order to balance budgets. One of the particular causes of Australia’s budgetary problem, however, has been its refugee policy (OECD 2016). In fact, the incarceration of refugees in offshore detention centres in defiance of international human rights and refugee declarations and conventions has cost Australian taxpayers more than AUD5 billion (Doherty 2017). Meanwhile Australia is following the Trump Administration in confronting China over the South China Sea, which threatens to alienate China, Australia’s principal trading partner. Experts like Jacquie True (2017) argue that soft power diplomacy should be a central element in Australia’s foreign policy at this increasingly tense time. Instead the government’s 2017 White Paper on Foreign Affairs (Australian Government, DFAT 2017b) is seen as treating soft power in a desultory manner, discussion of it not occurring until the final, very brief chapter.

Conclusion: where to next? The case studies of Australian aid to neighbouring countries in the field of cultural heritage show that a cultural turn took place from the late 1980s into the 1990s and that this was largely due to initiatives occurring outside the official aid and cultural diplomacy programs. These initiatives resulted

Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  165 from individual Australian leaders at prime ministerial and ministerial level making commitments following personal visits to historic city centres that were side events to official state meetings. On other occasions small aid projects were developed by Australian ambassadors posted to Asian countries and funded from their discretionary or other DFAT funds. Such commitments were clearly motivated by the desire to strengthen bilateral relationships with neighbouring countries through the slow process of building good will through what the Chinese call guanxi—mutual support with a sense of moral obligation. Notwithstanding the continuing divergence of views about Australia’s involvement in the American War in Vietnam—a divergence that follows political party lines—the Hanoi examples demonstrate the benefits that can flow from longstanding collaboration in the field of cultural heritage conservation and management, particularly the strengthening of Australia’s soft power in the receiving country. The use of heritage as a soft diplomacy tool is an important acknowledgment of the economic, social and political role that it plays in times of rapid transformation. However, as the Yangon case shows, the role that heritage-based projects have in Australian official aid and cultural diplomacy policies and programs is contingent not only on party politics and swings in the electoral pendulum within Australia but also on broader political considerations. If overall there has been a move in the last 25 years to give greater emphasis to culture, both in promoting the Australian image abroad and as part of its international aid, this must be kept in perspective. Cultural diplomacy remains comparatively weak and international aid narrow and in a much-­ reduced state. Australian aid related to cultural heritage has never been more than a fringe element with projects limited in both number and scope. Considerable cultural heritage assistance has been achieved through projects funded by agencies other than the Australian government and from the pro bono work of individual professionals,9 and that this is likely to continue. Given Australia’s geopolitical position, there will always be a need to try to ensure that its neighbours have a realistic understanding of its cultural identity and, conversely, for it to be sensitive to the cultures of its neighbours. This is a fundamental basis on which Australia should develop international relations in its region. While the absorption of the ODA function into DFAT makes it more likely that the thrust of foreign aid policy and programs will shift as governments of different political persuasion come and go, there is little pressure on the government to increase the funding of cultural heritage projects significantly. In this it is worth bearing in mind Goldsmith’s admonition that ‘cultural policy is rarely seen as a critical vote changer’ (Goldsmith 2013). So what are the possibilities for a new cultural turn in the deployment of Australia’s cultural diplomacy and overseas aid? Another national election took place in May 2019. The change of government back to Labor predicted in pre-election polls and the media did not eventuate and it is

166  William Logan now not expected that a new batch of culture-related projects in Asia that might have followed a Labor victory will materialize. The best advice, therefore, to those wanting to expedite greater Asia engagement, especially in the cultural field, may be to follow the Hanoi and Yangon models and work through sympathetic Australian government members, preferably party leaders. The case studies show, too, that no matter whether the government is conservative or social democratic, it always helps to be able to demonstrate the economic benefits that will come from cultural heritage projects—jobs and income generation not only in Asia but also in Australia. Whichever party is in power, such an argument is likely to be more persuasive than ones resting solely or even primarily on the more nebulous concept of soft power or on the subjective virtues of heritage conservation.

Notes 1 While Australia is the world’s 53rd largest country in terms of population, estimated at 24.6 million for 2018 (World Population Review 2017), it has the 13th  largest economy in terms of GDP (Statistics Times 2017) and the 18th largest military (Grinberg 2018). 2 The ODA function was absorbed into the Australian Department of Trade and Foreign Affairs (DFAT). 3 This extended from hosting the Nara Conference on Authenticity (1994) to managing the appointment of Matsuura Koïchiro as Director-General of ­U NESCO (1999–2009) and establishing under his aegis UNESCO’s Intangible ­Heritage Convention (2003). 4 Over half a million Australian residents were born in China, representing 2.2% of the total population, those born in India, the Philippines, Vietnam and Malaysia made up another 4.6% while those from Islamic western Asia, including Turkey, Iran and Afghanistan, made up 1.4% (ABS 2017, 2018). 5 Reasons cited for the withdrawal were that UNESCO had become too inefficient, spendthrift and harmfully politicized (ie. anti-Western). See Lynch 2017 for further details of the US withdrawals in 1984 and again in 2017. 6 AUD28,000 was provided by the ANU to assist background research and the National Museum of Australia gave AUD5,000 towards publication costs (Ken Taylor, pers. comm., 22 May 2018). 7 Used in various countries (eg. Australia, UK, Canada), the term ‘White Paper’ is a government report on a particular subject giving information and canvassing ideas that may form the basis of government policy making. 8 Myanmar currently has one inscribed site on the World Heritage List: Pyu ­A ncient Cities (2014). It submitted a nomination for Bagan in January 2018 and a decision will be made by the World Heritage Committee in mid-2019. 9 For example Bruce Pettman’s work on the Bali Cultural Heritage Conservation Project funded by the World Bank, 1999–2000, and Elizabeth Vine’s authorship of a restoration and revitalization handbook for the owners of historic buildings in Asian cities (Vines 2005).

References Abjorensen, N. (2009). ‘The history wars’, in J. George and K. Huynh (eds.), The Culture Wars: Australian and American Politics in the 21st Century. Palgrave Macmillan: Melbourne, 142–158.

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Culture in Australia’s aid in Asia  169 Logan, W. (1995). ‘Heritage planning in post-doi moi Hanoi: the national and international contributions’. Journal of the American Planning Association, 61(3), 328–343. Logan, W. (2000). Hanoi: Biography of a City. Sydney: University of New South Wales Press and Seattle: University of Washington Press [2010 republished in Vietnamese as Hanoi: Tieu Su Mot Do Thi. Hanoi: Hanoi Publishing House]. Logan, W. (ed.) (2002). The Disappearing ‘Asian’ City: Protecting Asia’s Urban Heritage in a Globalizing World. Hong Kong: Oxford University Press. Logan, W. (2007). ‘Reshaping the “Sunburned Country”: Heritage and cultural politics in contemporary Australia’, in R. Jones and B. J. Shaw (eds.), Loving a Sunburned Country? Geographies of Australian Heritages. Aldershot: Ashgate, 207–223. Logan, W. (2014). ‘Making the most of Heritage in Hanoi, Vietnam’. Historic Environment, 26(3), 62–72. Logan, W. (2016). ‘Whose Heritage? Conflicting Narratives and Top-down and Bottom-up Approaches to Heritage Management in Yangon, Myanmar’, in S. Labadi and W. Logan (eds.), Urban Heritage, Development and Sustainability: International Frameworks, National and Local Governance. London: ­Routledge, 256–273. Logan, W. (2018). ‘Ethnicity, Heritage, Human Rights and Governance in the Union of Myanmar’, in Rodenberg, J. and Wagenaar, P. (eds.), Cultural Contestation: Heritage, Identity and the Role of Government. New York: Palgrave-­ Macmillan, 37–60. Lynch, C. (2017) ‘U.S. to pull out of UNESCO, again’, Foreign Policy (online). Available at: http://foreignpolicy.com/2017/10/11/u-s-to-pull-out-of-unescoagain/ (accessed 20 May 2018). Martin, S. (2004) ‘Burma maintains bygone buildings’, BBC News, 30 March (­online). Available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/3578993.stm (­accessed 12 February 2018). Nye, J. (1990). Born to Lead: The Changing Nature of American Power. New York: Basic Books. Nye, J. (2004). Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics. New York: Public Affairs. OECD. (2016). Development aid in 2015 continues to grow despite costs for in-donor refugees (online). Available at: www.oecd.org/dac/stats/ODA-2015-­ detailed-summary.pdf (accessed 22 January 2018). Statistics Times (2017). List of countries by projected GDP, 23 April (online). Available at: http://statisticstimes.com/economy/countries-by-projected-gdp.php (accessed 23 January 2018). Stubbs, J. H. and Thomson, R. G. (2017). Architectural Conservation in Asia: National Experience and Practices. Abingdon and New York: Routledge. Throsby, D. (2006). Does Australia need a Cultural Policy? Strawberry Hills, NSW: Currency House. Tomar, R. and Bruere, W. (2014). Official development assistance—the future of Australian aid (online). Available at: www.aph.gov.au/about_parliament/­ parliamentary_departments/parliamentary_library/pubs/rp/­b udgetreview 201415/oda (accessed 22 January 2018).

170  William Logan True, J. (2017). ‘Soft power or smart power? Flipping Australia’s White Paper’, Australian Outlook, 27 November (online). Available at: www.­internationalaffairs. org.au/australianoutlook/soft-power-smart-power/ ­(accessed 20 January 2018). Tse, N. (2001). ‘Developing networks and ongoing conservation programs in the Philippines’. Historic Environment, 15 (3), 35–45. Vines, E. (2005). Streetwise Asia. A Practical Guide for the Conservation and Revitalisation of Heritage Cities and Towns in Asia. UNESCO Bangkok/World Bank: Bangkok. Whitlam, G. (1997). Abiding Interests. St Lucia, Queensland, University of Queensland Press. World Population Review. (2017). ‘Australian population 2018’, 20 December (online). Available at: http://worldpopulationreview.com/countries/australia-­ population/ (accessed 23 January 2018). Yaxley, L. (2010). ‘Gillard winds up Vietnam visit’, ABC New, 31 October (­online). Available at: www.abc.net.au/news/2010-10-31/gillard-winds-up-vietnam-visit/ 2317528 (accessed 27 February 2018).

Part III

Donors funded cultural projects and global challenges

11 Reconciliation through cultural heritage in the post-Yugoslav space An apolitical endeavour Višnja Kisić Introduction The Wars of Yugoslav Succession in the 1990s were one of the pivotal points for the creation of an international justice system, a system invested with the potential to bring peace in diverse post-conflict areas around the globe. Consequently, over the past 20 years, the post-Yugoslav space has been a testing ground for codifying practices and theories of transitional justice, peace-building and reconciliation by many academics, Western governments, multilateral agencies, international organizations and NGOs. The wars in Yugoslavia, similar to other conflicts around the world that occurred after the fall of the Berlin Wall, as intra-state conflicts have often been understood and framed through the lens of identity and culture. Unlike previous interstate conflicts, which were dominantly explained along the lines of imperial conquest or opposing ideologies, the belligerents in the “new wars” have often been defined along cultural lines such as language, religion, shared memories and shared symbols (Nye 2003: 151). Despite diverse scholarly perspectives on the Yugoslav wars – research that argues these wars were triggered by the transition from a socialist to a capitalist system, pushed both internally and by international actors (Lipschutz 1998; Horvat and Štiks 2015) or research showing that the roots of wars are criminal actors, clandestine groups and emerging political elites wanting power redistribution (Peters 2004) – the dominant discourse of the media, international community and political elites has been about ethnically (and culturally) driven conflict. Therefore, both during and after the wars, culture and heritage with ethnic prefixes have played pivotal roles in justifying or hiding political and economic interests and in igniting, explaining and perpetuating conflicts (Crawford and Lipschutz 1998; Lipschutz 1998: 11). Importantly, on the one hand, these new conflicts, framed as intra-state, have established opportunities for challenging the very sovereignty of states, thus opening the space for “new interventionism” (Doyle 2001) as a form of extensive external involvement in domestic affairs. On the other hand, they have included culture as a part of international justice and human rights debates and enabled actors in the cultural field to position themselves as agents of peace-building processes.

174  Višnja Kisić Facing the challenges of peace-building after the Wars of Yugoslav Succession, numerous intergovernmental, international and non-governmental organizations, foreign foundations and development agencies have invested time and funds for heritage initiatives in the name of reconciling communities and newly formed states. Again, this is no surprise, bearing in mind the importance of heritage and contested discourses about the past in framing and fuelling the very conflicts of Yugoslav dissolution (Kisić 2016b). Distinctive heritages of one ethnic or religious community, together with traces of joint multicultural and Yugoslav heritage, were purposefully attacked and destroyed. In Bosnia alone from 1992 to 1995, the deliberate destruction of heritage was systematically practiced by the Yugoslav People’s Army and Serbian and Montenegrin paramilitary groups, by the Croatian Army and by Bosnian military groups, resulting in more than 2,771 architectural heritage properties damaged, 713 of which were destroyed and 554 burned down, according to the incomplete data assembled in November 1995 by the Institute for the Protection of Cultural, Historical and Natural Heritage of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Moreover, the end of armed conflict did not end conflicts around heritage, memory and history. From history textbooks to museum exhibitions, heritage sites and memorial practices related to recent wars, discourses about the self and the other remain highly contested and unsettled (Lakić 2013; Kostovicova 2005; Bartulović 2006; Kisić 2016b). Somewhat paradoxically, despite the diversity of actors and interventions aimed at reconciliation, the post-Yugoslav space is neither in “peacetime” nor in “wartime”, but still lingers in “conflict time” (Baillie 2013), a period in which conflict is not absent, but rather transformed into war by proxy, played out through competitive heritage interpretations, antagonistic memorialization and memory wars. My aim in this article is to position heritage-­led reconciliation practices within this paradox, reflecting on their contributions and shortcomings in addressing the conflicts. Recognizing that heritage serves simultaneously as a cohesive and divisive factor, I first sketch the context of the post-war Yugoslav space, which I define as characterized by two opposing processes – the internationally imposed agenda of transitional justice and reconciliation and the internally institutionalized process of ethno-nationalization – visible also in the heritage field. Then, in the absence of explicit definitions, methods and goals for reconciliation through heritage set by international donors and organizations, I analyze the three most commonly used approaches to working with heritage in the name of reconciliation, pinpointing their underlying assumptions, effects and challenges. Considering the context and most commonly used approaches, I argue that there are two major reasons for the failure of heritage-led reconciliation efforts. First, reconciliation agendas through heritage have remained vague and abstract, failing to define underlying assumptions, goals and methods and to explain how exactly heritage contributes to reconciliation. This in

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  175 turn meant that it was challenging to establish coordinated efforts and to evaluate the impact of implemented efforts by the international actors, as well as impossible for local actors to internalize, advocate for and continue practicing the principles and methods of heritage-based reconciliation. Second, the most commonly used approaches have stayed within the comfort zone of both the international and local heritage actors, treating heritage as universalizing and apolitical field. Thus, they avoided dealing with heritage-­ related politics, contestations and dissonances, evading addressing the dominant divisive political processes and deeper roots of social violence.

Imposed reconciliation and internalized ethnonationalization: irreconcilable post-war political processes? New interventionism in the post-Yugoslav space came in the shape of postwar recovery, neoliberal restructuring and “neoliberal peace”, a peace that is characterized by formal democratic procedures and market economies, but which fails to address the deeper causes and consequences of communitarian violence (Lipschutz 1998: 7). Already with the breakup of wars in former Yugoslavia, the issues of regional security, peace-building and reconciliation involved a number of Western governments, international military forces and organizations who played a part in regional peace negotiations. Consequently, the processes of transitional justice and reconciliation were imposed top-down from the side of the international community and applied through deliberate conditionality in terms of foreign aid, visa regimes and the future European integration of the region (Freyburg and Richter 2010; Subotić 2015). Most of these actions relied on the neoliberal understanding of post-conflict transition and peace-building, focusing on seemingly technocratic and neutral “rule of law” requirements and market liberalization closely linked to EU enlargement policies (Vieile 2012). The International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), known as the “Hague tribunal”, already established during the wars, was invested with expectations of being the key factor in reconciliation and peace-building. However, 20 years after the war, there is a limited positive record of transitional justice in each of the Western Balkan states. Moreover, as Ristić (2014) points out, the legal narratives of and about the Hague tribunal have played a significant role in the production of public discourses on “the Past” in Serbia, Croatia and Bosnia, and were instrumentalized in the formulation of self-victimizing ethno-national collective memory. The charging and prosecution by the ICTY of war criminals from one’s ethnic community were not used by media and political elites for public discussions about communal responsibility and wrongdoing. Instead they contributed to positioning war criminals as national heroes, painting a picture of injustice and the suffering of that community. In fact, in parallel with externally pushed peace-building agendas, local political elites have been successfully using ethno-nationalism as one of

176  Višnja Kisić the key strategies for retaining power (Gagnon 2004). The discourse of reconciliation was reserved for visits to Brussels, together with narrow institutional compliance with international transitional justice requirements, while the new economic and social restructuring (Horvat and Štiks 2015) and division-driven political speeches shaped local and regional realities (Subotić 2009). Even when local actors used the concept of regional reconciliation, they mainly framed it in the context of national suffering and the need for acknowledgement of the crimes against their ethnic group by the neighbouring countries (Kostovicova 2013; Subotić 2015). At the same time, local transitional justice organizations in the Western Balkans who have been actively promoting different models of truth-seeking and reconciliation, through initiatives such as RECOM, remained on the margins of society and formal institutions. Interestingly, however, since the 1990s the new political elites gave an important place to the concept of reconciliation, defined in a way that is utterly different from attempts to foster regional peace. Pioneered by Croatian leader and first president of independent Croatia Franjo Tuđman as a mechanism for unifying Croats during the war, this concept of reconciliation focussed on the revision of historic narratives constituted during Yugoslavia that would allow for “national reconciliation” based on erasing the ideological divisions between Croatian anti-fascist Partisans and Croatian Nazi collaborators Ustaša (Pavlaković 2008). The rehabilitation of former fascists based on common ethnic belonging and the idea of fighting for independence simultaneously meant acceptance of the mass killings of Jews and Serb minorities during WWII in Croatia. Thus, national reconciliation was a powerful mechanism to draw new lines of ethnic belonging, neutralize significant ideological divisions, mobilize populations and justify previous cycles of violence. Similarly, following the fall of Milošević in Serbia, the new democratic regime also introduced legal acts allowing the rehabilitation of Chetniks, members of a royalist anti-communist Serbian pro-national military group, resulting in formal court rehabilitation of the key leaders of the Chetnik movement as Serbian heroes (Djureinović 2017). Along these lines, opposition parties in Montenegro have pushed for the Declaration of Reconciliation between Chetniks and Partisans – which is said to act as a means of reconciliation between Montenegrins and Serbs as well as ideological reconciliation (CDM 2017). All these aspects have created a context in which international transitional justice norms were never internalized by the Western Balkan states and local political leaders, but were used for complex domestic political bargaining, and, when needed, translated into locally acceptable and politically useful interpretations and forms of conduct (Peskin 2008; Subotić 2015). A similar trend of double standards – one for the international community and one for sustaining political power on the local level – could be followed in the field of culture and heritage. The use of the term “reconciliation” as a post-conflict political ideal came from outside, resulting in no

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  177 other comparative example of such an intense international and bilateral involvement in the restoration of destroyed heritage, heritage interpretation and memorial practices as in the countries of the Western Balkans. The call on culture and heritage in reconciliation processes has been voiced and supported by numerous international actors – UNESCO, the Council of Europe, the European Commission, Cultural Heritage without Borders, Pro Helvetia Programme, the Open Society Foundation, the Balkan Trust for Democracy, the Goethe Institute, the Aga Khan Trust for Culture (Geneva), World Monuments Fund (New York), IRCICA (Research Centre for Islamic History, Art and Culture), the Council of Europe Development Bank and the World Bank – through direct on-site involvement, donor politics, joint programmes, networks for professionals and expert missions. However, following the broader regional inconsistencies in localizing, ignoring or altering transitional justice requirements, the framing of cultural institutions and official cultural policies in the newly formed Nation-States of the Western Balkans has resulted in exactly the opposite of fostering dialogue and reconciliation. National cultural policies have become increasingly ethnically driven (Dragićević Šešić and Dragojević 2006), defining identity and culture along ethnic lines, while states have established their authorized interpretations of both the recent conflicts and the farther past – in direct conflict with the interpretations established by neighbouring countries. Ethno-nationalist narratives used heritage to demarcate and track inter-ethnic tensions and identity claims back to prehistory, the Illyrian Period, Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Keiser 1996), culminating with 19th-century struggles for national independence from the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires and civil war during WWII. Museums as well as specific heritage sites contributed to narratives of particular nations as the oldest, the greatest, the most heroic and the most victimized. Furthermore, the changes which followed the wars fostered intense, quick and conflicting transformations in memorial culture leading to the divisive memories and revised interpretations of heritage (Petritsch and Džihić 2010;). Consequently, the memorial landscape changed in the region through the renaming of streets, public spaces and institutions, and erecting and replacing monuments. Anti-fascist monuments built during the Yugoslav period were destroyed, altered or neglected both during and after the wars or re-appropriated for nationalistic purposes; new monuments were erected commemorating victims of communism, the homeland war in Croatia and Kosovo Liberation Army heroes in Kosovo, or representing the antique roots of Macedonia and national heroes of the periods before communism (Dragićević Šešić 2012; Radonjić 2012). Finally, history education in schools became profoundly ethnicized, with history textbooks teaching dramatically different historical narratives (Perry 2013). Therefore, the international agenda for regional reconciliation took place in parallel with the above-described internal processes that actively worked to

178  Višnja Kisić delete any meaningful sense of a common identity and past, constructing national futures along ethnic divisions and using hatred as a strategy for maintaining power. These official memory and heritage processes, national reconciliations and historical revisionism have not been accepted unanimously by populations or professional communities. On the contrary, a significant number of local individuals, groups, and human rights and peace organizations, as well as civil society actors in the field of culture and heritage, have worked on challenging these hegemonic meanings, creating counter-narratives and discursive spaces for dialogue – acting, however, in a fragmented manner and on the margins of dominant institutional practices. Overall, these external and internal divisions mean that both the heritage in the region and accounts of the past have become increasingly and openly dissonant and contested, making any official historical consensus and common narrative impossible. The described situation was further complicated by the fact that for heritage-­led reconciliation there was no accepted international norm to follow, causing different actors to articulate its meanings, methods and assumptions in diverse directions. Despite numerous heritage-related practices and actors appropriating the words peace-building, post-­conflict action and reconciliation, hardly any of them explicitly articulated the meaning, philosophy and policies behind these phrases in relation to heritage. Discursively, reconciliation and peace-building acted as empty universals (Laclau 2007: 36), vague yet powerful and normatively charged social ideals, which have no content on their own but are articulated and shaped by actors and their interrelations within a given political field (Renner 2014; Touquet and Vermeersch 2016). Despite being vague and blurry, the term “reconciliation” has had certain authority in the region both because it came from donors and organizations with international legitimacy and significant funding and because it represented an imagined opposition to the above-described official state politics.

