MANUŠMEANS
HUMAN Averklub
Collective
MANUŠMEANS
HUMAN Averklub
Collective
2/6 ——————————————5/92021
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CelebrationoftheanniversaryoftheGreatOctoberSocialistRevolution,lanternparadeinKomořany,1970s,
courtesyStateRegionalArchivesLitoměřice,photo:unknown
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Organized by a collective
of artists, cultural workers,
and activists, Manuš Means
Human opens up a series of
questions about the relationship
between art and the material
conditions of its production
and presentation, and about the
ways in which the constitutive
narratives and origin stories of
places, peoples, and nations are
written. Through juxtaposing
ethnographic, documentary, and
artistic materials, the exhibition
examines the role of art in creating
cultural myths, the relation
of art objects to remembrance
and the interpretation of history,
and the scope of a decidedly
non-elitist and activist practice
within the privileged space of
the white-cube exhibition hall. It
explores the ways in which we
can talk about marginalization
without slipping into stereotyping
or exoticization, and how we
can fight against oppression on
an everyday level while challenging
ourselves to imagine things
beyond the pragmatic realpolitik
of this particular moment.
Averklub Collective’s practice
starts from recognizing that the
oppression of marginalized and
dispossessed peoples comes
from structural conditions
created by interlacing economic
and social factors over long
periods of time, rather than from
isolated incidents of discrimination.
Manuš Means Human traces
the policies through which the
Czechoslovak Socialist Republic
addressed the structural causes
of the exclusion of the Roma
people, situating these in the
wider historical context of the
twentieth century. But while it
looks to the past, the exhibition
is strongly grounded in the
contemporary moment. Starting
from the context of the Chanov
housing estate in the city of Most
in the Czech Republic, the exhibition
puts the living conditions
under the “totalitarian” regime of
the past and the “liberal” regime
of the present into sharp contrast.
In this way, a different map
of the second half of the twentieth
century emerges—one that
deconstructs the false narratives
perpetuated by major contemporary
media that present capitalist
countries as technologically and
socially advanced, and socialist
countries as oppressive and
joyless places in desperate need
of catching up. The exhibition
explores the successes and shortcomings
of socialist policies
toward Romani integration in
order to inspire us to look once
more at the socialist project,
with clear eyes, as a possible
model of building equality that
goes beyond identity politics.
Economic injustice, stigmatization,
negative stereotyping, and
racism against the Roma has
been present across Europe for
centuries, and the treatment of
the Roma is one of the biggest
blind spots of the contemporary
European project—they continue
to be scapegoated and used
MosaicofapoppyintheHouseofCulture,Chanovhousingestate
76
to divert public attention from
larger social conflicts. During the
“transitional” period in Central
and Eastern Europe, following
the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989,
the violence targeted at the Roma
population increased significantly.
Austria had its own shameful episode
in 1995, when four Romani
men were killed in Oberwart by a
pipe bomb hidden behind a sign
that said, “Go back to India”. In
more recent history, a particularly
harsh example of discrimination
is the division of Europeans into
“bad” and “good” citizens, resulting
in the infamous deportations of
Roma from France and Italy in
2010, and which continues through
increased policing and harassment.
At the same time, despite
official declarations on inclusivity
and numerous humanitarian and
non-governmental programs in
most European countries, the
general socioeconomic position
of the Roma people is downplayed
and turned into a problem
of “cultural” difference, while the
systemic causes behind their extreme
poverty and social exclusion
remain unchanged.
This exhibition is about the
specific histories of the Roma,
but by bringing to light different
episodes from the history of
Romani movements, it touches
upon, in the words of the
Averklub Collective, “the desire
for a dignified life common to all
ordinary folk who are prevented
from participating in decisions regarding
their own fates”. It looks
into ways in which the cultural
imagery of a marginalized people
is created, as a way to ­offer alternatives
to hegemonic narratives
of “minority” and to work against
policies of erasure and the
forgetting of past struggles and
attempts at emancipation.
Cultural and activist work
interconnected with art practice
strongly informs the activities of
the Averklub Collective, and we
are pleased that, through this exhibition,
we can present the group’s
latest research and artworks,
produced in collaboration with
various generations of residents of
the Chanov housing estate. The
aim is to move away from romanticization,
victimization, and
essentialization and to instead
offer new perspectives capable of
mobilizing cross-­ethnic solidarities.
The exhibition at kunsthalle
wien is also an implicit critique
of contemporary trends that disguise
charity, and its patronizing
handing out of what one has in
excess, as solidarity. Manuš Means
Human advocates for a solidarity
that asks for the questioning of
one’s own comforts and privileges,
and consideration of structural
social changes that are necessary
to create just and dignified living
conditions for all members of
society.
What, How & for Whom / WHW
Directors, kunsthalle wien
Mostcitycenter,1980s,fromthearchiveofMariePulková
8
The Averklub Collective is
the outcome of a collaboration
between the Romafuturismo
Library (now the Josef Serinek
Library) and the association
Aver Roma. This collaboration
culminated in the establishment
of the Aver Club Cultural
Center at the Chanov housing
estate in Most, Czech Republic.
The Aver Club Cultural Center
offers a daily cultural and leisure
program in the premises of what
used to be a nursery school,
which is open to all residents
of the housing estate. A social
enterprise is also currently being
set up in order to improve the
social and economic situation of
the local population. Developed
as a self-supporting ­initiative,
this social enterprise has
stepped in to compensate for the
lack of structural solutions.
The Averklub Collective researches
the silenced history of
the Roma and other sociopolitical
questions related to excluded
localities and groups in the
Czech Republic and beyond. Its
members are František Nistor,
Roman Šváb, Radek Šváb,
Nikola Nistorová, Dana Bažová,
Helena Pompová, Zuzana
Cicková, Markéta Pařízková,
Markéta Strnadová, Ladislava
Gažiová, Jakub Jurásek,
Zbyněk Baladrán, and Alexey
Klyuykov.
Manuš Means Human (Manuš
znamená člověk) is the title of a
book by Vincent Danihel, a
Czechoslovak communist politician
of Romani origin. In this
book, which was published in
1986, Danihel analyzes the historical
development of the social
status of the Roma. In using the
same title for the exhibition, we
want to draw attention to what
unites people rather than what
divides them. We want to show
that, over and above the multiplicity
of cultures, genders,
nations, and so on, there exists
another level of belonging that is
accessible to all without exception.
Aware of the individualism
that could result from this, we
place the collective principle of
mutual belonging at the forefront
of our activities. While this
could be regarded as a socialist
principle, we see it as a perspective
directed toward the future
and also as the only possible way
of relating to others within human
society. We do not believe
that this perspective is possible
within a society organized along
capitalist lines. We are also conscious
of the confusing historical
and conceptual associations that
surround the word “socialist”,
but we are prepared to risk being
misunderstood.
The exhibition Manuš Means
Human attempts to show this
“dialectical whole” using the example
of Romani art. Rather than
simply recounting a comforting
story of Romani art, it instead
shows that any such attempt
at cultural or ethnic exoticism
defers and complicates genuine
emancipation and inclusion
within the broad collective of the
European social community. The
exhibition presents artifacts and
documents relating to events
from the past seventy years in
what used to be Czechoslovakia.
It puts together a picture—albeit
a fragmentary one—of why the
inclusion and cultural development
of the Romani population
is impossible without social justice.
The truth is that the Roma
enjoyed greater social justice
when integrated into the former
communist countries, and that
the renewed capitalist order of
the past thirty years has failed
to achieve what was at least
partially accomplished under the
previous regime. We see the former
situation as inspirational for
beginning to consider positive
changes in the future.
AverklubCollective
ManušMeansHuman
11
whw: Manuš Means Human builds on the collaboration between
the artists from the Averklub Collective and activists and organizers
in the Chanov housing estate in Most, Czech Republic.
How did this collaboration come about, and why? How do you
work together? Could you tell us a bit about your collective’s
structure and artistic approach?
AC: The collective arose spontaneously and naturally.
We’ve never had an explicit mission statement. It was
more a kind of functional aid to our joint efforts rather
than a declaration of collectivism as such. We got to
know each other while searching for a new home for the
Romafuturismo Library, which had previously been
based in Prague. The Aver Roma [Other Roma] clubhouse
had already been in existence for some time at Chanov. It
was led by a handful of locals, and the emphasis was on
youth sports activities (e.g., the junior football team). The
club members were involved in other aspects of the life of
the estate too, and Aver Roma seized the opportunity to
open a library. That’s when the collaboration started.
We moved from the small prefab clubhouse to the building
of what used to be the nursery, which had been empty
for a long time. A broader, more versatile collective was
gradually formed, as more and more activities for young
people were dreamt up, which in turn meant we had to find
suitable lecturers and specialists. People got involved for
a while, then left. Someone who was active at the start but
who is not involved today may well return sometime in the
future.
