This speech was delivered on September 14, 2006, during the Arts Midwest Conference by Johann Zietsman, ISPA's former Executive Director.

Three years ago I attended a conference presented by the National Arts Journalism Program at Columbia University, entitled: “Arts and Minds: Cultural Diplomacy amid Global Tensions.”  This was exactly two weeks after the invasion of Iraq, and the topic could not have been more relevant.  I was acutely interested in this discussion, because I firmly believe the arts provide at least one of the ways (if not the only one) to reduce and avoid inter-cultural global conflict.  Where conventional political diplomacy fails to resolve tension; where military options fail; where revolutions and rebellions fail – the universal language of the arts (and culture) often succeeds in building bridges between cultures in strife.  So I was looking forward to hearing how the arts could play a role during this troubling time.

We heard very impressive reports during this two-day conference, presented by equally impressive professionals about the extensive efforts of the USA to present our culture and our country in the best light abroad.  It was very clear that through various programs (including arts-based programs) the US has done, and is still doing important work to get the message out, and to strengthen foreign understanding of the US culture.  But as impressive as all this was, and without detracting from anything presented during the two days, I was left with a strong sense that a very important ingredient was missing – all the speakers were describing cross-cultural bridges, but they were one way bridges.   And then, in the last session of the last day, a panelist articulated my thoughts very clearly. 

He said: “What I’ve heard us talking about a lot is telling our story, but I have not heard enough about listening to other people’s stories…..unless we can listen, we’re screwed.”

This rather articulate panelist was David Fraher – and I can only hope that the profound importance of this statement would not be lost in the diplomatic and military and political noise – that we would remember to listen.  David’s comment also relates to my talk today about the broadening role of the arts presenter.

Since that time we have been in touch periodically as Arts Midwest and ISPA’s paths crossed in our small world, and I am delighted that we are able to collaborate and to support each other’s efforts in the field. I am also delighted David agreed to be the closing speaker at ISPA’s upcoming Congress in January in NY.  David made the mistake of inviting me to speak about ISPA, which of course I do with pleasure.  ISPA was founded in 1949 in NY as a concert managers association.  It grew to become a national organization, and expanded its mission internationally twenty years ago.  I joined ISPA during the nineties, and found ISPA to be the best network to exchange business opportunities globally.  I also found a network of relationships that had developed into friendships, and a growing curiosity in exploring “other” cultures, issues and ideas.  When I was invited to run ISPA four years ago, I was attracted to this broadening mission, and found the discussions between global peers to be more about broader arts-related issues, than about who will conduct where and when.  ISPA had moved from a US network of trade exchange to a global network of ideas exchange.  During the past four years this has become one of the differentiating factors that define ISPA: while we do provide some opportunities for business exchange, and our members value that opportunity, our members also value the stimulating and challenging discourse about our role in today’s society.  Another ISPA strength is our extended global footprint (we are represented in more than 60 countries) and our diverse membership – not just diverse countries and ethnic origins, but also the disciplines they represent.  We have presenters, producers, artists, venue executives, educators, consultants, architects etc.  We welcome anybody who has an ambition for the arts (from whatever perspective), and appreciate every new voice.  We meet twice a year (Jan in NY, June in different cities around the world), and about 300 delegates would engage in discussions around a pre-selected theme of current relevance.  For example: NY06: UBUNTU, which is an African philosophy meaning: “I am because we are.”  During this Congress actor John Kani introduced the philosophy in a moving keynote, and we explored how this applies to our work in the performing arts from a number of perspectives.  Our delegates left empowered with a deeper understanding of how our work is inextricably linked to the issues of our fellow human beings.  Our upcoming Congress in January 2007 (16-18), will look at the new universe of artists and audiences that share their experiences in ways that may not fit into the more “traditional” circuit that many of us represent.  The theme for this will be “FLUIDITY,” which describes the way audiences flow easily between venues and experiences without any clear bias or preference.  Our meetings are stimulating and challenging, and we also know how to have a good time!  If you are interested in ISPA, or in attending our Congress, please let me know.  Our website contains more information at www.ispa.org. 