Pinning down reconciliation efforts through heritage in the Western Balkans Given the diversity and number of different stakeholders, as well as multiple approaches and assumptions about what reconciliation is and should be, one cannot talk about reconciliation as an agreed-upon, planned and coordinated international process whose effects can be easily assessed. Instead, we can talk about different excursions, trials and experiments that had smaller or larger impacts on relations, understandings and practices in the heritage field. In the absence of transparent, explicit and elaborated policies and politics of reconciliation in the heritage domain, in what follows I sketch out the three most common approaches used in the name of reconciliation by most present international and intergovernmental actors. In doing this, my aim is not to give a detailed account of the diverse actions, funding

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  179 schemes, projects and programs, nor to construct a thorough classification and typology of different methods, understandings and practices related to reconciliation through heritage implemented during last two decades in the Western Balkans. Instead, taking reconciliation as an empty universal, I aim to underline and deconstruct the most common articulations of heritage-­led reconciliation. In doing this, I will reflect on the ways they have addressed or avoided the described dissonances and divisions created through heritage, as well as on the kinds of professional relations they have fostered, highlighting some of the strengths and weaknesses of each approach. Reconstructing destroyed heritage Keeping in mind the degree of destroyed heritage during the wars (Walasek 2015), it is no wonder that the most common approach of heritage-related post-conflict aid in the Western Balkans has been to restore, reconstruct and rehabilitate damaged cultural heritage. This approach is based on the idea that rebuilding the environment and identity symbols which were destroyed hand in hand with the exodus and killings of people can create the right conditions for the return of displaced persons, give back a sense of “normalcy” and create conditions for reconciliation. The assumption here is that material heritage sites are the most visible signs of identity and belonging in public spaces; therefore, restoring them can lead to restoring one’s identity and even restoring social relations that have been torn apart. As Nordström (2012: 18) suggests, analyzing the work of Cultural Heritage without Borders in post-war Kosovo, there is the idea that ethnic-based heritage destruction should be countered by cultural reconstruction, in which heritage regeneration is a step towards social healing. The research on post-war heritage reconstruction in the Balkans shows that not all destroyed heritage was equally desirable object of reconstruction, nor could all heritage attract equal attention from international aid and donors (Kostadinova 2013). Overall, religious sites have been by far the most popular object of restoration, at the expense of public buildings, destroyed modernist heritage or monuments of the Yugoslav period. Even when restoring religious sites, UNESCO, CHwB and CoE used a universalizing view of heritage as a common good to transgress (and often not address) the idea of heritage with an ethnic prefix that shaped its destruction. Thus, the civilized reconstruction of destroyed common heritage (even if not perceived as such by the local populations) has been seen as a process against its barbaric destruction, irrespective of its ethnic prefix. Along these lines, the Council of Europe, who has been actively working on liberal democratization, cultural policy assessment, professional capacity building and restoration in the Balkans, has formulated in more detail its relation to post-conflict action in the field of heritage. The document The Role of Culture and Cultural Heritage in Conflict Prevention, Transformation, Resolution and Postconflict Action: The Council of Europe Approach

180  Višnja Kisić underlines that heritage serves as both a cohesive and divisive social force, thus acting as a source in identity conflicts. Furthermore, it posits that these conflicts could be overcome by the idea of common heritage whose diversity is a richness that provides means for development. Interestingly, the conflicting potential of heritage is recognized as a source of conflict, but not addressed when discussing solutions to the conflict. On the contrary, solutions are found in uniting societies around heritage, “improving their self-image and feeling of identity and social cohesion” and “normalising them through economic development” (CoE 2011: 5) – thus fostering tourism, the creation of new jobs and economic benefits that could magically unite peoples after conflict. Furthermore, it is suggested that reconstruction and preservation of the cultural and built environment can influence the reconstruction of social and cultural relations from before the conflict (CoE 2011: 4), an idealistic concept in societies where past conditions and social relations have resulted in violent conflicts. What, however, remains unclear and unaddressed throughout the speeches, writings and project proposals of international actors that have proposed the approach of heritage reconstruction is how exactly the heritage restoration process is linked to intercultural understanding and reconciliation. When the Old Bridge in Mostar was reconstructed and officially inaugurated on July 2004, media articles and inaugural speeches by international donors, UNESCO representatives and foreign politicians made a direct link between the restoration of the bridge and reconciliation of the divided city of Mostar. Moreover, the Old Bridge’s inscription to the World Heritage List made it clear that this monument was invested with the idea that it would be a symbol of multi-ethnic coexistence and peace in the ­region – despite the lack of actual political and social rapprochement between Bosnian Muslim and Croat communities (Traynor 2004). The case of Cultural Heritage without Borders,1 whose first years of activity in the Western Balkans have been mainly focussed on the restoration of destroyed heritage, is telling of both the successes in restorations and limits of reconciliation. The organization has been formed with the explicit mission to contribute to peace and reconciliation and has been using the tagline “We restore and build relations”, implying a connection between heritage restoration and social relations (Eaton and Hadžić 2013). Through restorations as well as other approaches that will be discussed later, they have been the most visible and important nongovernmental heritage actor connecting the region. They are at the same time the only international heritage actor that has been implementing external evaluations with an effort to account for the impact of their actions. Interestingly though, none of these evaluations defined reconciliation, or developed the methods to measure the effects of heritage reconstruction towards it. In particular, as their external evaluations show (Kälvemark 2007; Ljungman and Taboroff 2011), heritage reconstruction efforts gave back a sense of security and pride to local communities and served as a symbol of rebuilding the destroyed towns.

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  181 To many respondents, they also served as a sign that heritage destruction would not be rewarded by oblivion. However, as heritage reconstruction usually took place in ethnically homogenous towns, one could say that it strengthened relations within ethnically homogenous populations that associated themselves with these sites. These connections and relations through restoration have started being made, within the professional community in the region, only when restoration efforts started including professionals or students from diverse countries, an approach that will be discussed later. However, event in cases where restoration efforts deliberately involved attempts to create new social connections, it was difficult to prove their impact on intercultural dialogue and reconciliation on a wider population. As a very tangible and visible action, heritage reconstruction sends a powerful symbolic message – in many cases, not the message of a welcoming, shared political and public space of divided communities. Despite the reconciliatory and universalizing discourse of heritage restoration, numerous cases of heritage restoration as a method in post-war reconstruction, intentionally did not work towards reconciliation, dialogue or mutual understanding. As Aksamija (2008: 4–7) notes, newly restored mosques and churches in Bosnia and Herzegovina acted as powerful ethno-national markers of territorial control and as catalysts for the quest for national identity. Moreover, donor agendas and the political backing of restoration works in many cases involved interests opposed to interfaith and interethnic reconciliation. Thus, both in Bosnia and Herzegovina and in Kosovo, the highest percentage of reconstruction to war-damaged mosques and erection of new mosques was financed by the national governments of Muslim states such as Saudi Arabia, Turkey and United Arab Emirates, in Republic of Srpska most Orthodox Churches were restored through the funding from Serbian donors, diaspora or Serbian Orthodox Church, while in Croatia, the reconstruction funding went to primarily Catholic heritage, associated with Croatian majority, while destroyed heritage of Serb minority remained unaddressed (Kostadinova 2013: 11–12, 15). The reconstruction of cultural heritage has thus not been a positive, neutral and apolitical reconciliatory approach per se, but has shown to be a highly political and divisive matter, both for local and international actor. Building relationships through capacity building and networking When going beyond mere restoration of destroyed heritage, donors and international organizations have invested effort in creating relations among regional heritage professionals, institutions and policy makers, establishing capacity building and professionalization as a needed common ground for encounters. As the whole region was isolated from the rest of the world either through war or international embargo, a stagnation and lagging behind the most recent (Western) practices was felt across different professional

182  Višnja Kisić spheres. And finally, as the newly formed countries entered the transition process from war to peace, from planned to market economies and from socialism to capitalist democracies, capacity building through international aid actively promoted new concepts of heritage policy and management. The core presumption behind the capacity building and networking as reconciliation approach is that learning about heritage restoration or museum management can be used to restore or create new relations among the professionals entitled to care for local heritage in the future. The idea is that educational events and the presence of international experts can create a neutral professional space for regional encounters and relationships, slowly building trust and personal links that transgress historical conflicts. The professional identity thus has primacy over the ethnic identity. Reconciliation is an ultimately desired side effect and implicit agenda that is often not explicitly communicated with the participants, who have a clear professional interest in participating in the trainings. Noticing this opportunity early in its work, Cultural Heritage without Borders began to use projects for restoration and reconstruction of war-destroyed heritage as a platform for bringing together and training professionals from divided communities in Bosnia and Herzegovina. These encounters and capacity building efforts continued through the Regional Restoration Camps instigated by CHwB, which brought together students and young heritage professionals from all Western Balkans countries in learning traditional restoration skills, resulting in many of them sustaining friendly and professional contacts (Ljugman and Taboroff, 2011: 31). Also, much of UNESCO’s work in the region has been implemented through heritage management and restoration seminars, regional conferences and the opening of excellence centres2 in each of the countries, aimed at interregional cooperation. On a higher political level, this approach involved a Ministerial Conference established by UNESCO and the Council of Europe; the two ran in parallel for almost ten years, showing the lack of synchronization of different international actors, and finally merged in 2013. Furthermore, the Council of Europe and the European Union as one of the biggest donors in the heritage field have run a long-term regional capacity building and cooperation project based on the idea of integrated rehabilitation of cultural heritage: Technical Co-operation and Consultancy Programme related to the integrated conservation of the cultural and natural heritage, later known as “Ljubljana Process”, which promoted new methodologies and principles of managing heritage (Rikailović and Mikić 2015). Through the programme, a more permanent official regional cooperation system was created – with national coordinators, a regional pool of experts and professionals appointed to work on this process on behalf of public institutions. However, at the end of the program in 2015, it was noticeable that the heritage rehabilitation processes in each country have involved only the institutions and experts from that country and that there

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  183 was no institutional exchange and cooperation apart from meetings and conferences organized by the donors and the task force who coordinated the project. To foster regional relations, CHwB initiated two more regional networks as permanent structures for facilitating encounters of heritage professionals Southeast European Heritage Network (SEEHN)3 for civil society organizations active in the heritage domain and the Balkan Museum Network (BMN)4 for museums and museum professionals. Both networks have had reconciliation and peace building as their raison d’être. Unlike the programmes run by UNESCO and Council of Europe, structured around involving political structures and institutions appointed via ministries, CHwB worked with individuals, organizations and institutions who were not appointed, but willing to cooperate and connect. Thus, similar to the Regional Restoration Camps, these networks created new professional bonds, support ties and sustained friendships, at the same time becoming most prominent professional heritage networks in the region. Even in these cases, the internal willingness and external funding support for networking as a reconciliation mechanism did not result in the explicit articulation of reconciliation through heritage, besides meeting and learning together. Thus, the Balkan Museum Network, with its annual conference and a small grant scheme that encourages museums to formulate projects based on topics discussed during the annual conference, has done extensive work in supporting accessibility and inclusion in museums, promoting female leadership and museum interpretation, but very little when it comes to conflicting heritage issues in the region.5 On the other hand, the SEE Heritage Network that comprises organizations independent of government politics did not feel competent or comfortable in articulating joint projects that systematically foster reconciliation. These programmes and networks have been of tremendous importance for a long-isolated countries and professionals. They have contributed to establishing regional professional relations, as well as networks of support, sustained cooperation and friendships. In most cases, professionals who came together shared not only their professional identities but also social habitus and anti-war political views – meaning that reconciliation among them was not a burning issue, but mutual support and recognition were. Reconciliation through heritage beyond these relations, however, has remained a blurry and unmeasurable ideal that many professionals as well as the networks do not feel competent or invited to deal with. Capacities were built around issues that are not politically sensitive but are perceived as relevant for both decision-makers and heritage professionals – such as techniques of heritage restoration, its management, museum marketing and management, and socio-economic development through heritage. Consequently, the challenging issues related to contested identity and heritage politics, and the role of heritage professionals and institutions in addressing conflicts and fostering reconciliation through their work, have systematically been left behind. These reflected the wider trend noticed in processes

184  Višnja Kisić of neoliberal peace-building and social transformation after the 1990s, characterized by formal democratic procedures, imposed international transitional justice mechanisms and economic liberalization, but failing to address the deeper causes and consequences of communitarian violence (Lipschutz 1998). Re-interpreting heritage and re-framing common regional identities The reluctance to address contested heritage in the region was especially felt in cases of projects that aimed to involve heritage institutions and professionals in interpretation of heritage that is dissonant and contested. These kinds of projects most deeply relate to the ways in which heritage interpretation affects symbolic and cultural violence (Galtung, 1990) across the region and offer the discursive space for new modalities of meaning-making around common past (Kisić 2016b). Despite this, projects dealing with joint interpretation of heritage in the name of reconciliation and peace-building have been rare and mainly focused on the heritage sites and intangible heritage and museum exhibitions that can showcase the commonalities and shared practices across the divided countries. Thus, in 2011 eleven museums from six Balkan countries that initially formed the Balkan Museum Network organized the regional exhibition project “1+1, Life and Love”, supported by CHwB, selecting the objects and stories from their collections that “have universal relevance”, “speak of the values common to all of us” and show the “desire to share and bind”.6 As opposed to one joint travelling exhibition, this project encompassed eleven exhibitions prepared by and in each of the eleven participating museums under a common theme. The project was one of the first attempts at regional institutional cooperation, and the focus on the universal concept of life and love was set to avoid possible conflicts. Another, more focussed regional initiative was a transnational nomination of Middle Ages tombstones, Stećaks, for the World Heritage List (WHL 1504). It gained financial and technical support from the UNESCO Antenna Office in Sarajevo that also played a significant role in mediating the whole nomination process (Kisić 2016b: 97–130). Stećaks, a shared but highly dissonant heritage found in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Montenegro and Croatia, have been used since the 19th century for mutually conflicting ethno-national and territorial claims which were revived during the 1990s. The joint nomination has left aside the disputable historical appropriations of Stećaks and has equally tried to neutralize conflicting scientific interpretations of Stećaks within the national historiographies of Serbia, Bosnia, Croatia and Montenegro, crafting an interpretation of Stećaks as a bridge between ethnicities, religions and classes in the numerous South Slavic medieval states (Kisić 2016b). The symbolic and political potential of such interpretation for interstate cooperation contributed to

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  185 Stećaks being inscribed on the WHL in 2016, despite ICOMOS’s report to the WHC recommending postponing the inscription due to the failure to prove the outstanding universal value of Stećaks and to reapply (UNESCO 2016). As Dizdar (2016) shows, when evaluating the nomination dossier, the interpretation of Stećaks remained vague, with no ideological determinants of the cultural tradition whose testimony it represents, nor any substantial scientific and comparative analyses that would back such a vague and inclusive interpretation. Instead of acknowledging dissonance and making visible pluralism and contestations related to this heritage, thus showing to the regional audiences the ways heritage is being used for identity politics, the team decided to silence dissonances for the sake of a single narrative. Moreover, as my field research shows (Kisić 2016b), although the authors of the nomination dossier referred to this interpretation as consensual and political, many of them still inclined towards their own national historiographies. This, as well as the lack of a joint interpretation and education plan within the management plan of Stećaks, makes the “reconciliatory potential” of this joint interpretation questionable in the long run. Another unique attempt to initiate dialogue and reinterpret the period of formation of Nation-States in Southeast Europe is indicative of how tricky and sensitive it is to deal with contested national narratives reflected in heritage and museums. The exhibition project Imagining the Balkans: Identities and Memory in the Long 19th Century, coordinated by the UNESCO Office in Venice, gathered national and historical museums7 from 12 countries of Southeast Europe in reinterpreting the years from 1789 to 1918 as a period of forming new Nation-States in the place of the two multi-ethnic empires that ruled the region – Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman (Mazarakis-Ainian 2013, 2015). Besides enhancing cooperation and dialogue in the region, the project set out to “place national histories in a global context, comparing disputed narratives and reviving shared memories” (UNESCO website). However, it soon became clear that the attempts to compare, deconstruct or reveal mutually exclusive national narratives of participating museums were not easily accepted by all the members of the project group and therefore have not been implemented (Kisić 2016a, 2016b: 141–174). The final exhibition did restructure exclusive national narratives by creating a temporary transnational narrative of the Balkans around the concept of shared heritage and shared memory, acting to cohere commonalities across Southeast Europe. The comparison of disputed narratives, dialogues among them, or more multidirectional and plural interpretation of the heritage were, however, bypassed. The divergence of opinions regarding the strategies for implementing the exhibition within the “Imagining the Balkans” working group is telling of the wider dilemmas for addressing heritage dissonance and contestations. One, smaller group thought that conflicting narratives should be made visible, deconstructed and put in dialogue so to create critical

186  Višnja Kisić awareness among citizens and foster understanding of the exclusive and manipulative aspects of national historiographies (Kisić 2016b: 157–160). The other part of the group strongly felt that the acknowledgment of conflicting narratives might become problematic to participants, museums, participating states and citizens, and give incentive to the arousal of further conflicts (Kisić 2016b: 157–160). These tensions created the need among UNESCO Venice representatives to dissociate from a critical approach, underlining that they as an organization would not deal with contested issues or dissonant heritage, and tinting the conversation with the universalist shared heritage or common heritage concept, as a notion that supposedly transgresses historic disputes (Kisić 2016a). The initial ambition of the exhibition project proved to be outside the comfort zone of UNESCO, participants and their knowledge, the discourses and practices of their institutions and the official collective memory and historiography of their nation states. At the same time, this out-of-comfort effort signalled how important it would be to start discussing and understanding both professionally and publicly, the conflicting views of the past that citizens are exposed to. As in-depth research of these and similar projects has shown (Kisić 2016b), these projects have created new opportunities for professional interactions and cooperation beyond comfortable topics and sole capacity building. They have been the first official interstate cooperation in the region since the 1990s and have fostered new ties, personal contacts and friendships among professionals involved. Furthermore, they have created new interpretations of regional heritage through lenses other than national, but also demonstrated how uncomfortable and difficult it is, even for heritage professionals, to go outside of sedimented national narratives and enter into a constructive dialogue around heritage. Even more so, they showed the strength of the authorised heritage discourse (Smith 2006) and its understanding of heritage as a singular, objective and truthful account of the past: the strength that has led project teams to come up with new regional “objective heritage truths”, rather than show multi-perspective, plural and conflicting narratives. Singular accounts of common heritage, even if cleaned from all the active dissonances and tensions, were therefore seen as a safe way out of the regional politics of memory. Moreover, rarely have these internationally initiated or supported heritage projects addressed the interpretation of the common Yugoslav history and socialist past as a contact point between former ex-Yugoslav republics, nor the fall and violent dissolution of Yugoslavia. Almost as a rule, the processes of documentation, interpretation and memorialization of heritage related to violent conflicts in the 1990s, that question the official politics of memory in the region, have been reserved for the artists and human rights organizations who have played a much more prominent role than heritage professionals and official memory institutions. Instead, these heritage-­related projects have supported the wider international framing of

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  187 the region – as the (Western) Balkans or Southeast Europe – that almost by the rule went back to the pre-national ethnographic multiculturalism of the region before the 19th century. Thus, these re-interpretation processes have failed to address heritage-related disagreements that still fuel the regional conflicts. Nor have they addressed histories of past colonizations of the region and the political, ideological and class tensions, thus further emphasizing the apolitical multicultural understanding of the region.

Conclusion More than two decades after the wars ended, much foreign aid has moved to other, more recent post-conflict and transitional regions of the world; the ICTY finished its work; and the remaining international presence in the post-Yugoslav space has more openly shifted from transitional justice to the economic and legislative requirements of EU integration. However, official memory, heritage and education politics in newly formed states are becoming more normalized and sedimented ways of understanding the region. Each of the three above-analyzed approaches of international aid for ­heritage led reconciliation has played its role in reconstructing what is destroyed in violent conflicts, training heritage professionals and building new social relations among them. However, they have failed to create the appropriate space and build capacity in the heritage sector to approach heritage and identity-making critically and to address divisive identity politics and patterns of interaction in wider society. The fact that what is meant by, and expected of peace-building and reconciliation through heritage has not been made explicit by either foreign donors or key intergovernmental and international organizations such as UNESCO or CoE means that there was no coherent set of principles, criteria and methods around which international aid could be organized and different actors coordinated in contributing to the same goal. Furthermore, because the meaning of reconciliation through heritage and related agendas remained vague, mutually diverging and implicit, it has been impossible to create strong local constituencies who would promote, advocate and appropriate a set of practices and work towards their domestic internalization in the long run. The projects and programmes funded and coordinated by international development bodies only temporarily created new ways of interacting around heritage, but did not change the dominant understandings and practices exercised by the actors involved. The influence and presence of divisive politics has maintained hegemony and shaped the current relations and heritage practices in the region. Thus, what remains is a declarative presence of reconciliation as a moral ideal, backed by the international community, together with a piecemeal approach of diverse actors and programs that did not change the dominant divisions nor the usual understanding of them. In a similar vein, there is a lack of thorough evaluations of projects that have already been implemented which could

188  Višnja Kisić explain the weak points, challenges and spaces for improvement behind the grand rhetoric of heritage and reconciliation in SEE and beyond. Because of such a central place of heritage and contested historical narratives in perpetuating the conflicts, it might be expected that international community would focus part of its commitments on addressing these divides. However, this has been the least represented strategy and one which many tried to avoid, thus skirting further diplomatic tensions. Instead of acknowledging and embracing heritage dissonance (Kisić 2016b) and creating agonistic democratic space (Mouffe 2013) in which opposing sides can be engaged even if they may continue to disagree, most efforts supported the idea of heritage as an apolitical domain. As discussed above, this was done by universalizing heritage as a shared resource when restoring and reconstructing what has been destroyed; by educating and building capacity on more technical heritage management and restoration issues or on human rights issues of accessibility, community engagement and gender; and by new identity framing through common heritage reflected in common narrative which avoided critical understanding of the different components of inter-ethnic and social conflicts. What is left is a set of naturalized, exclusive and fixed identities, each with its own exclusive and hegemonic heritage, all placed in a political vacuum in which discussion, exchange and reinterpretation are ever less likely to occur.

Notes 1 Cultural Heritage without Borders (CHwB), a Swedish NGO mainly funded by the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency, was established as a direct response to the targeting and destruction of cultural heritage during the conflict in Bosnia-Herzegovina. 2 International Centre for Underwater Archaeology (Zadar, Croatia); Regional Centre on Intangible Cultural Heritage (Sofia, Bulgaria); Regional Centre on Digitization of Cultural Heritage (Skopje, FYR Macedonia); Regional Centre on the Restoration of Cultural Heritage (Tirana, Albania); and Regional Centre for the Management of Cultural Heritage (Cetinje, Montenegro). 3 For more detail see: www.seeheritage.net/ (last accessed 7 of January 2018) 4 For more detail see: www.bmuseums.net/ (last accessed 7 of January 2018) 5 In 2014 there was a whole stream of topics at the BMN annual conference concerning interpretation and education around dissonant, contested and difficult heritage in museums, and this was one of the three eligible topics for the small grant scheme that year. However, no museum applied for this topic. 6 For more details see http://chwb.org/bih/news/temp-news2/ (last accessed 7 January 2018). 7 The participating museums were: National History Museum, Albania; Museum of the Republic of Srpska, Bosnia and Herzegovina; National ­H istory Museum, Bulgaria; Croatian History Museum, Croatia; Leventis Municipal Museum of Nicosia, Cyprus; German Historical Museum, Germany; National Historical Museum, Greece; National Museum of Montenegro, Montenegro; National History Museum of Romania, Romania; Historical Museum of Serbia, Serbia; National Museum of Slovenia, Slovenia; Museum of Macedonia, the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia.

Reconciliation through cultural heritage  189

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12 Reducing disaster vulnerability through local knowledge and capacity Dr. Rohit Jigyasu

Disasters caused by natural and human-induced hazards such as earthquakes, floods, cyclones and fires cause tremendous loss of lives, livelihoods and properties. In 2017, 318 natural disasters occurred, affecting 122 countries (EM-DAT data on 21 March 2018),1 resulting in 9,503 deaths, 96 million people affected and US$314 billion in economic damages. In fact, the general trend over last few decades shows that even though there is still high mortality due to major disasters, the economic impact of disasters is also increasing at an alarming pace. A high rate of urbanization and climate change are two important factors that are exacerbating the frequency and intensity of disasters. Disasters have also been causing increasing loss of cultural heritage. Some recent examples include damage to historic cathedrals due to the central Mexico earthquake in 2017; damage to historic settlements in central Italy and Bagan Archaeological Site in Myanmar due to earthquakes in 2016; damage to the World Heritage Monument Zones of Kathmandu Valley due to the 2015 earthquakes in Nepal; fires in the World Heritage Town of Lijiang in China in 2013 and 2014; and fire in the Old Town of Edinburgh in the United Kingdom in 2002. Cultural heritage sites have also suffered enormous damage due to human-induced hazards like conflicts and vandalism, such as in the cases of Aleppo and Palmyra in Syria, Mosul in Iraq, the Timbuktu shrines in Mali and the Bamiyan Buddhas in Afghanistan. In South Korea, arson damaged the Sunraemon Gate in 2008, which is designated as ‘cultural property number one’. Extensive damage to cultural heritage has also adversely affected tourism-related revenues as well as associated livelihoods of local communities. While disasters are a cause of great misery and irreplaceable loss of heritage, they also serve as opportunities for change though the introduction of bold policy and planning measures aimed at reducing the vulnerability of people, properties and cultural heritage to future disasters. International donor agencies need to make critical choices regarding the basic philosophy governing post-disaster interventions undertaken as part of the recovery process. Of course, recovery should aim at reducing vulnerability and risks of future disasters, but should the choices be determined

Reducing disaster vulnerability  193 by the search for only new solutions or should answers be sought by rediscovering local knowledge and capacity developed by communities over time through a collective process of trial and error? In this debate, there is also the fundamental issue of defining cultural heritage: is it only restricted to remains of the past to be admired for their pristine glory, or does it also include the living dimension of heritage that shows continuity while evolving and adapting to change? By considering cultural heritage in its broad scope, ranging from monuments and archaeological sites to historic settlements and cultural landscapes, as well as intangible aspects such as rituals and practices, the chapter seeks answers to the following critical questions for post-disaster recovery of cultural heritage. How can we reconcile the need to safeguard lives as well as recovering lost heritage values, especially those that contribute to local identity and sense of place? What are the challenges and opportunities, failures and success stories in achieving this? What are the possible approaches for recovery of different types of heritage within its extended scope and what process should be followed for reaching a decision? Also, it is worth pondering if heritage is only a victim of disasters to be protected for posterity or if it can also be a source of resilience through local knowledge and capacity. If so, how can we harness that potential supposedly embedded in heritage? The above questions will be considered through analysis of post-­disaster reconstruction in case studies from India and Nepal. The case of post-­ earthquake reconstruction in Gujarat looks at the appropriateness of traditional technology and the challenges of integrating this knowledge into the design and construction of housing provided through support by national and international donor agencies. The second case of post-earthquake reconstruction, in the Marathwada region in India, emphasizes the importance of cultural considerations in the design and layout of settlements supported through donor agencies. The third case, of post-earthquake recovery of cultural heritage in Nepal, investigates special challenges in making decisions regarding restoration and retrofitting of cultural heritage damaged by earthquakes by reconciling considerations of safety and the protection of heritage values.

Appropriateness of traditional technology for postearthquake reconstruction: the case of Gujarat, India A destructive 7.7 RW earthquake struck the Kutch and Kathiawar regions in Gujarat in the western part of India on 26 January 2001. According to the official figures, the total population affected by the earthquake was a staggering 15.9 million. The numbers of dead and injured were placed at 19,727 and 166,000, respectively. According to another report, 7,904 villages in 24 districts of Gujarat were affected by this earthquake. A total 332,188 houses were destroyed while 725,802 houses were damaged to various degrees (Mistry, Dong and Shah 2001).

