By David Butler and Keith Pickus

This article was published in Museum News September/October 2005.

"Climb Mount Carmel in Haifa and/look at the Mediterranean from there/I have always dreamed of climbing Mount Carmel, but as a West Banker I cannot enter the 1948 areas. —Maha/Born in Nablus, living in Cairo/Palestinian and British passports/West Bank I.D./Father and Mother from Nablus."
        —Emily Jacir, “Where We Come From”

“I hope the good people of Wichita see [‘Where We Come From’] for what it is: a blatant anti-Semitic attempt to breed hatred.”
        —Rabbi Nissim Wernick, Wichita Eagle, Jan. 2, 2005

Despite what many people perceive as America’s tack to the right in recent years, we seem to hear less often about controversial art exhibitions, at least since the Brooklyn “Sensations” donnybrook in 1999. Maybe the Culture Warriors simply have given up on us because they assume most art museums (especially those at universities) are irredeemably left-leaning or (a far more disturbing possibility) too marginal to bother with. Or perhaps it’s because institutions, nervously eyeing the bottom line, are less willing to take risks these days. We can attest, however, that art retains its power to provoke and inflame, as our own recent experience at a heartland university museum demonstrates.

The controversy surrounding the recent exhibition of Emily Jacir’s “Where We Come From” at the Ulrich Museum of Art at Wichita State University (WSU), Jan. 21-March 6, 2005, raised a number of important issues. Questions that touched on the ownership of history, the boundaries between free artistic expression and political partisanship, and a public institution’s obligation to provide balance and a forum for dissenting voices are just some of the topics that emerged during our experience. So, too, did the issue of whether academic freedom exercised in university classrooms applies equally to public gallery spaces. Although we wrestled at length with these issues, we do not claim to have definitive answers. In retrospect, we have come to realize that what occurred in connection with the Jacir exhibition at WSU was a dynamic and slippery encounter between the institution and multiple interest groups, each of which acted on principles it perceived to be absolutely moral and ethical. At the most fundamental level, the encounters can be understood as attempts to stake out territory and lay claim to issues central to each party’s raison d’être. We hope our experiences might prove useful to those who find themselves negotiating similarly rough terrain.

David Butler: The Ulrich Museum of Art at Wichita State University, the area’s premier showcase for contemporary art, organizes three or four one-person “Project” exhibitions each year. The purpose of this series is to showcase the work of younger artists beginning to establish significant national and international reputations. Each Project artist visits campus to give a public lecture about her or his work and interact individually with students. The Project series supports the Ulrich’s mission as a university museum dedicated to bringing in vital new art and artists for the benefit of students and the wider community.

Curator of Exhibitions Kevin Mullins recommended Emily Jacir as a Project artist on the strength of her international exhibition record and his belief in the importance of her work. She might best be described as a conceptual artist, who uses her own experience as a Palestinian-American raised and educated in the Middle East and the United States as the basis of her work. Jacir has adopted various ingenious strategies to explore notions of cultural identity, geographic dislocation, and community. Mullins selected a body of work that would be shown, to considerable critical acclaim, at the 2004 Whitney Biennial. “Where We Come From” documents with words and images the responses to a simple question the artist posed Palestinian acquaintances here and abroad: “If I could do anything for you, anywhere in Palestine, what would it be?” As an American citizen, Jacir can travel with relative freedom in Israel and the occupied territories, so she was able to act out what her interlocutors could not: visit a long-abandoned family home in Bethlehem, enjoy a special dish at a fondly remembered Tel Aviv restaurant, visit a relative’s grave in Jerusalem. Those who made the requests were not, of course, allowed to go to these places and asked Jacir to do in their stead the regular, everyday things they could no longer do. The resulting exhibition consisted of 30 text labels reproducing the requests made to the artist, accompanied by Jacir’s photograph of the place or activity in question. “Where We Come From” invites the viewer to consider the day-to-day reality of Palestinian life, and it puts a human face on what is, for most of us, abstract and distant. It is a powerful and moving exploration of universal themes of displacement, longing, and nostalgia.

