Catalonian Journal of Ethnology (REC), 42 by Direcció General de Cultura Popular i Associacionisme Cultural

NÚM.42

etnologia December 2017 · Second period

Cultura Popular i Tradicional

REVISTA D’ETNOLOGIA DE CATALUNYA

DOSSIER

Current challenges for local ethnological museums Material culture and intellectual property Case study in Catalonia, Panama, Guatemala and Senegal

Transformations in kinship Living together without marriage and egg donation

CATALONIAN JOURNAL OF ETHNOLOGY Issue 42. December 2017

Publisher Government of Catalonia. Ministry of Culture Director General of Popular Culture, Associations and Cultural Action Ministry of Culture of the Generalitat of Catalonia (Catalan government) Editor Maria Àngels Blasco i Rovira (DGCPAC) Director Xavier Roigé Ventura (Universitat de Barcelona) Assistant Director Camila del Mármol Cartañá (Universitat de Barcelona) Dossier Coordinator Fabien Van Geert (Universitat de Barcelona and Université de Paris III - Sorbonne Nouvelle) Editorial Board Roger Costa Solé (DGCPAC), Rafel Folch Monclús (DGCPAC), Georgina Marín Nogueras (DGCPAC), Elena Ramírez Boixaderas (DGCPAC) Editorial Coordinators Cristina Farran Morenilla (DGCPAC), Verònica Guarch Llop (DGCPAC) Editorial Committee Jordi Abella Pons (Ecomuseu de les valls d’Àneu), Oriol Beltran Costa (Universitat de Barcelona), Eliseu Carbonell Camós (Universitat de Girona), Dolors Comas d’Argemir i Cendra (Universitat Rovira i Virgili), Raquel Ferrero Gandia (Museu Valencià d’Etnologia), Jaume Guiscafré Danús (Universitat de les Illes Balears), Mireia Mascarell Llosa (l’Hospitalet de Llobregat City Council), Saida Palou Rubio (Universitat de Girona), Isidre Pinyol Cerro (Centre d’Estudis de les Garrigues), Carles Salazar Carrasco (Universitat de Lleida), Montserrat Solà Rivera (Parc Natural de la Serra del Montsant), Montse Ventura Oller (Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona) Scientific Advisory Committee Sabrina Doyon, Université Laval (Canada), Nina Kammerer, Brandeis University (USA), Gloria Artís, Museo Nacional de las Culturas del Mundo (Mexico), Ismael Vaccaro, McGill University (Canada), Marc Jacobs, FARO - Vlaams Steunpunt voor Cultureel Erfgoed, Vrije Universiteit Brussel (Belgium), Ahmed Skounti, Institut National des Sciences de l’Archéologie et du Patrimoine (Morocco), Enric Porqueras Gené, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (France), Edmon Castell Ginovert, Universidad Nacional de Colombia (Colombia), Iñaki Arrieta Urtizberea, Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea (Spain), Juan Agudo, Universidad de Sevilla (Spain), Jaume Franquesa, University at Buffalo (USA), Mónica Beatriz Lacarrieu, Universidad de Buenos Aires (Argentina), Eduardo Restrepo, Pontificia Universidad Javeriana (Bogotá, Colombia) Collaborators in this issue Xavier Busquets Masuet (DGCPAC), Agnès Villamor Casas (DGCPAC) Proofing and translation AT Language Solutions Publishing services and graphic design Government of Catalonia’s Official Journal and Publications Agency Cover photo One of the rooms in the Valencian Museum of Ethnology’s permanent exhibition. Rafel Folch Monclús. 2017. Contact Directorate General of Popular Culture and Cultural Associations Plaça Salvador Seguí, 1-9 08001, Barcelona Tel: 93 316 27 20 rec@gencat.cat http://cultura.gencat.cat/rec Frequency Annual

The Catalonian Journal of Ethnology is a periodic open-access publication that disseminates the initiatives, achievements, theories and experiences of researchers and study groups in the field of ethnology and anthropology. The first issue appeared in July 1992 and it has been published continuously right up to the present day. The journal’s second period of publication began in June 2010 and this issue forms part of it. Seventeen articles have been received for publication in this issue of the journal in the Ethnological Research and Miscellanea sections. Twelve of them have finally been accepted after passing a double-blind evaluation by two expert reviewers, four were rejected and one has finally been published in the Chronicles section. You can see statistical data for the Catalonian Journal of Ethnology in the cooperative digital repository Catalan Journals in Open Access (RACO, Revistes Catalanes amb Accés Obert): www.raco.cat/index.php/RevistaEtnologia/statistics The views expressed in the papers published are those of their authors. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the journal or the Ministry of Culture. Legal deposit: B-46.605-2010 ISSN: 2014-6310

Maria Àngels Blasco i Rovira

General Director of Popular Culture & Cultural Associationism

ith the issue you now hold in your hands, the Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya (Catalonian Journal of Ethnology, REC) begins a new era in its journey. The REC has been and still is a regular publication that has become both a benchmark and a meeting point for Catalan anthropology and ethnology, and for social sciences in general, from an academic standpoint as well as that of cultural production and ethnological heritage. Since July 1992, when the first issue was published, until today, a total of 42 volumes have been published uninterruptedly, thus making the REC a living and modern publication, attentive and sensitive to our society’s cultural dynamics, having been able to adapt to the current standards and requirements of scientific production. And so, the journal begins a new phase marked by a revised organisational chart, presently consisting of the Management team; the Editorial Board; the Editorial Committee and the Scientific Advisory Committee. Also noteworthy is the integral publication of the journal in Catalan and English and in two editions, digital and on paper. But perhaps the most important fact is that for the time, the articles from the Ethnological research and Miscellaneous sections are subject to peer review with the aim of raising the journal’s scientific status.

Each issue of the REC combines scientific content with articles related to the dissemination and popularisation of different aspects linked to the practice of ethnology in general and ethnological heritage in particular. In this sense, each new issue of the journal contains a monographic dossier on a particular subject, a section for the presentation and exposition of recently conducted ethnological research; one for Miscellaneous which features articles related to the general field of ethnology as well as cultural and social anthropology; and one last section named Chronicle that contains diverse information on associations and entities related to the study, promotion and dissemination of ethnological heritage and museography, as well as convention reports and/or publication reviews. In this issue you will find the dossier Current challenges for local ethnographic museums, presented by professor Fabien Van Geert from the University of Barcelona and University of Paris 3 – Sorbonne Nouvelle which, through a diversity of viewpoints as well as thematic and territorial approaches, reflects upon the situation of local ethnographic museums as meeting points between museology and anthropology. Last of all, I would like to thank all the stakeholders for their work and enabling the release of issue #42 of the Catalonian Journal of Ethnology, a publication that allows us to inform the world of the work we do and also to learn first-hand about the work being carried out outside Catalonia. Thank you. n

Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya

December 2017

Núm. 42

Table of contents No. 42 – DECEMBER 2017 60

PRESENTATION 3

Maria Àngels Blasco i Rovira General Director of Popular Culture and Cultural Associationism 72

DOSSIER 10 Presentation Current challenges for local ethnological museums FABIEN VAN GEERT University of Barcelona and University of Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle 12

Which economic model for local museums in the 21st century? FRANÇOIS MAIRESSE University of Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle The musealisation of ethnographic collections and the challenges posed by budget cuts in the “new age of museums” FABIEN VAN GEERT University of Barcelona and University of Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle New challenges for ethnological museums in Catalonia: between crisis and definition of their social role XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA University of Barcelona

The role of Local Museums in the 21st Century and the challenges of the recession: Local Ethnology Museums in the Valencian Community ASUNCIÓ GARCÍA ZANÓN, FRANCESC TAMARIT LLOP JOAN SEGUÍ SEGUÍ Ethnology Museum of Valencia Evolution and current situation of the local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO Fundació Pilar i Joan Miró In the Shadow of the Guggenheim-Bilbao: legislation and museum policy in the Basque Country IÑAKI ARRIETA URTIZBEREA, IÑAKI DÍAZ BALERDI Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea MATHIEU VIAU-COURVILLE University of East Anglia

104 Society museums: museums of the 21st century. 2017- State of play and reforms in France FLORENCE PIZZORNI-ITIÉ French Museums Service 124

Memories and anxieties Ethnographic museography across Italy VICENZO PADIGLIONE Sapienza University of Rome

144 What does the future hold for local museums in Quebec? LISA BAILLARGEON, YVES BERGERON University of Quebec in Montreal

156 Collecting or “the personal expression of heritage”: humanising the heritage phenomenon MARTA FARRÉ RIBES Seville University 168 Local museums in the High Pyrenees Local vision, the economic crisis, and the creation of cooperative structures JORDI ABELLA PONS Valls d’Àneu Ecomuseum 176

Society museums, their territory and innovation in places of conservation ALEXANDRE DELARGE French federation of ecomuseums and society museums

MISCELLANEA 186 Tangible ethnicity: in search of traditional cultural expressions in Catalonia, Gunayala, Guatemala and Senegal MÒNICA MARTÍNEZ MAURI, GEMMA CELIGUETA COMERMA University of Barcelona MONTSERRAT CLUA I FAINÉ Autonomous University of Barcelona JORDI TOMÀS GUILERA Centre for International Studies and African Societies Study Group (University of Barcelona)

202

The non-appropriability of intangible heritage Intangible cultural heritage and misappropriation ORIOL CENDRA PLANAS, RAFEL FOLCH MONCLÚS Departament de of Culture Government of Catalonia SANTIAGO ORÓS MURUZÁBAL Government of Catalonia’s Law Department

218

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia FRANCESCA ROMANA UCCELLA Università La Sapienza di Roma

233

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running A history of running as physical exercise and foot races in Catalonia ALEXANDRE PLANAS I BALLET Sport High Level Center Institute, Sant Cugat XAVIER TORREBADELLA I FLIX Autonomous University of Barcelona

251 Catalonia’s street food culture FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ Ramon Llull Univerity

RESEARCH 262

The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony MARINA CIRERA GAJA Museu del Ter

274

Dying and passing away are not synonyms Social and cultural practices in the face of loss RAQUEL FERRERO I GANDIA, CLARA COLOMINA I MARTINES Valencia Museum of Ethnology – Valencia Provincial Council

286

Naming cohabitation Terminology and lack of definition regarding living together without marriage MARTA RICO IÑIGO University of Barcelona and UNED

302

Donors who give, recipients who give back: Egg donation advertising ANNA MOLAS CLOSAS Monash University (Melbourne)

311

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage JORDI ARIMANY I JUVENTENY Museu del Ter, Manlleu

323

Hold up your hand, the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls and the heritage process of the castellers ALEXANDRE REBOLLO SÁNCHEZ

334

The dialectical relationship between popular and hegemonic culture The nativity scenes in Plaça de Sant Jaume, Barcelona ENRIC BENAVENT Col·lectiu el Bou i la Mula

CHRONICLES POPULAR TRADITIONS AND FESTIVE IMATGERY 348 The performance of the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” A milestone for the recovery of popular traditions in Rodonyà ISIDRE PASTOR I BATALLA Government of Catalonia Ministry of Culture Regional Services for Girona 352

Festive imagery in Girona Case study: 20 years of Fal·lera Gironina (1997-2017) ASSUMPCIÓ PARAROLS BADIA Government of Catalonia Ministry of Culture Regional Services for Girona

ARCHIVES AND MUSEUMS 363

An archive with over a thousand press references on the nativity scene movement, accessible to everyone LAURA GOLANÓ PASCUAL, ENRIC BENAVENT VALLÈS Col·lectiu el Bou i la Mula

365 10 years of the Ethnology Museums Network of Catalonia DANIEL SOLÉ LLADÓS Head of Museological Cooperation. History Museum of Catalonia 368 IKUNDE, taking guineas from Guinea AGNÈS VILLAMOR CASAS CONFERENCES 370

The interaction between natural and intangible Third National Conference on Ethnological Heritage XEVI COLLELL Can Trona Center of culture and nature of the Vall d’en Bas

BIBLIOGRAPHIC REVIEWS 372

Mountains of cheese Productive transformations and heritage processes in l’Urgellet and El Baridà, by Camila del Mármol GEORGINA MARÍN NOGUERAS

376

Possessed by the devil The festival of Sant Antoni from the perspective of rave and trance music FRANCESC ALEMANY SUREDA University of Barcelona

Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya

December 2017

Núm. 42

Sumari NÚM. 42 – DESEMBRE 2017

PRESENTACIÓ 3

Maria Àngels Blasco i Rovira Directora general de Cultura Popular i Associacionisme Cultural 72

DOSSIER 10 Presentació. Els reptes actuals dels museus etnogràfics locals FABIEN VAN GEERT Universitat de Barcelona i Université de Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle 12

Quin model econòmic per als museus locals del segle xxi? FRANÇOIS MAIRESSE Universitat de París III – Sorbona Nova Les museïtzacions de les col·leccions etnogràfiques i els reptes de les retallades pressupostàries en la nova era dels museus FABIEN VAN GEERT Universitat de Barcelona i Université de Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle Nous reptes per als museus etnològics a Catalunya: entre la crisi i la redefinició de la seva funció social XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA Universitat de Barcelona

El paper dels museus locals al segle xxi i els reptes de la crisi econòmica: museus locals d’etnologia al País Valencià ASUNCIÓ GARCÍA ZANÓN, FRANCESC TAMARIT LLOP, JOAN SEGUÍ SEGUÍ Museu Valencià d’Etnologia Evolució i situació actual dels museus locals i les col·leccions etnogràfiques de Mallorca FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO Fundació Pilar i Joan Miró A l’ombra del GuggenheimBilbao: legislació i política museística al País Basc IÑAKI ARRIETA URTIZBEREA, IÑAKI DÍAZ BALERDI Universitat del País Basc MATHIEU VIAU-COURVILLE Universitat d’East Anglia

104 Els museus de societat: museus del segle xxi 2017 – situació i refundacions a França FLORENCE PIZZORNI-ITIÉ Servei de Museus de França 124

Memòria i inquietuds La museografia etnogràfica disseminada a Itàlia VINCENZO PADIGLIONE Universitat de Roma “La Sapienza”

144 Quin futur tenen els museus locals al Quebec? LISA BAILLARGEON, YVES BERGERON Universitat del Quebec a Mont-real

156 Col·leccionisme o expressió personal del patrimoni: cap a la humanització del fenomen patrimonial MARTA FARRÉ RIBES Universitat de Sevilla 168 Els museus locals de l’Alt Pirineu Entre la mirada local, la crisi econòmica i la creació d’estructures de cooperació JORDI ABELLA PONS Ecomuseu de les valls d’Àneu 176

El museu de societat crea territori, o la innovació de llocs de conservació ALEXANDRE DELARGE Federació Francesa d’Ecomuseus i Museus de Societat

MISCEL·LÀNIA 186 Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal MÒNICA MARTÍNEZ MAURI, GEMMA CELIGUETA COMERMA Universitat de Barcelona MONTSERRAT CLUA I FAINÉ Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona JORDI TOMÀS GUILERA Centro de Estudos Internacionais (Instituto Universitário de Lisboa) i Grup d’Estudi de les Societats Africanes (UB)

202

218

233

251

La inapropiabilitat del patrimoni immaterial Patrimoni cultural immaterial i apropiació indeguda ORIOL CENDRA PLANAS, RAFEL FOLCH MONCLÚS Direcció General de Cultura Popular i Associacionisme Cultural – Departament de Cultura SANTIAGO ORÓS MURUZÁBAL Registre de la Propietat Intel·lectual de Catalunya El patrimoni literari entre material i immaterial: Itàlia i Catalunya FRANCESCA ROMANA UCCELLA Università la Sapienza di Roma Del cos i del pedestrisme al cross-country i el running Una història de l’exercici físic de córrer o de les curses a peu a Catalunya ALEXANDRE PLANAS I BALLET Institut del Centre d’Alt Rendiment XAVIER TORREBADELLA I FLIX Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona La cultura del menjar de carrer a Catalunya FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ Universitat Ramon Llull

RECERQUES 262

Les fàbriques de Gallifa: un cas a mig camí de la fàbrica i la colònia industrial MARINA CIRERA GAJA Museu del Ter

274

Faltar i morir no són sinònims A propòsit de les pràctiques socioculturals davant la pèrdua RAQUEL FERRERO I GANDIA, CLARA COLOMINA I MARTINES Museu Valencià d’Etnologia - Diputació de València

286

Posar nom a la cohabitació Terminologia i indefinició a l’entorn de la convivència sense matrimoni MARTA RICO IÑIGO Universitat de Barcelona i UNED

302

Donants que donen, receptores que retornen: la publicitat de la donació d’òvuls ANNA MOLAS CLOSAS Monash University

311

El Ball del Ciri, patrimoni immaterial de Manlleu JOAN ARIMANY I JUVENTENY Museu del Ter de Manlleu

323

Fer l’aleta, el Museu Casteller de Catalunya a Valls i el procés de patrimonialització del fet casteller ALEXANDRE REBOLLO SÁNCHEZ

334

La dialèctica entre cultura popular i cultura hegemònica Els pessebres de la plaça de Sant Jaume de Barcelona ENRIC BENAVENT Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula

365 Deu anys de la Xarxa de Museus d’Etnologia de Catalunya DANIEL SOLÉ LLADÓS Responsable de Cooperació Museística. Museu d’Història de Catalunya 368 IKUNDE o guineus a Guinea AGNÈS VILLAMOR CASAS JORNADES 370

BIBLIOGRAFIA 372

Muntanyes de formatge Transformacions productives i patrimonialització a l’Urgellet i el Baridà, de Camila del Mármol GEORGINA MARÍN NOGUERAS

376

Posseïts pel dimoni La festa de Sant Antoni des de la música rave i trance FRANCESC ALEMANY SUREDA Universitat de Barcelona

CRÒNICA TRADICIONS POPULARS I IMATGERIA FESTIVA 348 La representació del Ball Parlat de Sant Joan Un revulsiu per a la recuperació de les tradicions populars de Rodonyà ISIDRE PASTOR I BATALLA 352

La imatgeria festiva a Girona Estudi de cas: els vint anys de Fal·lera Gironina (1997-2017) ASSUMPCIÓ PARAROLS BADIA Serveis Territorials de Girona del Departament de Cultura de la Generalitat de Catalunya

ARXIUS I MUSEUS 363

Un arxiu amb més de mil referències de premsa sobre pessebrisme, a l’abast de tothom LAURA GOLANÓ PASCUAL, ENRIC BENAVENT VALLÈS Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula

La interacció entre l’immaterial i el natural Crònica de les 3es Jornades Nacionals de Patrimoni Etnològic XEVI COLLELL Can Trona Centre de Cultura i Natura de la Vall d’en Bas

2018 ANY EUROPEU DEL PATRIMONI CULTURAL

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Dossier

CURRENT CHALLENGES FOR LOCAL ETHNOLOGICAL MUSEUMS

Presentation FABIEN VAN GEERT

Which economic model for local museums in the 21st century? FRANÇOIS MAIRESSE

The musealisation of ethnographic collections and the challenges posed by budget cuts in the “new age of museums” FABIEN VAN GEERT

New challenges for ethnological museums in Catalonia: between crisis and definition of their social role XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

The role of Local Museums in the 21st Century and the challenges of the recession: Local Ethnology Museums in the Valencian Community ASUNCIÓ GARCÍA ZANÓN FRANCESC TAMARIT LLOP JOAN SEGUÍ SEGUÍ

Evolution and current situation of the local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO

In the Shadow of the GuggenheimBilbao: legislation and museum policy in the Basque Country IÑAKI ARRIETA URTIZBEREA IÑAKI DÍAZ BALERDI MATHIEU VIAU-COURVILLE

104

Society museums: museums of the 21st century FLORENCE PIZZORNI-ITIÉ

124

Memories and anxieties VINCENZO PADIGLIONE

144

What does the future hold for local museums in Quebec? LISA BAILLARGEON YVES BERGERON

156

Collecting or “the personal expression of heritage”: humanising the heritage phenomenon MARTA FARRÉ RIBES

168

Local museums in the High Pyrenees JORDI ABELLA PONS

176

Society museums, their territory and innovation in places of conservation ALEXANDRE DELARGE

Dossier

Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya

December 2017

Núm. 42

Presentation

Fabien Van Geert University of Barcelona and University of Paris 3 – Sorbonne Nouvelle

CURRENT CHALLENGES FOR LOCAL ETHNOLOGICAL MUSEUMS 1

stablished throughout Catalonia over the course of the past century, local ethnographic museums currently constitute a large portion of the nation’s museological landscape as well as being a vibrant field thanks to the dedication of its experts. Furthermore, as a result of the evolution of museological thought, its relationship to anthropology, as well as the social, political and economic context, these institutions have since faced a series of challenges. The first, conceptual in nature, has been that of readjustment, carried out more or less successfully during the 2000s, in an attempt to portray societies that are no longer traditional, but increasingly diverse and interconnected. These proceedings come as a response to a very deep reassessment of the significance and role of these type of institutions in the 21st century, whilst the field of anthropology is no longer the sole source for interpretation and representation of society and culture. Concurrent to this reassessment, another important challenge for these institutions has been that of the need to adapt to new management and “governability” strategies, and more specifically within the context of budgetary reductions as a consequence of what has been defined as a recession towards the end of the 00s decade. Nevertheless, despite its transcendental nature right here in our home country (Narotzky, 2012; Vaccaro, 2014) – frequently addressed by the press, scientific studies on the impact of the recession on the museum sector are scarce. In the sector

itself however, concern for this matter is plain to see as evidenced by the international appeal made by ICOM (International Council of Museums) in 2013, by means of The Lisbon Declaration to Support Culture and Museums to Face the Global Crisis and Build the Future. Similar insights have developed in most European countries, in more or less close collaboration with professional museology associations. In Catalonia, these considerations have been influenced particularly by the specifics of the nation’s museological landscape, deep-rooted and closely bound to its territories, where most museums rely financially on the direct support of municipal institutions (Museum Board, 2014). In fact, between 2010 and 2016, the direct contributions made by Catalan city councils constituted around 60% of the general budget for these museums (Ministry of Culture of the Government of Catalonia, 2016). This dossier seeks to address these two large groups of often interrelated challenges which local ethnographic museums face in Catalonia, thus opening the debate on the ways in which these museums are reinvented and respond to this new economic, social and political state of affairs. Do these budgetary cuts threaten the existence of these institutions in the short term? Do they herald museological changes or rather the creation of new museological processes better suited to the current social and economic realities? Do they imply the development of new comprehension and apprehension viewpoints of local museums and their role in the construction of multiple and local identi-

Presentation

ties? Do we face ultimately a case of local museums in recession or a recession of local museums? Aiming to provide initial responses to these questions, this dossier intends to analyse the situation of Catalan institutions whilst framing them in a global context. And so, it proposes to establish a dialogue between the country’s situation and the reality and challenges of these types of museums in other regions of Spain as well as similar museological contexts such as France, Quebec or Italy. This dialogue stems from a threefold perspective, the first of which is theoretical, addressing the peculiarities of these local ethnographic institutions. To begin, the article by François Mairesse compares the conceptual particularities of local museums compared to those of major museums, exploring their distinct funding schemes from an economistic perspective. On the other hand, the article by Fabien Van Geert pinpoints the various cycles and historical redefinitions of the presentation of ethnographic collections, before tackling the challenges posed by the recession to their present form. The second perspective presents case studies focusing on different regions, seeking to understand the most direct effects of these challenges on museums. Concerning the Catalan Countries, Xavier Roigé explores the current state of Catalan museums, Asunció García, Joan Seguí and Francesc Tamarit expose the situation in Valencia, while Francisco Copado explores the case of museums in Mallorca. Outside this territorial scope, but still relevant in several respects, Iñaki Arrieta, Iñaki Diaz and Mathieu Viau-Courville provide us with some thoughts on the case of the Basque Country. Beyond the peninsula, Florence Pizzorni explores the case of France and the current state of their ethnographic collections, reinstated in 1993 by the Min-

Dossier

istry of Culture under a new category referred to as a museums of society, the vast majority of which are local affairs. Meanwhile, Vincenzo Padiglione reflects on ethnographic museums in Italy, one of Europe’s most original and inspiring cases, by means of his “blurry” approach. Finally, the article by Lisa Baillargeon and Yves Bergeron takes us across the Atlantic Ocean, exposing the state of affairs in Quebec, by which our own country’s museological thinking has been heavily influenced. Finally, aside from these slightly more academic articles, industry specialists from Catalonia and abroad present us with a third perspective in the form of a more applied and monographic approach in the “Focus” section of the magazine, defining the specific challenges that some of these institutions face as well as their main response strategies. In this instance, Marta Farré brings us closer to private collectors, Jordi Abella illustrates the case of the local museums of the Catalan High Pyrenees, and Alexandre Delarge who presents the lengthy and enriching experience of the French Federation of ecomuseums and society museums, the main meeting place for reflection and action of local museums in our neighbouring country since the inception of modern museology. In hopes that these musings will prove useful to the field of museology, agencies, university residents and investigators alike, we wish you a very pleasant reading! n

(1) This dossier has been coordinated within the framework of research

project CSO2015-68611 (Natural and cultural heritage in times of recession. Challenges, adaptations and strategies in local contexts), financed by the Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness.

REFERENCES

Cultural Department of the Government of Catalonia (2016) Cultural statistics of Catalonia 2016. <http://dadesculturals. gencat.cat/ca/estadistiques_culturals_catalunya/> (Consulted on 10th June 2017).

Museum Board (2014) Anual report 2014 on the state of the nation’s museums. <http://cultura.gencat.cat/ca/departament/ estructura_i_adreces/organismes/dgpc/temes/museus/junta_de_museus_de_catalunya/

informe-anual-de-museus-2013/> (Consulted on 15th June 2017). Narotzky, S. (2012) “Europe in crisis: grassroots economies and the anthropological turn”, Ethnography, 16/3: 627-638.

Vaccaro, I. (2014) “The Power of Uncertainty: the Neoliberal Quest for Profit in Spain”, Journal of International and Global Studies, 5/2: 53-75.

Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya

Dossier

December 2017

Núm. 42

François Mairesse UNIVERSITÉ DE LA SORBONNE NOUVELLE-PARIS 3

Professor of Universities at the Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle-Paris 3, member of CERLIS (Centre for research on social links) and of Labex ICCA (Cultural Industries and Artistic Creation). He has successively worked for the Fonds National de la Recherche Scientifique, in the Cabinet of the Minister-President of the Communauté Française de Belgique (French Community of Belgium) and, from 2002 to 2010, at the Musée Royal de Mariemont, where he was in charge. His research focuses on museology and the management of cultural organisations.

Which economic model for local museums in the 21st century?

hey form the majority of the museum population and yet they seldom generate news, since the media prefers to cover the opening of major infrastructures (such as the Louis Vuitton Foundation in Paris) or the organisation of blockbuster exhibitions. Economists refer to such establishments as “superstar museums” (Frey, 1998), and the museum sector can increasingly be referred to as a fringe oligopoly, much like other sectors of the cultural industries: a few very large enterprises dominate the

This article examines the small or very small organisations that make up the current museum landscape, in the shadow of the major museums that are popular with the public. The origin of the literature devoted to “small museums” is analysed in order to identify the moment when this particular category was defined and how it differs from other categories. The article then discusses the sources of funding for these establishments, paying particular attention to donations, the relationship between museums and their local area or region, and the hybrid system (donations, financing from the market and public subsidies) adopted by these establishments.

market, accounting for the majority of the turnover and determining its production structure (costs, sale prices); the “fringe”, composed of thousands of small or very small organisations, are forced to endure these rules imposed by the largest establishments (Mairesse, Rochelandet, 2015). How do these small local establishments, which make up the fringe of the system, manage to finance their activities in these early years of the century? Have they changed in any particular way? What are the consequences of the financial crisis for their future? The literature on local muse-

Aquest article es pregunta sobre les petites o molt petites institucions que componen el paisatge museístic actual, a l’ombra dels grans museus que tan bon acolliment tenen per part del públic. S’analitza l’origen de la literatura dedicada al petits museus per tal de precisar el moment en què es defineix aquesta categoria particular i la manera en què se singularitza. L’article fa referència seguidament a les fonts de finançament d’aquestes institucions i insisteix en la lògica de la donació, la relació dels museus amb el seu territori i el sistema híbrid (donació, recórrer al mercat i subvencions públiques) adoptat per aquestes institucions.

Keywords: “Small museums”, donations, museum funding, hybrid museum Paraules clau: petits museus, lògica de la donació, finançament dels museus, museu híbrid Palabras clave: pequeños museos, lógica de la donación, financiación de los museos, museo híbrido

Este artículo se pregunta sobre las pequeñas o muy pequeñas instituciones que componen el paisaje museístico actual, a la sombra de los grandes museos tan bien acogidos por el público. Se analiza el origen de la literatura dedicada a los “pequeños museos” para precisar el momento en que se define esta categoría particular y la manera en la que se singulariza. El artículo se refiere seguidamente a las fuentes de financiación de estas instituciones para insistir en la lógica de la donación, la relación de los museos con su territorio y el sistema híbrido (donación, recurrir al mercado y subvenciones públicas) adoptado por estas instituciones.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

ums dates back a long time: the first part of this article seeks to analyse how these institutions have gradually been presented as a particular type of organisation, in particular on the basis of the missions and functions assigned to them. Secondly, this article presents the various situations that these small institutions can face in terms of financing, based on the museums’ economic model, and the consequences of their decisions for their sustainability. It is in this context that the consequences of the financial crisis of 2007/8 on local museums are analysed. The role of local and society museums

The history of museums is based on a paradox: most of the large establishments we know today, with a few exceptions (the Louvre or the Hermitage), had relatively modest beginnings; yet these establishments do not share any of the history of local museums. The collections of the British Museum or the National Gallery, when they first opened, did not have much in common with those we know them for today, and their workforce was also very limited at that time. However, they were seen as national museums from the outset and they were usually located in the national or regional capital. The way in which museums have evolved is often presented from the point of view of these large establishments, which we feel have acted as a model that has

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gradually spread throughout the land. This overly-simple vision must be qualified. Museum collections and museums existed in the provinces, for example, before the opening of the Louvre (Pommier, 1986). Even before the modern museum was conceived, there were establishments displaying curiosities – such as that of Peiresc in Aix-en-Provence, or that of Borel in Castres – located in remote areas far from the major cities. Nevertheless, on the whole, the history of museum development starts in the capital cities and gradually spreads to the most remote regions. The museum network was first built at the national level, and throughout the 19th century it was gradually developed across provincial towns (Georgel, 1994). In this context, it is essentially from the second half of the 19th century that the literature on small museums begins, while the “main” museum network is already well established at a national and regional level. One of the earliest books on the subject, if not the first, is that written by the British writer Joseph Toynbee (1863) about the creation of a local museum in Wimbledon which had an e d u c a t i o n a l and social

Exterior view of the Museum of fine arts in Nîmes (Gard department, Occitania region), established in 1824 (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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purpose (creating a library, a reading club, organising conferences, courses, etc.) that differed significantly from the objectives of large establishments. Toynbee’s ambition was modest: it involved establishing a place for a local audience dedicated to presenting collections originating from the natural and cultural context of the region in order to participate in educating the entire population and not just the elite. Of course, Toynbee counts on the people of Wimbledon (from the priest, to the schoolmaster, to the doctor) to operate his business, but the ambition is to act for the community as a whole, and with its help. It is in the same manner that Edmond Groult, a lawyer in Lisieux, sought to develop a network of cantonal museums. He did not seek to compete with the large establishments in the cities, but rather to create an educational staging post for the “hard-working and honest people of our countryside” (Groult, 1877) by presenting, at the smallest level of local administration, collections that brought together historical, scientific

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or artistic knowledge related to the local area. If requested, the entire population (including artisans and peasants) is invited to participate in creating the collections. At the end of the 19th century, the Lisieux resident counted sixty such establishments in France, which he considered to be the early stages of a network to be developed. We find the same localist motivation in the Briton Thomas Boyle Grierson (1871), or in the Scotsman Patrick Geddes, a revolutionary urban planner of the early 20th century, suggesting the creation of small establishments to educate and train the working classes of the region and to showcase local heritage (Geddes, 1904). In Germany and the German-speaking countries, similar establishments were gradually created, defined as Heimatmuseen (Heimat means country), the origin of which goes back to the same period. These establishments cultivated “the image of a community ideal, advocating authenticity over reproduction, at a time when the latter, directly linked to the mass introduction of industrial produc-

View of the hall of the permanent exhibition devoted to the sport of rugby in the area. The Augustins Museum, Auch (Gers department, Occitania region) (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

tion methods, dominated the 19th century.” (Charléty, 2005: 79). We find the same logic in the United States: the term “small museums” is used just as much as the term “local museum”, as these establishments quickly appear as a category in their own right (Paine, 1892, Berkeley, 1932). The usefulness of these museums is particularly well summed up by the Belgian Albert Marinus, author of two small books on the subject (Marinus, 1937, 1939). According to Marinus’ vision, the missions of these establishments essentially correspond to three kinds of demand: education, which is based on a need for specific elements rather than book-based knowledge; increased leisure time, especially for the working classes; increased tourism (in the context of paid holidays). The local museum is first and foremost aimed at a local audience, during school or leisure time, followed by tourists who are passing through. “Disregarding the artistic value of the objects collected, it must

collect local memories with a view to creating a feeling of attachment of the inhabitants to their city and to their land, with a view to enlightening the passing traveler (Marinus, 1937: 454). We find this same idea of attachment to the land, its peculiarities and its authenticity in most of the books and articles devoted to this category of establishments seeking to distinguish themselves from other museums. It is from this period onwards that the term “local museums” is developed, not based on their location – a local museum could equally be linked to a large city, such as the Musée de Montmartre in the heart of Paris – or based on the type of establishment, since there are also establishments that are active in the fields of art, technology, history, or all these dimensions together. Certain categories of museums are without doubt more often made up of local museums, in particular those grouped together in France under the label “society museum” (Drouguet, 2015), which includes both ethnographic muse-

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View of the interior of the Frontignan Museum (Erau department, Occitania region), located in the town’s small church (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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ums and science or technology museums exploring the issues of today’s world and the societies that compose it. Rather, the dimensions that distinguish these establishments from others include, on the one hand: size (a few hundred m² at the most), staff (less than ten employees), budget (a few thousand or tens of thousands of euros) or attendance (a few thousand visitors per year). This notion of size or dimension is necessarily relative, according to the other establishments that surround them: the Sir John Soane Museum in London can be considered a local or enchanting museum in comparison to the British Museum, even if its remarkable collections have forged its world-wide reputation and it has quite a large workforce. A museum is only ever small in comparison to others, and local in relation to other establishments with a regional, national or universal vocation. The “charm of small museums” (Du Jacquier, 1972), or their unusual character (Lesbros, 2005), compared with the large “classical” museums, is emphasised to highlight their qualities. On the other hand, it is perhaps the decidedly modest ambition of their statements that we can use to classify them, whether that of the collection or that of the exhibitions and the work performed. These museums are aware of the relative importance of the collections which they are responsible for and which, from the outset, place them on another level relative to those of national institutions. Their role is different, focusing on developing a specific area of knowledge, at a local and resolutely human scale. The deeply personal nature of their relationship with the heritage and knowledge they promote can be highlighted in this respect: often, the (only) head of the local museum appears as the one-man band of the institution, involved not only in gathering and conserving the collections but also in putting on temporary exhibitions and various events, conducting guided tours, publishing catalogues or pamphlets, and so on.

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In addition to this descriptive literature there has also been more practical literature, intended for the management and organisation of these particular establishments. These museums’ modest size means that the member(s) of staff are trained in all the various tasks of the museum: conservation, research and communication, as well as administration and fundraising. By the 1920s, special manuals summarising all the functions of a museum were devoted to them. One of the most important works on this subject is written by Laurence Veil Coleman, who points out the existence of thousands of small museums in the United States alone, while within the museum population nine museums out of ten may deserve this classification (Coleman, 1927). Coleman’s comment on the museum population remains topical: in France, 7% of museums have more than 100,000 visitors (Ministry of Culture and Communications, 2014). Following the same logic, several recent works continue to specifically target small museums in order to equip them with the tools to carry out the majority of museum operations (Neal, 1976; Bennington, 1985). The most ambitious book in this respect was published a few years ago in six volumes, listing all the operations related to the organisation of a small museum and including elements related to the management of collections and their interpretation, but above all covering the topics of public relations, internal organisation, financial and strategic matters (Catlin-Legutko & Klinger, 2012). The economic model of the museum

It will be understood that, whether they are located in a town or (especially) in the countryside, these museums are based on a different economic model to the larger establishments – the superstar museums mentioned above. However, the funding system of all museums, regardless of their size, is based on the same logic: revenues generated from visitors, resources from subsidies given by public authorities and

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

resources linked to philanthropy and donations, which are analysed below. In France or Spain, and generally speaking in most Latin countries, the most commonly conveyed image is that of a museum that was mainly in the hands of the public authorities until the 1980s, followed by a “commercial turning point” (Bayart, Benghozi, 1993), because of the reduction in subsidies that have led museums, especially in Europe, to turn to the market. This somewhat caricatured vision implies that the museum is forced to seek a compromise between more government intervention or more room for the market. And when the state withdraws, it is a matter of turning to visitors/customers, especially through favouring increasingly attractive temporary exhibitions, better shops, etc. This is what happened following the neo-liberal turning point of the 1980s and the disappearance of Keynesian policies in favour of monetarist policies emanating from the Chicago School.

This vision curiously ignores a third form of financing museum activities, which has been present ever since the beginning of the museum phenomenon and which relies on donations. The term “philanthropy”, as already mentioned, only partially covers the concept of donation, which also relies on the principles of volunteering, local participation and various forms of patronage. The donation economy therefore also represents a phenomenon which can be observed throughout the 19th century in learned societies, which were responsible for a large number of provincial and local museums (Mairesse 2012). These societies, mostly without any state support and without the hope of generating any real financial revenues, initially operated on the basis of patronage, contributions from associations, volunteer work and donations of collections. In this respect, it is well known that collections, even those of large public museums, such as the Louvre or the British Museum, depend on donations rather

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The Fenaille Museum in Rodez (Avairon department, Occitania region). At the entrance of the institute, the “Museum of 1,000 donors” welcomes visitors, emphasising the role of the patrons in growing the collection (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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than purchases for consideration, which sometimes represent only a small fraction of acquisitions. Philanthropy, in general, is a system which sought to compensate the shortcomings of the public authorities in this area throughout the 19th century, whether involving rich philanthropists (great industrial leaders, bankers, etc.) or museum friend societies, which date back to the mid-nineteenth century or even to the French revolution (Lagrange, 1861). We know how patronage has shaped the face of museums all over the world, whether in North America (where it is still very present, through an advantageous tax system – Martel, 2006) or in Europe. Donations as a form of financing has also appeared in recent years in other forms, influenced by the internet and the development of social networks. It was essentially through donations and volunteer work that Wikipedia was able to develop the most important encyclopedia in the world, the results of which illustrate the logic of crowdsourcing and crowdfunding (work and funding provided by thousands of anonymous members of the general public). This participatory logic, as we know, has been highlighted by the world of culture to help develop cultural activities both small and large: to finance a record, a documentary or a play, but also for the restoration of works of art, for acquisitions for a museum such as the Louvre, etc. (Creton, Kitsopanidou, 2016). The donation system appears to be a particularly generous gesture, in view of the “dangers” of market logic, regularly pointed out. This particular economy is not, however, free of ambiguities. As early as the beginning of the 1920s, Marcel Mauss had already presented the three stages of the donation system and its so-called spontaneous – but in reality almost compulsory – nature, especially in archaic societies (Mauss, 1923). To give, to receive and to give back – this is a logic that is particularly binding for the receiver, a debt linking it to its donor and which cannot be erased until it has been given in the form of a coun-

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ter-gift. Donations and counter-donations follow one another, developing the link between the protagonists, the shame or the dishonor falling upon whoever could not give back. This logic, considered to be the oldest system of trade, existed prior to systems governed by public authorities or by the market (Polanyi, 2011). Mauss also brings up the darker side of the gift – the possibility for a protagonist to crush his opponent with a gift he cannot give back, and thus the power that the donor possesses over the recipients. It is necessary to include this entire background in order to understand how museums operate, and local museums in particular. The latter are thus developed based on a complex system involving not only market elements and public funding, but also gifts. We must recognise that each of these systems has its advantages but also its disadvantages: the solidarity of the public authorities and the donation system, the absence of a contract in the latter (but social constraint), the longevity of public funding compared to the market or donations, but its slowness to react, unlike the market and

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

donation systems, rules of public equity, countering the logic of domination that can be found in the donation system or in the market. Most museums have sought to develop a hybrid system combining these different systems (Mairesse, 2010). It should be acknowledged that the role of donations, which was for a long time dominant – whereas museums benefited little from public intervention – was largely undermined during the rise of the role of the State between the 1930s and 1970s. It is undoubtedly for this reason that the rules of donations are applied primarily intuitively by a number of museum managers and are, so to speak, never referred to as such, unlike the principles of the market or the state. Market rules have been defined through management rules and marketing techniques, product policies, pricing, distribution and communication. The rules of public administration, equally well defined, present the visitor not as a potential customer but as a user of this local public service that the museum can be. In the donation system, the visitor is most often a stakeholder first and foremost, rather than a client or an anonymous user. They are an associate with whom the museum exchanges and interacts. It is clear to see that such a relationship implies a different kind of investment, partly more time-consuming. There are, of course, anonymous donations, described as “modern”, such as those found in the medical field (blood or organs) or when money is given to a musician on the street (Godbout, 2007): This principle can be found in the box calling for donations that sometimes adorns the entrance to a museum, but it is important to recognise that this type of contribution has a limited scope compared to more classical relations. The principles of crowdfunding and crowdsourcing form a crossover between these two types of donations: they are more anonymous than if they only affect a local area, they also often offer symbolic personalised rewards (dedicated gifts,

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Poster indicating the donations from the various patrons that allowed the association museum of Vulliod-SaintGermaina Pesenàs (Erau department, Occitania region) to acquire the chair of Molière, a native of the town (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

guided visits or private meetings with the artist or the commissioner, etc.) and, like other forms of donation, require significant investment by the museum. The scope of these three types of exchange differ quite widely. The one linked to donations in the “classical” sense of the term (excluding the internet) intrinsically takes the most local form, since it is essentially based on established social relations, as in the case of donations in traditional societies. It is easily confused with a limited geographical area – a town, a county, etc. – and it is more difficult to implement when the establishment is located in a large city. It is therefore rather a city’s nobility or groups that are already organised into associations or other societies, which make up the framework of the supporters: educational networks, philanthropic associations, artistic or scientific associations, religious

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or political networks, etc. In short, this involves relationships that are identifiable and of a personal nature, potentially in large numbers (from a few large patrons to several tens or even hundreds of collaborators). The maintenance of such a network inevitably requires significant investment on the part of the head of the museum. The public funding system, on the other hand, can be pursued through a very limited number of relationships and over a much larger territory, such as a city, a region or a country. The museum thus depends on between one and half a dozen possible sources of funding (municipal, departmental, regional, national, European). While these sources of funding may prove to be larger and more stable than donations, they are nevertheless constrained in three different ways: the number of decision-makers is limited, the subsidies given depend on the entity’s overall budget and on how its budget changes over time; changes in the political leadership can lead to sudden reversals in funding. The market system operates over potentially the most extensive area. In practice, the quality of the collections or the museum’s work greatly influences how attractive and influential the museum is: the market really appears to be worldwide for superstar museums and thus they depend on fluctuations in tourism, the state

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of the economy, as well as on the security conditions (terrorism) of the area being visited. Local museums and their territories

If local museums can be defined as a homogeneous group according to their size and ambition, the way in which they operate can also differ considerably, particularly depending on the territory or area they serve. Most of these establishments carry out their operations based on local stakeholders, following a system partially linked to donations, to a municipal subsidy and to some revenue obtained from visitors. They are most typically established on the basis of local initiatives, with the support of the population and then that of the town council. In a number of cases, especially for the oldest museums, however, citizen support has gradually been replaced by public support, through subsidies. Some establishments, on the other hand, continue to be funded through the participation of the local inhabitants, while others have mainly turned to tourism, especially in tourist areas (towns by lakes, on the seaside, in mountains, etc.). Some small establishments may, due to their particular characteristics (highly specialised museums that are recognised as international benchmarks), penetrate specific markets but have a global

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Current challenges for local ethnological museums

reach through the internet, following the same approach (“long tail”) as those that have made Amazon and online music sites successful, as Anderson pointed out (2009). The operation of a local museum in such a context does not always depend solely on its immediately surrounding area, even if this is an essential foundation in most cases. The way in which these museums evolve depends largely on the choices that have been made in the search for funding (donations, the market, public authorities) and, therefore, on the audiences they are supposed to serve. Audience does not always mean “visitor”, and whereas the donation system and the market system are based on relationships directly linked to visitors or the population, this is not the case with public subsidies, which are indirect. In this situation, it is first of all the public administration or the political decision-maker who must be convinced of the merits of providing financing, not the visitors. Of course, the visitors influence the decision indirectly and a museum that is widely acclaimed is an important argument in the eyes of local or national authorities. However, a relatively seldom visited museum can obtain financing, allowing it to ensure the continuation of its activities, for a number of reasons – for instance, the conviction of the person in charge, stable and cordial

relations with the political or administrative staff, or administrative inertia. Once funding is secured, it is important to stabilise it for future years... In this regard, the financial crisis of 2007/8 was a particularly difficult time for museums to function. Throughout Europe, they have experienced sometimes significant reductions not only in their subsidies but also in their visitor numbers (especially in the case of museums dependent on international tourism) and thus the revenues generated by the visitors themselves. It is within this context that the case of local museums and how they have evolved over the long term should be examined. Logically, if small museums are well rooted in their area and have developed a relationship with it, they usually depend less on the market or on subsidies than large and medium-sized establishments. However, many small establishments also largely rely on public authorities and have thus been severely affected by government budget cuts, with most establishments also expecting this reduction in subsidies to continue (Nederlandse Museumvereniging, 2010). Some of these establishments which had not been able to develop other relationships with their local area or region, due to stable public funding in recent years, cannot therefore rely on other sources of income and find themselves in a delicate

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situation in which their existence may be threatened in the near future. The use of other systems, such as donations, appears to be a response to the crisis, although of course this response alone cannot solve all the problems. It is in this context that we can understand the development, soon after the crisis of 2007, of a large amount of literature on the social role of museums and on the participatory system (Silverman, 2010, Simon, 2010, Black , 2012, Museums Association, 2012, Eidelman et al., 2017). The museum must show its usefulness, that is to say its social role and in particular what it achieves in the field of social inclusion (Barrère, Mairesse, 2015). These principles are related not to the rules of the administration or the market, but to donation and participation. It is, in fact, often this system, largely developed within social networks (2.0), that is viewed as a model to follow. These developments on the internet, however, represent only a minor change in the context of the principles set out by Mauss regarding questions of social ties and relationships with the surrounding area. These elements lie at the heart of the challenges facing local museums. Conclusions: fragile balances

The notion of a hybrid system used to raise a museum’s financing involves striking a balance between various forms that are partly conflicting, so as to ensure the establishment’s financing. This is a balance that is necessarily precarious, as it depends on how the museum’s context develops. It is clear that there is no winning formula in this respect, and that the distribution between the sources of financing is intrinsically linked to each establishment’s context, its size, as well as its collections and the way it positions itself in the eyes of the public. It is interesting to note, from this perspective, that local museums have often developed very different methods of financing from one another, which sometimes makes them very different from each other. How well a museum is rooted in its local area

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or region is clearly more important in the case of local museums than in that of large establishments whose sphere of influence greatly exceeds the administrative area they are located in. It is quite a task for a local museum to be able to assert such well-established roots, but this requires a special investment within its area, which has not always been the case for all museums. The mass use of public subsidies, in some cases, has isolated the museum from its community of origin, which can lead to difficulties when these subsidies diminish. If they are not able to redefine their systems and sources of financing, some of these establishments may eventually disappear at some point in the future. The complex picture of local museums and their diversity ultimately seems to be overlooked by the world of museums: like ICOM and its unique definition of the museum, we seem to typically think of this institution as a single type of organisation, regardless of a museum’s size or form of financing. This uniform image, which is widely conveyed – apart from a few manuals specifically dedicated to small museums – seems to induce a certain type of standardisation in how these establishments are managed, which may make them fragile if they do not have the flexibility to adapt. The recent financial crisis has indeed reminded us of the importance of the major changes that can occur in the space of just a few months; its consequences for the development, and even the survival, of museums can be considerable. In this sense, the balance achieved in terms of financing is always precarious and fragile. n

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

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Fabien Van Geert UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA AND UNIVERSITY OF PARIS 3 SORBONNE NOUVELLE

In 2014, Fabien Van Geert was awarded a PhD in Culture and Heritage Management from the University of Barcelona after completing a thesis on the influence of multiculturalism on the renewal of ethnological museums in Europe. He lectured in the Department of Social Anthropology at the University of Barcelona from 2014 to 2016, and from 2017 has been a senior lecturer in the Department of Cultural Mediation at the University of Paris 3 Sorbonne Nouvelle.

The musealisation of ethnographic collections and the challenges posed by budget cuts in the “new age of museums”

View of the permanent exhibition in the Ethnographic Museum in Ripoll (Ripollès), the first folklore museum in Catalonia, after its reopening in 2011 after being renovated (December 2013). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

n Europe, the main priority of governments in resolving the economic crisis of 2008 was the payment of bank debts. Part of the public purse was dedicated to this, implying a rebalancing between the different public budgets and a drastic reduction in financing in some areas, including the museum sector, and involving some institutions that depend more or less directly on public subsidies. To understand the impact of these cuts on ethnographic museums, however, the current situation of these museums must be taken into account, together with the recent evolution of these types of institutions in Europe. As we shall see, these museums find themselves in substantially differing situations, and they therefore constitute a complex landscape where we find diverse testimonials to the various preceding “museum cycles”. Understanding the peculiarities of the current panorama allows us to understand, in a novel way, the impact on these institutions resulting from budget cuts.

first-rural themed museums were created, marked by the production of rural “heritage” as an element related to the ideological foundations of conservative tendency and bourgeois character, to counterpoint the new values that were being established with industrialisation (Roigé, Arrieta, 2014: 74). These museums sought to preserve the vestiges of “rural” character specific to the local region or entire nation in a context of “double patriotism” (Fradera, 1992), highlighting the “small fatherland” in the heart of the “great nation”. These first museums, which is also true to a lesser extent of certain small museums created at the same time outside the big cities, shaped many European ethnographic museums. Since that time, however, this panorama has been constantly revised, expanded, dissolved, and reorganised in line with societal evolution and the view of traditional society. Thus, paraphrasing the famous words of Alexis de Tocqueville in his book Democràcia a Amèrica (Democracy in America) published in 1848, each generation reinvents its museum.

Museum “cycles” of ethnographic collections Systematic interest in collecting and exhibiting ethnographic collections dates back to at least the 19th century. It was then that the

In this way, at the end of World War II, these folklorist institutions experienced their first transformations along with the development of ethnology. In some places, like France, this change in perspective appeared as a

This article addresses the musealisation of ethnographic collections from a European perspective. First, it tries to define the dynamics of renewing the displays of these collections according to the interests of each time period and the development of anthropology. Secondly, it addresses the main features of the current museum outlook, especially under the influence of “museums of society” as a museum model marked by the importance of management. Finally, the peculiarities of this museum panorama will allow us to explain how the institutions have been affected by budgetary cuts that accompanied the financial crisis, and thus understand the efforts the museums have made to implement new “crisis” strategies that have enabled them to survive.

Aquest article aborda la museïtzació de les col·leccions etnogràfiques des d’una perspectiva europea. En primer lloc, tracta de definir la dinàmica de renovacions de la presentació d’aquestes col·leccions d’acord amb els interessos de cada època i el desenvolupament de l’antropologia. En segon lloc, aborda les característiques principals del panorama museològic actual, especialment sota la influència dels museus de societat com a model museològic marcat per la importància de la gestió. Finalment, les particularitats d’aquest panorama museològic permetran explicar com aquestes institucions s’han vist afectades per les retallades pressupostàries que van acompanyar la crisi econòmica, i així comprendre els esforços que han desenvolupat els museus per implementar noves estratègies de crisi que els han permès sobreviure.

