Politically Correct Art: An Oxymoron?

Last year, Emma Sulkowicz, then a senior at Columbia University, made national headlines with her endurance performance art piece “Carry That Weight.” Her story is likely one you’ve heard before: Sulkowicz avowed to carry a 50-lb extra-long twin mattress—similar to the Columbia dorm mattress—until the student she alleged had raped her during her sophomore year was expelled or otherwise left the university. Caught between defending Sulkowicz’s freedom of speech and protecting the rights of Sulkowicz’s accused rapist, Columbia faced criticism from almost every direction. In combining political protest and symbolic expression of the emotional weight of such experiences, the art piece triggered a national conversation about campus rape culture and the difficulty universities face in prosecuting rape both effectively and fairly.

In January 2015, when Sulkowicz was likely still home for winter break, a mass shooting occurred at the Paris headquarters of Charlie Hebdo, a satirical magazine. Brothers Chérif and Saïd Kouachi, two jihadists and French citizens, killed and injured 22 people in total, claiming that Islamic law afforded them the right to kill anyone who “offends the prophet.” This, apparently, included the staffers at Charlie Hebdo, who published cartoon images of the prophet Muhammad—an act considered blasphemous in many sects of Islam. The horrific shooting—and the art that triggered it—opened up a dialogue about Islamophobia, censorship, and the extent of freedom of speech.

Both of these incidents—though they occupy completely separate spaces on the spectrum— are perfect examples of the intersection of art and politics. Art, by nature, facilitates the communication of deeply personal narratives, allowing those who may not have a political platform to instantly communicate their views and begin a conversation about the human implications of policy decisions. But, in a culture growing increasingly sensitive to internalized racist, sexist, homophobic, and other discriminatory mentalities, freedom of speech—even in art—is beginning to seem like a secondary concern. The balance between giving artists the freedom they deserve and protecting minority groups against discrimination is often nearly impossible to achieve.

Some, like wildcard Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, see the increasing sensitivity to discrimination and existing power structures as “politically correct crap.” Trump may more often seem like the punch line of a joke than a serious politician, but given his popularity, it’s undeniable that Trump’s mentality echoes a national sentiment against what many believe to be censorship.

Even politically liberal individuals such as journalist Jonathan Chait have criticized the extent of what he calls “PC culture.” Yet, acknowledgement of the inequalities in American society is important, and the desire to achieve social equality is even more so. Although Chait validly criticizes extremes of political correctness in his 2015 article Not a Very PC Thing to Say, he also deems recognition of microaggressions, everyday and unintended discriminatory insults, as oversensitivity. This viewpoint is misguided—and understandably so considering Chait, occupying a societal position of relative privilege, has likely never experienced a microagression first hand. It is important for us to be aware that the reality we personally experience may not be the reality all Americans experience, and that we often internalize the problematic mindsets we are surrounded by. While Charlie Hebdo made caricatures of many religious figures, the magazine published its cartoon of Muhammad at a time of anti-Islam sentiment in Europe. The attacks on Charlie Hebdo’s headquarters were far from warranted; however, we as individuals, should be conscious of unintentionally expressing discriminatory mindsets or reinforcing existing power structures—and artists and content creators should strive do the same.

However, no one wants to put a hard restriction on freedom of expression, especially because offense can be meaningful. Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan illustrates this distinction between meaningful and meaningless offense in his 2001 art installation “Him,” in which the viewer enters a vast room, at the end of which is a statue of a little boy kneeling with his back the viewer. As the viewer nears the statue, he or she sees that the boy’s face is that of Hitler’s. In probing indignation (or perhaps lack of) in the viewer, Cattelan explores whether forgiveness is possible for such an icon of evil. In posing this larger question, Cattelan’s work encourages us to examine God, morality, and ourselves, an examination made possible through individual reactions of offense to the piece. Because works like Cattelan’s exist, there could be no universal statement about what types of art or what types of offenses are permissible.

Instead, regulation of the messages behind art must come from the artists themselves. Protecting free speech is important is because, with it, artists have the opportunity to facilitate positive and tangible change by highlighting the human implications of cultural norms and politics. Instead of adhering to cheap stereotypes for a quick laugh or taking pot shots at disenfranchised groups for no deeper purpose, artists should capitalize on their unique ability to voice their opinions and better the community, using their platforms with sensitivity to existing power structures and biases. Artists, like policymakers or other influential figures, should actually make an effort to do so. And given the existing inequalities in our society, a good way to begin is with tolerance and understanding.