My perspective on our industry is inseparable from my perspective on life, which is in turn shaped by my experiences over the past five decades.  So to get my point across, I need to share a brief journey through my life, since it informs my convictions about our industry, and the way ahead.  I was born and raised in Apartheid South Africa, and enjoyed the life of a privileged white boy growing up in rural SA.  Every 18 year-old white boy was required by law to do military service, and I was no exception.  The alternative was jail.  The enemy we were trained to fight were the “terrorists” from the banned and exiled African National Congress, and I spent many months on our northern borders in guerilla warfare – defending what I believed was our “freedom, our culture, our democracy”.  Little did I know that 20 years later, these terrorists would become our government – and that I would not only rejoice, but participate actively as a change agent in the arts!  So the first perspective I wish to share from this, is that I learnt to be very careful how the label “terrorist” is attached to people.  For that matter: how any label is attached – because it is all a matter of your point of view.  At our recent Congress in June in Hong Kong, our keynote speaker, Lin Hwai-min - founder of Cloudgate Dance Theater Taiwan – said this about his perspective on the West: (at this time he was studying in the USA, and was searching for clarity on his identity and purpose) “It dawned on me that most of my understanding about the West was actually an accumulation of misconceptions.”  I learned on the SA border that the bigger enemy was “misconceptions,” because we base so many far-reaching decisions on misconceptions that we may consider at the time to be “slam-dunks.”

They say before you say something about somebody, you should first walk in mile in their shoes.  That way, when they find out what you said, you are a mile away, and you still have their shoes!

After I graduated as an architect, I came to Ithaca, NY to do a Masters degree in Music, and returned to start a music school in Cape Town in 1980.  I accepted some very talented students from the black and colored communities, but was told in no uncertain terms that I could not use “white” education money for this purpose.  So I promptly found some “color-blind” money to teach these kids anyway, but the anti-apartheid activism of my student years rose up in me, and I knew then that I had found a very important cause to dedicate my work to.  In my subsequent job I ran an Opera company and an orchestra, but after playing and presenting the same repertoire to the same (white) audience for five years, I left to start a community cultural center in a rural Tswana village in the homeland of Bophuthatswana.   It was here that I experienced the deeper value of the arts in a community for the first time.  Apart from a few others on our staff of 180, me and my family were the only whites in this Tswana tribal village.  We opened the center with an in-house production we put together, involving all of the 400 students enrolled at the center at the time.  The arts department did the designs; the drama department did the script and directing; the dance department did the choreography; the needlework department did the costumes; the music unit wrote and performed the music etc.  As an “experienced arts producer and presenter” I had a clear marketing campaign; a solid publicity strategy; a well-planned schedule of four performances; foyer services; security; parking; ticket sales – all in place.  You would have approved!  We even anticipated a significant number of late-comers, so we planned a “false start” at the advertised time (7.30) – which was really a curtain raiser, with the main program following 30 minutes later (at 8.00).  We had covered all the angles – right down to a babies’ room, a mothers’ room, a smokers’ room, a VIP room and green rooms backstage.  Ticket sales before the night were very slow – in fact we sold none!  My local marketing director scrapped most of my Marketing 101 plans, and opted for word-of-mouth only, and I was beginning to prepare my “I-told-you-so” speech.  On the opening night our 35 VIP’s showed up on time – including the President and his wife (who messed up our new lawn with his helicopter) – and when they entered the brand new 500-seat theater, they brought the total audience up to 55 – including the 15 members of staff.  I stepped out onto the stage to deliver my carefully rehearsed Tswana welcome speech.

In my previous life I have performed Mozart horn concerto’s, I have played Wagner operas and Mahler symphonies as principal horn, I have conducted orchestras when the conductor fell ill on the night of the concert, I even attended the birth of my first-born – but I have never been so nervous! 

Our VIP’s and the other victims numbered only 80 by the end of the curtain raiser – with 420 brand new, but empty, seats.  But as an “experienced arts presenter” I knew one could achieve a lot during a timely interval – except I had absolutely no idea what to do anymore!  My marketing guru kept saying “The people will come.”  And during interval, a few did – after what felt like an eternity, we had to end the 35-minute interval, and start the main show – for a total of 95 people.  But still: the people came – 5 minutes late, 10 minutes late – challenging every rule in my book about the proper protocols for late-comers.  They did not care that they missed the opening.  They were quite happy to pay the full ticket price and sit anywhere.  And we let them in.  And they kept coming – 20 minutes late, 30 minutes late – it was now almost 9.00 pm – and still they came.  We started saying they had missed more than half – more than ¾ - only ten minutes left – and still they came.

When the curtain came down, 450 people had bought tickets, and we begged the other 200 in the foyer to come back the next evening.  Our security guard kept repeating this message to people who kept arriving until past midnight – 95% of them on foot.

We obviously changed the plans for the following three shows, and had longer pre- and post – shows.  We had full houses, and could have done more shows.

