Why politics needs arts & crafts

By Dr Anna Feigenbaum, lecturer in Media & Politics and contributor to the ‘Disobedient Objects’ exhibition at the Victoria & Albert Museum.

Inflatable cobblestones, book blocs, musical pot lids. This week these objects joined the Victoria & Albert Museum’s collection, taking their place in design history alongside Grecian pottery and fashion couture. Curated by Gavin Grindon and Catherine Flood, the V&A’s Disobedient Objectsshow serves as much as an intervention than as an exhibition. Its 99 objects from social movements around the world ask us to rethink what counts both as art and as politics.

From brightly coloured, hand-woven tapestries to a rice sacks with head and armhole cut-outs, the show’s disobedient objects range from refashioned rubbish to intricate craftwork. While everyday items like tea cups or water bottles may not be inherently ‘disobedient’, repurposed here as objects of solidarity and makeshift tear gas masks, they take up status as ‘disobedient.’

concrete lock-on at protest

Other objects showcased in the exhibition were intentionally designed for disobedience. The shields adorned with images of climate refugees used to transport pop-up tents at Climate Camp in 2007 are an excellent example of how spectacular art created spectacular media images, and swayed public opinion. Similarly, the ‘dragon’ concrete lock-ons made infamous in the anti-roads actions of the 1990′s show how protest sites often become innovative centres of disobedient design.

There is as much variety in these objects as there is in the people who made them. Artistic credits for the show include professional architectures, sculptors trained in world-leading art schools, gardeners, electricians, prisoners, students and anonymous collective assemblies of all kinds of people. These objects are neither art of the institution, nor art simply made outside of the institution. Rather, they are blends of both, the products of imagination as it travels between cultures and countries.

Cacerolazo

Just as our conception of art is disrupted by this exhibition of disobedient design, so too are our ideas of politics. Normally, when we think about what makes up politics, talking comes to mind. Politics is debates and speeches. It is dealing with campaign donations and soliciting support at gala dinners. It is the fighting, the demanding, and, all too often, the lying of our political leaders.

But these disobedient objects open up a different kind of politics. They give way to a politics of the senses. They showcase campaigners’ sensibility of political norms that enables them to anticipate and out-design their opponents. This politics can manifest as sound; the sing-song banging in unison of cacerolazo pan lids. Other times it is found in acts of collective sleeping – a politics shared through open-source designs for winterising protest camp tents. Often this different kind of politics is expressed in signs, flavoured with humour and pop culture savvy, as in the hanging hand-painted cardboard: ‘I wish my boyfriend was as dirty as your policies’ that now adorns the V&A (and its gift shop rack of postcards).

Rinky Tink bicycle sound system at Heathrow demonstration (Fabian Frenzel)

These are just some of the crafted politics of everyday people that arise when voices go unheard. Marred by low voter turnout and growing distrust, traditional politics is desperate for creativity. It is begging for new ideas to get beyond its self-perpetuating bureaucracies and stale public school styles. But to carry on, politics needs innovation from below. It needs to learn to better craft possibilities and policies from the perspective of the people. AsDisobedient Objects shows, real change can only come when the imagination challenges the institution—and wins.

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Camps and long-term protests against apartheid

For four years in the late 1980s, a small group of campaigners in London maintained a continuous protest outside the South African Embassy in protest at apartheid. They were calling for the release of Nelson Mandela and all political prisoners in South Africa and Namibia. Their Non-Stop Picket of South Africa House kept going, day and night, until Nelson Mandela was released from gaol in February 1990. Gavin Brown writes, for the last three years, Helen Yaffe and I have been recording the history of the Non-Stop Picket. In this post, I examine the role of camps and long-term protests in the international campaign against apartheid.

The Non-Stop Picket was launched on 19 April 1986 in the context of ongoing unrest and mass mobilizations in South Africa.  At the time, the City of London Anti-Apartheid Group (who organised the Picket) probably over-estimated how close the apartheid regime was to collapse. Few of the original picketers who we have interviewed really believed, at that point, that they would need to keep the Picket going, non-stop, for the next 1408 days and nights.

