I was privileged to have been raised in a family who prized the arts, including works from cultures that were not our own. (We are of European ancestry.) Among the art in my childhood home was a significant collection of masks, statues, figurines and other objects from mostly West African cultures. My father, who acquired these pieces in the 1970s and ’80s through art dealers, has always taken pride in the idea that they were not “tourist art.” Most of the items date to the 19th and early 20th centuries.
I have come into possession of several of these items over the years, and always appreciated them for their artistic qualities. But as my understanding of the horrors of colonialism and the legacy of slavery expands, I question whether it’s ethical for me to display a Baule mask or a Yoruba dance wand — ceremonial items with deep spiritual and cultural significance. Knowing they were not created for a tourist market also leads me to believe that at some point in their history they were probably acquired via an unfair transaction.
What is my responsibility to the descendants of the people who created these objects? Some friends have suggested donation to a local museum that specializes in African art, but this would perpetuate the colonialist attitude that these objects don’t belong where they were created. Is it possible to repatriate them? — Kate
From the Ethicist:
When I was a child in Kumasi, in Ghana, Hausa-speaking traders often visited my mother, an Englishwoman who was known to collect certain artifacts from the region. They had bought the items from villagers — often members of my father’s ethnic group — who preferred the money they were offered to the objects, typically brass weights or carved dolls. The weights had been useful when gold dust was the currency and you needed to check how much gold you were getting. Some of the carved dolls were a kind of medicine, which women carried on their backs when they wanted to get pregnant. Pregnancy achieved, you might not need the doll. And so on.
Perhaps in a just world these villagers would have been richer, and perhaps if they had been richer, they would have held onto these objects rather than selling them for the prices they were paid. But if we thought that every market transaction in those circumstances was invalid, we’d have to think that the women who bought textiles from the villages to sell in Kumasi’s central market were doing something wrong.
Many African objects that Westerners now treat as art works were sold, like the weights and carvings my mother bought, by people who had the right to sell them. Still, I’ve heard it argued that anything acquired during the colonial period (as your possessions may have been) was unjustly expropriated — that the colonial context ruled out freely made choices, even outside circumstances of overt violence. The implication is that people who sold these objects were dupes of the buyer, ignoramuses unaware of the value of what they were selling, or else intimidated into making the sale.
Careful accounts of such transactions (notably by Michel Leiris, who accompanied a French collecting expedition through Africa in the 1930s) indicate that skulduggery sometimes took place, but that it wasn’t the norm. So you have to imagine going back and telling, say, a Yoruba family with a Shango wand that they were forbidden to sell it, at least to someone from another culture. How persuasive would you be? Bear in mind, too, that many objects used in traditional rituals were seen as spiritually charged only while they were in use.
Ivory Coast has, in any case, more than enough Baule masks for the Baule to use in rituals like the Mblo dances. Nigeria certainly has more than enough Shango wands for those who want to participate in the rites of the traditional god of thunder and lightning. And because some 90 percent of Yoruba people today are either Christian or Muslim, the traditional religion of Yorubaland doesn’t have precisely the same significance as it did in the past.
Nor, finally, does the fact that you are not of African descent make it wrong for you to have these things, any more than it would be wrong for members of the historically powerful Yoruba to possess a stool from their Nupe neighbors. (Yes, West Africa’s long history, like Europe’s, features plenty of conquest and pillage.) Prizing cultural artifacts from around the globe bespeaks, at its best, a cosmopolitan sensibility — one that’s especially important in a world increasingly narrowed by nativism.
Readers Respond
The last question was from a reader who disapproved of a dead relative’s lifestyle and beliefs, but wanted to support their children. She wrote: “Recently a relative from a distant state was shot and killed in what the authorities believe was a gang-related dispute, leaving behind a spouse and young children. In the aftermath, friends and relatives of the family used a GoFundMe campaign to help with expenses. Photos have circulated on social media before and since that show my relative and their spouse and friends wearing clothing with the insignia of the gang, which is well known. Over the years, according to the F.B.I. and news reports, the gang has been tied to murders, shootings, Nazi symbolism, illegal drug trafficking and running an escort service. … I cannot support illegal and immoral behaviors that are antithetical to my beliefs, and yet I do not want to walk away. … How might I support the young children when their parent may be embroiled in a lifestyle that ultimately proves harmful to their well-being?”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “Let’s assume your suspicions are correct. You’ll still want to be sure your actions are making things better, not worse. Involving child protective services is always a last resort, because an inquiry can itself be deeply upsetting. While being raised by the spouse of a slain gang member clearly has serious risks, you have no direct evidence that the children are not being loved and cared for. … You could simply put aside the noxiousness of the spouse’s beliefs and associations, then, and offer financial assistance in such a way that you are kept in touch with the kids through the years, so they have access to you when they’re older. Or you could set up a fund designed to be available only for the children’s specific needs (educational, medical, etc.), and aim to keep your support tightly circumscribed. You could even start a savings account so that they have money to go to college later. Ideally, the kids will grow aware of you as a dependable, caring adult in another state, while you avoid entanglement with a repugnant subculture.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
⬥
In addition to the sources of support the Ethicist mentions, the letter writer could offer to fund and potentially arrange overnight summer camp for these children, if they would like. Summer camps often offer an alternative place to belong and to witness other perspectives. — Pam
⬥
There are grief therapists, centers and camps for children who have lost a close relative. The letter writer should research therapeutic services in the children’s area and offer to pay for it. She should also offer to have the children in her home for holidays. — Marie
⬥
If I were the letter writer, I would keep this family at arm’s length and watch what develops with the children’s mother. In the meantime, she can offer condolences from a distance. — Steve
⬥
The letter writer should definitely set up a fund, and a fund administrator, who will ensure the funds are only used for the children’s health care, schooling and clothing. — Susan
⬥
My brother was a high-ranking member of a notorious motorcycle gang when he died from an overdose 10 years ago. He left behind a daughter, and my family supported her without judgment or questions because she and her mom needed assistance. The letter writer should not place what she thinks are moral failings of an adult onto their young children. — Kate