It should be emphasized that all the activities Aver is
involved in revolve around the leisure activities of the
residents of the housing estate. Aver was never—not at the
start and not now—an art project, and inasmuch as an artistic
element appeared in our activities, it was more in the
form of workshops, as a service for the local community.
The collaboration on the exhibition Manuš Means Human
arose gradually from the need to find a means of capturing
how the way of life of the people of Chanov was changing.
Later on, the topic expanded into more general questions
of culture and art and the conditions under which
they arise. At first we met as an informal group of people
The System
Must Change
before
Anything Else
AverklubCollective,Chanovhousingestate,2021
Averklub Collective in conversation
with What, How & for Whom / WHW
13
sharing a similar worldview. Mutual trust grew, and from
that a determination to work together on an exhibition
addressing specific problems. These problems involve
how to demonstrate, describe, and present the history of
oppressed and marginalized groups of people. There is
no system behind the way we work—it’s more an ongoing
awareness of what it is we want to say. Our task is to keep
framing the challenges faced by the Roma as a social
and economic problem, not a cultural or ethnic one. Our
working method could be summarized thus: we don’t want
our starting point to involve an identitarian division of
society, since this leads to the blurring of material problems
through cultural sentimentalism and an orientalist
condescension.
whw: For the exhibition in Vienna, you are producing new video
works, related to the Chanov housing estate, as a prism through
which to examine the successes and pitfalls of housing policies
for the Roma minority in Czechoslovakia under socialism. Can
you tell us a bit about the videos and why you opted for the
interview format?
AC: The interviews are a good example of how we approach
“art”. The older generation of residents expressed
a wish to recount the history of the place. A great deal of
research has been done on the Chanov housing estate, and
in the media, it is a synonym for segregation, poverty, a
ghetto, and so on. It is generally claimed that segregation
was why it was built, and how it has been since the very
start. However, witnesses who remember moving into the
newly built apartments—that is, people who had already
lived there for twenty years prior to the events of 1989, and
another thirty after that—point out that, though much is
written and said of Chanov, no one had ever thought to
ask the residents themselves for their opinion.
And so interviews became the logical format. We reached
out to a variety of people, spanning generations. We spoke
to elders about the past and young people about the way
they live today. It should be pointed out that we plan to
release the interviews in book form, including photos from
the personal archives of the residents. This is why the
videos do not attempt to offer an exhaustive account of
Chanov’s past.
whw: Besides those newly produced works, Manuš Means Human includes
a significant number of works from the Museum of Romani
Culture (Muzeum romské kultury / MRK) in Brno. In previous conversations,
you said you chose works through which a certain political
narrative can be projected. What do you mean by this—that
they create a space for political interpretation and speculation, or
that they are witness to a political moment within Romani history?
AC: One could argue that every work of art or artifact can
be interpreted politically. But that’s not how we want to do
things. The truth is that we do not treat the objects on show
as works of art; that is, we’re not interested in the aesthetic
ambitions and qualities of a particular work. In addition, we
assume that what is now called “Romani art” does not and
has not ever existed. It is a complicated category that could
not come into existence under the historical conditions
of Central Europe. This group of European citizens either
lived a life of complete poverty and destitution that did not
allow for an interest in culture of this type, or, during the
period of “real socialism”, saw no reason to highlight ethnic
identity in the same way as it is being spotlighted in culture
at present.
Romani culture existed and was supported, but only in the
same way as every other folk tradition existed and was
Chanovhousingestate,1985,
fromthearchiveofHelenaNistorová
15
supported. That is to say, the aim was not to support progressive
art as such.
The current trend for art inextricably bound up with identity
is irrelevant in respect of the Roma, because it doesn’t
address the real reason for the nonexistence of Romani art
and artists. These days, people are laying blame at the door
of mainstream institutions, which, the argument runs, overlooked
Romani art for a long time. However, this problem
should not be racialized. The situation is the result of the
social status of poor people—people who do not have the
opportunity, or even the desire, to think about art.
That’s why our approach to the works on show from the
MRK collections involves delving into the conditions under
which they were created. This is the political aspect we
spoke of.
whw: The works from museum collections and historical documents
are organized in the exhibition through an intertwining of
historical and thematic narratives that track the emancipation of
the Roma in the second half of the twentieth century. But there
are also certain works that are “fabricated” by you and “nested”
within the historical narrative under various pseudonyms. What
made you decide on this strategy? Why was there a need for this?
AC: We don’t think that this strategy is in any way crucial to
the exhibition. There are a few “fake” objects, but basically
there is nothing that could not exist in reality. Perhaps it’s
less exciting than it seems at first sight. The vast majority of
those “fake” objects illustrate the socialist period of the 1950s
and 1960s and imitate the relatively run-of-the-mill output of
that time. Sometimes it’s simpler to recreate something than
to track down the original. The way we see it, the presence of
these objects means we can expound on certain topics more
clearly. We see these objects as technical aids that do not
disrupt the canonized history of art. The presence of fictive
works was far more significant in the exhibition The Universe
Is Black, which was shown at the Moravian Gallery in Brno in
2017. You could even say the exhibition in Brno was based on
them. That’s not so in the case of this exhibition.
whw: How does Manuš Means Human relate to and build on The
Universe Is Black, which was curated by Ladislava Gažiová, who is
one of the initiators of the Averklub Collective, and the topic of
Romafuturism, which was explored by this show?
AC: The exhibition The Universe Is Black was created by a
whole group of people. In addition to Ladislava, it involved
the curators Ondřej Chrobák and Natálie Drtinová, and
the exhibition architect was Alexey Klyuykov.
As for the material on display, the two exhibitions share
many features. The Vienna exhibition is a pared-down
version of what was exhibited in Brno—a kind of thematic
focus on a certain part of The Universe Is Black. The two
exhibitions communicate with their audiences by means
of a different narrative. We approached both the Brno
exhibition and the theme known as Romafuturism with
reservation. We see it as a way of thinking that was highly
influenced by a particular trend in art discourse at the time.
The Universe Is Black exhibition was intended to be an analogue
to the classical, national-revivalist exhibition—a show
representing the cultural history of a nation in the spirit of
a Western conception of the museum. It was based on the
concept of Romafuturism, a term we came up with, derived
from the popular Afrofuturist movement. We were promoting
an alternative vision of the history of Romani art, and
what we put on show was basically the opposite of what we
want to say with the Manuš Means Human exhibition. It was
a demonstration of the “great history” of Romani art, which
has its historical continuity and remains active today. Hence
the importance of the fictive works in The Universe Is Black,
which intervened in certain periods in a more dynamic way.
That show offered a completely fictive timeline, in which the
story of art from the end of the nineteenth century to the
present day was told using objects largely from the 1990s.
Nevertheless, the Brno exhibition diverged from the principles
supplied by Afrofuturism in one important respect:
it did not claim that Romani art is “other”. It said that it
is essentially the same as what we know from European
art history; that is, that it is the art of a people who have
shared the same geographical and cultural space as the
majority European population for many centuries.
Manuš Means Human does not have a linear timeline.
It’s constructed on a concentric basis, with the center
1716
occupied by the socialist emancipation project that we
clearly spotlight as the most progressive moment in
European history. This then sets themes flying off to the
outer edges through the distortions dictated by the conditions
prevailing at any given time.
whw: One of the Averklub Collective’s primary activities at
Chanov is running the Josef Serinek Library, which began life
as the Romafuturismo Library in Prague in 2017 and moved to
Chanov in 2019. Could you explain how this library functions?
Why was it established, and why was it important to relocate it
to the Chanov housing estate?
AC: Ladislava had long dreamt of gathering together
Romani literature with links to postcolonial and decolonial
theory. The library was eventually created with the support
of tranzit.cz, a contemporary art network working across
Austria, the Czech Republic, Hungary, the Slovak Republic,
and Romania.
It was originally an attempt to distance ourselves from the
seemingly depoliticized approach of Romani studies, the
practice of which includes a culturalist approach and an
ethnographic interest in the subject under examination.
That’s why our aim was to gather literature written by
Romani people, and not by specialists in Romani studies.
Also, a relatively large number of translations had been
published in socialist Czechoslovakia of African and
African American writers. In other words, we had access to
a sufficiently large corpus of important postcolonial texts
that were barely known in the Eastern bloc (e.g., translations
of Frantz Fanon’s work and the criticism it elicited
at the time). We wanted to bring all this together to create
a collection dedicated to the literature and emancipation
theory of oppressed nations and ethnicities. We named the
library Romafuturismo for the reasons outlined above
(curator Vít Havránek may have come up with the actual
name). As well as housing the collection, the library organizes
discussions, lectures, readings, and so on.