Non-Stop Picket of South Africa House, London, 1986 (Source: City of London Anti-Apartheid Group)

Non-Stop Picket of South Africa House, London, 1986 (Source: City of London Anti-Apartheid Group)

The Picket occupied a few square metres of pavement outside embassy for nearly 46 months without anyone camping there. To keep going, the picket relied on a weekly rota. Each day was divided into three or six-hour shifts, and individual supporters pledged to do a regular shift each week (or as often as they could).  Some shifts survived with just two or three regular picketers, others could attract dozens each week. Attempts were made to fill any gaps in the rota for the week ahead at the group’s regular Friday meetings, and one volunteer was always on call to respond to unexpected shortfalls and emergencies (like the couple of times the police arrested the entire protest).

Without anyone living on site, the Non-Stop Picket did not have to provide many of the practical ‘re-creational infrastructures’ (Feigenbaum, Frenzel and McCurdy 2013) common to many protest camps. Picketers used nearby public toilets or the facilities  in the area’s many cafes and fast food outlets. These were also the places were picketers went to eat during breaks or at the end of their shifts. But food was provided in others ways too – one of the Picket’s older supporters (who was unable to sustain standing on the protest for any length of time) would drive down once a week to deliver home-made vegetarian pizza; the staff at local restaurants would donate unsold food at the end of business; and passing supporters would unexpectedly deliver a round of hot drinks or snacks. Protest camps are often thought of as exceptional spaces; but, in many ways, the longer the Non-Stop Picket existed, the more it inserted itself into the everyday rhythms of central London.

The Non-Stop Picket in London was not the only long-term anti-apartheid protest to target one of South Africa’s overseas diplomatic missions. The City of London Anti-Apartheid Group had organised a previous non-stop picket in London in 1982.  On that occasion, they stayed outside the embassy for 86 days demanding that David Kitson (the imprisoned husband of the group’s founded) and other political prisoners in South Africa should be moved off Death Row in Pretoria. That picket ended when David Kitson and his comrades were moved to ‘healthier’ prison accommodation.

In the year before the Non-Stop Picket for Nelson Mandela was launched in 1986, anti-apartheid campaigners in the United States protested outside the South African Consulate in Washington DC everyday for a year (1984 – 1985). The longest anti-apartheid embassy protest, however, was probably in Canberra. There, inspired by the Aboriginal Tent Embassy, protesters set up the South African Liberation Centre on a patch of land opposite the South African Embassy. With the aid of the building workers’ union, this became housed in a permanent structure. Although the South African Liberation Centre was not necessarily continually occupied, it nevertheless served as a constant reminder of opposition to apartheid in front of the South African Embassy.

South African Liberation Centre, Canberra, 1989 (Source: James Godfrey)

South African Liberation Centre, Canberra, 1989 (Source: James Godfrey)

Solidarity protests outside South African consulates, high commissions and embassies around the world drew attention to the brutality of apartheid and contributed to international pressure on the South African government. Although these protests attracted participants of all ages, they were particularly successful in appealing to young people who wanted to take action against apartheid.

Camps of a different kind attracted South African youth who wanted to take action against apartheid. From the point the African National Congress (ANC) and Pan-Africanist Congress (PAC) were banned by the South African government in 1960, the liberation movements set up exiled infrastructures outside the country. Cadre were smuggled out of South Africa and sent for military training in China, the Soviet Bloc and recently decolonized countries across Africa. In the 1960s, all of the countries bordering South Africa were still under colonial rule, providing a buffer zone for apartheid and a barrier to anti-apartheid guerrillas re-entering South Africa. In practice, once trained, these guerrillas ended up stranded in military holding camps in Tanzania, Zambia, and (later) Angola. From the 1960s onwards, hundreds of young people crossed the border and went searching for a guerrilla army to join. Many of them faced a long wait in the ANC’s military camps. Although some saw military action against the South African army in Angola, relatively few were smuggled back into South Africa to pursue the ‘people’s war’ they thought they were being trained for. Life in the Angolan camps was basic and could be boring. Paranoia about enemy agents was rampant and those who protested about their conditions or demanded to be deployed inside South Africa were often punished brutally (as Stephen Ellis and Paul Trewhela have, controversially, documented). Further research needs to be done to fully document life in these camps.

