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 Owning Art, Owning Culture Panelists: Tyler Cowen, Robert Klitzman, Rubie Watson, and James N. Wood Moderated by Morley Safer The following white paper is drawn from the remarks of the panelists and moderator for this session, along with the questions and responses from members of the audience. This document is intended to reflect the variety of viewpoints offered during the discussion, and to frame broadly the issues discussed; it should not be taken as a formal statement of opinion by the panelists. Even in an age of globalization, Western concepts of "culture" are rooted firmly in Enlightenment ideals. Collectors and museums across the United States, as well as in Europe, have for more than two centuries gathered objects representing the world's cultures and displayed them, as a means of educating audiences (and themselves) about the differences and commonalities among people across the globe. Now, in a world that operates increasingly on the terms of a marketplace, many of these nations are asserting physical and moral ownership over these objects in (sometimes) far-away lands, seeing the objects as markers of their cultural history and demanding their return. In a marketplace, determinations of ownership can sometimes appear to be the beginning and end of all discussions, which raises the question of whether this is equally true in the arts and culture. Can anyone really "own" culture? In Search Of . . . It is easy to get caught up in the legal and political issues surrounding the ownership of culture; this often seems like the natural framework under which to have the discussion, since the conflicts pit claimant against claimant. However, before any discussion unfolds within this framework, it is important to look at what motivates property claims in the first place. One theory is that these claims are the result of the rootlessness that can come with globalization, propelling the search for authenticity and cultural identity. When Levis are available in Lagos as easily as Mandarin cuisine can be had in Manhattan, citizens of the world may benefit—but may also find themselves missing that which is "naturally" theirs. The objects in question, art and archaeological pieces of cultures past, fulfill a spiritual longing and connect us to something beyond ourselves: our history. That these works of art often reside in institutional collections, preserved through the years by the diligent work of "Western" collectors and curators may seem beside the point to the nations and peoples whose history these objects represent. A countervailing viewpoint argues that while this sense of historical-cultural ownership is true—true in the sense that people may feel attached to their history and what it represents—that history itself is not so clear-cut. One benefit of the increasing degree of personal and political freedom around the globe is that many countries and people are allowed to practice their own culture for the first time. Yet geography is not history, and boundaries are constantly shifting, as they have been for centuries. For example, the nation we now call Italy may claim an object that was taken before Italy was unified. The history of the region calls into question whether the object is really Italian—but Italy's claim also points to what many in the museum world have argued for years is the more substantial issue: an object's proper care and preservation, regardless of its origins. Collection and Preservation? That Western museums have been largely successful in preserving art and artifacts from our global past is not much in doubt. One of the most famous examples of all—the Elgin or Parthenon Marbles, housed principally at the British Museum in London—was thought to prove the point that removing an object from its home territory may sometimes be the only solution for saving it. Moreover, the importance of saving these artifacts was also thought to be beyond dispute since (as is the case with the Parthenon) they represent a shared, global heritage. Drawing on these experiences, and the Enlightenment ideals of preserving and presenting the world's cultures for study and exploration, museums and other collecting institutions have typically tried to project a cosmopolitan, "universal" attitude: they are citizens of the world, with the world on view. This universalist view is being questioned and challenged in a variety of ways. For example, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatration Act (NAGPRA) forced American museums holding Native American objects to negotiate with tribes that may lay claim to those objects. In this context, the specific challenge posed by the law is that it allows the tribes to do as they wish with objects returned to them—including bury or destroy them (as some Native American traditions require for grave-related objects). While museums can negotiate with tribes to attempt to save some objects and trade others, the legitimacy conferred on the tribes by NAGPRA is seen by many as an marker in the shifting values within and around the museum world. More and more people are accepting the idea that there are certain objects that are tremendously important to the identity and cultural expression of a group of people, and museums around the world may have to come to terms with this view, even if it means the loss of that which they have previously protected and preserved. Legally, What's Mine is Mine Collectors, whether individuals or institutions, have been vitally important to the discovery and care of objects; yet in spite of the shrinking, globalizing world, there is no global property law and rule for ownership—but perhaps there should be. Trading within a legal framework can be a means to exchange cultural property and a tool to secure and protect it, while more predictability in the law would allow nations (and the collectors and institutions within them) to understand more clearly the terms under which they must operate. Some argue that in claiming a "universal" viewpoint, museums have a responsibility to humankind and therefore should take a global perspective and seek balance in the ownership of cultural artifacts. NAGPRA offers one example of how this could work. Although museums feared the worst, among them those under the Smithsonian Institution umbrella, and the Peabody Museum at Harvard, where 60% of the collection consists of native North America artifacts, the impact of the legislation has largely been positive. It has helped museums to navigate claims within a practical, legal framework while ensuring fair treatment for the tribes with legitimate claims. Of course the fear, as with any new law, is that the imposition of current moral judgments can be arbitrary and short-sighted. To whom should objects be repatriated—and how do we know that this person, organization, or national government truly speaks for the culture or community whose objects are in question? There are parallels to the field of medicine and bioethics, where the ownership of one's DNA (or that of a tribe), or controlling access to native flora, fauna, or natural resources raises similar broad concerns about representation and the nature of ownership. In the museum world, these issues may be mitigated by: recognizing a legitimate need to protect newly-discovered archaeological sites; distinguishing newly-available or discovered objects from those already in museum collections; and incorporating a statute of limitations on competing claims of ownership. These are some solutions that may help museums, nations, and communities address their differences while preserving the world's artistic and cultural past. For citation, please reference: http://berkshireconference.org/content/2004-owning.cfm
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