The voices that speak so eloquently in “Where We Come From” do so from their own unique personal history and point of view. Nowhere does the exhibition address the historical background of the current Israeli/Palestinian conflict or the reasons that Palestinian travel is restricted. Any work of art that takes as its subject the situation of Palestinians will inevitably be viewed in political terms. In particular, we were concerned about how the Jewish community would react to the exhibit being hosted at WSU. We wanted to reach out in a way that would indicate that the university was not adopting a political stance on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict but merely exhibiting important work that used the conflict as the point of departure to explore larger themes. In the summer of 2004 Keith Pickus, associate dean of the Fairmount College of Liberal Arts and Sciences and a historian of modern Jewry, was brought in to elicit his feedback about how the community might respond to the exhibit. His name had been suggested because of his experience coordinating Wichita’s annual Holocaust commemoration programs and his educational activities within the Jewish community. He was also at the time president of Congregation Emanu-El, the reform Jewish congregation in Wichita. Keith quickly became an invaluable collaborator and trusted guide through an increasingly complex and difficult situation, a position for which he was uniquely qualified.

Keith Pickus: At our first meeting, the museum staff suggested hosting a forum that would present “both” sides of the issues associated with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and foster a civilized discussion. I responded to this proposal by pointing out that although one can never speak of the Jewish community as unified in its views about Israel, the prevailing viewpoint was very sensitive to any and all criticism of Israel and its policies. The relative small size of Wichita’s Jewish community, about 800-1,000 individuals, made it difficult to foster discussion that could simultaneously be supportive of Israel and critical of its policies toward Palestinians and the territories. I suggested that instead of holding a forum on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it would be more appropriate for the university to sponsor a lecture series featuring internationally recognized experts presenting different historical perspectives. I offered to arrange for the speakers and solicit the support of the Fairmount College of Liberal Arts and Science as a co-sponsor of these events.

By September, details of a two-part lecture series had taken shape. It would be called “Two Peoples, One Land: The Israeli-Palestinian Conflict” and would bring historians of Israel and Palestine to lecture about the Jewish settlement of Palestine, the Intifada, and the peace process. The first scholar to speak would be Derek Penslar, a professor of Jewish history at the University of Toronto, and the second speaker would be Issam Nassar, a professor of Palestinian history at Bradley University, Peoria, Ill. With the lecture series arranged and the museum staff finalizing the details of the artist’s visit and talks, everything appeared to be falling nicely into place, that is until members of the Jewish community and the Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation (an umbrella organization for Wichita’s Jewish community) became increasingly critical of the exhibit and the programming that had been planned to complement it.

Butler: During the summer and fall preceding the exhibition opening in January 2005, I contacted Wichita’s two rabbis and the executive director of the Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation to let them know about our plans and share with them as many specifics as I had. It was apparent to me that anything even implicitly critical of Israeli policy would not be well received, but I thought it important that even those who might find the exhibition objectionable have accurate information and that they get it directly from me. Even more important, I wanted potential critics to understand that the museum’s purposes were artistic, not to present one particular political point of view. I should stress here that the Wichita Jewish community, like any other group with religious, ethnic, or other common ties, is composed of individuals who represent a wide range of opinions and backgrounds. The two Jewish congregations in town responded very differently. There was no official response from Congregation Emanu-el, the more liberal of the two organizations, although no doubt many individual members were disturbed by what they viewed as criticism of Israeli policy. Several museum supporters who are active in Jewish organizations went out of their way to express their support of the exhibition, even if they disagreed (sometimes strongly) with the viewpoints expressed in it. Others did what they could quietly, behind the scenes, to mediate the situation, with varying degrees of success.

Intense lobbying efforts against the exhibit surfaced in early November. The first line of opposition was voiced by Judy Press, executive director of the Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation. In the organization’s bimonthly newsletter, Press expressed her concern that Jacir’s art portrayed the “suffering caused to the Palestinians by the occupation,” without identifying the entities “on whom most of the blame rests—Yassir Arafat, the Palestinian Authority, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, the Al Aqsa Martyr’s Brigade and their enablers (the U.N., the E.U. activists, etc.).” In her view, Jacir’s art presented only one side of the conflict, and she worried that this lack of balance would provide fodder for anti-Israel forces in Wichita. She had expressed similar concerns when we met during the summer to discuss the exhibit.

