Emmanuel Iduma and Dominique Malaquais in Conversation

As an addendum to our previously considered speculations about technology in Issue #7, Dominique Malaquais, Senior Research Fellow at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique in Paris, serves as the perfect conversationalist. I met Dominique in 2009, at the Word into Art into Africa (WiAiA), a workshop organised by an organisation she directs – Space for PanAfrican Research, Creation and Knowledge, which is headquartered in the Africa Centre in South Africa. In that workshop, we sought to negotiate basic concerns about performance arts, with specific reference to Dance. What was striking, though, was our indulgence in what made a city. Although Lagos was our meeting point, each participant/facilitator became ‘aware’ of their cities. There was Yazeed Kamaldien speaking of South Africa; Amanda Epe speaking of London, Khadiatou Diallo speaking of South Africa and London; Sokari Ekine speaking of London and the Lagos she knew as a growing child; Qudus Onikeku spoke of the Lagos he grew in, especially the Lagos after the military left. Dominique herself spoke of various involvements in Cameroun, in Princeton, and in Paris.

Given this background, and the amount of technology involved in assembling us at the workshop, I suddenly felt open and engaged with the wider world. This openness did not disappear upon my return to Ile-Ife. In fact this conversation is a product of that openness. – Emmanuel Iduma

EMMANUEL IDUMA: I desire that this conversation take a very experiential form, and maybe experimental. I know I am no expert, nor scholar. I am, perhaps, only a ‘user’ of technology. So, Dominique, do you think a conversation by ‘users’ would be apt, justifiable, or even moral?

DOMINIQUE MALAQUAIS: I think a conversation among users is a fine idea; well handled, it might prove to be quite interesting. It is, in any event, all that I can offer, as I am certainly no expert on the subject of technology myself.

EI: And what defines us as users? Indeed, I feel this is important because there seems to be an imbalance in the consideration of technology. More attention, in my view, is given to consumers, and lesser attention to producers. The producers produce, often not for Eureka! but for the intent that many would ‘use’ their technology. Is this a reasonable speculation?

DM: Yes and no.  Certainly, producers – of hard- and soft-ware – put their expertise to work with the hope that users will employ their products.  At the same time, it seems clear that those who make such ware(s), if they wish to stay in business, must create products that will need to be replaced.  Planned obsolescence is essential to their practice.  As regards companies as producers – Microsoft will do as an obvious example – this is self-evident (anyone who has ever used a Microsoft product long enough knows this from experience):  such obsolescence is intrinsic to their business plan and to (late) capitalism more generally.  How this plays out for individual producers – the people who design software, hardware, system architectures and so on – is, I suppose, another matter.  Presumably, if you are a software designer, you work for Microsoft and you want to keep your job, creating a “Eureka!” product that will not need replacement is probably not a wise choice.  Your job, whatever your personal convictions may be, is to produce programs that will need to be replaced.  In the realm of FOSS (free open source software), arguably, the situation is different – though it is probably not as simple as it might appear on the surface.  All of this, however, is a matter of theory, not practice, for, as we all know, there is no such thing in the realm of technology as a product that will not need, at some point, to be replaced, either because it fails or because something better comes along.

EI: But then, is the idea of technology entrenched in the firm belief, by all of us, that there are no parameters – in the idea that technology has no end?

DM: Technology, in all likelihood, has no end – no end, that is, as long as the human race (or more properly the system within which it functions at this time) does not deploy technology in such a way as to destroy both itself and the technology used to effect such destruction … in other words, as long as we don’t blow our planet to smithereens.

EI: If this is ascertainable, I am deeply concerned. Limits are often talked of in relation to morality. Thus, it seems that the more we advance in the manipulation and development of new technologies we throw caution to the wind. That is, assuming no limits exist in the development of technology.