Everything worked as how one might imagine a library to
function within a contemporary art institution: none of
the people for whom the library was primarily intended
ever crossed its threshold. It became a space “spotlighting
“WeSingandDanceinPeace”,Chanovhousingestate,May15,1987,photo:LubošDvořák
19
a problem”, “stimulating debate”—that is, noteworthy in
many respects, but only for the community surrounding
contemporary art. It was an elitist institution, which meant
that, for all the positive feedback it received, it had failed
as a project.
Had we continued within the environment of contemporary
art, it would have been a classic example of the parasitism
of a social problem—and that’s not what we wanted.
There was also the question of finding new premises.
Ladislava had contacts at Chanov, and we met up with
Aver Roma, who welcomed the vision of relocating the
library to the housing estate. What was so great was that
the library finally found its way to the people for whom
it had been created. The residents of the housing estate
participate in its operations. And yet, despite all the events
the library has hosted and the books it has loaned out and
the space it has provided for someone to sit quietly and
read, the main function of the books in the club is really to
create a kind of backdrop. In a certain way, the collection
of Romani literature is the guarantor of the place—the
metaphorical bedrock on which it is based. It’s a collection
that offers local people the feeling that it contains their
history, a history they wrote themselves. It is something
that boosts their self-confidence.
The name also had to change. The concept of
Romafuturism proved completely inexplicable to the
average person. If we had retained the name, no one would
have identified with it. And so the decision was taken to
rename the library after the Czech Romani guerrilla and
communist Josef Serinek, who is greatly admired by the
people of Chanov. It was the right decision.
whw: In your writing and our previous conversations, you have
talked about the challenge of organizing cultural programs for
participants from poor and disadvantaged backgrounds, and of
establishing meaningful contact between culturally elitist programs
and grassroots activism. How do you set about getting out
of what you call the “art-world bubble” in your work with Roma
communities?
AC: The first step involved relocating the library to Chanov
and cutting ourselves off completely from institutional art
ConcertbyJanBendig,Chanovhousingestate,2020Workshop,Chanovhousingestate,2020
21
operations. The library was never an artistic project, but
could have been perceived as one if only by virtue of the
fact that it was created in collaboration with tranzit.cz.
And so we are definitively no longer part of the art-world
bubble. We work alongside the people of Chanov for the
people of Chanov.
However, we once more find ourselves in that bubble
thanks to Manuš Means Human. On the other hand, you
could argue that this represents a step in the opposite
direction. That is, this exhibition isn’t an attempt to introduce
contemporary art to people who are not interested
in it. Instead, there is a particular theme that we address as
part of the Aver group, and we are taking the opportunity
to talk about it through the format of an exhibition intended
for the audience of an art institution.
whw: Who do you envision the audience for Manuš Means Human
to be?
AC: We are realists. This is an exhibition for the average
visitor to the kunsthalle wien: in the vast majority of cases
that means an educated, liberally inclined, middle-class
audience. We are not in a position to wish for anything more.
The institution of contemporary art has its limits, and these
are not related to barrier-free access or the price of a ticket.
whw: Despite the fact that most Roma are settled and live
in houses, their “nomadism” remains a negative and widely
exploited stereotype. And yet, given its legacy of divergence
from the majority narrative—which mystifies the “connection
between people and their country”, and in which “country” is
more often than not a proxy for territory caught up in various
violent national conflicts—nomadism also holds out the promise
of transnationality. An implicit critique of nationhood and
the nation-state is therefore present in discussions of Romani
identity and its role in imagining the future of Europe. How
important is this question of transnationality, as opposed to the
nation-state, for Manuš Means Human?
AC: You’re right: the idea of the Roma as nomads is still
alive and kicking, and as a stereotype it is often used to
stress their differences and to exclude them from the national
histories of individual European states. It’s as though
people still think the Roma belong “elsewhere”, even
though they were already settled in Europe in the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries. There is probably no analogous
situation to that of the Roma. It’s very complicated
and unique (in the negative sense of the word). From the
very start, the Roma in Europe represented an undesirable
element, often occupying the position of slaves. Nomadism
was a necessity—not a question of tradition. The nationality
they have acquired through history was due to a kind of
benevolence on the part of one or another state: a decision
that the Roma would be tolerated on its territory. The
situation of the Roma today is not that different from the
situation in the first half of the twentieth century; take, for
instance, the situation in Germany, where the people who
have been living in the country for many generations are
still victims of violent attacks and discrimination. And in
this context, we’re talking of families linked with the history
of the Romani Holocaust. For the Roma who arrived in
Germany as asylum-seekers in the 1990s from the former
Yugoslavia, Romania, and Bulgaria, returning to the country
they had left was fraught with danger. Nevertheless,
they were often resettled. The Roma whom the Germans
allowed to remain were given the status of Geduldete, or
“tolerated” people, which in practice means they have no
right to state support. They live in a state of permanent
precarity and fear of deportation.
However, this story of nomadism can be interpreted in
a positive way. In fact, your very question hints at the possibility
of a positive interpretation.
For instance, in left-wing circles, the claim is often made that
nomadism is synonymous with freedom, with independence
from the material conditions of life in today’s late-­capitalist
society. Unfortunately, this leads to an orientalized relationship
to the Roma, who are viewed by the majority society as
“passive agents”—as the eternal victims of various political
regimes that have oppressed and subjugated them for centuries.
This image of the martyrdom of the Roma bestows
upon them an element of purity and immaculacy that in turn
reinforces the idea of an eternally unsatiated and unbreakable
desire for Roma freedom (understood as nomadism).
And yet, as modern research shows, since as far back as
the nineteenth century, Roma elites have been promoting
23
ThekindergartenattheChanovhousingestate,1981,fromthearchiveofHelenaNistorová
the need to move to sedentism as the only possible path to
positive change.
It seems to us that the naive liberal idea of a seductive (and
yet safely distant) nomadism—despite its positive attitude
to “otherness”—has the effect of maintaining this otherness.
It leaves everything in its place. Poverty continues to thrive
in ghettos and slums, and this “lifestyle” only receives the
thumbs-up from people in the role of sympathizers. This
perspective then leads to those qualities related to a life of
poverty being associated with a certain ethnicity or culture.
Material poverty becomes a culture that its sufferers then
retrospectively identify with.
We are not entirely convinced as to the parallels with
transnationalism. We take transnationality to be a
natural part of postmodern society. It’s a kind of fracturing
element that cannot be avoided, and it cannot
therefore be said that it is in itself positive. If we took
transnationalism to be wholly positive, we would find
ourselves inhabiting a dangerous dualism, whereby we
simply assume the nation-state to be a negative, violent
force, in contrast to viewing the scattered multiplicity of
transnational subjects as something positive. These two
processes run simultaneously, and one supports the other.
Moreover, the very concept of a transnational identity
implies an allegiance with at least two nations. If we cling
to the notion that the Roma still belong to some originary
homeland, then all the peoples of all the nations of
Europe—all the outcome of past migrations—would also
possess some mythical “homeland”. From today’s point of
view, this would simply be nonsensical.
whw: There is an effort in your work to break away from an
essentialist way of thinking about Romani cultural emancipation,
while also not denying the existence of ethnicity or
certain established customs. How do we talk about the ways
in which the Roma can influence their image and counteract
negative stereotypes and racism without resorting to identity
politics?
AC: We don’t see a contradiction, for the simple reason that
we don’t believe that a rejection of identity politics inevitably
means a rejection of culture. The opposite is true.
25
No matter how hard we try, splintered identities cannot be
emancipated in capitalist society. The Romani people cannot
liberate themselves and transform their status as long
as the political and economic framework remains the same.
We need to think within a broader societal framework and
seek commonalities across societies, rather than struggling
to assert our own uniqueness. What we see today is a
misunderstanding of Marxism: that the politics of the past
(which stood for Marxism) repudiated all forms of cultural
difference. This was not the case. Cultural authenticity was
desired, but there existed another social level that was to
connect people across all possible cultures and identities.
What is important is to pinpoint that universal narrative
today. For instance, if you ask Roma living in the Czech
Republic how they identify, they will reply that they are
primarily Czech and also Romani, and they will be equally
proud of both identities.
Whether or not there exists a proletariat or similarly defined
group of workers as a common denominator remains
a moot point. The belief that there is no such thing as society—that
there is no longer anything that brings people
together—may simply be a form of wish fulfillment. After
all, we all know that the highest class still possesses its own
class consciousness, and guards it jealously. Furthermore,
we believe that the culture of identity politics is horribly reductive.