A second wave of criticism, which moved the discussion surrounding the exhibition beyond the museum’s direct purview, was initiated by individuals within the Jewish community who were also active supporters of WSU. In a series of conversations that occurred in mid-November, a small circle of people with close ties to the university and its top administrators tried to persuade WSU to cancel the exhibit. This development pitted important and valued benefactors against the principle of academic freedom and, in so doing, intensified the discussions that swirled around the Jacir exhibition.

By the second week of December, the lobbying efforts had produced a full-blown crisis. Vice-President for University Advancement Elizabeth King, whose area of responsibility includes the Ulrich, asked me to include alternative perspectives on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict alongside the exhibition. This could be in the form of a pamphlet or some other ephemeral publication that would be made available to museum visitors to provide “balance.” (The Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation had offered to prepare such a pamphlet, but had not made a formal request to place it in the museum.) King’s purpose in proposing this course of action was to ensure that the exhibition went forward as planned. During the fall semester I had resisted outside pressure to include such “mitigating” material, but felt I could not refuse a direct request from my superior.

I relayed this information to Jacir, fully expecting her to pull the exhibition. She felt, however, that her withdrawal would be conceding to the critics of her work. She launched an Internet appeal for help and sent the following e-mail to Svetlana Mintcheva, director of the arts program of the National Coalition Against Censorship.¹

Dear Svetlana,
Please write a letter to the president of the University. We need to ask them to change their mind on this decision. At this point, nothing is resolved. I have heard nothing about the brochures and the sign. What it is and where is it supposed to go? The University needs to have pressure put on it in order to reverse this decision. A table or room open to any and all groups without discrimination would be acceptable.
     - Emily

Mintcheva’s response to Jacir (forwarded to me) highlighted the difficulties associated with the university’s decision to allow an informational brochure to be placed in the museum. In Mintcheva’s view, the university administration violated curatorial discretion with its decision and also created a bad precedent for future “objectionable” exhibitions that might be shown at the Ulrich. If the university allowed those opposed to Jacir’s work to place materials within the museum walls, then individuals who objected to future exhibits would be equally entitled. She closed her communication by encouraging Jacir to contact the American Arab Anti-Discrimination Committee and other Arab-American and Jewish organizations to protest the university’s decision on the brochure. Apparently Jacir took this advice to heart because when I logged on to my office computer on Monday morning, I was greeted by more than 100 e-mail messages (with several hundred more to follow) from around the country and around the world, blasting me for allowing the display of an “alternative” informational brochure in conjunction with the exhibition.

Several times when the museum has presented work with frank sexual content I have posted a disclaimer at the entrance, alerting visitors that some material might not be suitable for younger viewers. This seems a reasonable and appropriate mechanism, letting visitors decide for themselves if they want to view something or not, without diluting or compromising the work in any way. To make “balancing” information available, however, seemed problematic from the first. To refute the opinions expressed by the people Jacir interviewed would be to negate the work itself. As much as I dreaded turning on my computer for the week or so until the issue was resolved, however, the flood of e-mail (plus letters and phone calls) confirmed my original intuitive sense that adding additional material to an exhibition in whatever form would compromise the integrity of the exhibiting artist and the institution itself. I was particularly heartened to hear from Israeli Jews who were horrified that we would even consider allowing something that would be seen as compromising or diluting Jacir’s work.

