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From Paleolithic cave drawings to scribbles of names on Delhi’s monuments, humans have always left their mark on public spaces. Through this article, we explore the evolution of graffiti, its roots in rebellion and dissent, and the stark contrast with commissioned street art.

Roughly between 40,000 and 14,000 years ago, the Paleolithic man made the first cave drawing. Eons later, as we stroll by narrow alleyways in Delhi, we see colorful graffiti lining up old walls, peeling away slowly. Between these thousands of years, humans never once stopped leaving pieces of art in public squares, subway stations, public baths, school desks, etc. Ancient Romans and Greeks scribbled their names and slogans of resistance on buildings in 31 BC, so did Napoleon’s soldiers in 1803, and so do Modern Indians in 2024 on monuments such as Qutub Minar.

Graffiti is thus a cultural, historical fact. Graffiti, as we now understand it, saw its genesis in the 1970s, when people began spray painting their names, or simple pieces of art, on trains. It also has its roots in the gang culture of New York. ‘Taggers’ went about discreetly spraying the names of their ‘crew’ on buildings and alley walls to mark their territory. The term graffiti was first used by The New York Times to describe this phenomenon. Graffiti was particularly popular in the urban areas of the United States as well as Europe, commonly targeting subways, trains, billboards, and walls.

Graffiti also forms a huge part of student culture, where students often use it as an anonymous outlet to express their dissent with the system they are thrust into. In August of 2024, a student of Disha Students’ Organization was suspended for writing ‘Scrap NTA’ on a wall in Delhi University’s North Campus. Some thought of this as valid disciplinary action, while others saw it as a stifling of students’ voices.

Graffiti has thus historically been a tool of dissent, especially in conflict zones where open public protests can be dangerous. It has also been legally considered as vandalism and destruction of property. The two basic ideological views on graffiti are that it is a form of self-expression and an outlet for social and political unrest while others view it as a violation of property rights and defacement of public property.

This, however, raises the question of public/street art versus graffiti. What differentiates the two and what is it about street art that makes it acceptable and what is it about graffiti that makes it illegal?

The most glaring difference between the two is that street art is usually created with permission, generally from the local ruling dispensation. While both art forms are created for public spaces, the act of creating graffiti is symbolically and politically very different from murals or other forms of street art. It is associated with rebellion and involves high-risk and covert methods of painting. It thus does not simply remain a physical act of creating a painting, but there is the added risk of incarceration or punishment, and it comes to represent something more. 

Local and even central governments often commission artists to create murals to ‘beautify’ the city. But one can argue whether such murals constitute real art like graffiti does. If art is commissioned by authority, can it ever truly reflect the feelings, problems, and thoughts of the masses? Or does it simply advance certain dominant ideological narratives? 

Why is it that art approved by the bureaucratic, partisan apparatus is considered to add to the beauty of the city, while graffiti is thought to take away from it? It can be hypothesized that class dynamics have a role to play in the same. Graffiti does not require formal training or expensive resources. All you need is a few cans of spray paint. On the other hand, street art may require more skill, and training, and commissioned murals may be accessible to more privileged artists who have better access to such training and resources. 

Thus, street art, which is supposed to be in the public domain, becomes gentrified, and the voices of the marginalized become overshadowed once again. For instance, in the famous Lodhi Art District, many murals speak of issues such as climate change, gender, etc., but since it is authorized, commissioned art, it speaks of these issues within a certain ideological box that it cannot breach, owing to its patron. While the colorful paintings at Lodhi Art District get posted all over social media and even promoted by the government as a tourist attraction, the graffiti in tunnels and alleys get painted over and hidden.

That is not to say that street art is a ‘lower’ form of public art. These murals are often very intricate and painstakingly curated by hardworking and talented artists. The point here is that street art is often conflated with graffiti when it is a gentrified, politically toned-down version of it. The art of graffiti deserves to be separately recognized for what is particularly represented—dissent and the ‘unsavory’ side of the city. It is not an irritant or an eyesore but an integral part of the story of the city. It is a bright, colorful reminder of the frustrations, hopes, and expressions of a section of the population that gets conveniently tucked away and hidden. 

 

Featured Image Credits : Herzindagi.com

 

Read also: Of Separation, Solidarity and Sustenance

 

Disha Bharti

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“Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!” When the young resist and “rebel,” people in positions of power often try to “deal” with them in their own way. Why is resistance often regarded as a menace?

