The following paper is an extract from the thesis titledWhiteness and Authenticity in South African
Visual Culture. JessicaDraper is a doctoral student reading a practice led D.Phil. in Fine Art at The
RuskinSchool of Drawing and Fine Art, University of Oxford.

A Spear of Contention

by Jessica Lindiwe Draper

Ideological whiteness1 has been differently framed in aSouth African context, largely because it is a
minority-whitesociety. In contrast to majority-white societies where ideologies of whitenessexist
forthe most part unconsciously, the apartheid regime in South Africa ensured thateveryone was
acutely aware of whiteness via mechanisms such as ‘whitesonly’ signage2. If whiteness has
generally been confronted andsubverted by being made explicit, then what would it mean to go
aboutexposing something that is already so categorically present? Apartheid devotednearly fifty
years to making whiteness visible, and it would thereforeappear that in South Africa, this strategy
of revelation reaffirmsracial difference rather than opposing it. Hence the dilemma of the white
SouthAfrican artist: ignoring whiteness perpetuates invisible advantage, andacknowledging it
reifies a claim to apartheid’s visible advantage.

The way in which these ideologies are translated into thevisual arts is contested, with critics such as
OkwuiEnwezor claiming that white South African artists possess an overly determinedfantasy of
identification with the black subject3. Because suchreadings are usually reduced to accusations of
racism,they dismiss any further analysis. For example, once judged to be racist (aswill later be
seen in the discussion of Brett Murray’s The Spear), anartwork is no longer allowed to participate
in what might beconsidered as contemporary artistic dialogue; that is, its voice is silencedand
consideredredundant. This type of situation generates an artistic pressure to accept andreify
normativeconstraints. In other words, if white South African artists want to remainactive
participants in the dialogue as part of a validated groupof South African artists, it appears that they
mustadhere to a particular set of rules and regulate their expression.

A similar but more subtle pressure affects black SouthAfrican artists. Stereotypes first provided by
theWestern classification of African art, and then by the documentary-stylephotography so widely
practised during apartheid4, havegenerated an expectation on the part of international (and local)
artmarketsof seeing these images reproduced. In this way, Whiteness has contributed tothe artistic
pressure to conform to such stereotypes, which are now soestablished that they function as valid
ideas of Africa andAfricanness. Considering the recent nature of apartheid, it seems that many
SouthAfricans are reluctant to relinquish these stereotyped yet triumphant imagesthat were
necessarily internalised and internationalised during thestruggle and therefore continue to hold
much emotional andpolitical currency. Addressing race outside of these archetypes thus becomes
intermingledwith feelings of anger, guilt and trauma, and therefore elicits subjectivelyextreme
responses as will be demonstrated in the writing to come.

These long-standing and still current public debatessurrounding the validity of particular rights to
historyand heritage “demonstrate the health and vitality of a political culture ofcritique and
counter-critique that was forged under the most difficultof circumstances and whose main
protagonists have often paid dearlyfor their beliefs” (Coombes 2003: 6). This culture of critique
continuesas an important part of South African society, and has been an important toolin
rebuildinga national social imaginary, but is it possible that this productive discussionhas reached a
point where it is inhibiting progress?

Negar Azimi (2011) speaks of the trend in contemporary artto follow such conventions. She argues
that, in an environment steeped inpolitical correctness, some artists begin to create art that has the
appearanceof protest art as a pre-emptive strike. In this way, artists succumb to thepressure of an
international market that calls for the repetition ofhistoric conventions. Azimi describes how acts
ofprotest in contemporary political art have become less performative and moresymbolic, and uses
the idea of a “Radical Chic” to illustrate how manyprivileged people in societies around the world
relateto subaltern causes. It has become fashionable to support a cause, though thisseems to
manifest itself in a way that is “dislocated from reality”as people can be seen “raising [their] fist
from the safe distance ofthe computer, the cinema or the art gallery to ardently declare, that war
sucks!”(Azimi 2011). She goes on to accuse institutions of playing out their obsessionwith boxticking
rather than concerning themselves with what might beclassed as “good art”, saying that
“rarely is the work of artists whosepolitics we don’t like featured” and that “these exhibitions
favoursimplicity over complexity: they are ‘politically correct’” (Azimi 2011). Herargument is
that following such normative constraints allows for theconcept of easy listening art that reflects
societal fads, creatingan opportunity for back-slapping and fist-raising in token protest.

Although Azimi is speaking about art at an internationallevel, this applies directly to the South
African context where itmight be argued that the cultural pressure of political correctness threatens
totake precedence over freedom of expression5. The corollary is that an artistwho is perceived to
have pushed against these constraints runs the risk ofbeing rejected and excluded. The reflexive,
fluid moment that thecountry now finds itself in is what should make it possible for preconceived
archetypesto be questioned and eroded, but the culture of critical reflection that hasproved so
historically effective has now become a cause for anxiety,both in the case of social interaction and
artistic production.Brett Murray is one example of an artist who has attempted to work against
theseconventions by confronting issues such as race, identity and authenticity.