DM: This, it seems to me, is a fundamental question.  The answer – if such a thing exists – resides less in a discussion about technology than in one concerning economic systems.  If we continue along the path we are walking now – if the logic of late capitalism plays itself all the way out – then I am fairly convinced that we will indeed blow our planet to smithereens – and that technology will play an active part in the process.  I do not mean by this that we will necessarily, literally, blow ourselves up, though that is certainly a possibility.  More likely, I suspect, will be a gradual descent into impossibility:  a planet fallen prey to ecological disaster that eventually does away with most of us, the poorest first, and ultimately results in a state of affairs – ecological, social, economic, political – that is simply unsustainable.  Such disaster, whatever form it takes, is first and foremost a function of economics.  To change the situation – to alter our course – economic change is required.

Capitalism got us where we are and, if nothing takes its place, will lead us to our end.  A different future will be a function of a different global economic system.  What is that system?  How might it come about?  I do not know.  What I do know is this.  Capitalism is a young system; it has not been with us long and there is no reason to assume that it will be with us forever.  To many, this may sound heretic – or simply silly.  So be it.  Imagine a feudal lord, in 12th Century Western Europe, say, being told that a mere 800 years later his descendents would have to pay their serfs, allow them two days off a week, and provide care when they fell ill.  This would have sounded heretic to him as well – he probably would have called for the head of the person telling him such absurdities – and yet here we are…  Systems change.  Though I am not, by nature, an optimist, I choose to believe that humankind may manage to veer off the course of doom on which it has set itself under (late) capitalism.  We are, I choose to trust, capable of positive change:  we can birth a world in which everyone has food, shelter, access to healthcare, education, the ability to travel and the time and means to live creatively.

In such a world, there is no doubt that technology will play a crucial role – indeed, in all likelihood, this world I imagine will be a direct result of technological advance.  But it will be technology of a very different kind from that which we know now.  It will of needs be technology that bridges rather than creates divides; it will be technology available to all in equal measure; and it will be technology whose sole reason for existing is the betterment of daily life everywhere.  In this sense, I believe, there is reason to hold out hope for technology and, ultimately, for the possibility that it does indeed have no limits.

EI: Do you consider that technology is all-embracing? Is technology the right word to use for advancement in nuclear technology, as it is the right word to use for mobile phone technology? Is the internet also technology? Or can we make a distinction between technology that destroys and technology that creates?

DM: Again, yes and no.  On a superficial level, yes, we can make a distinction.  I could not function without the Internet; most everything that I do – in work, in friendship, in attempts to be a decent human being, in the daily business of sustaining a household – depends upon it in one manner or another.  I choose to look at these uses of technology as non-destructive ones, as opposed to uses of technology to military ends, for example.  The argument could very well be made, however, that the line between my use of technology and the use of technology to violent ends (again, for example, in a military context) is a lot thinner than I like to think.  The same holds true for just about anyone who uses the Net to “peaceful” ends.  What I mean is this:  our use of technology, however benign its intent, in a world system that deploys technology to kill, maim and generally accentuate socio-economic divides, can be seen as a tacit acquiescence of that system.  Does this mean we should cease and desist?  The question is nonsensical:  we cannot. And this, of course, is the “marvel” – read the horror – of the system:  we are in thrall to it.  If we want to function within it, even (especially) to denounce it, we must participate in it, use the weapons – the technology – that it deploys to sustain and grow itself.

EI: And is technology an art-form? I know you have been involved in several arts-related events that cash in on ‘technological advantages’ (Can you mention some). As such, there is the interaction between technology and the arts. Is this true?

DM: Technology itself is not an art form, but it can be put to use to artistic ends.  Some of the very finest work being produced by artists today depends upon high-level technology – whether in the realm of video, film, photography, graphic production or performance (network performance, notably, though not exclusively).