The individual is slotted into their chosen identity,
which is accorded a certain credit. And yet each of us has
a multiplicity of identities, and there is no reason to resort
to just one of them. We are in favor of a far more pluralistic
approach than current identitarian emancipation offers.
whw: Is there a way to focus on Romani art without falling into a
colonialist way of thinking of the “other” as comprising a constantly
different cultural code that cannot be shared universally?
AC: Since “Romani art” is a relatively recent construct, we
have to realize that, inasmuch as such art is being created
today, it is usually the product of the given construct. That
is to say, it is art that, from the outset, wants to be “other”,
for the simple reason that it benefits from this “otherness”.
The current discourse forces the few Romani artists working
in the Western art world to focus on how, as Roma, they
embody “diversity”, which then becomes a self-perpetuating
process and forms the substance of an artwork. This is an
easy way to achieve success, and if things continue down this
path, then we shall be condemned to be forever regarded
as the “other”. However, if there is to be change, it must be
systemic, and it must involve more than a mere re-evaluation
of how we think about our own identity.
whw: In Manuš Means Human, the juxtaposition of old works
referring to emancipation during the socialist times with contemporary
works alludes to the changes in the social status of Roma
in Slovakia and the Czech Republic since the Velvet Revolution of
1989. Can you say a bit about the status of the Romani minority
in Czechoslovakia during the socialist period, as well as how it
changed after 1989?
AC: The vision and demands of Romani activists from
Greece, Serbia, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Romania,
Poland, and so on were first realized in the USSR. According
to the well-known historians Elena Marušiaková and
Veselin Popov, Joseph Stalin listened carefully to Romani
activists and implemented many projects on the basis of
their suggestions.
In the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic, Romani nationality
was not recognized. The main argument was that the Roma
spoke many different dialects and were divided into groups
among which antagonism reigned. Politburo documents
describe the dangers of exclusion based on this self-determination.
The Soviet model of Romani emancipatory
politics was described as unfeasible within the context of
Czechoslovakia.
In an interview, the lawyer and activist Gustáv Karika recalls
Anton Facuna, now a well-known Romani partisan, who from
1957 sought to establish the Union of Gypsies-Roma (Svaz
Cikánů-Romů / SCR) in Slovakia. After many requests to the
Central Committee of the Communist Party, the union was
eventually registered, but was not provided with any facili­ties
or support. In fact, it did not become active until the start of
1969, under the directive of the USSR, following the arrival of
Warsaw Pact troops in Czechoslovakia. However, whatever its
faults, it’s still the case that Czechoslovakia created the conditions
necessary for the Roma to lead a dignified life.
2726
TheŽehrasettlement,Slovakia,2021,photo:AverklubCollectiveAverklubCollective,SocialMurder(videostill),2021,
courtesytheartists
After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, the situation in
many countries of the Eastern bloc, including the former
Czechoslovakia, was dismal. Most of the Roma (and the
non-Roma, for that matter) were stripped of the basic
needs required to live a dignified life, stripped of decent
housing and work. Under these conditions, it is easy to run
a system of segregated education and excluded localities.
The educational level of the poor constantly declines, and
the result is a vicious circle from which it becomes more
and more difficult for a person to extricate themselves
from that situation.
whw: Can you talk a bit about the title of the exhibition—Manuš
Means Human—and the way it draws attention to the wealth of
Romani dialects? It seems it may be intended to highlight the
complex political choice made when “Roma” was accepted as
the collective name for a variety of diverse groups during the
First World Romani Congress, which was organized in 1971 in
Orpington, near London.
AC: Manuš is the Sanskrit word for “human being”. It’s
a word known by every Rom, Sinti, Olach, Manouche,
Romanichal, Kale, Ashkali, Balkan Egyptian, and so on.
Absolutely everyone knows what the word manuš means.
In the exhibition title, the word refers to a more universal
thinking and represents the bond between all people of
very disparate historical, linguistic, and cultural groups.
Manuš Means Human is also the title of a book by Vincent
Danihel, a Romani Czechoslovak politician, which
includes a detailed description and critique of the governmental
measures taken to improve the lives of the Roma in
socialist Czechoslovakia.
The 1971 World Romani Congress is one of the most famous
events in the history of the Roma. The common origin
of the Roma, the design of the Romani flag, the anthem,
and the ethnic name of “Roma” were all agreed upon at the
congress. The wheel in the center of the flag, in addition to
being a symbol of nomadism, refers to India, the geographical
origin of the Roma. It is often said that representatives
from fourteen countries met at this congress. However, the
academic literature includes documents that confirm the
2928
presence of only eight representatives. These were from
Western Europe, with the exception of Yugoslavia and
Czechoslovakia. The event was and is most definitely important.
However, it should be observed that some Roma
do not share the historical interpretation of an Indian origin
and are reluctant to claim allegiance with the nomadic
lifestyle, and that many countries—including some with
large Romani populations such as Russia, Hungary, and
Romania—were not represented at the congress.
whw: In our conversations, you have referred on several occasions
to your desire to go back to a universalism based on the
model of socialist emancipation. What potential for the future
do you see in this universalist model? How does one reintroduce
universality into the art discourse as a socialist principle? How
do we speak about universality when there is oppression?
AC: Socialist universality is important, because it represents
a genuinely open model of emancipation accessible to
anyone. It is inclusive and excludes no one. When voiced
by artists, considerations regarding the potential of some
emancipatory model or other can sound naive. However, as
today’s reality shows, certain liberation movements based
on diversity can easily be taken in by the system. They are
no longer a threat, but, on the contrary, serve to reinvigorate
and consolidate the system. Socialist universality offers
a broader, completely different framework. It is based on
the idea that the system must change before anything else.
Yes, these days, it seems almost unimaginable. But we can’t
simply resign ourselves to things never being different. And
we have to fight against oppression. Or at least try to.
ENTRANCE
EXIT
He Who Does
Not Work
Shall Not Eat!
The Gallows Drop
and the Firm Ground
of a Home
Did Someone Say
Something about the
Emancipation of the Roma?
Stalin My Brother:
Soviet Literature The History of Art,
without History
and without Art
Lenin Was
Not a Rom
The History of Art,
without History
and without Art
30
Fragment of a preparation document for the Chanov housing estate, courtesy Archives
of the Building Authority, Most City Hall, photo: Averklub Collective
3332
He Who Does
Not Work
Shall Not Eat!
The pictures and artifacts in this part of the exhibition focus
on the depiction of labor over the past fifty years. They
illustrate the transformations in the interpretation of what
labor means and reflect how the perception of labor has
impacted a poor and very often closed community.
The slogan He who does not work shall not eat has become
an unchallenged truism. It’s a phrase that has the potential
to create consensus but is also used as a tool of ostracism.
Since the Middle Ages, it has been used as part of
a moral injunction against slothful behavior and to label
as sinners those who do not lead a virtuous Christian
life. Its origin can be traced back to the Second Epistle to
the Thessalonians, the author of which is presumed to be
St. Paul or a later imitator.
Though it may surprise some, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin also
drew on these words of St. Paul. He cited them in a letter,
this one to the workers of Petrograd, during the Russian
Civil War of 1918. Lenin’s letter, entitled “On the Famine”,
urges the politically conscious to persuade the less aware
to join the revolution. In the midst of civil war, it was a challenge
to take sides in an as yet undecided dispute. Lenin
explains the need to halt and destroy private food speculators,
to unite the masses of the poor by establishing an iron
rule, and to help redistribute food and other necessary
resources to all who needed them. He writes that He who
does not work shall not eat is the main principle of socialism.
He continues: “In this simple, elementary and perfectly
obvious truth lies the basis of socialism, the indefeasible
source of its strength, the indestructible pledge of its final
victory. Everyone who has experienced poverty will agree
with this, everyone who has earned a living from their own
labor”. Which, at that time, meant nine-tenths of the laborers
and peasants and all workers.
This was Lenin’s opinion on the question of hunger.
In a similar way to how St. Paul’s slogan has become embedded
in social life, the ethos of An honest day’s work for an
honest day’s pay has become the emblem of modernity. The
way it’s interpreted depends on the interpreter. In the binary
world of the Cold War, labor in the communist countries
under state capitalism took on cult-like qualities, while in
OndřejRoubal,PortraitofMetallurgistJanOláh,1970,courtesytheartist
3534
the capitalist countries, with their promotion of private
property, labor became an aspect of market logic. It was
conceived either as communal work on which everyone
was to cooperate or as simply a logical operation offering
individual pleasures and rewards.
The doctrine of the former Czechoslovak Socialist
Republic was to take care of all citizens and to integrate
them into the body of the socialist state along with certain
stereotypically marginalized groups within the population.