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Keywords: ethnographic collections, museums of society, new era of museums, museological management, financial crisis Paraules clau: col·leccions etnogràfiques, museus de societat, nova era dels museus, gestió museològica, crisi econòmica Palabras clave: colecciones etnográficas, museos de sociedad, nueva era de los museos, gestión museológica, crisis económica

Este artículo aborda la museización de las colecciones etnográficas desde una perspectiva europea. En primer lugar, intenta definir la dinámica de renovaciones de la presentación de estas colecciones de acuerdo con los intereses de cada época y el desarrollo de la antropología. En segundo lugar, aborda las principales características del panorama museológico actual, especialmente bajo la influencia de los «museos de sociedad» como modelo museológico marcado por la importancia de la gestión. Por último, las particularidades de este panorama museológico permitirán explicar cómo estas instituciones se han visto afectadas por los recortes presupuestarios derivados de la crisis económica para, así, entender los esfuerzos que han realizado los museos para implementar nuevas estrategias «de crisis» que les han permitido sobrevivir.

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transition (Christophe, Boell and Meyran, 2009), with the creation of the National Museum of Popular Arts and Traditions (Museu Nacional d’Arts i Tradicions Populars; MNATP) in Paris, in 1938. Directed by George-Henri Rivière, it was conceived as a “laboratory-museum”, where museological and research activities were intrinsically linked through, for example, the object acquisition campaigns that usually accompanied research missions. Before the definitive opening of the MNATP, in 1972, in the Bois de Boulogne in Paris, we find this same perspective in George-Henri Rivière’s creation and updating of many folklore institutes throughout France, in this way helping to consolidate anthropology in the heart of museums (Segalen, 2005). In Catalonia and in Spain, in general, the relationship between museums and ethnography was different. While anthropology as a discipline was consolidated in the rest of Europe, the peculiarities of local political history led to the development of a folkloric and stereotyped representation of the peoples of

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the peninsula, far removed from the scientific approach to the study of culture. Consequently, during the Franco dictatorship only a few attempts were made at anthropological musealisation. These included the creation, in Barcelona, of the Museum of Art and Popular Industries (Museu d’Art i les Indústries Populars), in 1942, and the Ethnological and Colonial Museum (Museu Etnològic i Colonial), in 1949, which formed the basis of the collections in the city’s current ethnological museum. In this context, the rupture between folklorist and ethnographic approaches would be more acute and occur later than in the rest of Europe. Indeed, it was a consequence of the professionalization of anthropology, in the democratic era, which took place away from the museum setting. In fact, in a similar way to the rest of Europe, the consolidation of anthropology in Catalonia, its interests and its fields of research, would move away from material culture, being marked, in particular, by French structuralist thinking and Anglo-Saxon cognitive and symbolic research (Aguirre Baztán, 1992). Anthropologists distanced themselves from

View of the “Festa i protesta” (Party and protest), space in the Museu Etnològic de Barcelona (August 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

museums to focus on the academic world as a place to create knowledge. This “anthropology university age”, as described by William C. Sturtevant (1969), marked the end of the “laboratory-museums”, which slowly died out throughout Europe, losing the interest of both visitors and politicians. In parallel to this, new institutions were created throughout Europe from the 1970s and 1980s onwards. Interpreted as a “desire for museums” (Jacquelin, 1983) and widely studied by social scientists as a background phenomenon (Marble; Morell; Chalcraft, 2015, Van Geert; Roigé, 2016), this dynamic continued through the 1990s and 2000s, especially in regions of Spain, with the creation of interpretation centres (Martín Piñol, 2013). Within this veritable “museum bubble” (Roigé, 2016), we can identify two very different museum perspectives. In the context of interest in cultural identity (Cuche, 2016), marked by a “sense of place” (Davis, 1999), the first context involved consolidating, strengthening and placing value on the cultural references and experiences of the different regions, often establishing new ties with anthropology, especially through research into “ethnological heritage”. In Quebec, many ethnological museums were created like this, in order to highlight popular culture, one of the fundaments of the nationalist discourse in the 1960s and 1970s (Bergeron, 2007). In Catalonia, some of the first museums were created during the 1950s and 1960s, but this was even more pronounced in the 1980s, when the mission became to recover the local identities repressed during the Franco regime (Roigé and Arrieta, 2010). Created both locally and regionally in a weak regulatory framework, (Farnós, 2005: 60), these institutions constituted, for Rueda (2014), the main Catalan contribution to the “new museology”, and the basis of the collections in many present-day local museums. In the rest of the peninsula, the consolidation of the Spanish autonomous communities led to local governments and associations enhanc-

ing “national” cultures through the creation of “autonomous museums”. This happened in Gijón, Seville, Santiago de Compostela, and later Zamora, and Barcelona, where the Catalan government was then engaged in the promotion and implementation of linguistic and audiovisual policies (Roigé and Arrieta, 2010). In France, together with the development of the first ecomuseums as part of the budding Regional Natural Parks (RPN) network1, a similar logic developed in the context of the state’s political and territorial decentralisation, with the creation of regional museums, often based on the collections previously exhibited in folklore and ethnography museums. During the 1970s, many museums like those of Aquitaine, Alsace (1971), and Brittany, were renovated with the aim of showcasing the regional characteristics of traditional societies. Parallel to these “cultural identity” museums, other institutions were created that were not in line with the values and principles of the “new museology”. According to Fiona Candlin (2016), the appearance of these institutions marks a radical change in museological philosophy, giving rise to what the author describes as “micromuseology”. Part of this movement includes very small museums that, in most cases, employ less than ten people, and which are often managed privately or by associations. Ultimately, these institutions focus on issues outside academic disciplines (like school or transport), and present their collections through their own museology. In the eyes of the great museologist Kenneth Hudson (2004), this gives them a special charm. While they are a very important part of the European museum landscape, these museums have been studied very little. In Catalonia, for example, these institutions constitute the vast majority of museums classified as “collections open to the public” in the official museums register, established by the Catalan government as part of the 1990 Law on Museums.2. In other places, like France, it is not even known how many of these collections exist. In fact, as most are not recognised as being a

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In France, a Regional Natural Park (RNP) is a region that voluntarily choses a development model based on recognising the value of natural and cultural heritage, considered as rich and fragile, and protecting this. Unlike a national park, a nature reserve, or protected site, a RNP has no regulatory power. Set up in 1967, there are 51 RNPs that cover 15% of the state territory where 6% of the population live.

See http://cultura.gencat.cat/ca/ departament/estructura_i_adreces/organismes/dgpc/temes/ museus/el_sistema_de_museus_ de_catalunya/registre-de-museus-de-catalunya-00001/ (consulted on July 14, 2017).

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Poster indicating the schedules of the Petit Museu sobre la Guerra Civil (the Little Museum on the Civil War) in Camprodon (Ripollès) (August 2015). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Veure https://www.legifrance.gouv. fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte=JORFTEXT000000769536&categorieLien=id (consultat el 14 de juliol del 2017).

“Musée de France” (Museum of France), a title awarded by the Ministry of Culture and Communication since the application of the 2002 Museums Law3, as they do not appear on any governmental museum inventory. The transition to a “new cycle”. The museums of society model. From the first decade of the new century right up to the present day, these identity museums have been questioned, in turn, as part of the new reflections on globalisation, represented in the social sciences by the publications of Ulf Hannerz, Zygmunt Bauman, and Arjun Appadurai, among others. Expanding the

principles of the “new museology”, new institutional perspectives have been developed under the umbrella concepts of “museums of society”, “museums of civilisation”, or even “museums of cultural history”, strongly influenced by the new museological models that have been expounded during this time in Canada and Quebec4. Characterised by their interdisciplinary nature and based on temporary exhibitions, the main characteristic of these museums is the fact that they no longer only represent the past and traditions, but instead reflect the evolution of societies and their current state (Alcalde, Boya and Roigé, 2010: 7).

En el context de les reivindicacions nacionalistes al Quebec, es va crear, l’any 1988, el Museu de la Civilització a la ciutat de Quebec, centrat en la societat quebequesa. En contraposició, es va inaugurar l’any 1989 el Museu de les Civilitzacions a la ciutat de Hull, situada entre Gatineau (província del Quebec) i Ottawa (província d’Ontàrio). En aquesta institució federal canadenca es presenta una identitat nacional multicultural que integra els diferents sectors culturals del país, com el francòfon.

View of the reconstruction of the Cafe de Cal Xic from the permanent exhibition in the Museu del Montseny – Montseny Museum (La Selva region) (October 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

This novel perspective has been accompanied by a new form of museology, described by Jean Davallon (1999) as a “museological point of view”, which focuses more on visitors than collections. This opens up a new avenue that moves away from the logic of research, previously prevalent in ethnographic museums, where the objective was to transmit knowledge through the exhibition of objects. On the other hand, “museums of society” have a logic, described by Serge Chaumier (2012) as “communicational”, where the displays are articulated through a previously defined discourse that is to be passed on to visitors. The main consequence of this inverted perspective is the museums developing a profound interest in their audience, understanding their motivations for visiting, and what they understand from the content offered by the institution (Eidelman, Roustan and Goldstein, 2014). Many museums are influenced by this new model, adapting their main features. In France, this was the case of the grand projects that came about from 2010 onwards, such as MuCEM (Museum of European and Mediterranean Civilisations) in Marseilles, the successor to MNATP, and the renovation of the Arlaten Museum in Arles, a key

Travelling exhibition “Construint el territori. Arquitectura tradicional i paisatge a Catalunya” (Building the region, Traditional architecture and landscapes in Catalonia) in Can Trona (La Vall d’en Bas, La Garrotxa region), exploring the impact of traditional architecture on the formation of different types of landscapes in Catalonia (January 2017). FABIEN VAN GEERT

institution for French folklore, opened in 1899 by Frederic Mistral (Drouguet, 2015). The approach to renewing these institutions contrasted to that which had previously prevailed in ethnography museums and ecomuseums (Hubert, 2013: 62). Cultural, historical, and identitary boundaries of the regions are no longer defined, but instead the museums deal more with the relationship between this latter concept and the rest of the world, in particular through the contacts and exchanges that make up the complex “glocal” redefinition of identities. This same process also occurred in Spain, with the transformation of the San Telmo museum in San Sebastián-Donostia (Soto, 2010), the Museo do Pobo Galego (Braña, 2008), and the aborted project to create a Catalan museum of society by bringing together national historical, archaeological and ethnological collections (Boya, 2010). This logic was also applied at a local level, through the integration of new themes in museums, sometimes giving a new boost to research. New dialogues were also established between historical ethnographic collections and contemporary creations on topics like sustainable development, population movements, the collective imagination of regions, local products, and so on.

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Within these cyclical changes in the musealisation of ethnographic collections, the development of museums of society was also influenced by a new concept of the museum linked to their evolution together with the development of an economic and political system. This is what Jean-Michel Tobelem (2005) describes as the “new era of museums”, as opposed to the “old age of museums”, due to the explicit presence of management and “strategic governance”. This governance had actually been in place since the creation of the Quebec Museum of Civilisation in 1989, where the director, Roland Arpin, promoted the idea of management and leadership in the museum (Bergeron and Côté, 2016). The development of educational activities in museum and heritage management illustrates this professionalization, something that has led to museum staff progressively becoming administrators or public relations experts (Dupaigne and Gutwirth, 2008). This new concept of the museum, and of the world of heritage in general, has been interpreted as a result of private influence in these institutions, particularly from the business world. It is conceptually insepara-

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ble from the “commercial turning point of museums” (Bayart and Benghozi 1993), marked by commercialisation and marketing, as an integral part of the “new thinking on heritage” (Barrère, Barthélémy, Nieddu and Vivien, 2005), articulated around its economic use. In southern Europe, this use was particularly linked to the “touristification” of culture, where heritage became seen as an economic asset of prime importance, in a context defined by competition between cities to attract tourism and capital, as well as a clear commodification of identities (Prats and Santana, 2005). Just as with all museums, the reinvention of ethnological institutions was marked by this dynamic, integrating a new museum discourse focused on the region and its links to the rest of the world with the logic of the “new era of museums”. By attempting to bring together the various local actors (public and private) around the distinct heritage, these institutions have come to occupy a place of prime importance in regional value production strategies and in areas that are affected by significant economic changes and social conversion (Rautenberg, Micoud, Bérard and Marchenay 2000; Roigé, Frigolé

Shop in the Valls d’Àneu Ecomuseum in Esterri d’Àneu (Pallars Sobirà region), with products from the local area (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

and Mármol, 2014). An example of this dynamic is the “economusueology”, characterised by giving value to local “knowhow”, raising it to heritage status, and commercialising it through the museum. These “economuseums”, first seen in Quebec at the end of the 1980s (Simard, 1989), have influenced many institutions, especially in Europe. Some now include commercial areas for local crafts within their walls, while others are designed around products from the terroir, legitimising, from a heritage point of view, a local market aimed primarily at tourists5. In view of these developments, it should be noted that not all institutions have integrated these characteristics in the same way. In fact, in the current landscape, the musealisation of ethnographic collections is somewhat more of a transition to this “new era of museums”. However, during this transformation process, some museums may have lost their quality of specificity. This was, for example, the case of the ecomuseums that at the beginning of the 2000s found themselves confronting profound changes due to the influx of a new generation of professionals. While, according to Serge Chaumier (2003), they were often set up by self-taught individ-

uals, the arrival of these new professionals in the museums has meant a radical change in philosophy. In fact, new measures for collections conservation and management of collections have been established, while mediation standards, visit types, and exhibitions are being developed based on the new criteria established by the museums of society and university models. In cases where the fracture has been more radical, Serge Chaumier (2003) indicates that these museums have lost their “ecomuseum” character to become “technomuseums”, marked by a technocratic dynamic and a certain abandonment of their more favourable aspects. Other entities also radically transformed their institutional policies, becoming, for example, interpretation centres or tourist information centres for the region.

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Un exemple d’aquesta reflexió és l’organització de la Jornada “Sabem vendre des dels museus? La comercialització del producte local des dels museus i equipaments patrimonials”, realitzada el juny del 2015 a l’Ecomuseu de les Valls d’Àneu d’Esterri d’Àneu.

Some museums, however, have had enormous difficulties adapting to this new model, in particular some of the institutions we consider part of the micromuseology trend. Strongly influenced by the ideas and personalities of their founders, they are currently faced with a lack of generational renewal in a context where associative activism is moving away from museum collections towards ecology, especially in central View of a room in the interpretation centre inside the Castillet de Perpinyà, which replaced the old Catalan museum of popular arts and traditions (popularly known as Casa Pairal), inaugurated in 1963 with the help of GeorgeHenri Rivière (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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and northern Europe. In many institutions of this type, the museology, often little changed since the creation of the museum, is far removed from the norms of “museums of society”. They are instead characterised as “museums of objects” (Davallon, 1999), where richness is measured by the size of the collections. These are exhibited in museum spaces, and the reserve collection is seen as secondary. These institutions have undergone very few deep renovations, and the permanent exhibitions have the character of “museographic DIY”, where the latest collections are cumulatively integrated into the older ones. In this sense, some become “museums of museums”, and are especially interesting for museology researchers. These institutions have not developed the idea of collaboration with other museums either. They often have very few links between them, and are not included in the networks of local ethnographic institutions developed since the 2000s. They also have no ties with administrative and museology

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research centres. Paraphrasing Iñaki Díaz Balerdi in his study of the museums in the Basque Country (Díaz Balerdi, 2010), these institutions are therefore “islands” or “archipelagos” incommunicado when it comes to the wider museum panorama. Because of their characteristics, these museums have difficulties projecting themselves into the future. In France, some that are classified as “Museé de France”, no longer comply with the Museums Law as they have updated neither their “scientific and cultural project”, a strategic museum plan for the institution that must be renewed every five years, nor their inventory. From a museological point of view, they do not develop new procurement policies and do not hold temporary exhibitions. As a consequence, beyond their undeniable charm these museums no longer seem to correspond to the interest of visitors. The number of these falls, and few of them attract more than 3,000 to 5,000 people a year. Some even attract

View of the Musée du Charroi Rural (Rural Cart Museum) exhibition space, in Salmiech (Department of Aveyron, Occitania) (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

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View of the museography of the Musés Cevenol in Lo Vigan (Department of Gard, Occitania), which has not been touched since its creation largely at the hands of George-Henri Rivière (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

View of the permanent exhibition at the Musée départemental des Arts et Métiers Traditionnels, Salles-la-Source (Department of Aveyron, Occitania) (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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less than 500 visitors per annum. The subsidies they receive drop in line with this loss of interest. For example, in France, most museums in locations with less than 5000 inhabitants generally have a total budget of about 50,000 euros, including operating and staffing expenses. With no budget, they may even have structural problems with their buildings, with flooded reserve collections, which endangers the conservation of all the collections. Faced with this vicious circle, the future of these museums seems quite uncertain. The consequences of the financial crisis on the current museum panorama This long journey through the reality of the today’s heterogeneous musealisation of ethnographic collections allows us to better understand the impact the financial crisis has had, and will probably have in the future. Although all museum institutions will be affected by budgetary cuts, sometimes very significantly, some will be able to withstand the current economic situation better than others. Museologically, those that hold exhibitions according to the “museums of society” model, will have a certain pre-eminence. In France, the Ministry of Culture and Communications is trying to direct ethnographic museums and ecomuseums in this direction, as evidenced by the book published in 2013 by Denis Chevallier, the deputy director of MuCEM. In times of crisis and budgetary shortcomings, looking into and exploring topics of interest to visitors allows museums to maintain a certain social and political legitimacy, and consequently receive governmental support. However, this social legitimacy goes beyond the mere fact of attracting visitors to permanent exhibitions. Some museums have gradually come to embody, albeit unconsciously, the idea of a “third place”, according to the definition given by Ray Oldenburg (1989), a social space in the community located beyond both the domestic and professional spheres. Libraries have integrated this approach for years and now, in their desire to become

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community meeting places, museums are gradually developing a tendency to open up to activities not exclusively museum – or heritage-related.

From the beginning of the crisis, many professional museum associations have been insisting on this social use. This is the case of “Museum 2020”, from the Museums Association in the UK, a country where museums have suffered severe budgetary cuts, and the “Museums are more than worth it!” programme from the Dutch Museum Association, articulated around the idea of the social significance of museums. It is also the case of the 2013 Lisbon Declaration by the ICOM (International Council of Museums), which emphasised the importance of supporting museums in times of crisis as a key tool for building the future6. In this context, it seems that the main political challenge for the museums in the future will be to find a balance between their functional identity, inherited from the 1970s and 1980s and mainly aimed at the community, and their economic function, mainly oriented towards the outside. On the other hand, the main risk for museums will be losing their institutional distinctness, even though the classical definition of the museum promulgated by the ICOM is being questioned more and more, even within that institution itself7.

From the management perspective, given the budgetary cuts that have affected all types of museums, those institutions that have most integrated the “new era of museums” criteria will undoubtedly be more flexible, and will develop a “crisis” museology and management system. Indeed, Roigé (2016) observed the development of “low-cost” museology in all Spain’s museums, as well as the expansion of temporary exhibitions, to keep the cost of the museum’s activities down. Some institutions have also tried adapting their strategies to deal with this new panorama, reducing their opening hours, and “mutualising” their human and museological resources by strengthening collaboration networks,

Vegeu http://icom.museum/fileadmin/user_upload/pdf/Statements/ SPA/Declaracion_de_Lisboa_ESP. pdf (consultat el 10 de juliol del 2017). Vegeu http://www.icom-musees. fr/index.php/page/index/Colloque%3A-Definir-le-musee-du-XXIe-siecle-Paris-9-11-juin-2017 (consultat el 12 de juliol del 2017).

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

particularly in Catalonia. In France, some museums will change, for example, from being directly managed by local councils to being in the hands of the larger groups, while at the same time, since 2015, the country has been developing territorial reforms aimed at reducing the number of municipalities and facilitating their integration into common groupings8. In this way, the budgets originally provided from local councils are divided between the various administrations that make up the community of municipalities, as well as other municipal services. In other cases, museums in the same department will be incorporated into a new common administrative structure that will allow the budgets to be distributed between the different museums. This is what is happening in the Department of Ariège, where a departmental legal structure has been created that brings together the different museums, enabling the administration, money, and subsidies to be centralised and redistributed to each institution according to their needs. In this way, although the Foix Museum attracts 80% of the visitors to the department’s museums, this integrated strategy allows the benefits to be redistributed to smaller and less well-visited structures in the region, giving them resources with which to develop new activities. Finally, in addition to this pooling and administrative reorganisation, some museums are also trying to find other sources of income from private financing (such as through micro-patronage) and self-sufficiency, although this is limited for smaller organisations. Previously free services will be paid for, museums will further exploit the rental potential of their spaces, and shops will take on a more important role. They

will also develop voluntary practices, such as the logic of the gift, specifically analysed by François Mairesse in his article integrated into this dossier. Unlike these museums, institutions that have taken little of this “new era of museums” on board, will find it much more difficult to adapt to the current panorama, in addition to their failure to adapt to the new social interests highlighted by museums of society. Driven by a sui generis logic from their creation in a context of “economic boom” and of interest due to the political nature of placing value on identities, they stayed away from the management concerns. For this reason, it will be difficult for them to adapt to the current budgetary reductions and the buzzwords of the crisis, like mobility, flexibility and adaptation, concepts that are inherited directly from the business sphere, and characteristic of the influence of the “new spirit of capitalism” on museums (Chiapello, Boltanski, 2002). In this sense, one of the main effects of the budgetary cuts that accompanied the financial crisis seems to be the accelerated transition of museums towards the “museums of society” model, and the abandonment of those institutions that cannot afford to undergo a fundamental renewal due to the current lack of subsidies. Thus, while each generation reinvents the museum, the future cycle of musealisation of ethnographic collections seems to comprise masterfully managed institutions, integrated into the heart of the community and sensitive to their needs, not just in an economic sense, but an essentially social, economic and political one. n

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És el cas de la Llei 2015-991, de 7 d’agost de 2015, sobre la nova organització territorial de la República (coneguda també com a llei NOTRe), impulsada sota la presidència de François Hollande.

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REFERENCES

Aguirre Baztán, A. (ed.) (1992). Historia de la Antropología española. Barcelona: Boixareu Universitaria.

Chaumier, S. (2003). Des musées en quête d’identité: Ecomusées versus technomusées. Paris: L’Harmattan.

Alcalde, G.; Boya, J and Roige, X. (2010). «Presentació». In Alcalde, G.; J. Boya and X. Roigé (eds). Museus d’avui. Els nous museus de societat (7-12). Girona: ICRPC.

Chaumier, S. (2012). Traité d’expologie. Les écritures de l’exposition. Paris: La Documentation Française.

Barrere, C.; Barthelemy, D.; Nieddu, M.; Vivien, F.D. (2005). Réinventer le patrimoine: de la culture à l’économie, une nouvelle pensée du patrimoine? Paris: L’Harmattan. Bayart, D.; Benghozi, P-J. (1993). Le tournant commercial des musées en France et à l’étranger. Paris: La Documentation Française. Bergeron, Y. (2007). Du Musée de l’Homme du Québec au Musée de la civilisation. Transformations des musées d’ethnographie au Québec. Quaderns-e. Institut Català d’Antropologia. 9. <http:// www.antropologia.cat/antiga/ quaderns-e/09/Bergeron.htm> [Consulted: July 12, 2017]. Bergeron, Y. (2009). «Los museos y la crisis. Tendencias en los museos norteamericanos», Museos. es, 5-6: 58-67. Bergeron, Y.; Cote, J-A. (2016). Diriger sans s’excuser. Patrimoine, musée et gouvernance selon Roland Arpin. Paris: L’Harmattan. Boltanksi, L.; Chiapello, E. (2002). El nuevo espíritu del capitalismo. Madrid: Akal. Boya, J. (2010). «Un museu sobre Catalunya obert al món. El projecte del Museu nacional d’Història, Arqueologia i Etnologia de Catalunya”. In Alcalde, G.; Boya, J.; Roige, X. (eds). Museu d’avui. Els nous museus de societat, 135-154. Girona: ICRPC. Braña, F. (ed.) (2008). O Museo do Pobo Galego: contedor de valores. Santiago: Museo do Pobo Galego. Candlin, F. (2016). Micromuseology: An Analysis of Small Independent Museums. London and New York: Bloomsbury.

Chevallier, D. (ed.) (2013). Métamorphoses des musées de société. Paris: La Documentation Française.

Hubert, F. (2013). «De nouveaux musées pour des territoires en crise? L’exemple du musée d’Aquitaine». In Chevallier, D. (ed.) Métamorphoses des musées de société, 59-64. Paris: La Documentation Française. Hudson, K. (2004). “The Museum Refuses to Stand Still”. In Messias Carbonell, B. (ed.). Museums Studies: An Anthology of Contexts, 90. Malden & Oxford: Blackwell.

Cuche, D. (2016). La notion de culture dans les sciences sociales. Paris: La Découverte (5th edition).

Jacquelin, C. (1983). «Le phénomène d’envie de musée: l’exemple de la Fruitière, musée de Trépot ou l’ambiguité de la réappropriation patrimoniale». In Quels musées pour quelles fins aujourd’hui?. Séminaire de l’Ecole du Louvre, 93-105. Paris: La Documentation Française.

Davallon, J. (1999). L’exposition à l’œuvre. Stratégies de communication et médiation symbolique. Paris: L’Harmattan.

Mármol, C. del; Morell, M.; Chalcraft, J. (ed.) (2015). The Making of Heritage: Seduction and Disenchantment. New York: Routledge.

Davis, P. (1999). Ecomuseums. A sense of place. Leicester: Leicester University Press.

Martin Piñol, C. (2013). Manual del Centro de interpretación. Gijón: TREA.

Díaz Balerdi, I. (2010). Archipiélagos imaginarios: Museos de la Comunidad Autónoma del País Vasco. Vitoria-Gasteiz: Nerea.

Oldenburg, R. (1989). The Great, Good Place. New York: Paragon House.

Christophe, J., Boëll, D-M. & Meyran, R. (2009). Du folklore à l’ethnologie. Paris: Editions de la maison des sciences de l’homme.

Dupaigne, B.; Gutwirth, J. (2008). Quel rôle pour l’ethnologue dans nos musées. Ethnologie française, 4/38: 627-630. Drouguet, N. (2015). Le musée de société. De l’exposition de folklore aux enjeux contemporains. Paris: Armand Colin. Eidelman, J.; Roustan, M.; Goldstein, B. (2014). El museo y sus públicos. El visitante tiene la palabra. Barcelona: Ariel.

Prats, L.; Santana, A. (2011). «Turismo, identidad y patrimonio, las reglas del juego». In Prats, L.; Santana, A. (eds.) Turismo y Patrimonio, entramados narrativos (Colección Pasos), 115-123. Tenerife: Asociación Canaria de Antropología. Rautenberg, M.; Micoud, A.; Berard, L.; Marchenay, Ph. (eds) (2000). Campagnes de tous nos désirs. Patrimoine et nouveaux usages sociaux. Paris: Maison des sciences de l’homme.

Farnós, A. (2005). Els museus comarcals i supramunicipals a Catalunya: museus de territori i societat, Mnemòsine. Revista Catalana de Museologia, 2: 59-74.

Roige, X.; Arrieta, I. (2010). «Construcción de identidades en los museos de Cataluña y País Vasco: entre lo local, nacional y global», Pasos: Revista de turismo y patrimonio cultural, 8/4: 539-553.

Fradera, J.M. (1992). Cultura nacional en una societat dividida: patriotisme i cultura a Catalunya (1838-1868). Barcelona: Curial.

Roige, X.; Arrieta, I. (2014). «¿Una sociedad congelada? La representación de la sociedad rural en los

museos», Arxius. Arxius de ciències socials, 30: 73-86. Roige, X.; Frigole, J.; Del Marmol, C. (eds) (2014). Construyendo el patrimonio cultural y natural. Parques, museos y patrimonio rural. Valencia: Germania. Roige, X. (2016). «Les musées face à la crise économique ou les musées en crise? Défis et stratégies dans le cas de l’Espagne». Dins Mairesse, F. (ed) Nouvelles tendances de la muséologie, 81-94. Paris: La Documentation Française. Rueda, J.M. (2014). «Els orígens i evolució dels museus etnogràfics a Catalunya», Mnemòsine, 4: 121139. Segalen, M. (2005). Vie d’un musée, 1937-2005. Paris: Stock. Simard, C. (1989). Economuséologie. Comment rentabiliser une entreprise culturelle. Montreal: Centre éducatif et culturel. Soto, S. (2010). «El Museu de San Telmo de Donostia, un museu sobre la societat basca: l’experiència de transformar un museu municipal». In Alcalde, G.; Boya, J.; Roige, X. (eds) Museu d’avui. Els nous museus de societat, 99-112. Girona: ICRPC. Tobelem, J.M. (2005). Le nouvel âge des musées. Les institutions culturelles au défi de la gestion. Paris: Armand Colin. Van Geert, F.; Roige, X. (2016). Del uso político del patrimonio. In Van Geert, F.; Roige, X.; Conget, L. (eds). Usos politicos del patrimonio cultural, 9-26. Barcelona: University of Barcelona.

En els darrers temps, el testimoni directe de la gent ha esdevingut una de les fonts d’informació més valuoses per als investigadors socials. La tècnica de l’entrevista, abans gairebé associada en exclusiva als antropòlegs, avui forma part dels mètodes més utilitzats en investigacions de tot tipus. La recerca a escala local ha estat singularment una de les grans beneficiades per aquest procés d’extensió. L’Observatori del Patrimoni Etnològic i Immaterial presenta per novè any consecutiu un seguit d’experiències que han tingut lloc entorn d’iniciatives proposades per les entitats que en formen part o per equips de recerca del nostre país. L’Observatori us proposa, així, un recorregut al llarg del territori per conèixer les vivències de moltes persones, al mateix temps personals i representatives del batec de la nostra societat.

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Xavier Roigé Ventura UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA

Professor of Social Anthropology and Museology at the University of Barcelona. Director of the Master’s Degree in World Heritage and Development Projects and has coordinated for many years in Master’s Degree in Cultural Heritage and Museology at the UB. He has participated in different research projects about kinship, immaterial heritage, museology, ethnological museums and local museums. He is currently the head of the research group Heritage in times of crisis. He has also commissioned several exhibitions and has carried out management projects and museum management plans.

New challenges for ethnological museums in Catalonia: between crisis and definition of their social role

his article1 examines the situation of ethnological museums in Catalonia, focusing on the main trends and issues affecting them. There are many different types of museum. They range from large general institutions to small local museums, from specialised institutions to those with a more general focus, from museums dealing with rural society to others dealing with other cultures, from those giving us a picture of traditional societies to others focusing on the major challenges facing contemporary society. Even so, a cursory glance at ethnological museums in Catalonia today leads us to two initial conclusions. Overall the position of ethnological museums in Catalonia is weak (to date it has not been possible to create national ethnological museums) but there are a good number of small local and county museums, many of which are of considerable interest. It seems paradoxical that there should be no national ethnological museums in view of the dynamism of local museums (including some excellent examples and outstanding initiatives), which, since the 1980s, have undergone considerable growth and played

a major role in the new approach to museology. Determining the factors that have led to this situation is a complex matter. As everywhere, the development of museums can be explained in terms of the complex relationships between political power, specialists and the community sustaining them (Pomian, 1990), and the development of ethnological museums in Catalonia is no exception. Consequently, while ethnological museums have quite often been seen as significant elements of identity at the local level, our ethnological heritage has always played a secondary role in Catalonia as a whole.

Article produced as part of the research project “El patrimonio cultural y natural en tiempos de crisis. Retos, adaptaciones y estrategias en contextos locales” (Cultural and natural heritage in times of crisis. Challenges, changes and strategies in local contexts). CSO201568611-R. Call for grants under the state programme for Research, Development and Innovation Related to Social Challenges. R&D&I Projects. Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness Programme: National Programme for Social, Economic and Legal Sciences (NSEJ). An earlier version of this article was published in Roigé (2015).

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

This paper reflects the current situation of ethnological museums in Catalonia, highlighting the main trends and debates. An historical tour of how they have been raised and their different perspectives. The diversity of museums is indicated. There are quite different museums, from museums to small local museums, from specialized to general museums, from museums that deal with rural society to others who speak of us about other cultures. The paper starts with two initial findings: at the Catalan general level, the situation of ethnological museums is weak, while on the contrary there is a good number of small and local ethnological museums, many of which have great interest. The paper also analyzes the impact of the economic crisis and the narratives regarding identity and rural societies. Aquest article reflexiona sobre la situació actual dels museus etnològics a Catalunya, assenyalant-ne les principals tendències i debats. Es fa un recorregut històric de com s’han anat plantejant i les seves diferents perspectives. S’assenyala la diversitat de museus. Hi ha museus molt diferents, des de museus generals fins a petits museus locals, des de museus especialitzats fins a museus generalistes, des de museus que tracten de la societat rural fins a d’altres que ens parlen d’altres cultures. L’article parteix de dues constatacions inicials: a nivell general català, la situació dels museus etnològics és feble, mentre que per contra hi ha un bon nombre de petits museus etnològics de caràcter comarcal i local, molts dels quals tenen un gran interès. L’article analitza també l’impacte de la crisi econòmica en els museus i les narratives dels museus en relació la identitat i les societats rurals. Este artículo reflexiona sobre la situación actual de los museos etnológicos en Cataluña, señalando las principales tendencias y debates. Se hace un recorrido histórico de cómo se han ido planteando y sus diferentes perspectivas. Se señala la diversidad de museos. Hay museos muy diferentes, desde museos generales hasta pequeños museos locales, desde especializados hasta museos generalistas, desde museos que tratan sobre la sociedad rural hasta otros que nos hablan de otras culturas. El artículo parte de dos constataciones iniciales: a nivel general catalán, la situación de los museos etnológicos es débil, mientras que hay un buen número de pequeños museos etnológicos de carácter comarcal y local, muchos de los cuales tienen un gran interés. El artículo analiza también el impacto de la crisis económica en los museos y las narrativas los museos en relación la identidad y las sociedades rurales.

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Although there has been a clear preference for museums focusing on art or history to explain our cultural identity, the recent history of ethnological museums in Catalonia has consisted of a series of failed attempts to create a major national museum. But these factors only explain part of the situation. At the local level, since the 1980s our ethnological heritage has played a strong social role in expressing local identity (Alcalde and Rueda, 2012) and has also been seen and used as a resource for developing or sustaining the local economy (Prats, 2014: 155). This has allowed numerous small-scale initiatives to flourish, aimed at reaffirming local identity in the face of globalisation and highlighting the importance of rural life and our industrial past (Roigé and Frigolé, 2010). On the other hand, in the context of a large city like Barcelona, ethnological museums play a secondary role: it is difficult for them to compete with major art museums, which are part of the modern image of the city presented to tourists, and to explain the complexity of identities in a context where they are changing, one which is multicultural and involves complex, permeable societies. Explaining these social changes should be one of the key roles of ethnological museums but this has not been achieved because of the difficulties related to the content of museums dealing with society, which are politically more difficult to manage than the (apparently) more neutral art museums (this is why some ethnological museums become museums in which objects are exhibited for their aesthetic value, as we shall see). Accordingly, governments often do not consider the creation of or investment in these museums a priority, because their content or the stories they tell may prove uncomfortable. As Bergeron points out regarding the case of Canada (2014: 136), relations between governments and the discourse presented in museums dealing with society are often turbulent because of the influence of museums on the public and the difficulty of controlling that discourse. Governments generally use museums to validate their own discourse and ideological position, exploiting them as

Keywords: Ethnological Museums, Local Museums, Museums and Crisis, Museum Narratives Paraules clau: Museus etnològics, museus locals, museus i crisi, narratives dels museus Palabras clave: Museos etnológicos, museos locales, museos y crisis, narrativas de los museos

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enterprises that will disseminate their messages and which are “above all suspicion” (Gob, 2007: 331), presenting them as sites of authenticity and truth, even though this often involves a heavy cost with regard to any discussion they generate. It is paradoxical that, while debate is often intense in the case of museums dealing with ethnology or human society, in the case of other types, such as art or science museums, there is less debate, although their ideological discourse is also very explicit (Roigé, 2014). It is thus clear that there has been no political or social interest in creating major ethnological museums in Catalonia2 because of the political difficulties they involve and because other museums already fulfil the role of narrating national identity. There are two further reasons, which we shall be returning to later. Firstly, the limited interest in anthropology as an academic discipline relevant to museums, with a distant, generally critical view. Secondly, and more importantly, the effects of the economic recession dating from 2007, which has brought about a drastic reduction in public spending on museums. This is not only paralysing the creation of new museums but seriously affecting the activities of existing museums and their chances of survival, especially local museums. As cultural and scientific institutions closely linked to the political arena, in recent decades ethnological museums have undergone unprecedented changes (Mazé, Pulard and Ventura, 2013) related to social and political history, the role of identity and the financial situation in which they have taken place. In the following pages we shall examine some of these questions, analysing the situation and recent controversies concerning ethnological museums in Catalonia. We shall attempt to answer the following questions among others: What political and socio-economic circumstances have conditioned their development? Why have interesting local museums developed when there is so little development of Catalan national museums? What theories have influenced the development of Catalan ethnological museums?

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How do they represent and exhibit Catalan society and local society? How do they respond to the challenges arising from the economic recession? What conceptual and theoretical challenges are posed by social transformation, globalisation and efforts to obtain political rights in Catalonia? The text comprises four main sections. After a brief review of the history of ethnological museums we look separately at the situation of three main types of museum and the issues affecting them: local museums, museums dealing with other cultures and the hitherto unsuccessful projects for the creation of a National Ethnological Museum. This will enable us, in our conclusion, to discuss the main challenges facing these museums and, in particular, how they are responding to the current recession. The development of ethnological museums Although our main aim is to analyse the current situation of ethnological museums, an examination of their history will enable us to understand their situation in recent times. In general terms, we can identify four main periods in the development of museums in Catalonia. In the first stage, the years up to 1975, the development of ethnological museums was limited to a few isolated cases. In the second period, after 1975, a large number of ethnological museums, especially local museums, were created as a result of the strengthening of cultural identity after the restoration of democracy in 1977. The new approach to museology inspired all those museums with a strong social basis, in the context of societies that were undergoing major transformation and redefinition at that time (Roigé, Arrieta and Abella, 2012). Subsequently, in the period 1990 to 2007, discourse regarding identity continued to be important, while the number of museums grew considerably as a result of economic development. In the last period, the impact of the economic recession has led to a drastic reduction in funds allocated to museums in general and to the need for a new approach to ethnological museum science.

These considerations also apply to other autonomous regions in Spain and even to Spain as a whole. In Spain there is no National Ethnological Museum (Fernández de Pau, 2008) and the last project intended to create such a museum, with the relocation of the museum in Teruel, was interrupted when there was a change of government. One of the difficulties of the project was that there had to be explanations about Spain. A similar situation exists in other autonomous regions, although there are interesting initiatives such as the Museu Valencià d’Etnologia, the San Telmo Musea, Museu del pueblu d’Asturies, Museo Etnográfico de Castilla y León, etc.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Background Before 1975 the development of ethnological museums was very limited. There are many reasons for this but we would point out five in particular: the scant academic interest in folklore, the limited development of academic anthropology, the limited role of Spanish colonialism in the period when the most important ethnographic collections of material from other cultures were being built up (late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries), the prohibition by the Spanish state of all representations of Catalan identity (especially during the dictatorships of Primo de Rivera and Franco), and the insignificant role of museum science in the Catalan nationalist and regionalist movements, in contrast with the Scandinavian countries, for example, where museums and folklore played an essential role in the struggle for national identity.

Even so, there were a number of initiatives. The first projects for museums devoted specifically to ethnography date from the early twentieth century, as a result of the initiative of a group of students of folklore who felt and expressed the need to create centres to explain and interpret the cultural, social and economic circumstances of traditional societies. Accordingly, in the years 1916 to 1918, the Arxiu d’Etnografia i Folklore de Catalunya and the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya proposed the establishment of a Catalan ethnographical museum, a proposal accepted by the Commonwealth of Catalonia regional government, which approved its creation. Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship halted these projects, as they were considered to have links with Catalan identity, so that the effective creation of an ethnographic museum had to wait until 1929, when the Museu Etnogràfic i Folklòric in Ripoll was inaugurated, a project in line with European trends at the time and one which has become a benchmark museum over the years. Shortly afterwards, under the Second Republic, the creation of a Catalan folklore museum (1934) was proposed and, at almost the same time, the Archaeological Museum’s ethnology section was set up.

None of these museums were completed until after the Civil War: the museum in Ripoll was not opened to the public until 1942, while the Museu d’Arts i Tradicions Populars in Barcelona was also opened in 1942 and the Barcelona Ethnological Museum in 1949. It seems paradoxical that these museums should have been created at the height of the Franco era, but folklore was not seen as a threat to the uniformity of Spain, as its discourse was generally conservative and presented a uniform, predominantly rural view of society (Ortíz, 1997). Scholarship in the field of folklore, as Geniola (2014) points out, was tolerated by the regime as an exaltation of folklore and spiritual and erudite-elitist values which were layered and superimposed; it was, in a sense, “regionalised nationalism”. However, folklore and traditional regional laws were to play an ambivalent role, since, although they were tolerated by the regime, they were significant in maintaining regionalist sentiment in Catalonia (Geniola, 2014). It was ethnographer Ramon Violant who planned the Museu d’Arts i Tradicions Populars, which was initially located in the Poble Espanyol precinct (a recreation of popular architecture inspired by Skansen and built for the 1929 Universal Exhibition). Various campaigns were organised to obtain objects representative of popular culture from different parts of Catalonia for the museum. It was inaugurated in 1942 (Serra, 2010: 38), the most iconic part of the display being the “Casa Pallaresa”, a reproduction of a house in the Pallars region. Although this occurred when the power of the Franco regime was at its peak, the museum already exhibited some of the characteristics of later ethnological museums, portraying a traditional rural society as equivalent to “traditional” Catalan society. “In the patriotic sense, we have to say that a country honours itself, as Aranzadi says, by showing the roots that identify it” (Violant, 1946, quoted in Roda, 2007: 128). Violant’s vision was in line with the trends in museum science at that time, undoubtedly influenced by the ATP in Paris, created in 1937 (Joan,

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1998), with a modern approach that aimed to teach visitors how everyday life was lived and about the different elements of society in a pedagogical and evolutionary way3. Violant understood that objects should not be exhibited for their beauty but “to say something to the public, so that they learnt something by looking at them” (quoted in Roda, 2007: 128). As Rueda (2007: 129) says, “we could say that not until after the restoration of democracy did today’s museums achieve such an integrated and complete discourse”. While Violant’s approach to ethnography focused on Catalan society, another ethnographer, August Panyella, headed a project to create a museum devoted to what were then referred to as “exotic” societies, in the context of the final years of Spanish colonialism. In 1949 the Museu Etnològic i Colonial de Barcelona was created, also promoted by the City Council. Between 1950 and 1980 a number of ethnographic campaigns4 took place, in Morocco, Equatorial Guinea, Nepal, India, Afghanistan, Turkey, Peru, Bolivia, Ethiopia and Senegal, with the help of other interested parties, such as Eudald Serra and Albert Folch (Ortíz, 1995). Over the years, the history of the two museums, which reflect two traditions in ethnological museums, one devoted to the country’s own culture and the other focusing on “exotic” societies, crossed over a number of times. In 1962 the two museums were unified, in 1982 they were separated again and in 1999 they were reunified. Throughout this period these projects were supported by Barcelona City Council, which has played this role not only in the case of ethnological museums but with a good number of others. During the Franco era Barcelona City Council was the main body promoting museums in Catalonia: in the absence of projects supported by the State, which took little interest in museums and none in those outside Madrid, it was the municipality and the Provincial Council that maintained and promoted Catalonia’s most important museums. From the second half of the 1950s, and above all from the 1960s onward, a series of regional ethnographic museums were created5, many

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of them intended to be generalised county museums. These museums marked the first stages in the recovery on a local level of regional features and our ethnological heritage and they played an important role in resisting uniformity, to the extent that they can be considered a focal point of resistance to loss of identity and cultural activism. In the 1970s, the final years of the Franco era, the foundations were progressively laid for an approach to local museum science that would be more fully developed during the Transition. Nevertheless, as pointed out by Rueda (2007: 131), these museums had defects: their weak descriptive presentation, the absence of documentary studies and the lack of links with academic anthropology (practically non-existent at the time), which has had very negative consequences for the country’s museum science.

1975-1990 After Franco’s death in 1975, the transition to democracy was a transcendental period in the configuration and renewal of museums. The democratic changes brought about a cultural euphoria and considerable interest in heritage, both locally and in Catalonia as a whole, leading to the creation of many local and county museums focusing on the locality’s tradition and identity. The proliferation of these museums, most of which came into existence as the result of social initiatives and a great deal of voluntary work, was undoubtedly the most significant feature of museum science in those years (Iniesta, 1994). Two closely related events made a decisive contribution to the proliferation of local museums: the restoration of the Government of Catalonia and the arrival of new, democratic local councils. Efforts to establish Catalan and local identity led to the creation of a large number of local museums, as a relatively quick way to provide a local response to the rapid changes taking place in rural societies.

The proliferation of museums also led to the creation of a network of local and county museums in 1983. According to Rueda (2007: 132-133), during this period nine regional museums were created and thirteen

To achieve his aims he divided the museum into two sections: material and spiritual (what we would now call “intangible”) culture. The first would show aspects such as human dwellings, household furniture and the first forms of industry (hunting, fishing, livestock, agriculture) ending with popular or artisan industry. The spiritual part showed the life of individuals from birth to death, taking in marriage and family life together with rituals, music, drama, dance, theatre, superstitions, medicine and religion.

Initially, the museum housed various collections assembled in the second half of the nineteenth century by leading Catalan figures in the Philippines, Spanish Guinea, Ecuador and Peru, including the objects from the Pavelló Missional at the 1929 Exhibition (Serra, 2010: 43) Museu de la Pell i Comarcal de l’Anoia (1954), Museu de la Marina de Vilassar (1955), Museu del Montsià (1956), Museu Comarcal de la Concal de Barberà (1958), Museu de Calella (1961), Museu Molí Paperer de Capellades (1961), Museu Comarcal de l’Urgell (1962), Museu Comarcal de Berga (1962), Museu de la Noguera (1968), Museu del Suro de Palafrugell (1972), Museu dera Val d’Aran (1973), etc. Many of these museums were renovated after the restoration of democracy.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

were refurbished. The number of regional museums in the network reached twenty, most of them ethnological. Although most of these institutions had very limited resources, many of these initiatives played an important part in raising awareness and in the new approach to museum science, in line with the theoretical basis of the “new museology”. As we know, the new museology movement constituted a radical change in the history of museums, emphasising the need for museums based on the region, with participation by the local community and the creation of new types of museum, such as eco-museums (Rivière, 1989; Moutinho, 1986). In this respect, the science of eco-museums, which combines natural heritage with ethnological and cultural heritage in on-site buildings, valuing highly the participation of the local community (Desavellées and Mairesse, 2002), had considerable influence, especially in Catalonia. Not only were eco-museums like the Ecomuseu de les Valls d’Àneu (planned at the end of the 1980s and opened in 1994) created, but a large number of local museums based on the principles of the “new museology” also emerged, like the Musèu dera Val d’Aran (in the Pyrenees, an Occitan-speaking valley

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with a strong local identity, renovated in 1984), the Museu del Montsià (in Delta de l’Ebre, modernised in 1983), and the Museu Etnològic del Montseny (in a natural park declared a Biosphere Reserve in 1984), among many others (Alcalde and Rueda, 2012: 1-8; Andreu, 2007; Rueda, 1992). 1990-2007 From the 1990s onward there were very significant changes in the policy on museums in Catalonia (Prats, 1995). While the Catalan government had focused on local museums in the previous period, from the 1990s onward it undertook a process of consolidating Catalonia as an autonomous region and supported a project for the establishment of national museums. The creation of a national ethnological museum was envisaged but, as we shall see, this has never taken place. The enactment of the Law on Museums applied a new model of museum planning, based on thematic networks which had their headquarters in the national museums. This led to a certain temporary decadence in the regional model (Rueda, 2007; 133), because it allocated the greatest proportion of resources to the large national museums, especially the Museu d’Art and the Museu de Ciència i Tècnica. Ecomuseu de les Valls d’Àneu. Casa Gassia. Inspired by the model of radial ecomuseums, it was one of the first to apply the concept of ecomuseum in Catalonia. XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

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Moreover, plans to launch Barcelona as a cultural destination implied the creation of new cultural facilities, prioritising museums aimed at tourists. Nevertheless the number of local museums continued to grow considerably thanks to municipal initiatives, largely motivated by the idea of creating schemes to boost local development. The creation of new museums and the refurbishment of existing museums was even more intense during the first years of the twenty-first century. Between 2000 and 2007 the expansion of heritage assets was impressive, with projects that sought more modern, more original approaches. This growth not only created a “museum bubble” in a sense but completely changed the museum scene, which moved from museology with a strong social basis to an approach rooted in economic considerations, with special emphasis on tourism. Moreover, the nature of the museums themselves has changed. In previous decades museums were the result of social initiatives but now local museums are generally promoted by public institutions with the aim of developing tourism or contributing to social development. Many small communities have created museum infrastructures, especially interpretation centres, in many cases without adequate planning or an assessment of how the museum is to be maintained, whether it can survive and its ability to attract visitors. At the local level, this was the case of museums devoted to ethnological (especially rural) heritage, industrial heritage and historical memory. These years did not only see growth in the number of museums. There was also a pronounced tendency for them to externalise services, creating a large number of museum-related businesses concerned with the preparation of projects, exhibitions and educational services. This outsourcing implied that a large number of museums were set up according to business logic,

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rather than “local” or “community” logic. A symptom of this can be seen, for example, in the fact that many of these infrastructures are called “interpretation centres”, while the number of eco-museums created was very small. The companies themselves designed the products and the setting and even chose the themes. As a result, local museums include many “designer museums” which have few links with the dynamics of the local community. They are, above all, products designed for the tourist market. Economic logic seems to have taken precedence over “community logic” and small local communities placed their trust in the growth of rural tourism with visitors consuming heritage products. Even after the beginning of the recession, the number of museums continued to rise. Most were projects that had already started and, despite the adverse economic situation, they were completed. Even at the height of the recession, between 2008 and 2012, some 40 new museums were created in Catalonia, half of which are museum interpretation centres, while over 30 centres have been refurbished or renewed or have had their display rooms enlarged (Montañés, 2012). Did this “museum fever” lead to the creation of too many museums? To what extent does Catalan society need so many museums? Museums in the recession (since 2008) With the onset of the recession the scenario changed radically. Since 2008 museums have seen investment, budgets and ordinary expenditure progressively falling. Many museums have reduced their activities, the number of exhibitions and even their opening hours, while many jobs have been lost.

Interestingly, we find that the museums in the best position to survive are large museums that live from tourism and small museums with few facilities but a strong base in the community, including eco-museums and ethnological museums created with a more solid community basis, while those

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

created with less social support are in a worse position. As Bergeron (2009) says, museums with a strong social base are in a better position to survive and adapt to adverse economic conditions.

increased in 2014 and 2015 so that the total difference between the time when Catalan government funding was at its highest level (2008) and the latest figures available is -21.1%.