You ask for examples. One is a remarkable project that SPARCK was invited to participate in by a Kinshasa-based entity called Mowoso (http://www.eternalnetwork.org/mowoso/). This was a network performance set up by Mowoso between Kinshasa and Berlin in 2009, in the context of Transmediale, an annual festival that explores the role of digital technologies in contemporary society.  The performance took place in Kinshasa in real time, before an audience located in Berlin and across the globe (people plugged in digitally – via email and Skype – to the space in Berlin).  The means of conveyance – what allowed the people in Berlin to see the performance in Kin – was Skype.  The SPARCK crew was on hand in Berlin to dialogue with the Mowoso crew in Kin and to serve as an interface between the audience(s) and the performers.  At the core of the project was the failure of technology:  because of massive electricity shortages and, as a result, disastrous Internet connections in Kin, the image was a mess.  This, as both fact and aesthetics, was the single most important aspect of the performance – even if the performance itself was in and of itself a great work of art.  The point, for Mowoso, was to underscore the economic violence responsible for the impossibility to connect seamlessly between Kin and Berlin and what this violence means in daily social and political terms for people who live and seek to create in Kin. A fascinating aspect of the project was the response among members of the audience. Some people found the exercise brilliant – either because they “got” the economic/social/political point that Mowoso was making or because they found the aesthetics of the broken, distorted image and its relation to the actual, in situ performance stunning (a point central to Mowoso’s take as well). Many people, however, had a lot of trouble with the event:  they could not get past the technological failure itself; the message was fine with them, but they wanted it brought to them in a clean, clear fashion – which was, of course, impossible given the circumstances that were the very theme of Mowoso’s performance.

Works of art such as Mowoso’s Transmediale performance are key to understanding and highlighting the role of technology in the making of art. It has to be underscored, however – and this is a core argument for Mowoso as well – that economic inequality/violence makes it increasingly difficult for creators outside well-funded “first world” circles to participate in the global art world.  Today, to be a part of that world, it is increasingly important to be able to make work that requires high-tech production techniques and values.  Take a look at any major biennale:  its principal works are installations – notably video/sound installations – that cost a small fortune to create/mount because they require access to significant technological resources.  Look, too, at the artists who – whatever one thinks of their work – sell best on the global art market: Jeff Coons, Ai Weiwei, Damien Hirst… This is work that is extremely expensive to produce, for these same reasons. The most brilliant photographers, graphic artists and video creators in Kinshasa, if they are to make a living from their work, must have access to external resources. They cannot produce or sell on their own turf – not if they want a chance to compete on the global market.  And this, of course, is a synechdoche:  a part for the whole of an economic system that is violently inequitable and, by definition, favors the “North”.

EI: If this is in some way true, what are the dynamics of this interaction? What does it involve? How does it help?

DM: As my previous response and the example of Mowoso’s work suggest, the dynamics are profoundly disturbing because subject to violent economic/social/political inequities.  At the same time – and here again the example of Mowoso is key – they are, counterintuitively, productive.  The question “does it help?” probably has no answer.  As I noted in answer to an earlier question, there is little choice:  if an artist wants to function within our current world system – and what choice does s/he have, if indeed s/he wants to work? – s/he must, in some form or other, engage with technology.  S/he is obliged to use the very weapons that the system deploys to sustain itself, to ensure the wellbeing of the few at the expense of the many – the many of which the artist in question may be one.

EI: It is good you say an artist, within our current world system, must engage with technology. I must mention that I cannot imagine writing a short story longhand. And this has been the case for about five years. John Irving says he hates anything that makes the work and process easier. Sure, there is the question of Irving’s generation, and mine. But there is also, perhaps, the question of credibility (I use this word with caution). I am simply speculating on whether my working with a computer keyboard does not make me less serious as a writer. And I know you do a lot with your computer.

DM: The fundamental difference, here, I suspect, is that John Irving can afford to make the process as hard for himself as possible.  First, he has “made” it.  This allows the leisure for trouble.  Second, the business of having it hard is intrinsic to the persona he has created for himself:  the macho, hard-drinking, hard-driving, take-the-knocks man of letters.  Norman Mailer, who was a hell of a better writer than Irving – and let me note here:  I have read everything Irving has written and I like his work, so this is not a “diss” – would probably have said the same thing.  Yes, it may be a generational thing, but one would want to add a small caveat:  sure Irving (as Mailer did) may write longhand (does he?), but someone, somewhere, inputs the stuff into a computer.  That someone is probably a(n underpaid) woman and she is making the writer’s process easier. Now, to your question as to whether using a keyboard might make you a less serious writer:  the pleasure and the hell of trying to write – the sheer difficulty of the process – have little to do, as far as I am concerned, with what precisely the fingers are doing (holding a pen or clicking away at a keyboard).  As for credibility, I agree with you:  the word must be used with (extreme) caution.  Dan Brown, after all, is considered highly credible and, boy, is he a lousy writer…

EI: There is, also Facebook, and the social network question. In terms of publishing, young writers can simply post a note on Facebook, attracting numerous comments. I was involved in a conversation where this act was dismissed as cheap publishing, meaning that certain fundamental procedures attached to publishing had been cut away. Is this reasonable?

