Introduction
Nicolás Maduro has fallen, and I rejoice at his detention. The Venezuelan diaspora and those who remained in their homeland celebrate this momentous occasion. However, the most challenging phase lies ahead: navigating uncertainty and fear. What will this supposedly civil US occupation entail? Could it descend into violence, given Trump’s penchant for deploying military force? How will freedom of expression, dissent, and creativity fare? Will Venezuela improve or continue down the path of dictatorship?
The Role of Art in Times of Uncertainty
As I ponder these questions, I consider the art that will emerge from this situation. Artists are acutely attuned to their surroundings and create viscerally from them. What scientists and philosophers prove and reason is first present in art, albeit vaguely.
Should art take a political stance in all of this? Should it denounce, celebrate, find a middle ground, or be radical? This question has long haunted creators. Plato, in Hipias and The Banquet, asserts that art has a social mission, fully political. Beauty is goodness, and arguably useful.
Following Plato’s lead, creating politically within this Venezuelan context is a responsibility. Whether the art is Bolivarian or pro-American, it must openly declare its honest intentions.
Mexican Cinema and Ethical Obligations
Consider Mexico. I recall the controversy surrounding a film, perhaps Maria Emilia, which frivolously depicted Mexico’s narcoviolence. Critics lambasted the film for its shoddy script and poor performances, but also questioned whether it was ethical to portray Mexico’s misfortune in such a manner. This raises the question of a film’s obligation to its subject matter.
Are creators ethically responsible for taking a stand? I argue no. A creator’s primary ethical duty is to create well.
Ian McEwan and George Orwell: A Dialogue on Artistic Responsibility
While reading Ian McEwan’s The Space of the Imagination, I reflected on George Orwell’s Inside the Whale. McEwan’s essay, part of Anagrama’s pamphlet collection, serves as a response to Orwell’s seminal work.
McEwan recounts an encounter between Orwell and Henry Miller before the Spanish Civil War. Orwell saw his political stance as non-negotiable, while Miller deemed such involvement futile. Miller cared little for politics.
Orwell went to war, survived, and wrote Homage to Catalonia. Upon returning to his mundane life, he found himself embroiled in another devastating war. McEwan notes Orwell’s domestic journal entry about his thriving garden, contrasting it with his political diary, suggesting Orwell’s waning political fervor.
Orwell believed art wasn’t meant to change the world. Bad writers, he argued, create with ulterior motives, seeking political or sentimental posterity. He criticized the sentimental poetry of his youth, now seeming juvenile and saccharine. For Orwell’s contemporaries obsessed with communism, the choice was clear: be a communist or a bad writer.
Orwell championed Henry Miller and his Tropic of Cancer, writing outside the world, like someone in a whale’s belly. Miller, insulated by layers of skin and fat, remained unperturbed by global catastrophes. Orwell praised Miller’s irresponsible creativity, seemingly endorsing such an approach.
McEwan acknowledges Orwell’s ideas remain relevant but finds Orwell paradoxical: writing outside the whale while extolling its virtues. McEwan asserts that while artists need a politically isolated space, Orwell wrote from more exposed, overtly political spaces.
Key Questions and Answers
- Should art take a political stance? McEwan and Orwell offer differing views. Orwell believed art shouldn’t aim to change the world, while McEwan argues for artistic responsibility within one’s context.
- Is a creator ethically responsible for taking a stand? I argue no; a creator’s primary duty is to create well.
- Can art exist without political implications? McEwan suggests that while artists need isolated creative spaces, they cannot escape political realities entirely.