As I soon learned, the public outcry was not directed exclusively at me; it also carried over to the university and the Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation. What began as two-party conversations within the confines of Wichita had evolved into a momentary international cause célèbre. In the days that followed, we worked tirelessly to salvage the exhibition and, along with it, the reputation of Wichita State University. Our first attempt to fashion a compromise was an idea I called “A Room for Response, Reflection, and Dialogue.” The plan was to set aside space in a gallery in another part of the museum where anyone who wished to could write down thoughts, leave a message for the artist, or deposit or pick up literature concerning the current Israeli/Palestinian situation. In addition, a virtual space to serve the same purpose also would be established on the museum’s website. The goal was to negate the need for the imposition of a single informational brochure written by the federation and the many negative connotations that accompanied it. The fact that this concept was mentioned in the correspondence between Jacir and Mintcheva gave me hope that it might prove acceptable to all parties. As it turned out, however, at the moment that Keith and I had fleshed out this plan, I received the following e-mail from the artist:

Dear David,
It was good to speak with you this morning. I have rethought this whole thing and am now quite upset that I am not allowed to have an exhibition like non-Arab artists get to. A table outside the galleries where materials can be distributed is not okay. I have rethought that and I do think that is unacceptable. It turns my exhibition into a political circus—full of “viewpoints.” I want an exhibition like any other artist gets to have be they Jewish, Gay, Hispanic, African etc. I don’t want to have a Middle East information center at the Museum.
     - Emily

Without the artist’s support, the compromise was dead on arrival. I doubted that we could salvage the exhibit, that is until I received the following letter from Judy Press, who sought to clarify the federation’s position.

Dear David and Elizabeth,

We would like to communicate the following to you:

1. The MKJF recognizes and supports the right to freedom of speech and freedom of expression and is opposed to censorship.
2. The MKJF believes that the university has a role to play in creating dialogue and should be a forum for ideas
3. The MKJF’s request to have materials at the exhibit was an attempt to provide the museum-goers with context and different viewpoints of this complex issue.

 

We want to work with the university and the museum and be part of the solution to this problem. If it is inappropriate to ask that materials be placed at the space where the exhibit is then we will not ask the university to accommodate this request.

If it is not our place to provide this context, we believe that the university/museum has the responsibility to provide context and different viewpoints in the approach to this conflict. By having the exhibit, the university is presenting one side of the situation without giving a voice to the other side. We therefore ask that the university/museum be the one to decide what the counterpoint to this exhibit should be and where it should be located.

Apparently the firestorm unleashed by Jacir’s plea for support had reached the offices of the Mid-Kansas Jewish Federation and compelled the organization to rethink its strategy. The decision to drop the demand for an informational brochure provided an opening for us to go back to square one: an exhibition with no counter message presented in the museum. A meeting the next day resulted in the following statement issued by Vice-President King on behalf of the university:

Wichita State University is aware of the discussion generated by the scheduled exhibition of work by artist Emily Jacir at the Ulrich Museum of Art. The University is committed to going forward with the exhibition without conditions or limitations that could be considered to compromise the integrity of Ms. Jacir’s work as an artist. The University appreciates the widespread interest in the artist and the exhibition.

The statement’s release immediately quieted the wave of protests that had engulfed my office and the university for the previous week, and I applaud King for her courage in reversing her original decision. Although e-mails, letters, and op-ed pieces continued to fly until the exhibition opened in mid-January, the worst of the crisis was over. Emily Jacir’s art would be exhibited as planned, without additional materials being placed in the museum. After a period of intense activity that required daily attention, it was time to focus on Jacir’s show.

When the museum doors opened at 11 a.m. on Jan. 21, 2005, dozens of people were lined up to view Emily Jacir’s art. As we had been forewarned, there was also a small faction of members from Wichita’s more traditional Achavat Achim Hebrew Congregation positioned outside the museum to hand out flyers that purported to present “the truth,” and “a balanced point of view” regarding the details of the exhibition itself and the history of the middle east. Interestingly, another group of counter-protesters distributed a series of statements regarding the occupation, Israeli policy, and international law. Neither group of protesters was disruptive and they did little to draw attention to themselves. The exhibition opening and the protest outside of the museum were covered by the local media but, fortunately, nothing occurred to warrant more than a sidebar. I had several phone calls from representatives of the national media, but they lost interest as soon as the situation was resolved. Even the limited amount of local media coverage, however, significantly boosted attendance.