DM: A great deal of what appears on Facebook is crap.  The same is true of what appears on paper, in between cardboard covers, for sale in bookshops.  I see no reason why one could not use Facebook as a platform for good writing.  If it is possible to use blogs to this effect, why not FB?  Cliché but true:  it’s not the medium, it’s the matter.

EI: I am a big fan of Samuel Morse. I know simply, that although a painter, he transmitted the first message via the electronic telegraph. The first message was “What hath god wrought.” There is the contemplation, in Christianity, that in the last days knowledge would increase; thus linking the advancement in technology with the end of the world. Is there some logic in asserting this? Well, given the quickness with which new technologies are developed – new versions of almost every technology – and the frequency with which changes are made, isn’t there some truth in this?

DM: The answer to that, I suppose – given, indeed, the “quickness” of technology – is that the sooner one comes to an end, the less one will know of technology.  As for the rest – what else one might or might not come to know as one’s end approaches – I have no answer, save to hope (and, sadly, to doubt) that one gains in knowledge as one looses in minutes to live.

EI: Well, I think the internet is a demon as well as an angel. Previously, we could do without checking our emails for days, weeks, or even months. Now, we are constrained to check everyday, every hour – Blackberry makes it no easier.

DM: I can but agree.

EI: It seems – pardon me if this is senseless – that technology often stuffs out the life off a process. For instance, an interview. There is the marked difference between an interview in print and an interview in paper; the sighs, silence, stammers, and all other expressions are often lacking. Is technology concerned with the taking away of life?

DM: A complicated question, this.  Let’s begin with the simpler part.  Interviews have long been conducted on paper.  Email has perhaps made the practice more common, but it certainly did not bring it into being.  Is an interview harmed, or made less interesting, by the opportunity afforded to the interviewee to answer in writing rather than in person?  I suppose it depends on the interviewe(e).  Some people have a great deal to say, are quite articulate on paper, and do far less well in person – because they are shy, because they need time to structure their thoughts in a manner that satisfies them and thus is likely to satisfy the interviewer, because they are simply more comfortable with the written than the spoken word.  Such people are likely to give a “better” interview if granted such an opportunity.  Others may use the opportunity to protect themselves – to say less than they might if put “on the spot”.  In such cases, presumably, the interview will suffer.  If we imagine an interview with a politician, it seems fair to say that an in-person exchange will be most satisfactory for the interviewer:  one is likely to learn more absent the mediation of the printed page (or the computer screen).  Obviously, gestures, expressions, etc. tell us quite a bit.  But if an interview is printed verbatim, without comment, what of those gestures and expressions?  How do they come through? Is the “life” of the interview more present if “the sighs, silence, stammers” are made to appear in print – if by “verbatim” we mean “not a single ‘um’ or ‘pfff’ excluded”? I am not convinced that including such things in the written transcript of an interview is always the best way to go.  In some cases – the politician, for example – it may be; in others, it may just get in the way or, if the interviewee is not a particularly articulate speaker but is nonetheless an interesting interlocutor, it may prove unfair to him/her.