Murray looks beyond race by first interrogating the verynotion of what it means to be an ‘African’
(in the ideological senserather than in a geographical or racial sense), and then what it means to be
bothwhite and South African. The concept of a multiple identity is a dominant themein his work,
perhaps beginning with the exhibition White Boy Sings theBlues (1996, Rembrandt van Rijn
Gallery, Johannesburg). This dialoguearound identity is first raised with the photograph on the
exhibitioninvitation card. In it, Murray (age six) is covered in black pigment anddressed to
emulate a Zulu Warrier6. Although in its original contextit was an act of youthful naivety, the
clarity that comes from hindsightreveals a deeper existential crisis for South Africans. At the age
ofsix, it would not have been Murray’s own initiative to dress in such a way – heexplained in an
interview that he he was taking part in a school play thatrequired the presence of Zulu Warriers,
and due to therestrictive societal conventions of the time there were no actual blackchildren to
fulfil this role (Interview with the artist, September2012). In this sense, the act of painting would
havebeen done to him by his parents or another authority figure. One could arguethat, in this way,
he was being constructed and initiated into his parents’social universe of meaning. Considered on
its own, the imageviolates post colonial codes of representation which would rightly argue thatit
perpetuatesreductive stereotypes of the ‘Other’. The artwork here, however, lies in hischoice to
publicly expose this private moment in his personalhistory. By playing with the boundaries of
acceptable representationand racial categorisation, he highlights the absurdity of placing such
emphasison arbitrary physical attributes – something to which he will return in justover a decade
when he makes this gesture his own.

In the exhibition itself, several Westernised commercialicons (such as America’s Colonel Sanders,
Pink Panther, Richie Richand the South African phenomenon that is the Oros Man7) make guest
appearancesin a series called Black Like Me. In this work Murray constructs flattened,simplified
black and white replicas of these characters out of woodand plastic, embellishing them with a halo
of evenly spaced coins.The signature features of the characters are intact allowing them to remain
instantlyrecognizable despite a few liberties. Murray then adorns each of the cartoonheads with an
unmistakable ‘Afro’ hair do – commonly associated with astereotyped black person and also seen in
the wig worn by the youngMurray of the invitation card. By merging seemingly contradictory
stereotypes,he re-presents them to the viewer as one amalgamated, meta-stereotype. Thisapparent
contradiction is also visible in the title, which isshared with two opposing items: a South African
hairproduct used to straighten curly hair in accordance with Western values ofphysical beauty, and
a book of the same title written by journalist John HowardGriffin, who narrates his journey through
the racially segregatedAmerican South of the 60s disguised as a black man. In this way, the work
successfullyoscillates between the local and the international. By juxtaposing popularimagery
with cultural signifiers and simplified methods ofrepresentation, Murray alludes to the stereotyping
andfetishization of identity.

From an optimistic point of view, the works celebrate amultiple cultural identity which takes its cue
fromthe embryonic Rainbow Nation. A cynic, however, might take a differentposition. The ideals
of the Rainbow Nation may have encouraged diversity, butthey also inspired an intentional and
calculated social movement for theAfrican continent to enter a process of reclamation – a process
laterrealised in South Africa by Thabo Mbheki’s campaign for an African Renaissance.

Consequently many cultural practices and signifiers deemedtoo European or too Western, were
seen as contributing to ideologiesassociated with whiteness, and therefore with apartheid. From
thisperspective, Murray’s work addresses the agitated compulsion to paint societywith an African
brush, giving colour to things previously whitewashed by ahistory of European domination.
Although it offers playful parodieson the one hand, on the other, Black Like Me contains a coded
ambiguitythat simultaneously questions and counters any attempt at interpretation.

Displayed alongside these satirical interpretations ofpopular culture were more cerebral works such
as Land (1996). In thiswork, a simplified profile of a face is cut out of wood, and the negative
spaceinside the face forms another, smaller profile. While the outer profile bearsthe features
commonly associated with that of a white person, theinside profile exhibits features that are
commonly associated withthat of a black person. At the centre of both heads is a jar of earth. The
simplificationof human features into generally accepted stereotypes invites the viewer to
automaticallyassume race. Those viewers who make this assumptive leap, particularly thosewho
mighttake pride in not buying into generalisations, catch themselves in anuncomfortable moment
where they have allowed certain mainstream stereotypes orprejudices to surface. Whether Murray
attributes this to the accessibilityof media imagery, or presents it as proof that ideologies of
whitenesscontinue to function at an unconscious, invisible level in South Africa remainsunclear.
Considering the Western monopoly on media broadcasting, itwould not be unreasonable to say that
either reading demonstrates theembedded nature of historical whiteness. Here Murray takes
acceptedrepresentations and re-packages them in such a way that they present anuncomfortable
inner battle for the viewer. Murray’s choice to pose thisparticular conundrum might be seen to
demonstrate his commitment todestabilising any power that may be lingering unnoticed – an
attemptto force viewers to examine the extent to which their own minds and thoughtshave been
shaped by previous processes of disempowerment.