In the spirit of the slogan He who does not work shall not eat,
work became compulsory. Anyone who did not participate
in the creation of common goods was deemed a parasite.
The legal norm derived from this obligatory employment
was primarily intended to function as a tool for dealing
with the idle rich and unproductive speculators.
The post-communist neoliberalism of the 1990s built upon
this ethos of fighting parasitism and reunited it with a
negative image of socialism as a type of regime that allows
people to profit who do not deserve it. However, in reality,
it is the poor who end up paying. According to the rhetoric
prevalent in the public discourse, the poor want socialism
so that they don’t have to work.
These days, after thirty years of the systematic dismantling
of the welfare state, the slogan He who does not work
shall not eat has become the expression of a vulgar social
Darwinism. In public space, letters championing collectivity
have been replaced by billboards and television clips in
which right-wing conservatives and fascist politicians use
this slogan as part of a campaign to divide society.
Youngshockworker,PrešovandKošicedistrict,Czechoslovakia,1950s,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
Handmadepickaxe,Medzev,Slovakia,midtolate20th
century,courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
3736
Youngbuilder,Czechoslovakia,1950s,courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno,
photo:LadislavPříborský
JuliusLakatoš,Crown,2003,courtesyMuseumofRomani
Culture,Brno
JanBartoš,Diggers,1999,courtesyMuseumofRomani
Culture,Brno
39
The entire history of the Roma has been marked by
oppression, persecution, and the contempt of the rest of
society.
Most Roma permitted to settle by various European aristocracies
lived on the edges of villages or forests to ensure
a supply of basic provisions and the materials needed to
build their homes. Initially, these homes took the form of
tents, shacks, burdeis (a type of pit house), and dugouts.
They were often built on a slope and had openings at the
front, which were covered with tarpaulins and later with
doors. The other residents of these areas did not welcome
the Roma, but merely suffered their presence.
After the creation of the Czechoslovak Republic in 1918,
nothing changed for Roma living in the Czech lands or
in Slovakia. In 1927, the government passed the “Act on
Nomadic Gypsies and People Living the Gypsy Lifestyle”,
which served to completely eliminate the Roma’s presence
in society.
Andrej Hlinka’s regime in Slovakia from 1936 onward
and the 1939 occupation of Czechoslovakia by Germany
intensified the suffering of the Roma. They were gathered
together in special detention facilities, transported to
concentration camps, and exterminated en masse as an
“unclean and inferior” race. During this period, Romani
settlements and dwellings were razed to the ground, and
many Roma were forced to hide for extended periods in
the forests, while many others lost their lives. The settlements
created in the forests in the mid-twentieth century
exist still to this day, mainly in Eastern Slovakia. In the
Czech lands, the situation was even more tragic. The Roma
were subject to genocide, with fewer than 600 surviving
World War II.
After the founding of the new socialist state in 1948, the
Roma became equal citizens in Czechoslovakia and
throughout the Eastern bloc. Many entered the labor
market, especially in the construction and agricultural
industries.
Slovaks were invited to settle in Czech lands to make up
for a shortfall in manpower, and many Roma were among
The Gallows
Drop and the
Firm Ground
of a Home
AverklubCollective,SocialMurder(videostill),2021,
courtesytheartists
4140
AladárKurej,RomaniSettlementofPodskalkanear
Humenné,1993,courtesyMuseumofRomani
Culture,Brno
JuliusLakatoš,AbandonedHouse(WhentheSettlementCame
toanEnd),1998,courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,
Brno
JuliusLakatoš,Pero(RomaniSettlementnearSelice),2004,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
Romanomagazinos(YouTubestill),Slovakia,2011,
courtesytheartists
42
the people who made this move. In the region of Ústí nad
Labem, to which our work My Home in the Chanov Housing
Estate (2021) refers, Roma became an important labor
source—one that this district and the companies operating
in it did not want to lose.
The city of Most is the second largest municipality (after
the eponymous capital) in the region of Ústí nad Labem. It
was founded in the thirteenth century as a royal town due
to its economic potential and strategic location in northwest
Bohemia. Since the Middle Ages, various minerals
have been mined in the vicinity of Most. Over the last two
centuries, the most important activity has been the surface
mining of brown coal, which is even found beneath the
city itself. Mining intensified significantly in the latter half
of the nineteenth century thanks to new technologies and
the irrepressible development of capitalism. The source
of coal beneath the city, of which people have been aware
for centuries, was an ongoing topic of contention from the
beginning of industrial mining in the nineteenth century
until 1964, when it was finally decided to extract the coal
pillar from beneath Most. This entailed demolishing nearly
the entire city. As compensation for the liquidation of the
old city, the utopian dream (later largely realized) was the
construction of a new city of the future—a city of social
justice and a “city of roses”, as it was then called.
The Chanov housing estate was built in this new city of
Most in the 1970s, and most of its first residents were
Roma. The housing estate was intended to offer modern,
quality accommodation corresponding to the standards of
housing construction at that time. The twelve apartment
blocks host 328 flats, most of them spacious and containing
three or four rooms. The construction of Chanov
exceeded the usual technical and economic specifications
for such projects in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic,
but nevertheless it received approval, being considered a
necessary project in light of the community’s requirements,
including the fact that Romani families tend to be larger.
The grounds of the estate also included a kindergarten
with a nursery, a primary school with an after-school club
and canteen, a cultural center with a cinema, a shopping
center (including a restaurant, hairdresser, and general
store), a health center, and all the other accoutrements of
AverklubCollective,SocialMurder(videostills),2021,courtesytheartists
4544
TheChanovhousingestate,1980s,fromthearchiveofHelenaNistorová
the good life (playground, sandpit, sports ground, etc.), as
well as public transportation running every five minutes.
The standard of living of most Roma rose considerably
across the republic. However, the socialist government
remained dissatisfied with the fact that the Roma’s standard
of living still remained lower than that of the rest of
the population. Concrete measures to improve it often
encountered internal party criticism for their ineffectiveness,
and the strategy was changed over time to achieve
better outcomes. From today’s perspective, the communist
government’s attention to the issue is, quite simply, unique.
These days, Most has a reputation for being a city where no
one wants to live, a city overwhelmed by social problems.
After thirty years of neoliberal reforms, the closure of factories,
rising unemployment, and the dismantling of the welfare
state, the postwar housing estates of Ústí nad Labem,
as in many other regions remote from the prosperous
centers, find themselves on the periphery of governmental
interest and alone with their problems. After 1989 (i.e., the
Velvet Revolution), the Chanov housing estate became the
largest and highest-profile ghetto in the Czech Republic.
The city, following a sad historical trajectory lasting fifty
years, has transformed from an example of how social
justice can be successfully implemented into a synonym for
a socially and racially excluded district without a future.
AverklubCollective,MyHomeintheChanovHousingEstate(videostills),2021,courtesytheartists
HelenaNistorová
FrantišekNistorZuzanaFerencová,MariePulková(middle)
HelenaBystrá,
MartinCina(middleleft),
HelenaGrunzová(middleright)
49
Stalin
My Brother:
Soviet
Literature
In its early stages, the Bolshevik party’s policy in the
Soviet Union on the question of nationality was a unique
proposition, even in a global context. The powerful claim
of the revolutionary year of 1917—the right of all nations
to self-determination—helped to draw the general public
to the side of revolution. However, as a tool to create
a model for the organization of a large multinational
country, self-determination was insufficient. Bolshevik
policy was satisfied neither with the idea of assimilation
nor with the extraterritorial existence of ethnic groups.
The party’s guiding principle thus became the creation
of individual nations with their own territory within the
larger union.
More than 40 national territorial units were created, but
not all groups were satisfied that their requirements had
been met. One problem was the huge number of small
ethnic minorities within such a large expanse of land. The
Bolsheviks saw a solution through applying the national
territorial policy to even the smallest governmental entities:
national districts, municipal councils, and collective
farms or kolkhozes.
One remarkable aspect of this plan was the status of the
Russian ethnic majority: it was too sizable to be ignored
yet too dangerously large to be given its own national
territory. This is why Russians did not receive their own
independent republic or other ethnic privileges (including
the right to have their own communist party).
In 1923, at the 12th Congress of the Russian Communist
Party, the future direction of the party’s support for
nations was set forth by grouping concerns into four
vectors: territory, language, elites, culture. This approach
was called korenizatsiya (from koren’, the Russian word for
“root”), meaning “indigenization” or “nativization”. In 1926,
the Central Committee released a statement about the
assistance that was to be provided to those Roma wishing
to transition to a settled way of life. That same year, the
Roma Union was formed, the purpose of which was to
unite the Roma and protect their interests, to increase the
literacy of the Romani population, to organize libraries,
clubs, production cooperatives, and communes, and to
combat the continuing negatively perceived remnants of
TheaterperformanceofTheYearof1905byIvanRom-Lebedev,Romen
Theatre,Moscow,1930s*
5150
the past, such as charlatanism and nomadism. This is also
how the Roma kolkhozes were founded.