Neither the participants in the international embassy protests, nor those left waiting in ANC (and PAC) camps across Southern Africa played a decisive role in ending apartheid. But the existence and presence of their very different ‘protest camps’ were (in different ways) of symbolic importance to the international campaign against apartheid. Any future study of the role of camps in the anti-apartheid struggle will need to take both formations into account. Similarly, both the long-term embassy protests and the exiled military camps disrupt taken-for-granted assumptions about what constitutes a ‘protest camp’.

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Working with protest camps: Participatory Methods Training (London)

Invitation to Participatory Methods Training

25th August 2014, London

The Participatory Geographies Research Group is organising a training day to offer both theoretical and practical advice on participatory methods. Activities we aim to do on the day include:

  • Keynote speakers from geography and other disciplines
  • Workshops on specific methods (e.g. visual approaches, militant ethnography)
  • Bring non-academic approaches in dialogue with academics, in particular from those involved in facilitation, collective work and social change.
  • Provide help for PhD students dealing with challenges at different stages in their research.
  • Explore the opportunities and challenges of working with participatory methods across disciplines.
  • Engage in forms of participatory activities on the day.
  • Provide an open space to discuss common dilemmas and find ways of supporting each other.

We hope to be able to provide a limited number of students with travel bursaries, details to follow. Pending the responses from our funding application, we may ask for a £10 contribution per person to cover costs (including lunch).

For now, we would ask for expressions of interest, letting us know (i) if you would like to attend, (ii) if you have a particular interest for what we do on the day, (iii) if you would like to volunteer to take part in the organisation in any way (e.g. provide a workshop), and (iv) if you have any other ideas or question.

Please contact: sam.halvorsen.10@ucl.ac.uk, jp109@leicester.ac.uk, or gs210@leicester.ac.uk

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Hot off the Press! Protest Camps Book Launch Events

protest camps_hot off the pressHot off the press, Protest Camps hits indie bookshop and digital shelves worldwide on October 10th, 2013. To celebrate the publication of our book, we’re taking part in a number of events. From bookfair talks to festival workshops, Protest Camps’ Anna Feigebaum, Fabian Frenzel and Patrick McCurdy will be visiting cities across the UK and beyond:

October 19th – London Anarchist Bookfair
October 21st – London, The Organisation of the Organisationless – Talks in Digital Culture #1, King’s College London
October 26th – Edinburgh Independent Radical Book Fair 2013
October 29th – Leicester, New Perspectives on Anarchism and Management, Centre for Philosophy and Political Economy
October 30th – Bournemouth, Protest Camps and Dissent PR
November 2nd – London, ESRC Festival of Social Science, Creating Worlds Together: A workshop on Experimentations and Protest Camps
November 6th –  Johannesburg, Wits University
November 13th to 14th – Bournemouth, PSA Media and Politics Group Conference
November 20th to 21st – Leicester, Generations of Protest Conference                     December 11th – Berlin, Institute for Protest and Social Movement Studies in collaboration with Rosa Luxemburg Foundation @ Franz-Mehring-Platz 1, 19.00h.

Available at local indie booksellers and for online order order in the UK & in the US.
For more on the broader Protest Camps Research Network visit protestcamps.org 
Follow us on twitter @protestcamps

To host a Protest Camps event, explore possibilities for collaboration, or co-design a workshop with us, get in touch!