Does technology itself do away with life – or, in any event, dim it?  Probably, yes.  This, certainly, plays a part in how I make use of certain technologies.  I have dozens of Skype meetings every week, but I rarely Skype my dearest friend and, if I do, I tend not use the video camera function.  I use Skype to call my mother when we are in different countries, but I use the technology as I would a basic telephone.  It is the voice I want to hear; the digitized image troubles me:  it does not bring her closer to me.  I write hundreds of emails weekly.  Those that I write my friends and family, however, are rarely written in telegraphic form.  I firmly believe that one can have epistolary relationships – yes, in the 18th century sense of the word – by email:  long letters, thought through for hours.  In these, for me, there can be life as much as in classical (“proper”) letters.  The difficulty, of course, is the immediacy of it all.  I belong to a generation that remembers well the three-week wait for a loved one’s words to arrive by post, the daily visits to the mailbox, the pleasure-pain of the letter not yet arrived.  Was it “better”?  I don’t know.  It certainly wasn’t the same.

EI: Can you consider the following statement? “In our dash to do things faster and cheaper, 2005 to 2010 might be remembered as the “pasty period.” While the major manufacturers are working hard to improve the quality of skintones, future generations who look back at this period might need to be reminded that we were a little too hasty to adopt new technology and that the planet wasn’t crippled by an epidemic of eczema.” (In Monocle, Issue 11, Volume 02, March 2008). It was made in connection to the resistance movement against digital photography.

DM: I would draw the commentator’s attention to the fact that the question of technologies and skin tones predates the advent of digital photography.  Anyone who has paid a little attention to the photographic medium more generally is aware of the fact that analog photography played havoc with the color of skin and that this had everything to do with the political (and the monetary) economy of racism.  Briefly:  Kodak film (just one brand example among others) was for decades notoriously problematic for the rendering of skin other than Caucasian.  As late as 1997, I attended a lecture at Princeton University in which a Nigerian art historian had to explain to a surprised, largely Anglo, audience the reason for the remarkable number of overly dark images of African faces in anthropological and news photography shot on the African continent. Had the market for film not been primarily “Western”, the speaker pointed out quite rightly, this would not have been an issue:  efforts would have been made to produce film that did a better job of rendering non-Caucasian skin tones.  The problem has not disappeared, though things did to a degree improve with the growth of the African-American middle class.  That all is not well is clear from just about any blog on the subject – both because such forums point up the fact that much analog film remains problematic in this respect and because many of the points made by people blogging in are jaw-droppingly uninformed (see, for one example among many, http://www.apug.org/forums/archive/index.php/t-77048.html).

EI: What’s your place in technology? Does it overwhelm or underwhelm you? (I use technology in the overarching sense – in the sense that includes all forms of technology we’re probably exposed to).

DM: I have the dubious advantage of being a technological clutz:  I’m just not very good with it.  I know just enough – with computer hardware, some key software; with photography – to get done what I need done.  What this means in practical terms is that some aspects of technology that would likely eat me alive by taking over all of my time escape me (or I escape them).  Granted, this is in part a choice:  there are many tech tricks I could teach myself that I eschew, precisely because I want to avoid their anthropophagic tendencies.  Does the technology I do use and master overwhelm me?  It has a double-edged effect on me.  On the one hand, it allows me to get far more done than I would be able to do absent its presence. Because it allows me to get a lot done, it frees up space and time.  That would be terrific were I not the workaholic, and ultimately the tech addict, that I am.  The space and time afforded, I fill with more work … and more technology.  It’s a vicious circle … and I enjoy it, which makes it all the more vicious.  Good? Bad?  You tell me…

^

Dominique Malaquais (Ph.D. Columbia University, New York City) is a scholar and writer. Her work focuses on intersections between emergent urban cultures, global, late capitalist market forces and political and economic violence in African cities. She has taught extensively in the United States (Columbia and Princeton Universities, Vassar, Trinity and Sarah Lawrence Colleges) and is currently based in France, where she holds the position of Senior Researcher at CNRS – The National Science Research Centre, Paris.

Dominique is the author of two books and numerous scholarly articles, as well as essays, poems and short stories in English, French and Spanish. She is Associate Editor of Chimurenga magazine (South Africa) and sits on the editorial board of the journal Politique africaine (France). In 2003-2004, she was invited to lead a team of nine artists, scholars and activists in an eighteen-month multinational, trans-disciplinary reflection process around themes and approaches to be addressed by the Africa Centre. In 2010 she was engaged with the W.E.B. Du Bois Institute for African and African-American Research, at Harvard University.