194  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu Study of vernacular housing that survived the earthquake reveals traditional knowledge in earthquake-safe construction systems. One of the typical traditional dwellings of the Kutch region, the bhungas, withstood earthquakes thanks to their circular form, which is very good in resisting lateral forces. Moreover, wattle and daub constructions, especially where wood is used as reinforcement for the wall, proved to be very effective. When such constructions fall, they fall outwards, thus preventing the loss of life of those inside them. It is worth mentioning that bhungas are not only earthquake safe, they also demonstrate a sensitive understanding of locally available resources, climatic conditions, and residents’ spatial requirements. Many structures built prior to the 1950s had floor joists extending through rubble stone walls to support balconies. These were more successful in stabilizing the walls than where joists terminate in pockets, and therefore performed much better against the 2001 earthquake (Langenbach 2001). In fact, in Anjar, this kind of structure was one of the rare ones found standing amidst the debris of collapsed houses (Jigyasu 2002). Some traditional constructions employing wooden frames with masonry infill also performed well against the lateral forces of the earthquake due to their capacity to dissipate energy. Several other earthquake-safe features are also to be found in traditional construction, such as tie beams, knee bracing, and tongue and groove joinery. However, it was found that this knowledge had been significantly lost prior to the earthquake and therefore many traditional structures did not perform well. Total failure of stone masonry structures was observed all over the affected region. The vulnerability of out-of-plane stone masonry walls could be discerned through the large amount of debris in the narrow lanes of affected towns. There were many one- or two-story stone buildings in mud mortar with poor bonding, of which hardly any survived without significant damage (Jigyasu 2010). Let us now consider how the reconstruction approach by local government, supported by various donor agencies, influenced the use of traditional knowledge and skills. Following the earthquake, the Gujarat government advocated ‘owner-driven’ reconstruction (ODR) as its primary approach. ODR entailed the provision of financial assistance to all those whose houses were damaged by the earthquake, allowing owners to have a leading role in the building process. Financial support depended on the type and value of the pre-quake house and on its level of damage. The financial aid was embedded in a package of enabling mechanisms, such as a thorough damage assessment, building guidelines, mass training programmes for masons and house owners, technical guidance and the distribution of subsidized construction materials. A civil engineer was placed in each village to provide guidance and supervise the reconstruction, whereby each successive installment was only disbursed if the required qualitative and quantitative target had been achieved (Barenstein 2013).

Reducing disaster vulnerability  195 With the adoption of the ODR NGOs and international organizations came forward to help local communities in deciding the design and technology of new constructions. Most of them promoted owner-driven construction by providing the beneficiaries with construction materials such as wood, bamboo, spreadsheets or concrete blocks, and reinforcement bars, according to the structural design advocated by the outside organization. As part of a public–private partnership policy, the government made building materials available at subsidized rates (Jigyasu 2010). On one hand, this approach enabled greater say by the community in the design of houses per their socio-cultural patterns, leading to a higher level of satisfaction 2 (compared to the contractor-driven approaches followed by a few NGOs). But it also led towards a general shift from traditional building practices to those linked to the cement and brick companies due to owners’ preference for industrial building materials, compounded by government building codes that were designed for contemporary constructions (Barenstein 2006). The approach did not foster the use of improved traditional building technologies, which were only promoted by a limited number of local NGOs. While people preferred contemporary building materials and techniques for post-earthquake housing, the quality of construction was generally poor. This is because even though owners participated in the design and construction of their houses, in most cases, the necessary skills needed for good quality earthquake-safe construction were not imparted to them by the government or NGOs who facilitated the entire process. This was compounded by a lack of financial resources due to which poor owners tended to compromise on the necessary specifications. In some cases, these houses were also left incomplete or owners were unable to maintain them adequately, because of which several new houses soon showed high levels of degradation (Tenconi 2013). While in some cases people could not acquire the necessary skills needed for a safe use of concrete and bricks due to lack of real participation and knowledge transfer, in other cases, the lack of knowledge pushed local people with the resources to recruit professional masons to have their houses built using bricks or concrete blocks. Poorer people completed their houses by using local materials like stone and mud, leading to a dangerous mix of technologies. Take for example the case of Juni Bandhadi village, where people were taught how to build earthquake-­ resistant houses by utilizing bricks, concrete, and traditional materials, while in the absence of this in New Bandhadi, the reconstruction ­approach applied there failed to enhance people’s resilience to future disasters (Tenconi 2013). The main phase of reconstruction was finished by 2003–2004. Since then, construction has been mainly extensions of the reconstructed structures that were provided or new constructions carried out by the people on their own. Interestingly, the technology that is apparent in recent

196  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu construction is a mixture of all the available technologies and materials, including those that were developed and promoted by cement industries, such as concrete blocks, or by NGOs, such as compressed soil blocks or china clay blocks. A few trends, however, are very prominent. For example, houses built of stabilized china clay blocks with thatched roofing were being extended with brick walls and concrete roofing. However, the extension part does not have any reinforced concrete columns to support the concrete slab roof. Furthermore, around many such structures in the earthquake-affected region, new boundary walls are being constructed in rubble stone masonry. Traditional bhungas were also designed by an NGO using compressed soil blocks to be earthquake-safe by virtue of their circular form and concrete bands. However, their extensions in most cases do not show earthquake-safe features, as the owners were not conversant with good construction techniques even if they had access to these blocks (Jigyasu 2010). The case brings forward the issue of appropriateness of technology for disaster risk reduction in reconstruction projects. We are still locked in an unending debate on the suitability of contemporary versus traditional technologies, while the larger challenge is integrating the two. Programmes supported by international donor agencies should be driven by local professionals and craftsmen from affected communities, thus building on local crafts and experience, while at the same time considering new needs and opportunities offered by experts and institutions for developing creative solutions. However, international donor agencies and NGOs often do not sufficiently invest in understanding traditional knowledge and skills and their contribution to building resilience against disasters. Lack of available research in this domain is an additional factor due to which traditional knowledge is often overlooked in the reconstruction projects supported by international organizations.

Cultural sensitivity in post-disaster reconstruction: the case of Marathwada, India In the early morning hours of 30 September 1993, an earthquake of magnitude 6.3 on the Richter scale shook the area in the vicinity of Latur, which is approximately 500 km east of Mumbai. The epicentre was approximately 40 km south of Latur, close to Killari village. It left nearly 9,000 villagers dead and 16,000 injured. In the 52 villages that were most severely affected, some 30,000 houses were destroyed or badly damaged. Following the disaster, the government evolved a rather comprehensive rehabilitation programme which was the first of its kind in India. This was conceived and executed with the help of a soft loan from the World Bank. With the World Bank money, the government of Maharashtra drew up an ambitious plan called the Maharashtra Earthquake Emergency Rehabilitation Programme (MEERP) (Jigyasu 2001).

Reducing disaster vulnerability  197 As part of this programme, 52 villages were relocated with essential services and infrastructure. This required construction of over 27,000 houses. The village plans were prepared by engineers in the local town planning office. The houses were again divided into three categories, on the basis of landholding by the head of a particular family (Ibid)).3 It was found that the spatial plans for the relocated villages were totally incompatible with the ‘way of life’ of the villagers. Traditional settlements were characterized by narrow streets, a hierarchy of public and private open spaces used for religious as well as other activities, clusters of housing with distinct typologies characterized by traditional occupation patterns, etc. What was designed for them was a complete ‘city-like’ plan with wide streets forming a grid pattern, and row housing. The ‘designers’ sitting in the town planning office perceived that ‘city-like’ planning would ensure ‘development’ of ‘backward’ rural areas (Jigyasu 2001). In the new designs, there were no spaces for several traditional activities, especially those of service sector people like artisans. Moreover, the new villages were many times larger in area than the old ones (up to 10 times larger). This meant expensive infrastructure, which was again ‘provided’ by the government. The lack of village committees’ financial resources to maintain this huge infrastructure in the future was not thought through. Also, the criteria of house allocation on the basis of landholding size has created new economic disparities and completely destroyed the traditional social system based on neighbourhood units anddependencies that ensured mutual sustainability’. In some cases, people vacated their allotted houses and moved back to their family members/neighbours by initiating house extensions. As a result of house allotment criteria, traditional artisans suffered the most. Since the house allotment criteria was based on total landholding, and traditionally artisans are believed to act as a support system for the village and not supposed to cultivate their land, they remain landless or as marginalised farmers. As a result, the houses occupied by artisans are smallest, so there is no space for them to carry out their activities. The house designs were also very urban, with no link to people’s traditional lifestyle. An interesting example of this is the provision of attached toilets in houses. Traditionally, people of this area are not even used to having toilets (they use the fields). Now we find these toilets being used to store grain. In Gubbal, one of the relocated villages, a private donor constructed a house with earthquake resistant ferrocement domes, a completely alien design and technology for the region. The dome houses, being circular structures, did not allow for the division and use of space. During fieldwork conducted in 2011, we heard many complaints about this kind of donor-provided housing that did not really suit the domestic spatial needs of the households. It was also found that many economically well-off owners had raised boundary walls around the core donated house to recreate the traditional wada typology. The walls provided an enclosed space that was more personal to the inhabitants of the household. The dehlaj is the

198  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu space at the entrance of a traditional wada house that acts as a portico.4 Formal male guests are received in the entrance by the head of the family (Jigyasu and Upadhyay 2016). The appreciable efforts of some agencies/individuals such as HUDCO (Housing and Urban Development Corporation) towards incorporating traditional patterns in the new village-plan do need to be mentioned. However, in all these efforts there was little or no involvement of the locals in the process. The attitude was that of ‘adoption and provision’ rather than ‘facilitation’. This made villagers dependent and raised their expectations. The case brings out the importance of understanding traditional architecture, construction technology and settlement layout, and skilfully considering such cultural parameters in reconstruction so as to ensure the social and cultural compatibility of the new environment. Equally important is to introduce key cultural anchors such as socio-religious buildings like temples and mosques, traditional public spaces and landscape features in the new environment to reinforce continuity between past and present. Rather than providing readymade solutions, the community’s ability to adapt and recreate recognizable socio-cultural elements in their reconstructed physical environment over time needs to be recognized and harnessed by donor agencies. The predominant focus of international organizations on providing shelter, infrastructure, and livelihoods to the affected people without due consideration of cultural parameters such as their way of life and their heritage leads to failure of the reconstruction projects. Moreover, lack of meaningful engagement of the local community in the reconstruction process through knowledge-sharing rather than mere involvement as labour results in the absence of cultural considerations in post-disaster reconstruction.

Reconciling safety and heritage values through resistance or resilience? The case of Kathmandu Valley, Nepal The earthquakes that struck Nepal on 25 April and 12 May 2015, also called the Gorkha earthquake, had a devastating impact on Nepal, causing massive damage to buildings and infrastructure and loss of lives. About 9,000 people were killed, many thousands more were injured, and more than 600,000 structures in Kathmandu and other nearby towns were either damaged or destroyed (Rafferty 2018). Unfortunately many Newari settlements suffered the brunt with extensive damage to traditional housing, temples and public buildings such as schools and rest houses. Notably, most of the World Heritage sites located in Kathmandu Valley were also damaged. Post-earthquake response was chaotic and extremely complex due to lack of preparedness, political and institutional complexities, and the challenges of sourcing materials, labour, transport, fuel, etc. In spite of all these challenges, there have been some success stories worth emulating. Thanks to the efforts of an international NGO, Kathmandu Valley Preservation

Reducing disaster vulnerability  199 Trust (KVPT), and the local community of Patan town, historic building elements were salvaged, sorted, and repaired in the gardens of the historic palace (Ranjitkar, Theophile and Newman 2016). In other instances, the Nepal Army and Police played a significant role in the salvaging of heritage, for example the rescue of the throne of the first king of Nepal from Hanumandhoka Palace Museum in Kathmandu. One of the main challenges confronted in recovery of cultural heritage in Nepal is exemplified through the case of Kasthamandap, literally meaning ‘Wooden Pavilion’, a sattal (half shelter half temple) and the namesake of Kathmandu. Over the centuries, it was used as a royal hall, a rest house and a market place, and was one the largest Newari buildings of high significance for the Nepali people. Unfortunately, this historic building located in the World Heritage Monument Zone of Kathmandu Durbar Square collapsed due to the 2015 earthquake, killing several people who were participating in a blood donation camp being held inside this structure. Since its collapse, there has been a growing demand to rebuild Kasthamandap, an important source of identity for Kathmandu residents, through support from national and international donor agencies. However, opinion has been divided on the approach to be followed for reconstruction. Some argue for the traditional approach, restoring the original structure in material as it stood before the earthquake and resuming religious practices. Others, citing safety concerns, instead advocate rebuilding using modern materials such as concrete and steel and argue that Newari architecture is ‘unscientific’ (Bhattarai 2018). Unfortunately, the preferred approach of national and international donors for reconstruction of this heritage building is more influenced by speed, cost-effectiveness and safety and not much by consideration of associated tangible and intangible heritage values. However, heritage experts like Prof. Sudarshan Raj Tiwari cite lack of maintenance and modifications as the reason for buildings’ poor behaviour. ‘A lot of engineering has been forced into buildings saying that you need to build them to withstand earthquakes,’ says Tiwari as quoted by Bhattrarai (2018). ‘We have been living here for thousands of years, so our technology must have accommodated them. Just because you don’t do any research does not mean the buildings don’t withstand earthquakes.’ According to him the traditional system needs to be evaluated on its own merits, as Newari architecture is resilient instead of being resistant to natural hazards such as earthquakes. For instance, joints are not rigid – necessary for seismic resistance in engineering but flexible, built to absorb earthquake shocks. Similarly, because of the perishable nature of wood, buildings were designed as modular systems so that workers could isolate and replace damaged components without dismantling the structure, in a process of ‘cyclical renewal’ that was carried out every few decades. On the other hand, even a good quality concrete has a limited lifespan of often less than 100 years, and replacing deteriorated concrete is a tougher call than replacing damaged wood.

200  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu Kai Weise, as quoted by Bhattarai (2018), also thinks that the predominant view against traditional buildings can only be changed if the government reviews its building codes, which recognise only rigid structures, and sets out to study how traditional systems functioned. Until then, he says, the fact that traditional structures have withstood earthquakes for hundreds of years would be dismissed, and their technologies maligned. Contrary to the purist approach in favour of traditional technology, the ‘hybrid’ approach advocated by KVPT considers developing a range of strengthening techniques for historic buildings based on the significance of each building, construction techniques and its vulnerability analysis. Retaining and saving the historical layers and pieces of structures and/or maintaining the historical configurations are explicitly prioritised contrary to many local or community approaches, which would generally not think twice about re-carving a lost icon or dismantling a dilapidated historic structure to replace it with a new building in reinforced concrete frame construction (Ranjitkar et al. 2016). On the other end of the spectrum is complete rebuilding of heritage buildings for which the structural design is more straightforward, mainly because new structural characteristics can theoretically be specified/quantified. The biggest challenge for all these cases will be in the trade-offs between new and old methods: To what extent should structurally inadequate historical building details be retained? Which details are so inherently weak that alternatives must be sought? Which characteristics are so key to the buildings’ history or aesthetics that new ways to maintain them must be found? What determines the choice between a safer modern – say steel – structure inserted (whether visibly or not) within an exterior of historical details, versus a less safe rebuilding of the historical building with less intrusive reinforcement measures? And of course the basic question one may ask is, do modern materials actually make traditional buildings safer? A straightforward approach would be to assess the performance of buildings that were earlier strengthened with modern materials against the 2015 earthquake. This discussion also finds a place in a broader international debate about what it means to safeguard the authenticity of a restored building, make room for the restoration of ‘living’ structures, emphasising the continuity of a building’s function, its associated rituals and its craftsmanship, over mere conservation of physical fabric. However, there are no readymade answers and each heritage building needs consideration on case by case basis. The debate on appropriate technology for post-disaster recovery of cultural heritage is also linked to the process followed for reconstruction. By April 2016, the Kathmandu Municipal Corporation (KMC) had decided that heritage buildings such as Kasthamandap would be built through the tender process, in which construction firms place bids and the lowest bidder is given the contract. However, this system is totally incompatible with cultural heritage as reduction in costs is preferred over technical

Reducing disaster vulnerability  201 considerations of vulnerability reduction and retention of heritage values. As a result of such tendering processes, the contracted firms flout conservation practices and insert concrete in buildings out of convenience rather than necessity. The decision-making process for reconstruction of a heritage building would also entail thorough investigation and analysis of the underlying reasons of their vulnerability that caused the damage in the first place. For example, archaeological investigations of the foundations of collapsed Kasthamandap undertaken by Durham University revealed that the foundation dated from two periods, hundreds of years before the earliest recorded mention of the sattal. An inner wall was found to be from the 7th  century, and an outer wall – indicating an expansion of the original site  – from the 9th century. Most probably, subsequent alteration to the original foundation contributed to the vulnerability of the structure to earthquakes that led to its collapse (Bhattarai 2018). This important step of investigation and analysis is often missed as it is detrimental to the predominant political motivation of donor agencies as well as governments of speed and visibility in reconstruction. The available options need to be weighed against the costs of reconstruction and subsequent maintenance. Regardless of those overseeing the reconstruction, whether donor agencies or governments or private organizations, the entire process needs close engagement of engineers as well as craftsmen, whose skills need to be upgraded to manage the whole process. Last but not least, the community consultation process also needs to be initiated for living heritage, as they are probably the most important stakeholders of heritage for continuation of rituals and practices including maintenance.

Lessons learnt The three case studies have highlighted the importance of considering local knowledge and capacity in post-disaster reconstruction projects supported by national and international donor agencies. This implies that these agencies should familiarize themselves with the local context before intervening for post-disaster reconstruction. This would necessitate deeper engagement with stakeholders including local government, NGOs, civil society organizations, and most importantly the local communities, who are the bearers of this knowledge. Such an approach would help in developing appropriate technology for reconstruction that is based on traditional knowledge, besides aiding in integrating cultural aspects into the design and layout of reconstructed settlements, and thus ensuring sustainability, climatic suitability, affordability, safety, and good quality of life of inhabitants. Therefore, donor agencies should facilitate utilization of traditional knowledge and skills for developing appropriate restoration and retrofitting of cultural heritage by not only rectifying or recovering lost knowledge and capacity, but also upgrading it through training of craftspersons. Academic institutions

202  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu should not only undertake applied research on traditional knowledge and skills in planning, technology and management, but also make it available in the public domain for donor agencies which support reconstruction projects. Let us look at some specific lessons for consideration by international donor agencies involved in reconstruction. Reconstruction as improvement: building back better for heritage The term reconstruction in disaster studies is defined as restoration and improvement, where possible, of facilities, livelihoods, and living conditions of disaster-affected communities, including efforts to reduce disaster risk factors (Jha et al. 2010: 365). If our objective is merely returning to a former state, then we may end up recreating those very vulnerabilities that created the conditions for the previous disaster in the first place. The idea of resilience is behind intervention from this perspective in post-disaster contexts (Jha et al. 2010). Although disasters cause much misery, they also provide an opportunity to get rid of pre-disaster vulnerabilities. For example, in the case of London after the Great Fire of 1666, Sir Christopher Wren initially proposed to sweep away the medieval street plan and substitute an ordered classical layout more reminiscent of absolutist France. However, the compromise eventually implemented retained the medieval layout, but stocked this with completely new buildings (Glendinning 2013: 38). The city-like layout and house designs in Marathwada were alien to the local socio-cultural pattern and therefore failed to find favour with the residents, who preferred to either move to their traditional houses or to adapt by recreating the traditional built environment and spaces through additions and alterations to the reconstructed villages. In fact, the importance of culturally sensitive reconstruction after disasters has been underlined by many scholars, including Oliver-Smit (1991, 1992), Barakat (2003), and Dynes (1992). The lack of cultural continuity due to inadequate post-­ disaster housing assistance may lead to a further increase in vulnerability. Unfortunately, many donor agencies in charge of reconstruction as well as local communities still consider ‘modernity’ and ‘urbanization’ as a panacea for development. The adoption of new building technologies within the framework of post-disaster reconstruction projects is often promoted without considering their context-specific cultural and ecological viability (Boen and Jigyasu 2005). Therefore, rather than investing in creating new design and technology for post-disaster reconstruction, donor agencies should give consideration to finding the potential role of traditional knowledge and capacity through careful analysis of vernacular architecture, morphology and management systems and adapting them to the new constraints, needs, and opportunities. This would also necessitate their support for research and innovation

Reducing disaster vulnerability  203 in traditional building practices, keeping in mind the pragmatic realities on the ground such as peoples’ aspirations and affordability, and marrying them with responsibility for improving quality of life and safety standards as well as restoring local identity. This would also imply meaningful application of feasible solutions on the ground through capacity building at various levels: decision-makers and professionals as well as local contractors, masons, and carpenters. Growing mistrust of traditional materials and construction techniques is another barrier to be surmounted through extensive awareness among the local community. This can be achieved through effective communication strategies by donor agencies through simple experiments on the behaviour of structures to demonstrate the difference between good and bad construction practices, rather than choosing between traditional or modern materials and techniques. Rather than taking extreme positions, there is need to find ‘in-between solutions’ that take into consideration multiple factors that would together contribute to improving the overall built environment, which both is safer and also retains cultural identity. Developing an appropriate approach for post-disaster reconstruction of heritage In heritage conservation charters, the term reconstruction means to return to the original or previous status of a heritage place or building on the basis of reliable documentation in order to avoid mistaken interpretations of history. Reconstruction means returning a place to a known earlier state and is distinguished from restoration by the introduction of new material (Australia ICOMOS 2013). However, as time passes, new materials age and difference that was once obvious in a reconstructed building tends to become blurred. In addition, natural hazards such as earthquakes and floods produce destruction and trigger reconstruction as a cyclical process. Heritage buildings located in disaster-prone areas have consequently been affected and intervened in many times after disasters. Moreover, there is a fundamental issue of whether heritage can ever be reconstructed in the real sense, because it might not be possible to restore social values from day one and historical and artistic values are bound to be changed/adversely affected. The nature of interventions will therefore be influenced by the main conservation philosophy which varies according to the nature of heritage and its socio-cultural context: whether these interventions help in reading different stages of a building, or if the new is made to look old, or if in those cultural contexts, rebuilding/reconstruction is part of the very nature of heritage. For example, Ise shrines are, by tradition, rebuilt every 20 years to maintain the building’s status as forever new and old at the same time, and as a way to pass on traditional building techniques to new generations.

204  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu There are also cases where the presence of craftsmen possessing traditional skills ensures a process of post-disaster rebuilding using new traditional materials such as wood, or parts from the old building are reused completely at the discretion of craftsmen, who sometimes also use these opportunities to demonstrate their creativity by introducing subtle or profound changes in design. However, in such cases, the level of craftsmanship is always questionable. Considering the complex interaction between heritage significance/values based on the nature of cultural heritage and the very cyclic nature of disasters, especially those caused by natural hazards, authenticity in its wider scope as defined in the Nara Document (1994) can only be one of many considerations for the recovery of heritage sites, the others being integrity and sustainability as well as roles in improving the quality of life associated with heritage. Such a wider view of heritage values should be taken into consideration when funding agencies agree to accept a certain approach for post-disaster reconstruction of cultural heritage. Need to recognize cultural heritage as a source of resilience Although cultural heritage is increasingly vulnerable to disasters, donor agencies should not see it merely as a passive victim of disaster. In the face of disasters, traditional communities in historic areas often develop a vocabulary of resilient features in their environment that intentionally or unintentionally contribute towards prevention and mitigation, emergency response and recovery (UNISDR 2013). As already explained through these case studies, cultural heritage is a repository of traditional knowledge in disaster mitigation that has been accrued over generations through successive trials and errors. The cultural dimension in general and heritage in particular also plays an important role in sustainable recovery and rehabilitation of communities following a disaster. There are many examples to show that successful reconstruction projects have taken into consideration local building traditions and ways of life through deeper engagement with communities. While donor agencies should appreciate the positive role of heritage, they should not discount the fact that many cultural beliefs and practices result in a fatalistic approach of interpreting disasters as ‘God’s will’ and undertaking no proactive measures to reduce disaster risks. Many heritage structures are also vulnerable due to inherent defects in their design and construction or additions/alternations done over time. The recently adopted Sendai Framework on Disaster Risk Reduction recognizes culture as a key dimension of disaster risk reduction and the need to protect and draw on heritage as an asset for resilience through a number of important references (UNISDR 2015). The challenge is to implement this policy, which requires considerable building of capacities at international, national, and local levels and the setting up of the necessary institutional

Reducing disaster vulnerability  205 mechanisms, complemented by data collection and monitoring (Dean and Boccardi 2015). It is high time to influence international donor agencies to put these well-articulated policies into tangible actions.

Notes 1 Credcrunch50, EM-DAT: The OFDA/CRED International Disaster Database. 2 According to the research findings of Duyne Barenstein (2006) in other parts of Gujarat, also in Bandhadi contractor-driven reconstruction was less appreciated. The people of Navi Bandhadi were highly dissatisfied with the urban design of their new houses, which did not take into consideration their rural way of life and the local climatic conditions. 3 Accordingly, ‘A’ category houses had a carpet area of 250 sq. ft. These were provided to farmers who were landless or had land up to 1 hectare. ‘B’ category housing of 400 sq. ft. carpet area was provided to those having landholdings between 1 hectare and 7 hectares, and all bigger landlords having more than 7 hectares of landholding got ‘C’ category houses of 750 sq. ft. The built-up area for these houses was about 10% more than the carpet area to allow for future expansion. In ‘C’ category villages, the government was supposed to provide technical assistance towards strengthening and retrofitting, through junior engineers. However, the technical assistance was limited to new constructions and a definite amount of money was allocated to the houses in ‘C’ category villages that were supposed to carry out strengthening and retrofitting on their own. 4 Typical vernacular houses in this region are called wada and are made of dry masonry stone walls organized around an inner central courtyard, surrounded by rooms on each side. This typology has a front yard that is used as a buffer for private and public spaces within a household. These wadas, with elaborate, massive stone-clad entrances varying in size and shape, are located adjacent to one another along winding roads typical of traditional settlements in Marathwada .