Even so, conditions are very hard for many local museums, which have had to cope with a substantial reduction in public funding by reducing the number of employees, employing staff part time and, above all, by cutting back on their more costly activities (temporary exhibitions, publications, research, etc.). We do not have specific figures showing how much ethnological museums have been affected by spending cuts, but overall public funding for museums fell by 22.3% between 2010 and 2013. In this period the largest percentage reduction in funding was in that received from the autonomous government (-33.1%), with somewhat lower figures for local councils (-16.6%) and provincial councils (-17.5%). Budgetary allocations were

Another significant factor is that Catalan museums are funded mainly by local councils (58.6%) and to a lesser extent by the Catalan government (29.7%) and provincial councils (10.1%) (2015 figures). Although this pattern of funding has been similar since 2002 (Table 1), during the recession years the proportion contributed by local councils was much greater. In 2011, for example, funding from the Catalan government fell to 23.8% while that from local councils rose to 63.8% and that from provincial councils increased to 11.1%. In short, these figures show that there were serious budgetary cuts, affecting everyday activities above all, and that the greatest

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La Farga del Roquer, Museu del Montseny. Example of museumization of industrial heritage. XAVIER ROIGĂ&#x2030; VENTURA

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6 GOVERNMENT OF CATALONIA

PROVINCIAL COUNCILS

CITY COUNCILS

TOTAL

2002

26.684

8.200

51.200

88.086

2003

25.684,27

8.989,35

57.379,32

94.055,94

Own figures based on IDESCAT: Statistical Yearbook of Catalonia: Public expenditure on culture. By administration and area of action. http://www.idescat.cat/ pub/?id=aec&n=795&lang=en. [Accessed: 30-10-2017].

2004

24.439,14

8.947,61

58.836,27

94.227,02

2005

33.755,17

9.711,90

58.445,80

103.978,47

2006

34.568,82

11.339,49

76.635,02

124.549,33

2007

34.351,80

2008

50.311,23

2009

49.172,05

15.259,82

82.588,66

149.029,53

2010

47.844,22

17.551,57

95.503,81

162.909,60

2011

39.122,50

18.241,70

104.766,00

164.141,20

2012

34.562,90

16.367,80

71.780,10

124.722,80

2013

32.914,80

12.723,80

68.103,60

115.755,20

2014

37.410,30

12.593,70

69.233,40

121.251,40

2015

39.669,70

13.533,70

78.140,70

133.359,10

Table 1: Investment in museums in Catalonia (2002-2015).

Source: Government of Catalonia. Ministry of Culture. Plan for Museums in Catalonia. Museums, 2030. Barcelona, 2017

Own figures based on IDESCAT: Statistical Yearbook of Catalonia: Public expenditure on culture. By administration and area of action. http://www.idescat.cat/pub/?id=aec&n=795&lang=en. [Accessed: 30-10-2017]. Chart 2: Museum funding in Catalonia (2015).

Chart 1: Museum expenditure in Catalonia. 120000

Government of Catalonia 29,7

100000 80000

City councils 58,6

60000 40000 20000 0 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 Government of Catalonia

2008 2009 2010 Provincial councils

2011

2012 2013

2014 2015

City councils

efforts to fund Catalan museums were by local councils (almost 60%)6. The extent to which funding was reduced is, however, even greater in the case of local ethnological museums. In addition to the

amounts budgeted for museums by the Ministry of Culture, they have lost other funds allocated to the Ethnological Heritage Inventory, research, rural development, etc. In some cases, local ethnological museums lost 50% of their grants7, while the reces-

Provincial councils 10,1

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

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Table 2. Museums’ budgets in Catalonia, classified by museum size.

Large

% OF EMPLOYEES

NUMBER OF EMPLOYEES (MEDIUM) (MEAN)

FALL (DECREASE) 2011-2015

23,00%

NUMBER

% NUMBER

NUMBER OF EMPLOYEES

14,9

714

57,0

Medium-large

28,1

288

23,0

-7,00%

Medium-small

29,8

170

13,6

-16,00%

Small

16,7

4,5

-28,00%

Borderline sustainability

10,5

1,9

-25,00%

114

1.253

sion also caused a reduction in income from admissions, because of the decline in visitor numbers. According to the Plan for Museums in Catalonia (2017), funding for museums (those recognised as “museums”) varies widely depending on the size of the museum. While museums considered to be large (a total of 17, accounting for 15% of all museums) receive almost 75% of all funding for museums (an average of nearly 6 million euros), the rest (97 museums, 85% of the total) only receive 25%. The situation is especially disadvantageous for medium-small and small museums: 65 such museums receive only 10% of total funding. As can be seen in Table 2, average funding varies greatly. The Plan’s authors therefore consider that the paucity of financial resources is more structural than circumstantial (2017:41). Moreover, it has been the medium-small

museums that have been hardest hit by cuts in funding. The same applies to the number of employees: with the exception of the large museums, the rest (85%) have 2 to 9 employees on average. The report on the Plan for Museums (2017:43) also shows that 69% of museum staff are permanent, while 9% have temporary contracts and 22% are self-employed or are employed by external agencies. Furthermore, while the larger museums increased their numbers of employees in the period 2011-2015, the rest have reduced the number of staff they employ. The same trend can be seen in the total workforce. The recession has also raised doubts about the content of ethnological museums and their objectives, as they must achieve a difficult balance between their social objectives, the interests of the public, public funding

Table 3, Museum staff in Catalonia, classified by museum size, % OF FINANCING

AVERAGE BUDGET

FALL (DECREASE) 2011-2015

NUMBER

% NUMBER

TOTAL BUDGET

Large

14.9

100,536,402

74.9

5,913,906

-6.80%

Medium-large

28.1

20,329,152

15.2

635,286

-0.10%

Medium-small

29.8

9,601,056

7.2

282,384

-19.90%

Small

16.7

2,962,480

2.2

155,920

2.30%

Borderline sustainability

10.5

725,124

0.5

60,427

-34.20%

114

134,154,214

Own figures based on IDESCAT: Statistical Yearbook of Catalonia: Public expenditure on culture, By administration and area of action, http://www,idescat,cat/pub/?id=aec&n=795&lang=en, [Accessed: 30-10-2017],

-5.09%

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and the need to obtain new resources. We shall deal with these issues in greater detail at the end of this article. Local ethnological museums The characteristics of local ethnological museums Since 1990 local museums have had to face various challenges. They need to contribute to the generation of resources and the transformation of heritage, even to making it profitable. All these museums are subject to various tensions, which include finding a balance between service to the local community and their use by tourists, constructing local identity based on traditional forms and communities that are very different today, the tension between local and global, and the enthusiasm of their staff for a local project where funds are often lacking (Rasse, 2000).

Of the 491 institutions recognised as Museums or Collections8 in Catalonia (114 museums and 377 collections) 37% have part of their collections devoted to ethnology (253). Although they constitute the largest proportion, they are the type that attracts fewest visitors: 1,487 per year on average, with an annual average of 13,216 for museums (compared with the general average of 92,514) and 1,244 for collections (compared with an average of 25,762 visitors)9. Those receiving most visitors (2016) are the Museu del Joguet (with 40,265), Museu de la Pesca in Palamós (34,676), Museu del Suro, Palafrugell (34.371), Museu Molí Paperer, Capellades, (29,984), Museu del Torró i la Xocolata (27,510), and the Centre d’Interpretació de l’Antic Comerç (20,145)10. Other more specifically ethnological local museums receive some 10,00020,000 visitors. They include the Etnogràfic de Ripoll (19,998), the Etnològic del Montseny (19,816), Museu de la Pell d’Igualada (19,104), Museu del Ter (19,080), Museu de la Vida Rural (18,162), Ecomuseu Farinera de Castelló (16,450), Musèu dera Val d’Aran (16,211), the Vinseum in Vilafranca del Penedès (15,777), Ecomuseu de les Valls d’Àneu (15,144), Museu Comarcal de

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Cervera (14,052), Museu d’Història de la Immigració (13,852), Museu de les Terres de l’Ebre (12,052), Museu de l’Anxova i la Sal (10,794), and Museu del Càntir d’Argentona (11,763). The remaining ethnological museums have fewer than 10,000 visitors. As we have already pointed out, local museums are the outstanding and most characteristic feature of Catalan ethnological museology. However, we can distinguish two main families of museums. The first stems from the influence of the new museology, although it has, logically, been readapted. In the 1970s and 1980s, in the context of a rural society with an uncertain future, the “new museology” promoted two new approaches to rural heritage in Catalan museums (Alcalde and Rueda, 2012). The first was a change in their discourse: museums no longer needed only to preserve the past but also to explain it; the object alone was therefore no longer sufficient, its role in the rural scene, its ecological significance and its contribution to identity needed to be made clear. The second, and possibly the most important change, was that a new role was assigned to museums: they were no longer expected to be erudite institutions dealing with the past but were also expected to contribute to local development, tourism and the generation of income. Heritage thus moved from being a reserve to being a strategy for local development, while it also acquired a political role, being used to mobilise the actors in a region in pursuit of common objectives. In this sense, eco-museum science has had a very significant influence on the local museum scene (Roigé, Arrieta and Abella, 2012: 351). Although there are few institutions described as such in Catalonia, a large number may be considered to have been inspired by the concept. Many arose from the initiatives of associations or local groups in a period when the search for local identity and a Catalan national identity was fundamental after many years under the Franco regime. Most were small local experiments created to safeguard a collective memory through objects used in agriculture or as part of festivals or ceremonies. Many have a close connection with the area and are presented as a local institution which is more interesting because it

Catalan legislation distinguishes between two types of facility: “Museums” and “Collections”. We include figures for both categories combined.

Source: own figures based on data from the Ministry of Culture: Statistics on museums. http:// cultura.gencat.cat/ca/departament/estructura_i_adreces/ organismes/dgpc/temes/museus/ servei_de_museus_i_proteccio_ de_bens_mobles/estadistiques_ de_museus_70_pdf/ [Accessed: 22-10-2017].

Figures for maritime museums are not included (Barcelona’s had 301,314 visitors, for example), since, although they are classified as ethnological museums, they function on a different scale. Neither have we included the list of industrial heritage museums as they do not appear as ethnological museums, although we consider that they should be classified as such. An example is the Museu de les Mines in Cercs, with 36,741 visitors.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

stimulates social and economic development than for its content or museography. However, a large proportion of these museums have updated their displays and museography and have succeeded in combining a fresh image with their social role. The second family comprises a series of designer museums, often called interpretation centres, many of which have been created without adequate planning regarding their potential. The reorientation of these museums is, in our opinion, one of the main challenges for the restructuring of museums on the local level as they have not always (not even before the recession) attracted the visitor numbers envisaged or met their financial targets (Prats, 2014: 159). One of the main problems for local ethnological museums is their isolation and their size. In 2008 the Xarxa de Museus d’Etnologia de Catalunya was created, comprising the

Museu de la Mediterrània, Museu de la Pesca de Palamós, Ecomuseu de les Valls d’Àneu, Museu de la Vida Rural, Museu Comarcal de la Conca de Barberà, Museu de les Terres de l’Ebre, Musèu dera Val d’Aran, Museu Etnogràfic de Ripoll, Museu Etnològic de Barcelona, Museu Etnològic del Montseny-La Gabella, Vinseum-Museu de les Cultures del Vi, and Museu d’Història de la Immigració. These are museums located in small and medium-sized Catalan towns, which have gained an excellent reputation over the years and made a valuable contribution to the community. They are the ethnological museums which have the highest standards in terms of museography, public acceptance and research. By working as part of a network they hope to combine their efforts in the areas of displays, conservation and research. Working in this way is undoubtedly one of the best options for the continuity of these museums.

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Museu de les Terres de l’Ebre. The museum has evolved from Museu d’Amposta to a more general approach. XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

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What picture of Catalan society do museums give us? But what picture do local ethnological museums give us of Catalan society? Most present a view focusing on what we may call “popular culture”, with spaces devoted to agricultural activity, with examples of tools, reproductions of furniture and rooms in houses of different types, craftsmen’s workshops, collections of clothes and other traditional items. These museums are often based on a nostalgic view of the rural past and interest in creating them is a response to the process of globalisation and fear of losing features of our rural culture.

The old museums with rural artefacts have aged, not only in their form but above all in their content: the traditional, idyllic societies they portray are now very remote from modern visitors, even those working on the land. Changing the “traditional” view of rural life is not a simple process, as it is the result of a combination of political, economic, symbolic and ideological factors. The recognition of rural society as heritage has become a new instrument for local

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development, but it has also created new discourse regarding rural life (Roigé and Frigolé, 2010). And museums, consciously or unconsciously, often contribute to the increasing role of rural society as heritage, thus legitimising these processes. While many rural museums continue to present a frozen, idealised society (Roigé and Arrieta, 2014), others also try to tell us about the present. The need to change and update their content leads them to explore narratives about the transformations affecting rural society, today’s agricultural methods and the challenges facing agriculture. Museums are beginning to refer to the economic challenges facing agriculture, ecological crops, methods of production, the globalisation of agriculture, and genetically modified food. This new approach is also related to contemporary scientific discourse on rural life and the different models devised to explain its development (Jean, 1997). For example, the Museu de la Vida Rural (in L’Espluga de Francolí, Catalonia), renovated in 2010 with an annex containing new rooms devoted to the transformation

Museu de la Vida Rural. The last part of the museum explains the changes and challenges of agriculture and rural society. XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

of rural life in the industrial era, describes the development of production techniques in agriculture and considers rural life today. First-person narratives tell visitors about a wide range of aspects of rural life, including waste recycling, the problems of genetically modified crops and the protection of seeds, agroecology, trade in local produce, slow food, and renewable energies. The visit concludes with an enormous visual kaleidoscope in which some of the ecological challenges facing agriculture are explained, to encourage visitors (as the display says) “to reflect on what we have done and what we need to do if we do not want to exhaust the planet’s resources”11. Along similar lines, the Vinseum museum, in Vilafranca del Penedès, tells us about the conditions under which wine is produced today, and the Museu de la Pesca in Palamós shows not only traditional fishing methods but also modern production techniques in the fishing industry. While it is true that many museums offer a frozen, archaic image of these societies, many others have attempted, more or less successfully, to find formulae to modernise their narrative and inform visitors about the

present. Ethnological museums have made a great deal of progress in this sense and new generations of university-trained museum scientists are making their mark in this slow transformation. Not all museums are in a position to tackle these challenges: there are many conceptual difficulties and problems regarding discourse and museography, even including the preferences of visitors who see museums as institutions reflecting the past and not the present. As well as museums focusing on rural themes, since the 1980s there has been growing interest in industrial heritage. This type of heritage, not always considered as ethnological, has developed quickly because, as a result of industrial transformation, many factories, workshops and even craft industries that contributed to the economic identity of an area have become obsolete. This has left many places not only with economic problems (which industrial museums have tried to palliate by looking for new sources of income) but also with problems of identity, which these museums have helped to reinforce. This type of heritage often proves

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Museu de la Vida Rural website: http://www.museuvidarural.com/ cainicio [Accessed: 31-8-2015].

Shop at Ecomuseu de les Valls d’Àneu. The action of the ecomuseum also takes place in the field of the promotion of craftwork. XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

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very attractive and is much more meaningful to working – and middle-class visitors. From the viewpoint of ethnological heritage, the problem with these museums is that ethnologists have been unwilling or unable to see them as belonging to the field. A clear example in Catalonia is the Museu de la Ciència i la Tècnica, which comprises a network of twenty small museums, many of which could be included in a network of ethnological museums. Debate regarding the national ethnology museum While local ethnological museums, despite their limitations, have a certain presence, the development of national ethnological museums in Catalonia has, paradoxically, been very limited. Museums have been created in various autonomous regions with a view to presenting features of national or regional identity but in Catalonia this has not been done to date.

Moreover, all the initiatives proposed have been fiercely debated. In 1993 a first attempt was made via a seminar attended by various people with an interest in anthropology (university, museums, research centres, institutions, leading figures, politicians, experts and professionals, including various anthropologists) to establish the mission, aims, and conceptual and political model for the displays in the planned museum, its creation being envisaged in the Law on Museums (Ventosa, 1994). Apart from the debate itself, the project was badly received by the press, with criticism of its approach to cultural identity. This may be why it was sidelined and the Government of Catalonia opted for the construction, in record time, of a museum devoted to the history of Catalonia. Created in 1996, it also represented the country’s cultural identity but was clearly less controversial. Plans for an ethnological museum were shelved for many years until, at the end of 2007, a new Plan for Museums was approved, containing two major proposals for the development of ethnological museums: the creation of a network of museums

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of ethnology in Catalonia, implemented at the beginning of 2008, and plans for a Catalan national museum uniting the existing museums of ethnology, history and archaeology. Going beyond the traditional concerns of anthropology, the proposals for this new museum of human society, based on museums in many other countries (such as the Musée de la Civilisation in Quebec, MUCEM in Marseille, the National Museum of Scotland and the Musée des Confluences in Lyon), highlighted the debate about the future of ethnological museums and the need to break down frontiers between disciplines, encouraging alliances with other disciplines in order to disseminate the themes dealt with by museums more effectively, and making a new approach to museology truly feasible. The economic and technical arguments for the museum were also strong, the goal being to create a museum that would be iconic and sufficiently attractive (Roigé and Arrieta, 2010: 545). Presenting the project, the Minister of Culture at the time described it as “a very ambitious museum, which will deal with the memory of societies, historical memory, but will also present the society of today and the future, with new technologies; it will be an international benchmark, a museum of the age of globalisation, of the twenty-first century, for new generations”12. Consequently the museum will not only be based on “knowledge of the social sciences but will develop transversal discourse, with multiple viewpoints. It will not only tell us about ways of life, events and cultural development over time in the land we know as Catalonia today, but will also present major contemporary issues”13. The proposal led to lively debate, especially regarding two aspects: the desirability of incorporating the archaeological museum in a common project and the way in which the museum should deal with Catalan identity and Catalan society and its cultural diversity. The first of these issues produced the most criticism, with support for the continued

Vilaweb, “Pla de museus de Catalunya, un pla postnoucentista”, 21/1/2008. http://www.vilaweb. cat [Accessed: 16/8/2009].

Various plans for museums have been presented by the Government of Catalonia. After the Law on Museums (1990), which defined the situation of museums in Catalonia, a plan for museums in Catalonia was drawn up in 2007. This was updated in 2012 with the guidelines for a new plan for museums in Catalonia and later, in July 2015, with a working paper for a new plan for museums in Catalonia. Sistema de Museus de Catalunya. http://cultura.gencat.cat/ca/departament/estructura_i_adreces/ organismes/dgpc/temes/museus/ el_sistema_de_museus_de_catalunya/ [Accessed: 31-8-2015]. The latest and most ambitious attempt was the 2030 Plan for Museums, which, following an extensive study, lays down the foundations for a project to be implemented in the coming years.14 “S.O.S. Museu d’Arqueologia de Catalunya”, 2008. www.petitiononline.com/sosmac/ [Consulta: 30 març 2010].

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

existence of the archaeological museum because of its long historical tradition and the importance of archaeology as a discipline. It is curious to note that, while Catalan archaeologists mounted a vigorous campaign in defence of their museum, there were hardly any protests among anthropologists against the proposal for an ethnological museum. In 2008, shortly after the publication of the new Plan for Museums, although the proposals for a unified museum were still only sketchy, a manifesto was signed by over 1,300 people, including a substantial number of archaeologists and university lecturers. The manifesto alluded to the past of the museum as a necessary institution in a “normal” country14. Other critics, even though they approved of the creation of a museum for social sciences, disagreed about the configuration of this museum and insisted only on museological and scientific questions, arguing that it should include the History Museum, the Ethnological Museum and the Science and Technology Museum, respecting “the two flagship institutions which were left to us by our forebears and which are still so close to our hearts: the Museum of Art and the Museum of Archaeology” (Prats, 2007: 175). There was considerable discussion about how identity should be presented, although it was less intense15. The project extended the Museum of Catalan History, created to raise awareness of Catalonia’s identity, and, although the text of the project said little about the idea of identity, in his address to Parliament the Director General for Heritage described it as a museum “that would enable us to speak about the past, the present and the future. We want it to be a museum that serves as a tool to help integrate new arrivals in Catalonia”16. In a sense it was a matter of creating a “post-national museum” (Alcalde, Boya and Roigé, 2011), a different way of talking about a new model of identity, very similar to comparable projects in other countries. As in these museums, the approach was multi-disciplinary, based on temporary rather than permanent exhibitions (thus overcoming the difficulties of producing a synthesis that might be reduc-

tionist) and a reformulation of the theme of identity with a more generic, less linear vision, showing how contacts, traditions and changes are translated into the construction of new identities in the context of a globalised society. The latest 2017 Plan for Museums refers to a “National Museum of Catalan History” based on combining the Museu d’Arqueologia de Catalunya (MAC) and the Museu d’Història de Catalunya (MHC), without mentioning the ethnological aspect, although the Xarxa de Museus d’Etnologia de Catalunya will have links with the museum. It is only a proposal, which will need to be fully defined in the coming years, examining the possible ethnological aspect of the museum, bearing in mind that in the majority of the most recent, innovative museums dealing with society the ethnological angle is predominant (Musée d’Histoire du Canada, MUCEM in Marseille, Musée des Confluences in Lyon, etc.) while, for their part, traditional history museums are being transformed. Given the strong role of this type of museum in establishing identity, it seems strange that no national ethnological museum should have been created. There are various reasons for this but we feel that it can be explained by three main factors: the lack of interest on the part of Catalan anthropologists in museum science (the community has not applied any pressure to support the idea, while in other cases, such as archaeology, there has been strong demand for a specific museum); the difficulty of explaining identity in a museum; and the fact that the drive to establish Catalan identity has focused less on heritage than on other identifying features. Government decisions to support museums devoted to history or to archaeology can undoubtedly be defended on political and even on academic grounds. But the failure to develop a museum of human society means that we have missed the opportunity to implement an interesting project, which could have very important social repercussions, and create an institution that could be among the most innovative.

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“S.O.S. Museu d’Arqueologia de Catalunya”, 2008. www.petitiononline.com/sosmac/ [Accessed: 30/03/2010].

“Gestación del museo Catalonia”. El País, 22 January 2008. http:// elpais.com/diario/2008/01/22/ catalunya/1200967665_850215. html.

“Address by Josep Maria Carreté i Nadal, Director General of Cultural Heritage” Record of Sessions in the Parliament of Catalonia, 9 July 2008, Serie C, n. 362, p. 24.

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Museums dealing with “other cultures” Another curious feature of Catalan ethnological museums is the lack of development of museums devoted to other cultures. With the exception of the Museu Etnològic in Barcelona, the newly opened Museu de les Cultures del Món, and some small collections such as the Museu Etnogràfic Índio-amazònic in the monastery of the Sarrià Capuchins17, there are very few museums that deal with other cultures. The limited number of these museums, in both Catalonia and the rest of Spain (Ortíz, 1995), is largely because Spain was a colonial power in decline when the major ethnological museums were being created at the end of the nineteenth century, and because anthropology was poorly developed as a discipline until the 1970s (Romero de Tejada, 2004). It is also symptomatic that there are few plans for museums that foster cross-cultural dialogue, when this is one of the subjects that most concern Catalan society.

For many years the Museu Etnològic de Barcelona, to which we have already referred, was the only museum performing this role. In the first decade of the twenty-first century, the museum introduced a new permanent display which dealt with traditional cultures and cross-cultural influences, encouraging open communication in a space for dialogue and recognition between cultures. Special attention was paid to the world of Catalan industrial workers and other communities and social groups such as gipsies, Jews and immigrants from the Americas and Africa, and numerous activities were organised related to such communities in the context of a period of heavy immigration. Despite the museum’s good approach and programme, the shortage of resources, a lack of political support by the municipal authorities, and its somewhat inaccessible location meant that its work had limited impact. Nevertheless, the museum achieved a certain social influence and established links with different social groups. In 2011 the museum was closed for extensive refurbishment of the building with plans to

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considerably improve its displays. However, the project was modified when the new City Council, elected in 2010, proposed creating a new museum of world cultures (2015), which would house the most valuable exhibits from the MEB. In 2012, the Museu d’Art Precolombí Barbier Muller closed its doors because of a lack of agreement between the collection’s owner and the City Council, regarding the purchase of the collection, which had been on loan to the city since 1997. Its closure left a vacant site just opposite the Picasso Museum, in one of the city’s most popular areas with tourists. It was decided to take advantage of the location to house part of the collection of the ethnological museum and the Folch private collection, loaned to the city for twenty years. Taking its inspiration from other museums which display ethnological items as works of art, the design of the new Museu de les Cultures del Món was aseptic, organising the collection by continent, country, religion or cultural area, without taking the uses of the exhibits into account. The museum displayed the collection so that visitors could appreciate its aesthetic quality, with exhibits isolated from the material, social and historical circumstances in which they were produced, with few allusions to the colonial and post-colonial periods or a wider concept of culture. Many of the criticisms levelled at the Musée du Quai Branly are applicable here (Price, 2007), with the aggravating factor that it is a much smaller collection with less narrative content. The city thus lost the opportunity to create a modern multicultural museum in the style of world culture museums such as the Tropenmuseum in Amsterdam, the Museum of World Culture in Gothenburg, and the Rautenstrauch Joest Museum in Cologne (Van Geert, 2014 ). Rather than being a museum devoted to cross-cultural dialogue it contains a selection of items based on aesthetic considerations, its approach being based on the “preservation, presentation and dissemination of the artistic and cultural heritage of different cultures in Africa, Asia, America and Oceania. It shows cultural diversity through the artistic experience of peoples from a multidiscipli-

Currently this museum can only be visited by appointment. Its creation was related to the work of missionaries from the early years of the twentieth century (de Manresa, 1997).

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

nary viewpoint and its aim is to become a platform for the dissemination and social projection of heritage and knowledge of other world cultures”18. The concept is based on an artistic view of the ethnological object, without considering the role of colonialism in these continents or the cultural context in which the exhibit was produced. In response to criticism, the museum’s directors argued that it was essentially an art museum. As the curator and director of culture for the City Council said at the time “we want to recognise that there is art, and has always been art, in Asia, America, Oceania and Africa, that there are not different levels of art, but that art is a universal human concept”, while Jaume Ciurana, the Deputy Mayor responsible for culture, maintained that “it is an art museum but has a special interest in placing exhibits in their historical, geographical, social and symbolic context”19. Even so, the authorities tried to assign a role of cultural dialogue to the museum. For

Xavier Trias, mayor of Barcelona at the time, “the Museu de Cultures del Món reflects a clear desire on the part of Barcelona to relate to other, distant continents and cultures, because this city has always been, and continues to be, a welcoming city, which engages in dialogue and is open to contributions and influences from a wide range of cultures”20. The museum’s opening led to a good deal of criticism, including a manifesto entitled “Barcelona and its museums as Nativity scenes”, signed by 80 professionals from the field of anthropology, in which they accused the new museum of being reductionist because it essentially tried “to rescue the aesthetic view of objects belonging to other societies, reproducing the old adage that the act of contemplation should be independent of the conditions in which they were produced and appropriated, possibly to prevent inopportune information contaminating the pure, sensitive judgement of spectators”21. The museum has not, moreover, been successful in attracting the visitor numbers that

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“Museu de les cultures del món”, Ara, 4-2-2015. http://www.ara.cat/ barcelona/Museu-cultures-delmon_0_1297670469.html.

GRECS, “Els museus com a pessebres”, http://observatoriconflicteurba.org/2014/12/15/ barcelona-i-els-museus-com-a-pessebres/.

Museu de les Cultures del Món. Exhibition of works made according to their aesthetic perspective. XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

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might be expected in view of its location and nature. Although it had 50,208 visitors22 during the first two months after opening (February and March), when admission was free, the number has declined since then, to the extent that numbers of visitors are currently well below23 initial expectations, bearing in mind the investment and its central location. However, at present it is too soon to carry out any analysis.

an exhibition focusing more on Catalonia but it also continues to organise a good number of activities and travelling exhibitions in line with its previous work. According to its director, the new exhibition is “an example of social museology”, the museum being understood “not as a place where objects are exhibited for the public to contemplate, but as a space in which we can think about ourselves”24.

With the change of local government in 2015 the management of the MCM and the MEB was unified and a new series of temporary exhibitions was launched, including an exhibition about Spanish colonialism in Africa (Iukunde). Although a number of proposals have been made, and a committee of experts has determined the need to redefine the museum, to date there has been no specific project and the museum’s relationship with the MEB has not been fully defined. The MEB, reopened in 2015 after four years of rebuilding work, houses

Challenges and discussion for the future The development of ethnological museums in Catalonia, their situation and the debates we have presented raise a number of questions about their future. Ethnological museums will have to deal with many challenges but these can be summarised under five headings. 1. Funding is undoubtedly the most difficult challenge. The question is complex, because lack of funding is stifling day-to-day operations, conditions of

“Més de 50.000 persones han visitat ja el Museu de Cultures del Món”, ACN, 8-4-2015. http://www. acn.cat/acn/784924/Noticia/text/ Noticia.html.

“En mitad del Born y solo 160 visitas al día”, El Periódico, 24 de agosto de 2015. http://www.elperiodico.com/es/noticias/barcelona/ mitad-del-born-solo-160-visitasdia-4450297. “El museo estrella de Trias no tiene visitantes”, 02B, 17 de mayo de 2015, http://www.02b. com/es/notices/2015/05/el-museo-estrella-de-xavier-trias-no-tiene-visitantes-12706.php.

“El Museu Etnològic reobrirà les portes el 4 d’octubre”, Nació digital, 6 July 2015. http://www. naciodigital.cat/noticia/90484/ museu/etnologic/reobrira/portes/ octubre.

Exhibition at the Museu de les Cultures del Món about the city of Barcelona and colonialism. With this exhibition the museum wanted to open a different exhibition line. XAVIER ROIGÉ VENTURA

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

employment and the possibility of renovation, and is bringing about a change in museums’ aims and models of funding25. However, as Bergeron (2009: 66) points out, the recession is also forcing museums to review their mission, the development of their collections and their communication strategies. And, as the same author suggests (2012: 80), we should be optimistic because, although the funding of museums by different government bodies seems to be threatened more than ever, we need to convince those bodies of the need for museums to continue to exist because of their cultural and social role, and their contribution to key aspects of a shared, open culture in a well-informed society. If ethnological museums succeed in modernising their discourse, they will be able to offer many responses to the major challenges facing contemporary society. In order to alleviate governmental responsibility, politicians expect that the funds raised by the museums themselves, in addition to those provided by public institutions, will play an increasingly important role, and that this will condition the development of museums. However, ethnological museums must be capable of convincing the authorities that investment in museums can be useful in periods of recession, as they can contribute to social stability. Paraphrasing the words of the economist Schumacher (Small is Beautiful), Bergeron (2012: 82) identifies the need to take action on the human scale into account in museums, considering the economy from the point of view of sustainable development. The existence of these museums is not based on economic logic but on community and social logic, so that small museums have an important role in the regional economy. 2. However, beyond the financial challenges, which threaten the continuity of museums or force them to adopt a different formula, ethnological museums in Catalonia are faced with other challenges which are no less complex. The “museum fever” that has led to the creation of a great number of museums will oblige them to undertake reorganisation that may be difficult

to accept. It is not so much a question of closing museums as of using resources effectively, working in networks that deal really efficiently with technical issues, sharing staff and overcoming local isolation. This may seem simple but it is highly complex. Decisive measures to improve the standing of local museums are also needed, a policy that seems to be indicated in the new 2017 Plan for Museums. Major organisational efforts are called for and technical resources are needed for conservation and research, considering museums in a wider sense and making them custodians of local heritage. 3. Museums today are undoubtedly undergoing major changes. The notion of heritage has become polysemic and there is a multiplicity of new forms of heritage. Firstly, other types of heritage are proliferating outside museums, such as intangible heritage, which is becoming increasingly important. Ethnological museums need to become custodians of intangible local heritage, as they are the organisations that can best do this. Secondly, objects, while still playing an important role, will no longer predominate. New reserves are increasingly digital and today the notion of authenticity does not have the same meaning as it did a few decades ago (Bergeron, 2012: 84). The creation of digital museums is an unresolved issue in a culture where books, the press and music now circulate predominantly via the internet and social networks. The new technologies, little used as yet, will allow museums to create new ways to make their collections and exhibitions available. 4. Another major challenge for ethnological museology in Catalonia is the creation of a national museum of ethnology. The wealth of local museums fulfils this mission successfully, but we need an organisation able to direct and coordinate their work and, above all, to raise the profile of anthropological museums. The economic recession and social and political interests have not helped us to achieve this aim and to date there have only been declarations of good intentions. Whether the museum of history and archaeology proposed in

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The 2017 Plan for Museums envisages growth in expenditure on culture in the Government of Catalonia’s budgets. Depending on the scenario, an increase from 39.7 million euros (2015) to 42.4 million or 48.8 million is anticipated (2017:188-189).

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the 2017 Plan for Museums will meet this need is yet to be seen. 5. Apart from funding, the rapid social changes taking place in Catalan society are also affecting ethnological museums, many of which are the product of or have inherited the theoretical approaches of the new museology of the 1980s. Traditional themes should not be discarded, but the introduction of new thematic content is necessary: immigration, cultural diversity, relations between cultures, nationalism, conflict, the transformation of the family, tourism, urban spaces and new rituals, and consideration of the independence movement and new social movements are just a few examples. The Museu de la Immigració de Catalunya, in Sant Adrià de Besòs, is a good example of the new approach that should be taken. The advantage of ethnological heritage, compared with other types of heritage, is that it can deal with the contemporary issues that underlie social concerns. Logically, these themes are often

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conflictive and give rise to social debate, but they are indispensable for the future expansion of ethnological museums. The challenges are enormous. How does one reach the new social movements? What role should museums play in the political future of Catalan society? The recession has led to greater concern with social issues such as the right to housing, multiculturalism, unemployment and the independence movement in Catalonia. Can museums attract these movements or work with them? Are they prepared to deal with these issues and become a space for social debate? Because of the subjects they deal with, ethnological museums should make these questions a priority, but to date they have only been framed as part of a declaration of principles. Although they are subject to considerable pressure to obtain new funding, museums have an important role to play in a process that attempts to combine the social and economic value of heritage. n

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Alcalde, G.; Boya, J.; Roigé, X. (2011) Museums of Today: The New Museums of Society. Girona: Documenta Universitaria. Alcalde, G.; Rueda, M. (2012) “Ecomuseology and local museums in Catalonia (Spain). Influences and coincidences during the 1975-1985 period”. In Lira, S.; Amoeda, R.; Pinhero, C.; Davis, P.; Stefano, M.; Corsane, G. (eds.) Ecomuseums 2012, 1-8. Barcelos: Green Lines Institute. Andreu, A. (2007) “Más allá del museo. Las actividades económicas del patrimonio: de los parques naturales a las fiestas temáticas”. In Arrieta, I. (ed.) Patrimonios culturales y museos, 61-88. Bilbao: Publishing service of the University of the Basque Country. Bergeron, Y. (2009) “Los museos y la crisis. Tendencias en los museos norteamericanos”, Museos. es, 3: 59-67.

Bergeron, Y. (2014) “Les liaisons dangereuses ou les relations troubles entre le politique et les musées canadiens”, Thema. La revue des Musées de la civilisation, 1: 127153. Crochet, A. (2013) “La collection Barbier-Mueller, une vente test”, Le Quotidien de l’Art, 18 de marzo de 2013, http://lequotidiendelart. com/quotidien_articles_detail. php?idarticle=2235 [Accessed: 30-10-2017]. Davallon, J. (2002) “Les objets ethnologiques peuvent-ils devenir des objets de patrimoine?”. In Gonseth, M-O.; Hainard, J.; Kaehr, R. (dirs.) Le musée canibale, 169187. Neuchâtel: Musée d’Ethnographie. Desvallées, A. (1995) “Les musées d’ethnographie ont-ils encore un sens?”, Anales del Museo Nacional de Antropología, 1: 51-84.

Desvallées, A.; Mairesse, F. (2002) L’écomusée: rêve ou réalité. Lyon: Presses Universitaires. Fernández De Paz, E. (2008) “El futuro Museo Nacional de Etnografía. Una balanza descompensada entre ciencia y política”. In Roige, X., Fernandez De Paz, E.; Arrieta, I. (coords.) El futuro de los museos etnológicos, 147-162. San Sebastian: Ankulegi Antropologia Elkartea. Generalitat de Catalunya (2017) Pla de museus de Catalunya. Museus 2030. Barcelona: Ministry of Culture. Geniola, A. (2014) “El nacionalismo regionalizado y la región franquista: dogma universal, particularismo espiritual, erudición folklorica (1939-1959)”. In Archiles, F.; Sanz, I. (coords.) Naciones y estado: la cuestión española, 189-224. Valencia: University of Valencia.

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Gob, A. (2007) Des musées au-dessus de tout soupçon. Paris: Armand Colin. Greffe, X. (2003) La valorisation économique du patrimoine. Paris: Gallimard.

Mnemòsine: Revista catalana de museologia, 4: 167-175. Prats, Ll. (2014) “El caràcter magmàtic del patrimoni etnològic”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 39: 152-159.

Iniesta, M. (1994) Els gabinets del món. Antropologia, museus i museologies. Lleida: Pagès.

Price, S. (2007) Paris primitive: Jacques Chirac’s museum on the Quai Branly. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Mazé, C.; Poulard, F.; Ventura, C. (dirs) (2013) Les Musées d’ethnologie. Culture, politique et changement institutionnel. Paris: Éditions du Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifique.

Roigé, X. (2014) “Los Museos de la Ciencia en España: entre la Divulgación Científica, el Consumo Cultural y la Creación de Nuevos Referentes Sociales”, The Journal of Deliberative Mechanisms in Science, 3 (1): 49-72.

Moutinho, M. (1986) “Mouvement international pour une nouvelle muséologie”, L’Homme, 26: 129-129. Montañés, J.Á. (2012) “Museus com bolets”, El País, 13 December 2012, http://ccaa.elpais. com/ccaa/2012/12/12/quadern/1355349226_411885.html [Accessed: 30-10-2017].

Roigé, X. (2015) “Los museos etnológicos en Cataluña. Perspectivas, retos y debates”, Revista Andaluza de Antropología, 9, http:// www.revistaandaluzadeantropologia.org/uploads/raa/n9/roige. pdf [Accessed: 30 October 2017].

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Roigé, X.; Arrieta, I. (2010) “Construcción de identidades en los museos de Cataluña y el País Vasco: entre lo local, nacional y global”, Pasos. Revista de Turismo y Patrimonio Cultural, 8 (8): 539-555.

Ortíz, C. (1997) “Folklore y franquismo”. In Huetas, R.; Ortiz, C. (eds.) Ciencia y fascismo, 161180. Madrid: Ediciones Doce Calles.

Roigé, X.; Arrieta, I. (2014) “¿Una sociedad congelada?: la representación de la sociedad rural en los museos”, Arxius de Sociología, 30: 73-86.

Pomian, K. (1990) “Musée et patrimoine”. In Jeudy, H-P. (ed.) Patrimoines en folie, 177-198. Paris: Éditions de la MSH.

Roigé, X.; Arrieta, I.; Abella, J. (2012) “The development of ecomuseums in Spain. Between crisis and redefinition”. In Lira, S.; Amoeda, R.; Pinhero, C.; Davis, P.; Stefano, M.; Corsane, G. (dirs.) Ecomuseums 2012, 351-360. Barcelos: Green Lines Institute.

Prats, Ll. (1995) “Què és el patrimoni etnològic?”. In Calvo, L.; Mañà, J. (eds.) De l’ahir i de l’avui. El patrimoni etnològic de Catalunya, 18-25. Barcelona: Government of Catalonia. Prats, Ll. (2007) “La gestió del Patrimoni Etnològic en el Pla de Museus de Catalunya (2007-2010)”,

Roigé, X.; Frigolé, J. (eds). (2010) Constructing Cultural and Natural Heritage. Parks, Museums and Rural Heritage. Girona: Documenta.

Romero de Tejada, P. (2004) “Las exposiciones temporales en el Museo Nacional de Antropología”, Anales del Museo Nacional de Antropología, 10: 193-210. Rueda, J.M. (1992) “El Museu Etnològic del Montseny”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 1: 115119. Rueda, J.M. (2007) “Els orígens i evolució dels museus etnogràfics a Catalunya”, Mnemòsine. Revista Catalana de Museologia, 4: 121139. Serra de Manresa, F.V. (1997) “Aproximació històrica al Museu Etnogràfic Andinoamazònic dels Caputxins de Catalunya”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 10: 148-149. Serra, M. de Lluc (2010) “Etnologia i museologia: els museus etnològics als anys quaranta”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 37: 142-144. Van Geert, F. (2014) Du musée colonial au musée des diversités. Intégrations et effets du multiculturalisme sur les musées ethnologiques. Barcelona: University of Barcelona, Doctoral thesis. http:// hdl.handle.net/10803/286827 [Accessed: 30-11-2017]. Ventosa, S. (1994) “El rol dels museus etnogràfics en la societat actual”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 6: 54-61.

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Asunció García Zanón ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

Curator at the Ethnology Museum of Valencia. In recent years she has worked on several projects related to Valencian local ethnology museums. Currently she codirects the renovation of the Ethnology Museum of Alpuente. Holds a Degree in Geography and History from the University of Valencia.

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Francesc Tamarit Llop

Joan Seguí Seguí

ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

Director of the Ethnology Museum of Valencia. Possesses extensive experience in the production of exhibitions and cultural management. As director of the Ethnology Museum of Valencia he has been the main promoter of the Local Ethnology Museum Network. Holds a Degree in Philosophy and Educational Sciences from the University of Valencia and Masters in Museum Studies from the Polytechnic University of Valencia.

Curator at the Ethnology Museum of Valencia. Currently dedicated to the production of exhibitions for the Ethnology Museum of Valencia, particularly on the renovation of its permanent galleries.Holds a Degree in Geography and History from the University of Valencia and PhD in Philosophy from the University of Leicester.

The role of Local Museums in the 21st Century and the challenges of the recession: Local Ethnology Museums in the Valencian Community

Introduction

n the Valencian Community, just as everywhere in the Spanish State the number of museums relating to local or regional popular culture has increased considerably since the arrival of democracy(Fernández de Paz, 2015: 7). Proof of this fact can be found in a study conducted by Cruz, Domènech and Llamas concerning museums featuring ethnographically related collections in Valencia, published in 2005 in the Valencian Ethnology Magazine. The study illustrates how this particular variety of museum is represented in 140 of Valencia’s 542 municipalities and in all regions except for one (2006: 27). The study focuses on all kinds of museums, not just the local, ethnological kind, as well as those found in cities such as Valencia or Castelló, highlighting the strong relationship between the “local museum” and “ethnology museum” categories. Museums

featuring ethnographic collections have a significant presence in small towns (fewer than 10,000 inhabitants), amounting to 38,8% of the museum census for the year 2005. On the other hand, the four Valencian cities with populations over 100,000 inhabitants (Valencia, Elche, Alicante and Castellón) represent a mere 18% of the museums featured in this census (2006: 27). And so, the current landscape of local Valencian museums is clearly one that is dominated by the presence of ethnographic museums. The aim of this essay is twofold: first of all, to contribute some information on the effect the recent recession1 has had on a sample of local Valencian ethnology museums. Secondly, a series of reflections – based on our first-hand experience at the Ethnology Museum of Valencia – regarding changes in rhetoric, museology and the future challenges that these museums face. The management perspective works as an

Generally situated during 20082011 (Seville, 2017).

Keywords: local museums, Valencian Community, recession, Museum Networks Paraules clau: museus locals, País Valencià, crisi, xarxes de museus Palabras clave: museos locales, País Valenciano, crisis, redes de museos

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articulation to allow for space at the heart of this writing to discuss the new Network of Ethnology Museums promoted by the Provincial Council of Valencia, an important instrument of cooperation within the realm of local museums. Recession? What recession? There is no doubt that the recent recession has been costly for many institutions related to culture and heritage in both public and private sectors (see for example: Van Der Weiden, 2011: 18; Moldoveau and IonFranc, 2011 or Howerey, 2013). As you would expect, in Valencia the field of culture has also been greatly affected (Hernández et al., 2014: 244-248). Several important museums suffered from budget cuts, often substantial (Aimeur, 2013) more so after the years of “large scale event” policies set forth by the regional governments of the PP (People’s Party) since the mid-90s of the past century and persisting until 2013 (Hernández et al, 2014: 91-92).

What we would like to consider here however is the effect of the recession on the sector of local Valencian ethnographic museums. Aiming to provide some information in this regard, the authors conducted a short survey in some twenty museums throughout the region. In this survey, intended mainly

Museums dedicated to popular culture represent the most widespread type of local museum in the Valencian Community. In recent decades these Valencian museums have increased their numbers significantly while spearheading several renovation projects. Located in small towns, they are affected by socio-economic contexts in a variety of ways. And so, while the latest recession seems to have left them largely unscathed, the profound structural and compositional changes of the communities to which they belong poses tough challenges for the future. Collaboration between institutions is crucial to managing and tackling these challenges, as well as a profound change in the standards that value them as cultural heritage institutions.

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to gather quantitative data on the impact on museum budgets and programmes, figures concerning three specific periods were requested. These periods are “pre-recession: 2000-2005”; “recession: 2008-2011” and “present day: 2016-2017.” Unfortunately, at the time of this writing, only nine local museums have responded to this survey, an insufficient number to be able to reach any firm conclusions, but at the very least allows for prediction of potential trends. In summary the resulting data is as follows: out of the nine cases reviewed, only two of them suffered from budgetary cuts during the recession, the Tiling Museum of Paiporta (-40%) and the Municipal Museum of Requena (-80%), while four increased their financial allowance and three suffered no budgetary alterations to speak of. It is worth noting that out of the four that saw an increase in their allowance, the Municipal Museum of Alzira (upwards of 100% increase) and the Museum of Ceramics of Alcora (in the area of 80%) are currently involved in major renovation and modernisation projects. Contrary to what it may seem, programme data does not appear to be intimately linked to that of budget data. External collaboration makes it possible to sustain programmes in times of financial decline while significant budget rises do not

Els museus dedicats a la cultura popular representen la tipologia de museu local més estesa al País València. Les darreres dècades, aquests museus valencians han incrementat el seu nombre significativament i han impulsat projectes de renovació. Localitzats en poblacions menudes, el context socioeconòmic els afecta de forma diversa. Així, mentre que la darrera crisi econòmica sembla haver-los respectat en gran mesura, els profunds canvis en l’estructura i la composició de la població a què es deuen els planteja reptes de futur difícils. En la gestió i la confrontació d’eixos reptes es perfilen com a clau les col·laboracions institucionals, però també un canvi profund en els paràmetres que els donen valor com a institucions patrimonials.

Los museos dedicados a la cultura popular representan la tipología de museo local más extendida en el País Valenciano. En las últimas décadas, estos museos valencianos han incrementado su número de forma significativa y han impulsado proyectos de renovación. Localizados en poblaciones de pequeño tamaño, el contexto socioeconómico los afecta de forma diversa. Así, mientras que la última crisis económica parece haberlos respetado en buena medida, los profundos cambios en la estructura y la composición de la población a la que se deben les plantea retos de futuro difíciles. En la gestión de esos retos se perfilan como clave las colaboraciones institucionales, pero también un cambio profundo en los parámetros que les dan valor como instituciones patrimoniales.

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always imply increased activity, owing to the fact that they respond to specific situations (improvements to the facilities) that must be analysed in isolation. We would like to emphasise the following arguments: First: The negative effect of the recession on local museums of ethnology in Valencia has been largely contained. The more or less significant budgetary reductions that museums have suffered from are often counterbalanced by cases of improvement, at least in terms of budget. Second: On close inspection of the date, it is plain to see that projects featuring an important financial investment on the part of local governments, such as the renovation of the Ceramics Museum of l’Alcora or the inauguration of the Museum of Alzira, remain unaffected by the recession. One could argue that, to a great extent, the political commitment of local institutions behind the museum projects tend to remain

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firm. But it is not just projects backed by political commitment in hopes of a grand opening and political brownie points that are moving forward; such are the cases of the Josep Ferrer March County Museum of Horta Sud and the Archaeological and Ethnographic Museum of Xàbia, both well-established in their communities yet lacking significant renovation projects, and displaying no sign of meaningful budgetary alterations throughout the years of the recession but rather an increase compared to the pre-recession years. Third: based on the previous point, one could say that it is a good period in the Valencian Community considering the public and political support these institutions receive from a local standpoint. People are interested in museums. If we look closely at the data provided by Cruz, Domènech and Llamas in the year 2005, this period extends from the mid-1990s (2006: 28). In fact, rather than a good period, it should be referred to as a sus-

Museu de la Rajoleria (Tiling Museum). Paiporta. ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

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tained trend over the last 20 years that currently shows no signs of decreasing. Fourth: It is quite clear that the effects of the recession on museum activity has been more complex than what can possibly be deduced from budgetary changes. Variations or lack thereof in budgets and programmes do not necessarily overlap. Rather we should assess the impact, for example, on the number school visits, generally lower during the recession, the impact factor of institutional – or non-institutional – collaboration that may have been enabled, or perhaps even the increased political pressure to halt specific expenditures perceived as hard to justify at a time of widespread recession. Finally, this time outside the scope of the survey, it is worth noting that there have also been some cases in our country where the recession has affected the odd local museum severely. There have been a couple of significant cases, such as the Museu de la Taronja (Orange Museum) of Burriana, in Castelló. Inaugurated in February 1995 in the orange harvesting town of Burriana, the museum sustained itself thanks to the patronage consisting of the Government of Valencia, the Burriana Council, the Council of Castelló and the Bancaixa and Canyada Blanch foundations The first financial hardships emerge in 2010 and continued to pile up until the accumulated debt forced the museum to close down in 2012 (Martí, 2017:). The willingness of the council to reopen it seems firm but steps have not yet been taken (Martí, 2014). A similar crisis affected one of the pioneering museums in the realm of popular culture in the Valencian Community, the Centre de Cultura Tradicional Museu Escolar de Pusol (Centre for Traditional Culture Museum School of Pusol) in Elche, Alicante. This museum ceased its activity between May 2016 and February 2017. The museum was sustained financially thanks to contributions made by the Elche Council, a patronage consisting of local entrepreneurs and a group of individual partners. In early 2016, financial difficulties

forced the approval of a redundancy plan leaving the museum unstaffed and, short of a complete closure, left the museum in a comatose state for a considerable amount of months. In response to this situation, several collectives set up a petition as well as the mobilisation of local collectives that ultimately succeeded in giving the project another push, eventually leading to the reopening of the museum as well as deeper commitment on behalf of social agents and institutions (Pusol School Museum, 2017). Management techniques... an area with some activity Valencian Heritage Law distinguishes between the acknowledgement of museums institutionally as “Museums” and “Museological Collections”. While acknowledgement as a museum requires that one or more technicians be permanently associated with the museum, the status of museological collection only requires the presence of official opening hours but not the presence of a technician (López Beltran, 1999). As pointed out by Cruz, Domènech and Llamas, for obvious reasons relating to the availability of resources, the number of acknowledged museums are fewer than the number of museological collections in towns and small cities (2006:25). Institutionally, the majority of museums and local collections are owned by the municipality and are managed by civil servants or people employed on a more or less permanent basis by the administration. There is also a handful of museums that depend on associations (San Jordi country house-Festivity Museum, in Alcoi or the Festivity Museum of Ontinyent, for instance), while some are affiliated with a company (the Chocolate Museum in Vila Joiosa belongs to the company ‘Chocolates Valor’), or even the church. In these cases, employed staff are present but the workload taken up by volunteers is higher as well. Nothing new so far.