A written form of Russian Romani was also created during
this period. Between 1928 and 1938, an unprecedented number
of books were published in Romani: around 250 titles
covering everything from translations of classical literature
and poetry, through political literature and current party
speeches, to children’s literature, school textbooks, and
practical manuals on housekeeping, farming, and personal
hygiene. A newly created, authentically Romani literature
was an important aspect of all this activity. Its main
authors were Alexandr Germano and Ivan Rom-Lebedev,
who published their first works in the almanac Romany
Zorya [Romani Dawn].
In 1931, the Romani theater Romen was founded in
Moscow, where it survives to this day.
From 1932, the government gradually began to slow down
the policy of korenizatsiya (indigenization) and in 1938
brought it to an end. At that time, new vectors of Stalinist
policy that aimed at the “soft Russification” of the population
prevailed. There were many reasons for the party’s
turn, from fears of the intensified nationalization of certain
groups to practical problems such as the lack of schoolteachers
able to speak specific languages and the inability
of large numbers of students to continue their university
studies without a knowledge of Russian. Nevertheless,
despite the overall failure of the korenizatsiya project, some
positive outcomes were achieved. It managed to educate
a generation of hitherto nonexistent national elites, who
adopted the Soviet party’s internationalist slogan “socialist
in content, national in form” as their own.
ExamplesofbooksinRomanipublishedintheUSSR,late1920s–early1930s**
Frontandbackcoverofthebook:NinaDudarovaandNikolayPankov,Amaributy:bukvaryovashpervobershsyklyaibe[OurWork:APrimerfortheFirst
Grade],Gosudarstvennoyeuchebno-pedagogicheskoyeizdatelstvo[StateEducationalandPedagogicalPublishingHouse],Moscow,1932
55
The History
of Art,
without
History and
without Art
When looking at idols made of concrete blocks, it might
occur to the experienced art historian that cultural expressions
bloom everywhere, under any conditions. If our
imagined historian is well informed by a standard education,
she does not hesitate to enthusiastically include such
manifestations of animism alongside the sculptures of the
early Middle Ages, or perhaps she might identify them as
the crude contemporary creations of an obscure part of
Central Europe. If the art historian works mainly out of
Western universities, she no doubt sees in these artifacts
a unique manifestation of a distinctive culture that has
managed to maintain itself, despite being disciplined by
modern social establishments, and that has proven its
ongoing dignity against all the odds. Such creations should
then occupy a place of honor among other monumental artifacts
of European civilizations, such as Raphael’s Sistine
Madonna (1512) and Guernica (1937) by Pablo Picasso.
A different art lover might instead follow the development
of form or the evolution of shape in these artifacts. He sees
the brick, and the individual phases of its transformation,
as an archetypal object. He considers its gradual transition
from simple to more complex shapes, all the way to its
ability to embody abstract ideas. This art lover recognizes
the gradual transformation and work of the imagination in
the figural representation and self-awareness of the creators.
He is delighted by the first, hesitant attempts at realist
depiction, suggesting a classical period, which is eventually
broken by an emancipated modernist expression that rejects
dependence on any model. Finally he studies the late
phase of the artifact, in which popular culture plays its part
as a manifestation of late capitalism.
Or yet another cultural critic might deploy a perspective
inspired by cultural sequences, in which incommensurable
groups of artifacts and their development can be considered
general manifestations of social and economic pressures.
Art is here understood in the form of an absence: the
knowledge that what is missing is its own negative manifestation
of oppression, and is therefore straightforwardly
defined. That is to say, there exists no Romani history of art,
because there probably exists no Romani art as such. One
might sum up the situation in this way: Romani art has not
yet been invented, and its projection into the past has not
Unfiredhandmadebrick,1990s,KrásnohorskéPodhradie,Slovakia,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
57
yet illuminated the white spaces on the map of the generalizing
construct called “art history”.
So, what do we see in this exhibition? Firstly, what we want
to see.
It is impossible to see fully the repercussions of permanent
poverty, or the struggle for human dignity within the
context of permanent exclusion. We see objects, artifacts,
and pictorial metaphors classifiable by period taken out of
context. We have not yet gathered a sufficient number of
documents to prove the thesis that the items on display in
the exhibition are not the products of a cultural phenomenon
but rather the results of a long-standing injustice. In
the items on show in this exhibition—perhaps somewhere
between the carpet hung on the living room wall next to
the television and the carved figurines of exercisers and
workers—it is possible to make out reflections of the desire
for a dignified life common to all ordinary folk who are
prevented from participating in decisions regarding their
own fates.
What we don’t really want to see is a culture of exclusion.
This exclusion is hidden and is the subliminal driving force
of today’s divided and unequal world. The class- and castebased
divisions of society exist despite the fact that they
do not seem to be part of our everyday experience, and do
not fit into a consistent common image of people’s shared
proximity to one another.
Unfiredhandmadebricks,1990s,KrásnohorskéPodhradie,Slovakia,courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
59
Did Someone
SaySomething
about the
Emancipation
of the Roma?
On December 10, 1948, the General Assembly of the United
Nations (un) adopted its Universal Declaration of Human
Rights. One of its basic articles goes: “All human beings
are born free and equal in dignity and rights”. This idea
reconfigures a line from the Declaration of the Rights
of Man and of the Citizen, resulting from the French
Revolution of 1789. Despite the limitations associated
with that period, this notion played a revolutionary role
in shaping society—something that cannot be said of the
UN’s article. The revolutionary contingent of the working
class and its representatives in advanced capitalist countries
had already formulated their programs and demands
long before the UN did, and these programs qualitatively
exceeded the UN’s declaration. We know of the attempt at
and partial realization of revolutionary demands from the
history of certain countries of the former Eastern bloc.
However, the demands of the working class were not
always correctly understood, or have been and still are vulgarized.
Some envisioned socialism as an “empire of equality”,
and after discovering signs of inequality, concluded
that socialism was simply not possible. Others proceeded
from the opposite direction, learning about socialism and
its history and deciding that it forced people into a single
mold—something that is at odds with human nature.
Neither standpoint has anything to do with the essence
of socialism, even though the first example—an “empire of
equality”—appears to be based on it. The amalgamation of
egalitarianism and Marxism is a misunderstanding caused
by theoretical ambiguities. The goal of socialist societies
was not, in fact, universal equality—as the mere negation of
social inequality. Socialism starts with inequality and insists
that everyone, without exception, should have an equal opportunity
to develop their personal abilities and potential
to the full. It is not simply a legal framework to equalize
all people in the eyes of the law; rather, socialism involves
actively creating the conditions necessary for the development
of the individual, and thus for their liberation.
These days, the word “emancipation” has become so popularized
through frequent use that it evokes a strange feeling
of emptiness in us. Most of today’s Romani initiatives and
movements want to emancipate the Romani population.
UnionmembersfromafolkloreensembleduringMayDaycelebrations
inBrno,1969–1973,courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno,
photo:AndrejPešta
6160
RozanaKuburovič,RomaniFlag,1971,courtesyVítHavránekYugoslavianRomaniflagmockup,1971
Some realize—though many do not—that without changes
at the level of the social and economic base, the emancipation
of humankind is impossible. It is understandable that
small initiatives do not have enough power and influence
to carry out changes of this magnitude, and yet it is of the
utmost importance to keep this point in mind at all times.
For this reason, the Manuš Means Human exhibition
commemorates an organization that emerged under the
conditions of socialist Czechoslovakia: the Union of
Gypsies-Roma (Svaz Cikánů Romů / SCR). This union
was founded in August 1969 thanks to the efforts of the
Romani intelligentsia. Many voices had been calling for
the establishment of a similar organization since the 1950s.
The best known of these voices was that of Anton Facuna,
the Romani partisan and later chairman of the Slovak
branch of the SCR, in a letter dated 1957 and addressed to
the Central Committee of the Communist Party. The main
aim of the SCR was to increase the participation of Roma
in social life and to improve their living conditions. Already
during the planning phase of the SCR, its future members
were discussing the possibility of creating an economic
arm of the union that would support joint work activities in
Roma collectives, thus leading to higher levels of employment
among the Roma. And so, in 1970, the Névodrom
production cooperative was created as a way to finance
the union’s activities. The SCR’s cultural and political
mouthpiece was the magazine Románo ľil, published for the
duration of the union’s existence and the first important
platform for the dissemination of Romani literary texts in
the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic. Though the Union of
Gypsies-Roma was dissolved by state authorities in 1973,
just four years after its founding, it represented an important
stage in the history of the Roma in Czechoslovakia.