About Protest Camps the book
From Tahrir Square to Occupy, from the Red Shirts in Thailand to the Teachers in Oaxaca, protest camps are a highly visible feature of social movements’ activism across the world. They are spaces where people come together to imagine alternative worlds and articulate contentious politics, often in confrontation with the state. Drawing on over 50 different protest camps from around the world over the past 50 years, this book offers a ground-breaking and detailed investigation into protest camps from a global perspective – a story that, until now, has remained untold.

Taking the reader on a journey across different cultural, political and geographical landscapes of protest, and drawing on a wealth of original interview material, the authors demonstrate that protest camps are unique spaces in which activists can enact radical and often experiential forms of democratic politics.

‘The phenomenon of protest camps is finally given the attention it deserves. With an international remit and a huge range of historical and contemporary examples, Feigenbaum, Frenzel and McCurdy provide a theoretically robust yet also highly readable and inspiring investigation of what protest camps are, do, achieve and challenge. What is more it is packed full of great photographs, cartoons and diagrams.’
– Dr Jenny Pickerill, Reader in Environmental Geography, University of Leicester

‘Much has been written about recent protests as digital networks, but too little about the physical process of continuously occupying significant space. Feigenbaum, Frenzel and McCurdy’s wonderful book brings a fresh perspective to our understanding of contemporary political action, connecting to the history of occupations and offering smart conceptual tools for analysing both recent and historical events in all their richness, messiness and hidden order. A fine achievement.’
– Nick Couldry, London School of Economics and Political Science

‘An exciting, engaging and energizing book, Protest Camps is required reading for activists and academics interested in the history, politics and practice of the occupation of public space as a creative form of extra-parliamentary action.’
-Sasha Roseneil, author of Disarming Patriarchy: feminism and political action at Greenham, Professor of Sociology and Social Theory, Birkbeck University of London.

‘Analysing the global history and radical infrastructures of protest camps this book provides a captivating cartography that helps heal the chasm between how we live our everyday life and what our political ideas are, how we protest against the old world whilst proposing new ones. Best read (and discussed) around a (protest) camp fire.’
-John Jordan, artist, activist and co-founder of the direct action protest movement ‘Reclaim the Streets’.

 

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No Tav in Val Susa

Protest Camps’ Fabian Frenzel visited the No Tav protest camp in Val Susa this summer and met activists from all across Italy and beyond. The struggle against a High Speed Railway Line has long superseded the narrow confines of transport policy.

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It has been another eventful summer in Val Susa, the Susa valley in North West Italy. For over 20 years now local residents and activists have struggled to prevent the Italian government from realizing a high-speed train line connecting the major cities of Northern Italy to Lyon and Paris in France. The struggle has garnered increasing international attention, partly because it resonates well with other struggles across the world, partly and unfortunately because levels of repression are exceptionally high. As recently as August this year, the Italian political police, DIGOS, raided private homes, restaurants and meeting places of No Tav activists on trumped-up terrorism charges. Silvia Federici and George Caffentzis commented

In sum, the goal of this new operation is to escalate the assault on the movement by representing it, legally and through the media, as a ‘terrorist’ movement – a move obviously intended to scare its supporters, turn public opinion against the people of Val di Susa, and legitimize any violence the state will deem fit to unleash against them.

We do not think this operation will succeed. The people of Val di Susa have fought the fascists, have fought the Nazis, and for twenty years they have been able to push back the attempt of the Italian government to destroy their mountains, already traversed by many railroad lines and a recently constructed highway.

I entered the valley from Turin on the existing railway line. As the mountain ranges narrowed I saw a massive graffito drawn in white stones on the dark rock surface: TAV=Mafia. Accusations of Mafia involvement focus on two concrete companies in the valley who would profit from the planned work. There is also collusion between legitimate businesses and the ruling parties in Italy. That concerns, for example, the former cooperative CMC, Cooperativa Muratori e Cementisti, today a multi-national cooperation, but still linked to the governing democratic party. CMC is to build the base tunnel of the new line.