One of the unexpected benefits of the controversy surrounding the exhibition was a strong show of support from the local Arab and Muslim communities. To them, Jacir is a hero and they embraced her as one. While the Arab population in Wichita has grown dramatically in recent years and now numbers around 4,000, it is hardly monolithic. An old, established core, largely Orthodox Christian, is well-integrated into the city’s economic and political structure. A much larger group of newer Arab immigrants, including many WSU students, is overwhelmingly Muslim. Wichita also has many non-Arab Muslims from South and Southeast Asia. Conversations with museum visitors and remarks left in the comment book made it clear that the Jacir exhibition struck a nerve in these various Arab and Muslim communities, just as it had (in a quite different way) in the Wichita Jewish community. The passion and vehemence of the response on both sides left me wondering if anyone was looking at the exhibition as art; perhaps it was naive to think it could be seen as anything but pure politics.

Interest in the exhibition remained strong throughout the show’s first week and until the artist visited campus on Jan. 27. In spite of a three-hour plane delay that forced us to cancel the artist’s gallery talk and postpone the slide lecture from 4 p.m. until 7 p.m., approximately 200 people came to hear Jacir’s presentation. Individuals from both camps of protesters were in attendance. Although we did not anticipate problems, with tensions running high, we thought it prudent to have both uniformed and plainclothes campus police at the lecture.

Pickus: Jacir’s comments that evening provided an overview of her work and insight into the issues that concern her. While some of her art is overtly political, some is not. All of it, from my understanding, can be seen as her attempt to understand and represent aspects of the world in which she lives. Clearly the plight of Palestinians is central to much of her work and harsh critiques of Israel are voiced in a number of her projects. Memorial to 418 Palestinian Villages which were Destroyed, Depopulated, and Occupied by Israel in 1948, a tent embroidered with the names of vanished Arab villages—a work exhibited recently without incident at the University of Colorado-Boulder—may be the most overtly political, but a video of a checkpoint crossing also offers a harsh criticism of Israeli action in this particular venue. Sexy Semite, a performance via the personal ads in the New York-based Village Voice contained what I can only describe as stereotypical racist portrayals of Jews. While the work was described by Jacir’s sister, Ann Marie, over a dinner conversation as “mischievous,” it clearly played on anti-Jewish tropes that could be considered offensive. I imagine that the both Jewish and non-Jewish members of the audience were as uncomfortable as I was with this part of the lecture. As a historian, I take exception to her description of delegates at the 1947 U.N. vote to partition Palestine as “criminals” and similar to the Mafia—such terms reveal the artist’s perception of the partition. While I do not deny her the right to voice such an opinion, I found her presentation to be quite harsh and cynical.

Conversations I had afterwards with Jewish colleagues and friends revealed deep frustrations, anger, and a sense of betrayal that the university had allowed the exhibition and lecture to occur. The most serious complaint centered on the lack of a question-and-answer period following Jacir’s lecture. Members of the Jewish community who had lobbied the university to cancel the exhibition or, at a minimum, to present a counter-viewpoint, had been assured that there would be an opportunity to question the artist about her work. As a result of Jacir’s delayed arrival and lecture, we decided to forgo the question-and-answer period to expedite the artist’s arrival at a dinner later that evening. In retrospect, it was a poor decision. Because of the combined pressure that had accumulated for months and the day’s hectic pace, David and I underestimated the need for a discussion, even a contentious one, after Jacir’s lecture. We would not repeat this miscalculation when our two visiting scholars spoke in February.

In the weeks that led up to the lecture series I learned that the two speakers also troubled some members of the Jewish community. While most of the criticism focused on Issam Nassar, a handful of individuals were skeptical about Derek Penslar. Apparently Nassar was perceived by his local critics as blatantly anti-Israel, and the same group of people questioned Penslar’s credentials, in spite of the fact that he is an internationally recognized expert on the history of Zionism and Israel. These reservations did nothing to dampen interest in the two lectures.