Around the same time, another important initiative was
emerging that would offer a fundamental definition of
Roma identity from the perspective of the western Roma
intelligentsia: the World Romani Congress. In a sense,
it represented the antithesis of the activities of Roma associations
and organizations operating within the framework
of socialist states. In 1971, the First World Romani
Congress was held in Orpington, near London. It was
attended by delegates from eight countries and observers
6362
RomaniDays,Bratislava,1972,courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,
Brno,photo:AndrejPešta
Romanifootballplayers,1969–1973,courtesyMuseumof
RomaniCulture,Brno,photo:AndrejPešta
TomášHolomek(atright),1969–1973,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
RomaPeople,WeGotoElectionsUnited!,informationbrochure
oftheUnionofGypsies-Roma,1971,courtesyMuseumof
RomaniCulture,Brno
64
from other countries. At this meeting, five committees
were set up to deal with social issues, education, language,
culture, and the investigation of war crimes. However, the
mission of the congress—and the way its history is interpreted
today—was the quest for emancipation, with a
focus on culture.
At the congress, the majority of participants approved the
use of the designation “Roma”—which is the Romani term
for “own people”—as opposed to the less flattering “Gypsy”,
which most European populations had been calling the
Roma since the Middle Ages. The song “Gelem, Gelem”
was declared the Romani anthem.
A pivotal moment—one that highlighted the divergent
views on unification—was the dispute over the design of
the new Romani flag. The Yugoslav delegation proposed a
flag in the form of a blue-green field with a red five-point
star in the center. In the end, the winner was a flag that,
instead of a star, features a red chakra wheel with sixteen
rays, referencing the Indian ancestry of the Roma ethnicity
and symbolizing nomadism.
TheFirstWorldRomaniCongress,1971,Orpington,courtesyMuseum
ofRomaniCulture,Brno,photo:AndrejPešta
MembersoftheUnionofGypsies-Roma,1969–1973,courtesyMuseumof
RomaniCulture,Brno
6766
ConstituentcongressoftheUnionofGypsies-Roma,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
(fromleft:Unknown,TomášHolomek,AntonínDaniel,
MiroslavHolomek,ZigmundVágai),August1969
ConstituentcongressoftheUnionofGypsies-Roma,August1969,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno
Romanifootballplayers,1969–1973,
courtesyMuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno,
photo:AndrejPešta
UnionofGypsies-RomaatMayDaycelebrationsinBrno,1970,courtesy
MuseumofRomaniCulture,Brno,photo:AndrejPešta
6968
Lenin
Was Not
a Rom
“It was a somewhat unsightly hut made of branches covered with
hay. There was a log on which he sat. Next to the hut a cauldron
hung on stakes in which something was cooking. There were
mosquitoes biting you, especially at night. One could not escape
them. But one simply had to come to terms with them.”
This is a description of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin’s temporary
quarters given by his aide, Nikolai Alexandrovich
Yemelyanov, a worker at the Sestroretsk arms factory. The
archetypal dwellings of nomads could be described in
the same way. However, it is clear that—leaving aside the
charming image of rustic huts—the only thing connecting
Lenin with the nomadic Roma is their shared knowledge
of the state of exile. After the Provisional Government in
Petrograd issued a warrant for his arrest, Lenin spent the
summer of 1917 hiding on the shores of Lake Razliv, disguised
as a Finnish peasant. In October of the same year,
he returned to Petrograd, where a momentous turning
point in social history was to take place.
Lenin’s exile lasted one summer. The exile of the Roma was
a state of “normality” that lasted centuries. The idea of a
different, dignified life was inconceivable—as inconceivable
as the fantastic visions of the Afrofuturists seem today. But
then, as everyone knows, it is easier to imagine the end
of the world than the end of capitalism. The Revolution
of 1917, however, ushered in the possibility of realizing the
previously unthinkable. In the territory of the new Soviet
state, the Roma acquired the same opportunities for their
own advancement as every other nation inhabiting the
huge landmass of the USSR. Variations on a similar theme
were later to take place in other socialist countries. These
socialisms were focused on eradicating poverty, and thus
unleashing cultural potential—not the other way around.
From today’s liberal viewpoint, such a policy is perceived
as violence perpetrated against the representatives of an
“other” cultural tradition. The myth of a free, unfettered
nomadism—as we have viewed it since the Romantic era of
the nineteenth century—returns. Explaining social problems
by appealing to cultural differences is a simple matter.
It’s not hard to advocate for the preservation of traditions
and the cultivation of a plurality of cultural identities from
the secure, comfortable position of a middle-class metropolis.
And this is why we should never forget that what
AverklubCollective,LenininRazliv,2021(freecopyofArkadyPlastov’spaintingfrom1948),
courtesytheartists
70
might appear to be a centuries-old cultural tradition that
“must be conserved at any cost” may in fact be a preserved
state of grinding poverty and exile.
“Lad’a, I’m worried that we will soon have to start travelling
again”, my friend tells me as we enjoy a coffee on Jan
Palach Square in Prague. Her family is not doing well financially,
and her adult children and grandchildren have huge
housing problems.
I don’t know what to say in reply.
List of Works & Materials
Works and materials from the collection of the
Museum of Romani Culture, Brno
Julius Lakatoš, Abandoned House (When the
Settlement Came to an End), 1998
Julius Lakatoš, Abandoned Roma Settlement
(Péro) near Selice, 1998
Julius Lakatoš, At the Pond, Romani
Shepherds and the Making of Války (Unfired
Bricks), 2002
Julius Lakatoš, Crown, 2003
Julius Lakatoš, How the Roma Used to
Wander, 2003
Julius Lakatoš, Pero (Romani Settlement near
Selice), 2004
Julius Lakatoš, A Wheel in Search of Its
Direction, 2006
Andrej Pešta-Corrado, Artillery shell from
World War II with an engraved peace
message, 2002
Andrej Pešta-Corrado, Roma Settlement of
Ľubica near Kežmarok, 2005
Andrej Pešta-Corrado, Tank shell from
World War II with an engraved peace
message, 2005
FONDS for written material
Badge of the Névodrom production
cooperative of the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
1969
Badge of the Union of Gypsies-Roma, 1969
Certificate of an employee of the Central
Committee of the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
1971
Folk Art Fonds
Decorative plate featuring an unknown
woman, 1999
Decorative plate featuring the Czech
actress Jarmila Švehlová, 1999
Decorative plate featuring the Slovak
singer Marika Gombitová, 1999
Decorative plate featuring the Slovak
singer Marika Gombitová, 1999
Fine Arts Fonds
Jan Bartoš, Diggers, 1999
Dezider Fertö, Family, 1984
Dezider Fertö, The Spartakiad, 1984
Dezider Fertö, Combine Harvester,
1984–1992
Dezider Fertö, Family with a Bird, 1986
Dezider Fertö, Feast, 1990–1995
Daniel Kováč, Female Saint with Hands
Folded across the Chest, 2005
Daniel Kováč, Head, 2005
Daniel Kováč, Lion, 2005
Daniel Kováč, Woman (ashtray), 2005
Daniel Kováč, King, undated
Aladár Kurej, Romani Settlement of Podskalka
near Humenné, 1993
Aladár Kurej, Chronicle, undated
Diploma of Dr. Vladimír Srb, Central
Committee of the Union of Gypsies-Roma
in Czechoslovakia, 1971
Five Good Principles, informational material
published by the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
1969–1973
Invitation card to the concert A Roma Acts,
Sings, Dances, organized by the Union of
Gypsies-Roma, December 1970
Mandate of a delegate of the constituent
congress of the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
featuring the signature of Miroslav
Holomek, 1969
Membership card (E dženeskeri
legitimácia) of the Union of GypsiesRoma
in Slovakia (Románo kultúrno
jekhetániben), 1969–1973
Membership card of the Central
Committee of the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
1971