And then there are the environmental concerns, as tunnels will be dug through asbestos and naturally occurring uranium deposits. Most importantly, opponents say, the new line is a gigantic waste of money. Although the plans have been scaled down significantly in recent years, there are still costs in the range of 10 billion Euros. But studies show that demand (passenger and freight) on the route has diminished in the last 10 years, while capacity gains on the existing line could be achieved with much smaller investments (Greyl at al. 2011). To a lot of Italians who are subjected to a stringent austerity programme to tackle high levels of public debt, an expensive new railway line does not make a lot of sense.

An increasingly important feature of the struggle have been the No Tav Camps, of which there are currently two.  I visited one of the camps, located on the site of the succesful 2005 mobilisation of the ‘Free Republic of Venaus’. In 2005 mass occupations of 30.000 protesters brought building works and the initial plan for the line to a grinding halt. Since the succesful occupation the site has developed into a permanent base for the No Tav movement. I attended an Italian wide meeting of university collectives, who were listening to presentations from Brazilian and Turkish activists, discussing connections between the struggles.

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Why do activists from the different universities across Italy come to Val Susa in the far North of the country? How has the local struggle become a point of convergence for the Italian radical left?

Like many recent protests the  No TAV movement initially consisted of resistance of a specific infrastructure project, the high-speed railway line. But in the 20 years of its existence the protest has grown to become much more. Indeed many in the Italian left relate to the NoTav movement as a source of inspiration in struggles that aim to defend and create commons against capital.

The camps (presidios) of No TAV feature importantly in this struggle. More than simple basis for action and observation, the camps have become places where alternative futures are made. People live together, vegetables are grown, but between actions as well, politics are being discussed, futures imagined and created.

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Alternative worlds includes very good food indeed. As I was complimenting my prima plate of delicious pasta, an activist next to me nodded approvingly: This is Italy, you cannot mess with the food. He was based in Rome and wondered, as we were queuing for our second course, whether the local resistance movement had distanced themselves enough from primitivism and regionalism in the local No Tav coalition.

But Turin based activists from the social centre scene there were upbeat about the convergence of diverse protesters, including an old lady who inspired by Catholicism protested daily against the building works and once claimed to be “the grandma of the  black block”. Like in other camps, No Tav enables the building of new coalitions, as antagonism and a shared practice of resistance create new common politics.

Increasingly international, there are good summaries of the struggles and the arguments of No Tav in english. For an overview of the 20 year history of the struggle with links to videos in english check this Brief History of No TAV.

For a more thorough analyses of the struggle providing background, data, see Lucie Greyl, Sara Vegni, Maddalena Natalicchio and Jessica Ferretti study of High Speed Rail in Italy.

And most importantly, make a visit to the valley to see for yourself.

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Protest Camp’s Anna Feigenbaum takes on tear gas at #OccupyGezi and beyond

Over the past five days Turkey’s government has unleashed thousands of canisters, cartridges and helicopter drums of tear gas onto its people. This has resulted inhundreds of tear gas-related injuries. Protesters have been repeatedly shot directly and intentionally in the face with canisters, and in at least one instance this has causedpermanent damage to the eye. On May 31, two journalists were hospitalized for head wounds from tear gas projectiles. Tear gas has also been fired into enclosed locations, a practice designed to torture and able to kill.

