1
WHOSE HERITAGE? UN-SETTLING âTHE HERITAGEâ, RE-IMAGINING THE POST-NATION
Stuart Hall
This conference on âWhose Heritage?â provides an opportunity to look critically at the whole concept of âBritish Heritageâ from the perspective of the multicultural Britain which has been emerging since the end of World War Two.1 How is it beingâand how should it beâtransformed by the âBlack Britishâ presence and the explosion of cultural diversity and difference which is everywhere our lived daily reality?
In preparing to say something useful on this topic, I was struck againâas many of you may have beenâby the quaintness of the very term, âHeritageâ. It has slipped so innocently into everyday speech! I take it to refer to the whole complex of organisations, institutions and practices devoted to the preservation and presentation of culture and the artsâart galleries, specialist collections, public and private, museums of all kinds (general, survey or themed, historical or scientific, national or local) and sites of special historical interest.
What is curious in the British usage is the emphasis given to preservation and conservation: to keeping what already existsâas opposed to the production and circulation of new work in different media, which takes a very definite second place. The British have always seen âcultureâ as a vaguely disquieting ideaâas if to name it is to make self-conscious what well-bred folk absorb unconsciously with their motherâs milk! Ministries of Culture are what those old, now discredited, Eastern European regimes used to have, which has altogether the wrong associations! Culture has therefore entered the nomenclature of modern British government only when sandwiched alongside the more acceptably populist terms, âMediaâ and âSportâ.
This gives the British idea of âHeritageâ a peculiar inflection. The works and artefacts so conserved appear to be âof valueâ primarily in relation to the past. To be validated, they must take their place alongside what has been authorised as âvaluableâ on already established grounds in relation to the unfolding of a ânational storyâ whose terms we already know. The Heritage thus becomes the material embodiment of the spirit of the nation, a collective representation of the British version of tradition, a concept pivotal to the lexicon of English virtues.
This retrospective, nation-alised and tradition-alised conception of culture will return to haunt our subsequent thoughts at different points. However, it may also serve as a warning that my emphasis does include the active production of culture and the arts as a living activity, alongside the conservation of the past.
We spend an increasing proportion of the national wealthâespecially since the Lotteryâon âthe Heritageâ. But what is it for? Obviously, to preserve for posterity things of value, whether on aesthetic or historical criteria. But that is only a start. From its earliest history in western societiesâin the heterogeneous assemblages of the âcabinets of curiosity and wonderââcollections have adorned the position of people of power and influenceâkings, princes, popes, landowners and merchantsâwhose wealth and status they amplified. They have always been related to the exercise of âpowerâ in another senseâthe symbolic power to order knowledge, to rank, classify and arrange, and thus to give meaning to objects and things through the imposition of interpretative schemas, scholarship and the authority of connoisseurship. As Foucault observed, âThere is no power relation without the relative constitution of a field of knowledge nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute âŚpower relationsâ (Foucault 1977).
Since the eighteenth century, collections of cultural artefacts and works of art have also been closely associated with informal public education. They have become part, not simply of âgoverningâ, but of the broader purposes of âgovernmentalityââhow the state indirectly and at a distance induces and solicits appropriate attitudes and forms of conduct from its citizens. The state is always, as Gramsci argued, âeducativeâ. (That is what New Labour means by âculture changeâ). Through its power to preserve and represent culture, the state has assumed some responsibility for educating the citizenry in those forms of âreally useful knowledgeâ, as the Victorians put it, which would refine the sensibilities of the vulgar and enhance the capacities of the masses. This was the true test of their âbelongingnessâ: culture as social incorporation.
It is important to remember that the nation-state is both a political and territorial entity, and what Benedict Anderson has called âan imagined communityâ (Anderson 1989). Though strangers to one another, we form an âimagined communityâ because we share an idea of the nation and what it stands for, which we can âimagineâ in our mindâs eye. A shared national identity thus depends on the cultural meanings, which bind each member individually into the large national story. Even so-called âcivicâ states, like Britain, are deeply embedded in specific âethnicâ or cultural meanings, which give the abstract idea of the nation its lived âcontentâ.