The practical lessons from this experience are obvious, and we applied these in the subsequent years with success.  We developed many new solutions, and learned much from our new universe.  But by far the most profound lesson was a simple lesson.  Back to David's comment at Columbia about listening: one of Stephen Covey's "Seven Habits for highly effective people" is to seek first to understand - then to be understood.  Listen.  Understand. Then respond.  In that order.  We were so intent on teaching others the “correct” ways, on “educating” our audience, on selling our product, on applying “tried and tested” methods – that we ignored the needs, reality and culture of our community.

Our community sat around fires at night, they told stories, sang ethnic songs, and danced in the dust.  They did not do this to “entertain” themselves or each other – they did it because that is what they do.  That is who they are.  That is their culture.  Singing, dancing and storytelling – what we might call the performing arts - is their way of life.  It is what they do underground in the gold mines, it is what they do when they work their farms, or when they walk to work.  So: the notion that they should walk for miles and show up at an appointed time, pay for a ticket, sit on an assigned seat, wait for interval before they can go to the bathroom, be silent during the show, and leave 90 minutes later when it is all over simply did not compute.  And for us as presenters to ignore this, or worse still: to try to change this, would not only be doomed to fail, but it would be highly insensitive and arrogant.

I realize this experience was probably an extreme one, but I would argue that the underlying lesson is universal, and that it applies to any presenter in any community, every time we facilitate an interaction with our community.

During this time I also met Bodulo Mchali, who brought into focus another important lesson about the deeper value of the arts.  Bodulo was an eighteen year-old boy who, like most of his age in this village, was a gangster on his way to nowhere.  He had failed Grade ten three times, been in trouble with the law a couple of times, and did not have prospects for a better life.  His father lives in Johannesburg (300 miles away) where he worked in a gold mine, his mother lived 30 miles away, where she worked as a char for a white family, and he lived with his grandmother.  He attended a pretty bad school with ill-equipped teachers (no thanks to the white government, who under funded black education by design) – so Bodulo was a typical product of his circumstances.

Bodulo’s gang came to check out the cultural center – probably to see if there was something they could break – or steal.  To make a long story short: he ended up playing the drums.  At the end of that year, Bodulo passed Grade ten, he was top of his class in maths the next year, and was Head Boy in Grade twelve.  Bodulo is now a Mathematics teacher in his hometown.  I am NOT suggesting if your son struggles with maths that you go and by him a drum set, but the question is: what happened in Budulo’s life to cause this dramatic turnaround?  He was still in the same bad school, same teachers, same gang of friends, same village.  Something changed.  The latent creative potential that was always inside Bodulo, was unlocked – through the only thing that changed in his life – he was exposed the arts.

The arts will always unlock the latent creative potential and imagination within each of us.  We all know this, but I fear we do not often consider the full impact of our work on our audiences and communities.

And for the final South African experience I will fast forward to the 90’s when I was the CEO of the Playhouse Company in Durban.  I was appointed to transform this multi-venue producing and presenting house from an all-white company to reflect the real SA demographics.  I was honored to work with many great black artists, among them John Kani, Gibson Kente, Mbongeni Ngema, and Joseph Shabalala.  During this period (and earlier) – leading up to the release of Mr. Nelson Mandela – many of these artists had to present their work in illegal underground theatres, because the anti-apartheid messages of their work were banned.  I attended many of these performances, and presented many in our theaters, which did not endear me to my traditional audience base – but that is another story!  This genre was referred to as “Struggle Theater”, and many thousands of white South Africans got their first wake-up call to the truth and cruelty of Apartheid through these experiences.  Through the universal language of the arts, the suffering was understood and despised (even by the oppressor), the hope for freedom was sensed; the irrepressible optimism was conveyed, and the inevitability of liberty was anticipated.  All this happened long before Mr. de Klerk and Mr. Mandela met to discuss the future.  Mr. de Klerk (who was the President at the time) was preparing to announce to his supporters in the ruling minority that they would hand over power to the suppressed majority; and Mr. Mandela was preparing to tell his followers that they would not get bloody vengeance – neither of these would be popular messages, in fact it was political suicide.  If they were to receive election advice from Karl Rove, none of this would have happened!   Fortunately both men were great leaders who looked beyond their own short-term gains, and saw a bigger picture.  By the time they made their startling decisions known, the people were ready for change, because the years of exposure to the messages of struggle theatre had prepared the ground.  A level of cross-cultural understanding, respect and tolerance had already developed.  The miracle of SA’s peaceful transformation is due to a complicated matrix of interconnected factors (the principal one being the Mandela-factor), but millions will tell you that, pre-Mandela, their eyes and hearts were opened not by political rhetoric, but through exposure to messages conveyed though the universal language of the arts.  These messages touched them and changed them.

