On Invasion

We live in a world of unpredictability, fracture and powerlessness. Acts of violence, invasion and oppression, both seen and unseen, pervade all aspects of life and threaten the viability of the planet. Yet, perhaps because of this powerlessness and fracture, this is also a time of solidarity, of acts of resistance both large and small, and of friendship, love and bravery. It is a confusing and confounding time and one in which we must yet again consider the role, value and power of art to intervene, to destabilize, to disrupt and to question. As Hannah Arendt points out:

Never has our future been more unpredictable, never have we depended so much on political forces that cannot be trusted to follow the rules of common sense and self-interest – forces that look like sheer insanity, if judged by the standards of other centuries. It is as though mankind [sic] had divided itself between those who believe in human omnipotence … and those for whom powerlessness has become the major experience of their lives. (Arendt 1951: vii)

Arendt wrote the lines above in the preface to the first edition of The Origins of Totalitarianism in 1950, and they resonate strongly with the crises of today. However, let us also reflect on Seamus Heaney’s verse adaption of Sophocles’ play Philoctetes, first published in the early 1990s as sectarian violence in the north of Ireland seemed beyond hope.

History says, Don’t hope

On this side of the grave … 

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.

(Heaney 1990)

We draw on the work of Arendt and Heaney to acknowledge the powerlessness of so many, while hoping for a ‘longed-for tidal wave/Of justice … ’ that might alter the course of things on many levels and return a sense of shared purpose and humanity to domains that – for myriad reasons – seem to have been emptied out of hope.

The topic of invasion, in the context of the current world order, is apt for an issue of Performance Research. It allows us, as scholars and artists, to consider the idea and reality of invasions – of communities and nations, of politics and governance, of the body, the imagination and the environment and of ways of responding to these invasive forces through creativity and performance. It is a broad topic, yet also one that engenders rich, nuanced and provocative responses, as the contributions to this issue attest. When we think of invasion as a concept and a reality, we conjure up images of war, isolation, refugees, climate destruction, the Anthropocene, racial division and oppression, ecological devastation and infiltration, political rupture, technological interference and surveillance, medical procedures and immersive dramaturgies, among others.

This issue considers how performance and artistic practice more broadly documents, responds to, enacts or performs invasion in both micro and macro ways. Some of us may understand the theatre as an invasive force, following Antonin Artaud, one that seeps into the body of the performer and/or spectator – one that infiltrates slyly, demands an audience response or bombards sonically; think of the work of Romeo Castellucci, Sarah Vanhee, Tania Bruguera, Milo Rau, Bashar Murkus, ANU Productions, Brokentalkers, Junk Ensemble or Back to Back Theatre, for example.

Contributions to this issue reflect on the ways in which performance might equip us as artists, academics – and indeed as human beings – to withstand, to trouble or to refuse these and other kinds of invasions – both within and beyond the performance space. It asks questions about how performance might intervene to alter this status quo of fear, fracture and disruption in society in the broadest sense. What might our roles and responsibilities be as citizens in terms of our preparation for, and response to, invasions of all kinds? What might be done in the aftermath? How might we draw on artistic practices to begin a process of repair or healing? How long must we wait after an invasion, and what kinds of interventions might work and what should be avoided to ensure we do not do more harm than good?

‘On Invasion’ is rooted in many concerns, each distinct though often overlapping. In the year of the call for proposals, 2022, the word ‘invasion’ immediately conjured images of Ukraine. In spring 2022, images of a convoy of Russian tanks estimated to be approximately 40 miles long entering Ukraine were witnessed globally (BBC 2022). The convoy, in all its might and force, invaded borders, but its reach penetrated more than physical land. Diplomacy, trust, treaties and international relations became undone, signalling the beginning of major flux locally and globally, politically and socially. Since that time, Ukrainian villages have been decimated, most recently through the destruction of the Kakhovka Dam, resulting in massive flooding that is threatening lives and homes across the region. As the war continues bodies are being uncovered in mass graves, while unspeakable war crimes are being carried out. Such images feel impossible to look at and to look away from. Ukraine, however, has also shown the world what community can mean in such times of crisis. Ukrainian communities at home and abroad have demonstrated care for one another in moments of utter torment and devastation, and in so doing display a beauty inherent in humanity alongside its capacity for violence. The impact of this brutal invasion of homes, schools, hospitals, civic centres and national borders cannot be adequately captured in words or discourse. Regardless, it is our responsibility to acknowledge these atrocities, and use any mediums of communication we may access to recognize and draw attention to the sustained violation of human rights that is occurring.