In recent years however we can observe the appearance of noteworthy public-private management techniques. We refer specifically to the case of the Museu Valencià de la

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Mel (Valencian Museum of Honey, MuVaMel), a museum that first opened to the public in November 2013 in Montroi (Ribera Alta), a town with a strong beekeeping tradition. The project was fostered by the Montroi Council in partial collaboration with the Government and the Provincial Council and was born during the honey fair (FIVAMEL) that the municipality has organised for well over 20 years (Blay, 2013). The funds from the European Ruralter project allowed for the undertaking of the building’s construction (which also aimed to serve as the new municipal headquarters), but the appointed government staff soon determined that they would not be able to assume responsibility for the museum’s programme and management. Faced with this conundrum, the possibility of going out to public tender was proposed for the museum’s launch as well as its upkeep in hopes that an enterprise would take charge of its management as well as the development of its content plan. A council follow-up commission would ensure contract conditions were met while a board (consisting of local beekeeping businesses and other stakeholders from the Montroi beekeeping sector), would act as advisors to the museum (Galletero, 2012: 15-17). The

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case of MuVaMel is indeed remarkable in the context of local museums of ethnology in the Valencian Community, but it also appears to be a promising model due to the fact it relieves municipalities of the burden of direct management. We shall have to see how it all develops. Network of Ethnology Museums of the Provincial Council of Valencia The formulas for shared resource management in the museum sector are far from ground breaking. These formulas underwent an important expansion in the 90s which, upon closer inspection, presented – and still present – a wide array of organisational levels and objectives (Grau, 2006: 23-24). The idea of working collaboratively has always been convenient and useful in a technical sense, as well politically attractive and appealing.

Hand in hand with the Ethnology Museum of Valencia, the Provincial Council of Valencia launched the local Ethnology Museum Network in early 2017. This project formalises a reality: the strong commitment of the provincial council’s museum (located in the city of Valencia) to local ethnology museums. The scope of the network is provincial in the-

Museu de la Festa (Festivity Museum). Algemesí. ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

ory, however new ways of offering support to all museums that are interested in joining are currently being explored. This relationship has been part of the museum’s institutional life since inception yet it acquired particular importance in the 90s when the provincial council created a precedent of what would later become the network’s collaborative spirit (Gregori, 2006). From that moment forth, the Ethnology Museum of Valencia has maintained an external project department charged with funnelling the financial and technical demands that local museums would make to the Provincial Council of Valencia. An important component of this partnership has been the consolidation of an itinerary offered by the museum which has also allowed for the showcasing of several local museums’ exhibitions. In recent years, the Ethnology Museum of Valencia has incorporated an educational aspect with the scheduling of a seminar to which local museum technicians convene in order to address topics relating to their own professional challenges. The decree for the creation of the Ethnology Museum Local Network outlines the following objectives: • Establish a communication hub between the managers of local ethnology museums and the Ethnology Museum of Valencia to break the isolation that often exists between both groups of experts. • Facilitate the exchange of experiences and best practices, as well as training and retraining proposals which contribute to improving the professional skill set of the museums’ staff. • Promote cooperation between ethnology museums, enabling the optimisation of available resources by means of exchange policies, collaborative exhibition production, the creation of exhibition circuits, etc. Improve communication and dissemination systems, creating shared spaces in which to carry out activities in a collaborative manner. The decree also specifies an initial service Catalog that will be improved and enhanced

upon request by the museums that join the Network. Thus, the following activities are proposed: Training • Local Museum seminars, to be held each year. • Technical and management seminars. In areas deemed necessary by the network. The common format will consist of a lecture presented by a subject-matter expert followed by an open debate, where each museum’s particular experience is brought to the table. Counselling • On museology or museum studies and projects; on exhibit space adaptation; on museum renovations; on educational projects; on marketing and communication... Cooperation • Inventory and cataloguing of museum collections. • Warehouse for loaning commonly used museum material. • Cooperation projects between museums (exhibition co-production, activity dissemination – museums speak about one another-, joint advertising, etc.). • Touring exhibitions. Those pertaining to the Ethnology Museum of Valencia and others produced by local museums. • Presentation of local museums at the headquarters of the Ethnology Museum of Valencia. • Coordination in order to collaboratively prepare for specific events, such as International Museum Day. • Establish a system of subsidies on behalf of the Council allowing local museums to conduct exhibition, educational, and dissemination activities... • Publishing of catalogues on the permanent exhibitions of associated museums. • Proposals for the interaction of both tangible and intangible heritage with other areas such as cuisine or natural landscapes, creating regional pathways that stimulate

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the creation of small pockets of local economic development, promoting quality and sustainable tourism. As noted by Van Geert (2017) operating within a network and other derivatives is a key strategy for the survival as well as the improvement of many local museums in face of the recession. The Ethnology Museum Network also aims to be a resource for the consolidation of local museums in Valencia. In its first year the network has received a budget allocation of 70,000 euros.To date a total of 30 museums have joined and vie for the financial aid affiliated to this budget. For 2018, the Ethnology Museum of Valencia (the de facto manager of the Network) has requested a sum of 125,000 euros as a preliminary draft. There is no doubt therefore that this is a true case of expansion, intent on leveraging the financial aid provided by the Council to local ethnographic museums, allowing them to develop specific projects which would otherwise remain out of reach. In terms of operation, the Network’s proposal seeks to be very horizontal and open to the participation and decision-making of its members, without any formal

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structure beyond the requirement of a plenary agreement in order to join. The consolidation of a handful of ethnology museums in Valencia suggests that a proposal such as the Network will actually be of some practical use from the perspective of the daily activity of local museums. The gradual increase in training initiatives, for example, hints at the idea of a maturing local museum landscape, insofar as the mobilisation of technicians’ interest to the urgency in the making and opening of a museum to the improvement and consolidation or an increasingly professional work ethic on the project. And what is the case now? So far we have offered some specific facts on the effects of the recession on a sample of local Ethnology Museums in the Valencian Community. We have also noted innovations in management techniques of these museums in a local context. Let us move onto an overview, that which some of these museums convey or wish to convey, and their context, which already urges them to introduce a series of necessary changes in

Llosa de Ranes Museum. L’espai de les associacions (Associations’ space). ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

order to maintain their standing as cultural institutions. In general, the need for a renewed rhetoric of local ethnographic museums has already been a common claim in academic literature for some years (Roigé and Arrieta, 2014; Roigé, 2015, Fernández de Paz, 2015). The shadow of the new generation of society museums is long. As of now, however, it is also clear that there is no evidence of marked change in the discourse for this type of museums, despite a gradual opening of new channels (Van Geert, 2017). The Valencian Community is no exception, the vast majority of local ethnology museums still display a discursive tendency reminiscent of traditional pre-industrial societies. But, once again, things are beginning to shift. Non-stop renovation First of all, let us set the scene. In the case of the Valencian Community, local museums continue to be perfectly valid instruments for the community’s reassertion as well as its distinction. They are also valid for attracting visitors to towns and, it is worth stating that

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they even help to bring in more votes when coupled with certain political strategies. All these qualities converge at the moment of a museum’s grand opening. Once the “creation” phase is over and done with, opportunities for “renovation” will arise as time goes by. Each of these, each inaugural event, represents a nudge that places the museum under the spotlight once again (its purpose, its uses, its cost) amidst the local environment it belongs to. Of course, this process creates an opportunity. An opportunity from the point of view of local politics but, more importantly and particularly, from a technical standpoint. From the Ethnology Museum of Valencia we have had the chance to take an active part in recent years in several renovation projects of local museums. Let us take a look at a couple of recent examples. The first is La Llosa de Ranes, a town with a population of 4,000 people located next to the city of Xàtiva; the other is Alpont, with a population of just under 700 inhabitants, located in the Serrans region, a mountainous area of the

Llosa de Ranes Museum. New exhibition assembly. ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

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hinterlands. Both councils have stressed the need for radical change concerning the permanent exhibitions of their local museums, consisting merely of a display of an accumulation of objects gathered up and donated by the townspeople or local collectors. The proposals set forth by the Ethnology Museum of Valencia have undergone the development of a more updated, dynamic and participatory strain of museology, leading to a more contemporary discourse. These include favouring reflection over contemplation and a dialogue between past and present instead of evocative and nostalgic approaches. In Llosa de Ranes in particular, a series of elements and events that reflect the community’s identity in one way or another have been emphasised. Featured is the Barri de París (Paris Neighbourhood), for example, thus dubbed when most of its inhabitants emigrated mostly to France in the 60s seeking to buy homes belonging to a social housing scheme. The agricultural cooperative, backed by the town rector in order to provide farmhands with an alternative to local landowners. Or the Santa Anna chapel, now a symbol for the townsfolk after the successful mobilisation to oppose plans for its destruction, having become a mass pilgrimage destination for the past 30 years. Lastly, a space has been set aside for local associations, starting with the musical band, whose first instruments as well as other materials have been recovered. On the other hand, the museum of Alpont is housed within a unique building: an ancient medieval communal oven. Taking advantage of this opportunity, preparations are underway for a new exhibition with the intention of showcasing all local aspects related to the usage, practices and common goods, forcing us to make a new selection of objects, search for new ones and, more importantly, give them new meaning. So now a scraper is no longer a tool meant for levelling fields, but an example of a communal object shared by all the farmhands in a village. The threshing floor is not just where grain was separated,

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but a place where several families share the work as well as the land. Thus, aside from explaining the organisational peculiarities of social life and the exploitation of resources of what is often known as “traditional societies”, we are able to compare these practices to those present in contemporary society, such as the exchange of labours and goods, collaborative economies or communal property. Certainly the cases of the Casa del Pou in Llosa de Ranes and the Ethnology Museum of Alpont are by no means a revolution, but they denote a shift or, at the very least, the predisposition of politicians and citizens alike for accepting change. No small feat. Institutional discourse has seen the appearance of words such as “participation” or “multiculturalism”, sharing the stage with the other more popular terms such as “memory” and “heritage” (our memory and our heritage). As stated by Herrero and Domènech regarding the Casa del Pou project, ”we have intended to make the Casa del Pou museum (...) a sustainable, long-lasting, participative museum for everybody” (2016:14). But where are we headed? In the 70s and early 80s, the first local museums of Valencia found their first purpose in saving – what little was left of – their own culture. “Saving” meant the keeping of the museum as well as showcasing and explaining part of it, and occasionally, conducting some research. In the late 80s and into the 90s there appeared a willingness to offer something of value to tourists, as demonstrated by the initial support that institutions and citizens offered to local museums and their projects. Both forces have remained and are now present in the story that legitimises the projects of these museums. On the back cover of the brochure for the renovated Casa del Pou in Llosa de Ranes one can read: “The museum was created by llosers and lloseres (men and women from Llosa de Ranes), made as a testimony to their most intimate past, with objects and photographs from their bottom drawers and that constitutes the make-up of the memory of their lives. That

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which was personal now belongs to all, thus creating a common heritage available to those who wish to learn of our history as a people” (La Casa del Pou, 2017). On one hand, it seems clear that local museums need to renew their legitimacy more frequently than any other kind of institution located in larger urban areas, or rather, boasting collections perceived to be of greater heritage value by the populace. And so, if the collections are not sufficient, nor are they showcased in emblematic buildings and are not of easy access due to their location outside of important urban centres… what is left? What does that legitimise? Tangorra (2012: 143) offers some ideas when he stresses that the sustainability of these institutions depends on their capacity to value the people that form its community (neighbours, visitors, users,...) as a central resource. This idea is echoed by Arrieta when he speaks about how “only a sustained feedback loop between community and museum will allow for the continuity of the cultural infrastructure” (2013: 31). Thus, the heart

of local museums would no longer reside in its collections (many or few, less or more valuable), and obviously neither would it reside in the technical or institutional aspect (both of them facilitators). The heart is then found in the success achieved at unifying the community. To unify means to place value on people’s skills and knowledge, not just to place heritage value on the collection, but to value the people themselves as part of this heritage. To unify means to create the necessary conditions for the physical space of the museum to become a place of exchange for this knowledge (between generations, among people from different backgrounds…). In the words of Tim Ingold, it is a space for dialogue, where collections are preserved but, most of all, people are preserved (2016).It is in this context and from this perspective that local museums can use all of their force to solidify their legitimacy with more advantages, where necessary, than museums of city centres. So then, in what context will the local museums of Valencia have to develop the potential

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Pobla de Vallbona Museum. ETHNOLOGY MUSEUM OF VALENCIA

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offered to them by their associated communities? In a paper published almost 10 years ago, in 2008, by the Center for the Future of Museums (CFM), under the authority of the American Association of Museums, it is suggested that the future of museums (not just the local kind) will have to heed a series of important socioeconomic changes. The list is quite familiar: general ageing of the population (visitors are getting older); a gradual increase in migrant population (the population is diverse and multicultural); exponential growth of women with higher education studies compared to men (more women visiting and managing museums); instability of the energy market and recurring recessions (sustainability increases in importance as a strategy); interconnectivity and access en masse to information via internet (use of information), or an increase in social and economic inequality (disappearance of the middle class and the effect on the welfare state). Each of these vectors are already a reality in the context of local museums in Valencia, requiring careful analysis and work in order to be properly met. For instance, in 2007 the percentage of migrant population in the Valencian Community was already 16.5% (VV.AA, 2007:14-15). While some collectives such as Latin Americans were concentrated mostly in large cities, others such as Romanians, Bulgarians or North Africans displayed a strong presence in small and medium-sized cities, the natural habitat for local ethnology museums to which we refer herein. These museums however, do not portray these collectives at all: their culture and their social and financial circumstances are not present in the reports made by these exhibitions nor in the programmed activities. Similarly, the ageing of the population has a very strong impact on towns as well as small and medium-sized cities (Idem, 2007: 7), where these local museums are found. Ageing is an important factor to take into account not just in terms of discourse but museological ones (improvement of accessibility…); it is older people, more so than

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tourists, who shall be visiting museums, much more so. Conclusion The Valencian Community’s local ethnology museums seem to have survived the recent recession surprisingly well. Doubtless, the reasons for this are diverse, and an exhaustive, case-by-case analysis would be necessary, but what is clear is that a strong commitment from political stakeholders and local communities have played a key role. “Closing down a museum” is still little less than a political sin and a hard setback for the populace to assume and, on the other hand, the opening of a new museum or the renovation of an existing one continues to remain a profitable political and social endeavour. Nonetheless, these favourable circumstances do not imply that local museums have an easy task ahead of them. The harshest of crises they face is standing the test of time as spaces that showcase something more than just “our traditions” that, hopefully, will entertain the odd absent-minded tourist (Roigé, Fernández and Arrieta, 2008). Future challenges will undoubtedly consist in adapting to the current widespread socio-economic changes of their local environments. The key is not to try so hard to give the impression of being a good museum with good collections and exhibitions under constant renovation. This would be understandable in an urban setting but it is no easy task in most cases when dealing with a local setting. The challenges for local museums also come as blessings in disguise: the proximity, the tight-knit social networks, trust, the face-to-face aspect as well as the commitment and consequently, the privileged access to the people and their personal knowledge. Their future legitimacy should come as the result of the careful management of these circumstances. n

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Aimeur, C. (2013) “La Generalitat Valenciana da el golpe de gracia al IVAM: ERE y reducción del 10% de presupuesto” (The Government of Valencia delivers de coup de grace to the IVAM: redundancy plan and a 10% budget cut). From Valencia Plaza: <http://epoca1. valenciaplaza.com/ver/105970/ ivam-recortes-presupuesto-2014. html> [Consulted: September 2017]. Arrieta, I. (2013) “Museos y comunidades: una retroalimentación necesaria” (Museums and communities: a necessary feedback loop). From I Jornades de Museus Etnològics Locals: De l’Objecte a l’Exposició (1st Seminar of Local Ethnology Museums). Ethnology Museum of Valencia. Valencia. <https://issuu.com/museuvalenciaetnologia/docs/jornadasdemuseosetnologicoslocales> [Consulted: September 2017]. Blay, J. (2013) “Montroi ultima la apertura del Museo Valenciano de la Miel” (Montroi finalises the inauguration of the Valencian Honey Museum). From El País. <https:// elpais.com/ccaa/2013/10/29/ valencia/1383067135_049613. html> [Consulted: September 2017]. CFM (2008) Museums and Society 2034: Trends and Potential Futures. American Association of Museums. <http://www.aam-us. org/docs/center-for-the-future-ofmuseums/museumssociety2034. pdf> [Consulted: September 2017]. Cruz, J., Doménech, C. and Llamas E. (2006) “Vitrines Valencianes. Aproximació als museus valencians d’etnologia” (Valencian Showcases. An approach to Valencian ethnology museums), Revista Valenciana d’Etnologia (Valencian Ethnology Magazine), 1: 21-33. Fernández de Paz, E. (2015) “Museos de antropología, antropología es los museos. La representación de las culturas en los museos de antropología en España” (Museums of anthropology, anthropology is the museums. The representation of cultures in anthropology museums in Spain),

Revista de Andaluza de Antropología (Andalusian Anthropolgy Magazine), 9: 1-15. Galletero, C. (2013) “Historia del Museo Valenciano de la Miel de Montroi” (History of the Valencian Honey Museum of Montroi). From I Jornades de Museus Etnològics Locals: Del Objecte a l’Exposició. (I Seminar of Local Ethnology Museums: From Object to Exhibition) Ethnology Museum of Valencia. https://issuu.com/museuvalenciaetnologia/docs/jornadasdemuseosetnologicoslocales. [Consulted: September 2017) Grau, L (2006) “Redes de museos: un ensayo de supervivencia” (Museum networks: a test of survival), Museo magazine, 11: 17-28. Gregori, J. (2006) “La nueva Xarxa de museus de la Diputación de Valencia. Su génesis y sus decisiones organizativas” (The new Museum Network of the Provincial Council of Valencia. Its genesis and organisational choices), Museo magazine, 11: 145-150. Hernández, G.M., Albert, M. Gómez, E. I Requena, M. (2014) La Cultura Como Trinchera (Culture as a trench). Valencia: Publications of the University of Valencia. Howery, C. (2013) “The Effects of the Economic Crisis on Archaeology in Greece. From Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies”, 1(3): 249-250. Ingold, T. (2016) “L’antropologia segons Tim Ingold” (Anthropology according to Tim Ingold). Barcelona Ethnology Museum Blog. <http:// ajuntament.barcelona.cat/museuetnologic/blog/2016/09/15/ lantropologia-segons-tim-ingold/#more-211>. [Consulted: September 2017]. Moldoveanu, M. and Ioan-Franc, V. (2011) “The impact of the economic crisis on culture”, Review of General Management, 14(2): 15-35. Martí, J. (2014) “Burriana reabrirá el Museu de la Taronja però sin asumir la deuda” (Burriana to reopen the Orange Museum but refusing

debt). From Mediterráneo <http:// www.elperiodicomediterraneo. com/noticias/comarcas/burriana-reabrira-museu-taronja-sin-asumir-deuda_865257.html>. [Consulted: September 2017]. Martí, J. (2017)El Museu de la Taronja ya lleva cinco años cerrado (The Orange Museum has spent five years closed). From La Plana al Dia. <http://www.laplanaaldia. com/burriana/noticias/160410/ el-museu-de-la-taronja-ya-llevacinco-anos-cerrado> [Consulted: September 2017]. Museu escolar agrícola de pusol (Agricultural museum school of pusol) (2017) “La Junta Directiva del Proyecto Pusol trabaja en la constitución de la Fundación” (The Board of Directors of Project Pusol work on the Foundation’s constitution). Website of Pusol Museum Traditional Culture Centre. <http://www.museopusol.com/ es/nota-prensa/?id=19>. [Consulted: September 2017]. Roigé, X., Fernández, E. and Arrieta, I (2008). “El futuro de los museos etnológicos. Consideraciones introductorias para un debate” (The future of ethnology museums. Introductory considerations for debating). From El futuro de los museos etnológicos (The future of ethnology museums).XI Congreso Nacional de Antropología (11th National Anthropology Convention). Ankulegi, 9-34. Roigé, X., and Arrieta, I. (2014) “¿Una sociedad congelada?: la representación de la sociedad rural en los museos” (A frozen society?: the depiction of rural society in museums), Arxius de Sociología (Sociology Archives), 30: 73-86. Roigé, X. (2015) “Los museos etnológicos en Cataluña. Perspectivas, retos y debates” (Ethnology museums in Catalonia. Prospects, challenges and debates), Revista Andaluza de Antropología (Andalusian Anthropolgy Magazine), 9: 76-104. Sevilla, J. (2017) “La Crisis Económica ha Terminado” (The recession has ended). From El Mundo. <http://www.elmundo.es/economia/2017/06/11/593a901f268e-

3eb55f8b4572.html>. [Consulted: September 2017]. López Beltrán, C. (1999) La Ley Valenciana de Patrimonio Cultural (Valencian Cultural Heritage Law). València: Tirant Monografias issue # 116. Tangorra Matelic, C. (2012) “New Roles for Small Museums”. From The Small Museum Toolkit, book 4: Reaching and Responding to the Audience, 141-162. Lanham: Altamira Press. VV.AA (2007) “La población de Valencia” (The population of Valencia). From Cuadernos Fundación BBVA, 29. <https:// w3.grupobbva.com/TLFU/dat/ poblacion_29_valencia.pdf>. [Consulted: September 2017]. Van Der Weiden, W. (2011) “Money, money, money”. From EUROPEAN MUSEUM ACADEMY, Proceedings of the Kenneh Hudson Seminars 2009-2010, 17-24. Pisa*: European Museum Academy. Van Geert, F. (2017) “Els museus locals i els reptes de la crisi econòmica. La situació a Catalunya i a l’Occitània Francesa” (Local museums and challenges of the recession. The situation in Catalonia and Occitania). From VI Jornades de Museus Locals (6th Seminar of Local Museums), Potries. <https:// issuu.com/museuvalenciaetnologia/docs/power_fabien_van_geert.pptx_75de1186c2675b>. [Consulted: September 2017].

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Francisco Copado Carralero FUNDACIÓ PILAR I JOAN MIRÓ

Diploma in tourist activities, University of the Balearic Islands. Graduate in History of Art, University of the Balearic Islands. Masters in Cultural Heritage Management and Museology, Barcelona University. Currently director of the Fundació Pilar i Joan Miró, in Palma.

Evolution and current situation of the local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca Introduction

nderstanding the museum reality of a place, how it is currently managed, and the motivations behind the opening or creation of new museums, helps us understand the social reality of that place. Museology has evolved significantly from its beginnings,

Understanding the real situation of fifteen local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca based on the importance of the museology, region, identity, and museum concepts. We look at the reasons behind their creation, because they do not exist in isolation, but are connected with the society and physical territory where the identities of these communities are located and formed. To do this we analyse the current situation from the perspective of importance, complexity, and the challenges they face, questioning the role of these museums in the 21st century.

where museums were centres of erudition and stores for works of art up, to the present day. Majorca is characterised by having a network of museums and museographic collections with few links between them or joint management synergies. These deficiencies are also present in the local museums and ethnographic collections. Majorcan society was on the outskirts of the museum boom seen at the end of the 1990s, and it was much more focused on the main driver of the Balearic

Conèixer la realitat museística de quinze museus locals i col·leccions etnogràfiques de Mallorca partint de la importància dels conceptes de museologia, territori, identitat i museu. Es tracta d’establir els motius pels quals es van crear, ja que no existeixen de forma aïllada, sinó que es connecten amb la societat i el territori físic on s’ubiquen i formen les identitats d’aquestes comunitats. Per ferho, s’analitza la situació actual des de la perspectiva de la rellevància, la complexitat i els reptes que han d’assumir i es qüestiona el paper d’aquests museus en el segle xxi.

Key words: Local museums, ethnographic collections, Majorca, Mallorca, identity, region Paraules clau: Museus locals, col·leccions etnogràfiques, Mallorca, identitat, territori Palabras clave: Museos locales, colecciones etnográficas, Mallorca, identidad, territorio

Conocer la realidad museística de quince museos locales y colecciones etnográficas de Mallorca partiendo de la importancia de los conceptos de museología y territorio e identidad y museo. Se trata de establecer los motivos por los cuales fueron creados, pues no existen de forma aislada, sino que se conectan con la sociedad y el territorio físico donde se ubican y conforman las identidades de dichas comunidades. Para ello se analiza la situación actual bajo la perspectiva de la relevancia, la complejidad y los retos que tienen que asumir, cuestionándose el papel de estos museos en el siglo xxi.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

economy: tourism. This fact means that identity-based relationships and links between local museums and society are either weak or, in some cases, non-existent. On opening itself up to society, the appearance of the new museology in around 1970 entailed –among other aspects– the proliferation of local museums, museum institutes, and cultural facilities in hundreds of town and countries. This continued, following the economic boom in the late 1990s up to approximately 2008, which saw the beginning of the global economic crisis. Each city, each town, each region, and each state wished to have an enormous number of centres that, with various different aims, served to revitalise its impoverished economic surroundings; to provide facilities to bring culture to the most disadvantaged classes; to strengthen the national identity (local, regional, etc.); or to serve as a tool to transmit political ideas or thoughts, an aspect common to most. As of 1975, thanks to the democratic transition and the creation of the State of Autonomies, effective heritage and museum policies began to emerge. In Spain, it was necessary to establish the new playing field and rules of the game at a museum level, as well as delimit the role of the State and the autonomic communities in the relevant competencies. The State opted for large national museums, mainly located in Madrid, while the autonomous communities chose to support smaller museums that reinforced local identities. From 1990 to 2008 a rash of museums appeared, described as a museum bubble. This was paralysed by the global economic crisis, which caused a shift in paradigm. The new focus was on the search for effective management strategies to enable the museums, cultural facilities and exhibitions set up prior to the crisis to resist in the face of few economic resources and the new museology policies based on budgetary cuts. Currently, there is a debate on what the role of museums should be in the 21st century, in a neoliberal society where economic value and profitability are set above

social and community values, and where the continuity of local museums relies more than ever on their imbrication with society. Museology and territory. The relationship between local museums and the region Local museums do not exist in isolation with respect to the world, they are connected with the society and physical territory in which they are located. Generally, the relationship between museums and territory can be explained through the new museology, a theoretical current of thought on museums that arose from the revolutionary slogans linked to the democratisation of culture after the social movements of 1968. Against this background there was a general debate on what museums should be from this point onwards. From that moment, museums were marked by a new generation and novel ideas that burst onto the European scene. Thus, in the summer of 1971, the general assembly of the International Council of Museums (ICOM) extended the definition of museum and affirmed the political importance of the museum within the cultural, scientific, and social policies of modern states. In May 1972, after an intervention by Jorge Enrique Hardoy during the Santiago of Chile round table on the function of museums in Latin America, the ICOM adopted a resolution that included the notion of “integral museum”. The challenges of the modern world and, in particular, those raised by the great metropolises on the continent, demanded that museums fully address the problems of society and that museologists participated in this new reality. In 1972, a new museum was set up in the urban community of Le Creusot-Montceau, in France, based on notions of territory (as opposed to the 19th century idea of the museum/building), of community (as opposed to groups of visitors), and globality of heritage (as opposed to collections). For ten years, this was the benchmark for young museologists around the world (Prats, 2007).

Therefore, museums are located in a territory but at the same time they are also related

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to a community through time. Museums with a long tradition and several centuries under their belts have passed through different stages and have had to adapt to social changes throughout their history. In effect then, museums are really a reflection of the society in which they are found.

nity, and territory, where the public is not a mere visitor, but forms part of the museum’s objectives and management plans (Alonso, 1999). The museum has surpassed the 19th century concept of warehouse for artwork, now transmitting ideas and establishing an equal relationship with the community.

The beginning of this museum-territory binomial was established by Rivière in his concept of ecomuseum. According to this French museologist, an ecomuseum is a tool devised, made, and operated by both a power and a population, with “power” being understood as the experts, facilities, and resources, and “population” as the aspirations, knowledge, and the necessary powers.

Today we cannot imagine a museum that is not integrated into its territory, because its links with communities are, to a certain extent, a guarantee of its continuity and value as part of the cultural offer from a particular place. This is where is the main value of the local museum lies, its integration into the territory to which it belongs and the relationships it establishes in the community, relationships where its position is not centred on erudition but equitable interaction. Local museums and ethnographic collections have a voice and mirror their immediate surroundings.

These days, museums have veered away from an encyclopaedic, disciplinal position, where objects and riches are accumulated, to a disposition towards a service to the commu-

Interior of the paper museum in Basel, Switzerland, activity with local public (2017). FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

How integrated into the territory and surrounding communities are Majorca’s local museums and ethnographic collections? As indicated by Low (1930: 30), we must not forget that “museums have the power to make people see the truth, the power to cause people to recognise the importance of the individual as a member of a society. In many cases, their current function lies in the survival and positive assessment of a museum.” Past and future intertwine in these museums and they become a space where communities can develop the values that identify them as such (Duncan, 2007). Local museums and especially ethnographic museums are the catalysts of past and present forms. In one place, both times converge in front of the visitor. The objects on display belong to a time that is more or less remote in the past, and how closely they are identified with is

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based on how related these objects appear to the communities of the territory in which the museum is located. Finally, according to Jean-Claude Duclos (mentioned in Prats, 1997: 91), we can say that “museums of society are museums for society, for the people who comprise this, and they have to serve collective problems and not the interests of the market, administration, or the museums themselves.” A sentiment that I completely agree with and which has not always been true in the Majorcan museum scene. Identity and museums As we have indicated above, the territory and the community in which the museums are located are related to one another, although, local museums also shape the identities of these communities. This new relationship is considered essential for understanding

Interior of the Cité de la Céramique museum in Sèvres (2017). FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO

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the present museum reality –in the past it was not considered at all, and nowadays, according to different authors, it is of vital importance. As established by Roigé (2010: 157) “in the era of globalisation, access to information, and society’s new forms of communication, there is, paradoxically, a national identity crisis, and museums continue to be central elements in the creation and reflection of images relating to identity.” This same author also indicates that cultural heritage supports the expression and construction of identities (Roigé and Arrieta, 2010). In this way museums play a decisive role in rearranging local, national, and regional identities, by appropriating and giving value to heritage1. And museums not only help create identities, they help explain them, too. As stated by Prats (1997: 34) “museums explain identities, but the problem resides principally in their museological discourse and how this explains that identity, because the appropriation and use of heritage in museums is never neutral.” The author also reminds us that museums act as agents of the re-evaluation of certain heritage elements and this can mean that heritage is used for partisan or opportunistic purposes, far removed from the will to create an identity or a link with the population and territory. Nevertheless, we cannot ignore the relationship established almost simultaneously between identity and power, and which affects the country’s museum policies. Authors like Roigé and Arrieta (2010) indicate that the Spanish central government has tried to construct a new notion of the State that has led to, at a patrimonial level, the creation of the large national museums. In order to carry out this work, projects have been developed based on transforming Madrid into a great cultural capital and international showcase. On the other hand, cultural policies in the various autonomic communities, have also led to the construction of important museum institutions with a two-pronged aim. Firstly, to create identity discourses that demonstrate the specificity of

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each zone, taking advantage of art, history, and ethnology, and secondly, to project big cities as cultural tourist destinations by creating large cultural institutions. Holo (2002: 206) indicates that regional museums played a predominant role in the Spanish periphery, “supporting the local culture in an attempt to define and reconfigure its past and present.” In fact, Spanish museums became indirect but effective educational centres, and political leaders, both regionally and nationally, became aware that they were meeting points for all kinds of people. Some institutions enjoyed a significant budget and others were marginalised as they did not fit into the prevailing political climate. To the consternation of professional museologists, there seemed to be no rational scheme in place for establishing the different degree of support available to the various museums. Those whose mission coincided with the prevailing political and social goals, or who considered themselves capable of attracting wider audiences, received the lion’s share of the money, leading to greater possibilities for promotion and development in both the short and medium term. Local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca Majorca is the largest of the islands comprising the Balearic Islands archipelago. It is geographically situated in the Mediterranean Sea, in a significant position given its connections with the Iberian Peninsula and other countries both via the sea (of great importance for many centuries) and, today, the air. It has an area of 3,640.11 square kilometres and more than 550 kilometres of coastline. Historically, the island has been populated by distinct civilisations that have left their mark, stratifying knowledge and traditions, as well as social, cultural, and artistic aspects throughout the centuries. This is all influential to some extent in the current museological panorama.

The current number of museums on the island differs according to the source of the information and the body providing the

In Majorca this binomial between identity and museum can be seen in museums such as the Artà regional museum, set up in 1927, a centre linked to various institutions and important personages from the town of Artà and which has established, to a certain extent, the identity of the town; the Museu d’ Història de la Ciutat, located in Castillo de Bellver and created in 1931; the Museo de Sóller, set up in 1958; and the Museu d’Història de Manacor dating from 1985.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

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Chart of local museums, ethnological museums and ethnographical collections. MUSEUMS AND MUSEUM COLLECTIONS

YEAR SET UP (YEAR OF FOUNDATION/ CREATION) OWNERSHIP MANAGEMENT

TYPE

Museu Arxiduc Lluís Salvador (Son Marroig)

1927

Private

Private- Individual

House-Museum

Museu de Sóller

1958

Public

Private - Association

Ethnographical and Anthropological

Casa Museu de Fra Juníper Serra

1959

Private

Private - Association

House-Museum

Museu Cosme Bauçà

1962

Private

Private - Foundation

House-Museum

Museu Etnològic de Muro

1965

Public

Public - Regional

Ethnographical and Anthropological

Col·lecció de la Porciúncula

1968

Private

Private - Ecclesiastical

Ethnographical and Anthropological

Museu de Pollença

1975

Public

Public - Municipal

Contemporary Art

Casa Museu Llorenç Villalonga

1999

Public

Private - Foundation

House-Museum

Museu i Fundació Dionís Bennàssar

1999

Private

Private - Foundation

House-Museum

Museu Arqueològic de Son Fornés

2001

Public

Public - Municipal

Archaeological

Fundació cultural Coll Bardolet

2005

Private

Mixed - Various agencies House-Museum

Fundació Robert Graves

2006

Private

Private - Foundation

House-Museum

Casa Museu Pare Ginard

2007

Public

Private - Foundation

House-Museum

Museu del Calçat d’Inca

2010

Public

Public - Municipal

Ethnographical and Anthropological

Museu del Fang

2010

Public

Public - Municipal

Ethnographical and Anthropological

DEVELOPED BY FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO, 2017

data. Therefore, at the institutional level, the data provided by the Consell Insular de Mallorca, the autonomous government responsible for museum management, is different from that from the Govern Balear (Balearic Islands government), and that given by the Ministry of Education, Culture and Sport in their biannual statistical report on museums and museographic collections. The Consell Insular de Mallorca directory is made up of fifty-three museums and museographic collections, although this article focuses on those local museums, ethnological museums and ethnographic collections that exist at this time (totalling fifteen), and involves publicly and privately owned museums of the following type: archaeological, contemporary art, house-museums, and ethnographic/anthropological centres. The following chart presents them in chronological year of creation. Historical evolution Historically, the first museum was intended to house an ethnographic section, in the

Utopian Museo Balear of Archduke Luís Salvador. Luís Salvador de Habsburgo-Lorena (1847 – 1915) arrived on Majorca in 1867 and acquired a series of properties in the municipality of Valldemossa where he set up the so-called Museo Balear. His aim was to create a museum on the island, just as Cardinal Despuig had tried to do, however, he did not manage to bring it to fruition and it remained merely an intention. Even so, a project was drawn up that indicated, among other aspects, the typology of the museum: an agricultural and industrial museum to display Balearic material culture. It was the first attempt to create a museum in which an ethnological collection played an important role. A copy still exists of a draft letter addressed to all the producers and industrialists in the Balearic Islands, where the Archduke laid out his intentions very clearly. In addition, this document deals with aspects as diverse as the public view, the location, the permanent exhibition and temporary exhibitions, and aspects relating to injecting life into the

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museum. It also contemplates the object entry system, transport of the pieces, and finally, the museum’s direction. All these aspects lead one to think that the Archduke had near perfect knowledge of how a museum institute works (Albertí, 2008). Next, and already at the end of 19th century, the Societat Arqueològica Lul·liana (henceforth SAL) was set up, in 1880, in the context of the Reinaxença and in response to its backward-looking spirit, constituting an organisation that is key for understanding the origins of the Majorcan museums. The founding members established three primary goals that the organisation would adhere to throughout its lifetime: to regain and study the figure of Ramon Llull; to protect and promote the island’s knowledge of its heritage; and to gather tangible heritage with which to create a museum in Majorca2. It is important to emphasise the close collaboration and links between SAL and the Church. As a result of this relationship, in 1916 the organisation signed an agreement to share its funds with the new Diocesan Museum, created in 1916 by bishop Pere Campins. They worked very closely together and SAL contributed a great number of pieces and objects to this new ecclesiastically-owned museum that, to this day are still are on display in their rooms. The relationship between the two museum institutions continued until 1930, when the shared collections and reserves were finally separated. In 1932, the museum possessed more than two thousand pieces, making it one of the most important collections relating to the knowledge Majorca’s artistic past. Beginning in 1945, SAL members began to emphasise the need to create a museum under the required conditions and with guarantees, and, in 1961, through a plenary agreement, SAL offered its collections to the State, facilitating the creation of the Museu de Mallorca. The specific ethnology section was installed in the ethnological museum in Muro, inaugurated in 1965. The Museu de Mallorca is a state-owned museum created by Royal Decree on

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November 2, 1961. It preserves archaeological, fine art, ethnographic, industrial, bibliographical, and documentary artefacts, and is spread over three sites: a) Palma, where you can find the sections containing archaeology and fine arts, the bibliographical and documentary assets, and the administrative services; b) Muro, where the ethnology section is located; and c) Alcudia, which was not inaugurated until 1987, and which contains a section on Roman archaeology, better known as the Pollentia Monographic Museum thanks to its links with the remains of that Roman city. The Museu de Mallorca is a synthesis museum that brings together different collections, some which are truly important, including those ceded from the SAL, and involves, in turn, the integration of other museums such as the provincial fine arts museum and the archaeological collection of the Palma City Council. Some years earlier, in 1958, the Museu de Sóller had been created on the ground floor of the modest dwelling Ca’n Mo, where today you will find a small ethnographic collection: a representation of an authentic Majorcan kitchen with the typical hood over the fireplace as well as numerous kitchen utensils. The patio has a well and is covered by exuberant bougainvillea, ships’ lamps and an old anchor. On the first floor there is a dining room, furnished as in bygone days. On the floor above we find the bedroom containing a brazier stove, a grandiose bed, and some old fans and jewellery from the ladies of the time. In addition to traditional and festive clothes, musical instruments and old pictures, there are several Roman amphoras. The Museum of Pollença was set up in 1975, and its origins go back to the Salón Estival de Pintura (currently the Certamen Internacional de Artes Plásticas), an exhibition which has been celebrated here since the 1960s and is an excellent example of a local museum with a long tradition and rooted in the town it is situated in. The name Pollença has been bound to the world of the painting since the early 20th century, when artists like Anglada

SAL’s founding charter includes the following: “1º. To promote and support whichever ideas best honour the memory of our Patron, the immortal Ramon Llull; 2º. To gather, preserve, and restore artistic and archaeological objects or their remains, particularly those of a religious character (...) to constitute a museum that will be named Arqueológico Luliano: 3ª. To visit the monuments in the Balearics to examine their state, study their merit, and propose and manage their conservation, restoration or completion, as the case may be, in the most opportune and advisable manner” (Tugores, 2010: 71).

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Camarasa and Tito Cittadini, among others, arrived from Paris, and their international renown attracted others like Mir, De Creeft, and Atilio Boveri. The influence of these artists was realised in the 1960s with the creation of aforementioned Salón Estival de Pintura, whose 34 editions constituted the collections at the Museum of Pollença. From 1990, there was a change in the island’s museum landscape thanks to the proliferation of museum centres. The transition to democracy had been consolidated and the various political powers had begun to identify and use museums to develop cultural policies in their respective fields. In addition, this increased number of museums on the island was caused by an economic boom and society’s desire for modernisation where the creation of a museum, in particular a local museum, represented a break with the past while simultaneously strengthening the identity of the community and the ideas of progress that the politicians wanted to transmit. The appearance of the new museology brought with it, among other aspects, a proliferation of local museums, museum institutes, and cultural facilities in hundreds of towns and places that were opened up to society. To a certain extent, this tendency continued through the peak of the economic boom, from the late 1990s until 2008, the start of the global financial crisis (the 19921993 collapse was reduced to being a particular Spanish case). Each city, each town, each region and each state wished to have an enormous number of centres that, with various different aims, served to revitalise their impoverished economic surroundings or provide facilities for the sake of bringing culture to the most disadvantaged classes (to a lesser extent); to strengthen the national identity (local, regional, etc.) or serve as a tool for transmitting political ideas or thoughts, in the majority of cases. A clear example is the number of contemporary art museums or artistic centres dedicated to this discipline that sprang up in hundreds of Spanish cities, many of which still exist today.

Although in earlier periods, the number of museums created on the island was not significant, particularly in relation to number of years elapsed, from 1990 onwards we can affirm that there was a real hysteria and museum fever. This included a proliferation of house-museums, mainly differentiated from museums per se by the fact that they are located in the home of the famous person to be commemorated. Their aim is to bring renown to these unique personages and explain their life and works –VIPs from the island seen in their most intimate surroundings, displaying all kinds of objects whose value, in the most part, is as symbolic ethnological heritage. There are, however, two exceptions to this boom in house-museums created from the 1990s onwards. The first is the case of the Museo Fray Junípero Serra museum located in the house where this Spanish missionary was born, and which was set up in 1959. It contains a collection based on the figure of Junípero Serra and the missionary work he carried out in California. The other is the Fundació Museu Cosme Bauça which began life in 1962. This house-museum is totally tied to the history and geographic locality of Felanitx, in Majorca, and its entire collection is made up of donations from the inhabitants of the municipality. It originated from the will of Monsignor Cosme Bauçà, who bequeathed his house and part of his goods to the municipality with the intention of creating a museum and library. The museum is located in his home. In this way and throughout the years, the Fundació Museu Cosme Bauçà has become the main centre for disseminating the Majorcan culture in the locality, its main collection being the ethnography section, which contains a wealth of kitchen utensils, agricultural implements, and tools from carpenters and blacksmiths. The Llorenç Villalonga house-museum, created in 1999, is located in a typical Majorcan house in Binissalem, representative of the wealthier domiciles on the island. Known as Ca’n Sabater, it is where the writer resided

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in the summer months and during the civil war. Its main objective is to raise awareness of Llorenç Villalonga, the time he lived in, and his work, although it also aims to be a hub for the generation of activities related to 20th century Majorcan literature and culture in general. At the same time, the Fundació Robert Graves, founded in 2003 is a public non-profit organisation. It was set up by the government of the Balearic Islands to preserve the memory of a globally recognised author who wrote much of his work in Majorca. The Fundació acquired his house in Deià, and opened it up to the public in 2006. Robert Graves’s house holds a permanent exhibition, and the Fundació celebrates literary events as well as academic meetings on the author’s work. The Pare Ginard house-museum, from 2007, located in the birthplace of the cleric Ginard, is representative of the abodes of the humble classes of 19th century farmers. Its aim is to support research on and raise awareness of the figure of Rafel Ginard Bauçà, in addition to Majorcan popular culture. Finally, with regard to the historical evolution of most local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca, it is necessary to highlight the role of two recently created museums on the island: the Museu del Fang in Marratxí, and the Museu del Calçat in Inca. The first of these was inaugurated in 2010 with the aim of exhibiting the wealth of techniques, forms and functions of ceramics used by the diverse cultures that have passed through Majorca. This element has been present in all societies throughout time, and it has had, and still has, a fundamental role in human needs. Initially, the museum focused on the traditional ceramics of Majorca, particularly the clay pottery of Marratxí. Nowadays, some of these pieces are in disuse, have disappeared, or are in danger of disappearing due to clay being substituted, in our industrial societies, by other materials. For this reason, it is important to put these pieces on display and preserve them. The aims of the Museu del Calçat, the shoe museum

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in Inca, set up in 2010, include the expansion of its collection with donations and temporary loans of traditional tools used in cobbling, to complete the ethnographic aspect, along with historical footwear, that will aid in the development of a database on how these items were made both in Majora and beyond. The purpose is to underline the importance of footwear as an essential complement to clothing and, therefore, its evolution, distinguishing it as a fundamental indicator of civilised man, since it envelopes the naked foot, and by extension is also a dictator of fashion, consequently tied to the world of the artistic creation. Legislation and the role of the Consell Insular de Mallorca The Consell Insular de Mallorca, together with the Govern Balear are the main autonomous governing bodies on the island. The Consell was created in 1978, following the approval of Royal DecreeLaw 18/1978, of 13 June, which created the pre-autonomous Balearic regime, and officially instituted it according to the Statute of Autonomy of the Balearics in 1983. It is regulated by the Law of Island Councils (Ley de Consejos Insulares) approved in 2000 by the Balearic Parliament. This institution exercises, according to its competencies, legislative (Plenary Council) and executive powers. The full council comprises 33 members, who are responsible for approving laws and choosing the president of the institution, who in turn appoints the Executive Council.

Law 4/2003 establishes that the Island Councils are have the final responsibility and say over museum policy on each of the islands, while the government coordinates and promotes joint activities.3. This transfer of powers translates into the implementation of the Historical Heritage Ministry and the creation of the Island Museums Technical Committee, the highest advisory body for museums and collections in the scope of the islands. Their competencies include the Regulation of the Island Museums Technical Committee (BOIB 66, 30/04/2005: 54) and

Law 4/2003, of 26 March, 2003, on Museums in the Balearic Islands, in the Statement of Motives.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

range from being the government’s technical advisory body in the matter of museums, to issuing rulings on the recognition of museums and museographic collections; the creation of new museums, and the repeal or emission of decisions on technical standards of museum documentation. Nevertheless, prior to the publication of the previous regulation, in 2002, the Consell Insular promulgated a document that referred to the creation of the Majorca Museums Network. This network was created a year before the approval of the autonomic legislation (Law 4/2003) and was significant evidence for the need to draw up a joint performance plan in the scope of museums and heritage in Majorca. It was set up with the intention of establishing common performance guidelines, directed towards the professionalization and modernisation of the centres in the network, as well as cooperation and collaboration between them. In addition, it hoped and to structure and facilitate participation of the museum centres in certain thematic areas that integrated each one’s specific plans into a single discourse with a global vision. This new museological approach was aimed at giving coherence to the island museum discourse, with a varied composition, without questioning aspects such as titularity or ownership. In 2013, the Regulation for the recognition and registry of museums and museographic collections in Majorca was approved (BOIB 12, 24/01/2013: 3229-3235). The purpose of this regulation was to endow the Consell de Mallorca with the necessary legal standards to deploy the powers assigned to it in Article 46 of Law 4/2003, of March 26, Museums of the Balearic Islands, on the recognition of museums and museographic collections. The creation of the Island Register of Museums and Collections was the first necessary step towards managing these cultural facilities. The procedures of recognition, registry, and repeal are tools that allow the island’s museums to be regulated and work for quality conservation, research, and dissemination of heritage. The standards

in the regulation are applicable to all the museums and museographic collections in Majorca that are recognised by, or which hope to be recognised by, and to which the Consell de Mallorca has competence. It is important to note that ten years passed between the approval of Law 4/2003 and the development of a partial regulation in 2013, which only develops the recognition and registration of museums and museographic collections in Majorca (see Annex 2). The Island Register of Museums and Collections is not an official record, as established by Law 4/2003, and it is the Island Museums Technical Committee, which meets periodically, that upon request, tries to create a register of the island’s museums4. Current situation. Importance, complexities and challenges of the local museums and ethnographic collections Here, we look at the current situation of local museums and ethnographic collections using three variables: their importance, their complexities, and the challenges they face, and in this way we can question the role of the museum in the 21st century. Importance Local museums and ethnographic collections are very important in the communities where they are located, as indicated above. They are part of the cultural and social framework and form links between the inhabitants of a place who project their concept of unity and belonging through these institutions, beyond their effective management and significance. The archaeological museum in Son Fornés, located in the municipality of Montuïri, in the middle of the island, is a good example of this. This locale has a municipally owned archaeological deposit situated on the outskirts of the town (about 2.5 kilometres to the northwest of the urban centre). The site was declared a Historical-Artistic Monument in 1966. Nevertheless, the population lived on the fringes of this heritage resource and the first excavations at the site were only carried out in 1975. This

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With the aim of encouraging inclusion in this register, as this is not mandatory, grants were set up between 2003 and 2010 to provide resources to the museums and adapt the current legislation (Law 4/2003). To be eligible for these grants, the centres had to be on the Island Register of Museums and Collections. These awards were intended for drawing up a master plan, a museological plan, or making museographic improvements to the facilities. According to our information from the museums section in the Consell de Mallorca, very few were taken up. As an example, the grant fund approved in 2003 involved a sum of 116,890.38 euros. The call for aid was published in the official bulletin of the autonomous community. Available at: http://boib.caib.es/ pdf/2003063/mp77.pdf [consulted on 10/09/2017].

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campaign provided information but it did not pass from the purely scientific context to an archaeological and academic level. The museum was inaugurated in 2001, and in the subsequent years the local population has become aware of the deposit and come to value it as part of their society, giving them an awareness of the heritage importance of this asset. The museum is located in the town and not next to the deposit, with the desire to be near the population nucleus and to make up part of the social networks and imbricate with the population, as we have mentioned. Indeed, the Museu Son Fornés goes beyond just presenting the deposit and the archaeological pieces discovered there. It explains these didactically, through a broad programme of activities, concerts, thematic guided visits, and workshops, and all the information is made accessible through their website. In short, all these actions help it be identified with the territory. The inhabitants feel the museum, and, therefore, the previ-

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ously undervalued deposit, as their own and part of their identity as a town. The collections in these local museums and ethnographic collections often respond to the particular will of a well-known person from the area, eager to perpetuate their memory, while at the same time wishing to bequeath their heritage, to some extent, to their neighbours. This leads, as we have seen, to house-museums, although in many cases the collection does not respond to the relevance of the museum. Important information when trying to understand this relevance could be the number of visitors to these museums. This is, of course, not the only or overriding criteria, but it is true that for a museum to fulfil its functions properly, visitor number are a crucial aspect. The visitor experience could be considered a valid parameter for analysing the relevance of the museum, although accu-

The archaeological museum in San Fornés, Montuïri (2017). FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

rately measuring this qualitative variable demands specific knowledge on this matter and the economic resources to undertake the assessment, because in most cases the visitor experience must be measured over a considerable period of time to be effective, these resources being something that most local museums and ethnographic collections do not have. However, it is impossible to know the numbers of annual visitors to the museums and collections on the islands, since there is no body dedicated to collecting these numbers and undertaking this work. Therefore, there is also no data on local museums and ethnographic collections. There is no official, annually updated data, and none of the institutions publish this information. Ibestat, the statistical institute of the Balearic Islands, is restricted to collecting data on public attendance to museums and collections at the Balearic level, taking data from the Spanish Ministry of Culture. The biennial survey of museum statistics by this organisation is the only source of visitor data, but it does not give details at island level, instead it shows the cumulative results from all the Balearic Islands. The Consell Insular de Mallorca does not know how many people visit the museums on the island of Majorca –there is no control or record of this. The Govern Balear is the intermediary between the Ministry of Culture and the museums and collections on the island when it comes to distributing and collecting data using the questionnaire sent by the ministry to produce the biennial museum statistics report. Nevertheless, it does not facilitate the data nor publish them through Ibestat. This is another example of the lack of cooperation and coordination of museum policies. Consequently, the local museums and ethnographic collections must be responsible for managing themselves by analysing their own numbers to determine the relevance their institution, without being able to make the necessary comparison with other similar museums to understand the relative

importance of the information. This aspect is currently inexistent. Complexities The issue is complex and in many cases involves problems that also apply to Majorca’s large museum centres, although it is certain the capacity of these for reaction and sustainability is in keeping with their volume, which is greater than that of local museums and ethnographic collections.