References Australia ICOMOS. (2013). The Burra Charter. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from http://australia.icomos.org/publications/charters/ Barakat, S. (2003). Housing reconstruction after conflict and disaster. HPN paper no. 43. London: OPI. Barenstein, J. D. (2006). A comparative study of six housing reconstruction approaches in post-earthquake Gujarat. HPN paper no. 54. London: ODI. Barenstein, J. D. (2013). Communities’ perspectives in housing reconstruction in Gujarat following the earthquake of 2001. In J. D. Barenstein, & E. Leeman (Eds.), Post-disaster reconstruction and change: Communities’ perspectives (pp. 71–100). Boca Raton: Taylor & Francis. Bhattarai, A. (2018). Storeyed past: The movement to rebuild an iconic monument in earthquake-hit Nepal. Retrieved May 2, 2018, fromwww.caravanmagazine. in/reportage/storeyed-past Boen, T., & Jigyasu, R. (2005). Cultural consideration for post disaster reconstruction post-tsunami challenges. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from http://citeseerx. ist.psu.edu/viewdoc/download?doi=10.1.1.547.429&rep=rep1&type=pdf Dean, M., & Boccardi, G. (2015). Sendai implications for culture and heritage. Crisis Response, 10(4), (pp. 54–55).

206  Dr. Rohit Jigyasu Dynes, R. (1992). The socio-cultural context and behavioral context of disasters and small dwellings. In Y. Aysan, & I. Davis (Eds.), Disasters and the small dwelling: Perspective for the UN IDNDR (pp. 67–71). London: James and James. Glendinning, M. (2013). The conservation movement: A history of architectural preservation: Antiquity to modernity. London: Routledge. ICOMOS. (1994). Nara document on authenticity. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from www.icomos.org/charters/nara-e.pdf Jha, A. K., Duyne Barenstein, J., Phelps, P., Pittet, D., & Sena, S. (2010). Safer homes, stronger communities. A handbook for reconstructing after natural disaster. Washington, DC: The World Bank. Jigyasu, R. (2001). From natural to cultural disaster: Consequences of the post-earthquake rehabilitation process on the cultural heritage in Marathwada region, India. Bulletin of the New Zealand Society for Earthquake Engineering, 34(3), 237–242. Jigyasu, R. (2002). Reducing disaster vulnerability through local knowledge and capacity; the case of earthquake prone rural communities in India and Nepal. Thesis. Trondheim: Norwegian University of Science and Technology. Jigyasu, R. (2010). Appropriate technology for post disaster reconstruction. In G.  Lizarralde, C. Johnson, & C. Davidson (Eds.), Rebuilding after disasters: From emergency to sustainability (pp. 49–69). London/New York: Spoon Press. Jigyasu, R., & Upadhyay, N. (2016). Continuity, adaptation, and change following the 1993 earthquake in Marathwada, India. In P. Daly, & R. M. Feener (Eds.), Rebuilding Asia following natural disasters: Approaches to reconstruction in the Asia-Pacific region (pp. 81–107). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Langenbach, R. (2001). A rich heritage lost, the Bhuj, India, earthquake. Cultural Resource Management Magazine, 24(8), 33–34. Mistry, R., Dong, W., & Shah, H. (eds.). (2001). Interdisciplinary observations on the January 2001 Bhuj, Gujarat Earthquake. World seismic safety initiative and earthquake and megacities initiative. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from www. preventionweb.net/publications/view/2713 Oliver-Smith, A. (1991). Successes and failures in post-disaster resettlement. Disasters, 15(1), 12–23. Oliver-Smith, A. (1992). Problems in post-disaster resettlement: Cross cultural perspectives. In Y. Aysan, & I. Davis (Eds.), Disasters and the small dwelling: ­Perspective for the UN IDNDR (pp. 58–66). London: James and James. Rafferty, J. P. (2018). Nepal earthquake of 2015, Encyclopedia Britannica. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from www.britannica.com/topic/Nepal-earthquake-of-2015 Ranjitkar, R., Theophile, E., & Newman, L.. (2016). Seismic strengthening of historic Newar Buildings, Patan Darbar earthquake response campaign. Documentation of work to date. Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust. Tenconi, D. (2013). Links between building technologies, post-disaster reconstruction and gender roles in Gujarat. In J. D. Barenstein, & E. Leemann (Eds.), Post-disaster reconstruction and change. Communities’ perspectives (pp. ­177–194). Boca Raton: Taylor & Francis. UNISDR. (2013). Heritage and resilience. Issues and opportunities for reducing disaster risks. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from www.unisdr.org/we/inform/ publications/33189 UNISDR. (2015). Sendai framework on disaster risk reduction. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from www.unisdr.org/we/inform/publications/43291

13 Heritage, human rights and Norwegian development cooperation The our common dignity initiative and World Heritage Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen Introduction Can international funding of cultural heritage projects help to protect and promote human rights? Indeed, what is the potential impact of international cooperation work on heritage policy and practice in general, and more specifically to successfully address the often-thorny social implications associated with rights issues? Based on direct involvement in an international project to explore the significance of rights-based approaches to World Heritage, this chapter reflects upon the nature, limits, and opportunities involved in promoting rights through internationally funded conservation projects. The project on which the chapter text is based was carried out between 2011 and 2016 by ICOMOS Norway in cooperation with the Advisory Bodies to the World Heritage Convention – IUCN, ICOMOS and ICCROM – The International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property (ICCROM), the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) and the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) – hereafter listed as the Advisory Bodies (AB). We here reflect on the specific nature of a project, funded by the Ministry of Climate and Environment, in a longer historical context of development aid from Norway. The history and context of Norwegian development cooperation, and support to ICOMOS Norway, played an instrumental role in shaping the Initiative, yet also relied on the particular convergence of other dynamics. Analyzing these conditions, in turn, allows us to better discuss whether and how internationally funded projects may promote human rights and transform heritage practice. We also engage with the broader literature on development aid and human rights, exploring both comparable trends and case-specific characteristics of the heritage field. In the first section, a number of key lessons from the broader literature on technical cooperation and human rights are presented. In the second

208  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen section, we briefly describe the history of Norwegian development cooperation in the fields of human rights and cultural heritage. In the third section, we describe the specific history of Norwegian activity to support international immovable cultural heritage. The fourth section discusses the Our Common Dignity Initiative; presenting how and under which conditions it emerged. In the fifth section we focus on lessons learned, with concluding remarks.

Heritage, human rights, and development cooperation International cooperation in the field of cultural and natural heritage is known to take similar forms, yet beneath universalist language reveal diverse framings, different national priorities and localized approaches. This is equally true for how human rights have been conceived and dealt with in specific political domains, across diverse jurisdictions and contrasting cooperation frameworks (Larsen, 2017). In the first decades of the post-World War II period, if development was the field of economists, human rights was that of lawyers and activists. World Heritage, in turn, equally emerged as a distinct field of expertise partially defined through international cooperation (Cameron and Rössler, 2013). Whereas human rights have been critical to the United Nations and UNESCO since the institutions were founded, setting human rights at the centre stage of wider development discourses has proved to be a challenging task (Uvin, 2010; Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi, 2004). For a long while, however, the fields of heritage and human rights also remained largely disconnected. Interestingly, it was only towards the end of the 20th century that forces linking development, rights and ultimately heritage started converging. The end of the Cold War was instrumental in allowing for a human rights–oriented development discourse to consolidate itself also building on the growing acceptance that development was about more than economic growth alone (Uvin, 2010). The advent of sustainable development and rights as central to the heritage discourse is fairly recent compared to heritage as an international field of cooperation. Still, just as development-related human rights and debate preceded the mainstreaming of rights-based development (Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi, 2004), discussions linking culture, heritage, and rights had a longer and more complex history of debate before being adopted by the mainstream heritage discourse (Blake, 2011; Vrdoljak, 2013; Shaheed, 2015). Yet, in the specific domain of World Heritage it was also clear that a focus on human rights long remained absent from the generally accepted heritage discourse. Despite multiple scholarly discussions on linkages between rights and heritage, and attempts to lobby for change in the World Heritage system (e.g. on indigenous issues), the Committee in particular, until recently appeared rather resistant towards incorporating human rights issues in terms

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  209 of both policy and operations (Larsen, 2017). The World Heritage sphere appeared to operate in a silo framed by its own normative prescriptions rather than wider frameworks (Larsen and Buckley, 2018). Whereas human rights language increasingly shapes and frames social struggles and much international dialogue (Cowan et al., 2001), the advent of a human rights space in the World Heritage field has therefore been slow, cautious and largely shaped by fire-fighting in response to specific cases of conflict and violations. More explicit attention to rights in the World Heritage realm would ultimately emerge in a ‘re-birth’ of the understanding that heritage was about more than just its material manifestations, recognizing the importance of distinct linkages of people and places and their associated rights in the landscape. Two phenomena may be considered critical in leading to this change. On the one hand, a growing group of local communities and advocacy organizations increasingly challenged the impacts that World Heritage designation had in terms of displacement, annulling customary rights and disempowerment. On the other hand, the heritage discourse has increasingly been broadened to address both tangible and intangible dimensions. Concepts such as living heritage and changing policy imperatives may narrow the gap between heritage as an expert domain and heritage seen in its societal context (Thompson and Wijesuriya, 2018). In consequence, heritage experts and practitioners are becoming increasingly attentive and ready to address perspectives, needs, and claims emerging from civil society. The main rationale for a focus on rights dimensions in heritage management and using a ‘human rights–based approach’ include (a) the ethical rationale, namely acknowledging that a human rights–based approach is ‘the right thing to do’, morally and (b) an instrumental rationale, i.e. recognizing that a human rights–based approach leads to better and more sustainable human development and heritage outcomes. Addressing rights in heritage work raises numerous vital questions, such as whose heritage should be protected; whose and which rights are affected; as well as the role of different actors in the system. Turning such rationales and questions into action is what is often spelt out in so-called ‘rights-based approaches’ exploring how, for example, to integrate human rights norms, standards, and principles into policy, planning, and outcomes. The Norwegian-­funded Our Common Dignity Initiative sought to respond to this new space by deepening the discussion around rights in heritage complementing a broader history of discussions.

Human rights and cultural heritage in Norwegian development cooperation Human rights and cultural heritage have an interesting history as part of Norway’s evolving policy on development cooperation. We here mainly

210  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen focus on country-level cooperation and do not include the equally extensive work by NGOs and other institutions. In the early 1960s Norway took major steps to increase its engagement on international development aid. NORAD, The Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation, was established in 1968 as an independent directorate under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Human rights were early on defined as a fundamental principle on which Norwegian international development policy should be based. A White Paper, a key document indicating government policy, from 1971 thus gave priority to countries that showed a willingness to embrace democracy and respect human rights. Subsequent White Papers show increasing domestic and international concern for human rights.1 In 1989, the Norwegian Sami Parliament was established recognizing indigenous rights to self-determination in number of fields. Norway was the first Nordic country to ratify ILO’s (International Labour Organization) convention No 169 on the rights of indigenous and tribal peoples, and later supported the establishment of the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. In the 1990s, Norway revised its law on human rights, and confirmed its commitment to human rights and foreign policy in subsequent policy documents (White Papers of 1995–1996, 1998–1999 and 1999–2000). This guided international cooperation policy for the next decade underlining willingness to dialogue with foreign governments on human rights, and to accept problems that might arise from this focus. 2 While country ownership was stressed in development cooperation, the rights dimension was upheld to be part of all Norwegian development cooperation activity. Cultural rights were, however, only mentioned for the first time in a 2003 White Paper noting that every people has the right to develop its own culture and that values of their culture should be respected and protected. 3

Cultural heritage protection as a (Norwegian) field of cooperation UNESCO has been a central reference point for Norwegian heritage cooperation since the 1950s. Soon after the decision was made to build the Aswan High Dam in Lower Egypt in 1954, UNESCO launched an international campaign to save what is today known as the ‘Nubian Monuments’, a World Heritage site (Nubian Monuments from Abu Simbel to Philae) inscribed on the WH List in 1979. The UNESCO campaign drew unprecedented international attention that also included support from Norway. In the mid-1960s was spearheaded a drive for an international convention to protect both cultural and natural heritage, which would become the UNESCO World Heritage Convention (the Honorable Russell E. Train).

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  211 Such a convention was understood to support the importance of heritage as a bulwark against extremism, as a force to strengthen ‘a sense of kinship with one another as part of a single, global community’. Norway ratified the 1972 Convention in May 1977. Earlier, Norway had in 1961 ratified the 1954 Hague Convention for the protection of cultural heritage in the event of armed conflict. However, little specific financial or technical support was provided internationally by Norway in the field of cultural and natural heritage until the early 1980s. In 1972, the new Ministry of Environment set out to include built heritage as ‘an integral part of the people’s environment’ after Norway ratified the 1972 World Heritage Convention in 1977, three inscriptions o the UNESCO World Heritage List resulted within a few years. Throughout the 1980s and early 1990s the international debate on how to include cultural heritage in the development paradigm grew. A heritage component was integrated in NORADs Development Strategy 1980–1982. Norway was arguably amongst the pioneers in this area, to be followed (international institutions including the World Bank) over the next decade. With this component integrated in official Foreign Office priorities and development strategies (the NORAD Strategy dated 1980–1982), the Directorate for Cultural Heritage (under the Ministry of Environment) for a first time entered the field of development cooperation. Heritage protection projects were initially undertaken in East Africa (Kenya, Tanzania-Zanzibar, and Mozambique), and in the Middle East (Yemen, in the capital Sanaa) (Figure 13.1).4

Figure 13.1  T  he Old City of Sana’a Yemen – Inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1986 (copyright Amund Sinding-Larsen).

212  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen

BOX 13.1 NORAD-funded projects where local community participation. Capacity building and empowerment were highlighted in settlements with unique heritage resources. Republic of Tanzania Bagamoyo Conservation Training Program Bagamoyo was for several centuries an important coastal base for Zanzibar and the Swahili and Arab trade on the East-Africa interior. It was largely vacated after the independence of Tanzania, and buildings and the urban structure left to dilapidate. Subsequently conventional Swahili-house neighbourhoods grew up around the historic stone town. Between 1982 and 1987, a pilot training programme, funded by NORAD and the Ford Foundation, on traditional crafts was set up to develop local capacity to maintain urban heritage – and strengthen heritage management capacity. Republic of Tanzania Gizenga Street Conservation Project, Zanzibar Stone Town, The urban fabric of Zanzibar Stone Town steadily deteriorated after the 1960s Independence of Tanzania. As a contribution to the national Stone Town Conservation Programme, Norwegian support selected a historic building in Gizenga Street in consultation with the local community and authority for restoration and adaptive reuse. The project was the first completed building upgrading project in the Stone Town raising awareness with both private and public sector about the importance and viability of such environmental initiatives. Republic of Yemen Samsarah Al-Nahas Conservation Project, Sanaa Old Town Sanaa historic city was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1986. NORAD support to an upgrading programme was the first project prepared by Yemen with UNESCO for the National Conservation Authority aiming to revitalize the historic urban fabric and infrastructure. The specific project objective was to remodel and restore for adaptive reuse the Samsarah Al-Nahas, a major building as a national crafts training centre and commercial outlet for the craftsmen. The project involved the first craft training programmes for men and women available in Yemen. The Samsarah Al-Nahas project was co-funded by Yemen and Norway and the ILO (the training programme) between 1985 and 1989.

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  213 Republic of Zambia Mbereshi and Mwenzo Conservation Projects The Mbereshi and Mwenzo Mission stations in Zambia Northern Region were established in late 19th century. NORAD funding supported the upgrading and adaptive reuse of the original 19th-century buildings. The original community centres still provided primary health and educational facilities for resident and hinterland populations significantly beyond those they were built for. Islamic Republic of Pakistan Karimabad Village Upgrading, Hunza, Pakistan Northern Areas Karimabad is a major historic settlement or town of the Upper Hunza, located below Baltit Fort (probably founded in the 13th CE). The village was possibly established in the 11–12th centuries, and has had a recent population of ca. 5000. The Aga Khan Trust for Culture initiated the project in cooperation with the Getty Foundation and NORAD. The project addressed monuments restoration (Baltit Fort) overall village and infrastructure upgrading, local community support, crafts training, women empowerment training and household ‘micro-credit’ schemes.

Figure 13.2  Baltit Fort and Royal Palace above Karimabad, the capital of Hunza District in Gilgit-Baltistan Province on the Karakoram Highway, Pakistan Northern Areas (copyright Amund Sinding-Larsen). (continued)

214  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen In connection with the above projects, AS-L acted as advisor and consultant to Norad and the Norwegian Directorate of Cultural Heritage. For the Karimabad Village Upgrading and further projects in Baltistan, Pakistan Northern Areas, refer figure 13.2, AS-L following the initial period acted as advisor and consultant to the Aga Khan Historic Cities Support Programme.

Norway became member of the World Heritage Committee for the first time in 1984. This would trigger Norway, UNESCO, and ICCROM to develop an international training course on wood conservation, a course that is still running every other year in Norway. The 1992 Rio conference (The United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) in June 1992) triggered debates also in Norway on the lack of a cultural heritage perspective in the sustainable development paradigm. Throughout the 1990s, Norwegian support to international cultural heritage projects increased significantly. Norwegian involvement in the global report Our Creative Diversity, published in 1995 by the World Commission on Culture and Development illustrated both international engagement and offered a normative basis for policy development. 5 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs provided funding to UNESCO for implementing the World Heritage Convention, for instance by supporting the UNESCOs programme ‘World Heritage in Young Hands’ from the mid-1990s for ten years, and in funding the African World Heritage Fund (established 2006). Under the ‘Receiver-managed’ policy, numerous local projects were supported through Embassies. Several projects involved the Directorate for Cultural Heritage in Zambia, Uganda, South Africa and Pakistan. Bilateral agreements with Russia and China were expanded to include cultural heritage. Between 2000 and 2008, Norway supported 60 cultural heritage projects (mostly in Africa and Asia) with a budget contribution of close to NOK 275 million (NORAD, 2009) – or ca USD 34 Mill at current rate. From 1998 to 2014, the Ministry of Environment funded a so-called UNESCO Category 2 Centre for the implementation of the World Heritage Convention, located in Oslo.6 However, the direct link between cultural heritage and human rights in international development cooperation was not explicit from the beginning. In 2006, the Norwegian UNESCO commission raised questions about human rights linked to the World Heritage Convention, first of all in terms of property rights and local participation. ICOMOS Norway, the Norwegian Helsinki Committee, and the Human Rights Centre of Oslo

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  215 University joined the national commission on this and brought the topic to the Ministry’s attention. ICOMOS Norway introduced the three Advisory Bodies to the project – and subsequently also the UNESCO World Heritage Centre (2011 onwards). Civil society action, in other words, raised the topic ultimately triggering ten years of support from the Ministry of Environment (later Ministry of Climate and Environment) to the ICOMOS Norway led initiative ‘Our Common Dignity’. In 2012, a White Paper shifted the focus of Norway’s cultural cooperation from building institutions and general expertise in the field of intangible heritage towards supporting the creative and performing arts. Support increasingly targeted the later UNESCO conventions on intangible culture heritage and the diversity of cultural expressions as well as towards safeguarding cultural heritage in the event of armed conflict and to hinder illicit trafficking of cultural goods. Since 2016, the Ministry of Climate and Environment co-funds the socalled ‘World Heritage Leadership Programme’, a 6-year capacity building initiative run by IUCN and ICCROM. The programme includes some reference to rights issues, particularly on indigenous issues, and the role of local populations. Norway once again elected a member of the World Heritage Committee, now till 2021, World Heritage is once again at the centre of Norway’s attention.

The our common dignity initiative Although advancing human rights has been an integral dimension of UNESCO’s mission since its creation in 1945, it is only in the last few years that the link to World Heritage has become evident. Rights issues were not explicitly mentioned in the 1972 World Heritage Convention text. Since the inclusion of a 5th Strategic Objective in 2007, the ‘5th C’ for Community, the purpose of which was ‘to enhance the role of communities in the implementation of the World Heritage Convention’, the need to respect and support communities subject to World Heritage processes has become clearer as objective. The ‘Our Common Dignity Initiative’ (Our Common Dignity: Towards Rights-Based World Heritage Management) was initiated in 2007 by ICOMOS Norway. A central quest was to clarify the rights dimension of World Heritage work. Problems and conflicts can arise, and opportunities be lost, where rights issues are not addressed in heritage conservation. The Initiative has sought to contribute to equitable and rights-based heritage conservation approaches in World Heritage and heritage practice generally. Its objective has been specifically to build awareness of the rights dimension in World Heritage work, to promote ‘good practice’ approaches to rights and their enabling conditions, and to develop and recommend relevant tools and guidelines in World Heritage, from tentative lists and nomination through to management of World Heritage properties.

216  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen This emerged in a context, where rights-issues on the ground increasingly challenged the moral authority of key actors in the World Heritage system. Further, both natural (e.g. as evident in IUCN policy) and cultural heritage conservation doctrines (Nara, Burra, Faro) were increasingly framed in terms of people-centred approaches. The former created some level of political pressure for action, while the latter established a discursive basis legitimating action. Thus while not controversial per se – a decade-old call for mainstreaming human rights in the UN spoke for itself – central Advisory Body players nonetheless noted the repeated rejection by the World Heritage Committee of attempts to render operational guidelines more socially responsible alongside rights-averse decisions on specific sites. A national seminar (Oslo, 2008) entitled ‘World Heritage and Human Rights: Conflicts or Cooperation?’ was followed up by an invited international workshop (Oslo, 2011) for the Advisory Bodies heritage experts. From one perspective, the Our Common Dignity Initiative was conducted in the spirit of framing rights as a knowledge field subject to technical expertise, exploration and discussion. Taking place in parallel to World Heritage discussions, the initial expert meeting (2011) launching an international process and collaboration between Advisory Bodies led to the publication of a special issue of the International Journal of Heritage Studies (IJHS) (Ekern et al., 2012). A further experts meeting was held in Oslo in 2014. The initiative contributed towards highlighting the rights-dimension in a number of ways. Complementary to more head-on advocacy for more explicit recognition of human rights in the Operational Guidelines, the approach was designed to engage a growing group of heritage practitioners, build a knowledge base for the Advisory Bodies and offer material to be show-cased. From early 2013, the emphasis for developing the Our Common Dignity Initiative was put on learning from practice. This facilitated an internal dialogue among the Advisory Bodies, which enabled a process of reflection around their own mandates and approaches on topics such as the evaluation of nominations and training (Larsen, 2012a, 2012b). There was for a long time, however, considerable unease about even offering the rights-dimension in World Heritage explicit attention. Prior to 2012, Advisory Body evaluation reports lacked an explicit space other than as threats. Only after 2012 did IUCN include a distinct community- and rights-issues category in its evaluation reports. Securing change was considered a matter of tactical engagement and targeted surgical intervention. A major achievement in the latter respect involved shifting the perspective from fire fighting around individual sites experiencing rights challenges towards a systemic challenge approach (Sinding-Larsen and Larsen, 2017). A core dimension of the Initiative involved bringing together a global group of heritage thinkers and practitioners to share perspectives and

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  217 lessons learned. In addition, a smaller working group of senior Advisory Body members remained in close dialogue to develop a shared platform for all three institutions. A number of experts in different parts of the world, and representing different and at times quite contrasting experience of the shared problem, contributed – coordinated by ICOMOS Norway. Raising the topic and exploring opportunities for change passed through organizing specific case-study dialogues as well as, since 2014, side-events at the World Heritage Committee meetings to share updates with the wider community of States Party delegates, civil society and experts (Sinding-Larsen and Larsen 2017). Particularly important were major Resolutions passed by ICOMOS General Assemblies (2011, 2015, 2017)7 and engaging the wider ICOMOS network of national organizations to stimulate national dialogues and reflections (particularly in Australia, India, South Africa, and Norway) (Sinding-Larsen and Larsen, 2017). Further Swiss-funded research cooperation also led to reviews and dialogues in Vietnam, Nepal, the Philippines, and Australia (Larsen, 2017). These efforts arguably resulted in both a process of socializing actors towards the topic as well as taking the contents discussion forward. Reports and low-key events created spaces for experts and community delegates to present their concerns. In some cases, WH Committee side events even allowed for informal country-level dialogue with States Parties otherwise largely absent in the formal set-up of Committee procedures. The events, which systemically involved Advisory Body – and later also World Heritage Centre participants, thus to some extent served to normalize and diffuse fears of contentious politics. Particularly important, was the invitation to take part in and contribute to the UNESCO expert group to drafting the ‘World Heritage and Sustainable Development Policy’ (Larsen and Logan, 2018). Here human rights were identified as a cross-cutting element of the policy in the making, and two expert fora in Germany and Vietnam allowed for the formulation of specific policy language. If wider UN frameworks justified the inclusion of human rights language, the Our Common Dignity Initiative clearly contributed with specific policy language. The new policy calling for a comprehensive human rights–based approach was to the surprise of many adopted by the General Assembly of States Parties to the World Heritage Convention in November 2015. This was an important milestone shifting dynamics from one of absence towards that of explicit attention. Yet, the technical cooperation approach presented limitations. While engagement contrasted the silence of the Committee itself, much remains to be done to ensure adequate implementation both in terms of global mechanisms and site-specific issues. Funding remained scarce, provided on an ad hoc basis and ended in 2017. Most capacity building efforts have focussed on duty-bearers such as States Parties, heritage managers and researchers, and the Advisory Bodies.