The introduction of earth evokes ideas of ownership, accessand control – all of which have been
responsible, sometimes jointly andsometimes separately, for the majority of bloodshed in African
andSouth African histories and continue as a major theme of conflict in thecontemporary South
African dialogue8. In Griffiths and Prozesky’s theorisingof the South African sense of dwelling9,
land also alludes to asense of belonging that was destabilised by the political change and is now
oftenleft fractured for many white South Africans. If one contemplates theseunderstandings of
land as juxtaposed within two simplified racial profiles,then this work also points to the
construction of a social imaginary –a manufacturing of a socially acceptable identity. The layering
ofprofiles points to the ability of identity debates to be both internal andexternal. What we now
see beginning to emerge in Murray’swork is a nuanced ambiguity that allows it to function
simultaneouslyon many conflicting levels.

Murray deploys similar themes over a decade later in theexhibition Crocodile Tears (2007, The
Goodman Gallery Cape, Cape Town),also exhibited as Crocodile Tears II (2009 Goodman Gallery,
Johannesburg)with minor changes. In it, caricatures of French aristocrats with their faces
‘blackened‘10appear around the gallery walls among satirical coats of arms, copulatingFrench
poodles and altered reproductions of paintings well knownto every Art History student exposed to
the Eurocentric narrativeof art, such as Fragonard’s The Swing (1767), while cut-out metal phrases
makeendless puns on famous proclamations. Most striking in the context of thisdiscussion is
Murray’s return to themes of a racial fluidity where oneidentity masquerades as another, as
Renaissance Man (2008) and TheRenaissance Man Tending his Land (2008) sit regally on the
walls.In light of the discussion of the Africanising of self and of others, these twopieces together
seem to embody all angles of this debate. In RenaissanceMan Murray uses make-up to darken the
skin on his face, neck and shoulders,while leaving his chest and arms uncovered in contrast. His
wigfollows the the style of eighteenth century French aristocracy, where it wouldhave signified a
high social standing, which now replaces the ‘Afro’ style.The frame extends beyond Murray’s
shoulders to reveal a bear, unpaintedchest. In The Renaissance Man Tending his Land (2008),
Murrayis featured in the same wig and face paint, only he is standing in the middleof his garden,
shirtless in shorts and scruffy shoes, poised to ‘tend’his patch of lawn with a weed-whacker. The
appearance of the term‘Renaissance’ here sets the stage for a parody of Thabo Mbheki’s presidency,
ascan be seen in His Legacy (which parodies Magritte’s Ceci n’est pas une pipe(1968) and
references Mbheki’s penchant for his pipe) and therecurring use of the phrase “I am an African”
(which is borrowed fromthe title of a speech given by Thabo Mbheki at a ceremony celebrating the
passingof the New Constitution in 1998). Murray satirises the concept of the AfricanRenaissance
by setting it alongside the European Renaissance, whichwas in fact a product of an elite European
aristocracy, finallydestroyed by the French Revolution in 1789. By doing so, he insinuates that
thereis a similarly elitist aspect to Mbeki’s Renaissance.

The practice of white people painting their face black has avery particular history, dating back to
the theatrical traditionof blackface in the American minstrel shows (a kind of every-man’s opera)
beginningin the early 1800s, where white performers used black make-up to indicate the
caricaturedstereotype of a black person11. When a group of travelling minstrels visitedthe Cape
Colony in 1848, this tradition was absorbed into the localEmancipation Day celebrations which
were the beginning of what today iscalled the Kaapse Klopse or the Cape Town Minstrel Carnival12.
Baxter(2001) identifies a number of problematic themes that contribute to theideology of the
Kaapse Klopse, such as differentiated gender roles andclass distinction, which there is neither time
norspace to do justice here. Many people, in fact, stand in strong opposition tothe carnival,
“believing it to epitomise and reinforce a negative andridiculous stereotype of coloured identity”
(Baxter 2001: 89), thusperpetuating and substantiating the apartheid ideologues of race
construction.But the carnival has also been a platform for resistance. Although the songssung at
these events, ghoemmalidjies, were often frivolous andcelebratory, Vivian Bickford Smith (2009)
points out that thesesongs also have a history of opposition, and sometimes contained coded
satirisingof the colonial ruling elite13, such as this parody of Rule Britannia:

Kom Brittanje, jy beskaaf,
Maak die nasies tot jouslaaf…
Jou dwinglandy sal gou verneer
Diewat hulle land eige noem.14
Come Britannia, the civilizing one,
Makethe nations into slaves …
Your tyranny will soon humble
Thosethat call this land their own.

This stands as a striking example of the wilfulappropriation of Western stereotypes in order to
protestthem from within. The blackface tradition in the Kaapse Klopse has become mutedover the
years, and today the painted faces usually consist ofbright coloured designs (with very little to no
appearanceof black) which match the gaudy, elaborate silk costumes – that is, if theparticipants
even choose to paint their faces at all.