On Feb. 14 Penslar spoke to a crowd of more than 100 people. Included in the audience were members of the Jewish community who had opposed the Jacir exhibition and protested in front of the Ulrich, and others who had expressed concern about Jacir’s art and the lecture series. The audience also included a mixture of students, faculty, and the general public. The title of Penslar’s talk was “Anti-Semitism and Anti-Zionism: A Historical Assessment,” during which he contrasted European anti-Semitism with Arab attitudes towards Jews and Zionism from the late 1800s through the 1960s. The talk was well received and the question-and-answer period following the lecture allowed Penslar to elaborate on contemporary issues in Israel and Palestine. While his opinions clearly did not coincide with those of every member of the audience, I felt that his talk promoted an informed dialogue about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, a conversation that continued at the second lecture.

Nassar’s presentation on Feb. 24 was attended by about 90 people, many of whom were also present at the first talk. Titled “Palestine at the Crossroads: From al-Nakba to the Aftermath of the Peace Process,” the lecture was delivered from the perspective of a politically active Palestinian. Unlike Penslar, who commented that 1948 was no longer an issue for most Israelis, Nassar made the point that the concept of a Palestinian exile and the desire for return are marked by the “catastrophe” of 1948. The questions following Nassar’s lecture were combative and emotional, but they did not devolve into an argument. While some members of the audience were critical of Nassar’s interpretation of events, the lecture provided an important perspective on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, one that differed significantly from that offered by Penslar. More significantly, it demonstrated the university’s commitment to dialogue and the presentation of multiple perspectives.

Once the lectures concluded, the public turmoil associated with Jacir’s art dissipated. The exhibition continued to attract visitors in its final two weeks, but protesters no longer paraded in front of the museum and local media coverage vanished. The months of planning, controversy, and community engagement transitioned to a period of reflection.

Lessons Learned

As we suggested at the outset, we have not reached definitive conclusions about our experience, and the fallout from the controversies that erupted continues to be felt. Within Wichita’s Jewish community, a new organization calling itself “Concerned Citizens for Israel” emerged under the leadership of Rabbi Nissim Wernick. The group’s self-stated mission is to combat anti-Semitism within Wichita and sponsor programming that favorably depicts Israel. The formation of this splinter group has created friction within the Jewish community, and some members of the community fear that an unbridgeable schism is developing.

On campus, most of us involved in mounting the Jacir exhibition breathed a collective sigh of relief when it closed. While we take solace in knowing that the principles of artistic and academic freedom ultimately prevailed, we worry about the collateral damage. It is likely to be quite some time before the museum considers hosting potentially controversial shows, and it is difficult to gauge whether our experience with Jacir will negatively affect our ability to book other cutting-edge artists. We also do not know if donor support for the museum will suffer in the future.

What we have learned is that hosting a potentially controversial exhibit necessitates careful advanced planning and excellent communication skills. While we went to great lengths to reach out to people in Wichita who were critical of Jacir’s work, we underestimated the intensity of their opposition. Perhaps no amount of advanced planning would have prevented the controversy from erupting but, in hindsight, we see situations where our communication could have been clearer and more precise. We also know that the same is true for communications that occurred on campus. The moments of crisis partially resulted from our inability to clearly articulate the issues at stake to key university personnel who made decisions that affected the show’s integrity.

Ultimately, however, the show succeeded largely due to the communication between ourselves, the staff of the Ulrich Museum of Art, and a collection of administrators resolutely committed to the principles of artistic and academic freedom. Our ability to talk candidly about values, professional integrity, and the personal impact of being the focal point of an intense controversy enabled us to see clearly through each crisis and to craft a vision for moving ahead. The bonds forged through our ordeal leave us hopeful that the museum and the university have been strengthened by the decision to show Emily Jacir’s work. Like the artist herself, we recognize that a shared understanding of the past will enable our community to harness its full potential in the years ahead.

Notes

1. The National Coalition Against Censorship (NCAC), founded in 1974, is an alliance of 50 national non-profit organizations, including literary, artistic, religious, educational, professional, labor, and civil liberties groups. It works to educate members and the public at large about the dangers of censorship and how to oppose them.

David Butler is director, Ulrich Museum of Art, Wichita State University, Kansas. Keith Pickus is associate dean, Fairmount College of Liberal Arts and Science, and associate professor, Wichita State University.