Beyond Ukraine, the violation of human rights takes other forms. Indeed, as we finalize this issue for print in October 2023, we are confronted by images of another brutal war. The Israel-Hamas war is tearing families and communities apart and it is heartbreaking for all of those directly impacted as well as their families and communities globally. Furthermore, Iran is still reeling from the torture and murder of Mahsa Amini (also known as Jina Amini) in September 2022 by the ‘morality police’. Since her murder and the protests that have erupted in response there have been more deaths in an attempt to quell those who have risen up to demand change. These protests and the images of women refusing to wear a hijab and cutting their hair in solidarity also signify both desperation and resistance. They represent a demand for better treatment and a refusal of the invasive and/or pervasive control over bodies, minds and lives in Iran. Just as it is impossible to capture the full significance of the Ukrainian situation from beyond its borders, it would be paternalistic to say that the Iranian protests can be fully understood from the position of comfort that a Western democratic vantage point affords. These protests instill a sense of powerlessness for the onlooker who does not know how to act to help or to be an ally in the face of a regime of terror. There is a difficulty in being a spectator to these kinds of invasions in Ukraine and Iran, along with the many other sites where invasions of all kinds are currently underway. How do we read, interpret or even react to the invasion and its counter – the resistance? These examples and the many others addressed in this issue reflect some of the complexities attached to attempting to think-through, act in response to and understand invasion, particularly the kind of invasion that involves war and terror. Despite this complexity one thing that remains consistent, however, is the ways in which acts of invasion – in the context of war and terror at least– are often intimately tied up with performativity. From images of tanks and the stoic or steadfast presence of the Ukrainian people and their leader, to the photographs and filmed images of hair – plaited, being cut or being held aloft in protest as the symbol of resistance in Iran – in the current media-saturated era, performativity becomes a key component of both invasion and resistance in the public sphere.

Indeed, the staging and performativity of the Russian invasion are particularly telling. Russia’s intimidating convoy – an image of machines – also becomes juxtaposed with the Ukrainian response – led by people. One side has force and appears led by fear of the regime. The other has friends and is led by faith in sovereignty. Of course, these are the images filtered through media outlets and social media; they offer snapshots of people and culture but are also framed and curated by political agendas. For countries and communities globally, this war triggers memories of twentieth-century wars, invasions and colonial histories. For many Eastern European countries, the Russian invasion is feared as a Soviet starting point, not an end goal. The present moment is pregnant with trepidation. What comes next?

If this issue had been released circa 2019 to 2021, ‘invasion’ would be more associated with the intense spread of COVID-19, mocking borders and notions of nationhood as outdated and ineffective. Equally global in scale and consequence is the impact of human-led environmental disaster, as Earth’s surface and resources are plundered in the false promise of economic wealth and progression. If ‘invasion’ were suggested as part of gender research, no doubt the gender-based discrimination of women and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning and intersex plus (LGBTQI+) communities, including physical and emotional violence, would be paramount to such analyses. If our communities of theatre and performance scholars were to ruminate on the term ‘invasion’ in our professional contexts, we might despair at how arts and humanities disciplines are pierced, squeezed and threatened across higher education institutions globally in the context of the neoliberal present where the focus is very much on individual (primarily economic) attainment and the production of what in the Australian context are called ‘job ready graduates’. Invasion of land, structures, body, mind, dignity and diplomacy signify the fracture of twenty-first-century society. On this neoliberal stage of crisis, Irish sociologist Eilis Ward proposes that we are experiencing ‘a break with the contract between the citizen and the state that constitutes the traditional basis of western liberal democracies’ (2021: 7–8). As part of this broken contract, the ideology proposed is that ‘competition is the only legitimate organizing principle for human activity’ (7). Competition, as an organizing principle for land, wealth, power and supremacy, is centred on a system of winners and losers, pitting people against one another. Competition erodes community, and indeed threatens the common bond of humanity. We see the impact of this in micro and macro contexts from home life to work life, to political and global tensions. Decades of neoliberal structures and policies have shaped our public, private and political reality, undermining capacity to build empathy and strengthen the interactions of societies. The invasion began with ideology before it turned to body, land and resources. How does one support their neighbour when the societal rules mean that they must compete for survival – for jobs, vaccines, citizenship? On this fracture of humanity Ward explains,

Neoliberalism seeks to tear up our profound interdependence, our shared ontology, or the very depth of the social within us that allows us to grow and flourish and to live emotionally and psychologically sustainable lives. In eliminating bonds of solidarity and relationality between us, it produces a fragmentation of ourselves as human beings. (Ward 2021: 14)

Invasion reinforces the notion of them and us, an unwelcome threat and potential colonizing force. The takeover could be of one’s healthy cells, or one’s homeland and habitat. In recent years, it has been some or all of the above, leaving communities in physical peril and exhaustion, compounded by existential crises of national identity and belonging. While Hollywood movies may capture these ideas with great energy and convenience, such as invasions by an alien species always defeated by heroic communities leading to renewed harmony, this narrative is rarely found among our present-day experience. There is common cause in a common enemy once that enemy can be identified. Is it an individual that causes an invasion, or an ideology? Is history perhaps the real culprit, or economics or maybe a matrix of power relations in constant flux? At times, a victim and perpetrator are easily identified, and yet, these roles can co-exist within the one person, institution and nation.

There are invasions, and then, there is our response to the invasion, our strategies for survival, and our agency to enact hope, healing and change. For now, at least, we continue to perform, to play and to find meaning and solace together despite such difficulties, and perhaps because of them. The togetherness of communities both within and beyond the theatre reflects a strength, as Ukrainian and Iranian citizens have so potently demonstrated, that rises up and overpowers the singularity or individualism that animates the neoliberal world. This is something to be celebrated, even in the darkest of times. Solidarity is not a magic wand, but its affects are numerous, some immediate and others taking longer to grow and interconnect. We must find what comes after ‘Invasion’, so as to be nourished by hope, to direct our energies into something that offers a return, but also, because we realize that we have no choice if we are to retain our humanity. ‘Now’ is part of an epochal shift. Can hope and history rhyme as Heaney offers? The possibility is soothing, and that possibility must guide our abilities to conceive of new forms of world-making, as we navigate the tremors of this epochal shift politically, environmentally and socially.