The National Heritage is a powerful source of such meanings. It follows that those who cannot see themselves reflected in its mirror cannot properly âbelongâ. Even the museums and collections apparently devoted to surveying the universal rather than national achievements of cultureâlike the British Museum, the Louvre, or the Metropolitan Museum in New Yorkâare harnessed into the national story. Carol Duncan and Alan Wallach have argued that these institutions âclaim the heritage of the classical tradition for contemporary society and equate that tradition with the very notion of civilisation itself (Duncan and Wallach 1980:451). Much the same could be said about the museums of Modern or Contemporary Art in terms of the way they have colonised the very idea of âthe modernâ, âmodernityâ and âmodernismâ as exclusively âwesternâ inventions.
Heritage is bound into the meaning of the nation through a double inscription. What the nation means is essentialised: âthe English seem unaware that anything fundamental has changed since 1066â (Davies 1999b). Its essential meaning appears to have emerged at the very moment of its originâa moment always lost in the myths, as well as the mists, of timeâand then successively embodied as a distilled essence in the various arts and artefacts of the nation for which the Heritage provides the archive. In fact, what the nation âmeansâ is an on-going project, under constant reconstruction. We come to know its meaning partly through the objects and artefacts which have been made to stand for and symbolise its essential values. Its meaning is constructed within, not above or outside representation. It is through identifying with these representations that we come to be its âsubjectsââby âsubjectingâ ourselves to its dominant meanings. What would âEnglandâ mean without its cathedrals, churches, castles and country houses, its gardens, thatched cottages and hedgerowed landscapes, its Trafalgars, Dunkirks and Mafekings, its Nelsons and its Churchills, its Elgars and its Benjamin Brittens?
We should think of The Heritage as a discursive practice. It is one of the ways in which the nation slowly constructs for itself a sort of collective social memory. Just as individuals and families construct their identities by âstoryingâ the various random incidents and contingent turning points of their lives into a single, coherent, narrative, so nations construct identities by selectively binding their chosen high points and memorable achievements into an unfolding ânational storyâ. This story is what is called âTraditionâ. As the Jamaican anthropologist, David Scott, recently observed, âA traditionâŚseeks to connect authoritatively, within the structure of its narrative, a relation among past, community, and identityâ. He goes on to argue that,
A tradition therefore is never neutral with respect to the values it embodies. Rather a tradition operates in and through the stakes it constructsâwhat is to count and what is not to count among its satisfactions, what the goods and excellences and virtues are that ought to be valued⌠On this viewâŚif tradition presupposes âa common possessionâ, it does not presuppose uniformity or plain consensus. Rather it depends upon a play of conflict and contention. It is a space of dispute as much as of consensus, of discord as much as accord.
(Scott 1999)
The Heritage is a classic example of the operation of what Raymond Williams called the âselective traditionâ:
Theoretically a period is recorded; in practice, this record is absorbed into a selective tradition; and both are different from the culture as lived ⌠To some extent the selection begins within the period itself⌠though that does not mean that the values and emphases will later be confirmed.
(Williams 1963)
Like personal memory, social memory is highly selective. It highlights and foregrounds, imposes beginnings, middles and ends on the random and contingent. But equally, it foreshortens, silences, disavows, forgets and elides many episodes whichâfrom another perspectiveâcould be the start of a different narrative. This process of selective âcanonisationâ confers authority and a material and institutional facticity on the âselective traditionâ, making it extremely difficult to shift or revise. The institutions responsible for making the âselective traditionâ work develop a deep investment in their own âtruthâ.
The Heritage inevitably reflects the governing assumptions of its time and context. It is always inflected by the power and authority of those who have colonised the past, whose versions of history matter. These assumptions and co-ordinates of power are inhabited as naturalâgiven, timeless, true and inevitable. But it takes only the passage of time, the shift of circumstances, or the reversals of history to reveal those assumptions as time- and contextbound, historically specific, and thus open to contestation, renegotiation, and revision.