It was the summer of 2015 when I first discovered the world of Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins as a pre-teen in 6th grade. The Hunger Games introduced me to the world of dystopian fantasy and were as culturally impactful as they were personally influential. In the past couple of months, I have fully regressed back into my 11-year-old self and re-entered my Hunger Games era. Although I had read and watched each installation of the series multiple times, they felt different when I jumped into that world once again after the release of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

I experienced something more as someone on the cusp of adulthood than I did the first time around. It isn’t that the politics of the Hunger Games universe are subtle, because they just aren’t. It’s impossible to describe the plot without discussing authoritarian regimes and, in response, political revolutions.

People recognise that the whole idea of the Hunger Games is a commentary on authoritarian regimes, specifically the non-democratic ones. But in the contemporary political landscape, we can all agree that democratic regimes, although not as blatantly authoritarian as the Capitol, are still effectively restraining freedom and cracking down on dissent, our country being not so distant from it.

Re-reading the books as a young adult who, like many others my age, is becoming more disillusioned with the entirety of the Indian political system with each passing news headline led me to inevitably draw some comparisons. Before anyone locks horns with me and argues that drawing comparisons between the Indian political system, specifically its manifestation in Delhi University, and the Hunger Games is ridiculous, yes, I know that we do not have a reality television show being run by power-hungry adults where children kill each other for entertainment.

I also know that the Indian government’s power, whether past regimes or the current one, does not flow from one individual, that it does not have two opposing political parties willing to abandon morality for power, and that its force doesn’t track down and kill dissenters, stripping them of a livelihood—well, actually…

The last few pages of Mockingjay called into question all sorts of philosophical tenets and how they unfortunately manifest in our lived reality. Particularly moving is Katniss’ realisation that the leader of the revolution, President Coin, is as morally deplorable as the fallen dictator, President Snow. She realises that, although Coin’s initial intentions may have been pure, her desire for power and revenge corrupted her, replacing one oppressive regime with another. Katniss is suspicious of her from the start, often drawing parallels between the way Coin runs District 13 and how Snow controls the Capitol.

Try not to look down on people who had to choose between death and disgrace.

Suzanne Collins, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

The Hunger Games are an annual tradition instituted by the Capitol in order to suppress the districts and remind them of the Capitol’s absolute power. The districts must each send one female and one male tribute to fight to the death as a form of entertainment for Capitol audiences, highlighting how the oppressed are just disposable to the oppressors.

The author introduces a patronising and oppressive fictional government, one that only retains control through fear-mongering. She describes a class divide that is undeniably perverse: some are forced to hunt illegally for survival, while others drink vomit-inducing poison just so they can eat again. Panem’s government and class divisions are not as alien as we are initially led to believe. In our world, we have witnessed such abuse of power, corruption, and controlling people’s voices. To draw parallels with the government’s actions or the university administration or not to draw any, I leave that task to you, the reader.

What is Democracy when the Choices are Bad and Worse?

The main difference between Panem and modern-day India is democracy. Although the leader of Panem uses the title of President, he rules as an absolute dictator. President Snow manipulates allies, kills enemies, and terrorises his citizens in order to keep power. The story warns us of the danger of leaving too much power in the hands of the few. I believe it was the sacred nature of democracy that Collins really wanted to leave the reader with. If we take it for granted, our own Hunger Games may soon be upon us—or are we too late?

The key idea in The Hunger Games trilogy and its prequel is how violence can be used to control a nation. President Snow uses the Hunger Games as a way to remind the districts of their helplessness while also feeding his constituents’ unceasing appetite for entertainment. The story sheds light on oppression and resistance, how the youth of a nation are controlled, and the way the people in positions of power “deal” with them when they “rebel.”.

Class division, inequality between citizens, governmental oppression, human suffering, corruption, destruction of buildings, and revolution—all of these issues raised in the Hunger Games universe serve as bridges between today’s “modern” India or even the world and the fictional nation of Panem.

Democracy is certainly backsliding at our university, which was once known to lead the students’ resistance against the authoritarian British colonial government. In the institution where popular protests against authoritarian regimes in an independent India were led, be it participating in the Jayaprakash Narayan Movement or resisting the National Emergency of 1975, we are now in a time when even documentary screenings are banned, because dare we question the government in a democracy?

In August this year, Sabyasachi Das, a member of the faculty of the Economics Department at Ashoka University, resigned following a controversy over his research paper, ‘Democratic Backsliding in the World’s Largest Democracy’. I believe the fact of this incident itself affirms the title of the research paper.

The one unfortunate point of commonality between dystopian literature and the real world is how we are desensitised to the extent that we become silent spectators to atrocities being committed in front of us, just like the Capitol citizens.