Another example: Earlier this year the United Nations announced the details of a program that will encourage the arts as a path to peace and understanding in strife-ridden Rwanda, and to improve understanding among countries.  Same story – different country – same solution.  Increasingly we see leaders in politics, business, education, tourism and social studies articulate the role of the arts in ever ascending priority.  New buzz words are: "Creative Clusters", "Creative Campus," "Revitalization and Regeneration of inner cities through the arts," "Creative Economy," Richard Florida's "The Rise of the Creative Class" and Jim Collins' "Good to Great."  If there ever was a time when it was easy for us to convince others of the value of the arts, it is now.  We have more allies - from diverse perspectives, than ever before.
The arts are the best mirror of a society – it reflects their hopes, fears, values and realities.  Much like Struggle Theater did in SA.  But if you get to be my age, you discover that a mirror does not only reflect – it also comments!  With cruel honesty!  The American composer Archibald McLeish said it like this: “Artists don’t see the world the way it wants to be seen, and the world reciprocates”
The arts impact.  Period.  Therefore we impact. Period.  This is as big a truth as it is a responsibility.

Stephen Covey said: “Leadership is a choice – not a position.”  By virtue of our choice of profession, we are leaders in our communities - or we should be.  We are influencers.  Affecters.  Impacters.  We have the passion, creative abilities and tools – and the responsibility – to think “long term” and “bigger picture.”  To think renewal.  To think laterally.  To think healing.  And the decisions we make affect our communities.  So as the arts seem to be climbing up the ladder of various social agendas, how do we channel this influence?

Clearly, our motives are very important.  How would we answer the question: “So, you present the arts – so what?”  Of course at the most basic level of motivation we do it to fill houses, to balance budgets and to buy Starbucks.  And at the second level of motivation – Why would we do this to ourselves? -  we might be driven by an interest in the arts, a love for the arts, or even a passion?  The question I am asking today is at the next level of motivation: we do art, because…?  What is the “bigger purpose?”  What is our reason d’etre?

During the 2001 presentation of the Nation Medal of Arts and Humanities he said: “The men and women who are about to receive the National Medal of Arts and the National Humanities Medal are singers and dancers, and painters, and producers and actors, and writers and scholars. Yet, for all their differences, they have one thing in common: they're all teachers.”  They might have answered my question by saying: “I do art because I like helping to build a better future.”  Or “because I want to open eyes and hearts.”  How would we answer?
In 2004 a group of leaders in education, arts and related fields gathered in Chicago to discuss the concept of the Creative Campus.  A summary of the meeting was published, which dedicates a full chapter to the role of Presenters within this context, and this includes the following: “Presenters are particularly well positioned to make contributions to the building of partnerships with communities … and they are finding ways to present contemporary global and societal issues and ideas through the arts...”
We are all familiar with the cliché: “The Medium is the Message,” and I am sure we can all remember a favorite grade-school teacher – not for what she/he taught us, but for who they were – how they treated us – how they conveyed the message.  If we (the medium) are the message, then what is that message?  If the President were to award us the Medal of Arts, what would we want him (or her) to say about our contribution?   What did our season programming, our education programs, our community outreach projects, our artistic balance or our communication with our patrons do to our community?  What did we leave behind?

Identifying our own message is important.  First, we need to examine our motives and clarify our core values - both professionally and personally - and find the commonalities.  This will identify the areas where we can have the most positive affect on our community through our daily work. 
Then we need to become MUCH more sensitive to the needs and key issues in our communities - be they economic, social, education, financial, health, or anything else. 
Only then can we begin to frame a meaningful response.  We seem to have cycled back to David’s comment at Columbia, and the need to listen.

Listen.  Understand. Then respond.

I conclude with a challenge:

Ben Cameron wrote that a Poll done in 2003 indicated that the top three regrets of retirees are: 1) they regret that they did not do enough reflective thinking, 2) they regret not taking more risks, 3) and they regret not being clearer about their purpose in life.

Our industry: this marvelous, wonderful, colorful, crazy world of the arts certainly presents us with enough opportunities to face these three challenges.  I believe we have the passion, the creative skills, the perfect tools, a clear historic and current mandate, and an urgent civic duty.  What we do leaves a footprint in our community – whether we like it or not.  Does our footprint crush?  Or does it wash away with the first rains?  Or does it join others to a better future?  I ask today that we start by addressing the first regret: that we do some more reflective thinking about our broader role in our communities.  Remember: UBUNTU!  We are, because they (our community) are.

Thank you.

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