218  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen Regional training sessions on rights-based approaches and heritage were organized for the Nordic and Baltic region (Norway, 2016) and Africa (South Africa, 2017) alongside occasional presentations in ICCROM sessions. In contrast, there has yet to be a more structured focus on the role of rights holders, addressing their needs and empowering them in the broader World Heritage context. More fundamentally, the implementation challenge remains. Legacies of rights violations in existing sites are neither well documented, nor is it clear how they will be addressed by States Parties. These may range from histories of displacement, loss of customary use rights to exclusion from decision-making processes and heritage designation. Whereas national processes, in a few cases, are leading to restitution and reconciliatory processes, a clear commitment and international support framework is now needed. The challenge is slightly different in new nominations. Even if inclusion of local actors and consultations processes have been on the increase, the general pattern remains one of state-driven processes and uneven implementation (Larsen and Buckley, 2017). This calls for both global commitments and further technical cooperation to engage constructively on the ground. Neither are obvious choices for many States Parties more eager to support listing than deal with thorny social issues. Still, it seems realistic to expect that a number of management guidelines and tools will increasingly incorporate various rights issues.

Lessons learned and concluding remarks What has mattered – and what matters – in the wider context of promoting human rights through cooperation? In practice, the bulk of State Party funding is often channeled to consultants preparing carefully tailored nomination dossiers. The Our Common Dignity Initiative has sought to draw equal attention to the opportunities for addressing social impacts and rights concerns in heritage conservation from the early days of considering a nomination, to the need to repair earlier mistakes or oversights. It is crucial to consider the significance of this in order to make sense of the impacts that a small and modestly funded initiative nonetheless can contribute to shifts in policy. International heritage cooperation is not a monolithic institutional set-up with a common shared authorized discourse. Nor was the internalization of human rights principles as such a given. Rather, it emerged in a specific context as actual World Heritage cases triggering wider attention – and criticism. For one, neither the World Heritage Centre, nor the Advisory Bodies were immune to the mounting critique expressed by indigenous and advocacy organizations. They were equally, if not even more, sensitive to rulings from the African Human rights commission, Reports by UN Special

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  219 Rapporteurs8 and the United Nations Permanent Forum on indigenous issues. These external gazes largely raised and exposed concerns elsewise silenced in the archives of Committee decision-making. Furthermore, conservation paradigms in both natural and cultural heritage reaffirmed the centrality of adopting people-centred approaches. The IUCN, for example, had Congress resolutions about mainstreaming human rights across its different field of activity. Adopting rights-based approaches in the World Heritage field was a logical next step for many conservation professionals, even if conservative politics of the Committee led many to step with caution. The point here is that the Our Common Dignity Initiative through a very flexible and adaptive approach offered a shared platform for the Advisory Bodies, and later on for the World Heritage Centre to venture into the unknown territories of human rights. A number of report and expert statements were adopted – essentially confirming the relevance of the topic and calling for an overhaul of parts of the World Heritage system. This would also involve building a larger community of practice, that would play a central role in exploring ways of strengthening rights-based approaches at both international and local levels. Two other game-changing moments should be considered in terms of lessons learned: There was a ‘before and after’ the adoption of the 2015 World Heritage and Sustainable Development policy. Before, the Our Common Dignity initiative served as an informal forum and channel to ‘flag’ rights issues. Not unlike winning the war, the Our Common Dignity future now raises two immediate concerns. One is what it takes to win the peace in terms of comprehensive implementation of promoting rights-sensitive heritage planning. As discussed elsewhere, there are good reasons to remain cautious about the transformative potential of recently adopted rights language (Larsen, 2018). The other concern, of a more mundane nature, is that of building continuity to the efforts undertaken. As funding for the Our Common Dignity initiative has ended, replaced by mainstreaming commitments and funding for capacity building, what does this mean for the types of policy dialogue initiated? For the moment, some dialogue has continued as part of other activities, yet it also appears as if the rights topic remains in somewhat of a limbo. Finally, while international cooperation is framed in neutral technical terms such as providing ‘assistance’ in terms of resources or expertise ‘to implement human rights obligations’, the politics of human rights have never been far away from the safe zone of technicality. Indeed, as heritage politics have increasingly been shaped by deal-making, wider geo-politics and more, practitioners active in the World Heritage realm expressed concern about yet another source of politicizing heritage. Such fears have now largely been replaced by the recognition of rights-based approaches as one

220  Peter Bille Larsen and Amund Sinding-Larsen tool among many to deal with the kinds of inequalities that often end up shaping World Heritage management. Just as development practitioners in the 1990s would start to come to terms with human rights and development, heritage practitioners now have to consider how heritage and rights issues go together. In practice, there is not one rights-based approach in the development per se, but a plurality of approaches (Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi, 2004). This period of engagement with the World Heritage community is particularly exciting as it embarks on formalizing and codifying its approaches to human rights. Even if universalist language is employed, and international standards referred to, literature also demonstrates distinct processes of vernacularization (Larsen, 2017). Whereas the mainstreaming discourse across the UN is similar, the underlying nature of how (and what) rights are being embedded or not differ widely (Cornwall and Nyamu-Musembi, 2004). The raison d’être for a human rights-based approach have ranged from reiterating statutory UNESCO commitments to raising specific ethical reasons. From a more pragmatic perspective, we might also highlight the call for more downwards accountability by States Parties, not merely to its international peers, but to the very populations inhabiting the areas. Shifts in the Operational Guidelines strengthening calls for consultation, and Prior Informed Consent (ref the 1972 Convention text) in the case of indigenous peoples, go in this direction. Yet, the real testing ground is not the quality of the intellectual or political discourse, but the nature and quality of the institutional mechanisms put in place and effects on the ground. Nomination guidance and evaluation practice engaging with State Party practice is important in this respect. Considering that the track record of implementing the right to development is considered ‘catastrophic’ (Uvin, 2010), are there chances that rights in heritage will fare better? Indeed, the question remains how helpful explicit policy language is to facilitate social change. RBA has served to raise questions of equity in the World Heritage field. In that respect, if an argument was to shift from bland stakeholder language to more specific rights-holder language, much practice remains firmly grounded around the former. It is also uncertain whether this unprecedented policy language will lead to more open discussions about the costs and benefits of heritage making and management. Whereas we have argued that a major contribution of the Our Common Dignity Initiative was to shift from single cases towards a call for a more systematic rights-based approach (Sinding-Larsen and Larsen, 2017), such shifts are neither given, nor irreversible. Piecemeal implementation is possible, just as we have seen the scientific basis for Committee decisions erode over the years coupled with dramatically underfunded work of the World Heritage Centre. Working out tensions and building

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  221 more equitable practices within this institutional context is now the challenge. Given the historic hostility to politics of identity and redistribution, yet the profound politicization in terms of State politics (Meskell, 2013), is further policy language simply going to add on to the working contradictions of World Heritage? A rights-based approach is not least about recognizing competing interests in the heritage space and making sure they are dealt with equitably. Yet, rights-based approach is not a one-stop shop, but rather a critical ingredient in building more just and transparent systems of decision-making to keep States Parties accountable and responsive to their local constituencies as well.

Thank you We sincerely wish to thank Ingunn Kvisterøy for her insights and inputs on the evolving Norwegian policy in the field of development cooperation and human rights. Likewise, we sincerely thank Dr. Marie Louise Anker and Thore Hem for important input.

Notes 1 See e.g. White Paper nr 93 (1976–1977) ‘About Norway and international protection of human rights’. 2 See e.g. White Paper nr. 21 (1999–2000) ‘Human Dignity in the Centre’¸ (Menneskeverd i sentrum). 3 See White Paper no. 35 (2003–2004) ‘Common fight against poverty’; Felles kamp mot fattigdom). 4 One of the authors, Amund Sinding-Larsen, had the privilege to act as consultant and advisor during the 1980s and 1990s to the Directorate and to NORAD on much of this work. 5 Norway was represented on the UNESCOs executive board by Mrs Ingrid Eide, and Norway was a substantial supporter of the initiative. The first president of the Norwegian Sami Partiament Mr Ole Henrik Magga was a member of the commission, representing indigenous peoples as well as the Nordic countries. 6 Other efforts included a strategy on international culture and sports cooperation 1997–2005, by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and “Africa 2009”, a capacity building program run by UNESCO and ICCROM. 7 The recently held ICOMOS General Assembly in India (New Delhi, December 2017) adopted recommendations by the international working group to continue developing the Our Common Dignity initiative also during the new triennial work period. 8 In parallel with growing attention on rights issues from the WH Advisory Bodies, Farida Shaheed, Special Rapporteur on Cultural Rights to the UN Human Right Council (2011, 2016) for example recommended that “(n)o inscription on UNESCO lists relating to cultural heritage or national lists or registers should be requested or granted without the free, prior and informed consent of the concerned communities”. Special Rapporteurs on indigenous rights along with the Expert Mechanism have on several occasions equally raised these concerns.

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References Blake, J. 2011. Taking a Human Rights Approach to Cultural Heritage Protection. Heritage and Society, 4, pp. 199–238. Cameron, C. and Rössler, M. 2013. Many Voices, One Vision: The Early Years of the World Heritage Convention. Farnham: Ashgate. Cornwall, A. and Nyamu-Musembi, C. 2004. Putting the ‘Rights-Based Approach’ to Development into Perspective. Third World Quarterly, 25, pp. 1415–1437. Cowan, J. K., Dembour, M. B. and Wilson, R. (eds.). 2001. Culture and Rights, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ekern, S., Logan, W., Sauge, B. and Sinding-Larsen, A. 2012. Human Rights and World Heritage: Preserving Our Common Dignity through Rights-Based Approaches. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 18, 213–225. Larsen, P. B. 2012a. Advisory Body Evaluations of World Heritage nominations in Relation to Community and Rights Concerns, Independent Assessment. A discussion paper. IUCN, ICOMOS Norway and ICCROM. Larsen, P. B. 2012b. IUCN, World Heritage and Evaluation Processes Related to Communities and Rights: An Independent Review. Gland: IUCN World Heritage Programme. Larsen, P. B. (ed.) 2017. World Heritage and Human Rights: Lessons from the Asia Pacific and the Global Arena. London: Earthscan/Routledge. Larsen, P. B. 2018. Human Rights, Wrongs and Sustainable Development in World Heritage. In: Larsen, P. B. and Logan, W. (eds.) World Heritage and Sustainable Development: New Directions in World Heritage Management. London: Routledge. Larsen, P. B. and Buckley, K. 2017. The World Heritage Committee and Human Rights: Learning from Event Ethnography. In: Larsen, P. B. (ed.) World Heritage and Human Rights: Lessons from the Asia Pacific and the Global Arena. ­L ondon: Earthscan/Routledge. Larsen, P. B. and Buckley, K. 2018. Approaching Human Rights at the World ­Heritage Committee: Capturing Situated Conversations, Complexity, and Dynamism in Global Heritage Processes. International Journal of Cultural Property, 25, pp. 85–110. Larsen, P. B. and Logan, W. 2018. World Heritage and Sustainable Development: New Directions in World Heritage Management. London: Routledge. Meskell, L. 2013. UNESCO’s World Heritage Convention at 40: Challenging the Economic and Political Order of International Heritage Conservation. Current Anthropology, 54, pp. 483–494. NORAD. 2009. Evaluation of Norwegian Support to the Protection of Cultural Heritage. Oslo: Nordland Research Institute and Chr. Michelsen Institute. Shaheed, F. 2015. Report of the Special Rapporteur in the Field of Cultural Rights, Farida Shaheed, Addendum,vVisit to Viet Nam (18–29 November 2013), A/ HRC/28/57/Add. 1. Geneva: Human Rights Council, Twenty-eighth session, Agenda item 3, Promotion and protection of all human rights, civil, political, economic, social and cultural rights,including the right to development. Sinding-Larsen, A. and Larsen, P. B. (eds.). 2017. Our Common Dignity ­Initiative – Rights-Based Approaches in World Heritage – Taking Stock and Looking Forward (Advisory Body Activities between 2011 and 2016), An Advisory Body Report. Oslo: ICOMOS Norway.

Our common dignity initiative and World Heritage  223 Thompson, J. and Wijesuriya, G. 2018. From ‘Sustaining Heritage’ to ‘Heritage Sustaining Broader Societal Wellbeing and Benefits’: An ICCROM Perspective. In: Larsen, P. and Logan, W. (eds.) World Heritage and Sustainable Development: New Directions in World Heritage Management. London: Routledge. Uvin, P. 2010. From the Right to Development to the Rights-Based Approach: How ‘Human Rights’ Entered Development. In: Cornwall, A. and Eade, D. (eds.) ­Deconstructing Development Discourse: Buzzwords and Fuzzwords. Bourton on Dunsmore: Practical Action Publishing in association with Oxfam GB. Vrdoljak, A. F. 2013. Human Rights and Culture Heritage in International Law. In: Lenzerini, F. and Vrdoljak., A. F. (eds.) International Law for Common Goods: Normative Perspectives on Human Rights, Culture and Nature. Oxford: Oxford Hart publishing. [Online] Available at SSRN: https://ssrn.com/abstract=2200186 (Accessed on 21/01/2019).

14 Clowns in crisis zones The evolution of Clowns without Borders International Tim Cunningham

Introduction In 2017, more than 30 million children had been displaced by war (Norwegian Refugee Council 2015); one-third of all humans trafficked were children (UN Office on Drugs and Crime 2016); and 134–210 million children had been orphaned by disease, war or natural disaster (IHH 2014). ­U NESCO, UNICEF, and the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals aspired to address methods by which to improve psychosocial support of some of the world’s most vulnerable children (Garcia-Moreno & Amin 2016). With humanitarian disaster comes the increased likelihood of violence toward children (Rubenstein & Stark 2017). Though the inclusion of mental health into the collective definition of well-being has been a slow-moving process, the early 21st century has seen some change (Prince et  al. 2007). A call for the inclusion of more ethnographic-based and psychologist-­driven responses to attenuate suffering and address the nuanced needs of communities in crisis has surfaced in the wake of humanitarian response (Kostelny et al. 2016; Raviola et al. 2012). Offering adequate psychosocial support to displaced populations is essential. Albeit challenging to implement and measure, ethical, safe and appropriate psychosocial responses are needed to complement other forms of humanitarian response, such as medical aid, nutrition support and sanitation (Ager et al. 2014; Mollica et al. 2004; Panter-Brick et al. 2018; Yule 2006). Whether the origin of the humanitarian disaster be state-sponsored (the ethnic cleansing of Rohingyas in Myanmar, 2012–2017), disease-based (the Ebola outbreak in West Africa, 2013–2016) or of natural origins (Typhoon Yolanda/Haiyan 2013), a common result is that communities are separated from each other. People are removed from their homes, from their family and friends while being forced to live in unfamiliar settings. In addition to needing food, shelter and medical care, communities in flux also need opportunities to come back together. Bringing people together is culturally dependent thus demanding that interventions to bring groups together must be applied with the utmost cultural humility (Muller et al. 2017; Wessells 2018). To address the call for the inclusion of mental health support in humanitarian settings while also providing interventions that may provide a sense of community

Clowns in crisis zones  225 coalescence, this chapter turns to the benefits of playfulness and laughter as necessary tools in humanitarian response. It will explore how Clowns Without Borders International (CWBI) addresses the needs of children and adults in crisis settings through artistic, interactive interventions.

The importance of playfulness and laughter To assume that any one intervention is universal or applicable to a broad range of audiences is highly suspect and arguably unethical. It is important to find culturally sensitive methods by which to evaluate humanitarian interventions in the context where they are performed (Bolton & Tang 2002). In many settings, playfulness, creative play and artistic interventions have been used to support children affected by humanitarian disaster (Boneh & Jaganath 2011; Boyes & Reid 2005; Tyrer & Fazal 2014). Respectful of the pitfall assumption that a one-size-fits-all intervention can be used in any setting, this chapter posits that playfulness and laughter are somewhat universal for children. Child Friendly Spaces, for example, utilize play to welcome children into these safe spaces while also providing opportunities to maintain educational opportunities (Halman et al. 2017). Culturally appropriate games provide children with opportunities to have fun and address problems with creative means. Moreover, exercise-based games allow space for physical health through games. An aid worker who participated in workshops with Clowns Without Borders in 2014 in Za’atari Refugee Camp commented that “Before you [the clowns] came here, the children played war—now they play clown” (CWBI 2016). Creativity and imagination flourish when they are framed in playfulness (Lieberman 2014; Stokes 2016). Inherent to playfulness is laughter. Physiologically, laughter reduces blood pressure (McMahon et al. 2005; Sawahata et al. 2013), reduces heart rate (Miller et al. 2010; Toda & Nakanishi-Toda 2011), increases respiratory rate (Ferner & Aronson 2013), increases oxygen levels in the blood (Herring et  al. 2011) and reduces anxiety (Felluga et  al. 2016). Reduced perceptions of pain are associated with laughter in the context of an increased pain threshold (MacDonald 2004; Stuber et al. 2009). Reductions in pain perception, heart rate and blood pressure have longterm beneficial effects on the body and are important measures for the concept of stress-reduction. Pro-inflammatory cytokines have an indirect relationship with changes in vital signs, vascular tension and perceptions of stress. Laughter, mirth and joy decrease the presence of biomarkers, such as cortisol, which increases stress in the body (Hayashi et al. 2003; Hoge et  al. 2013). Long-term stress reduction strengthens the immune response and therefore helps protect an individual from various infections (Bennet et al., 2014). Evidence that laughter strengthens immune response while reducing pain, in addition to providing other healthy physiological changes, supports the use of it in psychosocial support programs in humanitarian settings. Clowns without Borders embraces laughter and play as pillars of its work.

226  Tim Cunningham

Clowns without borders In July, 1993, Tortell Poltrona, the founder of a circus called, Circ Cric, was invited to perform in a refugee camp in the Istrian Peninsula. A group of Catalan school children sent him a humble invitation. These children had been corresponding with pen pals who had been displaced by the war in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The children told the Catalan students that they had food, shelter and clothing. They made it clear, however, that an essential element was still vacant in their lives: You know what we miss most? We miss laughter, to have fun, to enjoy ourselves. (CWBI 2017a). At the camp, Tortell performed for 800 children and families. After devouring his show, the audience asked a question that spurred the beginning of Payasos sin Fronteras (PSF): When are you coming back? This simple question set in motion an aspect of the work of PSF and the other chapters it would soon inspire—go where you are invited and go when you are invited (CWBI 2017a). Tortell also assured that only professionally trained performers were to go do this kind of work. Since that first show, the work of catalyzing laughter in zones of crisis has inspired thousands of artists and more than four million children. Tortell returned to that camp and then others, each time bringing his colleagues, clowns and street performers from Spain, France and the United States. These interventions were completely volunteer-based. Artists paid their own way and no money nor materials were given to the people who witnessed the performances. The founder of Clowns Without Borders-USA, Moshe Cohen commented that this work in the early days was countercoup against the ongoing “humanitarian industrial complex (HIC).” Hoffman and Wise (2017) depict a timely explanation of HIC to which Cohen and other early founders of CWB chapters have alluded. PSF emphasized doing this work in a way that the artists made no profits from the suffering of others. Though they volunteer their time, artists with CWB undergo a process by which they are screened for artistic skills and also criminal backgrounds before they are allowed on a program. Local laws vary as to what a criminal background check entails, so each country chapter of CWB has a different process in vetting its artists. Named a Consultative Partner with UNESCO in 2015, Clowns without Borders International (CWBI) is the governing body off all CWB country chapters. There are chapters based in every habitable continent of the world. Once a country chapter has been vetted by CWBI’s governing body, it is welcomed to use the name “Clowns Without Borders” to work towards CWBI’s common mission: To offer joy and laughter to relieve the suffering of all persons, especially children, who live in areas of crisis including refugee camps, conflict zones and territories in situations of emergency. CWBI affiliates have partnered with NGOs and governmental aid groups such as Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), UNHCR, UNICEF, Plan International and Save the Children as they follow the model that has been

Clowns in crisis zones  227 developed by the Child Protection Working Group (CPWG 2017). Shows and workshops put on by members of CWBI adhere to the six principles established in the “Minimum Standards for Child Protection in Humanitarian Action” (CPWG 2012). These principles, listed in Table 14.1, are addressed by how CWBI chapters work with partner aid organizations regarding the ethical content of shows. The primary principle that is addressed during CWBI performances is that of resilience, which is evident through the laughter and connectivity expressed by audience members. A psychologist who partnered with CWB-UK at a school for Syrian refugees in Turkey expressed how resilience manifested with the work: I can see a difference in [the children] since coming here. One child usually never wants to play with the other children and now he is playing and joining in. The children have asked their teachers to keep playing the games and doing these activities with them. They will because they see how good it is for them and they are learning too. (CWBI 2016) The value added by the work of CWBI artists is challenging to measure, yet anecdotal evidence from various sources suggests the standing power of the clown interventions when it comes to emotional support and the construction of positive memories. In an interview with UNHCR, the founder of PSF described outcomes: Another time, I arrived in Sri Lanka 10 days after the Indian Ocean tsunami [of December 26, 2004] with Médecins Sans Frontières. We performed on the first day of the school term at a high school where only 700 of the 1,500 children survived the tsunami. After the performance, the director came and said, People have brought mattresses, blankets and medicine, but until now nobody gives us life. You let us laugh and smile and you give us life. (Dobbs & Edwards, 2011) Table 14.1  M inimum standards for child protection in humanitarian action six principles and approaches (Child Protection Working Group 2012) Principle one Principle two Principle three Principle four Principle five Principle six

Avoid exposing people to further harm as a result of your actions Ensure people’s access to impartial assistance Protect people from physical and psychological harm arising from violence and coercion Assist people to claim their rights, access available remedies and recover from the effects of abuse Strengthen child protection systems Strengthen children’s resilience in humanitarian action

228  Tim Cunningham In 2013, the Executive Director CWB-USA presented on the organization’s work at the U.S.-based International Monetary Fund (IMF). At the end of the presentation, an employee of the World Bank approached the stage to ask a question. She was Croatian and said that as a child she lived in a refugee camp in the mid-1990s. She told the audience how the clowns came to visit her camp. For years after that event, she said that she would recollect the clown show with her childhood friends, they would laugh and repeat the antics that the clowns had portrayed. She said that was one of the happiest memories while living in the camp. A pediatrician from Ireland described the work of the CWBI that he witnessed while treating refugees in Lesvos, Greece: “The clowns change children’s faces, they change the space. Doctors cannot give what the clowns give and it is so important” (Personal communication, January 2018). CWBI addresses the present moment and the levity that rises from it. By partnering with organizations where the team has been invited, the artists refrain from any teaching or “preaching.” If laughter is universal and if “everyone,” in the words of CWB volunteer Clay Mazing, “laughs in the same language” (Al Jazeera 2015), then CWBI deems it necessary to bring laughter anywhere it is welcomed. Some impacts of the work of the clowns in crisis zones may best be recorded in the discussion that follows.

“You are the clowns that came here:” defining the crisis After a two-hour drive up dirt-covered roads replete with potholes, divots and cliffs, the team of clowns arrived at a small school in the Risalrada region of Colombia, the rural coffee fields near Pereira. As the children arrived at the school for the morning’s show, they entered the small, block building with looks of wide-eyed excitement. They watched the juggling routines with delight and they cheered when the clowns created a musical-saw-induced dreamscape. This show, and most of the performances by CWBI, relies heavily on the art of pantomime and traditional clown “bits” that have universal ­appeal—tripping, falling, making mistakes, getting lost, getting found, getting back up from the ground, bouncing back, then trying again. It is resilience with a spirit of lightness that inspires the clowns’ audiences to come to stage after a show, play with them, and to teach them their own games and songs. At the end of the show, a child approached the clown team leader. The child maintained a look of awe throughout the spectacle and said: “Ustedes son los payasos que vinieron aquí” (“You, you are the clowns that came here!”). Some critiques of CWBI question why this organization sends clowns into places like rural Colombia where there is not an acute crisis such as natural disaster or mass migration. CWBI does not define “crisis” by its own standards. Although potentially problematic when establishing clear boundaries about where it will send its performing artists, this designation of allowing communities to define their own crises is both a subtle form of empowerment for local populations and also an active critique of the more traditional and colonial model of humanitarian aid which imposes

Clowns in crisis zones  229 work in or on a community whether the community has asked for it or not. An example of this latter point would be in the most extreme case when states assert military intervention in another state to accomplish or “stabilize” a situation (Ingiyimbere 2017). A less extreme, but more common case is when aid groups enter a location to extol the rights of a child without considering cultural nuance in a given community about leadership norms and sustainability of an intervention. Pupuvac’s chapter in Goodhart (2016) provides deep context for the nuance around advocating for children’s rights and the role-complexities within that dynamic. When disaster strikes a community, whether it is chronic (poverty) or acute (natural disaster) children are among the first to lose their rights. CWBI instills a focus on children’s rights as enumerated by the 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNICEF 1989). Article 31.1 of the Convention is most salient to the work of CWBI: States Parties recognize the right of the child to rest and leisure, to engage in play and recreational activities appropriate to the age of the child and to participate freely in cultural life and the arts. By sending clowns to places of crises, designated by a local community, CWBI supports artistic endeavors for all children. What is more, children who participate in CWBI shows and workshops are also offered the opportunity to creatively express themselves through song, dance and other creative means. Article 13 of the Convention addresses the child’s right to the freedom of expression. Past director of emergency response at Plan International, Dr. Unni Krishnan has built many partnerships with CWBI in various contexts. He remarks that, “Music, theater, dance, sports and arts are closely related to a child’s way of experiencing the world and can therefore help them to express themselves and participate in a meaningful way” (CWBI 2015). Alone, CWBI cannot accomplish the goals set out by the Convention; it can, however help other NGOS achieve these goals through partnerships. CWBI relies on multilateral collaborations, such as the one that brought the clowns into rural Colombia, in order to best serve children.