South Africa’s history with the tradition of blackface istherefore convoluted and contradictory,
standing on the one handfor racist stereotyping, and on the other for an alternative narrative of
changeand cultural pride. The face-painting of the carnival may have originated as acrude
manifestationof colonial stereotypes, but continues as a celebration of the ability of SouthAfrican
culture to be at once singular and multiple. Murray’scontemporary application in Renaissance Man
therefore references thisaptitude for pluralism, as does his Africanising of Western stereotypes.
Thefact that the artist’s race is revealed as white by his choice to extend theframe of the
photograph beyond the borders of the make-up potentiallymakes this work uncomfortable to
contemplate, particularly in a SouthAfrican context. Is Murray suggesting that black people are
actuallywhite underneath, or that enterprising white South Africans are trying to alignthemselves
with the black majority in order to generate a sense ofpowerful victimhood?15 Or is this a critique
of the affirmative actionpolicies that foster the habit of organisations to appear inclusive? The
RenaissanceMan Tending his Land is equally illusive, only this time Murray relatespossible
questions to the historically problematic relationshipwith the land already discussed. When
combined with themes of role-play andmake-believe, of fluid or concealed identities, the ambiguity
thataffords these works their strength is deepened.

Reception of Murray’s work has been mixed, though mostcritics feel compelled to address this
unresolved dialogue between subjectpositions. In a review of White Boy Sings the Blues, Geers
(1996)insists that attempts by white South African artists such as Murray toAfricanise white and/or
Western subjects (where the subjectis quite often the artist him/herself) “communicates a latent
desire[of] so many white artists to be black themselves, a desire born out of whiteguilt” (Geers
1996). I argue that while interrogating ideas associatedwith authenticity, Murray’s work functions
quite differently. Thevery idea that culture has the ability to be plural stands in direct oppositionto
thepurist ideology of whiteness. The meanings that his work evokes are oftenamplified by the
potential for the viewer to experience a sense ofdiscomfort, particularly in a South African context.
At itsbest, his work functions beyond this specificity as well by quoting the ongoingand historical
discourses of cultural traffic through ideological desire,as was particularly evident in Black Like
Me.

O’Toole (2009) says that Murray’s brand of creativeproduction “includes a restless conversation
with the self”. The useof his own body as subject is what allows him to explore his own
relationshipto the invisibly visible forces of whiteness, while simultaneously offering acritique of
these forces. His attempt to expose the wilful abuse ofpower therefore simultaneously exposes his
own frustration that theidealism of the Rainbow Nation has not yet been realised. In this way
Murraydoes more than simply “explore the exchange of one evil for another aspolitical power
shifts from the oppressor to the oppressed” as noted byShaman (2009) – he fights for the right to
freedom of expression andrefuses the international pressure to fulfil stereotypes, or the local
pressureto glamorise the new leadership and demonise his whiteness. In this way, hiswork can be
as difficult to digest for white South Africans as it isfor black South Africans. It implicates all
parties instead ofplaying into what Azimi would call the “Radical Chic”. Again, it is this all
encompassingambiguity that allows the work to resonate through and beyond the politics of
misrepresentation.

A narrow interpretation sees Murray’s work as a thinlyveiled, self-indulgent display of poor-me-ism
(a term coined by Dyer in1997) that betrays an inculcated belief in white entitlement. Indeed
Enwezor’sreading of art by white South Africans would suggest that by expressingdissatisfaction
with the new order, he lobbies for a resurgence of whiteauthority by claiming the powerful position
of victim.16 Given hisinvolvement with the protest art movement of the resistance, however, it
seemsmore likely that his artistic investment in political issues springs from adetermination to
continue the struggle for freedom and ensure that so muchloss of life was not for nothing.17 He
intimates through his art that it isnot your birth place or your skin colour, but rather your behaviour,
yourdisplay of ubuntu, that makes you an African.18 When asked to define his senseof what might
make an African African, Murray remarked:I suppose I’mquite contrary. If someone tells me I’m an African
I’llsay I’m not. If some tells me I’m not an African, I’ll say I am. Maybe I’m justcontrary, maybe it’s
because I don’t know. I know that I’m from this place – Icertainly don’t feel comfortable anywhere else.
(Interviewwith the artist, September 2012)

Lisa van der Watt has said that part of the problem withbeing white in post-1994 South Africa is
trying to resolve thewitnessing of trauma on the one hand, and being intimately complicit to that
traumaon the other hand, even if only by doing nothing. Murray’s exploration of afractured South
African identity is as much a symptom of his context as ofhis past. There is an implied guilt within
particular discourses inSouth Africa, and whiteness often becomes ‘the elephant in the room’, which
pointsto the ability of race (and specifically whiteness) to be both present and notpresent, known
but not discussed while nevertheless affecting thepositioning of everything else in that ‘room’.

Murray (in a specific vernacular that one has come toexpect) uses irony to cut through such
expectations. In this way, his mannerof exposing his whiteness first subverts the South African
societalconvention of speaking around a subject to the point that the conversationrisks being lost in
politically correct translation. However, in some casesthe viewer is alienated by the initial impact
of the work, and themessage is obscured. This was the case in one of Murray’s recent exhibitions in
whichone work overshadowed all the rest.