The first issue involves the limited human resources on which most of these museums rely and which in many cases conditions their operation, opening schedule, maintenance of the facilities, conservation and promotion of the collections, and so on. The only museum on the island dedicated specifically to ethnology and that houses an important ethnographic collection is the Museo Etnológico in Muro, which belongs to the Museu de Mallorca, a state-owned institute self-managed through the Govern Balear. This perhaps makes us assume that it has all the human resources it requires, but the opposite is in fact true. To begin with, the museum does not have a management team, and instead this function falls to the management of the Museu de Mallorca (just as with the Pollentia Monographic Museum which houses the Museu de Mallorca’s Roman archaeology section). Neither is there sufficient staff to manage the museum, because currently it has only one museums specialist. This situation means, firstly, that the museum’s opening schedule is considerably reduced, to five hours a day on Tuesdays to Saturdays (10 am to 3 pm); it is not able to open on any afternoon and remains closed on Sundays, Mondays and bank holidays. Secondly, this type of museum has scarce financial resources: raised by the museum itself, or through a budgetary allocation from municipal or autonomic agencies. As with the data on visitor numbers, the annual accounts of many of these museums are not published. In some cases this is due to the fact that the centre depends completely on

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the municipal budget, and in others it is because the Consell de Mallorca does not provide clear and direct information on the financial contributions it makes. These two complexities are unequivocally linked. A lack of staff together with a lack of financial resources implies that each and every area of the museum is affected, making the effective and efficient management of local museums and ethnographic collections very difficult. Challenges The greatest challenge these museum face relates to their continuity and their contribution to Majorca’s museum scene. For this, it may be necessary to rethink their existence in terms of local links, pooling efforts, resources and practices with other similar museums. Unity brings strength, and at present, sharing resources is the key to the survival of these institutions because

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links to a particular locality cannot be the only criterion for the maintenance of an institution if one is not able to simultaneously generate positive long-term synergies in the scope of management and sustainability, in addition to generating ties to the community in which the centre is located. The Fundació Casa-Museu Llorenç Villalonga, Padre Ginard i Blai Bonet is a clear example of this, as it combines the public-private binomial in a very effective manner. This is a private cultural foundation, responsible for managing the museum-houses of Llorenç Villalonga (Binissalem), Fray Rafel Ginard (Sant Joan), and Blai Bonet (Santanyí), which were set up individually at different moments in time and, until unification, functioned independently, despite the clear thematic link that unites them. The organisation was originally constituted in 1999, to manage the house-museum Llorenç

Fundació Casa Museu Llorenç Villalonga, Binissalem (2017). FRANCISCO COPADO CARRALERO

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Villalonga although, in 2006, its name and statutes were modified to incorporate the management of the other two house-museums. Currently, the three house-museums are the property of the Consell de Mallorca, which has ceded the usufruct to the foundation. This modification has meant the continuation of these three local museums whose survival had been complicated by the financial crisis, as indicated previously. The foundation’s financial allocation comes exclusively from the Consell de Mallorca and means it can fulfil the purposes set out in its statutes5: • To promote dissemination of the work and study into the literary personalities of three Majorcan writers: Llorenç Villalonga, Pare Ginard and Blai Bonet. • To conserve and to maintain the museum facilities and the documentary and bibliographical collection in a suitable state to receive visits and consultations. • To promote the scientific study and dissemination of the literary and cultural heritage of Majorca and, secondarily, the knowledge of literature and culture in general. • To expand, as far as possible, the documentary and bibliographical museum resources of the three house-museums, located in the towns of Binissalem, Sant Joan, and Santanyí. Conclusions We find ourselves at a crucial moment, where the financial crisis has led to a shift in society’s values as well as the economic paradigm. In addition, there is also a clear need to raise a debate on the role of museums in the 21st century, as in many cases the lack of clear direction has been more counter-productive than the governmental budgetary cuts. (Roigé, 2015)

The explosion of new museums, set up in Majorca in the last decade of the 20th century as a result of the economic boom, brought with it a series of problems. These new

museum facilities are a significant burden on public funds that, in many cases, has been supported by greater encumbrance at a community level. In addition, expectations were generated in the areas these facilities were set up, because they supposedly made the municipality more attractive and drew in tourists, delivering greater income. The global financial crisis changed the playing field and the rules of the game for museums, and society was left with facilities and new museographic collections it could not maintain, because they were not economically viable. Over two decades, Majorca practically doubled the number of museums it had, and now it is necessary to rethink the model that, without doubt, needs reorganising. The challenges facing local museums and ethnographic collections in Majorca in the 21st century mean they need to pay attention to what it is happening beyond the island, and start employing effective and useful management strategies The regrouping, indicated above, is another of the most important challenges for each and every agent implied in heritage and museological management in Majorca. There should also be continuous assessment of museum staff in regard to management, so that they have a better academic background. Management does not mean carrying out activities. Indeed, it would be good to reduce “activism”, in other words, an excess of activities that mask neglected internal management, because activities are not synonymous with good museum management. Optimal management involves the use and knowledge of business management tools as well as museum management formulas. In addition, it is necessary to define the existing problems of each and every one of the local museums and ethnographic collections in terms of, for example, economic, material, human resources, and political aspects. And this is without forgetting the urgent task that many of these museums must carry out: the definition of their objectives, as there are

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The statutes of the Fundació Casa-Museu Llorenç Villalonga Padre Ginard i Blai Bonet can be consulted on their webpage: http:// www.fundaciocasamuseu.cat/ documents/estatuts_fundacio.pdf [consulted on 10/09/2017].

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many museums that currently do not know or have not defined these. This leaves them in a situation where they do not understand what they have to do, what public to target, and how to establish effective communication relationships between visitors and the museum. According to Ramos (2007), Majorca’s museums need to change how they communicate with the public, as this no longer fits the classic emitter-message-recipient scheme; the new semiotics of communication consist of “do-do”, in other words, influencing the recipient in a context of feedback. This is not, therefore, a simple transmission of scientific knowledge in comprehensible language amenable to the gene-

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ral public. The emitter is no longer just the museum and the recipient is no longer just the visiting public. The content or message is not intended to be merely educational, but acquire a clear profile of symbolic mercantile production endowed with a use value, in addition to an exchange value. Finally, it is necessary to provide local museums and ethnographic collections with an organisation that allows them to successfully obtain private financial participation, generate their own resources, freely contract personnel and services, have authority in the disciplinary regime of their employees, and control their own image. n

REFERENCES

Albertí, M. (2008) “Las colecciones privadas del Cardenal Despuig y el Archiduque Luís Salvador de Austria en Mallorca, en los siglos XVIII y XIX, y su incidencia en el desarrollo de la institución museística isleña.” In XV Congreso Nacional de Historia del Arte: CEHA. Modelos, intercambios y recepción artística: de las rutas marítimas a la navegación en red (Palma de Mallorca, 20-23 de octubre de 2004), 1061-1074. Palma: Universitat de les Illes Balears.

Hernández, F. (2002) El patrimonio cultural: la memoria recuperada. Gijon: Trea.

Low, T. (2004) “What is a Museum? In Anderson, G. (ed.) Reinventing the museum. Historical and Contemporany Perspectives on the Paradigm Shift, 30-43. Lanham: Altamira Press.

Alonso, L. (1973) Museología. Introducción a la teoría y práctica del museo. Madrid: Itsmo.

Roigé, X.; Boya, J.; Alcade, G. (2010) “Els nous museus de societat: redefinint models, redefinint identitats”. In Alcalde, G.; Boya, J.; Roige, X. (eds) Museus d’avui: els nous museus de societat (155195). Girona: Institut Català de Recerca en Patrimoni Cultural.

Alonso, L. (1999) Introducción a la nueva museología. Madrid: Alianza.

Prats, C. (1993) Investigación museística sobre público y exposiciones: Creación de una base de datos nacional. Madrid: Comisión Interministerial de Ciencia y Tecnología (Programa Nacional I+D). Inédito.

Roigé, X. (2015) Museos, identidades territoriales y evolución de las políticas culturales en España: de la expansión a la crisis económica. Inédito.

Bolaños, M. (2008) [1997] Historia de los museos en España: memoria, cultura, sociedad. Gijon: Trea.

Prats, C. (2007) “Redes de museos en Cataluña: territorio de identidad”. Mus-A. Revista de los museos de Andalucía, 5/8: 19-27.

Duncan, C. (2007) [1995] Rituales de civilización. Murcia: Nausícaä.

Prats, L. (2009) [1997] Antropología y patrimonio. Barcelona: Ariel.

Fernández Prado, E. (1991) La política cultural, Qué es y para qué sirve. Gijon: Trea. Hernández, F. (1994) Manual de museología. Madrid: Síntesis.

Holo, S. (2002) Más allá del Prado: museos e identidad en la España democrática. Madrid: Akal.

Ramos, M. (2007) El turismo cultural, los museos y su planificación. Gijon: Trea. Rivière, G. H. (1993) La Museología: curso de museología-textos y testimonios. Madrid: Akal.

Roigé, X.; Arrieta, I. (2010) “Construcción de identidades en los museos de Cataluña y el País Vascoentre lo local, nacional y global”. Pasos: Revista de turismo y patrimonio cultural, 8/4: 539-553.

Tugores, F. (2010) “La Societat Arqueològica Lul·liana i la conservació del patrimoni arquitectònic de Mallorca, 1880-1936”. In Societat Arqueològica Lul·liana, una il·lusió que perdura, vol. 4, 1880 – 2010, 69-93. Palma: Societat Arqueològica Lul·liana.

Diàspores i rituals El cicle festiu dels musulmans de Catalunya

Temes d’etnologia de Catalunya, núm. 28. Les comunitats musulmanes presents a Catalunya desenvolupen ritus col·lectius en un context minoritari i de diàspora. Hem resseguit el cicle anual festiu musulmà, especialment en el cas de col·lectius procedents del Marroc, Pakistan i Senegal, fixant-nos en les quatre principals celebracions (el dejuni durant el mes del ramadà, la festa del sacrifici, la commemoració del martiri d’Alí i la festa del naixement del profeta Muhàmmad), com a estratègia per poder observar com uns col·lectius heterogenis en molts sentits interactuen en contextos socials determinats mitjançant la pràctica ritual. Aquesta pràctica, viscuda des de la pertinença comunitària, s’incorpora dins d’una societat progressivament diversa.

Aquesta monografia és el resultat d’un treball d’investigació dut a terme entre els anys 2007 i 2010 en el marc de l’Inventari del Patrimoni Etnològic de Catalunya (IPEC) que duu a terme el Departament de Cultura de la Generalitat de Catalunya, i també ha comptat amb el suport de la Fundació CIDOB.

Novetat editorial A la venda a les llibreries i a la Llibreria en línea de la Generalitat de Catalunya.

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Iñaki Arrieta Urtizberea UNIVERSIDAD DEL PAÍS VASCO/EUSKAL HERRIKO UNIBERTSITATEA

Professor at the Department of Philosophy of Values and Social Anthropology, Universidad del País Vasco/Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea (UPV/EHU). Member of the research group “Cultural and natural heritage in times of crisis: challenges, adaptations and strategies in local contexts” (CSO2015-68611-R, Ministerio de Economía, Industria y Competitividad).

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Iñaki Díaz Balerdi UNIVERSIDAD DEL PAÍS VASCO/EUSKAL HERRIKO UNIBERTSITATEA

Professor of the Department of History of Art and Music of the Universidad del País Vasco/Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea (UPV/EHU. Member of the research group “Built Heritage (GPAC) of the UPV / EHU.

Mathieu Viau-Courville UNIVERSITY OF EAST ANGLIA

Research and Scientific Outreach Advisor at the Musée de la civilisation, Québec, Canada. PhD in Art History from the School of World Art Studies and Museology, University of East Anglia, UK.

In the Shadow of the Guggenheim-Bilbao: legislation and museum policy in the Basque Country

useums shape dominant understandingsof a nation; they connect individuals with the nation as an “imagined community” (Anderson, 1993). As public sites of culture and memory, they make use of histories and collective memories to promote and renovate collective identities and social consciousness (Bouquet, 2012:122; Crooke, 2007:119), and in doing so,also become powerful agents in legitimizing identity and enacting national values (Roigé, Boya, Alcalde, 2010:168). However, as Sharon Macdonald (2003) argued, while museums have aimed to construct and reinforce national narratives and identities, they have not always succeeded in doing so. This is in part because the links between collective identity and the cultural heritage that is exhibited in museums cannot be taken for granted, nor is the

identity that is expressed and constructed through heritage can be assumed as being a fixed one (Smith, 2008:159). Indeed, museumsare products of their times as well as the increasingly complex and plural societies in which they are asked to play an increasingly greater role. Their processes of identity building and museological forms in identity work are constantly renewed and reinvented (Macdonald, 2003). After the French Revolution, for example, museums reflected the new Republic, exhibiting patriotism and shaping a national heritage and identity in a manner which departed from museum policies under the Ancien Regime (Díaz Balerdi, 2008a: 109-110; Duncan, 2007: 46-47; Poulot, 2005:61-63). In the 1960s, the first ecomuseums were an alternative to national museums and with the aim to promoting the development and safeguarding of local and regional identities (Chaumier, 2005: 23; Duclos, Veillard, 1992: 129). Since the end of the twentieth century, source com-

Keywords: Guggenheim, Basque Country, identity, museum policy Paraules clau: Guggenheim, País Basc, identitat, política museística Palabras clave: Guggenheim, País Vasco, identidad, política museística

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munities and anti-colonial activists have been advocating for greater reflexivity and the inclusion of diverse voices in exhibition narratives toward a more ethically responsible museum practice (Bouquet, 2012: 98; Harris, O’Hanlon, 2013: 10; Phillips, 2011; Sandell, 2006: 184; Van Geert, 2016: 28-29; Van Geert, Arrieta Urtizberea, Roigé, 2016: 354). Likewise, museums are products of local and national economic realities and territorial management strategies, and the integration of marketplace models to museums has received a great deal of attention since the 1990s. Such models have been seen both as a way to ensure the financial sustainability of museums, namely through highly-attractive blockbuster exhibitions, andthat they also remain socially embedded organizations, through more flexible andcommunity-driven curatorial redistributionsdesigned to narrow the gap between museums and society(Boylan, 2011; McCall, Gray, 2013; Viau-Courville, 2016). As argued by Jean Davalon in 1992: ‘The entry of museums into a marketplace logic’, he wrote, ‘actually means something else: it signals the museum’s commitment to acting as a mediator between the public and the display–that is, the objects and sets of knowledge, whether artwork, scientific knowledge, artefacts or The aim of this article is to analyze the evolution of the creation of museums in the Basque Country since the 1970s. Two criteria will be taken into account in this analysis. On the one hand, the criterion of identity and, on the other hand, the economic criterion. After the death of the dictator Franco in 1975, sociocultural and political movements emerged with force in favor of an identity denied during the Dictatorship. In this context, the first contemporary museums emerged. Later, at the end of the 20th century, the causes for the creation of new institutions were mainly economic. Because of the Guggenheim effect, many Basque institutions supported the opening of new museums to the public. However, the economic crisis of 2008 significantly altered this evolution.

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the memory of a given social group. It signifies that museums seek to produce “exposées” and to develop greater communication tools for the public’(Davallon, 1992:12).A great number of cultural policies today have subordinated economic models to museological ones, with most public funds programmes favouring those museums expectedto boost the local touristic economy (Mairesse, 2010:105) or to the promotion of a coherent territorial branding (Aronsson and Elgenius, 2011:16; Drouguet, 2015:219), in addition to generating positive externalities for the economy and society. A known example of such cultural policies to valuing heritage is the so-called Guggenheim-Bilbao effect (Asensio and Pol, 2012: 165; Esteban, 2007: 143; Holo, 2002. 167; Mairesse, 2010: 17; Moix, 2010: 255; Pezzini, 2014: 51; Poulot, 2005: 93; Yúdice, 2002: 16), although the 2008 economic crisis has since revealed some vulnerabilities to such a model (Bergeron, 2012: 66-68, Chaumier, 2011: 87-88). In this paper, we trace both the social and economic contexts that contributed to shapingthe development museums in the Basque Country. We pay particular attention to those created since the 1970s and in relation to changes in legislation and cultural and heritage policies. Following a brief review of the history of museums in the Basque Coun-

Aquest article pretén analitzar l’evolució de la creació de museus al País Basc des dels anys setanta. Per fer aquesta anàlisi, es tindran en compte dos criteris. Per una banda, el criteri de la identitat i, per l’altra, el criteri econòmic. Un cop mort el dictador Franco l’any 1975, van aparèixer amb força tot de moviments socioculturals i polítics que defensaven una identitat negada durant la dictadura. És en aquest context que apareixen els primers museus contemporanis. Més endavant, a finals del segle xx, la creació de noves institucions va obeir bàsicament a causes econòmiques. L’efecte Guggenheim va fer que moltes institucions basques donessin suport a l’obertura de nous museus al públic. Tanmateix la crisi econòmica de l’any 2008 va afectar de manera important aquesta evolució.

El objetivo de este artículo es analizar la evolución de la creación de museos en el País Vasco desde los años setenta teniendo en cuenta dos criterios. Por un lado, el criterio de identidad y, por el otro, el criterio económico. Tras la muerte del dictador Franco en 1975, surgieron con fuerza movimientos socioculturales y políticos a favor de una identidad negada durante la dictadura. Es en este contexto que se crearon los primeros museos de arte contemporáneo. Más adelante, a finales del siglo xx, las causas de la creación de nuevas instituciones fueron principalmente económicas. El efecto Guggenheim hizo que muchas instituciones vascas apoyaran la apertura de nuevos museos al público. No obstante, la crisis económica de 2008 alteró de manera significativa esta evolución.

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try, we examine the impact of the return to democracy on Basque museums at the end of the Francoist dictatorship (19391975). We describe how the reinstating of democracy in the Basque Country after the centralistdictatorship produced a series of new cultural policies prioritizing intimate relations to identity and ‘regional cultures’ alongside other attempts to reproduce the Guggenheim-Bilbao model. Finally, wealso take a sociological and economic approach to describethesome financial and managementchanges that the 2008 economic crisis brought on to Basque museums. The shaping of a Basque cultural conscience The history of museums in the Basque Country1 is relatively short compared to that in the rest of Europe. Their development coincides with the industrialisation and deep social and economic transformation of the country around the turn of the twentieth century. They marked the beginning of consolidated efforts to shape a cultural and intellectual Basque conscience. Alongside the creation of Basque newspapers, and together with the recognition of local writers, painters, musicians and other intellectuals, Museums integrated a broader agenda driven by the ideal of collectively shaping a Basque identity and nationality. Such interests were evident namely at the Museo Municipal de Donostia-San Sebastián (today Museo San Telmo) inaugurated in 1902 where its first exhibitions dealing with archaeology, history and the fine arts soon were replaced by topics highlighting Basque folklore and ethnography. Throughout the 1910s and 1920s, and until the early 1930s, museums continued to be created into mainly two types of institutions reflecting some of the distinctive characteristics of the Basque society at the time. On the one hand, the many folklore and ethnography museums such as the Museo Arqueologico Vizcaya y Etnográfico Vasco (Bilbao) and the Museo Municipal de Donostia-San Sebastián, were all dedicated to safeguarding and exhibiting the Basque culture and identity, and promoting Basque nationalism. Their devel-

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opment was also in keeping with different folk movements also taking place in Europe at the time (Rivière, 1936: 61-63). On the other hand, and by sharp contrast, the many fine art museums also being inaugurated in the Basque Country during the same period, particularly those in Bilbao such as the Museo de Bellas Artes and the Museo de Arte Moderno (which today form the current Museo de Bellas Artes) reveal efforts to highlight a new bourgeois class looking to establish social prestige and European visibility.2 Alongside these museums, four other notable heritage institutions were inaugurated during this period: the Aquarium (Donostia-San Sebastián), the Museo de Armería (Eibar), the Museo de Ignacio Zuloaga (Zumaia) and the Museo de Reproducciones Artísticas (Bilbao). The Spanish civil war (1936-1939) and subsequent Francoist dictatorship (19391975) deeply affected the development of Basque heritage. So-called ‘minimal’ policies (Bolaños, 1997: 374) put in place by the centralist and catholic Francoist government aimed at consolidating a unified Castilian identity. This led in many parts of Spain to the repression and revisionism of much of its regional cultures, seeing any cultural differences –namely the Basque, Catalan and Galician– as a mere “regionalism” and derived from the same national identity (Bolaños, 1997:378; Ortiz, Prats, 2000: 243). For museums, this meant that institutions such as the Museo Arqueológico de Vizcaya y Etnográfico Vasco were renamed as Museo Histórico de Vizcaya, marginalizing any references to local identity in favour of promoting the national identity (Museo Arqueológico, Etnográfico e Histórico Vasco, 1996:10). Other institutions such as the Museo Municipal de Donostia-San Sebastián would be singled out and approved by the Junta to be transformed as an “honorable and dignified centre for the new Spain” (Arrieta Urtizberea, 2012: 41). Only a handful of museums were inaugurated in the Basque Country during the forty years of Dictatorship, most of them

In this paper we focus on the Autonomous Community of the Basque Country (Comunidad Autónoma del País Vasco) which encompasses the territories and provinces of Araba/Álava, Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa. These three territories are administered by the Basque government and each is part of and depends on their corresponding Provincial Council (Diputación Foral).

It is worth noting that all these museums were located in Bilbao and Donostia-San Sebastian, the capitals of Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa, respectively. They were subsidised locally by the municipalities and Provincial Councils since the Basque government was only created in 1936 following the civil war and, following the fall of Bilbao, the Basque government remained in exile un the death of Franco in 1975.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

dealing with religion and military history. These were mainly inaugurated in Araba/ Álava, the most notable being the fine art, archaeology and history museums of Armería, one of few territories not be declared as a “traitor province” by the Franco regime (Díaz Balerdi, 2007: 111). By contrast, “traitor” provinces like Bizkaia or Gipuzkoa saw their public institutions downgraded to minimal administration and representation. Few local and modest initiatives did however lead to fruitful museum developments and inaugurations during the dictatorship, namely those dedicated to a variety of saints, including Ignacio de Loyola (Gipuzkoa) and Valentin Berriotxoa (Bizkaia), the Museo del Pescador in Bermeo (Bizkaia), the Ferrería de Mirandaola in Legazpi (Gipuzkoa), and the Casa de la Historia de Urgull in Donostia-San Sebastián. Democracy and museums in the Basque Country Franco’s death in 1975 marked the progressive return of democracy in Spain. The approval of a new Constitution in 1978 recognized Spain’s cultural diversity and distinct regions, some eventually acquiring their status as Autonomous Communities. The Basque Country, comprised of its historical territories, or provinces, of Araba/Álaba, Bizkaia y Gipuzkoa, thus gained political and administrative autonomy in addition to establishing its own government in 1979. In this new context, each Provincial Council gained particular importance in its capacity to arrange for the collection and administration of taxes. An administrative organization which remains to this day unique in Spain, affording autonomy as well as ensuring the relevance of each Provincial Council that compose the Basque territories.

An Autonomous Community, the Basque Country was now empowered with nearly exclusive control over its cultural policies, including the management of its cultural heritage and museums and with minimal intervention from the Spanish government. It was responsible for a small network of around twenty museums which, according

to a report from the Basque government, were all seriously underfunded, lacked organization and qualified staff, and had poor links to the local population3. The refurbishment of the Basque museums did not however immediately fall within the government’s new priorities, who instead chose to concentrate the better part of the 1980s to promoting the Basque language –Euskara– and, as a second phase, to launch its own public television and radio broadcasts. The Basque Cultural Heritage Law was finally approved in July 1990. Despite of the government’s initial lack of support to museums, however, at least fifteen museums were created in the 1980s and directly resulting from considerable efforts and engagement by members of the different Basque communities, small cultural associations and, in some cases, also with the support of small municipalities. These modest museums were nearly all created in the hinterlands of the Basque capitals and initially managed by volunteers, namely the Museo de la Confitería, the Museo Zumalakarregi, the Caserío Iturraran and the Museo Ibarraundi, in Gipuzkoa; the Museo Etnográfico de Zalduondo, the Museo Etnográfico de Artziniega, the Museo del Poblado de la Hoya and the Museo de Ciencias Naturales in Araba/Álava; and lastly, the Museo Simón Bolibar and Museo de Arte e Historia de Durango in Bizkaia. All generally offered no more than one or two exhibition spaces designed to showcase the ethnology, history and archaeology of the Basque Country, and with a clear engagement to safeguarding and sharing the Basque identity. After forty years of dictatorship and cultural repression, these local efforts also reflected the Basque population’s devotion to nationalist claims (Apalategi, 1985; Pérez Agote, 1987). The Basque Cultural Heritage Law of 1990 allowed some of the above local initiatives to be supported by the Basque newly established cultural and heritage policies and absorbed by the Sistema Nacional de Museos de Euskadi (National Museum System of the Basque Country) which was initially

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Internal Report 1980-1984 (undated).Basque Government, Culture Division.

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implemented to encourage the creation of a city museums for each community with a population of 10.000 or more. The 1994 Plan Nacional de Museos (National Museums Plan) further highlighted the Basque government’s interest in playing a central role in the development of its national identity. The Plan lay the groundwork for the creation of “National Museums” which, as stated by the government at that time, “the Autonomous Community should have and for these institutions to represent important facets of our collective memory and knowledge that the Basque government should be part of and contribute in its development”. Likewise, the Plan was meant to facilitate the coordination of what may be referred to as the “museum boom” taking place at the time. Eleven National Museums were initially planned to be either created or restored within ten years of the approval of the Plan, and with a total anticipated budget of 140 million Euros. National Museums were further defined as “repositories” of Basque knowledge and memory and distributed across the Basque Country as follows: Bizkaia: the Museo de Bellas Artes, the Museo Guggenheim-Bilbao, the Museo de la Ciencia y la Técnica and the Museo de Ciencias Naturales. In Araba/Álava: the Museo de Bellas Artes, the Museo de Arqueología and the Museo Fournier del Naipe y de las Artes Gráficas. In Gipuzkoa: the Museo de Arquitectura, the Museo de Antropología Vasca, the Museo Naval, and the Museo de Cerámica y Artes Populares. Half of these were new National Museums to be created while the rest were existing and poorly preserved buildings expected to be either demolished or rebuilt or set to undergo major renovations. In spite of the government’s ambitions and general approval, the Plan sparked considerable debate and generated much controversy across the Basque communities, namely for identifying as National Museums both a foreign franchise –the Guggen-

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heim-Bilbao– and another museum “where ‘Spanish’ art would have been front and centre” (Díaz Balerdi 2008b: 84). The Plan was further criticised for subordinating heritage policies to political decisions related to equal territorial distribution within the Basque Country, not taking into account the realities and potential contribution of some of the local economies “in a small Country with hardly no museum tradition” (Mujika Goñi, 1995: 288). The matter of equal territorial distribution was in this particular case a by-product of the Country’s unique administrative system, designed to ensure equal voice to each of the Provincial Councils forming the Autonomous Community. While the Basque government was aware of the need to revamp the poor state of its museum network, it also considered the implementation of the Plan as relevant insofar as its intrinsic cultural value would contribute to the region’s economy and society4. Whereas the first years following the return of democracy in the Country were intimately linked to political and identity building concerns, rapidly during the 1990s culture became the fundamental ingredient to economic growth. Thus it was perhaps inevitable that the subordination of heritage policies to external political realities would lead the Basque government to sign the agreement with the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation for the construction of its new museum in Bilbao. This moment many have argued as significantly marking the Basque cultural landscape and what has since been known as the Guggenheim-effect, seeing culture as “added value to the touristic and urban landscapes, and cultural policy as a tool servicing the promotion of economic endeavours” (Zallo, 2011:47), most notably through impactful icons that is the Guggenheim-Bilbao and their branding potential. The National Museums Plan failed to materialize, just as the idea of a city museum for every 10,000 citizens was never enforced. Such policies have since been replaced by a new Museums Act signed in 2006 which

Garmendia, Mari Karmen, “Kultura ekipamendu handiak. Kulturaren Sailburuaren agerraldia”, Basque government, March 15, 1995.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

is focused on creating a national system of museums comprised of a series of Basque museums fitting with a series of pre-established requirements and characteristics. Throughout the 1990s, and during the time government was working on establishing the National Museums Plan, nearly thirty museums were created and focused on Basque history and ethnography, including: the ethnography museums of Félix Murga, Usatxi, Oyón-Oion and Irubidaur in Araba; the Museo de Euskal Herria, Museo de las Encartaciones, Museo del Nacionalismo Vasco, Museo de la Paz in Gernika and the Ecomuseo del Caserío Vasco, in Bizkaia; the Museo Naval, the Museo Vasco del Ferrocarril, the Parque Cultural de Zerain, the Museo Laia del producto artesanal del País Vasco, the Museo de la Sokatira, the Ecomuseo de Larraul and the Museo de la Máquina-Herramienta, in Gipuzkoa. Among these new museums, the Guggenheim-Bilbao had the most impact following its inauguration in 1997. The Guggenheim was a product of a period between the late 80s and early 90s during which the leaders of the Basque Nationalist Party (main party since the democracy, with the exception of 2009-2012 under the Euskadi Socialist Party) felt they were becoming left-out of the “pomps of ‘92” that were being organized throughout Spain, most notably the Barcelona Olympics and the Seville Expo ‘92 (Zulaika, 1997:27). In this context, the Basque Country was becoming isolated by comparison to other Autonomous Communities that were gaining international visibility through such high-profile sporting, cultural and economic events. The partnership between the Basque government and the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation (at the time looking to open a new European branch) came in part in response to the above context. More than a museum project to promoting the international cultural image of the Basque Country, this association was for the government above all a financial endeavour designed to implement a new economy in Bilbao and

its hinterlands which had been experiencing since the 1980s a steady economic and demographic decline after the deceleration of its steel and shipbuilding industries. For the Foundation, the Bilbao project was also a significant opportunity to overcome some of the organization’s economic difficulties at the time. Culture, then, was both a means to enhance the Bilbao economic and urban regeneration as well as an internationalization strategy; it was an international projection through an “adornment” (Esteban, 2007) that, for many, was also removed from the Basque country and its heritage. Nevertheless, the Guggenheim-Bilbao would rapidly become the icon that it is today, namely a showcase of what Basque people can achieve, a museum developed in the Basque Country by and for the Basque (Esteban, 2007). Its overwhelming economic, architectural and urbanistic success has extended to the point that it now embodies the Basque cultural identity, perhaps best described through the words of the Basque writer Lertxundi Esnal: “heart, mirror and stem” (2005:50). There is little doubt of the “effect” of this museum across the Basque Country. In the following section, we show that during the decade of the 2000s, more than fifty museums were created in the Autonomous Community, representing the most significant growth in the Country’s short museum history. Basque museums in twenty-first century: a statistical review The Guggenheim effect sparked new interest from public administrations to open new museums or take on a more active role and contribution to new museological initiatives undertaken by local organizations. These new projects all endeavoured to implement cultural and museum programmes capable of attracting large numbers of tourists, and in doing so, contribute to boosting the socioeconomic development and image of the rest of the Basque territories –this was also fueled by the fact that the Guggenheim-Bilbao largely surpassed its estimated 400,000 annual visitors, averaging 900,000

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throughout its first decade in existence (Esteban 2007:21). Clearly, such economic strategies and possibilities to brand the Basque territories aligned well with the interests of the Basque public administrations. As stated in the Gipuzkoa Provincial Council’s annual budget for the year 2000, culture is a “major source of employment [that generates] significant economic drive”.5 That same year, the report produced by the Bizkaia Provincial Council’s Department of Culture stated that Bilbao and its surroundings were configured as “one of Europe’s cultural capitals” thanks to institutions such as the Guggenheim-Bilbao, the Museo de Bellas Artes and other cultural centres which had stood out as showcasing a “cultural apparatus of global relevance”6. In Araba/Álava, the Guggenheim effect materialized through the creation of the Centro-Museo Vasco de Arte Contemporáneo-Artium (Díaz Balerdi, 2007: 115) whichrepresented a particularly significant financial investment. More than half of the fifty museums created in the 2000s were inaugurated in the territories of Gipuzkoa, including the Centro de la Cultura Marítima y el Barco-Museo Mater in Pasaia, the Museo de arte Chillida-Leku in Hernani, the Museo del Hierro Vasco in Legazpi, the Museo de Arte e Historia in Zarautz, the Centro de la Música Popular in Oiartzun, the Museo de la Sidra Vasca in

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Astigarraga, the Caserío-Museo Igartubeiti in Ezkio, the Museo Romano Oiasso in Irun, the replica of the Ekain cave – Ekainberri – in Zestoa, the Centro Internacional del Títere en Tolosa and, in Donostia-San Sebastián, the Museo Cemento Rezola, the Museo de la Ciencia-Eureka and the Museo del equipo de futbol de la Real Sociedad.

Provincial Council of Gipuzkoa, Presupuestos generales de 2000, p. 224.

Provincial Council of Bizkaia, Presupuestos generales de 2000, p. 449.

Ten institutions were inaugurated in the Bizkaia territories, including the Museo Etnográfico de Orozko, the Museo de la Minería del País Vasco in Gallarta, the Museo de Boinas La Encartada in Balmaseda, the Ferrería El Pobal in Muskiz, the Museo de la Industria Rialia in Portugalete, the Museo Marítimo Ría de Bilbao andthe Museo del equipo de fútbol Athletic Club, the latter two located in Bizkaia. Also significant is the renovation of the Museo de Bellas Artes of Bilbao which reopened its doors in 2001 following a major public investment of more than 15 millions euros. Finally, ten other museums opened in Araba/ Álava, including the Valle Salado in Añana, the Centro-Museo del Deportivo Alavés and the Centro-Museo Vasco de Arte Contemporáneo-Artium. A majority of the above institutions were financed through public funds, resulting from either official public programmes and strategies, or local private or community iniMuseo de Bellas Artes de Bilbao. SOURCE: IÑAKI DÍAZ BALERDI, 2006.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

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tiatives soliciting government support. Also The tables reveal a decrease in funding to significant were private donor organizations, Provincial Councils between 2010 and 2016 such as the Basque football teams (financed two football museums), other banking and Table 1: Budgets of the Basque government and finance institutions like Kutxa-Kutxabank (funded the Museo de la Ciencia – Eureka), Provincial Councils (in thousands of Euros). Source: private companies such as FYM HeidelPresupuestos generales del Gobierno Vasco y berg Cement Group (funded the Museo diputaciones. Cemento Rezola) and private families such 2.000 2005 2010 2016 as that of the artist Eduardo Chillida. In all of these cases public funds were also sigGeneral budgets Basque government 5.173.761 7.117.102 10.315.210 10.933.299 nificant, namely supporting the developAraba / Álava 1.323.436 1.828.485 2.204.539 2.282.467 ment of each of these museum’s cultural programmes and activities. However, an Bizkaia 3.989.117 5.609.266 6.827.498 7.437.778 examination of public fundsalso reveals how Gipuzkoa 2.619.973 3.539.026 4.200.286 4.533.952 the development of museums in the Basque Own Budgets (budget managed independently by each Provincial Council) Country experienced a decline following Araba / Álava 285.604 371.995 516.545 438.194 the 2008 economic crisis, with the most Bizkaia 704.381 1.225.115 1.744.084 1.587.875 significant financial impacts being noticeaGipuzkoa 507.680 685.384 938.418 813.280 ble from 2010 onwards.Important cuts in Culture the public budget significantly affected the Basque government 30.310 40.020 64.562 54.792 cultural and museums sectors. In conseAraba / Álava 15.183 28.098 22.073 12.229 quence, few museums opened in the 2010s with the exception the inauguration of those Bizkaia 24.569 42.150 36.375 33.579 museums projects which had already been Gipuzkoa 17.834 24.652 25.773 25.889 initiated in the previous decade, including Museums the Museo Balenciaga, the Conjunto MonBasque government 18.611 21.804 30.142 18.792 umental de Igartza, the Centro de PatriAraba / Álava 3.038 11.246 6.771 4.820 monio Cultural Mueble-Gordailua and the Bizkaia 7.389 14.220 14.196 15.501 Txakoligunea. Gipuzkoa

Our analysis of the budgets of main Basque public administrations serves to highlight the processes of expansion and contraction of museum development over the last two decades. Budgets have been compiled to include the budgets of the Basque government, specifically its Cultural Heritage Division which manages funds to heritage, libraries, archives and museums, as well as those of its three Provincial Councils (Araba/ Álava, Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa). The latter also includes specific expenditures related to museums and, where available, budgets from cultural divisions for each Council. Table 1 shows the attribution of public funds to culture and museums by the Basque Government and split by Provincial Council. Table 2 highlights the proportions of attributed total budget.

3.031

4.952

10.115

3.337

Table 2: Proportional expenditures for culture and museums by the Basque Government and each Provincial Council (%).Source: Presupuestos generales del Gobierno Vasco y diputaciones. 2000

2005

2010

2016

Culture Basque government

0,59

0,56

0,63

0,50

Araba / Álava

5,32

7,55

4,27

2,79

Bizkaia

3,49

3,44

2,09

2,11

Gipuzkoa

3,51

3,60

2,75

3,18

Museums Basque government

0,36

0,31

0,29

0,17

Araba / Álava

1,06

3,02

1,31

1,10

Bizkaia

1,05

1,16

0,81

0,98

Gipuzkoa

0,60

0,72

1,08

0,41

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ranging from 10-15%, whereas that of the government’s increased by 6%. Additionally, Provincial Councils proportionally allocated more resources to culture than the government. General decreases in funding begin in 2010 and continuethroughout 2016, with the exception of Gipuzkoa which showed agrowthdue to its nomination as European Capital of Culture alongside major renovations of its Centro Internacional de Arte Contemporáneo-Tabakalera. Graphs1 through 5 illustrate the evolution of overall budgets attributed to museums from 2000 to 2016 by Provincial Council. While thereare certain variations in budget spent throughout the years, there is also an overall consistency in budget attributions in both the years 2000 and 2016. However, the overall decrease in budget allocation to the government’s Culture Division, from

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0,36% in 2010 to 0,17% in 2016, should also be contrasted against the fact that several new museums were also inaugurated during these years and, consequently, a reduced overall budget also meant lesser funds for each individual museum. Graph 1. Expenditure in museums by Provincial Council proportional to own budget (%). 3,5 3,0 2,5 2,0 1,5 1,0 0,5 0,0

2000

2005 Araba/Álaba

400

300

200

2005

General Budget

2010

2016 Gipuzkoa

Graph 3. Budget variations – Araba/Álava (index numbers).

400

2000

2010 Bizkaia

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DE LAS DIPUTACIONES

Graph 2. Budget variations – Basque government (index numbers).

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2016

100

Cultural Heritage Division

2000

2005

Own Budget

2010

Museums

2016

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

Graph 4. Budget variations – Bizkaia (index numbers).

Graph 5. Budget variations – Gipuzkoa (index numbers).

400

300

200

100

2000

2005

Own Budget

2010

Museums

2016

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

100

2000

2005

Own Budget

2010

Museums

2016

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Table 3 shows the detailed expenditures of museums which are useful to deepen the analysis of museum management during the economic crisis. The table details budgets in personnel costs, operating budget, and general transfers of assets.7 Table 3, along with the below graphs 6 through 9, show steady increases in personnel costs which coincide with normal expectations given that staff in all museums are permanent public servants. Operational costs, however, showed greater variation. Budgets allocations to the Governments Cultural Division remained more or less stable. In Araba/Álava they followed a steady increase according to normal anticipated inflation. Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa revealed the greatest variations which can be accounted for not only in terms of higher/ lower expenses but also because of changes in the type of management chosen by these Provincial Councils. This latter point does not affect the government’s Culture Division given that the public administration is not involved in the micromanagement of its different museums and only provides budgetary support. There are currently four museums in Araba/ Álava: Museo de Bellas Artes, Museo de Ciencias Naturales, Museo de Armería and the BIBAT (inaugurated 2009 and integrates the old Museo de Arqueología and Museo Fournier de Naipes); and three museums in Gipuzkoa: Museo Zumalakarregi, Museo

Table 3. Budget attributions in museums by type of expenditure. Source: Presupuestos generales del Gobierno Vasco y diputaciones. 2000

2005

2010

2016

Personnel

1.190.605

1.500.510

1.934.400

2.806.100

Operations

2.563.317

2.267.713

2.615.600

3.272.000

Basque Government

Transfers and assets

14.857.020

18.036.164

25.591.500

12.714.100

18.610.942

21.804.387

30.141.500

18.792.200

826.548

1.079.840

1.685.823

1.677.044

Araba / Álaba Personnel Operations

236.505

255.514

482.515

432.700

1.975.433

9.910.470

4.603.130

2.710.275

3.038.487

11.245.824

6.771.468

4.820.019

Personnel

395.967

562.197

718.261

446.992

Operations

563.299

606.716

2.248.677

84.000

6.430.229

13.050.861

11.229.219

14.970.000

7.389.494

14.219.774

14.196.157

15.500.992

Personnel

367.831

448.345

569.552

603.168

Operations

287.885

417.700

1.208.550

1.231.200

2.375.590

4.085.927

8.336.961

1.502.950

3.031.307

4.951.972

10.115.063

3.337.318

Transfers and assets

Bizkaia

Transfers and assets

Gipuzkoa

Transfers and assets

FONT: PRESSUPOSTOS GENERALS DEL GOVERN BASC I DE LES DIPUTACIONS

Naval and Caserío-Museo Igartubeiti, the latter inaugurated in 2006: The Araba/Álava museums are managed by the museum staff of the Provincial Council. In Gipuz-

Graph 6. Budget variations in museum costs – Basque government (index numbers).

Transfer of assets includes a) current transfers, b) investments, c) transfers of capital, and d) holdings and assets.

Graph 7. Budget variations in museum costs – Araba/Álava (index numbers). 600

600 500

500

400

300

200

100

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2000

Personnel

2005

Operations

2010

2016

Transfers and assets

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

2000

Personnel

2005

Operations

2010

2016

Transfers and assets

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

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Graph 8. Budget variations in museum costs – Bizkaia (index numbers).

Graph 9. Budget variations in museum costs – Gipuzkoa (index numbers).

600

500

400

300

200

100

2000

Personnel

2005

Operations

2010

2016

Transfers and assets

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

koa, however, museums are managed by an external firm which is hired by the Provincial Council through a process of public tender. This accounts for a notable rise in operational expenses in 2010 –the hiring of a new firm– compared to other years. However, this rise simply corresponds to a transfer of funds – that is, from the operational costs budget to the transfers and assets budget and then directly to the new management firm.Bizkaia also chosea similar management strategy by hiring the firm BizkaiKOA (created in 2010by the Provincial Council). But in this case, not through a private firm but public one that has been managed directly by the Provincial Council. Thisalso entailed the transferring of both museum staff and associated personnel costs to the new firm. In 2016, the annual funds transferred to BizkaiKOA elevated to nearly five million euros for the management of the Museo de Euskal Herria, Museo del Pescador, Museo de Arqueología, Museo de Boinas la Encartada, Ferrería de El Pobal and Museo Txakoligunea, along with other cultural centres – Graph 8 illustrates this increase in transfers of funds and decrease in the Provincial Council’s attribution to personnel and operational costs. With regards to the Government’s budget, shown in Table 2 and Graph 6, there was a noticeable decrease in the category of general transfers of funds from 2010 to 20168; a significant drop of 40% compared to the

2000

Personnel

2005

Operations

2010

2016

Transfers and assets

SOURCE: PRESUPUESTOS GENERALES DEL GOBIERNO VASCO Y DIPUTACIONES

numbers which had been steadily increasing throughout the 2000s.This impacted negatively on the funds allocated to the Bilbao Museo de Bellas Artes, the Valle Salado de Salinas de Añana or the Museo Balenciaga which, as group, dropped by 13%. In the cases of the Centro-Museo Vasco de Arte Contemporáneo-Artium, it experienced a decrease of 25%. The Guggenheim-Bilbao also dropped by 33%, representing a reduction from 6.7M to 4,5M. Araba/Álava also showed the greatest budget variations. Graph 7 showed a significant increase in 2005 in transfers of funds. Two reasons accounts for this increase: first, funds to secure the creation of the new BIBAT Museum. 3.6M Euros were also transferred from the Centro-Museo Vasco de Arte Contemporáneo-Artium which had opened three years earlier. Four other museums were also funded that year, the Museo de Alfarería Vasca, Museo Etnográfico de Zalduondo, Museo Vasco de Gastronomía y Museo Diocesano de Arte Sacro, roughly representing 100,000 Euros.Five years later, in 2010, expenditure had decreased by 50%, mainly explained by the inauguration of the BIBAT and reduced allocated funds to the Artium (reduced to 1.8M Euros). General funding and grants also were reduced by 10%. The tendency continued through to 2016, with another 25% reduction for the Artium, along with a general decrease for all museums of 25%.

In addition to museums, public budgets also include expenditures for cultural heritage, libraries and archives.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Graph 8 showed lessvariations in the case of Bizkaia, revealing also an interest in maintaining operational and personnel budgets at flow – whereas personnel costs decreased,it is worth noting that transfers to BizkaiKOA augmented, thus securing staffing and operational stability. Another example of this interest to keep encouraging culture is that, during the early years of the crisis, in 2009-2010, and in spite of an overall 7% reduction for the Provincial Council (own budget), its Culture Division allocated 1M Euros to support studies toward the new satellite museum Guggenheim-Urdaibai in the municipality of Sukarrieta. Nevetheless, recession did eventually affect Bizkaia institutions which saw their funding reduced, namely the Guggenheim-Bilbao (-8%), the Bilbao Museo de Bellas Artes (-5%), and several others with reductions averaging – 22% (Museo Bolibar, Museo de Arte e Historia de Durango, Museo de Arte Sacro, Museo del Nacionalismo, Museo de Pasos de Semana Santa, Museo de la Paz, Museo Vasco de la Historia de la Medicina y de las Ciencias, Museo de Berriotxoa, Museo de la Minería del País Vasco, y Museo Marítimo Ría de Bilbao). A few projects did however receive favourable funding during this period of crisis such as the firm Bilbao Bizkaia Museoak which saw its funding double from 600k Euros to 1,2M Euros for the management and renovations of the Museo Vasco and the Museo de Reproducciones. Finally, Gipuzkoa distinguished itself from the other

Provincial Councils –Araba/Álaba and Bizkaia– by choosing not to intervene in the management of its major museums whichnormally would require considerable public funds. Coupled with the fact that Gipuzkoa also has fewer sizeable institutions across its territories (its funding has been dedicated to its two main art centres, Arteleku and, from 2014 onwards, Tabakalera), this accounts for the fact that it dedicated lesser funds to museums than Bizkaia and Araba/Álaba. With regards to transfers of funds in Gipuzkoa, the sudden growth and subsequent reduction shown in Graph 9 for the year 2010 corresponds to an investment of 7M Euros for the construction of the new Centro de Patrimonio Cultural Mueble-Gordailua. Although not officially classified by the administration as a museum, the Centro is now keeper of two important collections, that of the Provincial Council’s and of the Museo San Telmo. In addition to this investment, two other inaugurations impacted on funding and transfer of assets between 2010 and 2016: Ekainberri (2008) –the replica of the Ekain cave– and the Museo Balenciaga (2011). The main transfer of funds for these two projects totaled nearly 400k Euros in 2000. Five years later, another 2.3M Euros were allocated

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Artium. IÑAKI DÍAZ BALERDI, 2006.

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BIBAT. IÑAKI DÍAZ BALERDI, 2009.

to begin construction. In the years 2010 and 2016, additional funds of 666k and 775k Euros were budgeted, respectively, revealing an increase in their funding after inauguration. Nevertheless, the total transfers to museums in Gipuzkoa reduced by 25% between 2000 and 2016 – though the decrease would be less important by taking into account the abovementioned changes and management strategies which have entailed significant transfers of capital.

Conclusion The recent history of museum development in the Basque Country has been impacted by mainly two key elements: identity and economy. We analysed their development by mainly focusing on those created following the fall of the Spanish dictatorship after 1975 and marking the return to democracy. Early museums under the new democracy were informed by strong motives of democratization and claims to restore and empower Ekainberri. IÑAKI ARRIETA URTIZBEREA, 2010.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

the Basque identity. These claims rapidly materialized into small community-led museum projects. Meanwhile, public institutions focused on safeguarding and disseminating the Basque language (Euskara)by establishing ten new public television and radio broadcasts. Museums truly became a national (Basque) priority in the 1990s as part of broader agendas to promote positive social and economic change throughout the Basque territories, and following the example of the Guggenheim-Bilbao’s overwhelming success. All Basque museums have been steadily sharing the same leitmotiv of identity building and safeguarding; even the Guggenheim’s American roots did not stop the museum from becoming the embodiment of Basque knowhow: a “pioneering building dedicated to modern and contemporary art that will allow us to better understand how a community(the Basque) was able to successfully work through a severer crisis and by making use of their creativity in order to reinvent a new model, a new city and, above all, a new museum” (Azúa, 2007: 79).

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Following a positive economy throughout the 2000s, during which time Basque public organizations generously sustained its museum network, the 2008 economic crisis affected museum policy in the Basque Country –with public funding showing signs of decline, museums escape closing altogether by maintaining all personnel and operational costs to a minimum, leaving little funds for cultural or educational activities, and toward the development of attractive cultural programmes for tourists and local citizens alike. The success case of the Guggenheim-Bilbao also casts a shadow to other museum developments across the Basque Country and in itself cannot be taken as representative of Basque museums. Beyond its “effect”, as argued by Guasch and Zulaika (2007: 18), it reveals the fragility of such economic models based fundamentally on economic trends – that is, their dependence to economic models which are designed to foster economic externalities, but which also undermine the basic cultural, social, and even political roles of museums. Thinking about the sustainabilityof museums, as a hole, we believe, requires taking into account the sociocultural reality of the territory and their communities. n

Museo Balenciaga. IÑAKI ARRIETA URTIZBEREA, 2012.

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REFERENCES

Anderson, B. (1993) Comunidades imaginadas. Mexico, D.F.: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Apalategi, J. (1985) Los vascos, de la autonomía a la independencia.Donostia-San Sebastián: Txertoa. Aronsson, P.; Elgenius, G. (2011) “Making National Museums in Europe – A Comparative Approach”. Dins Aronsson, P.; Elgenius, G. (eds) National Museums in Europe 1750–2010, 5-20. Linköping: Linköping University Electronic Press. Arrieta Urtizberea, I. (2012) “Historia centenaria del Museo San Telmo”, Her&Mus, IV (2): 38-48. Asensio, A.; Pol, E. (2012) “Nuevas tendencias en museología: museos de identidad y museos de mentalidad”. Dins Blánquez, J.; Celestino Pérez, S.; Roldán Gómez, L.; Bernedo, P.; Sanfuentes Echeverría, O. (eds) Ensayos en torno alpatrimonio cultural y al desarrollo sostenible en España y Chile, 163183. Santiago de Xile: Universidad Católica de Chile. Azúa, J. (2007) “El Guggenheim Bilbao: estrategias ‘coopetitivas’ para los nuevos espacios cultural-económicos”. Dins Guasch, A.M.; Zulaika, J. (eds)Aprendiendo del Guggenheim, 77-99. Madrid: Akal. Bergeron, Y. (2012) “¿Museos a la deriva o continentes a la deriva?: consecuencias de la crisis financiera para los museos de América del Norte”. Dins Arrieta Urtizberea, I. (ed.) Museos y Turismo: expectativas y realidades, 61-83. Bilbao: Servicio Editorial de la Universidad del País Vasco. Boylan, P. J. (2011) “The Museum Profession”. Dins Macdonald, S. (ed.)A Companion to Museum Studies, 415-430. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Bolaños, M. (1997) Historia de los museos en España. Gijón: Trea. Bouquet, M. (2012) Museums: A Visual Anthropology. Londres i Nova Iork: Berg.

Chaumier, S. (2005) “L’identité, un concept embarrassant, constitutif de l’idée de musée”, Culture et musées, 6: 21-42.

Harris, C.; O’Hanlon, M. (2013) “The future of the ethnographic museum”, Anthropology Today, 29(1): 8-12.

Chaumier, S. (2011) “La nouvelle muséologie mène-t-elle au parc ?” Dins Chaumier, S. (ed.)Expoland. Ce que le parc fait au musée. Ambivalence des forms d’exposition, 65-88. París: Complicités.

Holo, S.R. (2002) Más allá del Prado. Madrid: Akal

Crooke, E. (2007) Museums and Community: Ideas, Issues and Challenges. Londres i Nova Iork: Routledge.

Macdonald, S.J. (2003) “Museums, national, postnational and transcultural identities”, Museum and society, 1(1): 1-16.

Davallon, J. (1992) “Introduction. Le public au centre de l’évolution du musée”, Publics et Musées 2:10-18.

