Welcome dissent as a way to belonging

For some background on music as possibility and its role in helping us confront the toxic state of our politics in contemporary society see this introductory post.

I’ve been saving this last post in the series for the end because it is, in my estimation, simultaneously the most difficult and most important piece of building a practice that can allow creative experiences to bring people together in a place of collective possibility and imagination. I spent time in the intro to this series defining our current political climate and enumerating the issues that divide us. I did that not to spell doom and gloom, because these issues, including but not limited to, gun violence, abortion access, voting rights, racism, climate change, aren’t intractable. They don’t divide us because the issues themselves make it impossible to achieve consensus. No, they divide us because the political system and communal discourse in which we engage with them is designed to weaponize the issues and solve nothing. It’s designed to stop our approach to any of these topics at the most critical point: dissent. In our current climate, speaking up threatens becoming an outcast, losing our friends, colleagues, or even family. Yet not speaking about our disagreements also holds us back from truly expressing our values and belonging to ourselves and others. We can’t have real belonging and an understanding of the consequences of our beliefs without dissent, and it’s here that music can play a valuable role. 

Let’s start by defining dissent. Author Peter Block, who we’ve referenced in previous posts in this series, says that “creating space for dissent is the way diversity gets valued in the world.” Authentic dissent means that we are not casting blame or complaining about the way things are, but instead voicing our discontent and choosing to take control over how change can be achieved. It is not what we see in a gridlocked Congress or on cable news; those examples are predicated on instigating conflict and erecting ideological silos; stoking fear and building a following the fastest way possible. These false concepts of dissent aren’t focused on imagining a solution to the issue, because the longer the issue stays around the more those politicians or pundits benefit. Authentic dissent is also not protests, social media posts, or online petitions. These fall short because they give us a chance to voice our disagreement, but let us off the hook of actually being accountable to a community doing the work of transforming society. Think of the number of protests we’ve seen over the past two years and how little has changed. Positive and changemaking dissent is a commitment to work together over the long term because of our disagreements. It values the possibility and power of a small group of people to make change expressly because they are committed to working together and no individual’s views will cost them a seat at the table. 

If we are seeking possibility and collective imagination through art, we have to welcome dissent as a way to belonging. It is critical in spaces of communal possibility and imagination that dissent is welcomed and not seen as a reason for people to be uninvited from the creative experience. Dissent is not the end of the road for community, but the first step to strengthening our relationship with each other. Our goal in seeking out these spaces of collective possibility is to build a world in which everyone can find belonging and that only happens when we all agree to show up to the work as our whole selves, with all of our beliefs. Dissent doesn’t have to be fixed or explained, just treated as the beginning of a larger conversation about what might be possible when we come together. Fundamentally dissent “is the refusal to live the life someone else has in mind for us” and that is the moment where we take ownership over our citizenship and hold ourselves accountable to creating the world we want to live in. So if dissent shows up in the creative experience (and it likely will), lean in, welcome it, and then insist on everyone in the space working together in a way that fosters belonging for all. 

Dissent is not the end of the road for community, but the first step to strengthening our relationship with each other.

In fact, welcoming dissent into musical experiences is only natural as the development of music across history has primarily been driven by dissenters. There’s a quote by Greek philosopher Plutarch which states, that “music, to create harmony, must investigate discord.” That quote is shared early on in musicologist Ted Gioa’s book, Music: A Subversive History, in which he makes the argument that “musical innovation happens from the bottom up and the outside in, rather than vice versa, and those with power and authority usually oppose these musical innovations.” Many of our most beloved composers were conscientious dissenters in their society including Bach and his refusal to limit musical innovation in subservience to liturgical demands, Mozart and his reflections on equality between ruling and working classes in many of his operas, or Shostakovich and the veiled political commentary in many of his symphonies, just to name a few. Dissent and subversion are throughlines in music’s complicated history with societal power brokers, including governments, religions, royalty, and corporations. It’s important that we recognize and respect that music’s innate capacity for dissent empowers it to be a catalyst for change in human society. 

So what does welcoming dissent in musical experiences practically look like? How do we establish a practice that allows for dissent to be generative, when we are so programmed by our society to armor up and get combative at the first sign of disagreement. Well firstly, many of the previous ideas discussed in this series, including cultural humility, prioritizing safety/embracing vulnerability, and leaving space in the experience already help us set the tone for how we treat dissent amongst our participants. But we also can and should practice it amongst ourselves as musicians before trying to welcome dissent when in front of an audience. 

For example, there are many parallels between being a good chamber musician and being a good citizen. Both are democratic processes where groups of people figure out collectively what their goals are and how they are going to get there. Our motto in the saxophone quartet I am a part of, the Fuego Quartet, is “Leave your ego at the door.” That is something we live by in each and every rehearsal and sets our expectations for how to be with each other. Anyone can voice their opinion at any time on any detail in the music, and we make a commitment to work through it together to find a path forward. There are plenty of times where we disagree, but by always welcoming each other’s dissent and being curious about how we can move forward together, we collectively find meaning in our musicmaking. 