This is therefore an appropriate moment to ask, then, who is the Heritage for? In the British case the answer is clear. It is intended for those who âbelongââa society which is imagined as, in broad terms, culturally homogeneous and unified.
It is long past time to radically question this foundational assumption.
It is, of course, undeniable that Britain has been in recent times a relatively settled society and âcultureâ. But as something approaching a nationstate, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland (subsequently âand Northern Irelandâ) is in fact a relatively recent historical construct, largely a product of the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Britain itself was formed out of a series of earlier invasions, conquests and settlementsâCelts, Romans, Saxons, Vikings, Normans, Angevinsâwhose âtracesâ are evident in the palimpsest of the national language. The Act of Union linked Scotland, England and Wales into a united kingdom, but never on terms of cultural equalityâa fact constantly obscured by the covert oscillations and surreptitious substitutions between the terms âBritishnessâ and âEnglishnessâ (Davies 1999a).
The Act of Settlement (1701) secured a Protestant ascendancy, drawing the critical symbolic boundary between the Celtic/Catholic and the AngloSaxon/Protestant definitions of the nation. Between 1801 (the date of the Act of Union which brokered Ireland into the Union) and Partition in 1922, the national story proved incapable of incorporating âIrishnessâ into âBritishnessâ or of integrating Irish Catholic migrants into an imagined Englishness. Their culture and presence remains marginalised today.
Though relatively stable, English society has always contained within it profound differences. There were always different ways of being âEnglishâ. It was always fissured along class, gender and regional lines. What came to be known, misleadingly, as âthe British way of lifeâ is really another name for a particular settlement of structured social inequalities. Many of the great achievements which have been retrospectively written into the national lexicon as primordial English virtuesâthe rule of law, free speech, a fully representative franchise, the rights of combination, the welfare stateâwere struggled for by some of the English and bitterly resisted by others. Where, one asks, is this deeply ruptured and fractured history, with its interweaving of stability and conflict, in the Heritageâs version of the dominant national narrative?
The British Empire was the largest imperium of the modern world. The very notion of âgreatnessâ in Great Britain is inextricably bound up with its imperial destiny. For centuries, its wealth was underpinned, its urban development driven, its agriculture and industry revolutionised, its fortunes as a nation settled, its maritime and commercial hegemony secured, its thirst quenched, its teeth sweetened, its cloth spun, its food spiced, its carriages rubber-wheeled, its bodies adorned, through the imperial connection. Anyone who has been watching the Channel 4 series on The Slave Trade or the âhidden historyâ of the West India Regiment or the BBCâs The Boer War will not need reminding how deeply intertwined were the facts of colonisation, slavery and empire with the everyday daily life of all classes and conditions of English men and women. The emblems of Empire do, of course, fitfully appear in the Heritage. However, in general, âEmpireâ is increasingly subject to a widespread selective amnesia and disavowal. And when it does appear, it is largely narrated from the viewpoint of the colonisers. Its master narrative is sustained in the scenes, images and the artefacts which testify to Britainâs success in imposing its will, culture and institutions, and inscribing its civilising mission across the world. This formative strand in the national culture is now re-presented as an external appendage, extrinsic and inorganic to the domestic history and culture of the English social formation.
Despite all this, the idea of Heritage has had to respond to at least two major challenges. The first we may call the democratisation process. Increasingly, the lives, artefacts, houses, work-places, tools, customs and oral memories of ordinary everyday British folk have slowly taken their subordinate place alongside the hegemonic presence of the great and the good. The inclusion of domestic vernacular architecture and the agrarian and industrial revolutions, together with the explosion of interest in âhistory from belowâ, the spread of local and family history, of personal memorabilia and the collection of oral historiesâactivities witnessed to in, for example, Raphael Samuelâs memorable celebration of the âpopular heritageâ, Theatres of Memoryâhave shifted and democratised our conception of value; of what is and is not worth preserving (Samuel 1994). A few courageous if controversial steps have been taken in our directionâthe Liverpool Museum on the Slave Trade, the Maritime Museumâs re-hang. However, by and large, this process has so far stopped short at the frontier defined by that great unspoken British valueââwhitenessâ.