The Mockingjay Sings

The allegory of the Mockingjays of District 12 is the inability of the government to control these creatures, making them an inspiration and a symbol for the rebellion. Though these are fictional species, they do represent revolution and rebellion and can be associated with the current political landscape. Because the youth will certainly rise when the old are busy in a tussle of proving why the other person is worse, instead of actually working for the people, as “stupid people are dangerous.”

Through Katniss and Lucy, we see two distinct representations of society (with Lucy Gray being an “alleged” ancestor of Katniss). Sometimes soldiers are forced to be artists, and artists are forced to be soldiers, as Lucy Gray Baird was forced to fight in the Hunger Games as a mockingjay whose voice was taken away from her. Katniss Everdeen, on the other hand, was made into a spectacle when she was actually a soldier, willing to fight for her district and its people, but reduced to a set piece for entertainment.

Delving into the world of the Hunger Games from the perspective of Snow, we explore the human side of a villain. I believe that from the author’s perspective, she tries to showcase that people like Snow are not necessarily ‘monsters’ to their core, but rather real human beings who are willing to choose greed and power for their own self-interest. This is certainly representative of the larger political system in most modern-day democracies, including India, where it’s just people in positions of power constantly choosing to exploit their power and suppressing voices of revolt. But as is illustrated in the world of the Hunger Games, irrespective of the restrictive boundaries of any cage, the Mockingjay sings.

When Katniss sings “The Hanging Tree” to Pollux and the Mockingjays, she points out that she hasn’t sung it “out loud for ten years because it’s forbidden,” implying that it’s not only banned in the Everdeen house but essentially in Panem. Perhaps her father sang it around town to subtly alert the residents of District 12 that he was revolutionary, willing to do whatever it took to stand up to the Capitol.

“They say he murdered three,” the song chants, its words asserting the often-manipulative accusations of the Capitol. This song was a voice of rebellion, concocted not about a desperate lover but about a revolutionary whose plea was for his neighbours to follow him towards a fight for freedom, no matter the cost. Even if it meant they might end up hanging by his side.

Read also: Saffronisation out in the Open, Finally!

Featured Image Credits: CBS News

Gauri Garg
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Is it the purpose of art to suit certain political sides? Is it necessary that it subverts opinions? The age-old question of the politics in, and of art remains, but should its consumption be denied solely based on that?

Arundhati Roy, the Booker Prize-winning writer, said, “Ignoring of things is as political as the addressing of them.” The significance of the activist cum writer’s words becomes more evident when one takes a good look at the current
discourse surrounding art in India. With the elections about to commence amid a fervour of political blame-shifting,
staining of opposing strategies, and the power play of the entire nation, ‘propaganda’ is a word found commonly
conjunct with films these days. There is certainty that this theme of thought cannot be let go off without a patient
analysis, unlike the way it has been conveniently ignored by the members of the film fraternity meeting with the
Prime Minister as fans-in-awe instead of citizens-in-power.
The Accidental Prime Minister, Uri: The Surgical Strike, PM Narendra Modi, a biopic on our Prime Minister, are some of the films with nationalist, or an explicit political sentiment endorsed in their content. It is foolish to deny the
agenda meant to be fulfilled by them, to target the audience that is soon going to vote. But a question that arises in the storm of posts filled with the criticism of these films is: is art essentially only political? The answer to this should not be the direct conclusion to the question: should art be dismissed solely based on its political propaganda?

At the risk of inviting backlash, the answer to these questions is a plain negative. This does not deny that ‘personal is political’, but the purpose of art was not to live up to the standards of morality, simply because morality may change according to cultures, subjectivities, and circumstances. Even if one disagrees with the politics of a certain artwork, making that the primary reason for its non-consumption or criticism is a problematic course of action. If individuals decide that the dismissal of art on the sole criterion, i.e. its impact on the mindset of society, is the road to take, then a dangerous form of censorship rises to the pedestal. It is the misguided way of justifying a curb on free speech. One of the parameters for the consumption or criticism of any art, according to academicians James Bruce Ross and Mary Martin McLaughlin, is the context in which it is placed, and the political baggage of it cannot be left behind. To look at art as art, not a theoretical course or an argument in itself, it is important to first consume it with patient judgment. There will always be a political debate brewing in its context, and if the dismissal of art is confined to it, then there will probably be not much art left to consume without a feeling of guilt towards one’s political and ethical ideologies. It is absolutely possible to be critical of art, but it is only through its consumption that one can become informed, and misinformed choices are not the way to take in the attention-grabbing era of political marketing.

Feature Image Credits: Artmajeur

Anushree Joshi
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