Hail to the Thief II opened at the Goodman Gallery inJohannesburg on the 10th of May 201219. As a
whole, the exhibition wasa potent critique of the ANC (South Africa’s Ruling Party), providing a
parodyof some of the serious issues that face the new democracy such as corruptionand
entitlement.For example, the title itself is a pun on ‘hail to the chief’, whichsimultaneously
references the current South African president, JacobZuma’s well known claim to being a
traditional chieftain and the manylegal allegations of fraud that have been made against him.
Althoughthis exhibition was riddled with highly charged subject matter, what caught themedia’s
eye was one particular work: The Spear (2011). Thispainting depicted a man recognizable as Jacob
Zuma, while the heroicstyle and pose in which he is painted quotes a famous propaganda poster of
theMarxist revolutionary Vladimir Lenin. In Murray’s version, however, Zuma isdepicted with his
zipper open and his genitals on display. As those familiarwith South African history and politics
will know, the titlealludes to Mkhonto we Sizwe which translates into English as ‘spear of the
nation’and refers to the armed wing of the ANC that battled inequality at a highlyorganised
military level20. The exposure of Zuma’s manhoodreferences the presidents reputation for
infidelity, as well asthe rape charges brought against him in 2005 for which he was tried and found
notguilty. The colour pallet (black, red and yellow) mirrors that of the SouthAfrican Communist
Party21, again emphasised by Murray’s use of theLenin-esque pose.

The ANC began legal proceedings against the artist, claimingthat the painting and its connotations
were an infringement of Zuma’s humanrights, which exceeded Murray’s right to freedom of
expression.Social tensions ran high with several public threats reported in the news, suchas that of
Enoch Mthembu, spokesperson of the Shembe church, whocalled to have Murray stoned to death.22
The painting was defacedby two separate parties (Barend la Grange and Lowie Mabokela) on the
22ndof May, less than two weeks after the exhibition opened. Both men werecontained by Gallery
security (though Mabokela believed his treatment to bemore severe than that of la Grange and
subsequently began legal proceedingsof his own) and charged with malicious damages to property.
Theywere released with suspended sentences – a comparative walk in the park whenconsidering
the two year sentence that awaited Wlodzimierz Umaniecafter he defaced a Mark Rothko painting
at the Tate Modern,London in October last year.

The chronicles of The Spear received extensive presscoverage, but the reportage seemed to focus
on the sensationalsoap-boxing, rather than the very real repercussions of the frenziedanti-Murray
campaigns. Although death threats were mentioned, the factthat Murray had to move his family to
a safe location in order to protectthem against the protesters lingering in the streets outside his
studio,150m from his home, was not reported. The ANC finally dropped their defamationcase
whenthe painting was removed from the gallery show room following its defacing.23

The notoriety that followed the exhibition prompted the(black) artist Ayanda Mabulu to unveil his
own painting of Zuma,which sees the president dressed in full traditional Zulu attire, performing a
highkick characteristic of Zulu cultural dancing, and therefore also exposing hisgenitals. The title,
Umshini Wam, refers to the popular struggle song ofMkhonto we Sizwe which called members to
arms. Zuma was head ofMkhonto Wesizwe’s Secret Police and very senior in the armed struggle.
Thesong has become integral to Zuma’s public image, and is regularly sung on stageby Zuma and
his contemporaries to great applause at ANC rallies.Mabulu had previously depicted the South
African President’s penisin the painting Ngcono ihlwempu kunesibhanxo sesityebi (2010) which
translatesinto English as ‘better a fool than a rich man’s nonsense’. Is it the fact thatMabulu is black
that allowed these paintings to fly under the radar, beingreported only in relation to The Spear? In
an article for the DailyMaverick, Rebecca Davis quotes the journalist Unathi Kondile, who argues
thatit is the artists’ race that led to the painting’s different receptions, butnot for the reasons one
might think: the reason AyandaMabulu’s artwork didn’t cause ripples is because as far as art is concerned
ablack artist is intellectually incapable of producing a complex work – blacks(sic) are
incapable of satire – until they are verified by theirwhite counterparts.…It is only when the
African story is toldthrough the white lens that newspapers and the general public will pay
attention.(quoted in Davis 2012: dailymaverick.co.za)

Although reductive, this comment shows how deeply theunequal power relations of the past
continue to be felt. The painting andthe events it triggered caused many heated public
conversations.Among the themes was the usual suspect of racism, but given the recent attemptby
theruling party to pass a bill that would have severely compromised the freedom ofthe press, the
right to freedom of expression was particularly topical.24It is also interesting that two unorchestrated
defacingsoccurred on the same day, at the same time, by two people at fairly opposite
endsof the societal spectrum - La Grange middle-aged, white and Afrikaans, andMabokela a
young, black member of the ANC Youth League. Perhaps thetriumph of the work lay in its ability
to offend without prejudice acrossracial divides.

With so much outrage and debate focussed on The Spear, mostof the other artworks in the
exhibition were largely ignored. Takefor example Murrays’s appropriation (or what critic O’Toole
wouldcall misappropriation) of iconic protest posters. In one such work called TheStruggle, he
distorts the famous dying words of Solomon Mahlangu (“Tellmy people that I love them and that
they must continue the struggle),such that they now read “Tell my people that I love them and that
theymust continue to struggle for Chivas Regal, Mercs and kick backs”.25 Murraydescribes his
research at the Mayibuye Archive (where the originalposters that he parodies are housed) before
making the artwork, andhow meditating on these posters in light of the current socio-political
climatewas morally disquieting. This might at first appear somewhat facile, but byrevisiting such
posters ironically, Murray attempts to draw attention towhat the struggle rhetoric is being used to
justify today. In thissense, he remobilises the posters for their original purpose, to oppose theabuse
ofpower. In his own words - “I am not shitting on the graves of the heroes”, buthe feels that it is
important for people to understand that “their graves arebeing shat on” (interview with the artist,
September 2012).