Membership cards of the Union of
Gypsies-Roma of the Czech Socialist
Republic and the Slovak Socialist Republic,
1969–1973
New Year card of the Regional Committee
of the Union of Gypsies-Roma of the
Central Bohemian Region, 1971
Pennant of FC Roma Névodrom football
club, early 1970s
Pennant of the Selection Team of the
Union of Gypsies-Roma of the Czech
Socialist Republic, 1971
Pennant of TJ Roma Karlovy Vary physical
education association, early 1970s
Pennant of TJ Roma Poruba physical
education association, 1965
Roma People, We Go to Elections United!,
information brochure of the Union of
Gypsies-Roma, 1971
Románo ľil, gazette of the Union of
Gypsies-Roma, 1970–1973
Rules of the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
January 1973
Statutes of the Union of Gypsies-Roma,
1969
Volunteer worker ID card for the Union of
Gypsies-Roma, 1969–1973
FONDS for documentation
of traditional crafts, professions,
and occupations
Handmade mold for forming unfired
bricks, Krásnohorské Podhradie, Slovakia,
1990s
Handmade pickaxe, Medzev, Slovakia, mid
to late 20th century
Handmade sledgehammer, Szaflary,
Poland, mid to late 20th century
Unfired handmade brick (války),
Krásnohorské Podhradie, Slovakia, 1990s
Textile fONDS
Ribarova Vlasta, Tapestry with two birds,
1970s–1980s
Poster and invitation FONDS
Poster for Harťikáni Buťi, an exhibition of
Romani blacksmith art organized by the
Union of Gypsies-Roma in Brno, October
1970
All works and materials: courtesy
Museum of Romani Culture, Brno
Works from the Moravian
Gallery, Brno
Miloš Axman, Portrait of the Sculptor’s Wife,
1951–1952
Vincenc Makovský, Student, 1945–1949
Both works: courtesy Moravian
Gallery, Brno
Other works & materials
Averklub Collective, A Portrait of George
Soros, 2021, courtesy the artists
Averklub Collective, Replica [#1] of a work
titled Palm (2003) by Andrej Pešta-Corrado,
2021, courtesy the artists
Averklub Collective, Replica [#2] of a work
titled Palm (2003) by Andrej Pešta-Corrado,
2021, courtesy the artists
Anna Čonková, Untitled, 2016, courtesy
the artist
Fragment of a wheel from a Romanichal’s
wagon, featuring an inscription that reads
“Opre Roma”, 1950s
Saban Hasy, Onward, 1969, courtesy the
artist
Rozana Kuburovič, The First World Romani
Congress, 1971, courtesy the artist
Rozana Kuburovič, Romani Flag, 1971,
courtesy Vít Havránek
Rozana Kuburovič, Sketch for a painting,
1971, courtesy the artist
The official flag of the Yugoslav Roma
(offered as a version of the international
Romani flag in 1971)
The official Romani flag, in use since 1971
Porous concrete brick (found object)
Ondřej Roubal, Portrait of Metallurgist Jan
Oláh, 1970, courtesy the artist
Unknown artist, Lenin in Razliv, 1970s,
courtesy the artist
Video works
Averklub Collective, My Home in the
Chanov Housing Estate, 2021, 53 min 50 sec,
courtesy the artists
Averklub Collective, Social Murder, 2021,
6 min 46 sec, courtesy the artists
Romano magazinos, Slovak vlogger
magazine, YouTube video, 2011, 20 min,
courtesy the artists
74
Public
Programs
We warmly invite you to visit www.kunsthallewien.at,
as well as our social media channels, to learn more
about our public program for Manuš Means Human.
While as a contemporary art institution we consider it
crucial to mediate, share, contextualize, and enhance our
exhibitions through a rich and diverse public program, the
last year has also taught us that, due to the ­unpredictable
pace and extent of pandemic-related restrictions, it is
necessary to retain a certain flexibility, both for us as
programmers and hosts and especially for those we invite
to participate. For that reason, we will publish and update
the public program for this exhibition exclusively online, in
order to adjust formats and dates more easily.
Together with the Averklub Collective, kunsthalle
wien’s team is developing a public program that will
critically respond to and accompany the exhibition and
its context. It will revolve around the silenced histories
of the Roma and other excluded groups in the Czech
Republic, Austria, and beyond. Among other things, we
will look deeper into the difference between artworks
and artifacts and how this informs the sociocultural background
and the means of production of the people who
make these objects.
7776
ArtDirection&DesignbyCINCIN,cincin.at/PhotosbyUlrichZinell
Performer:BreannaO’Mara/3DMakeUpbyInesAlpha
Try our face filter and
tag @impulstanz_festival
on Instagram!
15.7.–15.8.2021
Vienna International Dance Festival
Performances, Workshops & Research
impulstanz.com
Exhibition
kunsthalle wien GmbH
Directors
What, How & for Whom / WHW
(Ivet Ćurlin • Nataša Ilić •
Sabina Sabolović)
CFO
Wolfgang Kuzmits
Curators
What, How & for Whom / WHW
(Ivet Ćurlin • Nataša Ilić •
Sabina Sabolović)
Curatorial Assistant
Aziza Harmel
Exhibition Management
Flora Schausberger
Construction Management
Johannes Diboky
Danilo Pacher
Technicians
Beni Ardolic
Frank Herberg (IT)
Baari Jasarov
Mathias Kada
External Technicians
Harald Adrian
Hermann Amon
Scott Hayes
Dietmar Hochhauser
Bruno Hoffmann
Alfred Lenz
Art Handling
Parastu Gharabaghi
Lazar Lyutakov
Marit Wolters
Stephen Zepke
Julia Znoj
Communication
David Avazzadeh
Katharina Baumgartner
Adina Hasler
Jonathan Hörnig
Katharina Schniebs
Lena Wasserbacher
Publishing
Nicole Suzuki
Sponsoring & Fundraising
Maximilian Geymüller
Event Management
Gerhard Prügger
Education
Wolfgang Brunner
Andrea Hubin
Michaela Schmidlechner
Michael Simku
Martin Walkner
Assistant to CFO
Andrea Ćevriz
Assistant to Directors
Vasilen Yordanov
Office Management
Maria Haigermoser
Finances
Mira Gasparevic
Julia Klim
Natalie Waldherr
Visitor Services
Daniel Cinkl
Osma Eltyeb Ali
Kevin Manders
Christina Zowack
Thank You
WHW would like to express their
gratitude to Averklub Collective and to
the team of kunsthalle wien, as well as
to all lenders, translators, and editors.
Publisher
kunsthalle wien GmbH
What, How & for Whom / WHW
Texts
Averklub Collective
(introduction (pp. 8–9)
and six topics (pp. 32–70))
What, How & for Whom / WHW
(preface (pp. 5–6))
Managing Editor
Nicole Suzuki
Curatorial Assistant
Aziza Harmel
Translation
Phil Jones
(all texts except preface CS→EN)
Copyediting
Jaclyn Arndt
Design
Dejan Kršić & Lana Grahek
Typefaces
KhW Ping [typotheque]
Canela [Commercial Type]
Print
Gugler print GmbH, Melk, Austria
© 2021 kunsthalle wien GmbH
photo credits
* Photo credit p. 48:
Image from p. 131 of the book: Ivan RomLebedev,
Ot tsyganskogo khora k teatru
“Romen”: zapiski moskovskogo tsygana
[From the Gypsy Choir to the Romen
Theatre: Notes of a Moscow Gypsy],
Izdatelstvo “Iskusstvo” [“Art” Publishing
House], Moscow, 1990
** Photo credits p. 51
(from top to bottom, from left to right):
Cover of the book: Alexandr Germano,
Nikolay Pankov, and Pavel Litvak, Les
kharde pyvesa i vavre rospkhenybena
[He Was Called the Wolf and Other
Stories], Gosudarstvennoye izdatelstvo
khudozhestvennoy literatury [State
Publishing House of Fiction Literature],
Leningrad, 1933
Cover of the book: Amaro znamyo –
Lenino (sbornik) [Our Flag Is Lenin
(digest of articles)], trans. Nikolay
Gladkov, Obyedinenie gosudastvennykh
izdatelstv – Gosudarstvennoye
antireligioznoye izdatelstvo
[Association of State Book and
Magazine Publishing Houses – State
Anti-religious Publishing], Moscow, 1933
Cover of the book: Alexandr Germano,
Romano almanakho [Romani Almanac],
Gosudarstvennoye izdatelstvo
“Khudozhestvennaya literatura” [State
Publishing House “Fiction Literature”],
Moscow, 1934
Cover of the book: Tatiana Ventsel,
Romany chib: lylvari piro romany chib
(vash 3 bersh syklyaiben) [Romani
Language: A Primer for the Third
Grade], Gosudarstvennoye uchebnopedagogicheskoye
izdatelstvo
[State Educational and Pedagogical
Publishing House], Moscow, 1932
We thank all copyright holders for their
kind permission to reproduce their
material. Every effort has been made
to contact the rightful owners with
regard to copyrights and permissions.
We apologize for any inadvertent errors
or omissions.
kunsthalle wien GmbH is the city of
Vienna’s institution for international art
and discourse.
Free admission every Thursday 5 – 9 pm!
FOR PROGRAM UPDATES:
www.kunsthallewien.at
/ kunsthallewien
#AverklubCollective
kunsthalle wien
museumsquartier
museumsplatz 1
1070 vienna
+43  1 521 89 0