To talk as if they had a manifesto in their mouth

Abstract

The act of writing and/or reading a manifesto is inherently political: bearing the weight of historical struggles and contemporary aspirations. Situating the camera inside my mouth, this video art piece reclaims the manifesto as an intimate, visceral experience, grounding it in the physicality of the body. This artistic approach invites the viewer to traverse the blurred boundaries between reader and performer, queerness and academia, provoking contemplation on the deeply personal and subjective nature of the inside of my mouth. My body is a manifestation of queer activism and activity, highlighting that it’s not merely about the words spoken but the understanding rooted in life experiences and embodied knowledge. As I read my The Southern Butthole Manifesto with a dildo camera inside my mouth, the words become unintelligible, mirroring the material, historical, and experiential complexities inherent in the manifesto’s message. This deliberate refusal to be clearly understood underscores the challenge of understanding, akin to the difficulty of comprehending the manifold layers of my queer experience as someone from the global south based in the global north (where interpretations of my body differ significantly.) Reflecting on the expectations such as “learn German to get a better job”, or “if you don’t speak English, you won’t be part of the international art market”, or “if you don’t change your voice, you will never have a partner”, or “you need to change the way you speak to stay here” (it was at the end of my first semester in Social Sciences, in 1998), reinforces the disparities in how my body and voice are perceived in these two contrasting worlds. The division between South and North transcends mere geopolitics; it extends into the realm of discourse, influencing our experiences, freedoms, movements, and ways of being. These discourses shape our possibilities, our accesses, and our ways to be understood. Consequently, when my southern language is not comprehended by northern ears, I grapple with the question: What should I do? In response to Gayatri Spivak’s query about whether the subaltern can speak, I affirm yes, the subaltern can speak. The issue lies in the unwillingness of those in power to listen. To maintain this lack of receptivity, they have devised tools that are intentionally inscrutable, elusive, and inaccessible. While some embrace so-called “science” with its narratives and empirical evidence, others rely on whispers, prayers, and dreams to understand the world beyond its surface. The question here is what holds more significance: what is said, what is heard, who is speaking, within or outside the confines of the mouth, what is sense, or what the eyes perceive. This multifaceted work challenges conventional perceptions of language and communication, inviting viewers to delve into the intricacies of embodied knowledge and the relentless struggle for recognition in the face of linguistic, political and geographical disparities.