The second ârevolutionâ arises from the critique of the Enlightenment ideal of dispassionate universal knowledge, which drove and inspired so much of Heritage activity in the past. This has to be coupled with a rising cultural relativism which is part of the growing de-centring of the West and westernoriented or Eurocentric grandnarratives. From the Magiciens de la Terre exhibition at the Pompidou Centre in Paris in the 1980s, on through the Te Maori exhibition from New Zealand at the Metropolitan Museum of New York, the Paradise exhibition from New Guinea at the Museum of Mankind, The Spirit Sings exhibition of Canadaâs âfirst peoplesâ at Calgary, the Perspectives: Angles on African Art at the Centre for African Art in New York, and on and on, the exhibiting of âother culturesââoften performed with the best of liberal intentionsâhas proved controversial. The questionsââWho should control the power to represent?â, âWho has the authority to re-present the culture of others?ââhave resounded through the museum corridors of the world, provoking a crisis of authority.
These two developments mark a major transformation in our relation to the activity of constructing a âHeritageâ. They, in turn, reflect a number of conceptual shifts in what we might loosely call global intellectual culture. A list of these shifts would have to include a radical awareness by the marginalised of the symbolic power involved in the activity of representation; a growing sense of the centrality of culture and its relation to identity; the rise amongst the excluded of a âpolitics of recognitionâ alongside the older politics of equality; a growing reflexivity about the constructed and thus contestable nature of the authority which some people acquire to âwrite the cultureâ of others; a decline in the acceptance of the traditional authorities in authenticating the interpretative and analytic frameworks which classify, place, compare and evaluate culture; and the concomitant rise in the demand to re-appropriate control over the âwriting of oneâs own storyâ as part of a wider process of cultural liberation, orâas Frantz Fanon and Amilcar Cabral once put itââthe decolonisation of the mindâ. In short, a general relativisation of âtruthâ, âreasonâ and other abstract Enlightenment values, and an increasingly perspectival and contextrelated conception of truth-as-interpretationâand of âtruthâ as an aspect of what Michel Foucault calls the âwill to powerâ.
Each of these developments would take a whole lecture on their own to elaborate. But I take them here as together marking an unsettling and subversion of the foundational ground on which the process of Heritageconstruction has until very recently proceeded. We see it reflected in different ways: in how the texts supporting art works and framing exhibits are written by museums; in the attempts to make explicit the âperspectiveâ which has governed the selection and the interpretive contextualisation, so as to make it more open to challenge and re-interpretation; in the exposing of underlying assumptions of value, meaning and connection as part of a more dialogic relationship between the cultural institutions and their audiences; and in the tentative efforts to involve the âsubjectsâ themselves in the exhibiting process which objectifies them. These are only some of the manifest signs of a deep slow-motion revolution in progress in the practices of cultural representation.
They have taken hold, but are certainly not yet extensively or ubiquitously deployed in the institutional complex of the British Heritage âindustryâ as a whole. Their appearance is at best patchy, more honoured in the breachâin profession of good intentionsâthan actual practice. Nevertheless, the question, âWhose Heritage?â, posed in the context of the current âdriftâ towards a more multicultural Britain, has to be mounted on the back of this emerging turn. I take the appearance of âcultural diversityâ as a key policy priority of the newly restructured Arts Council, its greater visibility in statements of intent by the Government and the Ministry of Culture, Media and Sport, the recent efforts by the British Council to project a more âdiverseâ image of British culture abroad, and even the much-delayed declaration of a âYear of Cultural Diversityââtwo years after Amsterdam, but much to be welcomed neverthelessâas potential but uncertain harbingers of change.
Suppose this were to turn out to be a propitious moment. What would those new constituencies who feel themselv...