It’s all over the streets. It’s all over the headlines. But how much do we really know about tear gas — in Turkey and around the world? Read the full article at http://wagingnonviolence.org/feature/what-turkey-should-remind-us-about-tear-gas/

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Letting Atmospheres Speak

Protest camps collaborator Anja Kanngieser was recently invited to give a talk at UC Berkeley College of Environmental Design + Townsend Humanities Lab. In her presentation she explored the atmospheres of camps and assemblies with relation to communication and listening, in order to invite consideration on some of the more invisible, sonic geographies of protest camp gatherings

im-just-here

I want to orient our exploration around this slogan because what’s interesting here, besides the witty double reference, is this notion of atmosphere that might be found during these kinds of events, events that are social and political expressions of a coming together in what Gary Genosko (2002) has referred to as a ‘flash of common praxis’, events like demonstrations, occupations and general assemblies predicated on antagonism, hope and invention. I want to look at the speaking of atmospheres, both in terms of the particular assemblages of spaces, infrastructures and sounds, and in terms of the voices that resonate to contribute to the feeling of a moment. Specifically here I make reference to the 2011 Occupy movement and its use of the human microphone, and the general assemblies that took place in Madrid in 2011. While the idea of voice is most usually associated with the capacity to participate in a representative democracy, I’m interested in how this participation is articulated in the sonic aspects of the voice, that is to say the accents, cadences, volumes, pitches, silences, that communicate as much as the words uttered do. Considering the soundings of the voice lets us do two things, firstly it helps us to amplify the non-human aspect, which is often drowned out by the human, by looking at the assemblages and ecologies that make up contentious spaces, and secondly it helps to be more sensitive to the differential voices we might hear, which invites us to explore who participates and how.

The notion of an atmosphere or ambiance is difficult to define in any fixed way, for as Ben Anderson (2009) illustrates ‘as a term in everyday speech, atmosphere traverses distinctions between peoples, things, and spaces. It is possible to talk of: a morning atmosphere, the atmosphere of a room before a meeting, the atmosphere of a city, an atmosphere between two or more people, the atmosphere of a street, the atmosphere of an epoch, an atmosphere in a place of worship, and the atmosphere that surrounds a person, amongst much else. Perhaps there is nothing that doesn’t have an atmosphere or could be described as atmospheric. On the one hand, atmospheres are real phenomena. They ‘envelop’ and thus press on a society ‘from all sides’ with a certain force. On the other, they are not necessarily sensible phenomena.’ For Anderson, given this difficulty of definition we might consider atmospheres as ‘spatially discharged affective qualities that are autonomous from the bodies that they emerge from, enable and perish with’.

For my purposes I want to focus on the connection of such spatially discharged affective qualities to sound and thus to the register of the sensorial (on a side note I will use these terms a little loosely for the purposes of this talk although they do not necessarily mean the same thing as a recent conference in London on ambiances and atmospheres in translation teased out). If an ambiance is a ‘space-time qualified from a sensory point of view’ as Jean-Paul Thibaud (2011) puts it, that is to say how a space is sensed, and how it feels, sound is a prevalent component. Sound surrounds us in all directions – we are immersed in sound on a pathic level. This is to do with the resonant frequency of sound, which means the vibratory quality of sound making it something that is felt through bodies on registers that go beyond that which is audible. In his work on sound and urbanity, Thibaud speaks of resonance as critical to sensing our environment – being entangled in our subjectivation. He writes ‘with the idea of resonance, the world of sound makes explicit the very power of ambiance. It helps to describe the very process by which I feel and sense the world’ (ibid). In this manner, sound was also crucial for Lefebvre’s conceptualisation of rhythmanalysis in mapping the rhythms and ambiances of place and space.

A fundamental expression of sound, especially in spaces of contentious politics, is the voice – and by voice here I refer to the sonic aspects of the voice, how the voice sounds and moves through the air. In his work on voice and language Eduardo Abrantes (2012) argues that voices ‘define territories, in conversation, in public transportation, in the, sometimes awkward, transitions between private and public space’. Furthermore, and this is a point to which I will shortly return ‘they resonate identity, they are biographical sound happenings and can turn every listener into a bearer of this shared individuality’ (ibid).