Ironically, Murray’s Crocodile Tears was arguably morecontentious than Hail to the Thief as it
pointed not only toapartheid, but right back to colonial rule as well, equating such ideologieswith
thecurrent government and addressing such issues as identity and authenticity inthis frame. The
reaction, however, was not nearly as extreme. Whenconsidering this incongruity along with the
focus on The Spear inparticular, it is not outrageous to assume that the indignation has more to do
withMurray’s decision to make Zuma identifiable in the work. As we have seen, thiswas by no
means the first time Murray had provided a scathinglycritical comment on the post-apartheid
presidency, but it is the first timethat he attacked the president as a person instead of simply in his
roleof nation-head.

O’Toole’s use of the word misappropriation to describeMurray’s use of commercial (and political)
lexicons, rather thanreappropriation or even simply appropriation, is apt. In his own words, he
“thievesaround from all over” (interview with the artist, September 2012), findingsymbols and reanimating
them. In doing so, he gives them theability to simultaneously mean something other,
sometimesthe opposite, of what they have come to represent. As we have seen, however, itis
Murray’sunapologetic use of African cultural lexicons that is most often problematisedon the
grounds that he is white. In doing so, Murray claims thepower of the appropriated symbols and
asserts himself as very much engagedwith and part of a contemporary African and South African
socio-politicalculture and discourse.

The use of African iconography by white artists will alwaysbe, to some extent, a form of
appropriation, but Murraydemonstrates that the possible power of the work lies in the reanimation
ofthese symbols. He accesses particular sets of symbols, often appropriating themto portray his
contribution to the developing national narrative, and indoing so has generated his own language,
or as Mary Corrigall putsit in her review of Crocodile Tears, an “iconography of his own
making”(Corrigall2009). Perhaps, tough, this is a symptom of being an engaged member of
contemporarySouth African society, rather than a particular artistic intentionality. Whatemerges
now is a crude framework for analysing Murray’s oeuvre –he appropriates and then reanimates
existing symbols, and in doing sogenerates a visual dialect of his own.

Corrigall’s review goes on to call Murray’s work“unambiguous, confrontational and vitriolic”
(Corrigall 2009). Hiswork could be considered vitriolic in that it sometimes clearly stems from a
placeof anger, and it is most definitely confrontational, but it should by now beevident that at its
best, the real potency of Murray’s work lies in itsunexpected ambiguity. Perhaps this is where The
Spearfalls short. Although it contains many references that extend beyond thegallery, it does not
offer the same potential for conflicting interpretationthat was evident in works such as Black Like
Me and Renaissance Man.Murray himself has no qualms in admitting that he would not have
chosenit as the work on which to hang his reputation. His piece at last year’s FNBJoburg Art Fair
brings this discussion to an appropriate finale. TitledDissent, the piece consists of the word
‘silence’, all in blockcapitals sitting heavily on the wall . The very word ‘silence’ is itself a
contradictionas to speak it is to do the opposite. The question is whether it should beinterpreted as
a verb (to describe what the ANC tried to do to him), anoun (to describe his position on the subject)
or asa command. Murray offered very little public voice during the contentiousperiod and
perhaps, considering the title, this piece stands as hisfirst and last word on the matter – a silent
protest if you will. Heseems to insist that the old cliché is right, and silence does speak louderthan
words.

Given the current socio-political climate in South Africa,and the country’s not so distant past, it is
not surprising that awork of art can cause such unrest. The provocative manner in which Murray
choosesto confront governmental abuse of power is on occasion mistaken for patriarchal
didacticism.If we return once more to Griffeths and Prozesky’s claim that a sense ofdwelling is
crucial to the construction of a social imaginary, thenMurray addresses notions of authenticity in
order to gain access tothe place in which he wishes to dwell.

An important aspect of Murray’s work is his ability tofrustrate expectations, notably in his refusal
tooffer the authorising gesture of white guilt. His particular method of exposureowes much of its
success to his ability to turn the gaze back on himselfand question of his sense of selfhood; that is,
heinterrogates the mechanisms which allow him to feel a sense of identity, suchas his (and
everyone else’s) ‘Africanness’, and the racialidentification that is a product of societal
performativity. Whatallows Murray to escape categorisation as a polemicist is his ability to offer
notjust a white perspective, but a critique of that perspective. He attempts tounite South Africans
through a shared uncertainty and an acknowledgement of thecultural ambiguity that underpins
South African society. He visuallyarticulates the shared frustration felt by most South Africans on
therealisation that the international stereotypes that we have been working sohard to escape are not
just external – they retain somelevel of internalisation regardless of the sincerity of the struggle to
befree. Exposing this internal duality allows Murray a humanity that mightotherwise be difficult
to see amongst the satire.

To end, I leave you with an appropriately succinct butironical comment of Murray’s:
“I remain committed to the freedom ofexpression, absolutely”.