Mairesse, F. (2010) Le musée hybride. París: La Documentation Française.

Díaz Balerdi, I. (2007) “Artium: cinco años y muchos más”. Dins El edificio Artium eraikina, 110-118. Vitoria-Gasteiz: Artium.

Mccall, V.; Gray, C. (2014) “Museums and the ‘NewMuseology’: Theory, Practice and Organisational Change”, Museum Management and Curatorship, 29(1):1935.

Díaz Balerdi, I. (2008a) La memoria fragmentada: el museo y sus paradojas. Gijón: Trea. Díaz Balerdi, I. (2008b) “Museos en la encrucijada, estructuras, redes y retos en el País Vasco”. Dins Roige, X.; Fernández, E.; Arrieta, I. (eds)El futuro de los museos etnológicos. Consideraciones introductorias para un debate, 69-85. Donostia-San Sebastián: Ankulegi. Drouguet, N. (2015) Le musée de société. De l’exposition de folklore aux enjeux contemporains.París: Armand Colin. Duclos, J.-C.; Veillard, J.-Y. (1992) “Museos de etnografía y política”, Museum, 175: 129-132. Duncan, C. (2007) Rituales de civilización. Murcia: Nausícaä. Esteban, I. (2007) El efecto Guggenheim: del espacio basura al ornamento. Barcelona: Anagrama. Guasch, A.M; Zulaika, J. (2007) “Introducción: aprendiendo del Guggenheim Bilbao. El museo como instrumento cultural. Dins Guasch, A.M.; Zulaika, J. (eds) Aprendiendo del Guggenheim, 9-18. Madrid: Akal.

Lertxundi Esnal, A. (2005) “Guggenheim efektua”, Hermes, 18: 50-53.

Moix, Ll. (2010) Arquitectura milagrosa. Barcelona: Anagrama. Mujika Goñi, A. (1995) “Los museos etnográficos en el País Vasco”, Anales del Museo Nacional de Antropología, 2: 283-299. Museo Arqueológico, Etnográfico e Histórico Vasco (1996) Museo Arqueológico, Etnográfico e Histórico Vasco 1921-1996: breve síntesis histórica. Bilbao: Museo Arqueológico, Etnográfico e Histórico Vasco. Ortiz, C. ; Prats, Ll. (2000) “La question du patrimoine”, Ethnologie française, XXX: 241-249. Pérez Agote, A. (1987) El nacionalismo vasco a la salida del franquismo, Madrid: CIS. Pezzini, I. (2014) “Semiosis del nuevo museo”. Dins Eco, U.; Pezzini, I. (eds)El museo, 43-68. Madrid: Casimiro. Phillips, R. (2011) Museum Pieces: Toward the Indigenization of Canadian Museums. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press Poulot, D. (2005) Musée et muséologie. París: La Découverte.

Rivière, G.-H. (1936) “Les musées de folklore à l’étranger et le futur musée des arts et traditions populaires”, Revue de folklore français et de folklore colonial, 7: 58-71. Roigé, X.; Boya, J.; Alcalde, G. (2010) “Els nous museus de societat: redefinint models, redefinint identitats”. Dins Alcalde, G.; Boya, J.; Roige, X. (eds) Museu d’avui. Els nous museus de societat, 155-195. Girona : Institut Català de Recerca en Patrimoni Cultural. Sandell, R. (2006) Museums, Prejudice and the Reframing of Difference. Londres i Nova Iork: Routledge. Smith, L. (2008) “Heritage, Gender and Identity”. Dins Graham, B.; Howard, P. (eds) The Ashgate Research Companion to Heritage and Identity, 159-178. Farnham: Ashgate. Van Geert, F. (2016) “Museografiar el multiculturalismo”. Dins Van Geert, F.; Roige, X.; Conget, L. (eds)Usos políticos del patrimonio cultural, 27-51. Barcelona: Universitat de Barcelona. Van Geert, F., Arrieta Urtizberea, I., Roigé, X. (2016) “Los museos de antropología: del colonialismo al multiculturalismo”, OPSIS, 16(2): 342-360. Viau-Courville, M. (2016) “Museums Without (Scholar-)Curators: Exhibition-Making in Times of Managerial Curatorship”, Museum International, 68(3-4):11–32. Yúdice, G. (2002) El recurso de la cultura. Barcelona: Gedisa. Zallo, R. (2011) Análisis comparativo y tendencias de las políticas culturales de España, Cataluña y el País Vasco. Madrid: Fundación alternativas. Zulaika, J. (1997) Crónica de una seducción. Madrid: Nerea.

La investigació s’endinsa en les cerimònies de benvinguda o d’acolliment civil, anomenades popularment de bateig civil, que en els darrers anys han anat apareixent a diversos municipis catalans. Aquestes tenen un caràcter civil i laic, i els ajuntaments les contemplen dins el seu règim administratiu local com una modalitat d’integració simbòlica del nounat a la societat civil. Els batejos civils tenen els seus antecedents en les cerimònies laiques d’inscripció dels nounats al registre civil que es van celebrar des de finals del segle xix fins a la guerra civil espanyola. Actualment, podem establir dues tipologies de cerimònia de benvinguda civil, les individuals, a petició de les famílies, i les col·lectives per donar la benvinguda a tots els nascuts a l’any. De les primeres hi ha poca demanda i molts detractors, i de les grupals, en canvi, hi ha bona acceptació i un augment important. Sigui com sigui, el futur de

les cerimònies civils de benvinguda és del tot incert, i segurament arribaran noves opcions per celebrar-les. Al llibre, a banda de recollir tradicions lligades al bateig catòlic, s’analitzen aquestes cerimònies laiques, la seva implantació, les escenificacions, els seus significats i els debats que creen. S’aborda, també, el tema dels padrins i la tria del nom. L’obra pretén obrir noves línies de recerca i aportar dades per l’anàlisi dels rituals contemporanis.

La recerca ha rebut el 34è premi Serra i Moret (2016) d’assaig del Departament de Treball, Afers Socials i Famílies de la Generalitat de Catalunya i el 2n premi Temps, Espai i Forma d’assaig (2016) de la Facultat de Geografia i Història de la Universitat de Barcelona.

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Florence Pizzorni-Itié FRENCH MUSEUMS SERVICE

Florence Pizzorni Itié holds a Doctorate in Social and Cultural Anthropology and is a chief curator of heritage. Working for the French Museums Service of the Ministry of Culture, she oversees the scientific monitoring of more than 600 “society museums”. She also worked at the Musée National des Arts et Traditions Populaires in Paris, where she played an important role in the conception and opening of MuCEM, the Musée des Civilisations d’Europe et de la Méditerranée, in Marseille.

Society museums: museums of the 21st century 2017- State of play and reforms in France

What is a society museum?

h e t e rm “s o c i e t y museum” can be considered a catch-all, portmanteau word, yet its use has become widespread. This term was chosen “to bring together museums that share the same objective: to study the evolution of humanity in its social and historical aspects, and to convey the staging posts, the benchmarks for understanding the diversity of cultures and societies. It is not a matter of constructing a restricted area but rather offering an adventure playground for research, for all researchers in the humanities. Of course, all the components of inter-disciplinarity are necessary to provide a real view of society and they also involve the work of art historians or biologists...” (Vaillant, 1993: 16). Museums are part of t h e a re a of social imaginary. Society museums were pioneer museums after

the war and, in order to understand the challenges they have faced, they must always be referred to “in the historical conditions of their production by constantly asking what questions, what anxieties, what contradictions of society they provide an answer to” (Martinet, 1987: 36). It is also with these questions in mind that we must consider how their future will be shaped. What in reality is merely a reevaluation, to allow for a constant adaptation to changing conditions in society, is often interpreted as a crisis. The first museums in the category of “society museums” are the result of the recognition of a particular heritage identified in a popular context associated with the construction of identities

Keywords: Territory, sustainable development, heritage and creation, participation Paraules clau: territori, desenvolupament sostenible, patrimoni i creació, participació Palabras clave: territorio, desarrollo sostenible, patrimonio y creación, participación

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

around “small homelands”, reinforced by the sense of urgency to preserve traces of a changing world. Social changes linked to the disappearance of the peasant world are the cornerstones of “historical” society museums. By the end of the 1930s, the disciplines to do with the observation of everyday practices gained recognition as human sciences, no longer being mere folklore. The Musée National des Arts et Traditions Populaires, founded by the Musée de l’Homme and directed by Georges Henri Rivière, is the reflection in heritage form of the multidisciplinary thematic ethnographic surveys carried out by the CNRS and the University. It implements the concept of “museum-laboratory”. Influenced by a new reading of museology proposed by ICOM (the International Council of Museums), beginning in 1947, and by a society undergoing modernisation, becoming more industrial than rural, the old traditional ethnography museums were dusted off. For instance, the Musée de Bretagne in Rennes (opened in 1856) between 1951 and 1975 went from being a gallery of popular objects of art, resembling a snap shot “before 1830”, to an “evolving museum”. In doing so, it added weight to history up to contemporary Brittany through presentations, integrating natural conditions and ethnographic and technical aspects into the historical development (Vieillard, 1989: 107).

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Society museums allow people to gain an understanding of what unites people and places or regions and to imagine the future by drawing on the resources of the heritage that is preserved and showcased. These museums place mankind at the centre of their activity in their “cultural landscape”, providing tangible proof of how a community has progressively shaped places in order to meet its needs. They promote local cultural dynamics, encourage synergies between tourism and the economy, raise awareness of environmental issues and promote initiatives for sustainable development. Their activity is intimately related to the questions faced by modern society, and their transformation is the first sign of a profound renewal of the world of heritage. In parallel with museums linked to their region’s development, various trends are appearing in the spirit of sustainable development. These changes involve approving participatory forms of museography and recognising new forms of heritage, such as intangible heritage; giving greater prominence to research; encouraging cross-disciplinary approaches and “heritage and creation” collaborative platforms. A través dels “museu de societat” els pobles poden entendre què és allò que uneix homes i territoris i imaginar el futur a partir dels recursos del patrimoni conservat i valoritzat. Aquests museus col·loquen en el centre de la seva activitat l’home dins el seu paisatge cultural, que constitueix la prova tangible de la forma en què una comunitat ha modelat els llocs de manera evolutiva per tal de respondre a les seves necessitats. Fomenten la dinàmica cultural local i estimulen sinergies entre el turisme i l’economia, la sensibilització davant les qüestions mediambientals i la promoció d’iniciatives a favor del desenvolupament sostenible. La seva activitat està íntimament relacionada amb les qüestions que es planteja la societat contemporània i la seva transformació és l’indici d’una profunda renovació del món patrimonial. En paral·lel als museus vinculats des del seu origen a l’ordenació del territori, també es manifesten diverses tendències que s’inscriuen en tot moment en l’esperit del desenvolupament sostenible. Aquestes evolucions impliquen acreditar modalitats de museografia participativa i reconèixer nous patrimonis, com el patrimoni immaterial, atorgar un lloc més preeminent a la recerca i fomentar estratègies transversals i plataformes col·laboratives de patrimoni i creació. A través de los «museo de sociedad», los pueblos pueden entender qué es lo que une a hombres y territorios e imaginar el futuro a partir de los recursos del patrimonio conservado y valorizado. Estos museos colocan en el centro de su actividad al hombre dentro de su paisaje cultural, que constituye la prueba tangible de la forma en que una comunidad ha modelado los lugares de manera evolutiva para responder a sus necesidades. Fomentan la dinámica cultural local y estimulan sinergias entre el turismo y la economía, la sensibilización ante las cuestiones medioambientales y la promoción de iniciativas a favor del desarrollo sostenible. Su actividad está íntimamente relacionada con las cuestiones que se plantea la sociedad contemporánea y su mutación es el indicio de una profunda renovación del mundo patrimonial. En paralelo a los museos vinculados desde su origen a la ordenación del territorio, también se manifiestan varias tendencias que se inscriben en todo momento dentro del espíritu del desarrollo sostenible. Estas evoluciones implican acreditar modalidades de museografía participativa y reconocer nuevos patrimonios, como el patrimonio inmaterial, otorgar un lugar más relevante a la investigación y fomentar estrategias transversales y plataformas colaborativas de patrimonio y creación.

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Sensitivity to the environment, soon to ecology, developed and attention to heritage focused on “the land”, while the network of regional natural parks was being set up, which would include ecomuseum entities established in 1966, such as the ecomuseum of Niou in Ouessant, the ecomuseum of the Grande Landes in Marquèze and the ecomuseum of Le Creusot. Ecomuseums found two routes to modernity: by conceiving a certain idea of territory and by involving the public in the life of the establishment. The theoretical foundations would be set out by Georges-Henri Rivière, in around 1980, which André Desvallées writes in the Charter of ecomuseums1. MINOM, the Movement for New Museology within ICOM, emphasised that transformation is inseparable from the use of interdisciplinarity as a tool for analysis. The goal of the museum is clearly defined as the search for “global and qualitative knowledge about the relationships of man and his envi-

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ronment”. Following behind the ecomuseums located in the regional natural parks, the second and third generations already began to flourish: industrial and urban ecomuseums. These establishments generally developed in the most flexible administrative form in French law, as associations under the association act of 1901. In its statutes in 1975, ICOM set out a general definition of the museum which prefigures what society museums set out to be: “The museum is a permanent, notfor-profit institution serving society and its development, which is open to the public and carries out research on the tangible artefacts of man and his environment, acquires, studies and conserves them, communicates them and in particular explores them for the purpose of study, education and enjoyment.” New museum establishments multiplied in the 1980s under the decay of the industrial

Diorama of the JulesBaudou Museum, Agde (Erau Department, Occitanie Region), founded in 1935, which provides a historical and ethnographic story of the city (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Instruction of 4 March 1981 by the Minister of Culture and Communication, Jean-Philippe Lecat.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

regions (textiles, mines, metallurgy) in search of resilience, as well as with the support of the Ministry of Culture, then in its budgetary boom years under Jack Lang. The French Museums Department created a budget division, the “experimental sector: ecomuseums and scientific and industrial culture”. The recognition of scientific, technical and industrial culture is marked by the creation of the Cité des Sciences and of the industry of La Villette, conceived as the Parisian centre of a network of industrial museums. In parallel with ecomuseums, a network of scientific, technical and industrial cultural centres is developed, knows as CCSTIs2. An “industrial heritage” unit was set up to create an inventory of France’s artistic wealth in 1985. To support regional cultural development, an Interdepartmental Cultural Intervention Fund was set up to plan the prefiguration of new ecomuseums.

It is interesting to note that, as with the first ecomuseums which were established with the augurs of the Interministerial Delegation for Regional Planning and Regional Attractiveness (DATAR), within the framework of the regional parks, it is from the point of view of regional development in a harmful context that this second generation is unfurled. The local region and its future are reaffirmed as the core goal of this new formula of ethnographic museums. However, in many cases, these new approaches are grafted onto institutions which have been in place since the end of the 18th century and especially the second half of the 19th century, whose collections are fed by gleaning the local nobility imbued with the dominant models in history and regional passion. These are the objects used by the peasantry for work and handicraft production, objects of folklore and artefacts indicating local production activities and

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CCSTIs were created in the 1980s with missions similar to those of the museums: “census of movable and immovable property, protective measures necessary for such property, in particular for those we do not intend to acquire... collections and documents which may be acquired, preserved and presented... historical, ethnological, sociological and technological research is to be carried out... such works, designed to showcase the anthropological importance of the objects preserved as artefacts, in addition to promoting the relationship between the past and the present for the public, should ultimately lead to the establishment of a reasoned analysis of the industrial world” (Malécot, 1981: 13, 40). Many of them have disappeared.

View of an exhibition hall at the Textile museum in Lavelanet (Arieja Department, Occitanie Region), an association created in 1986 to present the area’s industrial past (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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they are identified as “folk arts”. They constitute the collections of many museums known as “art and history” museums. This legacy gives pride of place to a dimension that has become cumbersome in the years dominated by scientists of the last two decades of the 20th century; aesthetics understood as a judgment on formal beauty. It is a basic problem that has remained in the impasse for a lack of a conceptual tool for thinking of an anthropology of art. In the second decade of the 21st century, in the midst of society museums’ renaissance crisis, the question of the sensitive matters and the place of art among “artefacts” has returned.

the Mission of ethnological heritage and by the Museums of France Department, sponsored by Crédit Coopératif. It was transformed in 1992 into the Fédération des Écomusées et des Musées de Société (FEMS). Professional associations are emerging which, for some, will be less perennial (museums, men and society; new museology, etc.). Other thematic networks are also active: AFMA, the French association of agriculture museums; AMCSTI, the Association of museums and centres for the development of scientific, technical and industrial culture; ReMUT, the Network of technology museums, etc.

These museums were organised in 1986 into a Federation of Ecomuseums supported by

Since then, through the application of the French Museums Act of 4 January 2002, The number of society museums classified as a Musée de France for each new region emerging from the territorial merger of 2015 (before the creation of the new names). 570 museums of the 1,220 in France are society museums (MDS). AUTHOR’S IMAGE

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

society museums are recognised within the large family of the “Museums of France”. The same rules of inalienability, protection and professional management apply to the collections they hold as those applicable to their Fine Arts counterparts. The statutes of society museums Findings The majority of society museums are under municipal guardianship (67.9%), with municipalities often having taken over the ownership and management of collections that were initially brought together by an association, now dissolved. 16.4% are still under private ownership – (the vast majority under the 1901 association act). Municipalities in a rural environment, which are small and experiencing difficulties, tend to pass responsibility to local communities (3.1%). In the past 20 years, departments have sometimes come to the rescue of village communities3, either by taking over ownership of the collections and management of the installations (9.2%), or by including cultural activities in the missions of the department’s ethnologist or curator, strongly supported by the heritage teams of the DRACs4 (ethnologist and curator). The gradual disappearance of these positions poses a very direct threat to the survival of many society museums.

Originally, regional natural parks (known in French as PNR) and “ecomuseums” were correlated. However, park ecomuseums have in most cases remained associations that have retained ownership of the collections and share the management of their personnel and assets to varying degrees. The result is highly complex and intricate situations of responsibility. Evolution: from association to public status – EPCC, GIP Society museums are most often born out of private local initiatives operating as associations under the 1901 act. In the 1970s and 1980s, the active members of these associations struggled to find a new generation and, in the majority of cases (82.20%), the regional authorities that subsidised the associations took ownership

of them and took over the direct management of their installations. Faced with the budgetary difficulties, new management temptations arose. The EPCC status, which refers to a public institution for cultural co-operation, or the GIP, a public interest group which makes it possible to associate a wide variety of public and private partners, seems to be a welcome option for new arrangements. Finally, there are some cases in which public services are delegated to private organisations for cultural activities and programmes. Sometimes these combined administrative arrangements lead to situations of great legal complexity with regard to responsibilities over the collections, and there is a confusion between ownership and management of the collections. The diversity of the collections Society museums’ collections are usually assimilated into a set of objects of “regional popular art”, based on the schematic model of the former national museum of popular arts and traditions. But this perception corresponds only to a particular moment in the constitution of a heritage corpus which has been developed over a long period time, passing through many currents of thought and fashions, bringing together a wide variety of objects in the same institutions.

What objects can be found in the nearly 600 society museums bearing the name “Musée de France”? The diversity of the collections is intrinsically linked to the history of the emergence of interest in observing peoples’ ordinary daily and festive practices – an amateur passion which has gradually become established as a university discipline. It is a corpus of objects which, when removed from their context and organised around ideologies accompanied by artistic movements, have gradually “created heritage”. Initially, the curiosity of “westerners” turned to all things different, foreign and exotic, justifying collections of non-European artefacts brought back from distant expe-

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Massive phenomenon in Brittany and the Midi-Pyrénées region.

The General Directorates of Cultural Affairs (DRAC) are decentralised services of the Ministry of Culture in each region of France.

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ditions by travelers. Then, scholars and the city nobility became interested in a more social alterity, peasantry, when its tranformation – even its disappearance – became apparent (folklore, observation of practices and customs, anthropology, ethnography). The literary and artistic currents evoke a magnificent reality that gives a personality to the “little homelands” which the regions represent. Realism with Millet and Courbet, in search of a “golden age” of peasant practices of which everyday objects constitute the vestiges, follows in the footsteps of Romanticism, which sought to give a soul to the quest for the roots of the nation and its local foundations. The Académie Celtique, which gives France a unique parallel history equal to the Latin world, reveals the jewels of popular romantic expression. The French political and administrative system is organised into an elective democracy, at the same time as the departments are divided up and the general councilors are elected by universal suffrage (1871) and use folklorisation as a means of communication. This popular means of communication has seen formidable success among populations that have recently migrated to the city, stemming from the rural exodus, rocked with nostalgia for their province of origin. Thus, heritage “cliché objects”, which today we inherit in vast volumes, have become popularised and have multiplied: costume, furniture, music and dance, languages, etc. A movement of the same kind led to an interest in industrial heritage, when technological and economic changes led to the desertification of the industrial landscapes and the societal equilibriums of workers’ territories were broken up (industrial and technical heritage). This social transformation took place as new forms of attachment to the local area were developed. Claims to regional identity, already fed by the dimension of heritage, were renewed by a multidisciplinary approach to regional development in which culture took an unprecedented place in the field of social therapy and the promotion of identity-based tourism.

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The major categories of objects in society museum collections 1- Non-European objects, known as artificialiae-curiositae These are the first objects to enter into collections, noticed for their uniqueness, their exoticism. They mark the link between the “displays of curiosities” and the ethnography museums that will take shape much later in connection with the constitution of the social sciences as a scientific and university discipline.

2- Technical objects: tools, chains of knowledge. Starting in the 17th century, observers’ interest was directed towards human ingenuity, the most famous evidence of which is undoubtedly the Encyclopaedia of Diderot and D’Alembert. Agricultural and craft tools, then industrial and technical material, find a place in museums. Collections linked to mining, the steel industry, electricity and numerous technical and craft specialties: glassware, cutlery, headwear, gloves, bells, textiles, lace, cork, etc. are collected and installed in the museums linked to these specialties, in the very places they were manufactured. 3- Collections of regional identity and “popular art” In this category are the collections of the first ethnographic museums, which will house a new artistic category known as “Popular Art”. Regional associations and defenders of popular art5 multiplied at the beginning of the 20th century, while the popular consensus was based on this heritage claimed by the numerous urban folk associations and a solid market for regional antiquity was born. These objects were linked to the identity ideology of local “small homelands”, often becoming stereotyped constructions. 4- “Artefacts-Documents” (the structural scientific approach) In the late 1930s, the disciplines of observing everyday practices gained recognition as social sciences, no longer being mere folk-

Among them, Henri Cazalis (18401909) – Jean Lahor, founder of the International Society of Popular Art and Hygiene Art, in 1903.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

lore. The Musée National des Arts et Traditions Populaires implemented the concept of a “museum-laboratory” in conjunction with the Centre for French Ethnology of the CNRS and engaged in interdisciplinary research programmes. A methodological framework provided scientific legitimacy to procurement processes in society museums, based on the principle of survey-gathering, to the detriment of purchases in the art trade and public sales. This gave the documentary material providing the context in which objects were used an essential place in relation to the museographic inventory, alongside the objects themselves. Ecomuseums were the heirs of this trend in the 1980s. Initially as associations, they operated based on three groups: users, funders, scientists, which denotes their specific activity: a localised action giving the area’s inhabitants a space for constructive activities. Synthetically, the objects of “society museums” are everyday objects. The conditions in which they are acquired make them polysemic objects

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in the environment in which they are used (Bourdieu, 1979), like in their museum setting, at the crossing of the constraints of choice that prevailed at the time of their “collection”, then their selection to be exhibited, and then their encounter with each unique “viewer”. Umberto Eco speaks of “the open work”, the museum’s mission being to “showcase the open polysemy of the object” (Eco, 1962). Procurement: procedures and results The procurement policy is correlated with all the museums’ characteristics: its theme, its lines of research, its exhibitions, visitors’ observation, its financial capacity, how it is rooted in its guardianship’s political strategies. It reflects the establishment’s health and its ability to think about its future.

The procurement policy is defined in terms of: –– the establishment’s history and outlook (whether it is part of this story or contradicts it)

European museum of campanology art, L’IsleJourdain (Tarn Department, Occitanie Region) (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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–– the awareness of public demand6 –– the will of the guardianship and its elected officials –– which may be awaiting proposals from cultural officials. Museums must be a source of new proposals. Strategically, the development of the heritage establishment must be thought of in conjunction with other sectors of local policy: youth, education, tourism, sustainable development, digital policy, occupations. In other words, it is essential to consider that neither the quantity of objects acquired nor their market cost constitute criteria for measuring the quality of a society museum’s procurement policy. With regards to the procurement methods in society museums (more researchers than buyers), these are based on the setting up of research programmes, accompanied by collections of documented objects enriching the establishments’ thematic collections. The practical arrangements for ethnographic collection-surveys have been scientifically supervised7. The use of purchases on the private market only concerns exceptional items, in theory, which have become unique and sufficiently distinguished so as not to require contextualisation through their traceability. However, in practice, field research is gradually disappearing. The scarcity of scientific personnel is one of the main causes. Few museum officials have been trained in ethnography, and ethnologists or ethnological advisers in the Regional Directorates of Cultural Affairs are an endangered species. The discipline struggles to have its technicality acknowledged and every local heritage amateur thinks they have what it takes to run an “ethnography museum”. There are a few rare cases of purchases made in a public sale (tourist posters), and even fewer among antique dealers or gallery owners. The acceptance of opportunistic gifts becomes the norm. These donations

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are often not included in the regional scientific commission8 and it is undoubtedly necessary to assess their importance in terms of quantity of objects, far beyond what can be estimated by monitoring procurement proposals submitted to the committees for its opinion.

With regards to the acquisitions themselves, the most frequent types of objects are monographic purchases in the thematic area: each museum acquires objects in its specialty, like the car museum in Mulhouse, the accordions in Tulle, etc. In turn, local and proto-industrial craft museums acquire objects both in keeping with tradition and in synergy with their activity’s modern developments, often in conjunction with local lycées and specialist training centres (Musée de Mézins: cork, Musée du Bugey: wood turning, Thiers: cutlery, Calais and Caudry: lace, the Musée d’Art et d’Industrie de Saint-Étienne: tapes, guns and bicycles, Romans: footwear of the industrial workers of Romans).

In the continuity of the historically established collections: the recurring heritage value of society museums’ collections remains costume and textile garments in general. This constant induces the need to support a network of research activity for those museums which have to redefine a real system of interpreting so-called traditional or common items of clothing, in order to appropriately select what should be added to a collection, only to renew how they are presented to the public in an intelligible way, free of preconceived ideas 9. Across the board, certain categories of objects are in abundance, such as old postcards. Advertising or tourist posters are also one of the classics of ethnographic collections in the modern world. There are also some major trends which are consistent with the new orientations of society museums. Modern art is indeed becoming part of the collections. In many cases,

A report by the Public Affairs Department of the Heritage Department of the Ministry of Culture in 2015 shows that family audiences favour the historical, scientific and technical fields, and notes a strong demand for “knowledge”, far ahead of “beauty” and “sharing”. See the publications of the Musée National des Arts et Traditions Populaires (MnATP), of its associated laboratory, the Center d’ethnologie française (CNRS), etc.

Organ set up by the Ministry of Culture to scientifically monitor acquisitions’ entry into the inventory of museums that carry the name “Musée de France”.

University network at the University of Mulhouse, the Musée d’Haguenau.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

these are opportunistic acquisitions: donations at the end of temporary exhibitions or accumulations of modern representations of surrounding landscapes by local artists; sometimes documentary photographers/ artists are commissioned to try to capture a picture of the modern world (Ecomuseum of Saint-Cyr sur Morin, Musée de la Photographie in Bièvres, etc.). Modern design is increasingly present in the field of design, conceived as a possible extension of existing collections that deal with objects of everyday life, eating, dressing, living (Musée de St-Quentin-en-Yvelines). This trend accompanies the central question of museums whose purpose is to observe social facts: how to revoke the memory of tomorrow, today? Museum officials are aware of this mission, but often feel helpless. They therefore rely on the eye of the artist. This choice represents a new semantic break in the collection which, as a set of artefacts of the social bond, its last avatar, slips towards objects that are merely representative. The collections of the 21st century, constructed according to these practices, will be sets

of relative viewpoints focused on modern society and not archives of the century (Pizzorni, 2012). In this respect, it should be noted that they are not very different from the pioneers of the regional museums established by Mistral, Perrin de Puycousin and many others, including the collections they amassed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, which today remind us of an image of the peasantry that has been sifted through the bourgeois gaze of the poet or the nobleman. The museum object is also marked by the new postures of contemporary anthropology (heritage community and co-construction): the museum manager, as well as the anthropologist, no longer behave as predators, (Icofom 2016 – the predatory museum) not even “knowingly”. The initiative for the selection of artefacts is left to the heritage community (Faro Convention, 2005), an active subject and no longer the subject of the research. These “emic” objects (Pizzorni, 2012) participate in the co-construction of cultural heritage.

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View of a hall of the Calbet Museum, Grisolles (Tarn and Garona Department, Occitanie Region). In it we can see the dialogue established between the ethnographic collections of the museum, created in 1938, and some current artistic installations surrounding the town’s historical broommaking tradition (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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Technological advances are reshaping the fields of cultural heritage. Contextualisation is a distinctive feature of the society museum object, widely documented by intangible cultural heritage10. New technologies make it possible to give this new field of cultural heritage a special place, with collection status. Consideration of intangible aspects is essential in the implementation of the museums of Guyana and Mayotte, which are in the process of setting up their collections, regarding artefacts of cultures of oral transmission. These two collections make a feature of experimental spaces in this field. Society museums are experimental spaces for objects that raise entirely new presentation, restoration and preventive conservation problems. The question of machines which must function to maintain meaning and legibility for visitors (agricultural machinery and machine tools, textile crafts,

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musical instruments, etc.) is a constant source of debate between restorers and mediators. Repair protocols that are compatible with preventive restoration-conservation requirements have been drawn up11. The conservation of living collections: the cuckoo chicken in the ecomuseum of the Pays de Rennes region; the Ouessant sheep in the ecomuseum of Niou, etc.), like the collections of plants, is complex. They are not the subject of guidelines relating to the controlled conservation of the collections. The conditions in which over-sized objects are acquired (mills, machines attached to the building, etc.), following scandals in the 2000s, give preference to maintenance in-situ rather than being dismantled and transferred to the collection. Items made of perishable materials, which are relatively common especially in the corpus of non-European objects, are the subject of specific inventory sets which focus on manufacturing techniques from fresh materials

Convention for the safeguarding of intangible cultural heritage. UNESCO, October 2003.

Publications of the Centre de Recherche et de Restauration des Musées de France (Centre for Research and Restoration of Museums of France, or C2RMF).

Interior of Cal Mateu of the Museum of La Cerdanya, Sainte-Leocadia (PyrénéesOrientales Department, Occitanie Region). The museum preserved “the spirit of the place” of an agrolivestock farm house (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

in order to retain the ability to recreate the object in an identical manner in the event it is exhibited (banana tree loincloth, Caribbean carnival costume, etc.). Finally, research fields have been opened for a new museology of the senses: how to establish a memory of tastes or smells? Reforms and new approaches: interdisciplinarity and transversality in society museums’ DNA Regional museums are also directly affected by budgetary restrictions. The first effect is on scientific staff and museum officials. The guardianships, often modest municipalities, tend to consider that this “informal” heritage is in good volunteer hands and does not require the involvement of professionals. As the volunteers grow old, about 15% of the “Musées de France” society museums have been forced to shut down since 2003. Are the themes less attractive? The changes in society that we are witnessing and participating in make it necessary to reform society museums. They call into question the foundations of the principles and methods that have motivated the creation and running of these cultural heritage facilities for over a century and a half. The collections have been chosen and accumulated to tell a story that allows each person to find themselves in their links with one another, that unite them by emphasising resemblances or by differentiating, in a geographically identifiable territory. Two themes formed a reference point, which is commonly shared: Space – i.e. territory – and time – i.e. historical depth. Identities, both regional and national, and the narrative of tradition were built on these values of the late 19th century and throughout the 20th century.

This history no longer functions so securely in the social and political imagination. Without going into an in-depth analysis, we can set out one of the reasons. It lies in the obso-

lescence of the perception of space hitherto considered an unchangeable certainty. Territory, the framework of an ingrained rurality, has become a path for mobility and urbanity. The acceleration of population movements has generated new forms of territorialisation and the construction of identification communities in world cities and the global village. Ethnoscapes (Appadurai, 2001) and “heritage communities”, within the meaning of the Faro Convention (Unesco 2005), are descriptors and prescribers of heritage who have superimposed, rather than substituted, regional territories. In other words, the 21st century saw the end of the peasants, with their ties to their land and tradition, the great myth of the nineteenth century. Local museums based on the construction of a regional identity with outdated traits are called upon to consider adapting to the political and societal context. This is an endogenous practice for these establishments, the evolution of which is correlated with the historical conditions of their development and with the questions, anxieties and contradictions of society. The disconnection of the link between territorial identification and the activities that took place there is true for the large industries that exploited local resources, such as mines, steel and textiles, as well as for agriculture. Clearly, we must look for other explanations for the disaffection for the heritage of memory of certain sectors: medical museums are experiencing great difficulties everywhere. Transport museums, which experienced great success in the 1950, are struggling to find fresh impetus, when they do not simply die off. This technological heritage sector tends to focus on a few specific themes: car and railways, such as the Chemin de Fer in Mulhouse. Firefighter museums, which have been a feature in many cities since the end of the nineteenth century, glorifying the courage of fire rescue workers and intended to encourage career choices, now leave traces of orphan collections.

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The “museum museums” and the new scientific and cultural projects (SCP) Faced with how widely society museums can vary, the first temptation is to use a typological classification based on the nature of the collection. A distribution shows there to be an approximately even split between multipurpose establishments (37%), establishments of the so-called “historical channel” (26.5%), which include mainly ethnographic establishments that are linked to the dominant activities of the region, whether rural-industrial or urban – including ecomuseums – , and a third category of establishments that specialise in a specific craft or industrial activity (21%). Closures have affected each of these categories equally, with multipurpose museums being more likely to find a more “fashionable” field to focus on. Non-European collections are in a clear minority (2.7%). We have already highlighted the difficulties experienced by medical museums (1.4%), transport museums (2.7%) and museums of institutions (2.10%) – including firefighters, the postal service,

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electricity, presidency, pawn shops – for which there are an alarming number of closures and orphan collections. Museums of religious art (4.03%) and those dedicated to children (1.5%) are doing quite well.

Classification of the museums by thematic categories. CAT 1 Multipurpose (Polyvalent): art, history, society, nature. ... CAT 2 Historical channe(Canal)l: ecomuseums, rural-urban-industrial ethnographical heritage and popular art and traditions CAT 3 Specialities: crafts and techniques -textile-pottery and ceramic-iron-imageryprinting-stones-luthier- paper- minessmithy (forges)-wine -glass- salt -fishingCAT 4 Religious art (Sacred Arts) CAT 5 Medicine -Hospital-Pharmacy CAT 6 Miscellaneous transport CAT 7 Institutions: firefighters, post, electricity, presidency, pawn shops (Mount of Piety) CAT 8 Children: school, games and toys CAT 9 Extra-European AUTHOR’S TABLE.

Distribution of the thematic categories of museums to the new large French regions 1-MULTIPURPOSE

2-HISTORIC

3-SPE CIALITIES

4-SACREDART

5-MEDICINE

6-TRANSPORTS

7-INSTITUCIONS

8-CHILDHOOD

9-EXTRAEUROPEAN

TOTAL

Grand Est

Nouvelle Aquitaine

Bourgogne-Franche-Com

Bretagne Centre-Val de Loire Corse

Île-de-France

Occitanie

Hauts De France

Normandie

Pays-de-la-Loire

PACA

Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes

211

151

119

570

37.01%

26.49%

20.87%

4.03%

1.40%

26.9%

2.10%

1.57%

2.69%

DOM Total

AUTHOR’S TABLE.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

However, the difficult constraint of the diversity of society museums’ collections can be an asset when it comes to trying to rethink scientific, cultural and artistic projects. The eclecticism of the collections opens the imagination to multiple possible. Some have already demonstrated this with unparalleled success (the Musée de l’Hospice Saint-Roch in Issoudun; the Musée Bargoin in Clermont-Ferrand). Therefore, if one takes the classical approach based on the collection, it appears that the identity of these cultural establishments is characterised less by the nature of the collections they hold than by the methods they apply to give meaning to the public interface/collections/territories. They are spaces of experimentation as these three parameters are constantly reinterpreted. Evolutionary principles of the relationship with the population Two cornerstones, already encountered in the chapter on procurement policies, underlie the methods for carrying out projects for the reinvention of society museums: –– the notion of “museum-laboratory”, which is understood in various ways but always referring to the desire to be part of the dynamics of innovation and experimentation –– the notion of co-construction, inherited from ecomuseums, based on the principle of placing man at the heart of the museum. The extension of this requirement leads the person in charge of the museum, who holds the knowledge, to share his or her responsibility for selective and discursive elaboration with the population which the cultural project involves12. New approaches In their fruitful and necessary effort to remain relevant, museums, accompanied by professional associations and networks to help save them, favour certain approaches by drawing on the rich repertoire of specialties offered by the eclecticism of their collections and the polysemy of their objects.

- The reconquest of history. Heritage for thinking of the future with life stories. There is a strong appetite for the collections’ historical dimension. Society museums’ have often neglected the chronological approach in setting out their displays. Difficulties in the past led audiences to question man’s ability to overcome crises and adapt to changes. The introduction of historical depth as evidence of man’s ability to survive leads museums to be rooted in history and to reflect on the future and on sustainability. Some cultural projects are redirected towards the characteristics of a history museum. Others offer a journey through both the “history of mentality” and institutional history (Musée de Bretagne, Brittany, Les Champs Libres – Rennes). Most museums wonder about the possibilities for reinjecting history into their ethnographic journey, which is part of a deliberately prospective interpretation. This last dimension – which gives heritage the capacity to think about the future – is the asset that makes it possible to arouse elected representatives’ interest in showcasing their heritage, clearly geared towards the future. - Man in his environment – the museum of man and nature: the ecological approach. They evoke concern about the future of everyday life, sustainable development, poverty and exclusion, the question of the viability of supply circuits and the consequences of pollution and global warming, all problems that make man seem small in the face of the natural environment and our status as an animal among so many other living beings on the planet.

The public’s interest concerns the living conditions of the “ancients”, when people had to produce their own food, save the rations to get through the cycle of the seasons, reduce and recycle... All strategies related to ideological handiwork and cultural poaching13 allowing people to dream of an approach outside of the scheduled obsolescence and imposed consumption. The museum thus finds one of the possible interpretations of

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Ecomuseum of Le Daviaud, in the Vendéen mashland.

For references to Michel De Certeau, see M. de Certeau “Practiques quotidiennes”, in Poujol et Labourie (1979).

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the collections: it contains the techniques for the necessary, the essential, the basic – a principle of reality. - The attractiveness of territories: cultural landscape and heritage in local economic development. It must be noted that civil society remains very attached to territorial affiliation and local identity, which takes forms of evolutionary expressions. The notion of “cultural landscape” set out in the Siena Charter by Icom Italy (Icom Italy, 2014), is the beginning of a revival of society museums’ positioning within a framework of cross-disciplinary and complementary elements of heritage together with other local players in the field of heritage.

The cultural landscape is the country we live in and which surrounds us on a daily basis with images and representations that identify and define it as such. It is the sum

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of what the great transformations of the last century have added to and removed from the initial traits of character and the changes we participate in. The identity of the landscape is intimately linked to the singular nature of a cultural heritage that is extensive, diffuse, dense, stratified and connected to the environmental. Territories are built thus, as vast “open-air museums” consisting of assets scattered in every place which, by legislative means or only by a common feeling, form “the landscape and the historical and artistic heritage of the nation”. Society museums have an essential role in these territories, first of all due to the very origin of their collections. They give context to items found during excavations, items saved from the dismantling of ecclesiastical, industrial or agricultural establishments, items which cannot be conserved where they

Museum of the lake of Thau (Erau Department, Occitanie Region). Created in 1981 with the idea of preserving and showcasing the tools of the local fishing culture, it has gradually incorporated into its exhibition halls elements to raise awareness of the lake’s ecological fragility (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

were found, and items obtained by bequest or gift connected to the place at the donor’s request. The museum becomes the repository of tangible and intangible artefacts of a particular territory, which may be large or small, but nevertheless guaranteeing a physical proximity. This relationship between the territory and the museum helps to extend the institutional missions for the conservation and dissemination of collections in their contexts of origin; to make them also responsible for the landscape they are part of, by being active protagonists in protecting and enhancing it. Involving museums in the management and maintenance of the cultural landscape means developing their natural vocation, extending their responsibility from their collections to also cover heritage and territory. To develop this vocation, it is necessary that, wherever the conditions are met, museums not only become regional or local centres of active

protection, but also centres for the area’s interpretation. They must broaden their mission, deploy their own activities in the open field of cultural heritage and the landscape around them, and for which, to varying degrees, they can assume responsibility. The vision of a museum engaged almost exclusively in the conservation, exhibition and communication of its own collections is replaced by another, expanded to consider the context in which it operates. This function of museums – especially if it is integrated with the function of archives, libraries, historical monuments, inventories, museums and tourist offices – becomes an extraordinary resource for the protection, maintenance and interpretation of the landscape, as well as a resource for the museums themselves: by assuming duties that are not limited to their collections, they are also encouraged to expand, enhance, and develop their collections and their heritage

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Display of the Ecomuseum of Mont Losera, Pont-deMonvert (Losera Department, Occitanie Region). Created as an ecomuseum in 1980, today the establishment is the information centre of the Natural Park of Les Cévennes and is visited by many tourists and hikers (April 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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of knowledge and skills. Instead of multiplying the number of cultural entities, society museums are intended to welcome – and absorb – Architecture and Heritage Interpretation Centres.

authority”). This approach does not depart from the anthropological domain of reference, but is in line with the most recent advances in the anthropological analysis of aesthetics (Gell, 1998).

As such, they can become the places where an area’s “attractiveness” is defined and elaborated: they are the focal point from which heritage, historical and gastronomic labels are awarded, and where designations of origin (known in France as AOC and AOP)14, trademarks and so on are controlled. The importance of the transmission of tradition and heritage in the economic renown of local productions is thus underlined.

The Museums of France Service promotes work with the Labex Arts-H2H, experimenting with the voluntary museums of the Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur region. This Labex explores the new links between the arts, humanities, science and technology, physical space and digital data space, artistic forms and their mediation. The projects it develops, all collaborative and located at the crossroads of the disciplines, combine the corpus, the methodologies and the scientific formats with the devices of the artistic creation. Its research links art and the world, the human and social sciences and the experimental sciences with a view to creating a model, in the light of new configurations induced by the digital world.

- The temptation of the emotional dimension. A revival of “popular” art: eccentric function (Bergson) and the “versification” of everyday life. The narrative dimension is one of the essential components of the museum. Whatever it is, the museum is not a scientific publication in 3D. It is a place for the exchange and transmission of knowledge and emotion for which words are objects for narration which give an active, effective decor. A memorabilia set, revealing meaning. In the museum, extraordinary objects are needed to stimulate reflection on the ordinary, or the museum must transform ordinary objects into extraordinary ones in order to exhale their meaning. In this way, the museographer reformulates the artifact and the artistic work to contradict the artificial dichotomy of science and art by promoting a poetic heritage. Philosophy has passed through tales and legends. Success came to museums thanks to people such as Frédéric Mistral (Museon Arlaten in Arles) and Hervé Di Rosa Musée International d’Art Modeste in Sète) who, by their talent as artists, transmit ideas. Some society museums engage in reflection on a revived popular art (see the manifesto of modest art – the modest “decomplexed” arts – Miam) from which Mucem is not absent (preparatory workshop “document bilangues”, “Picasso et les arts populaires” exhibition, “Switch- shared

-The use of other artistic fields: contemporary art, decorative art, fashion, design. As indicated in the section on procurement policies, closely linked to the orientations of scientific and cultural projects, some establishments deliberately take the step towards a concept of museum of decorative art and fashion. It is a predictable slippage of interest in the manufacture of the object towards the evolution of their formal appearance. The modernised operating techniques and the contemporary tools are digital and offer little scope for being demonstrated to the public, whereas the objects produced are increasingly successful in their disciplines. In museums’ layout, conservation and presentation, old machines give way to the presentation of models and styles, technology gives way to plastic.

These establishments are, nevertheless, related to society museums, which are understood as territorial museums, in that they establish active links with local manufacturers and become a show-room which takes

AOC Calvados awarded within the precinct of the conservatory orchard of the ecomuseum of Barenton.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

part in the dynamics of the local economic and cultural landscape. Collective player One of the essential conditions for the success of the revival of society museums lies in the formulation of museum policy with the projects of other public and private entities. A fully responsible museum of the cultural landscape involves all the economic, human and intellectual resources necessary for this purpose. It will associate itself with other establishments of cultural heritage, must be recognised by the competent regional and protective agencies, and will collaborate with the associations and agencies involved in the defense of the landscape. It will also address the economic players and the manufacturing

structures of the area and it will activate the mechanisms of active citizenship. This is the spirit of the Siena Charter. This proposal involves an original and innovative system of protection and enhancement that would go beyond the current separation of powers between State and regional or local authorities; a model able to ensure the protection, enhancement and management of cultural heritage which, in a renovated framework, would provide ample resources to the â&#x20AC;&#x153;museumâ&#x20AC;? whose missions are reassessed, in a system of sustainable development. Museums can be the strong point of a new model of guardianship, as local centres of active protection of cultural heritage. Formally assigning museums the

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Simulation of an archaeological site of our civilisation discovered by scientists of the future, at the entrance of the Department Ecomuseum of Cuzals (Olt Department, Occitanie Region), focused on the historical Quercy area (June 2016). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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role of local centres for the active protection of cultural heritage, within the framework of agreements and understanding on another territorial scale, between State and Regions, makes it possible to connect the protection, enhancement and management of cultural assets by drawing on the extensive network of museums, as well as archives, libraries and cultural institutions. This framework linking integrated systems would also ensure that citizens play an active role in the management of a cultural heritage that is too extensive to be supported by public bodies alone. The “team game” does not only involve cultural and scientific institutions. Society has everything to gain by coordinating cultural issues and those of other sectors of local politics: tourism, sustainable development, youth, education, digital, jobs, etc. For example, citizen education for sustainable development – less rarely mentioned than tourism – is a very promising sector in which the elected representatives are calling for their Agenda 21 (e.g. Museum of Dijon and Nantes_ urban green spaces policy; MnATP survey into the consequences of the Washington Convention on trades using regulated or prohibited materials, etc.). Aiming for the goal of having the museum listed as one of the contributors to Agenda 21 of the city or metropolis represents the recognition of memory heritage as a category of its own; a way to become aware of the impact of heritage on the construction of the future of the city and citizenship. These decompartmentalisations and collaborations can also provide solutions for good management of the conservation and enhancement of museum collections. A collective reflection on the distribution of fields of specialisation between different territorial museums could lead to the notion of national referent in certain fields. This idea is embodied in Article 29 of Act 2016-925 of 7 July 2016 on the freedom of creation, architecture and heritage. Such a provision would be a welcome solution for French orphan museum collections and would stim-

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ulate the research and development of these patrimonial specialties. Without hindering the possibility for the various museums of the thematic network to work on a territorial basis and make acquisitions on the subject, the existence of a national referent would allow the matter to be monitored in a summarised and up-to-date manner, avoiding multiple and recurring purchases and promoting exchanges through loans and deposits. Some territorial museums would play the role of points of reference on subjects of society, linking nationwide relevant general themes that go beyond the regional scale but that are illustrated locally. Indeed, a few establishments already assume this mission, for which the operating methods should be specified in order to initiate an agreed upon process of collaboration: agricultural machinery at the COMPA in Chartres; animation cinema at the museum of Annecy; BD in Angoulême, etc. New themes could emerge: pre-Columbian collections in Auch; regional languages at the Basque museum; insularity at the museum of Corsica, etc. “Collective player” is means thinking on a European scale. Many territorial museums are engaged in partnerships with European museums, either within the framework of the programmes of the Commission, or within the framework of cross-border networks, or on the heritage paths of the European Council. The establishment of European co-productions is clearly a path for the development of society museums as well as for all museums in France. Conclusion We sometimes talk of a “crisis” for society museums. This uncertainty over their future is only a sign of vitality in a search for renewal. The real death of society museums would be their standardisation. They remain the places where we seek out how we are different among others, where we unravel resemblances and differences. But the story that is told, passing less today than yesterday exclusively through the well-de-

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

fined hinterland of the territory, takes on a universal dimension that is more complex to apprehend. To accompany the renovation of society museums within the museums of the 21st century, we can highlight the approaches that are to be favoured: support for professional associations, stimulation of the participation of French museums in European programmes and initiatives, initiation and participation in transnational networks, development of labels, research assistance and incentives for the inclusion of museums in research programmes such as Labex and Equipex, gearing the elaboration of scientific

and cultural projects towards a broad participation of the population and recognition of intangible cultural heritage as collection items. The ingredients for the museums’ renovation can be found in the dynamics of the museographic narrative, the relevance of research in the humanities and the verve of a political project that associates citizens and decompartmentalises the fields of heritage and creation. Society museums have inter-disciplinarity at their core and are the interface of science and art. n

REFERENCES

Appadurai, A. (2001) Après le colonialisme- les conséquences culturelles de la globalisation. Paris: Payot. Battesti, J. (ed.) (2012) Que reste-t-il du présent? Collecter le contemporain dans les musées de Société. Bordeaux: Le Festin (Musée Basque et de l’histoire de Bayonne / Société des Amis du Musée Basque / Fédération des écomusées et musées de société). Bourdieu, P (1979) La distinction, critique sociale du jugement. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit. Eco, U. (1962) L’œuvre ouverte. Paris: Point Seuil. Gell, A. (1998) Art and Agency.An Anthropological Theory. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Malecot, Y. (1981) Culture scientifique, technique et aménagement

du territoire, pour un réseau de centres régionaux.Paris: La Documentation française. Martinet, C. (1987) Muséologie et ethnologie. Paris: MnATP, publication of the RMN. Pizzorni, F. (2012) “Collecter le contemporain :une articulation entre recherche et patrimonialisation”. Within BATTESTI, J. (ed.) Que reste-t-il du présent ?Collecter le contemporain dans les musées de société, 32-45. Bordeaux: Le Festin (Musée Basque et de l’histoire de Bayonne / Société des Amis du Musée Basque / Fédération des écomusées et musées de société). Poujol, G.; Labourie, R. (1979) Les cultures populaires. Permanence et émergences des cultures minoritaires locales, ethniques, sociales et religieuses.Toulouse: Privat.

Vaillant E. (1993) “Les musées de société en France :chronologie et définition”. Within BARROSO, E.; VAILLANT, E. (eds). Musées et sociétés. Actes du colloque Mulhouse-Ungersheim, juin 1991, 16-38. Paris: Ministry of Education and Culture. Vieillard, J-Y. (1989) La muséographie selon Georges-Henri Rivière. Paris: Dunod.

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Vincenzo Padiglione SAPIENZA UNIVERSITY OF ROME

Professor of cultural anthropology, museum anthropology and ethnography of communication at the Sapienza University of Rome. He has taught courses in Spain, the United States and Brazil, and has conducted research throughout the Mediterranean. His research has investigated questions of local identity and cultural heritage, brigandage, familism and the relationship between man, the environment and landscape in the context of hunting and pastoralism. He curated the EtnoMuseo Monti Lepini (Roccagorga, Latina), the Museo del Brigantaggio (Itri, Latina), Ludus, Museo Etnografico del Giocattolo (Sezze, Latina), the Museo del Brigantaggio dell’Alto Lazio (Cellere, Viterbe), and the Museo delle scritture (Bassiano Latina) and lastly the Museo dell’Infiorata (Genzano). He is the scientific director of the EtnoMuseo Monti Lepini (Roccagorga, Latina), the Museo del Brigantaggio (Itri, Latina) and the Museo delle scritture in Bassiano (Latina). He has been the director of the quarterly magazine AM Antropologia museale (AM Museum Anthropology) since its establishment in 2001.