How we hear and feel sound, including of course the voice, is contingent on its relations to the material and virtual architectures of space. According to Brandon Labelle (2010) ‘sound sets into relief the properties of a given space, its materiality and characteristics, through reverberation and reflection, and, in turn, these characteristics affect the given sound and how it is heard. There is a complexity to this that overrides simple acoustics and filters into a psychology of the imagination’. LaBelle’s comment illustrates the intertwining of the spatial and the relational, at the same time as it indicates the role of the imaginary. The voice, its inflections and resonances, both fills space and is filled by the spaces into which it is projected, to set into motion worlds that encompass physical, psychic, emotional and affective geographies.

The kinds of atmospheres of contentious praxis we are considering require a closer exploration of the interactions between architecture, sound and social practice. Here it is useful to address what Barry Blesser and Ruth Salter (2007) refer to as aural architectures: the ‘composite of numerous surfaces, objects and geometries’ of a given environment. Sounds require space and air for their form, which means they take shape on different scales of space just as they do different temporal scales. This is how spaces manifest sound, even if the sound energy does not originate from the space itself; this occurs through reverberation and reflection – spaces, through their material densities and gaps, modulate and refract sounds and voices in peculiar ways. This occurs too on the level of bodies, the bodily cavity being an anatomical acoustic chamber through which the sound of the voice is shaped.

The physical spaces in which social and cultural politics become organized and collective in certain modes, the places of meetings, effect what kinds of voices are heard and how, just as the space-time of meetings change the nature of place. From community centres to squatted social centres, from university classrooms to public squares, roads to living rooms, from an outdoor camp or a union office to a Skype conference, the spaces in which political conversation and the performative praxes of political organization occur vary in dimension, architecture and temporality. It is imperative to recognize the reciprocitous dynamics of voices and the spaces in which they become, and make, present, because, in the words of Jean-Luc Nancy, ‘the sonorous present is the result of space-time: it spreads through space, or rather it opens a space that is its own, the very spreading out of its resonance, its expansion and its reverberation’ (2007).

The same can be said for voices. The places in which organization occurs effects participation through differential inclusion, both in terms of a desire to be present and in terms of accessibility. Indeed a space or place may act as a ‘dispositif’ for the production of specific kinds of vocal utterances. This is why, as David Matless proposes, ‘sonic geographical understanding alerts us to the contested values, the precarious balances…which make up place’ (2005). The material and virtual geographies of these sites are steeped in narratives of power; the ways that people engage with, or participate within, spaces hinge on the associations they ascribe to them, the affects and psychic-emotional experiences they have, or project they may have, within them. Such experiences are informed by relations of class, of education, of socio-cultural affiliation, for instance, and may play out in desires for engagement or disengagement. How these atmospheres and spaces are experienced varies with the different emotions and percepts of the individual and the collective, but it is clear that architectures may have particular design elements conducive to producing specific states.

Along with these codings of a particular site, architectural features, or lack thereof, impact upon the disposition and ambiance of an event through spatial acoustic qualities. As Blesser and Salter note, ‘auditory spatial awareness…influences our social behaviour. Some spaces emphasise aural privacy or aggravate loneliness; others reinforce social cohesion’ (2007). The size of a room or space and its volumic capacity, its resonant cavities, its density, its formal or informal feel and function, the arrangement of furniture or objects, all contribute to how the voice moves within it, the kinds of utterances that are likely to be made and the ways in which we listen and respond to one another.

How we listen and respond is also necessarily underpinned by the actions, technologies, desires and intentionalities that coalesce a particular atmosphere. Sound is the result of action and movement, as Thibaud notes with regard to ambiance: ‘it is not only the social activity itself that can be heard but the manner and the conditions in which an action is accomplished. This is why ‘sound is a very useful medium that can help us document the social expression of an ambiance’. The use of sound to explore the geographies and ambiances of contentious politics invites us to consider the methods and techniques of voicing. The human microphone, used during Occupy to extend and amplify voices of speakers when electronic amplification was banned by police, provides one point of illustration.