List of References

Azimi, Negar. 2011. ‘Goodintentions’. Frieze Magazine, 137: March. Accessed at
http://www.frieze.com/issue/article/good-intentionson 25/06/2011.
Baxter, Lisa. 2001. “Continuity and Change in Cape Town’sCoon Carnival: The 1960s and 1970s”. African
Studies, 60:1, 87-105
Bickford-Smith,Vivian. 1995. “Black Ethnicities, Communities and Political Expression in LateVictorian
Cape Town”. The Journal of African History, 36, pp 443-465
Coombes,Annie E. 2003. History after apartheid: visual culture and public memory in ademocratic South
Africa. London: Duke University Press.
Corrigall,Mary. 2009. “Brett Murray’s Crocodile Tears at The Goodman Gallery”.
http://www.brettmurray.co.za/essays-and-texts/mary-corrigalls-crocodile-tears-review/,December 2012
Davis, Rebecca. “From The Spear to Umshini Wam, a tripless ordinary”. Daily Maverick.
http://www.dailymaverick.co.za/article/2012-09-04-from-the-spear-to-umshini-wam-a-trip-less-expected/,
February2013.
Durrheim,Kevin, Mtose Xoliswa and Brown, Lindsay. 2011. Race Trouble: Race, Identity andInequality in
Post-Apartheid South Africa. Pietermaritzburg: Universityof KwaZulu Natal Press.
Dyer, Richard. 1997. White. London:Routledge.
Enwezor, Okwui. 1997. ‘Reframing the black subject:ideology and fantasy in contemporary South African
representation’.Third Text, 11:40, 21-40.
Frankenburg, Ruth. 1993. White Women,Race Matters: The Social Construction of Whiteness. Minnesota:
Universityof Minnesota Press.
Garner, Steve. 2007. Whiteness: An Introduction. London:Routledge.
Geers, Kendell. 1996. ‘Singing the Post-Apartheid Blues’.The Star, Friday August 1996. Accessed at
http://www.brettmurray.co.za/essays-and-texts/kendell-geers-white-boy-sings-the-blues-review,December
2012.
Griffiths, Dominic and Prozesky,Maris L. C.. 2010. ‘The politics of dwelling: being white/ being South
African’.Africa Today, Vol.56, No. 4 (Summer), 22-41.
Hecker, Judith B. 2011.Impressions from South Africa, 1965 to Now: Prints from the Museum of Modern
Art.New York, NY: The Museum of Modern Art.
Marschall, Sabine. 2001.“Strategies of Accomodation: Towards an Inclusive Canon of South African Art”.
ArtJournal, Vol. 60, No. 1 (Spring), 50-59.
O’Toole, Sean. 2009.‘Distinguishing the bull from the bullshit’. Pages 4-17 in Crocodile Tears,exhibition
catalogue. Goodman Gallery: In-house publishing.
Shaman,Sanford s. 2008. ‘Review: Crocodile Tears’. Art South Africa.http://www.artsouthafrica.com/?
article=617, December 2012.
Peffer,John. 2009. Art and the end of apartheid. Minnesota: University of MinnesotaPress.
Snyman, Gerrie. 2008. “African Hermeneutics’ ‘Outing’ ofWhiteness”. Neotestimentica, 42.1, 97-122.
van der Watt, Liese.2008. “Making Whiteness Strange”. Third Text, 15:56, 63-74.