Memories and anxieties

Ethnographic museography across Italy Building a community of practices

t is appropriate to reflect on the lexicon of basic museum vocabulary used in ethnographic museography in Italy today. These are the words which are the foundation of our work and which, as integral components of our points of view, unite and divide us, even on a national scale. It is necessary to reflect on the origin of these words and, even more importantly, on the usage of these terms. Thankfully, the intention of this work does not seem to be the simple introduction of order and cleanliness. A point that is worth highlighting is how much the contemporary world has enriched our museum industry, introducing variations and anomalies whose influence should not be reduced or underestimated. It has given us a less preoccupied and more relativistic approach towards the multiple ways that museums can be realised; something which would only be regressive to censor (Padiglione, 1995). Indeed, the objective of reflecting on this vocabulary is explicitly to build a wider community of practices, offering topics for discussion and sharing. Only once the differences across the sector are known will it be possible to take advantage of them, and we can agree

on some basic notions about how specific public services should be arranged: is a museum always distinct from a collection or an archive? Is an ethnographic museum different from a historical museum? What disciplines should an ‘ecomuseum’ be made up of? And so forth. To us as museum anthropologists, the variety within our industry is close to our hearts. We are proud of it as we consider it a distinctive and representative element of a heritage that, through mediation, reveals the traces of a period’s observed culture and of contacts and interactions between cultures. We can only hope that the demand for upgrades to museum facilities and forms of documentation continues to grow. There is certainly no growth of uniformity or standardisation. Our museums are buildings full of different stories and contexts (Clemente, 1996). They often adopt approaches and interpretations to heritage that are not wholly sanctioned by academia or the international community. Even when they are presented in a way that is humble and narrow, they are deserving of attention. This is because they are evidence of particular places, epochs, and people – and because they display a distinctive and important subjectivity. We anthropologists, who are by definition committed to discovering, translating and enhancing the cul-

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

tural differences rooted within people, places and institutions, are interested in inscribing this relativistic sensibility into the way we approach museological differences. We propose doing this by building a dense language to be used by us and by people interested in museums (historians, archaeologists and naturalists, as well as public officials and tourist programmers).

the Romantic Period; an emphasis on ‘people’ indicates connotations of identity and ethnicity long present in anthropology and recently revitalised, and so forth. The names of museums are also artefacts, which often hint more towards observed culture, giving a flavour of the knowledge and ideologies of the custodians rather than of the culture on display.

Museum vocabulary as a conduit into historical and cultural contexts Museums are institutions which are created to endure, but which are fatally split between stability and modernisation. When they succeed, they do not just conserve artefacts. In their exhibits, and even more so in their names, they retain traces of the recent or remote past. These are the signs left by various cultures and their accumulated subjectivity, preserved in and giving value to these objects. In them, you can find fragments of the history of museography and collecting, academia with its schools and its conflicts, vocations and beliefs, resistances and inventions on a local level. ‘Uses and customs’, for example, refers to the studies of the Age of Enlightenment; ‘arts and traditions’ evokes

Perhaps out of affection or out of simple, acute historical sensibility, it is said among museum workers that it is unlucky to change the name of a museum. It is as though, over time, the word and the thing merged into one, and it was no longer conceivable to wonder about the meaning of the name. As though, over time, the museum became a subject in itself and, as a result, to alter its name would be to cripple or violate its integrity. What remains of the Museo del folklore e dei poeti romaneschi now that the Municipal Council of Rome has renamed it (albeit without any sign of a ritual or even prior discussion) the Museo di Roma in Trastevere? What destiny is in store for its historical collection of ‘Scene romane’ (Roman scenes)? (Padiglione, 2009). Per-

Els museus etnogràfics constitueixen la tipologia de museu més freqüent a Itàlia i transmeten plantejaments i interpretacions del patrimoni que no sempre compten amb el vistiplau dels acadèmics o de la comunitat internacional. I, malgrat que les modalitats expressives que els representen siguin limitades i pobres, mereixen atenció com a testimonis, a la seva manera, d’un territori, una època, unes gents i una subjectivitat particulars. A nosaltres, els antropòlegs, que, per definició, ens esforcem a identificar, interpretar i destacar les diferències culturals de què són objecte les persones, les localitats i les institucions, ens interessa incorporar aquesta sensibilitat relativista també en l’àmbit dels museus. Als museus etnogràfics els devem el fet d’haver aplicat i difós plantejaments interpretatius i col·laboratius que han convertit les comunitats locals en protagonistes de les seves exposicions i dels seus esforços didàctics i d’investigació.

Los museos etnográficos constituyen la tipología de museo más frecuente en Italia y transmiten planteamientos e interpretaciones del patrimonio que no siempre cuentan con la aprobación de los académicos o de la comunidad internacional. Y, a pesar de que las modalidades expresivas que los representan son limitadas y pobres, merecen atención como testimonios, a su manera, de un territorio, una época, unas gentes y una subjetividad particulares. A nosotros, los antropólogos, que, por definición, nos esforzamos en identificar, interpretar y destacar las diferencias culturales de las cuales son objeto las personas, las localidades y las instituciones, nos interesa incorporar esta sensibilidad relativista también en el ámbito de los museos. A los museos etnográficos les debemos el hecho de haber aplicado y difundido planteamientos interpretativos y colaborativos que han convertido a las comunidades locales en protagonistas de sus exposiciones y de sus esfuerzos didácticos y de investigación.

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Key words: Widespread Museology, Ethnographic Museum, Museum Anthropology, Italy Paraules clau: Museologia disseminada, museu etnogràfic, antropologia museística, Itàlia Palabras clave: Museología diseminada, museo etnográfico, antropología museística, Italia

Ethnographic museums are the most popular type of museum in Italy, and often adopt approaches to and interpretations of heritage that are not wholly sanctioned by academia or the international community. Even when they are presented in a way that is humble and narrow, they are deserving of attention. This is because they are evidence of particular places, epochs, and people – and because they display a distinctive and important subjectivity. We anthropologists, who are by definition committed to discovering, translating and enhancing the cultural differences rooted within people, places and institutions, are interested in inscribing this relativistic sensibility into the context of museums. Ethnographic museums must practise and share their interpretative and collaborative approaches; those which make local communities the focus of research and didactic work.

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haps the museum’s re-denomination was just a way of removing the term folklore, long ambiguous and unpalatable to the majority of people. Nevertheless, in doing so, memories have been removed – and this can lead to radical transformations. Museum names are synthetic and explicit mission statements and, over time, they can become obscure, losing their conceptual or explicitly self-evident seductive characters, even if such characters were often appreciated at the outset. In their multiplicity and heterogeneity, they can create a few problems: they point out the existence of a plurality of cultural references, unstable perspectives and disciplines, of various concepts of ‘museum’ that are not unified. That is, the many and diverse names of ethnographic museums in Italy can denounce academic inconvenience, the limits of scientific hegemony, viscous provincialism, effervescence and local wealth, all in one fell swoop. In between the text and the footnotes of the first issue of AM1 in 2002, I wrote that:

“The names of museums oscillate between perspectives (e.g. ethnographic) and local heritage, considered to be of value in itself; assets to be understood as totality (rural civilisation, village, people, territory, mountain, valley), combinations of expressive forms (habits and customs) or specific goods (wine, agricultural wagon, linen, footwear, etc.)” (...) “From the census data of ethnographic and agricultural museums compiled by Roberto Togni, Gaetano Forni and Francesca Pisani (1997), it can be noted that ‘Rural Life’, ‘Arts and Traditions’, ‘Arts and Crafts’, ‘Uses and Customs’ and ‘Ethnographic’ remain the most common denominations in use. They tend to use terminology from beyond the Alps, such as ‘Ecomuseum’. Local preferences are also noted, which highlight regional politics, academic influences and authors’ bias: for example, the Museo Etno-antropologico in Sicily, the Museo Etnografico in Sardinia, the Museo

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storico etnografico in Lombardy and the Museo del villaggio in Trentino, and local language terms used in the border regions. Even more varied and growing significantly is the landscape of the museums whose names already dedicate them to a thematic focus: fragments of life forms, agricultural cycles (olives, wine, hemp, bread), basic foods (salt, bread, chestnuts, pasta), work and crafts (wagons, nails, umbrellas, bagpipes), habitats (mountains, valleys, swamps, forests, sea, mines) and historical-cultural demarcations (emigration, malaria, reclamation).” (Padiglione, 2002a) I refer to the continuation of the text cited above for an initial examination of the elements of institutional heterogeneity and weakness which characterise small ethnographic museums, but also for recognition of the original breadth of their ‘exhibition complex’. Here I would like to focus on the two main denominations (ethnographic museum and museum of rural life) that are spread across the Italian museum scene, on the subject of the representation of local cultures. Ethnographic Museum The term ethnographic corresponds to the most widespread way in which our museums are described and known in various parts of the world. This term makes reference to the ICME (International Committee of Ethnographic Museums), which was founded in 1946 by ICOM (The International Council of Museums) and which is a privileged place for debate at an international level. It is a meeting place for researchers and curators of exotic and western collections, of material and immaterial testimonies. What they have in common is their recognition of the relevance of the anthropological perspective, their preference for contextual design, and their propensity to discuss the fundamentals (art, museum, heritage, as well as subjects such as marriage, economy...)

In 2002, the quarterly AM Antropologia museale (AM Museum Anthropology) magazine was launched. The editorial team consists of Vincenzo Padiglione (director), Pietro Clemente, Alessandra Broccolini, Vito Lattanzi, Marco D’Aureli, Sandra Ferracuti, Katia Ballacchino, Susanna Guerini.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

in collaboration with the representatives of local cultures. According to Raffaele Corso (1942: 5) the concept of ethnography became widespread in the period of geographical and linguistic classifications, and was coined by the Italian geographer Adriano Balbi in his work Atlante Etnografico del Globo (Ethnographic Atlas of the Globe) (1826). The coexistence and variability of elements within a single territory has constituted a privileged modality since the eighteenth century, combining climate, environment, somatic traits and moral character in a more or less causal way. In the following decades, however, disciplinary systematisation began in earnest. Italian Giovenale Vegezzi Ruscalla contributed significantly to this, but with an evident Franco-German influence. For this scholar from Piedmont, “Ethnology is a science of the nations” (Vegezzi Ruscalla, 1991: 77), which, in order to generalise, compares ethnic societies, physical-moral aggregations, and (as he went on to state a few years later) ‘discuss[es] origins, characters, and events’ (Vegezzi Ruscalla, 1991: 81). Sandra Puccini states that ethnography plays a preliminary and complementary role – one that is “more modest than descriptive and ideological disciplines – with respect to the cognitive ambitions of the time” (Puccini, 1998: 194). Over the next few decades, the distinction between ethnography and ethnology was still unclear. For example, for Bartolomeo Malfatti (1878) their roles were interchangeable and, in general, both Italian and foreign scholars freely used them in a way that was indifferent to any distinction2. There were still, however, considerable uncertainties, which remained until the early decades of the next century, and which largely left ambiguous the separation between cultural and bio-somatological approaches. History records an increasing association of ethnography first with the direct collection of the material culture of an ethnic group, and then by extension with the same phase of field research, with the

description of a particular area within an explicitly or implicitly comparative scenario, in an attempt to synthesise its relevance by objectifying the culture to specific evidence. The privileged background, the contextual framework within which most of these cognitive and sampling exercises are made, is nevertheless represented by primitive society. A society which evolutionary anthropology was configuring as living fossils, excellent traces on which to rebuild the history of humanity, to mark the distance from the experience of progress experienced by civilians. But it was the focus on the origins, connected with the importance of comparisons, that expanded the scope of ethnography even further, and that increased its heuristic power and its limitations towards the end of the nineteenth century (Lattanzi, 2000). In 1876, Luigi Pigorini established the Royal Ethnographic Prehistoric Museum in Rome, bringing objects from primitive and exotic societies together with artefacts from the Stone Age. By 1881, he was already planning to extend his mission and, in a letter to the Minister of Public Education, he outlined what he saw as an opportunity to create a section on the customs and collections of the domestic lives of everyday people: peasants, shepherds and mountain people, considering them ‘living fossils’ as significant as the primitive ones. When at the beginning of the twentieth century (1902) Aldobrandino Mochi started a collection of “all kinds of objects and artefacts, in every category, spontaneously used and manufactured by our less civilised people”, he intended to define this collection as Etnografia italiana (Italian Ethnography), making a direct analogy with non-European ethnography. “Ethnographers are right to collect in their museums and their writings the greatest possible copy of news and artefacts from geographically distant populations with different civilisations from our own ... before these different civilisations disappear

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The later case of Marcell Mauss and his Manuale di etnografia (Ethnographic Manual) is exemplary in this respect. And this was still the case in 1942 when Corso wrote that terminological confusion reigned dominant. “Despite the advances in science, we cannot say that the terms used to name it are well regulated. Generally, the names Ethnography and Ethnology are used interchangeably, without taking into account their special significance; and, sometimes, the two branches, which respond to these names, are confused with anthropology or are even called anthropological sciences”. In the footnotes: “In the old debates there is great confusion regarding the use of the terms ethnology and ethnography. The first is the study of natural races or natural human groupings; and the latter, the study of populations (Broca). That is, the significance of the term ‘ethnology’ is a little differently from that of ‘sociology’; and at the end of the day, ethnography has an essentially somatological meaning (Hovelacque, Martin, Papillaut, etc.)” (Corso, 1942: 11).

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or change. But to find documents and traces of civilisations very different from ours in Europe, you do not need to go back very far. Also close to us, in the same geographic field and still surviving today, are people who in some of their manifestations are still very similar to barbarians and savages. They are the people of our countryside, of our mountains, of all the corners of the world where the rays of civilisation from the city centres have not yet reached. The study of this population and of these survivals should, in my opinion, interest the anthropologist as much as that of Indigenous peoples from Central Africa and Australia. Actually, it should really interest us more, as it is a subject closer to home. Sometimes an object can tell the story of the national spirit better than many written pages. If we do not hasten to pick up these characteristic products of history and of popular taste, soon there will be no more to find.” (Mochi, 1902: 642-646). These were the motives which led Mochi and Lamberto Loria to start the research for and the construction of the Museo di

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Etnografia Italiana (1906). This is how Italy’s most important museum project, looking at heritage on a national scale, began. The Mostra Nazionale di Etnografia italiana was organised with the aim of establishing the museum’s collection and celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Unification of Italy, providing the nation’s first ‘institutional legitimacy’ for significant and important internal cultural differences3 .The project soon failed, however, and was never resumed. After 1911, the collection remained in storage for a long time and didn’t become the Museo Nazionale delle Arti e Tradizioni popolari (National Museum of Popular Arts and Traditions) until much later in the 1950s. The collection had an aesthetic heritage that was to be a mark of the institution’s ambiguity throughout its life, including at present. The aim of documenting territorial cultural differences progressively diminished and in the decades following 1911, Fascism attempted to emphasise local cultures in a form that resembled the quadri viventi (living paintings) of the universal expositions, but which had much more to do with the

First room in the Museo Nazionale Preistorico Etnografico, Luigi Pigorini, Rome, where you can see a reconstruction of Pigorini’s office (April 2012). FABIEN VAN GEERT

“An attempt that connected the romantic valorisation of the various national spirits and the positivist nature of the documents of ‘the wills of the civilian people’, and which unfolds in the construction of objects marked by aesthetic particularity, regional differentiation or typicality, or being involved in disused processes- local arts, testimonies of cultural variety, attestations of archaeology of the recent past. At the same time, these are signs of deep and diverse roots, and of a common civilisation which surpassed them. Objective testimonies of the variety of origins of a population who are now recognised in a common design.” (Clemente, Candeloro, 2000: 198).

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

format teatrale (theatrical format), to the choreographic rendering of representations and parties, which were mainly initiated to organise and display the mass consensus towards the regime. Let us refer to the extensive historical literature on the studies of the National Exhibition in 1911, and the broader context that precipitated them. This is a good point at which to emphasise that Mochi and Loria’s conceptual notion of ethnography, loaded with cognitive and social urgencies, gradually began to lose its restrictive identification with non-European societies and with a solely material culture, become a key concept in a totalising approach consisting of surveys of local culture. ‘The two scholars (Loria, Mochi 1906) assign the task of collecting and documenting oral traditions to the field of Italian Ethnography. Until this time, it was instead pertinent to those of Folklore and Folk Traditions’ (Puccini, 1998: 195). In Italy, the Second World War began, taking away the inter-class harmony of ‘operetta

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folklore’. It was the remarkable spectacle of heritage, which started to be practised under Fascism that made the relationship between professional researchers and expressive regeneration groups difficult for a long time. Essentially, in the 1950s, researchers radically turned the page on the image of cartographic folklore, and aimed to show more: documenting hard everyday life, denouncing misery, the same ability to survive by relying on the protection of symbology and magic-religious rites, a legacy of an ancient history that was never definitively set aside because of the backward living conditions of the population. For Italian anthropologists, as well as their foreign colleagues, ethnography was, in those years, the identification of a notion that was less compromised than others (folklore, tradition, ...), a passpartout concept of professionalism. It was used to qualify the wide and varied work of research and documentation: the specificity of fieldwork, as well as the gathering of artefacts for museums or information for monographs. In the

View of the current exhibitions in the Museo Nazionale delle Arti e Tradizioni popolari, Rome (April 2012). FABIEN VAN GEERT

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meantime, the evolutionary implications that were explicitly present in the vision of those active early in the last century, such as Mochi and Loria, but also Pigorini before, disappeared, being replaced with a growing interest in the study of primitives or peasants looking to survive, living fossils. From the original matrix, the idea remained that an ethnographic investigation is concerned with long-lasting cultural traits. In others words, that an ethnographic museum exhibits ‘traditional’ artefacts that, although collected in contemporaneity, have a long lived temporality or represent specimens of models of viscous permanence that have only been placed into disuse and disintegration as a result of modernity and which therefore an anthropology devoted to spiritual salvation must save. Thus, when the demand for local museums began to be widespread in the 1970s, the notion of latent ethnography became active, and it was clearly preferred by the academic community over other expressions. Its presence, in the main, is valid as a disciplinary mark, i.e. to indicate a specific method of withdrawal and a contextual type of exhibition. But this is often only a formal declaration, which does not correspond to actual research work and documentation (Padiglione, 1995). To prevent an entirely ethnographic outcome, it is important to highlight the very limited involvement professional anthropologists have had in the creation of ethnographic museums, the names of which have often been labels for collections of often heterogeneous testimonies of material culture, related to a single territorial unit. The weak link between professional researchers and local museographers has, for over two decades, made the majority of the small ethnographic museums less permeable to the innovations and debates unfolding in the anthropological community. For example, it is difficult to find evidence in these museums of the rationalist theories successfully proposed by Alberto Mario Cirese since 1967. For a long time, ethnographic museums have also been resistant to creating the cultural heritage that Cirese called ‘volatile’,

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‘non-concrete’, and which, in as much as it is constituted by knowledge, performances, rituals and stories, corresponds to the most specific and original type of heritage in the sector. And for a long time there has been no trace in the museums of the interpretive turnaround that has radically altered the epistemological and theoretical landscape of the anthropological sciences since the 1970s, focusing precisely on ethnographic practice, as a dialogic and reflective approach, the leading carrier of the new cultural hermeneutics. It was only in the 90s that there began to be experimentation in Italy’s museums. In keeping with some already famous examples (the Ethnographic Museum in Neutchatel, but also the one in Grenoble), they exaggerated peremptory categories (art, culture, ...) and hybrid temporality (present history as well as the invention of tradition) in their exhibitions, gave emphasis to the local point of view and proposed a radically reflexive approach to cultural differences. The current landscape seems to slowly absorb these innovations and points to significant changes, including increased dialogue between local museographers and research professionals, between anthropologists of and in museums, but also the most direct assumption of project and management tasks on the part of university lecturers and ethnographic researchers who have chosen a museum career. This landscape, as a section of the AISEA (Italian Association for Ethno-Anthropological Sciences), then as an autonomous association, would make convincing indicators. Museum of Rural Life “In June 1976, on the occasion of the annual Stadura summer festival, we opened the first permanent exhibition in Italy, and named it the Museo della Civiltà Contadina” (Gruppo della Stadura, 1985: 60). Thus proudly writes Ivano Trigari, one of the main animators of that group of former farmers

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

(Gruppo della Stadura) who gave life to an unprecedented rural museum experience that culminated in the foundation of the S. Marino di Bentivoglio Museum of Rural Life. The significant and entirely voluntary tasks of gathering objects of material culture (relating to work and the home environment), carrying out research and creating archives (through a non-subordinate relationship with the academic world) were based on a common cultural activism that greatly impressed the general public. The initiative soon gained a vast resonance and became an exemplary model of the fundamental role played by workers in the history of humanity. This model was recognised politically and was extremely significant. Recognition of the creativity of popular culture and the centrality of the world of work in biographies and production reports became interpretive keys with which to read the landscape and history as a whole. From then onwards, small museums began to multiply throughout Italy. They were established on the basis of collections of humble objects, without set-up costs and by the will of small groups or ex-farmers who, more than others, had experienced the sometimes devastating effects of modernisation. They contributed significantly to the success of this typology of museum, including the invention of the name: Museum of Rural Life. The name immediately invoked – to both historians and sympathetic anthropologists – the initiative of St. Marino di Bentivoglio, who wrote of fearing the ‘mythical charge’ and, more generally, of the fallacy of assuming the peasant world as ‘totally autonomous and closed in itself ’, as if it was something outside of broader cultural circulation processes. The rural inhabitants showed they were not something external to history and instead displayed their way of being part of history. As a result, Cirese would have preferred the name of the museum to be Museo della condizione contadina (State of Peasantry Museum) (Cirese, 1977: 20): a place where technique, relationships and modes of production, and even nostalgia in the Marxian sense of the price paid for

the progress of the “breaking of continuity between domestic, working and associative life which, despite misery, characterised the demise of the peasant state” took centre stage (Cirese, 1977: 23 and et seq.). The problem, still very obvious but today almost completely incomprehensible, was that behind that name (Civiltà contadina) was the work of Carlo Levi – a fundamental but highly controversial body of work about left-wing culture. He reproached him for being heavy handed over the autonomy of popular peasant culture, to dissect – as certain forces in heritage and conservation did – the unity of the proletariat, dividing the peasants from the workers, describing the former in mythical images, anchoring them to an immobile way of life, refracted through history. Levi’s work is thus dealt with strangely and distrusted by most anthropologists4. Levi focuses the same look, which is at the same time sympathetic and denounces backwardness, on the subordinate rural classes with anthropological sensibility completely unpublished in Italy and derived from specific readings. “Carlo Levi read about anthropology and it would appear that his observations carefully re-establishing levels of alterity in the mentality of the southern peasants are indebted to Lévy-Bruhl’s writings” (Padiglione, 1997: 72). At the end of the 1960s when the promoters of the Museo di Bentivoglio resorted to the Levian notion of rural life, it became necessary to characterise it in a Marxist sense, a sense of social economic formation, overlapping the image of people struggling for the release of Levian denunciation with a world that was left out of emancipation. In a presentation of the museum, the historian Carlo Poni in fact declares that this “concept must be verified, rethought and deepened, but also involve the consideration of social economic formations, modes of production and labour struggles for their own liberation for more worthy life” (Poni, 1985: 120).

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Consequently, in the 1950s and 1960s ethnographic studies in southern Italy, though often inspired by Levi (Padiglione, 1997), were more explicitly measured by Gramsci’s readings, to articulate discourse on class and culture (see authors such as de Martino and Cirese), and to show that in the circulation processes besides hegemony, resistance is also consumed (“the islands of backwardness are sometimes also places of resistance”, wrote Bosio); and therefore subordinate classes intervened significantly in the cultural processes, producing by positioning difference.

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In just a few decades, museums of rural life have multiplied, supported by humble collections and essential museography that has been intermittently availing itself of ethnographic sources and agricultural history (Padiglione, 1996). Several unlikely museums have emerged, museums that act as cultural services and as centres for the documentation and interpretation of a territory, but which set themselves aside as institutions of community affection, presiding over rural memories in towns, gradually building an idea of h eritage: a cultural heritage, the result of shared social conditions, of cultural processes elaborated in distance, exclusion and resistance. It seems apt to share Pietro Clemente’s thoughts (1996) who, in a recent rehabilitation of the notion of peasant civilisation, has emphasised the value local reinvention that is able to summon museographical grains of culture that might otherwise have been forgotten. Annotations The launch of the Code of Cultural Heritage has introduced a very important novelty: our sector has had its name changed from “demoethnoanthropological” (which remains in use as a disciplinary grouping in universities) to “ethnoanthropologic” (a possible influence from the Italian Association of ethno-anthropological sciences and/ or Sicily?). The reference to the study in the societies known as ‘superior’ of the ‘inner differences of culture’, of ‘cultural diversity that accompanies or corresponds to social diversity’ has been skipped (Cirese, 1973: 13), or demography (originally Demopsicology, a term introduced in 1911 by Giuseppe Pitré but coined by Vittorio Imbriani in the German version of the ‘Psychology of the People’). To the demo-ethno-anthropological adjective, coined by Cirese in 1973, an almost impossible mission has been entrusted for the past three decades. “It had to make visible – even in the innovations – traces of identity, our specific history of studies. To put together, at least with a dash, jealous perspectives of their autonomy, taking

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part in long-time distinct orders of cultural differences (demography, ethnology, our anthropology). A complex and articulated field where we better perceive the contours by virtue of the established connections of this ugly term” (Padiglione, 2003). It is hoped that the censorship on demography (a term which is not really diffused elsewhere) does not mean that there isn’t a research program among the most original deployed by Italian anthropology in the wake of the stimulation offered by the pages of Gramsci, and that the new ethno-anthropology label emphasises the tension within our field of study between research practice (ethnography) and commitment to generalisation (anthropology). After all, a colleague, Silvana Miceli, reminded us during a conference in Rome that “Anthropologists do not know Anthropos’s address. They get an idea of it by travelling through the Ethne”. Academic textural posture and museographic spontaneity Rendering the cultural field of small ethnographic museums as ‘undisciplined’ has contributed to the lack of a connection between them and a large part of the community of anthropologists, from the second post-war period up until the 1980s. One can speak of mutual disapproval. The logic followed, especially in their layout, has often lost sight of the main topics and latest developments in the evolution of the anthropological perspective. In particular, on a museum level, the notions of ethnography and tradition have been applied in ways which are now out-dated and opposed by contemporary anthropologists (Padiglione, 2008: 93-105). But the difficult, problematic relationship between anthropologists and small local ethnographic museums during the second half of the 20th century seems to be attributed to an increasing refractoriness in museum practices (accomplices, in the sixties and seventies, to the symbolic anthropology that appeared as a simplification of interpretative complexity), which did not become part of the cultural and political centre of anthropology until the nineties.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

The lack of constant mediation by the anthropological community, especially that of the academic world, which for a long time has shown, with some exceptions, a substantial indifference, cannot be said to be entirely alien to the negative representation of local museums among the larger public. Or rather, it can be said that in the sixties, seventies and eighties, to the lively visual and objectivistic visualisation of local museums of demographic interest, the university world of anthropology responded either with strangulation and distrust, or made use of an alternative code that favoured itself – choosing, that is, textual writing in the mode of indexing, the essay or the convention report. Only since the nineties have there been cases of direct involvement of professors of anthropology in design (Cirese, Bronzini, Clemente, Padiglione, Gri), in museographic practice, in the management of museums and in tune and alliance with a new generation of professional museographer anthropologists, in the meantime (Vito Lattanzi, Mario Turci, Giovanni Kezich, Gianfranco Molteni, Daniela Perco and Paolo Piquereddu). The 1960s and subsequent years were characterised by a range of expressive actions that had references to themes and styles of popular culture, without being subject to the dictates and discourses of disciplines such as Cultural Anthropology and History of popular traditions, which in those years were finally gaining academic recognition. They were years of ethnographic spontaneity which gave rise to the first local ethnographic museums, which corresponded to other converging sympathetic phenomena present on the artistic scene; first of all, for the echo it received, the revival of popular ‘pop’ music, (where pop was united and confused with folklore, thus exploiting a rich and varied regional repertoire, and to the proletarian, loading new subversive force, rebellious on the political scene). To undertake this retrieval in research and reproduction works, there were countless basic musical and theatrical groups, appearing almost everywhere during that period, in the wake

of the investigations carried out in Italy by the new Ernesto de Martino Institute (linked with Cesare Bermani, Franco Coggiola), and they found performances in the Italian Canzoniere and in the first scandalous “Ci ragiono e canto” (1964) directed by Dario Fo (the original title was: “Nasco, piango, grido, ammazzo, mi faccio ammazzare, faccio all’amore, rido, mi affatico, credo, prego, non credo, crepo, ci ragiono e canto” (I am born, I cry, I shout, I kill, I am killed, I make love, I laugh, I get tired, believe, pray, do not believe, fall, think and sing), in the experiences of the New Folk Song Company and the Circolo Gianni Bosio. In a landscape characterised by a plurality of heterogeneous attitudes, one figure stands out who has, over the years, maintained a special cultural influence allowing him to connect different phenomena focused on popular culture. It is important to see the writer and painter Carlo Levi as an initiator and an activator of discourses on several different levels, cognitive and expressive, but nevertheless as having the peasant world and its grains of cultural alterity as his primary theme (Padiglione, 1997: 69-74). It is well known that de Martino’s research was inspired by Cristo si è fermato a Eboli (Christ Stopped at Eboli) (1945), and that this also directed his work on similar topics, from a different perspective. Even Rocco Scotellaro, mayor, researcher and poet, was very close to Levi. His surveys, which have made the use of biophysics in the socio-anthropological field known, show how cognitive engagement has solid roots in ethical and political instances, suggesting a line of research that became increasingly important in the 1970s, contributing to the legitimisation of the growing movement of museums of ethnography and rural civilisation. But another converging stream helped to create a climate conducive to the emergence of museography from the south and, in this case, Levi had an initial central role. The reference applies not only to intellectuals noted for their interest in the people, but also to artists who after the post-war period, in a

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crescendo that culminated in the seventies, undertook expressive research with the peasant world at its core: land occupation, social struggles, emigration, peasantry in contrast the relatively victorious urban world. These are themes that are found, for example, in the exhibition catalogue Arte e mondo contadino (Art and the peasant world) (edited by M. De Micheli, 1980), an exhibition whose move from Turin to Matera was significant. In many works, there is a particular connection between realism and populism, nostalgia and anticipation, compensation and the perception of a past that is long gone. This is certainly present as an evocative matrix in many museums of ethnography and rural civilisation. For ethnographic museography, these artistic experiments proved to be a sympathetic background, but unfortunately not an operational agent, nor a pragmatic or programmatic connection. So it is to be considered that attention – already strong since the post-war period – that contemporary art turned to popular culture and that, despite the ever-strong outcomes of Levian poetics and realism, it returned to express itself in the 1960s in relation to Jerzy Grotowski’s teatro povero ‘poor theatre’ and the arte povera (poor art) of Alberto Burri (and other artists), namely the thematic and stylistic focus on the historicity of matter, dense objects and landscapes. Heritage. The growth and decline of indexing Many young anthropologists who left university between the 1960s and 1970s forged closer connections with museums when convergent museographic approaches in France (George-Henri Rivière) and Italy (Cirese) began to preach the centrality of research, and anthropology began to engage in developing scientific instruments for sorting collections and museums. Searching for a museum or a territory meant filing and documentation, having a complex ethnographic background made up of sources (people, objects, scriptures) and the possibility of establishing a new type of relationship that

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provided for restitution and therefore also evaluation by those who, elsewhere or in ethnology, continued to be called ‘indigenous’, ‘natives’. Carrying out scientific indexing was considered, in the academic world, a way to complement and complete the somewhat ‘wild’ documentation that, in those years, was often initiated and undertaken in a widespread manner by regional authorities and basic groups and which, centred on the recovery of popular culture, was fuelled by a vibrant ethno-political tension (Kezich, 1999: 51-55). It is worth pointing out that the interest of academics was often directed towards the construction and validation of scientific documentation, or to establishing and safeguarding sources, rather than to museums and their objects. And this was perhaps appropriate, since there is no doubt that the recognition of the existence of a specific ‘good’, called demoethnoanthropology (DEA), is – as with other goods – indebted to the existence of specific catalogue cards. Thus, the “farsi” of the DEA foresaw a long stage of gestation, that is, an emphasis on documentation and experimentation with ways of indexing, in a collaborative relationship between the university world (Cirese, Gian Luigi Bravo, Enrica Delitala), state agencies (State Discotheque) and regional centres, which then slowly fell. The catalogues FKN (narrative), FKM (music) and FKC (ceremonies), developed by the National Museum of Popular Arts and Traditions in agreement with the Central Institute for Catalogues and Documentation, were experimented with primarily on a regional level and, at the end of the seventies, it was possible to make an initial assessment of the work carried out by the territorial museum (Biagiola et al., 1978). This attention to documentation continued in the following decades, eventually requiring a more systematic and functional definition. The was implemented through the production of a new inventory of heritage objects (2000), called Demoethnoanthropological Material Goods (BDM), and a supplementary inventory of intangible heritage assets, which was

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to be used intensively, especially in the territories, called Immaterial demoethnoanthropological goods (BDI), and which was carried out between 2002 and 2006 (Bravo, Tucci, 2006). The “rise of indexing” in this field is best understood through its commitment to attribute documentary value to goods that do not manifest it explicitly, and to credit the field of science with a new order of cognitive practices, such as, for example, ethnography, which will become a major part of the philological skillset, especially with the BDI card. From the first indexes, called FKO (Folklore objects), which referred to mobile and immobile real objects, the project moved on to cataloguing, designing and ultimately making the BDI card operational. In the early 1990s, ethnographic museums took a similar pathway and abandoned the centrality of material culture to represent intangible heritage, consisting of performances, festivals, knowledge and narratives. We see a change of theoretical paradigm in these interpretations. They abandoned the positivistic illusions that were often active in making the catalogue card more than an object identification card, continuously subject to updating due to foreseeable reinterpretations, and at the same time it opened the identification and filing not only of ‘exemplary objects’ (Solinas, 1989), but also of ‘objects of affection’: things whose value does not consist of being representative on a collective level, but which have a firm meaning for individuals, that is, which invite you to explore the ways in which the life story of people intertwines with the history and social life of objects (Clemente, 1999). This is a perspective that went on to have very significant effects on local ethnographic museography, inviting immaterial research and narrative to complete exhibitions of material items, in essence freeing them from repetition. In this different landscape, the way in which museological and heritage research was carried out also changed direction and perspective, losing the rhetoric of the inventory. We began to accept more diverse cognitive practices and stopped submitting

the effective work of documentation in the territories to the rational, deductive and generalising academic model, prevalent at the time (Clemente, 1996). But these positions bring us to the mid-1990s, when divergences between local anthropologists and museums were increasing. A festive revenant Tullio Seppilli, a current dean of university anthropologists and prominent figure in the history of Italian studies, deals with the theme of museums in an essay that recalls the conference ‘Commitments and perspectives of the speaking drum’ in the context of the museums of society and their cultural policies, which took place in 2003 at a local Umbrian museum, one definitely not of a conventional type (Museo del tamburo parlante of Montone, Perugia). The essay is a good pretext with which to point out the changes of perspective relative to museums that Italian anthropology has experienced in previous decades, and that were highlighted in a very vague and problematic way at the beginning of the year 2000.

“There is something in meetings dedicated to ethnographic museums or their variant of so-called folkloric museums or folk culture that always comes back as an annoying revenant, and since the late nineteenth century, has characterised all the history of debates that is used nowadays as “museum anthropology” (but it would be more precise, I think, to speak rather than “anthropological museography” or perhaps “ethnographic museography”)” (Seppilli, 2005: 173). There is a long note at this point in which Seppilli shows an aspect of his disorder, an element of his discomfort, a target of his controversy: he reasons on the subject of discipline, reiterating his rejection of the notion of museum anthropology (which, if anything, could only be used to indicate the ‘anthropological museum study’) in favour of museography ethnographic, in the wake of anthropological cinematography, since it is a theoretical methodological dimension that embraces all research sectors. Seppilli

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writes from an academic viewpoint that many (largely internal anthropologists in the world of museums) have been allowed to create a new denomination from below, causing confusion in hierarchies and conventions in the wake of postmodernism and of the new museology. But the annoying revenant evoked by Seppilli relates to a deeper and wider discomfort, which is not limited to terminology and difficult philology problems within a group of troubled museum anthropologists. That disturbing thing relates to the subject itself, the content and the sense, in the anthropological work of ‘muse-ing’ (museificare) (Seppilli, 2005: 174). Note the use of this verb that, unlike others already in use, recalls ghosts and violent and definitive actions, or, as it turns out and as Seppilli explains, the work of embalming, or freezing. In it you can perceive the anthropologist’s fastidiousness in reducing research to an object, to definitive things, museum life. It is like an allergy, a vitalistic legacy of anthropology regarding the museum as a privileged terrain, as a space of visual representations and impure professionalism, from a communicative and scientific point of view. Local museography is considered to be an effect of the reduction in local production and the deluge of information, which produce alienation and consequently demand for ‘reassuring rooting mechanisms’. Here is a kind of emotional, defensive interpretation, one which is preferred within the community of anthropologists and which aims to have museums capture emotions as well as cognitions, reactive feelings rather than memories and assets to be safeguarded and valued; an interpretation that, in a guarded way, as nostalgia for the ‘prices paid to progress’, in Cirese (1977) becomes predominant and a common place of inferiorising reality when the anthropologist performs at a cognitive level whilst considering native local museographers who are anchored to an emotional, rational and project-free condition. It is a ‘primitivist’, ‘prelogic’ reading that captures reassuring

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mechanisms, anxieties of rooting, logical axioms, dangerous forms of appropriation in museums made by collectors and small communities. In the volume Museo oggi in Italia, Ottavio Cavalcanti describes the identity crisis that would lead the rustic villages to find ‘alleviation’ in the ‘cult of the past’ and in ‘material relics’ (Cavalcanti, 1990: 28). In the introduction to the volume Il patrimonio museale antropologico – Itinerari nelle regioni italiane (Anthropological museum heritage. Itineraries in the Italian regions), Valeria Cottini Petrucci attributes the origin of many small museums scattered across rural villages to an annoyance at a loss of identity (AA.VV, 2002/2003: 7); Luigi Maria Lombardi Satriani finds misunderstandings and ingenuity in local ethnographic museums, and accuses positivism of diverting demographic attention in the direction of museum of making museums “the show of this trust in reality” (AA.VV, 2002 / 2003 19); Antonino Buttitta criticises a “sleepy reason” that would produce museums as “cultural golems” and underlines the “limits”: a) decontextualization of objects; b) processes of refunctionalisation, of change of an unstructured meaning; c) resulting in cognitive impairment of the proposed reality (Buttitta, 2002: 31) Francesco Remotti is no different when he expresses an explicit criticism of the practice of creating local museums guilty of ‘spreading’ for ‘identity’ possessions’ unspiritual appropriations of cultural differences, irretrievably far removed from the past and change that has already happened (Remotti, 2000: VII -XXIX). Even if through countless hesitations, this psycho-cultural view, which is concerned with the defensive and non-progressive nature of local museums, will change with its entry into the field of museum anthropology and in particular to the Italian Society for Museums and Demoetnoanthropological Goods (SIMBDEA5) . From the preoccupied gaze to a patrimonial turning point From the symposium in which the SIMBDEA (2001) was founded, and then from the pages of the magazine “AM Antrop-

SIMBDEA is a non-profit Italian association which brings together professionals, scholars and volunteers actively working with demo-ethnoantropological assets, museums and material and immaterial cultural heritage.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

ologia museale” (2002), a sympathetic approach to local museums was born. Certainly, it also continued to criticise and attribute ‘passions’ to these museums, but from this stage onwards the argument exhibited a deeply recognisable cultural recognition evident in the opening and in the concluding paragraphs of one of Clemente’s essays. There is a definite change in perspective, the idea that these types of museum have a strategic mission is unusual and new: broadening the narrow forms of life imagined for the future. In this sense, museums can be considered as “a resource of possible alternatives to civilisation, increasingly necessary for our society [...] to imagine forms of sociality, of the relationship with nature, of civilisations that can be spent in the imagination of the future” (Clemente, 1996: 176). It is understood why the scholar, in rehabilitating the notion of peasant civilisation, emphasised the value of being a local reinvention able to summon museographically forms of cultural alterity otherwise denied (Padiglione, 2008).

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What Clemente inaugurates is no more critical-analytical writing but dialogue, participatory research, and shared interpretation (see also the catalogue Il bosco delle cose. Il Museo Guatelli di Ozzano Taro, edited by P. Clemente, E. Guatelli, 1996). Clemente, who had studied oral sources and, through these, had experienced the coauthority of researcher and informer when it came to life stories, introduced participatory and collaborative initiatives to the museum industry, deploying his significant understanding (combining piety and a sense of the meaning of the future). It should be emphasised at this point that the success of this ‘close look’ approach and the ability to sympathetically read the stories of museums and collectors (the Guatelli case is paradigmatic) received a strong impetus from the founding of SIMBDEA. For the first time, the ‘museums’ of demographic orientation and ethnological orientation, traditionally separated by a mutual wall of indifference, declared themselves interested in collaborating and learning from each

Pietro Clemente at the Guatelli Museum in Ozzano Taro (Region: Emilia-Romagna) (date unknown). VINCENZO PADIGLIONE

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other. It marked the start of a new historical phase, which saw the ‘decline of traditional breakdowns’, vanquished by social scenarios, from the unproductive dynamics of post-industrialism – also due to the emergence of ‘new cultural differences within European countries’. The preoccupied look exhibited by many university anthropologists was thus overcome – or at least ameliorated. That look which saw only cognitive weaknesses in small ethnographic museums – epistemological confusion, narrow contextualization – was somewhat abated. After a few decades at the margins, this specific type of museum came – at the end of the eighties and, fully, in the nineties – to be recognised as one of the foremost sectors of contemporary anthropological and museological debate, and ended up with steadily increasing importance and visibility, not only culturally but also politically. The local communities did not appear willing to delegate to foreigners the public management of their representations, to sign blank cheques without being involved, as bearers of culture, at the major decision-making levels of research. The sphere of heritage and museums, precisely because of the transparent pressure and contractuality that emerged

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(as well as the communication challenge launched in the context of postmodernism – of fierce competition), became an area where knowledge and anthropological research practices, indebted to collaborative approaches, allowed us to experience unusual ways of representation and new sources, both internally and externally, of legitimacy (Padiglione, 2008). Within SIMBDEA new perspectives and practices emerged, generally centred on a collaborative and reflective local museography, giving new centrality to ethnography, to the plurality of voices, to local interpretations and aesthetics; to highlight to visitors the tension between the subject and the context, between scene and stage, to summon intercultural comparison in order to prevent sacralisation of local identities (AA. VV, 1996). The museum scope makes these pragmatic values even more transparent, requiring from operators a constant review of classifications, categories, approaches adopted, that the time and symbolic strength of the museum tends to materialise, naturalise, transform into monumental complexes, in excellence emancipated by the ranks of history. Pietro Clemente at the Guatelli Museum in Ozzano Taro (Region: Emilia-Romagna) (date unknown). VINCENZO PADIGLIONE

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Pietro Clemente at the Guatelli Museum in Ozzano Taro (Region: Emilia-Romagna) (date unknown). VINCENZO PADIGLIONE

In general, from the 1990s, SIMBDEA and the museum movement created a patrimonial perspective able to attract investment into exhibits and the future of individuals and collectives, the appreciation of know-how, aesthetics and local society, which had previously been invisible. And thus, from the pages of AM Antropologia museale and in the lobbying work of SIMBDEA, these museums came to be recognised; their incredible dispersal across the Italian territory, with a particular presence in areas without other museums, can also be seen as an increase in cultural democracy. It is a museography made up of effervescence and local affection and state indifference. With a state often lacking in museums, but an augmented range of exhibitions, there are many and varied activities possible. In the essay Vita sociale di musei locali (The Social Life of local museums), Berardino Palumbo moves in a critical direction as he reflects on the incompleteness of the local museum as a public space, assuming as the subject of his local ethnography the local historical and artistic museums that are expressions of antique contrasts between factions, limited by the modern conception of the

museum as a public space. The question which Palumbo poses, initially indirectly, raises limits and criticisms that extend to small ethnographic museums: What happens to spaces that political actors define as “museums”, which practices and which poetics are implemented in a political context in which relations between the state and the local community, between “public” and “private spaces” (and also between “history and other stories”, between “document and monument”) do not appear readable through the classic categories of “tradition”, “modernity”, “postmodernity”? (Palumbo, 2000: 281). These are studies that, unlike the semiotics of the museum as a metacodice, such as non-life, reinstate the museum into forms of coexistence, make it a place of belonging, a ‘hyperluogo’ – as Palumbo called it – dense with conflicts. But this contiguity with social life is not a serious impediment and impurity; in fact, it creates the possibility that the museum represents something beyond the culture of the elite, that it can transmit instances and perspectives from the community that wanted it, welcomes it and feels represented by it.

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The new generation of DEA museums 6 Some of the collections set up in the 1960s and 1970s, which became museums, could enjoy resources, grow and become established, sometimes with the help of institutions, including regions and universities. But what Mario Turci writes about regarding the affairs of DEA museums in Emilia-Romagna is of general significance:

[The] Eighties until the mid-1990s were years in stasis and, in some ways, of the crisis of the certainties that had led to the years before the establishment of exhibition centres. The economic crisis and the stagnation of the debate about museums of material culture led to a sort of selection of which initiatives would be given life. Collections that found support in public administrations could initiate development programs and, in some ways, consolidate themselves. From the end of the 1990s, a resumption of interest in the ethnographic museum was recorded, this time with the caution imposed by regional

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and provincial coordinators under the aegis of [...] public administrations (Turci, 2006: 13).

This paragraph was written in collaboration with Marco D’Aureli

In terms of content (themes and installations), the nineties – and in particular the end of the decade – represent a phase of profound change in the DEA museum landscape of in Italy. 1999 can be considered the watershed year in a conventional (but not arbitrary) manner. It was during this year that the inauguration of the EtnoMuseo Monti Lepini of Roccagorga was planned by Padiglione. With this experience, which started a new period of ethnographic museography, a different way of understanding the relationship between ethnography and museums was formed. From this moment on, and on the basis of what happened in those same years over national borders is a case for everyone: The Musée d’ethnographie di Neuchâtel – “at the heart of the exhibition path and as a focus of the visitor’s attention” is an “anthropolog-

Portrait of the EtnoMuseo Monti Lepini, in Roccagorga (Region: Lazio) (date unknown). VINCENZO PADIGLIONE

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ical discourse (communicated through an organised sequence of visions, dramatisations and other suggestive multi-sensorial stimuli) which aim to represent cultural diversity in a symbolic, metaphorical, evocative and analogous way, even in its implicit and lessthemed elementsâ&#x20AC;? (Padiglione, 2001: 89). From spontaneous museums to the anthropological museums, it is possible to define them properly insofar as objects around them finally find space for evocation and representation of forms of life, values, practices and knowledge. Underway in this period, thanks to both the changed approach and the optimisation of the available resources, the design and then the realisation of a series of narrative and reflective-themed museums dedicated to subjects left somewhat at the margins of DEA museums. Lazio is the region that has witnessed this new model of museum the most, thanks to serious systematic programming work, and it is where, between 1999 and 2010, many innovative thematic museums were founded. For example, a museum dedicated to the brigands of Itri and Cellere; to games and toys in Sezze, the Infiorata in Genzano, the scritture (scriptures) in Bassiano, and the terre di confine in Sonnino. The intention of these museums is to value various aspects of the local cultural heritage. In the same period, among the objects of museum documentation intangible heritage takes up increasing space, made available through multimedia installations that are becoming increasingly more popular in museums. In this phase of the history of DEA museums, some historical collectors and local scholars, promoters and animators of important museum initiatives became active and took shape, primarily in the 1980s. Many of these have long since established a relationship with the scientific community, activating networks, implementing ways in which the community can participate in the activities of the institutes. The crisis from the point of view of small ethnographic museums The general picture emerging from the analysis of the current situation of local DEA

museums definitely shows areas for acute concern. In the introduction to the volume Il patrimonio museale antropologico (2002), Giuliano Urbani, the creator of the Code of Cultural Heritage and Landscape, who identified and recognised the value of DEA assets, states that such goods do not belong to the state, but to regional and local associations and

The brigand Tiburzi, in the Museo del brigantaggio in Cellere (Region: Lazio) (date unknown). VINCENZO PADIGLIONE

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private entities. He adds that directors are not interested, and that it will also be difficult to incorporate anthropologists into this context, redefining the scientific spheres formed by ‘traditional’ attendees (art historians, archaeologists, architects). The state seems to be able to do without local museums and anthropological perspectives as a type of knowledge that can offer the cultural heritage rooting in the national and local community and a comparative and reflective sensibility. Although with new elements and greater inclusion of ethnographic experiences in national museography, the minority status of our sector seems to already be perpetuated in the future, where increasing signs of uncertainty are felt. The state of increasing inequality experienced on a national level by DEA museums remains and is perceived in an even more acute way due to the current economic crisis. There is a disadvantage in comparison with archaeological, historical, artistic and naturalistic museums which, despite being forced to reduce their work as a result of the crisis, can still count on far superior budgets and a greater availability of staff. To attract tourists and young people, many museums have identified the possibility of modernisation through increasing the presence of IT installations in exhibitions. If they are of good quality (e.g. Studio Azzurro installations) the production and management costs of these digital media are very considerable, and exclude most DEA museums. But the most obvious inequality, the element that most significantly impedes the DEA sector and its ability to be representative of Italian territory, is regional imbalance: the allocation of funds to ethnographic museums is not comparable between the north and the south not even just for survival – funds that southern museums can count on, except for partially isolated exceptions. It is only right to mitigate this complaint, this posturing, which, by attributing the responsibility of social discomfort to the Italian state, covers the inability of many local institutions in the South to have effective intervention and

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development tools. How can you say that DEA museums in the South’s failure to take off is related to some difficulty in designing and implementing themselves as propulsive centres of life and community activity? It is certain that, as suggested by Emanuele Felice in Perché il Sud è rimasto indietro (Why the South has been left behind) (2014), there is a recurrent weakness in regional and provincial institutions, in the southern mountain communities that have operated in the extractive terms (draining resources in favour of elites) rather than inclusive (involving large sections of the population in diversified economic and political activities etc.), to evoke a perhaps too schematic but effective historiographical conceptualisation to understand the continuing inequality between the north, centre and south of Italy (see also D. Acemoglu and JA Robinson, Perché le nazioni falliscono (Why Nations Fail) 2013. Felice’s analysis even suggests that the evils of the South are reproducing and also spreading in the North. The Italian state has weakened so much that in the end it has become incapable of any effort to modernise [...]. And even the North’s economic and political institutions have become progressively like those of the South. If this continues, over the next few decades the gap could perhaps close, but downwards, with the North increasingly approaching the Italian southern regions. By then, another even deeper gap will be created between Italy and more advanced countries (Felice, 2014: 21). Yet on the whole, many local museums resist. Cenerentola (Cinderella) (the usual name with which the symbolic statute of DEA museography is defined) has always been aware of the crisis. Its story is often talked about in terms of ‘an unfortunate birth’ and a ‘life of labour’, a conventional narrative mode studied by de Martino amongst the farm workers of the south in the 1950s; a cultural elaboration of inequality and misfortune. Small ethnographic museums in Italy are accustomed to the crisis; discomfort is a part of their way of life; it constitutes a permanence that has hardened and marked their identity.

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They have also opted for sustainable ways of living on social and economic levels, and this quality should be learned as a resource for other museums, which have so far benefited from lavish funding.