Partnerships As CWBI chapters formed in the early 2000s many practiced what this author calls a “parachute model.” When aid teams “drop in” assistance without a strong connection to a community or preemptive state of trust, there is ample space for negative, unintended consequences. Kpanake et al. (2017) describe this in the context of Haiti, which for decades has received copious amounts of uninvited aid. A full-length documentary about CWBUSA explores how clowns may have fallen into this aid trap (Send in the Clowns 2015). Clowns, like many other aid groups, set up programs, interventions, camps and even hospitals inside of Haiti at fever pitch after the

230  Tim Cunningham 2010 earthquake. Millions of dollars were being sent to support victims of the earthquake and yet the rapid global response may have been a detriment to sustainable growth as empty promises were made from aid groups to recipients. The film also reflects how NGO partners with CWBI began to ask for more than just performances, more than what the “parachute model” could offer. Since the film’s release, CWBI chapters have made concerted efforts to establish a more sustainable model. This model includes the incorporation of workshops into tours as well as efforts to employ and work with local artists during the performance tours. For workshops, CWBI clowns provide free training to children and families for skills like juggling and acrobatics. Each workshop given has its own teaching objectives, some of which are: To build a short performance, to write and tell stories of past experiences in the community, to build puppets or to learn object manipulation such as juggling, plate spinning or balancing acts. Many CWBI programs no longer offer performances and just focus on community engagement through workshops. Other forms of workshops include “train the trainer” models such that CWBI clowns teach NGO workers theatre games or activities suitable to be used with children in Child Friendly Spaces. CWBI engagement in the Philippines after Typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan) in 2013–2014 is a key example of workshop facilitation. In effect, giving workshops mitigates potential for negative outcomes of a parachute model that focuses just on performances alone. CWBI clowns frequently meet local artists in the field who join in performances and share their own, virtuosic, performance skills. Chapters have worked diligently to bring those artists along on tours, giving local artists the lead on show creation and performance time as another way to push against the old parachute model. The aforementioned case in Colombia is a good example of such partnerships (King 2016). Clowns Without Borders South Africa (CWBSA) is another example in which it employs South African artists for its work thus being able to perform shows in local languages that address pertinent and timely issues with stories told by local artists and community members. CWBSA clowns also work closely with care givers on a project called “Our Story Your Story” (OSYS) that encourages autobiographical storytelling as a form of engagement and empowerment. OSYS allows its participants to focus on local issues within a community, such as violence or illness, and then helps them build stories around those issues to share with a larger public. CWBSA embodies the melding of local artists support and workshops with OSYS work. It should be noted that CWBSA is unique in that it pays its local artists. It was deemed unethical to not pay artists, many of whom come from a lower economic status (as compared to the expatriate clowns who have traditionally come from other countries to perform) for work in their own community. Clowner utan Gränser (CUG) has established long-lasting partnerships with artists in settings like Rwanda and Lebanon. Because of the general

Clowns in crisis zones  231 nature of CWBI’s mission and the different styles of leadership among its chapters, there has been opportunity for partnerships with local organizations. Clear practices, clear missions and aims are essential foundations for any organization choosing to work with vulnerable people—it is an ethical mandate. Within clear missions it is also important to run an organization with a sense of flexibility. Social scientist, Paul Bolton and colleagues (2007) discuss this need for precise flexibility when assessing a community’s psychosocial needs and most importantly when developing culturally appropriate interventions. In 2011, a team of CUG clowns were performing at community centers in Rwanda. On their day off, they went to a park for relaxation. There, they encountered a team of young child acrobats called the Gisenyi Acrobats. This troupe had extraordinary acrobatic skills. CUG now works consistently with the Gisenyi Acrobats by providing workshops that teach theatrical skills to the performers. CUG has organized performances and tours within Rwanda that feature the acrobats. One Gisenyi Acrobat talked about the partnership with CUG saying, “Clowns Without Borders work and our work is peace work – because you can’t laugh and make war at the same time” (CWBI 2016). CUG clowns have partnered with Lebanese artists to provide ongoing workshops in the theatre arts with a focus on working with women and refugee families in Za’atari Camp. Their workshop aims include a focus on performance tools that strengthen interaction, community participation, trust and self-esteem. To date, there are no data that make evident the results of these workshops beyond anecdotes of playfulness, women eager to bring the clowns back into the camp and partner NGOs who form ongoing commitments to the clowns because of the intangible, but perceived value of the work. CWBI chapters, in addition to CUG and CWBSA have partnered with large organizations like Plan International, Terre des Hommes, MSF and UNICEF since 2000. These high-level partnerships frequently occur when a large organization reaches out to a CWBI affiliate and asks for their services in a crisis zone. With these partnerships come ample bureaucracy and, all too common in humanitarian response, a decreased efficiency in the use of funds and activities. Arguably, this is a necessary evil, and yet when the core of the work is focused on catalyzing laughter, hope and joy, the challenges of working with large NGOs can hinder some positive outcomes. Conversely, partnerships with large and more sustainable NGOs provide longer-term opportunities for collaboration as crises around the globe flare and large NGOs intervene. A case in which by working with smaller NGO, the clowns had more access to a vulnerable community follows. In 2010, months before the earthquake in Haiti, a team of clowns partnered with an NGO called AVSI. AVSI was working in a community near Port au Prince, called, Matisan. It was a U.N. declared “Red Zone.” Most NGOs did not have access to Matisan and

232  Tim Cunningham yet because AVSI’s focus was on the health of children in that situation, not to mention the fact that AVSI’s leadership had established a baseline of trust among some of Matisan’s gang leaders, AVSI was welcomed. The clowns were briefed on emergency protocol by by AVSI’s coordinator who reminded them that that parents want their children to be happy, even if the father is a gang leader or a criminal, he still wants his child to be healthy and happy. The clowns were welcomed by gang leaders there and they performed safely. Had the clowns partnered with a larger NGO, they would not have had access to such a volatile place. CWBI groups have established different methods to organize partnerships with various NGOs. In the nascent days of CWB’s work most partnerships were informal. Frequently, the clowns would meet other aid groups while they were already working in the field and they would offer their services within a day’s notice. There were no official agreements signed. Today CWBI chapters have formal memoranda of understanding (MOUs) that establish the participants’ roles. Most chapters negotiate an MOU with a specific aid organization for the given emergency context in which they will be working in order to meet specific needs.

Breaking the rules: the dead and dying By nature, clowns as performers are, to many extents, required to break the rules. It is by breaking rules, intentionally and unintentionally that they are funny. LeBank and Bridel (2015) assert: The clown’s function remains remarkably consistent: to turn established protocols (societal, political, cultural, logical, linguistic, or otherwise) on their heads, and to provoke a new understanding of, and appreciation for, the human condition through a celebration of foible and a mockery of power. (p. 1) CWBI clowns have broken the rules, for better or for worse. From the kiss of a monk’s cheek in Nepal, which was graciously forgiven but sternly warned against, to an incident with refugees who had just evacuated a sinking raft off of the coast of Greece when CWB was forced to revisit its practices and change its show—mistakes have happened. In clowns, mistakes are required; in humanitarian response, they may cost lives. The older parachute model of CWB work set a precarious stage for the opportunity for clowns to make a cultural faux pas without recognizing it and moving on to do another show, in another community and repeating the same blunder. As CWB chapters developed their work, the content of their shows, and the formats with which to present, they also developed better systems of informal assessment in order to gauge the audience’s reaction to the work.

Clowns in crisis zones  233 There is a theme in many CWBI shows that, for decades, has inspired laughter—death. This section will compare two scenarios, one in Greece and a second in South Africa. It begins with a common clown bit called, “Dead or Alive.” During this act, a clown falls to the ground and “dies.” The other clowns find comic ways to revive the deceased. In some CWBI shows, the clowns will bring an audience member into the playing space to help lift the “dead” clown back up on her feet. During the bit, laughter arises with all of the creative ways that the other clowns try to “resuscitate” the “dead” clown. The bit ends with the clown alive again, modeling an aspect of resilience—the clown’s ability to bounce back. A team of clowns had been asked to work on the island of Lesvos in 2015. In November that year, the island saw, on average, 3,300 new migrant arrivals per day (UNHCR 2015). The clowns partnered with various organizations, one being Save the Children. The clowns would be present at shore and then would perform in community safe spaces where refugees and their families had received aid. The clowns performed the “Dead or Alive” bit to a group one day and, like in most of their shows, the audience laughed. After one show, however, a mother who had lost a child during the transport, left the show in tears. An aid worker reached out to the mother and then addressed the CWB group with severe consternation. The unintended psychological consequences of this work can be profound. The clowns play off of the energy of the collective audience and so there is often no room for individuals who are not laughing to express their concern, fear or disgust. Individuals who are not enjoying the show, or worse, re-traumatized by what they see in the performance may feel like they cannot speak out or express counter-views in reaction to the show that they might find not funny, or worse, offensive. The clown artists have the ability to read the audience as a whole, but in the chaos of some performance spaces during CWBI shows, it is impossible to read each individual’s response. The clowns rely on the eyes of their partner organizations as well to assess the audience’s response to the work. If a concern arises during a performance as to an audience member’s reaction, members of the partner organization will alert clowns during the performance and the artists will change, or sometimes even end the performance early. Similarly, in workshop settings, the clowns rely on members of partner NGOs to assess and respond to how participants react to the materials shared. Performance is an iterative process. It relies on give and take between the artists and audience. That energy is ever dynamic and at times, difficult to read—one primary reason why CWBI performing artists are all professionals. There are other humanitarian clown groups working in crisis settings and hospitals around the world that use untrained clowns. That process is suspect, questionable and potentially unethical. As it would be unethical for a medical student to prescribe treatment to a refugee child living in poverty because there is less regulation for medical professionals, so too it would be for an untrained artist to perform for a group of refugees. CWBI pushes against the post-colonial aid model that suggests substandard treatment or care is

234  Tim Cunningham better than no care at all (Cunningham & Sesay 2017). CWBI strives to send the best artists it has to provide the highest level of performance standards. But even with highly trained artists, is it also ethical to perform shows that deal with death? CWB South Africa (CWBSA) asked that question when it began its work in that country. In 2005, the clowns performed a bit during their show in which one clown brings a balloon onstage. The clown is unable to blow up the balloon. Finally, after a long-winded team effort by all the clowns and a child from the audience, the performers fill the balloon with air. Unfortunately, they fill it too much and the balloon pops. The bit called, “Balloon Funeral” ramps up as the clowns collect the balloon shards, cry over them, and bury them in the ground or into another clown’s hat. This bit, in its many variations, has been performed by CWBI teams in Mexico, Haiti, Colombia, the U.S., Turkey, Sierra Leone, Ethiopia, Lesotho and Palestine. The clown team, however, questioned whether it should be performed in South Africa especially. When the CWB clown work started in South Africa, the team mostly performed during weekdays in townships around Johannesburg, Durban and Cape Town. Weekends were reserved for funerals as the HIV/AIDS pandemic continued to ravage communities throughout the country. The clowns questioned whether “playing a funeral” would be considered inappropriate. Quite the opposite was found to be the case. After meeting with school teachers and other community leaders, the clowns were granted permission to perform the balloon funeral, much to the general delight of children and their families. When done well, breaking rules and addressing taboos can bring a moment of levity to an audience. CWBI teams do not deploy psychologists to analyze audience reaction. Performing artists rely on the moment by moment response from an audience to determine the effectiveness of the show. With that feedback, they improvise and adapt the performance to meet the needs of the audience. It is far from perfect and though the clown aspires to, “provoke a new understanding of, and appreciation for, the human condition through a celebration of foible and a mockery of power” (LeBank and Bridel 2015) sometimes emotions rise, people are offended and there remains the risk for inflicting harm.

Response to the global refugee crisis As it has unfolded in the early part of the 20th century, the global refugee crisis seems all the more insurmountable. CWBI chapters struggle with developing the capacity to respond to all of the requests to work with refugee groups in various countries. A team of performing artists, made up of Turkish, Kurdish and American clowns, had been developing programs for refugees, including Yazidi communities, who had fled violence in Syria and Iraq. The clowns had coordinated with groups from both sides of the political divide between Turkish rule and Kurdish rights. In an effort to model unity through laughter,

Clowns in crisis zones  235 they had planned a program which would incorporate one show near the Turkey/Syria border in a city called Suruç. Two weeks before the clowns were to begin their work, a suicide bomber killed 33. The bombing was at the exact site where the clowns were scheduled to perform. The team was requested to continue their work, knowing that they would be performing in unstable regions. What is more, they were invited to perform in Kurdish communities that were radically divided between citizens who had left their impoverished villages to join Daesh (ISIS) and others, who remained, still severely discriminated against by the Turkish government, to care for their families and raise their children. With protection from both supporters of the Turkish government as well as leaders in the Kurdish movement, the clowns were given access to perform for children whose parents radically disagreed with each other regarding politics. One show, which occurred in the evening time before the clowns were required by the now-decimated municipality of Diarbakır (Amed) to be back in their hotel by dark, embodied the concept of resilience and togetherness. As the sun set over the performance, military jets took off from a nearby airfield. The children, however, continued to laugh at the show despite the war machines overhead. At times, their laughter drowned out the sound of the jets’ fury. The work of the clowns is more than just entertainment. It enlivens audiences, it integrates them in the playfulness on stage and it empowers children to look at situations with a different lens. With acute and protracted refugee situations in constant flux, CWBI affiliate organizations work tirelessly to make their services available. Chapters such as CUG and Clowns ohne Grenzen, Deutschland (CloG), for example, have facilitated efforts in their own countries to welcome, celebrate and destigmatize the concept of refugees within their own countries. The scope of this organization’s work has grown tremendously from a “parachute model” to a more inclusive and responsive model that works to meet the needs of situations in-country and abroad. Most CWBI chapters, however, do this on a meager budget.

Funding There are many arguments as to why budgets remain small for CWBI projects. Abstract concepts such as coulrophobia (fear of clowns) to more logical reasons—in emergency settings people primarily need food, shelter and water—may contribute to factors that prevent many chapters from fundraising to meet their realistic financial needs. The fact that to date there are no empirical, quantitative nor qualitative studies showing the benefits of clowns working in crisis settings may also reduce the ability for these groups to fundraise adequately. Funding for CWBI work has come from both unusual and more traditional modes. Individual donors who believe in the work of the clowns, parents who may have witnessed their own child’s suffering who then saw the effect a clown had on their child, and

236  Tim Cunningham the eccentric affluent have all, in many ways, supported the work of CWBI. Some CWBI chapters receive government support for various projects, such as CUG’s Welcome Refugees program. Non-governmental aid from groups such as UNICEF have also supported projects. Funding for individual projects has been more replete for these chapters rather than funding for organizational operations. For example, just a few days after the landfall of Typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan) in the Philippines, Plan International reached out to CWB leadership in December, 2013. They wanted a team to immediately mobilize to provide support. Although there is literature that calls for the need for more robust measurement and evaluation of psychosocial support programs in crisis settings which questions the ethics of implementing a non-tested intervention (Ager et al. 2014; Wessells and Kostelny 2013) coupled the knowledge that some artistic interventions have shown promise, yet in site-specific contexts (Betancourt et al. 2013; Das et al. 2016; Siriwardhana et al. 2014), leadership at Plan International, like many other organizations took a risk and brought in the clowns, funding the entire project. CWBI chapters sent seven affiliate groups within a year to the Philippines. The head of emergency response for Plan International, at that time, Dr. Unni Krishnan commented that “saving lives does not necessarily mean sustaining lives” (Personal communication, 2014) and thus the need for clowns, regardless of measurement, so as to improve quality of life here and now.

Ethics But should artistic, abstract and nonconventional interventions be shared with some of the world’s most vulnerable people? Some, like Dr. Krishnan, would say yes. Others would disagree. It should be clear that CWBI is not the first and only group to provide psychological intervention in crisis settings. Dr. Krishnan tells a story, when, after the Latur earthquake in 1993, he and his colleagues were working closely with many traumatized children who had lost everything to the disaster and refused to go back to school or return to a semblance of normalcy. His team of specialists (psychologists and humanitarian workers) could not design an adequate intervention by which to connect with the children in the area. Then one day, Dr. Krishnan met a man who was a “bear charmer.” This gentleman had been a street performer with his pet bear who did tricks for children. Dr. Krishnan brought the bear charmer to a central square and within minutes children had come from their homes, were laughing and playing. After that, Krishnan’s team had more trust with children and the local community. In Suruç, less than a year after the suicide bombing in eastern Turkey which both shocked the world and destabilized an already struggling country, the clowns returned to that very site to perform a show. With the permission of the local municipality, the clowns set up their stage where the bomb rippled through young university students. A crowd joined the clowns; people came together.

Clowns in crisis zones  237 There is a power in togetherness and play. Abstraction—foreigners wearing eccentric clothing, acrobats, jugglers, dance and magic—allows people to connect with each other in ways they do not normally connect. Parents who watch their children laugh, perhaps for the first time in years or months, feel a change. Parents begin to laugh and smile. Their friends follow suit. Suddenly a crowd of strangers, having been divided look each other in the eye and celebrate. A volunteer from CUG observed, Some people told me they had not seen their children laugh since they left Syria. They gain so much strength from it. Food and shelter will keep you alive but it will not give you the power to fight for life. (CWBI 2015) This work is but a tool from a variety of mechanisms by which to bring people together and CWBI believes, to heal. A small body of evidence supports the theories behind this work; however, much more work needs to be done to test, understand and measure the effects CWBI’s work.

Conclusion CWBI has changed dynamically since its early chapters formed in the mid1990s. With grassroots approaches, CWBI’s chapters strive to meet the needs of populations in crisis—however that crisis is defined—with professional actors, dancers, magicians and mimes. The organization has been given access to dangerous and often hard-to-reach situations. It often gets invited back, year after year. The organization has fallen short of devising methods by which to adequately provide clear program evaluation and measurement of the effects of its work, yet there remains great promise and potential to do so. The clown, as actor and master of improvisation, is responsible for “reading the audience” and fine-tuning a performance to meet the needs of the people with whom she is sharing her experience. In the same light, the sister chapters of CWBI share a responsibility to remain acutely attuned to the work at large, its ethics, its practices and how it is perceived so that the organizational work can remain iterative, producing dynamic, sensitive and safe interventions anywhere on the planet where teams are invited to work.

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240  Tim Cunningham controlled trials of a psychosocial intervention for youth affected by the Syrian crisis. Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, 59(5), 523–541. Prince, M. Patel, V., Saxena, S., Maj, M., Maselko, J., Phillips, M.R. and Rahman, A., 2007. No health without mental health. The Lancet, 370(9590), pp. 859–877. Raviola, G., Eustache, E., Oswald, C. and Belkin, G. S., 2012. Mental health response in Haiti in the aftermath of the 2010 earthquake: a case study for building long-term solutions. Harvard Review of Psychiatry, 20(1), pp. 68–77. Rubenstein, B. L. and Stark, L., 2017. The impact of humanitarian emergencies on the prevalence of violence against children: an evidence-based ecological framework. Psychology, Health & Medicine, 22(sup1), pp. 58–66. Sawahata, Y., Komine, K., Morita, T. and Hiruma, N., 2013. Decoding humor experiences from brain activity of people viewing comedy movies. PloS one, 8(12), p. e81009. Send in the clowns—a film about good intentions in Haiti. 2015. [Film] New York: Sam Lee. Siriwardhana, C., Ali, S. S., Roberts, B. and Stewart, R., 2014. A systematic review of resilience and mental health outcomes of conflict-driven adult forced migrants. Conflict and health, 8(1), p. 13. Stokes, D., 2016. Imagination and Creativity. In: A. Kind, (ed.) The Routledge handbook of philosophy of imagination. London/New York: Routledge, pp. 247–261. Stuber, M., Hilber, S. D., Mintzer, L. L., Castaneda, M., Glover, D. and Zeltzer, L., 2009. Laughter, humor and pain perception in children: a pilot study. Evidence-­ Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine, 6(2), pp. 271–276. Suresh, B. S., De Oliveira, G. S. and Suresh, S., 2015. The effect of audio therapy to treat postoperative pain in children undergoing major surgery: a randomized controlled trial. Pediatric Surgery International, 31(2), pp. 197–201. Toda, N. & Nakanishi-Toda, M., 2011. How mental stress affects endothelial function. Pflügers Archiv-European Journal of Physiology, 462(6), pp. 779–794. Tyrer, R. A. and Fazel, M., 2014. School and community-based interventions for refugee and asylum seeking children: a systematic review. PloS one, 9(2), p. e89359. UN Office on Drugs and Crime, 2016. Global report on trafficking in persons 2016. [Online] Available at: https://reliefweb.int/report/world/global-report-­ trafficking-persons-2016 (Accessed 1/11/2017). UNCHR, 2015. UNCHR The UN refugee agency fact sheet. [Online] Available at: www.unhcr.org/protection/operations/5645ddbc6/greece-factsheet-lesvos-­ island.html (Accessed 1/11/2017). UNICEF, 1989. Convention on the rights of the child. [Online] Available at: http://digitalcommons.ilr.cornell.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1007& context=child (Accessed 15/01/2018). Wessells, M. G., 2018. Supporting resilience in war-affected children: how differential impact theory is useful in humanitarian practice. Child Abuse & Neglect, 78, 13–18. Wessells, M. and Kostelny, K., 2013. Child friendly spaces: toward a grounded, community-based approach for strengthening child protection practice in humanitarian crises. Natural helpers play a critical role in ensuring children’s safety during and in the aftermath of crises. Child Abuse & Neglect, 37, p. 29. Yule, W., 2006. Theory, training and timing: psychosocial interventions in complex emergencies. International Review of Psychiatry, 18(3), pp. 259–264.

Part IV

Conclusions

15 The future of international aid for cultural projects Sophia Labadi

This conclusion reflects on the overall aims of this volume and the different discussions conducted on whether a cultural turn in international aid has really happened and the forms that it may have taken. The first section discusses key issues which emerge from the previous chapters: the focus on economic dimensions of aid-funded projects; the lack of support for cultural projects funded by international aid; the constant disregard for local communities, as well as the continued asymmetrical power relations between developed and developing countries. The second section provides concrete solutions to these problems, focussing on how to change attitudes, and therefore outcomes and power relations. A final suggestion discusses how culture (understood primarily as heritage) can tackle global challenges more forcefully.

The ‘new orthodoxy’ is back One aim of this volume was to assess whether cultural projects funded through international aid fulfilled the goals of the cultural turn of being based on bottom-up approaches; of being more ethical; and of taking greater account of local communities and local contexts, in comparison with other types of international projects. In other words, this volume aimed to assess how cultural projects were different from other initiatives funded through international aid. Some chapters have explained that such a cultural turn has not yet happened. Many cultural and non-cultural projects funded through international aid share the same characteristics: they do not take account of local communities and contexts; they are based on external evaluations and inputs; and they often fail as a result. One reason for these similarities is that international aid follows the same internal logic, regardless of the type of project funded. Projects need to contribute to the national interests and priorities of donor countries, in terms of trade and economic growth. One example is Australia’s approach to international aid, which follows its own national interests, as explained in Logan’s chapter. Another reason is that cultural projects, when funded through official development assistance (ODA) by donor countries, must promote the economic development and welfare of developing countries.

244  Sophia Labadi One consequence is that, to be funded by international aid, cultural projects often need to focus on economic growth, including through the creation of jobs in the tourism sector, creative products (in the craft, design, or music industry, for instance), and the employment of consultants from donor countries. However, when economic measurement becomes the sole indicator of success for aid-funded cultural projects, key information and data get easily inflated. Cultural projects must demonstrate that they are major contributors to economic growth in order to get funded. I have called this approach of associating culture with major and often unrealistic economic impacts the ‘New Orthodoxy’ when analyzing culture-­led regeneration processes in Europe (Labadi, 2011, 2016), and it also applies to the international aid industry. The chapter by De Beukelaer and Vlassis, for instance, highlights the very wide definition sometimes given to the ‘creative industries’ or the ‘creative economy’, including in some cases the automobile sector, in order to show their major contribution to economic growth. This inflated approach has resulted in the lack of a clear definition of culture. Inflation characterizes not only the definition of culture but also the results and impacts of cultural projects funded through international aid. My own chapter in this volume explains that quantitative results of projects on culture for development funded through international aid and implemented by UNESCO at the turn of the millennium were exaggerated and over-positive. However, these inflated definitions and quantitative results have not had the expected outcome of a greater and more serious consideration of culture, or of more international aid being channelled into cultural projects. Culture is still not considered a priority by many donor and beneficiary countries, as mentioned by Dabdoub Nasser and Bouquerel. Worse, culture was excluded from the international framework on development, the UN Millennium Development Goals (2000–2015), and is marginalized from the latest framework, the UN Sustainable Development Goals adopted in 2015 and running until 2030.