Notes
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1 As it is theorised by authors suchas Frankenburg (1993), Dyer (1997) and Garner (2007), whiteness is generally
consideredto have three prominent tropes – normativity, invisibility and the socialnature of its construction. In
White Women, Race Matters, RuthFrankenberg (1993) defines whiteness as an expressive power that has theability
to shape the lives of white people: “First whiteness is alocation of structural advantage, of race privilege. Second, it
isa ‘standpoint’, a place from which white people look at [themselves], at othersand at society. Thirdly, ‘whiteness’
refers to a set of cultural practicesthat are usually unmarked and unnamed.” (Frankenberg 1993: 1).
2 SeeSnyman (2008).
3 See Enwezor’s seminal and much debated text ‘Reframingthe black subject: ideology and fantasy in contemporary
SouthAfrican representation’ (1997).
4 Until the late 1970s when theSoweto Riots forced a higher level of public awareness, Western and Eurocentric
canonshad been the most prevalent devices against which African and South African artwas judged. The
postmodernist tendency to question “hierarchically orderedbinaries” and its “critique of dominant Western culture”
(Marschall2001: 52) then led to the questioning of the art/craft divide in the late1980s. Although boundaries were
being constantly questioned, it wasalso during this time that new canons were in formation. Peffer (2009) explains
howit was the media coverage and photojournalism of the struggle years that firstbegan to construct the visually
stereotyped image of black resistancein South Africa. Photographers used extreme zooms to highlight and capture
themost violent and therefore the most dramatic moments for the purpose ofmaximising effect , thus the archetypal
image of the struggling,pained, tortured black subject resisting white domination entered theinternational
consciousness through the world press. This was amplifiedby the fact that the cultural boycott (which began in the
1960sand ended in 1991) had effectively starved the market for almost three decades,making such photographs the
only imagery available forinternational consumption.
5 It is important here to note thatalthough the Bill of Rights in the South African Constitution provides for it,
freedomof expression can only really function where there is a broad societalacceptance of its values.
6 Note that he is not just rendered‘black’ but is dressed as an nkosane (a “little chief”) with a beshu, which is
asign of adulthood. Consciously or unconsciously he is being constructed as anadult. In his later work, such as
Renaissance Man (2008) which will beaddressed in the discussion to come, he begins to recognise the significance
ofthis moment and adopts it as a major theme.
7 The Oros Man is thecartoon face of Oros, an orange squash made and sold in South Africa. Hisappearance
resembles a bright orange Michelin Man.
8Take, for example, the land claims that have been instituted in an attempt toredress the European appropriation
of tribal land, and the large scaleapartheid removals. Such policies are continually contested and adapted. This
debateand its continued destabilizing effect is highlighted by the recentgovernmental decision of the Mongaung
conference in 2012 to revoke the‘willing-buyer-willing-seller’ principle for land distribution and to invoke
compulsorypurchase at the government’s determined price.
9Griffiths and Prozesky (2010) claim that white South Africans now feel thatthey must choose between being white
and being South African. They use thephilosophical language of Taylor and Heidegger to account for this, arguing
that“a social imaginary informs the way in which one dwells”(Griffiths and Prozesky2010: 31), and that during
apartheid, an artificial sense ofdwelling was built on a flawed social imaginary that privileged white peopleand
boreno reflection to the reality of South African society. The fracturing of asocial imaginary so ingrained is held
by Griffiths and Prozesky as theforemost cause of emigration, even if the official details are documented ascrime,
affirmative action, or other surface concerns.
10In Sanford Shaman’s review, he notes that Murray’s figures have been“transformed from white European
colonials into black Africancolonials” (Shaman 2009).
11 This popular nineteenth centurytradition spread to other parts of the globe, and is largely responsible forthe
propagationof stereotyped representations of black people found in other forms of popularculture, such as cartoons,
comics and advertising campaigns.Although in the USA, blackface was brought to an end by the Civil Rights
Movementof the 1960’s, it is recorded as late as 1978 in the popular British televisionseries The Black and White
Minstrel Show.
12Kaapse Klopse is literally translated as “Cape knockers” or “Cape hitters”, butmore accurately as the Cape
Minstrels. I have deliberately chosento exclude the cruder term ‘Coon Carnival’ used by Baxter because of it’s
derogatorynature. The celebrations span the first two days of the calender year andconsist of “a street procession
through Cape Town’s city centre”. Theprocession is made up of groups or troupes who wear matching costumes.
Thefestivities culminate with competitions at various different venues where thetroupes perform dance routines,
sing and play instruments, andtrophies are awarded for a number of different categories(Baxter 2001: 87).
13This is an apt example of the postcolonial concept of mimicry, whereambivalence leads to a longing for and often
an adoption of theculture of the coloniser by the colonised – mostly because such culturalsignifiers come to stand
for power.
14Both this extract and the translation are quoted in Bickford-Smith 2009:448-449.
15 Richard Dyer (1997) identifies this as one of thedangers of speaking about whiteness in that it might be used as a
platformto claim the power of the oppressed, of the minority, as a ‘new victim group’who are the target of ‘unjust’
affirmative action policies.
16Again, see Enwezor (1997).
17 Murray was actively engaged in theprotest art movement of the resistance, first with The Loosely Affiliated Group
whichlater became the Gardens Media Project. This improvised group worked togetherto produce posters, T-shirts
stickers and graffiti, and organisedprotests as a means of conscientising people and drawing them into the
conversationof resistance. According to Hecker 2011, the guiding principle of the groupwere “to work for a
democratic South Africa, to oppose racism and sexism, tounite visual artists and establish cooperative ways of
working,and to form links with progressive organizations and put resources at theirservice.” (Hecker 2011:
18 Ubuntu is the Zulu philosophy ofhumanity epitomised by the African proverb “umuntu ngumunte ngabantu”, or
“ahuman-being becomes a human-being through other human-beings”.
19 Aswith Crocodile Tears the exhibition had already opened at the Goodman Gallery’sCape Town branch in 2011,
though this first version did notinclude The Spear.
20 The group was categorised as a terrorist organisationby the then South African government and banned in 1961.
21SACP is a member of the Tripartheid Alliance, together with the ANC and COSATU(Congress of South African
Trade Unions).
22“This [public threat], persistent and very threatening e-mails, and a call fromJonathan Shapiro (a friend who has
also been on the receiving end ofdeath threats) who said he has never seen anything like what was happening
regardingthe Spear and was worried for my safety [because of] the unbelievable silencefrom the state, the police
and the powers that be…in fact thetacit support [implied by this silence] gave the perpetrators [a] kind of fatwa
againstme, my assistant, the gallery owner and their staff and the editor of The CityPress and her staff, [and]
necessitated that I take my family toa place of safety.” (email correspondence with the artist, March 2013)
23This is most likely because they would have lost in the constitutional court.
24The legislation has not been abandoned by the ANC, though it has beencontinually watered down because
COSATU, for the moment, is opposed toit.
25Solomon Mahlangu was the first member of Umkhonto we Sizwe to be tried andhanged by the apartheid
government in June 1977.

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