The voice in this sense travels where the body cannot, the voice through these processes of amplification, these communicational and sonic waves extend the reach of expression, resonating within the spaces of Zucotti Park and Wall Street, environments of course marked by long histories of capital accumulation and elitism. The technology of the human microphone, combined with an ethos of openness and commons, put into resonance voices that are atypical for those spaces, unfolding through the voice and through the vocal praxis, as much as through what is said, a counter-power that challenges the hegemonic inhabitation of the space.

Significant too are the voices that permeate and co-create such ambiances, the voices that are heard and those that remain silent, that trace out forces of differential inclusion based on intersectional reproductions of racial, gendered, classed, and abled expressions and mannerisms. For one participant of occupy, the human microphone articulated the assemblages of desire and ideology supportive of open communication.

We might though also be mindful of how the communicative chains of such technologies can be invisibly iterative of vocal-acoustic territorialities that inscribe delineations of congruity or incongruity (which is especially apparent in comments made by participants about the conflictive voices, the voices that yell out mic check to no response, the disruptions). As Abrantes has argued with respect to such territories and vocal individuation, much can be read in the way the voice interacts with the other ‘voices present, according to its rhythm, its articulation of speed, the spaces it creates for the participation of others, and the spaces that it chooses to fill when inscribing its own participation’ (2012). When the acoustics of voice make tangible the meaning of the situation, interruptions and interferences trouble the perceived synchronicity of the voice and what it is expressing in relation to all other voices (and again, I am referring to the sonic, not linguistic aspects of voice).

The implications of the voice in the ambiances of contentious politics cannot be overstated, and this is something I have spoken extensively about in my research on voice and organization: how the sonic qualities of the voice affect our capacities to listen and respond to one another. The convergences of vocal tones, accents, cadences, with emotions, desires, affects, techniques and practices of organization, ideologies, architectures, technologies, infrastructures and mechanisms of state repression (including the use of specific sonic warfare), social, cultural, economic landscapes assemble sound environments that are complex and highly mutable. An interesting conjunction to mention here is the role that listening played during the general assemblies in Madrid in 2011, which arose during the occupation of the Puerta del Sol following the arrest of 24 demonstrators during a national day of action against the banking bailouts and the cutback of social programs. In a climate of austerity and the fragmentation of work and welfare, the ways of listening during general assemblies revealed the creation of other ways of being and relating, antagonistic of, and alternative to, those being experienced.

In these atmospheres and environments of contentious politics the multiplicity of voices mix together in an affective tonality that specifies an ambiance. Addressing these ambiances we can ask how they might feel, how they are populated and what they transduce. To think through affective atmospheres is also to think through processes of subjectivation, which lie at the heart of contentious politics, as Anderson affirms ‘affective atmospheres are a class of experience that occur before and alongside the formation of subjectivity, across human and non-human materialities, and in-between subject/object distinctions. As such, atmospheres are the shared ground from which subjective states and their attendant feelings and emotions emerge’ (2009). They create ‘a space of intensity that overflows a represented world organized into subjects and objects or subjects and other subjects’ (ibid). As such atmospheres generate interference in the representationalism and the easy classification that is being contested in the experimental and novel articulations of contentious politics I am interested in. This is further ameliorated by the changeable nature of their constituencies and their compositions. These are not static environments but mobile and temperamental ones, as defined as much by what is heard and felt as what is not.

By ‘emphasizing the temporal, active and collective dimensions of sound’ as Thibaud stresses we are able ‘to study and to document the unfolding of an atmosphere’ (2011). Attention to the soundings of atmosphere, and I would argue, the voicings of atmosphere, can contribute to a practice of observing that is nuanced and sensitive in its reading. This is a useful perspective to take if, as I raised in the introduction we wish to engage the non-human elements that contribute to these atmospheres, and also if we hope to be more attuned to the differential voices we might hear. And this, I would propose, is particularly relevant in the atmospheres of contentious politics, where as was indicated by the final voice we heard, what is being invented are other ways of making worlds.

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