Lack of support Why are cultural projects still not considered as a priority for funding through international aid? One reason is that evidence is lacking on the benefits of cultural projects. In Cunningham’s chapter, artistic and creative interventions targeting children affected by humanitarian disasters are detailed. These interventions improve children’s mental health and well-being, and fulfil their basic needs for playfulness. However, evaluation is missing to assess the impacts of such creative interventions, demonstrating the need for more research on this topic. Even when evidence is available, there is sometimes resistance against taking culture into account. Jigyasu’s chapter details how post-reconstruction choices made by both affected communities and by the donor community following the earthquake in the Kutch

The future of international aid for culture  245 region in Gujarat state in the western part of India on January 26, 2001 led to a shift from using traditional building practices and materials to using cement and brick. This occured despite traditional dwellings having withstood earthquakes, while more ‘modern’ buildings did not. These post-­reconstruction choices reflect the preferences of donors and building owners for modern materials, compounded by government building codes designed for contemporary constructions. This example shows that there is still too often a rejection of cultural and traditional practices considered archaic and outdated, and not associated with development. Nonetheless, this volume also covers instances where culture has been considered pivotal in peace-building, post-conflict reconstructions, and has been fully integrated into aid-funded projects. This is the case for the post-Yugoslav space where, before and after the wars, culture has been presented and recognized as one factor igniting, explaining, and perpetuaing conflicts. As such, culture has been at the heart of peace-building efforts, and a multitude of cultural projects have been funded by international aid in the region as an attempt to reconcile communities and newly formed states. Unfortunately, as charted in Kisić’s chapter, peace-building through heritage has remained vague, abstract, and has faced difficulties in being meaningfully translated into practice through these aid-funded projects. In addition, the understanding of heritage as an apolitical field and a unifying force having ‘universal value’ has led to an avoidance of contestation and dissonance. Such understanding has neglected or silenced political and social divisions. The Old Bridge of Mostar in Bosnia and Herzegovina is a good illustration of this point. Its reconstruction by the international community made it a symbol of multi-ethnic coexistence and peace in the region, yet this reconstruction has not led to any actual political and social rapprochement between Bosnian Muslim and Croat communities. Thus, there is a failure of meaningful implementation of cultural projects that further sustainable development goals, provide replicable models, and can justify international aid. Finally, culture is also seen as either not politically important enough or politically too dangerous to promote. Culture is not a critical vote changer nationally, unlike issues such as employment, economic growth, and immigration. Funding cultural projects with international aid is not therefore a priority for politicians, as there is no direct benefit for them. In addition, as I showed in my chapter, culture is related to many politically difficult and sensitive topics, such as religion or language. Culture can also be a barrier to other development goals. Instances of violations of human rights or gender equality can occur in the name of culture. The issue, it has been argued, is that cultural practices are diverse and their possible conflict with human rights, human dignity, or equality would depend on their particular context, making it difficult to have a generic statement against them. It is partly for these reasons that culture, as a thorny subject, is seldom considered a priority for international aid.

246  Sophia Labadi

Community Engagement vs international aid workers? The cultural turn in international aid was supposed to take greater account of the specifics of cultural contexts and local communities, so that projects could be framed around the actual needs of these communities and respond to them more effectively. However, chapters in this volume have explained that the goals of cultural projects are, more often than not, defined by donors or the implementing teams before the start of a project and without any consultation with local communities. As mentioned above, international aid-funded projects often need to be aligned with a donor country’s national priorities or to fulfil the ODA rules. Besides, international aid recipients, in some cases, do not have the knowledge or resources required to prepare grant applications. These forms are daunting for applicants who may not have inside understanding of their logic, and they require major investments in finance and personnel. In addition, aid recipient communities might not have mastered the tone, style, and vocabulary that can convince donors to fund their projects, and they might not know how to fulfil donors’ requirements. Therefore, local communities are often excluded from teams drafting grant applications, and are only informed after a project has been successfully funded. For this reason, culturally sensitive projects often do not realize the goal of better inclusion and consideration of local communities. However, individuals implementing projects have also failed to commit to the promise of the cultural turn. Consultants, staff, or volunteers working for the aid machine (and often coming from the Global North) tend to have pre-conceived ideas about what should be done in aid-receiving countries. In other words, international aid workers often think they know better than local communities and therefore do not really involve them in projects. Morgan’s chapter in this volume candidly charts how his work for the World Bank on potential interventions for the development of the music industry in Liberia was not based on bottom-up consultations but on pre-conceived Western understandings of culture, including the power of music to contribute to youth empowerment, inclusion, and economic growth. All of his recommendations were solutions imported from the Western world. They did not take account of the situation in Liberia, where locally based solutions would have required novel considerations such as the domination of informal markets. Individual aid workers have also fallen into the pitfalls of the stereotyped missionary, defined by Stirrat as a white woman or man from the West whose mission is to help local communities in aid-receiving countries to transform their lives (2008: 414). Too often, as reflected upon by Kurlanska in this volume, international aid workers and volunteers want to leave something tangible behind, as proof that they have contributed to and transformed the community. As long as this contribution corresponds to what they believe is right, then these international aid workers are of the belief that they have had positive or benevolent impacts. However, in most cases, the mark workers and volunteers leave in aid-receiving countries and

The future of international aid for culture  247 the results of projects are not in line with the needs of local communities. Indeed, these projects can have quite negative impacts, even when run by individuals with in-depth knowledge of local situations, as workers might not be aware of all local power relations and consequences of their actions. This situation occurs because of the difficulty of (meaningfully) involving local communities within the framework of aid, the inherent bias of internationally funded projects towards Western models of development, and because it is easier to implement ready-made solutions from the West rather than find novel and locally applicable solutions.

Continued asymmetrical power relations The cultural turn in international aid has often been presented, as was the case in the introduction to this volume, as a positive and benevolent attempt to fix a broken system. Who wouldn’t subscribe to bottom-up approaches, greater community inclusion, and better consideration of local situations, to ensure the relevance and success of aid-funded projects? However, this chapter has so far explained that the promises of the cultural turn have not been consistently delivered because of the structural issues with the international aid machine, donor countries’ approach to international aid, lack of support for cultural projects, or the mindset of international aid workers and volunteers. In particular, cultural projects funded by aid in the form of heritage diplomacy can be quite dangerous. Heritage diplomacy was defined in the introduction as soft power and in some cases as a neo-propagandist approach which instrumentalizes culture for national or regional political and economic gains. The chapter by Thiaw and Ly further discusses the neo-colonial and neo-propagandist dimensions of heritage diplomacy. The very recent (2018) case of the EU-funded renovation of a square in Gorée Island, Senegal, and its concomitant renaming as the ‘Place de Europe’ has led to the erasure of memories, heritage, and histories, with the destruction of archaeological deposits in what is considered one of the most emblematic and commemorative sites of the transatlantic slave trade. The redesigned landscape of this space to meet European aesthetics and architectural standards can be understood as an enterprise of spatial and symbolic re-appropriation, to re-write history and reframe memories through downplaying the role of Europe in the slave trade. Positive propagandist realities are created to obliterate a dark European past. This example illustrates the geographically and temporally broader use of international aid by donor countries to preserve, interpret, and present heritage from their colonial pasts in a neo-colonial way. Elsewhere, I have discussed the case of Luang Prabang, a World Heritage site in Laos, part of the former French colonial territories of Indochina until its independence (Labadi, 2017: 45–60). Luang Prabang is emblematic of a number of World Heritage sites that receive aid from their former colonial metropoles, and where neo-colonial approaches to heritage conservation, protection, and interpretation are implemented, as well as spatial re-appropriation. In this

248  Sophia Labadi process the local and indigenous heritage of aid-recipient countries gets forgotten and excluded, whilst attention is unduly paid to the former colonial past and heritage of these territories. This use of soft power contributes to maintaining or exacerbating asymmetrical power relations between donors (who tend to be from the Global North) and aid-receiving countries (often developing countries). In this process, donor countries can control the history, memory, heritage, and territory of developing countries by deciding whose heritage is important, what to preserve, how to do so, and which narratives to promote. This process helps donor countries to maintain the spatiotemporal dislocations between the developed and developing world. The developed world is presented as being rich in history and heritage, while the developing world is treated as inferior, with its histories and memories undervalued and often forgotten. In this role of controlling other territories and deciding about their past, donor countries from the North are able to define themselves as superior to aid-recipient countries and to maintain the dichotomy between ‘developed’ and ‘developing’ countries.

What can be done? Possible ways forward Changing attitudes, changing outcomes A first and fundamental step would be for those working on cultural projects funded by international aid to change their mindset and approach. These individuals are increasingly diverse, including staff from international NGOs, civil servants working for donor countries, and consultants recruited for a specific mission. More and more researchers also undertake projects that have impacts, thus moving from pure research to practice-based research. In recent years, practice-based research projects have been funded by ODA, as is the case with the Global Challenges Research Fund in the UK, for example. I hope that this book has clearly explained for all these individuals, and particularly for researchers, the importance of being aware of the pitfalls, and sometimes the danger, of aid-funded projects, as well as the need to develop a critical self-reflexive approach. Chapters in this volume and my own practical experience reveal that such a self-­reflexive attitude is usually deployed at the end of a project. It is only after I had finished my first consultancy work on heritage and development in 2009, when I was able to have some critical distance, that my neo-colonialist, Western-biased and top-down approach became obvious to me. I had not realized how wrong my approach was when I was immersed in the project. This needs to change. Researchers have to become self-critical when developing and implementing projects. They need to ask themselves whether their projects will really benefit aid-receiving countries or only the researcher’s own career prospects (as is still too often the case). The approaches and methods to be implemented should also be questioned. Are they based on a genuinely equal relationship between the different members of the team, or are they imposing top-down

The future of international aid for culture  249 or neo-colonialist views? To initiate change, local partners and experts in developing countries also need to demand consideration as equal partners rather than as passive beneficiaries. They need to demand a more egalitarian approach to research projects, knowledge creation, retention, and diffusion than is currently the case. Cunningham’s chapter explains how relatively easy it can be to move from a ‘parachute model’, where aid does not have a strong connection with local communities and does not really address their needs, to a more ethical and sustainable model. He details how Clowns Without Borders (CWB) changed their practices, following a full-length documentary about CWBUSA which revealed how clowns may have fallen into this aid trap (Send in the clowns, 2015). The revised and more sustainable model includes workshops training local performing artists, as well as efforts to employ local artists during the performance tours. His chapter and others in this volume reveal that capacity-building is essential in changing the dynamics of international aid so that there is not so much reliance on foreign advice and expertise. However, what constitutes appropriate and sustainable training remains an open question, requiring further research. Most importantly, this new model would never have been developed without the external assessment of the film-maker. External and critical evaluation (whether formal or informal) is a fundamental aspect of self-critical approaches, to highlight the strengths and weaknesses of projects. Such critical observations have already been routinely integrated in some archaeological projects, to reveal biases, assumptions, and shortcomings. To understand interpretation processes, for instance, anthropologists have been employed at Çatalhöyük in Turkey (Hodder, 1997: 691–701). However, this practice needs to become the norm rather than the exception. Funders also have a vital role to play in changing the system. At present, they often pay only lip service to meaningful cooperation with local communities, to genuine collaboration between researchers from developing and developed countries, and to bottom-up approaches. In these conditions it is unsurprising that some grant schemes funded through the ODA in the UK have been criticized as promoting a neo-colonialist approach (Noxolo, 2017: 342–344). It is therefore refreshing to read in Dabdoub Nasser and Bouquerel’s chapter that some EU funding schemes launched in 2014 were only eligible to organizations from the Global South. However, the upper spending limit of 60,000 Euros for these programmes must have considerably reduced the type and scale of the projects eligible, despite having revealed a wide variety of unknown cultural entities at grassroots level. Funders could do much more to build relevant human capacity and ensure that individuals and organizations from the Global South can apply for larger funding schemes; that mechanisms are in place to assess, monitor, and ensure genuine cooperation with teams based in the Global South; and that impacts are always relevant for local communities. This is particularly the case for research organizations, including those in the UK. Well aware of the problems with international aid and development, and the need to adopt new approaches

250  Sophia Labadi (AHRC, 2018), these institutions could easily turn to this more ethical and sustainable model. Such a turn could also ensure that the economic impacts of projects do not dominate results and that aid is also used for improving the welfare of developing countries, as requested by the ODA. Changing power relations One way to fight the continued asymmetrical power relations between donor and receiving countries that maintain the separation between ‘developed’ and ‘developing’ world would be to promote horizontal and transversal scaling, as mentioned in Kurlanska’s chapter. Such scaling could take the form of networks of mutually supporting individuals and organizations helping to further the human development goals in the implementation of projects defined by local communities. As noted by Kurlanska, aid-funded projects often exist in a state of isolation, or in some cases competition with one another, which facilitates a vertical and hierarchical approach to international aid, and therefore traditional power relations. Taking the library to illustrate her idea of horizontal and transversal scaling, she explains that there could be an app where libraries are able to list books for trade (for example, if they have multiple copies). Libraries could also fundraise together to support a traveling librarian who would visit different locations on different days of the week, or they could coordinate donation requests according to which organizations are present in the area. Not only institutions, but also smaller groups and individuals, could also organize themselves in networks that could help to change the vertical system of international aid and its associated power relations. Such integrated network approaches can help local groups to have a greater say in the running of aid-funded projects in receiving countries. Finally, this type of structure can decrease fragmentation and help to sustain the life of projects after funders have left. Some minority groups which have developed and implemented such horizontal and transversal scaling approaches, such as indigenous people or women, provide interesting examples. Indigenous people, for instance, although still suffering from discriminations, have organized themselves through grassroots movements which are able to coordinate, multiply, and amplify their voices at international levels through lobby groups, NGOs, advocacy, and communication work. This has led to the creation of international bodies such as the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. This forum has helped these minority groups to be heard internationally and to define to some extant the conditions of aid distribution coming from some UN organizations or NGOs. Culture and global challenges However, such scaling can never become a reality if heritage, and culture more broadly, is not reframed as based on respect for human rights, to ensure local communities’ empowerment, their right to self-determination,

The future of international aid for culture  251 and their right to decide which aspects of culture to keep and how to interpret it. In recent years there has been a timid move towards greater consideration of a rights-based approach to heritage, as detailed in the chapter by Larsen and Sinding-Larsen. In parallel, there is a move away from considering heritage as an apolitical and expert domain to understanding it as a conflicted, highly symbolic and political field. However, their chapter details how reluctant governments may be to change the system. More than just considering human rights in isolation, it is now urgent to consider how culture can address global challenges related to human development more effectively. One of the failures of the cultural turn in international aid is indeed the lack of a serious consideration of culture to address human development goals and challenges, as this volume has made clear. These global challenges include climate change, social justice, peace–building, or gender equality. What better document to use for such transformational and transnational changes than the 2015 UNESCO Policy Document for the Integration of a Sustainable Development Perspective into the Processes of the World Heritage Convention (better known as the Policy on World Heritage and Sustainable Development)? This policy focuses on four pillars of sustainable development: (1) inclusive social development (including respecting, protecting, and promoting human rights; respecting, consulting, and involving indigenous peoples and local communities, as well as achieving gender equality); (2) inclusive economic development; (3) environmental sustainability; and (4) fostering peace and security. This policy contains fundamental ideas on how to realize fully the cultural turn in human development and aid through a more serious consideration of the contribution of heritage to addressing global challenges. The pillar on inclusive social development recognizes that World Heritage sites can play a direct role in providing food, clean water, and medicinal plants that should be used in an equitable manner. Most importantly, this pillar requires the active promotion of indigenous and local initiatives (including those of women), to develop equitable governance arrangements, collaborative management systems and, when appropriate, redress mechanisms. Such an approach will help to shift asymmetrical power relations and facilitate new models based on horizontal and transversal scaling, as discussed above. The second pillar recognizes the potential of World Heritage sites for inclusive local economic development. This section insists that States Parties provide educational and capacity-­building programmes that could ensure change from World Heritage ­benefiting international or national companies (as is mainly the case at present) to a system promoting economic benefits for local communities. The pillar on environmental sustainability requests that States Parties recognize and promote the inherent potential of World Heritage properties to help with reducing disaster risks and adapting to climate change, through associated ecosystem services, traditional knowledge and practices, and strengthened social cohesion. Finally, the pillar on fostering peace and security provides

252  Sophia Labadi clear guidelines on the use of heritage to ensure conflict prevention, as well as to contribute to conflict resolution and post-conflict recovery. This 2015 UNESCO policy can be an important tool in addressing the lack of support for aid-funded cultural projects, as detailed at the beginning of this chapter. However, the implementation of this novel policy should not be the sole responsibility of governments, which may be reluctant to commit. For this reason, I coordinated the drafting of an Action Plan on civil society’s participation in the implementation of this policy. This action plan1 represents the coordinated work of major international civil society actors and aims to provide solutions that can translate the 2015 document into meaningful actions on the ground. Several regional workshops are also being organized, including one in Robben Island, South Africa in August 2019 to ensure that World Heritage site managers and researchers can implement this policy and help each other, as well as to scale up the implementation of this document without top-down approaches from governments.2 The action plan and workshops are concrete efforts to ensure that this innovative policy becomes a major step in addressing human development goals and challenges. These initiatives will go a long way to resolving a number of the issues relating to aid for cultural projects, detailed in this volume.

Notes 1 This Action Plan is available at: www.kent.ac.uk/secl/news/index.html?view=9943. 2 https://www.kent.ac.uk/european-culture-languages/news/11163/heritagedevelopment-africa

References Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC). 2018. Research community guide to the GCRF. AHRC. [Online] Available from http://humanities.exeter. ac.uk/media/universityofexeter/collegeofhumanities/archaeology/ourresearch/ humane/Community_Guide_final_version.pdf (accessed on 15/01/2019). Hodder, I. 1997. Always momentary, fluid and flexible: towards a reflexive excavation methodology. Antiquity, 71(273), pp. 691–701. Labadi, S. 2011. Evaluating the socio-economic impacts of selected regenerated heritage sites in Europe. Amsterdam: European Cultural Foundation. Labadi, S. 2016. L’impact de la culture en Europe. Évaluation des impacts socio-­économiques de projets de régénération culturelle. Paris: Editions L’Harmattan. Labadi, S. 2017. UNESCO, heritage and sustainable development: international discourses and local impacts. In Gould, P. and Pyburn, A. (eds.) Promise and Peril: Archaeology Engaging with Economic Development. New York: Springer, pp. 45–60. Noxolo, P. 2017. Decolonial theory in a time of the re-colonisation of UK research. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 42(3), pp. 342–44. Send in the clowns—a film about good intentions in Haiti. (2015). [film] New York: Sam Lee. Stirrat, R.L. 2008. Mercenaries, missionaries and misfits: representations of development personnel. Critique of Anthropology, 28(4), pp. 406–425.

Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to figures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. Abbott, Tony 164 Action Plan 252, 252n1 Advisory Bodies (AB) 207, 215, 216, 218, 219 African diaspora 109, 110, 113, 114, 116, 117 African poverty and dependence 109–10 Agence de Coopération Culturelle et Technique 23 Agency of International Cooperation for Development (AECID) 76 agglomeration externalities 95, 105n8 aid-funded development projects: cultural identities and cultural diversity 1 aid workers 5, 97, 125, 225, 233; individual 246; international 5, 246–7 Akagawa, Natsuko 155 Aksamija, A. 181 Alasuutari, Pertti 19, 30 Aleppo and Palmyra in Syria 192 Algeria 43 Alliband, Graham 157 Amrita Performing Arts 144, 148 Anglo-Celtic dominance 156 anti-rape song campaign 98 ANZUS Treaty 153 Apsara dance 146 Arab Spring 42, 46 archaeology and culture heritage 117–19 Article 31.1 7 arts and culture: ‘creative industries’ 18; development ‘aid’ 18–19; distinction

between 17; economic growth 18; see also United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) Arts Council in 1946 17 ASEAN’s Committee for Culture and Information (ASEAN-COCI) 159, 160 Asian–African cooperation 3 asymmetrical power relations 1, 3, 247–8 Atlantic slavery 109–10, 114; see also international culture aid (Goree Island) attitudes and outcomes 248–50 AusHeritage 153, 158–9 Australian Agency for International Development (AusAID) 153 Australian foreign policy: Angkor’s temples 154; ANZUS Treaty 153; ASEAN-COCI 159; Asia-Pacific region 153; AusHeritage 158–9; Australian Research Council (ARC) grants 160; Australia’s Regional Security (1989) 156; Chief Architect’s Office (CAO) 158; Consumer Price Index 164; Creative Australia policy 161–2, 164; Creative Nation 156; cultural diplomacy program 154, 165; cultural mapping project 159; DFAT funding 159; Doi Moi (‘renovation’) policy 157; Friends of Hanoi Architectural Trust 157; Hanoi, Vietnam 156–8, 162; heritage diplomacy 154–5; hybrid national culture 156; ICOMOS 155; Japan’s heritage conservation policy and practice 155, 166n3; Joint Defence

254 Index Facility Pine Gap 153; Kraton of Yogyakarta 159; living conditions in host country 154; longstanding collaboration 165; Luang Prabang and Tam Ting, Laos 160; multicultural character 156; ‘multidimensional security’ 156, 161; ODA policy 153–4, 166n2; refugee policy 164; social and cultural benefits 161; soft power 152–3, 163–4; White Australia policy 155; White Paper on defence 161, 164, 166n7; Yangon, Myanmar 162–3 Australian Research Council (ARC) 160 Australia’s Regional Security (Evans) 156 authorised heritage discourse 186 AVSI 231–2 ‘back to the land’ 141 Bagamoyo Conservation Training Program 212 Bagan Archaeological Site in Myanmar 192 Bakhtin, M. 11 Balkan Museum Network (BMN) 183 “Balloon Funeral” 234 Bamiyan Buddhas in Afghanistan 192 Bandung conference (1955) 3 Barakat, S. 202 Barcelona Declaration 38 Barcelona Process 37–9, 45 Bassac 140, 145, 146 Bhattrarai, A. 199, 200 bhungas 194, 196 Bishop, Julie 164 blaming culture 59 Bokova, Irina 81 Bolton, Paul 231 Borrowman, Hugh 162 Bouquerel, F. 8, 11 Braithwaite, J. 102 BRICS countries 3 Bridel, D. 232 Britain’s Prince’s Foundation for Building Community 154 British Council 23 Brundtland Report 74 Brunet, Jacques 139 Bush, George 153 Cambodia 139; music in 139–40; NGOs in (see NGOs in Cambodia) Cambodian Living Arts 144–6

capacity building 66, 67, 92, 93, 105n6, 105n7, 181–2, 203, 211, 211, 212–14, 213, 217, 249 Carr, Bob 163 Catholic Office for Emergency Relief and Refugees (COERR) 142 Catholic Relief Services (CRS) 142 Chetnik movement 176 Child Friendly Spaces 225, 230 Circ Cric circus 226 citizen participation and empowerment 124 civil society 215 civil war 140 classification 24 Clowner utan Gränser (CUG) 230–1 Clowns Without Borders International (CWBI) 249; aid trap 229; art of pantomime and traditional clown 228; AVSI 231–2; chapters 226, 229–32, 235; children’s rights 229; Circ Cric circus 226; Clowner utan Gränser (CUG) 230–1; Clowns Without Borders South Africa (CWBSA) 230, 234; common mission 226; critiques 228–9; dead and dying 232–4; ethics 236–7; formal memoranda of understanding (MOUs) 232; free training 230; funding 235–6; global refugee crisis 234–5; humanitarian industrial complex 226; laughter 228; local artists 230; NGOs 231–2; “Our Story Your Story” (OSYS) 230; parachute model 229–30; partnership 226–7, 229–32; Payasos sin Fronteras (PSF) 226, 227; performances 228, 233–4; Plan International 229, 236; principles 227, 227; Save the Children 233; Tortell 226; values 227; workshops 230, 231 Clowns Without Borders South Africa (CWBSA) 230, 234 Cohen, Moshe 226 collective community practices 140 colonialism and paternalism 47 colonialization 4 ‘colonial missionaries’ 5, 10 community engagement vs. international aid workers 246–7 community library (Nicaragua) 250; books 131; community health center 129–30; construction 130; coordination and cooperation

Index  255 135, 136; functioning 131–2; fundraising/new materials acquisition 133; networks and links 134–6; problem 132–3; resources 131–2; scale and organization 134; social and solidarity economy 134; sustainability 132, 133; volunteers 131–3 ‘community participatory approaches’ 120 Consumer Price Index 164 Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions 21, 23, 30, 76 Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989) 7 co-optation 66 copyright: challenges 100; informal market 96–7; infringement and piracy 99–101; laws and policies 10, 96–7, 102–3; legitimate revenue 101–2; legitimize and license 101; protection 22 Corbett, J. 154 corporate social responsibility (CSR) 67, 93 coulrophobia 235 Council of Europe (CoE) 179–80, 182, 187 Cox, Allaster 162 Craig, D. 65 creative and cultural industries (CCIs) 18, 19, 21; capacity building 92, 93, 105n6, 105n7; Collective Management Organisation 102–3; copyright 96–7, 99–103; corporate social responsibility 93; Creative Economy Report 95, 96; creative economy vs. cultural subordination 91–2; development worker identity 93–4; economic discourse 95–7; economic growth 91, 105n3; foreignexpertise approach 97; gap analysis 95–6; informal sector 96–7, 99–103; infringement of copyright 99–101, 105n12; institutional support 91, 105n3; instrumental opportunities 99; intellectual property 96, 99; lack of support for 92; legitimate revenue 101–2; legitimize and license 101, 103; live concerts 98; mobile broadband 103; normative approach 93, 95–7; piracy of goods 100; policy attachment 95; Poverty

