DEBATT
Responding to criticism entails engagement with the critique
Bojana Cvejić seems to have overlooked most of my critique and instead fixates on my intent, suggesting that I engage in radical purism and risk «pandering to far-right agendas».
Bojana Cvejić for the two-day event Choreographing Antifascism, felt inclined to respond to my review (1). I’m glad she did, as her response clarified the aims of the event. I believe the antifascist series is timely and important, and I do look forward to its continuation. But somehow Cvejić seems to have overlooked most of my critique, rather fixates on my intent, suggesting that I engage in radical purism and risk «pandering to far-right agendas».
There are many different ways to write a critique. Regardless, it should reveal something about the artwork, invite the reader to visualise the piece, and evaluate why it gave that warm and fuzzy feeling, or why it did not quite hold up. That does not mean, though, that critique consists solely of judging something as either good or bad. Sometimes the format — or, in this case, the event — calls for a different text.
I devote most of my essay (2) of the «two-study days — not a mini festival» to engaging with the material presented, a kind of Craig Owens-style «writing alongside», if you will, that is subjective and collaborative rather than top-down analysis. I wouldn’t claim my essay to be highly critical.
Tu Quoque
In my critique I draw parallels between Olga de Soto’s work, choreographers active during the Second World War, and artists attending the recent Berlin International Film Festival. I focus on this claim to neutrality, and on how artists in positions of power believe they can separate their work from — or opt out of — politics whenever they see fit. This is not the same as comparing Choreographing Antifascism to the Berlinale. However, there are similarities between the latter, de Soto’s piece, and Sunniva Moen Rørvik and Miriam Levy’s presentation: artists and institutions protecting their position within a society moving toward fascism by remaining silent on certain issues, such as genocide, or by downplaying their far-right sympathies to avoid being ostracised by their followers.
Another example from my text is Ana Bigotte Vieira and João dos Santos Martins lecture, Para uma Timeline a Haver, an impressive archival work of significant developments in dance as an art form in Portugal during the 20th and early 21st centuries. They explore how dance and the body can act as bearers of history, and challenge established cultural and historical practices. They present the work of choreographer Angela Guerreiro, whose work problematises racialised stereotypes through the destabilisation of normative representations of black and brown bodies.
I then questioned the representation at Choreographing Antifascism, not just because of a lack thereof, but because people currently living under occupation and fascist regimes are being discussed in the space, but do not get the opportunity to «own their own history.» That is by no means a blanket dismissal of the event, but rather an engagement with its content, bringing it into a more critical present. If you scrolled through three quarters of my text, scouring it for «polemicising» intent, then my actual critique is easy to miss. My objections are not directed at the fact that the event was held in and of itself; they are meant to invite the reader to reflect on these dynamics as well.
The empire of critique
Writing about festivals and similar extended events typically involves selection. Isabel de Naverán’s piece unfortunately did not receive coverage — but not because of the subject matter. For a program described as «dense but rich,» I wondered whether ending a seven-hour study day with yet another lecture performance did Naverán’s work any justice. In any case, its omission does not change my overall critique.
Cvejić speculates whether this is because I operate with a set of dichotomies in which one side is valued over the other, and where anything that has a whiff of the «academic» is taken to be irrelevant. Should I then not consider the lectures and lecture-performances I do write about to be academic? Such reasoning collapses methodological disagreement into perceived moral or ideological hostility: critique of curation, methods, presentation, or lack of inclusion is taken as evidence of opposition to antifascist activism itself. I do not think criticism should affirm a program uncritically.
In my critique, I point out Choreographing Antifascism’s synthetic relationship to activism, oscillating between «art as activism» and direct calls for action without fully settling into either. I then ask whether it might have been beneficial to invite more artists actively engaged in activism — not because activism is diametrically opposed to artistic practice (or theorising), but because they are intrinsically linked. Several artists, some of whom were also present in the audience, do not distinguish between artistic and activist practices. Yet activism was still discussed as something external to the space, something out there, and therefore interesting, rather than as something already embedded within artistic practice itself. Including more of these voices would seem on par with the event’s overall theme. The question is not whether one practice should replace the other, but how such an event creates space for different temporalities and approaches to antifascist work to coexist, and how these are contextualised.
You can’t shake hands with a clenched fist
- «We’re here to overthrow the government, and you dare taint our mission with your little B-plot?», Jinkx Monsoon on Tiger king 2
In her response to my critique, Cvejić questions my «lack of curiosity» and suggests that I engage with the events program «a little more thoroughly, and eventually polemicize with it in a more informed and specific way.» I wish that Cvejić would extend the same courtesy toward my writing and engage with critique in a similarly considerate way.
Critique and criticism are not the same, although both are deeply intertwined with politics, which also means that critique is never fully neutral. Evaluation of art, choreography, embodiment, and ideas are shaped not only by personal taste, but also by power, institutions, and history. What gets recognised as «valuable» or «important» often reflects broader structures of power that determine who gets to speak, how art is discussed, and who is included in these conversations. Critique does more than express opinion; it positions voices, shapes discourse, and raises questions about authority, legitimacy, and participation. Antifascist strategies that are purely defensive and consensus-oriented risk breeding complacency.
Footnotes
3: https://www.dansenshus.com/en/performances/choreographing-antifascism-2