When it comes to audience members and dissent, we have to embrace a paradigm shift: one in which audience members are encouraged to offer their stories and experiences to the proceedings. They should be empowered to show their agreement and dissent in more ways than just buying a ticket (or not) and applauding (or not) at the appropriate time. We already talked about how when inviting participants to any creative experience, we need to be honest with them about the conversations we are hoping to have. Similarly, at the onset of the event, we must remind everyone that we are hoping to be in dialogue and explore potentially contentious topics together. Make sure everyone is collectively bought into that idea. We are still delivering our vision, so we aren’t asking permission to have the dialogue but rather preparing the participants and giving them the opportunity to opt in or out of the conversation. It is not a reflection on us if someone we have invited does not want to participate and we should always give them the opportunity to leave. That not only preserves the safety of the space, it also makes sure that we have a connected and invested small group ready to explore that place of collective imagination and possibility together.

Part of our intention setting is also making sure all participants agree that when dissent is voiced in dialogue, the dissenting person still feels a sense of belonging to the group. Oftentimes we, the artist, have to lead that process by example the first time around. As the group spends more time together and invests in the collaborative work, leaning into dissent and preserving every participant’s seat at the table becomes a natural part of being in the room. To return to an example used in a previous piece, let’s say we are programming a school performance where we hope to engage in a conversation around climate change and most participants agree something needs to be done, but one student refuses to acknowledge it as a real issue. In that moment, we have to do the hard work of not refusing their view out of hand and pursuing inquiry; why do they believe what they do?

Something to consider as we think about our response to dissent is that it is not our responsibility to change anyone’s mind. Our goal in the experience isn’t to come up with a solution, but to bring together a group of people who can collectively imagine new futures that might be possible. The people in the room don’t need to agree on a solution or even the problem. They may not even trust or like each other depending on who you have invited. The only thing they need to agree on is that the only way to move forward is together. We can use effectively voiced dissent to steer the creative experience towards building narratives about possibility for change. Those narratives are essential to generating creative thinking about a new future.

our response to dissent is that it is not our responsibility to change anyone’s mind. Our goal in the experience isn’t to come up with a solution, but to bring together a group of people who can collectively imagine new futures that might be possible.

Returning to the climate change example, after dissent has been welcomed and heard by the room, we as the artist have to envision how the program creatively responds. One hypothetical response could be that the next piece we perform opens up a conversation about nostalgia or memory. We can ask participants to keep a memory of their childhood home in their head as they listen and then engage everyone in dialogue after the music around how things have changed in the years since. Our meeting point as a group here is not climate change, but instead around the inevitability of change and a desire to preserve things as they once were. This emotional narrative, opened up by the music, becomes the foundation of our collective practice of imagination as we envision potential futures for our homes and communities as a result of climate change. These futures can be good or bad, likely or farfetched; our only agreement is that they are possible. This practice lowers the threshold for working together and establishes the social connection needed to then begin the long, hard work of seeking solutions the only way we can: together. 

The process of hearing dissent, withholding judgement, and responding with love and invitation to connect is perhaps the most difficult part of this creative practice. I use the word practice to describe music as possibility here intentionally, because this takes just as much care and craft to develop as we have given to our abilities on our chosen instrument. Yet, it’s a worthy practice to cultivate as we seek to develop more connection between our artistry and our work as citizens trying to advance collective capacity for change in our own communities. 

I use the word practice to describe music as possibility here intentionally, because this takes just as much care and craft to develop as we have given to our abilities on our chosen instrument.

I want to close this series with some words of encouragement. Since I started writing this series last November, we’ve seen that our politics are as gridlocked as ever. It seems as though most reporting on the state of our government has talked about how ineffective we should prepare for it to be over the next couple of years. Not exactly words of comfort for those of us who want to see things change. In the face of that prospect, it’s easy to wonder if there’s a point to implementing these writings into an artistic practice. Will it even work?

We might be tempted to look at the gridlock and the dysfunction of our current political climate and just quote the statistics, to stop at despair and throw in the towel. It’s easy to dismiss this as a problem for the politicians and say that artists don’t have any power to solve it. So often we stop at outrage because to go further would require us to confront a distinct lack of clear answers and also our own complicitness in the problems we profess to care so much about. Going further requires humility, love, vulnerability, and courage. However, by embracing these principles, we might discover someone else with a name, with a story, and also with a desire to do something more than be outraged. In the book which inspired this series, James Hoggan writes that “new realities are created when we connect with the realm of possibilities and are inspired by fresh ways of operating, co-creating and communicating.” The foundation of the realm of possibilities is the small group of people claiming their power to act. Yes, the work is hard, and yes, it is something we as musicians weren’t trained for, but it is something that we are capable of doing because of the creativity and practice we have developed in pursuit of our art. So let’s start bringing people together, asking the hard questions, and imagining what might be possible. I’m looking forward to being right there with you all trying my best to figure it out!