Reduction Strategy 91; Private Sector Development Strategy 94, 97–8; public/private expatriate worker 92–4; record store clerks 101; revenue streams for performers 98; social change campaigns 98–9; social value and power of musical expression 94; telechargeurs 99–100; transformative power of arts/music 94–5; value and importance of art and culture 92 creative economy 8, 18–20, 244 ‘creative industries’ 18, 244 Creative Nation 156, 158, 161 cultural diplomacy 152; capitalist and communist countries 7; definition 7 ‘cultural economy’ 31 Cultural Heritage and Development: a Framework for Action in the Middle East and North Africa (Cernea) 65 Cultural Heritage without Borders (CHwB) 180, 182, 183, 188n1 cultural identities and cultural diversity 1 Cultural Industries: A Challenge for the Future of Culture 21 culturalist and benevolent approach 7 Cultural Liberty in Today’s Diverse World 76 cultural NGOs 143–8 cultural policy 20 cultural production 17 cultural relativism 82 cultural turn in economic development 5–6, 8 cultural turn in human development 6–7 culture and global challenges 250–2 Culture Counts conference 75 Culture for Development Indicators 83–4 ‘#culture2015goal’ campaign 79–81 Cunningham, S. 9 ‘cyclical renewal’ process 199, 203 Dabdoub Nasser, C. 8, 11 Da Costa, Dia 29 Dakar Plan for Action (OAU and UNESCO 1992) 21 Daniel, Vinod 159 De Beukelaer, C. 8 Declaration of Reconciliation between Chetniks and Partisans 176 demarcations 24 Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT) 154, 159, 162

256 Index ‘developed world’ 3 ‘developing world’ 3 development from above 58 development from below 58 development discourse 29–30 development worker identity 93–4 Dialogue Among Cultures and Civilisations 76 digital file trading 96 Dinnen, S. 154 Directorate-General for Neighbourhood and Enlargement Negotiations (DG NEAR) 40, 46 disaster vulnerability: cultural heritage as source of resilience 204–5; cultural heritage loss 192; culturally sensitive reconstruction 202; donor agencies 202–3; heritage conservation 203–4; Ise shrines 203; local knowledge and capacity 201; mortality 192; natural and human-induced hazards 192; post-disaster reconstruction 192–3; reconstruction as improvement 202–3; recovery 192–3; resilience 203; Sendai Framework on Disaster Risk Reduction 204; traditional knowledge 201–2; urbanization and climate change 192; see also postearthquake reconstruction discursive construction of development 29, 30, 32 diversity of cultural expressions 30 Dizdar, G. 185 “do not harm the heritage” approach 55 Drahos, P. 102 Drama Diversity and Development (DDD) 45, 52n27 Duer, K. 60, 61 Duisenberg, Edna dos Santos 20 dynamism of culture 44, 45, 48 Dynes, R. 202 The Economic Impact of the Arts in Britain (Myerscough) 17 economic measurement 244 ‘education entertainment’ concept 98 empowerment 124, 125, 127 engagement 124; community 246–7 environmental assessment 56–7 Equator Principles 66–7 ethnically homogenous populations 181 ethnic cleansing 163, 224 ethno-nationalization 175–8

EU-ACP Cotonou Agreement 118 Euromed Heritage (EH) 37, 41–3, 51n4 Euro-Mediterranean partnership (MEDA9) 39, 51n9 European Agenda for Culture in a Globalising World 39, 51n10 European Agenda in a Globalised world 40 European Centre for Development Policy Management 37 European External Action Service (EEAS) 40 European Neighbourhood Instrument (ENI) 40, 51n14 European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) 37, 39, 51n1 European Union (EU) aid programme: Barcelona Process 37; culture competence 37; development programmes evaluation 49–50; EU approach to partners 47–8; EU discourse 46–7; EUNIC 46; European Neighbourhood Policy 37; fragmented action 46; funding to culture 37; international relations 49; mechanism 48; Mediterranean (see Mediterranean political EU framework) European Union National Institutes for Culture (EUNIC) 46 Evans, Gareth 156 exclusion of particular activities 24 exercise-based games 225 extremism 45, 49 Eyben, R. 4 Ferguson, James 58 First World Festival of Negro Art 119 first-world priorities 123 Florence Conference 60 fragmentation of aid 125–6 free trade and free flow 30 Funcinpec 143, 145 ‘The Future We Want Includes Culture’ 79, 81 Gates Foundation 125 Geun-hye, Park 24 Ghanaian copyright collection agency 101 Gillard, Julia 161, 162 Gisenyi Acrobats 231 Gizenga Street Conservation Project 212

Index  257 global challenges 1–2, 9 Global Challenges Research Fund (GCRF) 1, 248 global heritage practice 55 Global South 109, 249 Goodhart, M. 229 Goree Island 8, 109, 110, 113–14; see also international culture aid (Goree Island) Gorkha earthquake 198 gross national income (GNI) 3 ‘Guelwaar’ 112–13 Gurry, Francis 22 Hackenberg, R. A. 58 “Hague tribunal” 175 Hanoi People’s Committee 157 Hawke, Bob 156 hegemonic practices 10 heritage development 1–2: anthropologist critics 58, 59; blaming culture 59; compliance work 56; and conservation 55; co-optation 66; corporate social responsibility 67; cultural diversity 61; cultures and cultural activities 60–1; development “from above” vs. “from below” 58; economic value 56; environmental assessment 56–7; Equator Principles 66–7; expertise 56–7, 59, 65–6; global heritage practice 55; growth of 56–9; heritage and cultural tourism 63; Inter-American Development Bank 62; international development 62; Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region 63, 65; precautionary principle 61–2; “preservation by record” 57; projects 63, 64; revised 1999 framework 57; safeguards 55–7; significance assessment 56; social conditions of development projects 59; social sustainability 59–60, 62; “structural adjustment” policies 58; sustainability, participation, and capacity-building 59, 62, 66; sustainable development 59–62; transnational governance 67; urban rehabilitation projects 63, 65 heritage diplomacy 7, 247 Hoffman, P. J. 226 Housing and Urban Development Corporation (HUDCO) 198 Howard, John 153, 155

humanitarian assistance 1 humanitarian disaster 224, 225, 244 “humanitarian industrial complex (HIC)” 226 human rights 208–9, 245 hybridization process 114 ICOMOS General Assembly 217, 221n7 ICOMOS Norway 207, 215, 217 identifications, in creative economy 31 ‘IF campaign’ 3 Imagining the Balkans: Identities and Memory in the Long 19th Century (exhibition project) 185–6 inclusion of particular activities 24 individualized development 126–7 inflation 244 informal sector 91, 96–7 Institute for the Protection of Cultural, Historical and Natural Heritage of Bosnia and Herzegovina 174 institutional demarcations and definitions 24, 25–8 institutional perspectives 19–20 intellectual property 22, 96, 99, 104n2 Inter-American Development Bank (IDB) 59, 62 “intergenerational equity” 61 Intergovernmental Conference on Cultural Policies for Development 60 intergovernmental organizations (IGOs) 19, 29 international aid 2, 4, 152 International Council on Museums (ICOM) 81 International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) 175, 187 international culture aid (Goree Island): ambivalence 116; archaeological deposits destruction 118; Atlantic slavery 109–10, 114; capitalist wealth in Europe 110; colonial governance 111; critical discourse 112; culture heritage and archaeology 117–19; diachronic counterargument 117; diplomacy 111, 112; donors decision 112; European responsibility 116; expropriation and appropriation 111; goal of 120; ‘Guelwaar’ 112–13; heritage of ‘poor’ aid receiver 117–18; heritage preservation 112; hybridization process 114;

258 Index language and practices 111–13; local communities pride and dignity 113; Maison des Esclaves 115–16; memory and historicity 114; memory erasure 118; pilgrimage sites 113; Place de l’Europe 110, 113, 114; political discourse and cultural production 112–13; re-inscription 118–19; re-memorialization 116, 119; selective indignation 117; site renaming 115–17 International Federation of the Coalitions for Cultural Diversity 30, 33n1 International Finance Corporations (IFC) 66 International Fund for Cultural Diversity (IFCD) 21–2 international justice system 173 International Labour Organization (ILO) 210 International organizations (IOs) 19 International Rescue Committee (IRC) 142 Isar, Yudhishthir Raj 31 Ise shrines 203 Israeli–Palestinian peace process 39 Israel’s infringement of Palestinian rights 47 Jarre, Jerôme 4 Jauhola, M. 5 Jensen, Rodney 159 Jigyasu, R. 9 Johnson-Sirleaf, Ellen 91 Joint Communication 40, 50 Juni Bandhadi village195 Karimabad Village Upgrading 213–14, 213 Kasthamandap 199, 200 Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust (KVPT) 198–200 Keating, Paul 156, 158 Khmer Arts Ensemble 144, 147 Khmer Rouge regime 140–1 Khol 140, 144 Kisic, V. 9, 11 knowledge and power 3 Kok Thlok 144, 145–8 Kossomak, Sisowath (Queen) 140 Kpanake, L. 229 Krishnan, Unni 229, 236 Kurlanska, C. 9–11

lack of support 244–5; for aid-funded cultural projects 252; for the CCI sector 92; from UNESCO 81 Lafrenz Samuels, K. 8 Lamb, Christopher 163 Larsen, P. B. 9 laughter 225 LeBank, E. 232 Liberia 91; see also creative and cultural industries (CCIs) Liberia Movies Union 91 Liberian music industry 8 Lisbon Agenda 39, 51n11 “Ljubljana Process” 182–3 Lobato, R. 102 local communities and contexts 243 local music industries 91, 104n1 Logan, W. 9 Luang Prabang, Laos 160, 247 Ly, M. A. 8, 11 Maharashtra Earthquake Emergency Rehabilitation Programme (MEERP) 196–7, 205n3 ‘Make Poverty History’ 3 Mann, Larisa 102 Manyozo, Linje 97 Martini, E. 5 Master Plan on Spanish Cooperation 76, 82 Mato, Daniel 23 Mazing, Clay 228 Mbereshi and Mwenzo Conservation Projects 213 MDG Achievement Fund (MDG-F) 76 Med Culture programme 37, 40–1, 43–5, 51n4 Mediterranean political EU framework: Barcelona Process 38–9; cultural heritage 42, 52n20; EH and Euromed Audiovisual 41–3; EuroMediterranean partnership 39; European Agenda for Culture in a Globalising World 39; European Member States and neighbours partnership 38, 51n7, 51n8; European Neighbourhood Instrument 40; European Neighbourhood Policy 39–40; international relations 41; Israeli–Palestinian peace process 39; liberal economic practices 39; Lisbon Agenda 39, 51n11; Med Culture programme 40–1, 43–5; revised

Index  259 approach 41; social justice and culture 40 mental health 224 mercenary identity 93–4 Metolong Dam in Lesotho 57 Mexico City Declaration on Cultural Policies 74 microcredit and microfinance 126–7, 134 micro-development 123, 128–9, 133, 135–6 micro-fragmentation of development initiatives 127 Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region 63, 65 Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) 2, 74–6 Miller, Toby 24 misfit identity 94 missionary identity 93 Miss Liberia Beauty Pageant 91, 105n4 modernization 123, 124 Mogherini, Federica 37 Mohamad, Mahathir 153 More Europe 46, 52n28 Morgan, B. A. 8, 10–11 Mosul in Iraq 192 Mount Athos in Greece 82 Mozambique 77–8, 82–3 multiculturalism 187 ‘multi-dimensional security’ 156, 161 multivocality 11 The Musee National de l’Histoire de l’Immigration in Paris 4 music in Cambodia 139–40 Myerscough, John 17 Nara Document 204 National Programme to Rehabilitate and Develop Cambodia 143 national reconciliation 176 Nation States 152 natural and human-induced hazards 192 neoliberalism 123, 126 “neoliberal peace” 175 neo-propagandist approach 7 Netherlands’ Prince Claus Fund 154 network spillover 95, 105n8 New Agenda 50 Newari settlements 198 A New European Agenda for Culture 40

new interventionism 173, 175 ‘New Orthodoxy’ 243–4 NGOs in Cambodia: Cambodian identity 142; Catholic Relief Services (CRS) 142; charitable movement 141–2; construction of traditions 142–3; cultural NGOs 143–8; development 139, 149n1; embargo 142; essential basic needs 142; impacts of 139; International Rescue Committee (IRC) 142; liberal model 143–4; Oeuvres Hospitalieres de l’Ordre de Malte 142; Oxfam and Caritas 143; People’s Republic of Kampuchea (PRK) 142; Phare Ponleu Selepak 143; pro-Vietnamese government 142; rebuilding the country 143; UNBRO 142; UNHCR 141, 142; UNTAC 143; urbanization 143; World Food Programme 141; see also traditional performing arts Nguyen Vinh Phuc 157 nongovernmental and not-for-profit organizations 3 norms 31–2 Nordström, R. 179 The Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation (NORAD) 210, 211 Norwegian development cooperation: Bagamoyo Conservation Training Program 212; civil society action 215; cultural heritage protection 210–15; cultural rights 210, 221n3; Gizenga Street Conservation Project 212; 1954 Hague Convention 211; heritage component 211; heritage protection projects 211, 211, 212–14, 213, 214–15; human rights 208–9; ICOMOS Norway 207; International Labour Organization (ILO) 210; Karimabad Village Upgrading 213–14, 213; Mbereshi and Mwenzo Conservation Projects 213; Ministry of Climate and Environment 215; Ministry of Foreign Affairs 214–15, 221n6; The Norwegian Agency for Development Cooperation (NORAD) 210, 211; Our Common Dignity Initiative 209, 215–18; ‘Receiver-managed’ policy 214; rights and heritage 208–10; Samsarah Al-Nahas Conservation Project 212;

260 Index Sana’a Yemen 211, 211, 221n4; UNESCO 214, 215, 221n5; White Paper on humn rights 210, 221n1; World Heritage Committee 214; ‘World Heritage in Young Hands’ 214; ‘World Heritage Leadership Programme’ 215; Zanzibar Stone Town 212 ‘Nubian Monuments’ 210 Nut, S. H. 6, 9, 11 Oddar Meanchey province 142 official development assistance (ODA) 2, 3, 152–4, 164, 166n2, 243, 249 Okinoshima in Japan 82 Old Town of Edinburgh 192 Oliver-Smith, A. 202 “1+1, Life and Love” project 184 ontology 31 OPN 11.03 55, 57 Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) 2–3 Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (OIF) 23, 30 Our Common Dignity Initiative 9, 209; conservation paradigms 219; heritage conservation doctrines 216; indigenous and advocacy organizations 218, 221n8; international heritage cooperation 218; international workshop 216; national dialogues and reflections 217; objectives 215; Operational Guidelines 216, 220; RBA 220, 221; rights-dimension in World Heritage 216; rights violations legacies 218; social impacts and rights concerns 218; technical cooperation approach 217, 218; ‘World Heritage and Sustainable Development Policy’ 217, 219 Our Creative Diversity 60, 74 “Our Story Your Story” (OSYS) 230 out-of-plane stone masonry 194 ‘owner-driven’ reconstruction (ODR) 194–5, 205n2 Oxfam 4 parachute model 229–30, 249 Payasos sin Fronteras (PSF) 226 peace-building 245 Peace Corps 128–34, 136n1 People’s Republic of Kampuchea (PRK) 142 performing arts 140

Pettman, Bruce 159 Phan Huy Le 157 Phare Ponleu Selepak 143, 144, 146–8 Place de l’Europe 8, 110, 113, 114–19 playfulness and laughter 225; see also Clowns Without Borders International (CWBI) Policy Research Institute 17 Politicizing Creative Economy (Da Costa) 29 Poltrona, Tortell 226 Pond, Arn Chorn 144 Porter, D. 65 positionality of authors 10–11 post-earthquake reconstruction: appropriateness of technology 196; archaeological investigations 201; beneficiaries 195; bhungas 194; china clay blocks with thatched roofing 196; community consultation process 201; comprehensive rehabilitation programme 196; compressed soil blocks 196; contemporary building materials and techniques 195; cultural anchors 198; cultural sensitivity 196–8; ‘cyclical renewal’ process 199; dome houses 197; in Gujarat 193–6; house allotment criteria 197; Housing and Urban Development Corporation (HUDCO) 198; ‘hybrid’ approach 200; Kasthamandap 199, 200; Kathmandu Municipal Corporation (KMC) 200–1; Kathmandu Valley Preservation Trust (KVPT) 198–9; Maharashtra Earthquake Emergency Rehabilitation Programme (MEERP) 196–7, 205n3; in Marathwada region 193, 196–8; in Nepal 193, 198–201; Nepal Army and Police 199; Newari settlements 198; out-of-plane stone masonry 194; ‘owner-driven’ reconstruction (ODR) 194–5, 205n2; reconstruction choices 244–5; safeguard restored building authenticity 200; traditional settlements 197, 198; traditional technology 193–8; vernacular housing 194; wada house 197–8, 205n4; wattle and daub constructions 194 post-Yugoslav space: authorised heritage discourse 186; Balkan Museum Network (BMN) 183; capacity building and networking 181–4; common regional identities

Index  261 184–7; conflict time 174; Council of Europe 179–80, 182; Cultural Heritage without Borders (CHwB) 180, 182, 183, 188n1; Declaration of Reconciliation between Chetniks and Partisans 176; destroyed heritage reconstruction 179–81; distinctive heritages 174; ethnically homogenous populations 181; ethno-nationalization 175–8; “Hague tribunal” 175; heritageled reconciliation efforts 174–5; heritage regeneration 179; heritage re-interpretation 184–7; historical revisionism 177–8; Imagining the Balkans: Identities and Memory in the Long 19th Century 185–6; International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) 175; international framing of region 186–7; “Ljubljana Process” 182–3; memorial culture 177; multiculturalism 187; museums 184; national and historical museums 185, 188n7; national cultural policies 177; national reconciliation 176–7; “neoliberal peace” 175; new interventionism 173, 175; Old Bridge in Mostar 180; “1+1, Life and Love” project 184; peace-building 174; regional professional relations 183; Regional Restoration Camps 182; religious sites restoration 179; shared heritage/common heritage 186, 188; Southeast European Heritage Network (SEEHN) 183; Ste¿aks 184–5; tourism 180; transitional justice 173, 175–6; trust and personal links 182; Yugoslavia wars 173 Poverty Reduction Strategy 91 power relations 1, 3, 247–8, 250 precautionary principle 61–2 “preservation by record” strategy 57 Private Sector Development Strategy (PSDS) 91, 94, 97–8 Prodi, Romano 117 psychosocial support of vulnerable children 224; see also Clowns Without Borders International (CWBI) public funding 17 Pyongyang 7 radicalization and extremism 45 Rajoy, Mariano 82

reconciliation 176–7 Regional Monitoring and Support Unit (RMSU) 42 Regional Restoration Camps 182 ‘RepFest’ 148 rights-based approach 251 Ristic, K. 175 Rohingya minority persecution 163 Rojas, Eduardo 62 Royal Government of Cambodia 143 Royal University of Fine Arts (RUFA) 140, 142 Rudd, Kevin 161 Sagna, Guy Marius 117 Samsarah Al-Nahas Conservation Project 212 Sana’a Yemen 211, 211, 212, 221n4 Savay, Voan 142 Save the Children 4 Sbek Thom 140, 144, 146, 149 scale and organization 134 scaling, types of 134 Sein, Thein 163 selective indignation 117 self-reflexive questioning 10 Sembene, Ousmane 112 Sendai Framework on Disaster Risk Reduction 204 Senegal see international culture aid (Goree Island) Shapiro, John 144 Shapiro, Sophiline Cheam 144, 147 shared heritage/common heritage 186, 188 Shwedagon pagoda 163 signares 116 significance assessment 56 Sihanouk, Norodom 140 Sinding-Larsen, A. 9 small project assistance (SPA) grants 127–30, 133–5; see also community library (Nicaragua) social and solidarity economy (SSE) 134, 136 social sustainability 59–60 “soft conditionality” policies 66 soft power 152, 248 Sophon, Pich 141 Southeast European Heritage Network (SEEHN) 183 South Mediterranean countries 39, 43, 51n12 South–South cooperation 3 Sovanna Phum Theatre Association 144

262 Index specialized intergovernmental agencies 4 ‘spectacle of development’ 97 spill-over effects 95 stakeholders 44 stand-alone cultural heritage projects 63, 64, 65 Standard Industrial Classification (SIC) codes 29 Standard Occupational Classification (SOC) codes 29 Stećaks 184–5 Stirrat, R. L. 5, 93 Strategy for the development of EuroMediterranean Cultural Heritage: priorities from Mediterranean countries 2007–2013 42 street theatre projects 45 stress-reduction 225 Stubbs, John H. 154 Sunraemon Gate in South Korea 192 sustainability 124–5 sustainable development 251 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 73 sustainable livelihoods 124 Svay Andet 140 The Synchronisation of National Policies (Alasuutari) 19 Takun J 98 Tam Ting, Laos 160 Technical Assistance (TA) unit 44–5 telechargeurs 99–100 Thant Myint U 163 Thiaw, I. 8, 11 Third Urban Development Project 65 Thomson, Robert G. 154 Throsby, David 155 Tiglachin monument 7 Timbuktu shrines in Mali 192 Tiwari, Sudarshan Raj 199 Towards an EU strategy for international cultural relations 40 traditional construction 194, 196, 203 traditional performing arts: after independence 140; Apsara dance 146; artistic practices 139, 149n2; Bassac and Yiké 140, 144–6; Buddhist monastery 147; Cambodian Living Arts 146, 147; civil society 147–8; collective community practices 140; commodification of performances 148; globalization and urbanization 148; job opportunities to artists

146–7; Khmer Rouge regime 140–1; Khol and Sbek Thom 140, 144, 146; liberalization 148; music 139–40; NGO goals 145; performance quality 146; in religious traditions and agricultural calendar 143; ‘RepFest’ 148; royal ballet/folk dances 146; safeguard traditions 146; School of Fine Arts 145; social disruption 140; Sovanna Phum/Kok Thlok 145, 147; in United States 148; Western style theatres 147 transatlantic slavery 247 transformative power of music 94–5 transitional justice 173, 175 transnational governance 67 transversal scaling 134 ‘tribe of moderns’ 19 True, Jacquie 153, 164 Tuchman-Rosta, Celia 147 Tunisia Cultural Heritage Project (TCHP) 65 Tunis Medina 65 Turnbull, Malcolm 164 UK official international development aid 1 UNDP: Creative Economy Report 95, 96 UNESCO 8–9; Agency of International Cooperation for Development (AECID) 76; Brundtland Report 74; Convention 118; Convention for the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions 21, 30, 76; Creative Economy Report 30, 33n2, 95, 96; credibility 82; cultural relativism 82; cultural statistics 48; ‘Culture and Development’ 76–7; Culture Counts conference 75; culture definition 60; culture for development 78–9; Culture for Development Indicators 83–4; ‘#culture2015goal’ 79–81; ‘Delivering as One’ system 77; development 21; Dialogue Among Cultures and Civilisations 76; Division of Cultural Heritage (DCH) 157; evaluation reports 78; exclusion of culture 75–6, 81–2; global challenges 75; goal on education 81; Goree Island 110; intermediary of development aid 22; International Fund for Cultural Diversity 21–2; international monitoring framework for MDGs

Index  263 83; lack goal on culture 81; Master Plan on Spanish Cooperation 76–7; MDG Achievement Fund 76; Mexico City Declaration on Cultural Policies 74–5; millennium development goals 74–6; Ministerial Conference 182; Mozambique 77–8, 82–3; Norwegian heritage cooperation 210; ‘Nubian Monuments’ 210; ontology, identifications and norms 31–2; Our Creative Diversity 60, 74, 75; post-2015 international development agenda 79; power relations 81, 83; projects 77–8; protection and safeguarding of heritage 80–1; SDG and targets 77–8, 80–1, 83–4; socially sustainable development and cultural heritage 60–1; sustainable tourism and job creation 80; World Culture and Development 74; ‘World Heritage and Sustainable Development Policy’ 217; World Heritage Convention 21, 210–11 United Nations Border Relief Operations (UNBRO) 142, 150n5 United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) 18; ‘aid for trade’ 21; classification 24; creative industries definition 20–1 United Nations Development Program (UNDP): Cultural Liberty in Today’s Diverse World 76; human development 60; National Programme to Rehabilitate and Develop Cambodia 143 United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, 2015 2 The United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC) 143, 150n6 United States Agency for International Development (USAID) 127–8 urbanization and climate change 192 vernacular housing 194 Vlassis, A. 8, 82 wada house 197–8, 205n4 wattle and daub constructions 194 Weise, Kai 200 well-being 224

White Australia policy 155 The White Man’s Burden (Kipling) 4–5 White Paper on defence 161, 166n7 White Paper on human rights 210, 221n1 Whitlam, Gough 157 Weiss, T. G. 226 workers, aid 5 World Bank: development “from above” and “from below” approaches 58, 59; Equator Principles 66–7; expertise 56–7; Liberian music industry 94; MENA region 63, 65–6; OPN 11.03 55, 57; reform at 58; revised 1999 framework 57; safeguards 55–6; significance assessment 56; “standalone” and “multi-component” heritage project 63, 64; sustainable development 59, 60; Task Group on Social Development 60; tourism 63, 65; Tunisia Cultural Heritage Project 65; urban rehabilitation 63, 65, 66 World Decade for Cultural Development (1988–1997) 21 World Culture and Development 74 World Heritage Convention (1972) 21 ‘World Heritage and Sustainable Development Policy’ 217 ‘World Heritage in Young Hands’ 214 ‘World Heritage Leadership Programme’ 215 World Heritage List 82 World Heritage Monument Zones of Kathmandu Valley 192 World Heritage Town of Lijiang in China 192 World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) 22, 92, 105n4 Wren, Sir Christopher 202 Yangon City Development Committee (YCDC) 163 Yangon Heritage Trust (YHT) 163 Yangon, Myanmar 162–3 Yiké 140, 144, 146 Yugoslavia wars 173; see also postYugoslav space Za’atari Refugee Camp 225, 231 Zamorano, M. M. 7 Zanzibar Stone Town 212

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