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Can they resist more effectively than the others? Certainly a continuous thematic and stylistic update is required, and an even more lively ability to activate local research and community participation. n

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AA.VV. (ed.) (1995) Identità Differenze Conflitti. Milà: Sezione di antropologia museale dell’AISEA. AA.VV. (eds) (1996) L’invenzione dell’identità e la didattica delle differenze, Atti del convegno della Sezione di Antropologia museale dell’Aisea. Milà: Edizione ET. AA.VV. (2002/2003) Il patrimonio museale antropologico. Itinerari nelle regioni italiane: riflessioni e prospettive. Roma: Ministero per i Beni e le Attività culturali. Biagiola, S. et al. (1978). Ricerca e catalogazione della cultura popolare. Museo Nazionale delle Arti e Tradizioni Popolari-Istituto Centrale per il Catalogo e la Documentazione. Roma: De Luca. Bravo, G.L.; Tucci, R. (2006) I beni culturali demoetnoantropologici. Roma: Carocci. Buttitta, A. (2002) Segni e musei. Dins AA.VV. (2002/2003) Il patrimonio museale antropologico. Itinerari nelle regioni italiane: riflessioni e prospettive, 31. Roma: Ministero per i Beni e le Attività culturali. Cavalcanti, O. (1990) “Musei demoethnoantropologici”. Dins MINISSI, F. (ed.) Museo oggi in Italia, 26-33. Roma: CRS. Cirese, A.M. (1973) Cultura egemonica e culture subalterne. Palermo: Palumbo. Cirese, A.M. (1977) Oggetti segni musei. Sulle tradizioni contadine. Torí: Einaudi. Clemente, P. (1996) Graffiti di museografia antropologia italiana. Siena: Protagon. Clemente, P. (1999) “Un fiore di pirite: introduzione ai nostri “oggetti d’affezione”. Dins CLEMENTE, P. ; ROSSI, E. (eds) Il terzo principio della museografia. Antropologia, contadini, musei, 151-158. Roma: Carocci. Clemente, P.; Candeloro, I. (2000) “I beni culturali demo-etno-antropologici”. Dins ASSINI, N.;

FRANCALACCI, P. (eds.) Manuale dei Beni culturale, 191-220. Milà: Cedam. Corso, R. (1942) Etnografia. Prolegomeni. Nàpols: Pironti. Felice, E. (2014) Perchè il Sud è rimasto indietro. Bolonya: Il Mulino. Gruppo Della Stadura (1985) Dalla Stadura al Museo. Un’esperienza alla base della nuova museografia rurale. Bolonya – S.Marino di Bentivoglio: Unigraphis. ISTAT (2013) I Musei, le aree archeologicne e i monumenti in Italia. <http://www.istat.it/it/archivio/105061> (Accessed: 26 June 2014). Kezich, G. (1998) “Come nasce un museo”. Dins ŠEBESTA, G. (ed.) In forma di museo: il film dei primi anni nei ricordi del fondatore, 7-10. Sant Michele all’Adige: Museo degli usi e costumi della gente trentina. Kezich, G. (1999) “Il museo selvaggio. Note per uno studio di antropologia museale”, La Ricerca folklorica, 39: 51-55. Kezich, G. (2009) “’Nel Trentino’, il Museo di San Michele”. Dins KEZICH, G.; EULISSE, E.; MOTT, A. (eds.) Museo degli usi e costumi della gente trentina. Nuova guida illustrata, VII-XII. Sant Michele all’Adige: Museo degli usi e costumi della gente trentina. Lattanzi, V. (2000) “Beni demo-etno-antropologici”. Dins Enciclopedia Italiana Treccani, vol I, 171-174. Roma: Istituto dell’Enciclopedia Italiana. Loria, L.; Mochi, A. (1906) Museo di etnografia italiana in Firenze. Sulla raccolta di materiali per la etnografia italiana. Milà: Marucelli. Mauss, M. (1969) [1947] Manuale di etnografia. Milà: Jaca Book. Mochi, A. (1902) “Per l’etnografia italiana”, Archivio per l’antropologia e l’etnologia, 32: 642-646.

Padiglione, V. (1994) “Musei e patrimoni: esercizi a decostruire”, Antropologia museale (Annali del Museo di San Michele all’Adige), 7: 149-174. Padiglione, V. (1995) “Per una centralità dell’etnografia nei musei”, Etnoantropologia, 3-4: 238247. Padiglione, V. (1996) “Presentazione”. Dins A.A.V.V. (eds) L’invenzione dell’identità e la didattica delle differenze, Atti del convegno della Sezione di Antropologia museale dell’Aisea, 13-26. Milà: Edizione ET. Padiglione, V. (1997) “Visualizzare un pensiero: la cinematografia demartiniana”, Ossimori, 8: 69-74. Padiglione, V. (2001) “L’EtnoMuseo dei Monti Lepini, ovvero scegliere l’etnografia come prospettiva museale”. Dins PUCCINI, S. (ed.) Beni culturali e musei demoetnoantropologici, Atti della Giornata di studi, Viterbo-Canepina 1997, 84-98. Roma: CISU. Padiglione, V. (2002a). “Piccoli etnografici musei”, Antropologia museale, I/1: 20-24. Padiglione, V. (2002b) “Editoriale: Demo cosa?”, Antropologia museale, I/2: 5. Padiglione, V. (2008) Poetiche dal museo etnografico. Spezie morali e kit di sopravvivenza. Imola: La Mandragora Editrice. Padiglione, V. (2009) “Contestualizzare”, Antropologia museale 22 (numero speciale “Etnografia del contemporaneo: temi e pratiche degli antropologi), 6/22: 20. Palumbo, B. (2000) “Vita sociale di musei locali”. Dins REMOTTI, F. (ed.) Memoria, terreni, musei. Contributi di antropologia, archeologia, geografia, 279-304. Torí: Edizioni dell’Orso. Poni, C. (1985) Un archivio popolare. Dins GRUPPO DELLA STADURA (ed.) Dalla Stadura al

Museo. Un’esperienza alla base della nuova museografia rurale. Bolonya – S.Marino di Bentivoglio: Unigraphis. Puccini, S. (ed.) (1991) L’uomo e gli uomini. Scritti antropologici italiani dell’Ottocento. Roma: CISU. Puccini, S. (1998) Il corpo, la mente e le passioni. Roma: CISU. Remotti, F. (2000) “Presentazione”. Dins REMOTTI, F. (ed.) Memoria, terreni, musei. Contributi di antropologia, archeologia, geografia, VII-XXIX. Torí: Edizioni dell’Orso. Solinas, P.G. (1989) “Presentazione”. Dins SOLINAS, P.G. (ed.) Gli oggetti esemplari. I documenti di cultura materiale in Antropologia, 5-12. Montepulciano: Editori del Grifo. Seppilli T. (2005) “Sulla questione dei musei etnografici”. Dins CASTELLI, E.; LAURENZI, D. (ed.) Musei territori percorsi, 175-83. Perusa: Morlacchi Editore. Togni, R.; Forni, G.; Pisani, F. (1996) Guida ai musei etnografici italiani. Florència: Olschki. Turci, M. (2006) “Una guida, invito alla scoperta”. Dins MIGANI, S. (ed.) Guida ai musei dell’Emilia-Romagna, 11-13. Bolonya: Diabasis. Vegezzi Ruscalla, G. (1991) “”. Dins PUCCINI, S. (ed.) (1991) L’uomo e gli uomini. Scritti antropologici italiani dell’Ottocento, 7782. Roma: CISU.

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Lisa Baillargeon

Yves Bergeron

UNIVERSITY OF QUEBEC IN MONTREAL

A Doctor of Business and Economic History, Lisa Baillargeon is Deputy Dean of Studies at the School of Management Sciences (ESG) at the University of Quebec in Montreal (UQÀM), a Professor in the Department of Accounting Sciences and Chair of the Scientific Council of the Heritage Institute.

A Director of Graduate Studies in Museology, Yves Bergeron is a Professor of Museology and Heritage in the History of Art Department at the University of Quebec in Montreal, where he performs research in the field of museology, tangible culture and intangible cultural heritage.

What does the future hold for local museums in Quebec?

The world of museums

o understand the reality of museums in Quebec, it is essential to go back to the creation of the museum network. Let us first remind ourselves that the first museums in Canada were the work of collectors and learned societies (Simard; Bergeron, 2017). Inspired by Charles W. Peale’s museum-business model (Coleman, 1983), collector-entrepreneurs opened the first public museums starting in 1824 in the capital, Quebec City, and in the largest city of Montreal. The Chasseur museum and the Del Vecchio museum fall into the category of entertainment museums. They were soon followed by many small museums which appeared within learned societies and were intended for their members, such as the Natural History Society of Montreal (Montreal, 1826), the Mechanic’s Institute (Montreal, 1828), the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec and the Société pour l’Encouragement des Arts et des Sciences au Canada (Quebec, 1829), the Institut des Artisans de Québec (1840) and the Institut Vattemare (Monetreal, 1840) (Gagnon, 1999). Canada’s national museums were set up in the mid-19th century with the creation of the Geological Survey of Canada (Vodden, 2006) in 1842, tasked with developing an inventory of Canada’s natural resources. These natural science col-

lections, assembled by the Geological Survey of Canada, rapidly filled university museums intended for research and for training scientists (Bergeron, 2002). These early natural science and ethnography collections were the origins of the national museums we know today, namely the Canadian Museum of History, the Canada Science and Technology Museum, and the Canadian Museum of Nature. This network of national museums would later be complemented with the creation of the National Gallery of Canada in 1880 and the appearance of the network of Parks Canada in 1911, which were set up to protect and showcase representative examples of the country’s natural and cultural heritage through the creation of national parks and national historic sites. In addition to this network of Canadian museum institutions, three state museums were established in Quebec, namely the Musée National des Beaux-arts du Québec (1933), Musée d’Art Contemporain de Montréal (1965), and the Musée de la Civilisation (1988). A non-homogeneous network of museums Shortly before the financial crash of 2008, Quebec’s museum network had close to 420 establishments. Excluding federal museums and national museums funded by the governments of Ottawa and Quebec, nearly 90% of museums hold the status of «private museum» (OCCQ, 2006). There are history, ethnology and archaeology muse-

Keywords: Museums, Québec, financial crisis, governance, trends Paraules clau: museus, Quebec, crisi econòmica, governança, tendències Palabras clave: museos, Quebec, crisis económica, gobernanza, tendencias

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Window display of the semipermanent exhibition «Le temps des Québécois», Musée de la Civilisation, Quebec (June 2012). FABIEN VAN GEERT

The network of museums was set up just 50 years ago in Quebec, like in all Canadian provinces. It was on the occasion of the Centenary of the Confederation in 1967 that local museums emerged across the country. The museum tradition is therefore relatively young in Quebec. After experiencing exponential development with the support of governments and communities, the 2008 financial crisis weakened the national museums, which have seen their funding reduced by the various levels of government. Private museums, which form the core of the museum network, have not escaped the budget cuts. For almost a decade now, we have been seeing a reconfiguration of the museum network based on the rationalisation of public spending. This article offers a contextual analysis of local museums in Quebec, in light of the financial crisis and the trends that are contributing to a profound transformation of museums.

La xarxa de museus es va implantar al Quebec fa encara no cinquanta anys, igual que a la resta de les províncies canadenques. El sorgiment de museus locals a tot el territori es va veure afavorit pel centenari de la Confederació, celebrat l’any 1967. Així, doncs, la tradició museística del Quebec és relativament jove. Després d’haver viscut un desenvolupament exponencial amb el suport de governs i comunitats, la crisi econòmica de l’any 2008 va afectar els museus nacionals, que van veure com tots els nivells de govern reduïen el seu finançament. Els museus privats, que constitueixen el nucli de la xarxa de museus, tampoc han escapat a les reduccions pressupostàries. Des de fa uns deu anys, assistim a una reconfiguració de la xarxa de museus basada en la racionalització de la despesa pública. Aquest article proposa una anàlisi contextual dels museus locals del Quebec tenint en compte la crisi econòmica i les tendències que contribueixen a transformar en profunditat els museus.

La red de museos se implantó en el Quebec, igual que en todas las provincias canadienses, hace apenas cincuenta años. Fue el centenario de la Confederación, en 1967, lo que favoreció el surgimiento de museos locales en todo el territorio. Así pues, la tradición museística en el Quebec es relativamente joven. Después de haber vivido un desarrollo exponencial con el apoyo de gobiernos y comunidades, la crisis económica de 2008 fragilizó los museos nacionales, que vieron cómo todos los diferentes niveles de gobierno reducían su financiación. Los museos privados, que constituyen el núcleo de la red de museos, tampoco han escapado a las reducciones presupuestarias. Desde hace unos diez años, asistimos a una reconfiguración de la red de museos basada en la racionalización del gasto público. Este artículo propone un análisis contextual de los museos locales del Quebec a la luz de la crisis económica y de las tendencias que contribuyen a transformar los museos en profundidad.

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ums (18.6%), science museums (6.4%), art museums (4.5%); history, ethnology and archaeology interpretative centres (43.1%), science interpretative centres (12.9%); and exhibition centres (14.8%). It appears, therefore, that the largest category is that of history, ethnology and archaeology interpretative centres. These are museum establishments that focus on the interpretation of history and cultural heritage, which offer permanent exhibitions and do not hold collections. This type of museum requires less investment than conventional museums, which rely on collections and research teams. They have no research teams or collections. Interpretation centre staff are mostly history mediators. History, ethnology and archaeology museums make up the second largest category, with establishments devoted to history representing 62% of the network. In particular, this category includes so-called «regional» museums, which are the work of local communities and of history and cultural heritage societies. Next come the establishments devoted to science and tech-

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nology (19%) and to the arts (19%). The importance of local museums in Quebec is not surprising when we compare this network to Canada and the United States. The American Association for State and Local History (AASLH), founded in 1940, has more than 5,500 members in the United States. The American Alliance of Museums states that 78% of the museum network has fewer than 10 employees (American Alliance of Museums, 2017). This is particularly representative of the state of affairs in the North American museum network. With the exception of the Smithsonian Institute museums in Washington and the national parks network, American museums are private and made up of small museums serving local and regional communities. We see the same phenomenon in Canada and in Quebec. Beyond the distribution of the three main categories of museums – namely history, science and art – , we note that private and local museums make up the core of Quebec’s

Entrance of the Écomusée du Fier Monde, in Montreal, one of the most well-known ecomuseums in Quebec, which focuses on the culture of the city’s working class neighbourhoods (June 2012). FABIEN VAN GEERT

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

museum network. These are not all financed by the State and, when they are, this financing represents only a part of their budget (OCCQ, 2007). In reality, the museums generate revenues representing 35% of their budget. In other words, almost two-thirds of museum revenues come from public and quasi-public funding. As a result, museums must generate more than a third of their budget in revenues from various sources such as ticketing, renting out exhibitions or rooms, selling derivative products, and contributions from financial partners and patrons, including collectors. Governance model for museums The reality of the North America museum network reflects the need for museums to base their development along the lines of cultural enterprises. In 1995, the Quebec Ministry for Culture and Communications created the Société de Développement des Entreprises Culturelles, SODEC, with the «specific mandate to promote and support the establishment and development of cultural enterprises in all regions of Quebec» 1. This is an essential direction for the Government of Quebec to follow. To encourage this type of management, museums of Quebec, like Canadian and American museums, have adopted a governance model based on independent boards of directors. Museum directors must therefore work closely and in conjunction with their board of directors. In particular, in 2016 the Government of Quebec adopted a new National Museums Act (Act 114), which clarifies the role of the boards of directors (Government of Quebec, 2016). This Act is inspired by the law on state-owned companies, as well as on the principles of sound governance issued by the financial markets authority, the Autorité des Marchés Financiers (AMF). As a result, boards must consist of between 11 and 15 members approved by the government. This includes the chairman of the board, the executive director and «12 other people appointed on the Ministry’s recommendation, taking into account the skills and experience profile established by the board and after consulting with socio-economic and cultural organisations, in particular organi-

sations interested in museology. It is specified that two-thirds of the members must qualify as independent directors and the law requires that at least one of them be a member of the Institute of Certified Public Accountants (CPA). The new rules also require parity between men and women. Furthermore, the government felt the need to clarify that each board must have one member who is under 35 years of age in order to avoid the generation gap. Each board of directors must put in place their candidate selection criteria (which the government must consider), as well as the tools for the members and for the board itself to perform self-assessments. While these measures appear to bring significant improvements, we should note what appear to be contradictions. Act 114 mitigates the independence of the director and the members of the board, who are ultimately appointed by the Government. However, it is the board that must determine the criteria for selecting candidates. Furthermore, the board determines the criteria and tools for the board and its members to perform self-assessments. This law also sets out that the government reserves the right to appoint directors, while the board and the director must be able to act without feeling pressure from the Government. In other words, the proposed model is one of museum independence, but in reality the Government retains control over the boards and the choice of the directors. This system could therefore be described as a hybrid. The other responsibilities of the board of directors of both national museums and private museums have been reinforced by Act 114 and therefore remain important – even central – in the development of the museum network in Quebec, since the members must approve the financial statements, the activities report and the annual budget. Their main obligation is to oversee the institution’s financing. The board of directors must also form an audit committee, a governance and ethics committee and a human resources committee. The members of the board of directors are also responsible for establishing strategic

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http://www.sodec.gouv. qc.ca/a-propos/la-sodec-en-bref/ (Consultation: 12 May 2017).

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directions and applying them. The board is also responsible for «the decisions of the museum alongside the government, and the president is responsible for answering for them alongside the ministry». Finally, the board of directors is responsible for adopting a management policy for the collections every five years, including setting out the strategy for acquisitions and disposals. Acquisitions must be justified and the board must set out its management policy for its collections in order to maintain a balance between the museum’s ambitions and the material resources it possesses in order to adequately preserve its collections. It is understood that in this context the collections are legally owned by the museum, such that the board may dispose of them as it sees fit by entrusting these collections to another museum, lending them to a third party or disposing of them. It should be noted that these collections remain private and do not legally form part of the national heritage, even if they are in the public domain. It is also important to highlight that Canada has chosen to promote the development of public and private museum collections through legislation that grants museums the privilege to accept donations and to provide the owners with receipts which enable them to deduct these donations from their tax revenue. The «Cultural Property Export and Import Act» sets out that tax credits are based on the principle of the fair market value of works and objects 2. This legislation ensures that the Canadian government indirectly funds national and private museums. The rules set out in the Act regarding the governance of Quebec’s national museums inspire the direction followed by private museums, which nevertheless retain more room to maneuver than state museums. Museums and the quest for selffinancing Unlike European museums, which are largely funded by the various levels of government, Quebec’s museums are under strong pressure to increase their self-generated revenues. The

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trend shows that as self-generated incomes increase, public subsidies tend to decrease. In short, governments want museums, even national ones, to be self-financing. The preferred governance model in the museum network in Quebec is closer to that of private enterprises, even in the case of national museums. It should be noted that this choice of enterprise has a direct impact on the development of local museums. Collection development policies pay more attention to museum exhibition planning than to the mission. The choice of exhibitions must take into account the museum’s mandate, but also the interests of visitors who could potentially agree to pay to see an exhibition. As a result, the exhibition planning favours exhibitions’ potential profitability. Boards of directors therefore favour blockbuster-type or «flagship» exhibitions that attract crowds. Furthermore, the choice of exhibitions must also take into account the financial partners who invest in their production. This management model favours the autonomy of each institution and leads to visitors’ expectations and needs being taken into account. This particular context explains why boards of directors, which favour visitor assessments and other measures of visitor satisfaction pay particular attention to the visitor experience (Daignault, 2011). The visitor experience has therefore been a feature of North American museums for decades. Assessing museums by measuring the visitor experience is firmly rooted in the tradition of North American museums and this approach tends to encourage mechanisms for continuous improvement in customer service. Local museums in Quebec, Canada and the United States are very close to their local communities, as they are not dependent on public funding. While this management model has advantages in helping to focus the museum’s activities on visitors, it should be noted that it also has limitations. It must be recognised that museums find themselves increasingly competing with one another to attract visitors. Exhibition planning thus becomes a central issue in the museums’ positioning

See: Cultural Property Export and Import Act (R.S.C. (1985), c. C-51) <http://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/ fra/lois/C-51/page-4.html#h-20> (Consultation: 1 May 2017).

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

strategies. By favouring themes that meet the expectations of the general public, some museums tend to deviate from their original mission. As a result, exhibitions do not always showcase the museum’s collections. What’s more, museums often court the same large companies in order to associate them as financial partners for the production and diffusion of temporary exhibitions. In other words, North American museums, whether national or local, form part of an entrepreneurial, sponsorship and competitive culture. The governance mechanisms enable the board of directors to periodically review their museum’s mission and strategic development plan. These mechanisms have the effect of periodically transforming a museum’s mission. Consequently, this strategy leads museums to have a short – and medium-term outlook, rather than a long-term outlook like national museums. It is also understood that local museums in Quebec, like in the rest of Canada, adopt

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the same management models as national museums and find themselves competing with institutions that have considerable resources. The true categorisation of museums Researchers have identified a marked international trend over the last two decades. The distinctions between museums no longer rely on the historical categorisation between art, history or science museums. Rather, they are allocated according to their operating budgets. On the one hand, we find national museums which have large budgets and can engage in complex financial arrangements with national and international partners. They can thus produce large exhibitions that are presented in several countries over long periods of time and that generate significant revenues. On the other hand, there are small and medium-sized museums mostly made up of local museums that have modest budgets and limited influence. They are no less important, because even if they attract fewer tourists, they nevertheless serve their communities well.

Guided tour in the permanent exhibition of the Musée Régional de la Côte-Nord, ‘’Terres de sens: le grand voyage». The museum works closely with the citizens of the Côte-Nord region (2015). OPTIK 360

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Visitor numbers at history, ethnology and archaeology museums, which we classify as society museums, remain the most significant. The latest survey on museum attendance conducted by the Observatoire de la Culture du Québec (2014-2015) shows that so-called society museums account for 47% of the 14 million total visitors. Next come science museums, with 35%, and art museums, with 18%. Considering that science museums’ exhibition scheduling is in keeping with the philosophy of society museums, this is therefore the category of museums which produces the greatest number of educational and cultural activities. It is also within these local museums that there is the greatest number of volunteers. A report by the Observatoire de la Culture on the economic and social impacts of museums highlights the important role of volunteers. The survey, published in 2010, reveals that there are more than 5,900 unpaid individuals who accumulate more than 441,000 hours each year. The economic value of volunteers has been estimated at more than $9 million. Without this significant contribution from volunteers, several museums would be forced to close or find «new sources of funding to pay for this workforce which is essential for their management and operation» (OCCQ, 2010: 34). Volunteers can be found in all museum functions (collection, exhibition, education, communi-

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cation), without of course forgetting the members of the board of directors. This is one of the fundamental characteristics of North American museums. As long as the economy is doing well... As long as the economy is doing well, local museums develop in a competitive but equitable environment. On the other hand, during a financial crisis tensions between museums become more intense. Local and regional museums suffer the effects of the crisis and it becomes more difficult for them to compete with national museums. This competition leads them to search for financial partners and to develop collections without always taking into account the collections of the various private museums. The Société des musées du Québec has also decided to dedicate a project to this topic, which led to the production of a report entitled Pour une vision partagée du collectionnement au Québec (For a shared vision of collections in Quebec), published in 2014. The principle underlying these proposals is based on the development of supplementary collections within the museum network, taking into account the mandates and missions of each museum in the region. It should be noted that the method for acquiring collections through donations, which is favoured by federal law, further fuels competition between

Over the past few years, the Société des Musées du Québec has developed themed exhibitions that place museums in a perspective of tourism and economic development (2017). SOCIÉTÉ DES MUSÉES DU QUÉBEC

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

museums. More precisely, we note that the development of collections in museums depends first and foremost on collectors. This procurement model limits the autonomy of curators who do not have budgets for acquiring collections. They must therefore maintain close ties with collectors who can benefit from tax credits. Acquisitions in museums in Quebec, like in Canada, reflect first and foremost the tastes and interests of the collectors. This may also, therefore, affect the ability to maintain good governance, since collectors’ interests do not always match the museums’. It is also understood that the financial crisis does not disrupt the rate and nature of acquisitions for both national museums and local museums. The only constraint that remains is to ensure that each museum has staff to process the acquisitions and spaces in reserve to adequately keep these new objects. In fact, during discussion groups at the Société des Musées du Québec, it was noted that, despite the crisis, museums have slowed down the production rate of exhibitions and, in return, they have devoted more time to procurement activities. The effects of major trends The study of trends that transform museums has attracted the interest of researchers since the early 1990s. The first publications aimed at identifying the economic, cultural and societal trends coincided with the moment when museums of Quebec turned their attention to visitors and temporary exhibitions took precedence over permanent exhibitions devoted to collections. In Quebec, Michel Côté is credited with holding the first symposium on trends, which was the subject of a publication of the Musée de la Civilisation in collaboration with the Société des Musées Québécois and Parks Canada in 1992. This publication corresponded with the time when we began to observe major changes of values among Quebec’s museum network. At the time, economic and political questions were seldom brought up, but the emphasis was on museums taking the public into account. In recent years, there has been a growing number of publications offering new interpretations of the major

changes taking place in the museum world. ICOFOM devoted an international conference to the subject in 2014, which gave rise to two publications including the special issue of ICOFOM Study Series (43a and 43b) in 2015, followed by a summary piece produced under the direction of François Mairesse entitled Nouvelles tendances de la muséologie (New trends in museology) in 2016. Daniel Arsenault, Yves Bergeron and Laurence Provencher St-Pierre published a book in 2015 on trends in museums in Quebec, which is a follow-up to the book written under the direction of Michel Côté. In particular, it highlights the effects of technologies and the values of a new generation which favours collaborative work. In this regard, the book The Participatory Museum by Nina Simon, published in 2010, is worthy of a particular mention and has been highly influential. Following Freeman Tilden’s cult work on interpretation in 1957, participation appears as a fundamental driver of change for museums, which can no longer position themselves as part of an institution that declares what is valuable but rather an institution serving its audiences and working with communities and people. Museums and the financial crisis in Quebec National museums were the first to be affected by the financial crisis of 2008. For nearly a decade, governments have proceeded after year to cut subsidies provided to national and local museums. In 2014 alone, the Ministry of Culture announced cuts of $944,000 to the Musée de la Civilisation, $550,000 to the Musée National des Beaux-arts and $445,000 to the Musée d’Art Contemporain de Montréal. The effects of these cuts have been felt in the scheduling of temporary exhibitions, which have been reduced in both number and frequency. Along the same lines, the Quebec Ministry of Culture has cut its funding programme for the renewal of permanent exhibitions. National museums have been forced to gradually reduce their services. The Musée d’Art Contemporain de Montréal had to resort to closing its library, which served the commu-

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nity of researchers and students in history of art, visual and media arts. The Musée de la Civilisation announced in 2016 that it had to close its archives service, where the historic archives of the Séminaire de Québec, recognised in UNESCO’s Memory of the World Register in 2007, are stored. The managing director, Stéphan la Roche, reminded journalists that museums lack money to ensure their mission is carried out. In the spring of 2017, the managing director of the Musées de la Civilisation announced the possible closure of the Musée de la Place-Royale and of the Maison Historique Chevalier, as a result of the new cuts by the Ministry of Culture. As a result, a number of professionals’ jobs were cut. The repercussions of these budget cuts has been felt in educational and cultural services. In addition to the national museums, the Ministry of Culture has revised museums’ funding. Local museums that are not open 40 weeks a year are no longer supported financially. It is worth remembering that due to Quebec’s geography, in several remote areas of the St. Lawrence Valley museums open in May and close in October or November. The funding rules apply from north to south, regardless of geography and climatic conditions. In addition, 29 exhibition centres no longer fall under the responsibility of the Ministry of Culture, but rather that of the region’s council for arts and literature, the Conseil des Arts et des Lettres du Québec (CALQ). Finally, the Ministry has chosen to exclude scientific museums. As the former director of the Société des Musées du Québec points out: «Aquariums, insectariums, zoological gardens, and interpretative centres for natural and environmental sciences are already excluded – these are institutions included in the definition of the International Council of Museums.»3 The heart of the debate revolves precisely around the recognition of museum institutions. The Government of Quebec adopts a restrictive definition of museums and applies the model of museums located in the province’s two major cities (Quebec and Montreal), excluding local museums supported by communities. As

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Michel Perron rightly points out: «While the global trend in museology is towards a more open, decompartmentalised, cross-disciplinary network, and the American Alliance of Museums presents its network like this: The country’s museum from A to Z: art museum to zoo, Quebec opts for division.» It seems that the financial crisis is an opportunity for the government to break with tradition and return to a more restrictive conception of the notion of museum. In short, the changes brought about by the 2008 financial crisis are not over. During the month of April 2017, the Société des Musées du Québec team travelled throughout the province’s different regions to consult with members on the challenges for the network’s future and the priorities in order to find solutions. The results of these consultations highlight the lack of a museum culture. In other words, there is no recognition by the State of the fundamental role played by museums in society «alongside all the stakeholders (governments, town councils, private companies, partners, associations, other cultural players, etc.). The discourse around the museum institution is more often focused on its needs rather than on the irreplaceable experience it provides for the public.» (SMQ, 2017). The report highlights under-funding as a central issue. The disengagement of governments weakens and undermines «the survival of certain museum institutions and that of regional clusters of museums». It is becoming increasingly difficult to increase self-generated revenues due to increasing competition between museums. There are also three major challenges that have persisted for several years, namely the precarious nature of the human resources, who are described as worn out and demobilised, digital technologies that are profoundly transforming peoples’ habits, and finally museum collections that remain neglected due to a lack of resources. As a result, the SMQ’s board of directors intends to draw up a three-year strategic plan to meet its members’ needs and to address the challenges that museums are facing. (SMQ, 2017).

Michel Perron quoted in Pierre Landry, «Le réseau muséal québécois à la dérive», Le Mouton noir, 7 July 2016.

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Whether we like it or not, museums no longer belong essentially to the world of culture. They are associated with tourism, regional development and the economic world. This concept of the museum as a cultural enterprise restores closer links between museums and politics. Rethinking museology education Considering the major international trends and changes in the world of museums, universities that train young professionals have an obligation to rethink their training programmes. This is particularly the case for the joint Master’s programme in museology, which the Université du Québec à Montréal and the Université de Montréal began to offer in 1987. The programme’s initial curriculum focused on the major functions of museums, namely collections, research, exhibitions and education. While this division of contents according to the four traditional functions may have corresponded to the reality of the time, it is clear that museums are very different today. New perspectives have been developed. As an example we can mention the concept of heritage, which has taken on a new dimension with the adoption in 2003 of the UNESCO Convention for Safeguarding Intangible Cultural Heritage, which introduces to museums the responsibility of safeguarding intangible cultural heritage. The definition of the museum adopted by the International Council of Museums in 2007 specifically includes a reference to the tangible and intangible heritage of humanity. As noted earlier, technologies have transformed the professional practice and created new forms of digital works that raise new issues regarding the acquisition, preservation and dissemination of collections. Thanks to such technologies, museums are expanding their horizons for diffusing their material, but this development is mainly concentrated in the large museums which have the means to invest in digital infrastructures and which can count on specialised professionals. We have seen virtual museums emerge, as well as new applications that increase the outreach of works and exhibitions. As for social media networks, they create new relationships between museums and their audiences

who wish to actively participate in the life of museums. However, these new dimensions do not appear in the curriculum of the Master’s in museology. But the changes go far beyond technology. The increasingly close relationship between museums on the international scene requires a better knowledge of the national laws and international conventions that govern the diffusion of both works and exhibitions. Legal frameworks have become more complex and are intimately linked to ethical issues. Considering the factors we have just highlighted, there is no doubt that young museologists need to better understand the notions of law, management and governance of museums. This knowledge and these skills become all the more important as the vast majority of local museums are made up of small teams. This is why we have set up a research group at UQAM that aims to build bridges between museology, management and law around the theme of strategic governance. Here, governance is understood in a sense that goes beyond the relationship between the management of the museum and the board of directors. Governance rests first and foremost on the museum’s mission, its cultural project and the coherence of the museum’s activities (procurement and disposal policy, exhibition planning, cultural activities and educational programmes, relationships with the local area and services for the community). These changes have led to the emergence of new professional profiles over the past two decades: General museologists, cultural mediators, curators, cultural managers and mediators between audiences and museum directors who promote collaborative work. Considering the geopolitical context of North American museums, we believe that local museums are better adapted than national museums to face the crisis. Firstly, because they do not depend financially on the financial support of governments, and secondly because they reflect the willingness of communities to define and showcase their cultural heritage, whether regional, local or specific to a cultural community.

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Redefining the museum The International Council of Museums has opened a debate within the museum community to revisit the definition of a museum in 2018. ICOM’s sub-committee on museology, ICOFOM, held a conference on this topic in June 2017 in Paris. It seems that one of the key elements of the definition of museums that defines the institution as being fundamentally «not-for-profit» was discussed. Although, ever since ICOM’s creation, museums have been defined as notfor-profit cultural institutions, the reality seems quite different. This paradigm shift forms part of a repositioning process undertaken by the major national museums. As for local museums in Quebec, like those in Canada and the United States, it has been a long time since museums were run by volunteers who devoted their lives to preserving, disseminating and sharing heritage.

One of the projects that drives the research team on museum governance at UQAM involves identifying the various models of management and governance. Some communities in the United States, Brazil

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and Eastern Europe have developed original models tailored to their communities’ needs. In Quebec, for example, in the early 1990s Cyril Simard created the concept of economuseums, the aim of which was to develop the knowledge and skills of artisans (Simard, 2003). Today, the network is firmly established in Canada and Northern Europe. It is a concept that values intangible cultural heritage in particular. Those interested in the history of museums will notice that the concept of the museum has not ceased to evolve and it is clear that museums will continue to transform themselves by adapting to their time and to the sensibilities of communities regarding cultural heritage. The examination of museums in Quebec, like in Canada and the United States, shows that the geopolitical context determines models for how the museum network is developed, following rationales that are different to those we can generally observe in Europe, where museums are usually supported by the various levels of government.

La Forge ÉCONOMUSÉE®. La Forge à Pique-Assaut, blacksmith. Guy Bel has been a true pioneer in the art of ironwork in Quebec for over 40 years. The economuseum model differs from that of traditional museums insofar as this type of museum is self-financing and safeguards traditional know-how (2016). SOCIÉTÉ DU RÉSEAU ECONOMUSÉE

Current challenges for local ethnological museums

Museums in Quebec form part of a cultural and economic approach that is closer to that of a cultural enterprise. The disengagement of governments in the financial support of museums since the financial crisis of 2008 obliges museums to seek new ways to finance and manage their operations. The governance model of museums, which relies on the board of directors and on the contribution of volunteers, patrons and local communities, to some extent favours local museums, but it also weakens national museums which find it increasingly difficult to pursue their mission. These new economic and man-

agement conditions oblige universities to consider new museology training courses by introducing new necessary skills in law, management and governance. It remains to be seen whether these trends, which have been observed for nearly two decades, will be confirmed. We will be able to validate these medium – and long-term solutions over the course of the next ten years. For now, one thing is certain – the economic crisis has induced fundamental transformations for the cultural and social mission of museums. n

BIBLIOGRAPHY

American Alliance of Museums (2017) “Small Museums”. <http:// www.aam-us.org/about-us/whatwe-do/small-museums> (Consultation: 5 May 2017). Bergeron, Y. (2002) Un patrimoine commun. Les musées du Séminaire de Québec et de l’Université Laval.Quebec: Musée de la civilisation. Cote, M. (1992) Tendances de la muséologie au Québec. Montreal/Quebec: Société des musées québécois, Musée de la civilisation and Environnement Canada Service des Parcs. Daignault, L. (2011) L’évaluation muséale.Savoirs et savoir-faire. Montreal: Presses de l’Université du Québec.

MAIRESSE, F. (dir.) (2016) Nouvelles tendances de la muséologie. Paris: La Documentation française. Observatoire de la Culture et des Communications du Quebec (OCCQ) (2006) État des lieux du patrimoine, des institutions muséales et des archives. Cahier 1 Premier regard. Quebec: Observatoire de la Culture et des Communications du Québec. Observatoire de la Culture et des Communications du Quebec (OCCQ)(2007) État des lieux du patrimoine, des institutions muséales et des archives. Cahier 3 L’impact économique des dépenses de fonctionnement des établissements. Quebec: Observatoire de la Culture et des Communications du Québec.

Government of Quebec (2016) M 44 National Museums Act. <http://legisquebec.gouv.qc.ca/ fr/ShowDoc/cs/M-44> (Consultation: 11 May 2017).

Observatoire de la Culture et des Communications du Quebec (OCCQ) (2007) État des lieux du patrimoine, des institutions muséales et des archives.Cahier 10 Les institutions muséales du Québec, redécouverte d’une réalité complexe. Quebec: Observatoire de la Culture et des Communications du Québec.

ICOFOM (2015) New trends in Museology.Nouvelles tendances de la muséologie / Nuevas Tendencias de la Museologie. ICOFOM Study Series, Vol. 43a and 43b.

Simard, C. (2003) Des métiers de la tradition à la création. Anthologie en faveur d’un patrimoine qui gagne sa vie.Quebec: Les éditions GID.

Gagnon, H. (1999) Divertir et instruire. Les musées de Montréal au XIXe siècle. Sherbrooke: GGC.

Simard, C.; Bergeron, Y. (2017) Histoire des musées au Québec. Repères chronologiques (15342016).Quebec: Société des économusées. Societe des Musees du Quebec (SMQ) (2014) Pour une vision partagée du collectionnement au Québec.Montreal: SMQ. Societe des Musees du Quebec (SMQ) (2017). Bilan des consultations menées par la SMQ auprès de ses membres en avril 2017. <http://www.musees.qc.ca/fr/ professionnel/actualites/bilandes-consultations-menees-parla-smq-aupres-de-ses-membresen-avril-2017> (Consultation: 10 May 2017)

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Marta Farré Ribes SEVILLE UNIVERSITY

PhD student in the Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology, Seville University. Masters in Anthropology. Management of diversity, heritage, and development. Seville University. (2013): End of studies special award 2012-2013. Degree in Social and Cultural Anthropology. Tarragona University (2012): End of studies special award 2011-2012. Degree in Environmental Sciences. Autonomous University of Barcelona (2003).

Collecting or “the personal expression of heritage”: humanising the heritage phenomenon

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his article looks at collectors who, as guardians of local heritage, construct transmission networks for memories that, in a symbolic way, keep cultures alive during rapid transformations. Collectors of memories keep heritage alive dynamically, from the nuances of the person, by bridging the most intimate personal legacy and the most collective of local heritage: the subjective and the affective are introduced into the phenomenon of heritage, a process in which the maximum plurality of heritage is displayed.

From a collector’s perspective we focus on the contribution of people as catalysts in heritage construction processes, exploring what we term the “personal expression of heritage”. From this angle we undertake an “intersubjective reading” of heritage construction processes, bringing us closer to the synergies that emerge in rapidly changing regions.

The collector’s perspective allows us to focus on the contribution of people as catalysts in heritage construction processes, exploring what we term the “personal expression of heritage”. From this angle we propose an “intersubjective reading” of heritage construction processes that, far from reification, brings us closer to the pulse of synergies emerging in the region.

Keywords: Collectors, memories, heritage, individuality, subjectivity Paraules clau: Col·leccionistes, memòries, patrimoni, individualitat, subjectivitat Palabras clave: Coleccionistas, memorias, patrimonio, individualidad, subjetividad

Individuals –their points of view, stories, and memories– have been marginalised in hegemonic concepts of heritage, which have only looked out for collective manifestations. These latter are easier to photograph, detect, define, locate, classify, and structure, and collective entities have been

Des d’una perspectiva col·leccionista, ens centrem en la contribució de les persones com a catalitzadores en els processos de construcció patrimonial explorant el que denominem l’expressió personal del patrimoni. Des d’aquest punt de vista, fem una lectura intersubjectiva dels processos de construcció patrimonial que ens acosta a les sinergies que emergeixen en territoris en procés de transformació accelerada.

Desde una perspectiva coleccionista nos centramos en la contribución de las personas como catalizadoras en los procesos de construcción patrimonial explorando lo que denominamos la “expresión personal del patrimonio”. Desde este punto de vista realizamos una “lectura intersubjetiva” de los procesos de construcción patrimonial que nos acerca a las sinergias que emergen en territorios en acelerada transformación.

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accepted as the only representatives of heritage, whether they be institutions, companies, or cultural or heritage organisations. However, in this dialogue between the individual and the collective, focusing on “personal expression of heritage” immerses us in the vitality, fragility and transience of living processes that lead us to the deepest and most emotional dimension of heritage as a requirement for the communication and transmission of personal and collective inheritance1. Theoretical Framework This research is framed within a complex vision of society (García, 2006) and a socio-political concept of heritage construction processes. Local populations do not simply internalise an imposed version of heritage, but also interpret and revindicate their own version of identity in a process that includes dialogue, communication, and a relationship with their environment. In this sense, patrimonial resistance, which faced with cultural homogenisation claims its own identity and cultural diversity (Sierra, 2009; Cruces, 1998; Prats 1997), is added to proposals that consider the necessary plurality of heritage (González, 2003, Ariño, 2002). At the same time, with the conceptual expansion of cultural heritage, the people who create and recreate heritage are at the centre of the transmission processes for this intangible asset, tradition or, perhaps, social memory that “ordinary people” create and recreate in their particular contexts. (Agudo, 2012, Carreras, 2011). The collecting perspective gives us an opportunity to look at heritage construction from its point of maximum plurality, by focusing on the action of the person. Going beyond the hegemonic view centred on the individuality of collecting and the collective in heritage, opens doors to the possibilities that emerge from the encounter between collecting and heritage. Holistic approaches to collecting (Pearce, 2000) and heritage perspectives that question the hegemonic role of patrimonial tutelage (Martinez, 2007, Iniesta, 1994), anchor this research.

To share, and reflect upon Heritage, an act of communication There are moments that trap the nostalgia of past eras, I find it difficult to come to terms with the transformation happening in [the town of] Barbate, leading it towards an uncertain fate; there are now no salting houses in the fish market, there are few active fishing boats, and no commercial influx into the port. Nevertheless, in the bastion of my memory I can still hear the unyielding noise of the chaotic harbour with the sound of the waves and the motors of the boats intermingling in the background. There my memories finish, but I am not tired. I want to take hold of them and cast them out of me, and still with a desire to return. (Un Paseo por las lonjas de Barbate. Jose Maria Rossi, narrator of the memories of his father, Juan Rossi)

Through the personal expression of heritage we understand the contribution of people to the collective legacy, through memory transmission processes. This expression allows us to view the patrimonial phenomenon as an act of communication, encounters, and transmission, where the individual and collective identities enter into dialogue. We use the term “personal expression of heritage” to stress that, indeed, heritage only exists while there is “expression” and thus only exists through socialisation, in a dialogue with “another person”: to conserve is to transmit, and to transmit is to open to change and transformation. In fact, memory collectors2 tell us that the value of their initiatives is the relational and experienced-based aspect. Proximity, confidence, empathy, and contact are essential, both when gathering the memories and transmitting them. This fact is evidenced by the different depths, based on the affinity, arrived at in the so-called “collector ritual”, the time the personal expression is socialised. In some way, sharing the collection is demonstrating the results of effort and a process that puts into play creativity, selection, work, and personal legacy. Strengthening relationships, knowing who shares

This article presents results from the R & D & i project on the revitalisation of the fishing enclaves in the Andalusian port system, entitled: “Economic Uses, Governance and Heritage”, code G-GI3001/ IDII and signed between the Public Works Agency of the Andalusian regional government’s Ministry of Development and Housing, and Seville University. (PI. David Florido del Corral). As part of this project a year of field work was carried out (2014-2015), during which time the initiatives linked to fishing heritage detected in the fishing ports of interest in Andalusia were inventoried. This was done using qualitative ethnography, involving participant observation and in-depth interviews. The ethnographic case studies of the Andalusian coast presented in this article, have enabled me to expand my research into “rural collecting” as recorded in the publication “Collectors of oblivion, a pluralistic look at heritage. Les Garrigues” (Farré Ribes 2016), undertaken thanks to the Maria Font de Carulla grant from the Fundació Carulla, the rural life museum in Espluga de Francolí, and the publishing house Barcino.

When we talk about “memory collectors” (Farré Ribes, 2014, 2016), we refer to people who undertake initiatives that return to the present those values forgotten (marginalised) by the predominant socioeconomic model, through knowledge production processes marginalised (forgotten) by the prevailing rationalism in Western knowledge production and catalysing processes of patrimonial construction marginalised (forgotten) by the dominant heritage discourses.

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the knowledge, what they are going to do with it, receiving news of the reworking of the material, following the traceability, and understanding the utility their work, are important points in the process of socialising collections. Based on people’s capacity to transmit knowledge to their surroundings –their family, friends, network of associations, society patrimonial guardianship (technical corpus and heritage expert)– together with the sensitivity of their surroundings to listen to them, the personal initiative becomes collective, the people are raised up as guardians of the local heritage, and its message enters the intergenerational communications network of the collective legacy. These initiatives reveal the need to give meaning to the past, interpret it, and bring it into the present, but above all else they show the need for some to relate and others to listen. Through the network, and thanks to the network, the personal initiative becomes collective, and the collective manifests itself through dialogue between subjectivities. People, activating the flow of memories Between the fury of the stormy sea and the darkness of the wide, cold night, a town mourning its enamoured sea. The hope of the longed-for return, is a dream whose courage has failed, leaving us only with the shipwreck and to live with the solace each day. Fifty years contemplating the bay, fifty years asking the horizon, fifty years without that sweet company that on lonely nights accompanies me. (Sebastián Bernal Malia. Chan. Homenaje al naufragio del Joven Alonso 1960. Cincuenta aniversario).

Paco Lima, previously the secretary of the Marbella Brotherhood of Fishermen (Malaga), is the living memory of the fishing collective. In his nineties, he has written his memoirs, thanks to the insistence of his family, friends, members of the Brotherhood, and he has made them available for academic use. Good with words, with need to explain, to relate, and to share, Lima is

the reference to whom everyone looking for information from the collective of fishermen is sent. Sami, a young person from Marbella, who came to Lima looking for information on the Virgin del Carmen, patron of sailors, has been involved in the task of recording his testimony. Jose Maria Rossi, a nurse from Barbateño (Cadiz) and living in Seville, requested that his father, Juan Rossi, a retired worker from the Barbate market, wrote down the “anecdotes” from his life, related ad nauseum to relatives and friends. In this way they have produced two books3 that have had important repercussions both in the town and at an academic level, as a human source of local history. Ildefonso Ramirez, a retired fisherman from Estepona (Malaga), went back to when he was 14 years old in his anxiety to transmit the memories of the “men of the swash”: in his shipbuilder’s house he hoards his writings, books, photos, newspaper cuttings, marine documentation and gear that currently lies in disuse, like his purse-seine net. Visits to the port and taking students out in his boat, talks and collaboration in the section “Our marine roots” of Estepona radio, are some of his diffusion initiatives for the “Marengo memories”. The son of Luís Rodriguez, an artisan fisherman from Cabo de Gata, will bring to a close the sixth generation of fishermen in his family. Luís, the president of PESCARTES (the Cabo de Gata-Níjar association of artisan fishermen), considers it vital to raise awareness of an artisan tradition in danger of extinction, and to do this he disseminates his knowledge through an exhibition, workshops, and talks to diverse groups4. His memories are captured in the book El legado patrimonial de la pesca artesanal en el Parque Natural Cabo de Gata-Níjar (2008), published by Grupo Desarrollo Pesquero (GDP) Levante Almeriense, written by him and Macarena Martinez, a biologist and environmental educator, to whom Luís transmitted his knowledge. Antonio Carrillo, a retired lecturer on Spanish Language and Literature in Granada and Seville, wrote the novel Pescadores del Sur (2013). The descendent of generations of fishermen from Carboneras, in his book he sets out the memories of

Rossi J. M. (2014). Higuela abajo, tras los pasos de Juan Rossi. Rossi J. M. (2012). Un paseo por las Lonjas de Barbate. Available at: http:// www.bubok.es/libros/217657/ Juan-Rossi-un-paseo-por-las-lonjas-de-Barbate.

This publication by the Andalusian regional government’s Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Environment, reflects the motivation behind Rodriguez transmitting his memories: Quero, J. M. (Coordinator) 2012. “Reflexiones en el

Parque Natural Cabo de Gata-Níjar , or Reflections on the Cabo de

Gata-Níjar Natural Park. Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Environment. Junta de Andalucía. Almeria, 304 pp.

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his family, reconstructing the 20th century history of the place, including recognised fishermen and relatives from Carboneras and Punto del Moral. Paco Malia, a teacher in the adult education centre in Barbate, was behind the museum5 of local arts and customs that is sited within the school. The local people were involved in its construction, an association was created to manage it, and a tourist information point was installed there. The author of numerous works that hold the memory of Barbate, Malia has always been part of the local cultural network. The Gabriel Cara museum (Roquetas de Mar, Almeria), located on the ample ground floor of his home, attracts tourists sent there by local hotels, but particularly high school and university students, researchers, experts from the GDP Levante Almeriense, and townsfolk, to recover the place’s memory. Nearly ninety, despite not having municipal help, he is supported by a group of friends around his own age, and his children –historians– who aid him in his work. Juan Naval Luís Molero

is a clear example of a collector recognised by the wide range of the social spectrum. Decorated by the city council of Chipiona (Cadiz), as an “official town chronicler”, he left the family store to work in the municipal archives, the nerve centre where locals, students, and researchers all go to seek out information. A founding member of the cultural association Caepionis, he is the author of numerous local bibliographical productions. Mario Sanz, a lighthouse keeper from Mesa Roldán de Carboneras (Almeria) has turned the lighthouse into a local museum. With no institutional support, the lighthouse is a place of socialisation from where he shares, through old photos, documents, models, and objects, the memories of the lighthouse keepers. The exhibition is visited by groups, students, and anyone interested in the local culture. What began as research into his threatened profession, continued with the publication of numerous books on the history of Carboneras. Self-defined as the “independent soldier of cultural catalysis”,

In what follows, our use of the concept of museum to talk about these personal initiatives and/or those of associations, refers to their local denomination and is not in support of a museographic proposal.

Paco Lima, former secretary of the Fishermen’s Guild of Marbella (Málaga), sketching the evolution of Marbella’s fishing port in the Fishermen’s Guild memoirs, written by himself (2014). MARTA FARRÉ RIBES

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he is involved in and generates an important part of the cultural activity in Carboneras. Vehicles for transmitting memories

Barbate means home, family… It is the smell of the sea at seven in the morning when you decide get up and stroll along Carmen beach to see the sunrise. Barbate is friends, Barbate is the touch of the sand. A heart beating loudly that nobody hears. (…) Ever since I left you, Barbate, I have been appreciating you more and more and seeing with new eyes things I didn’t know were there. This blog is my small tribute to you, your people, your sailors… (Text Mar Oliver. At: https://entrerredes. wordpress.com/) Memories flow between objects and people. Knowledge is transmitted through material support –drawings, photos, recordings, books, literary works, novels, poetry, songs, publications, documents, objects– or transmitted orally: in one way or another the memories flow, being rebuilt as they are inserted into the memory transmission network. The only support they need is the existence of another person to receive the content, digest it, and it transform it through their own perception. Through orality, people are the main vehicle of memories: knowledge flows through them, always trying to keep moving. Knowledge, memories, the personal expression of heritage, is scattered invisibly, difficult to identify, but at the same time intense and penetrating, driven by the emotional aspect. Memory is “life, carried by groups of living people, in permanent multiple evolution (…). Open to the dialectics of memory and amnesia, unconscious of its successive deformations, vulnerable to all kinds of use and manipulation (...). Affective and magical, rooted in the concrete, gestures, images, and objects” (Candau 2002: 57). Artistic expressions –music, poetry, literature, photos– and artefacts –like marine

tools– become vessels for the emotional, sensorial, sensitive, and creative aspects of memories. In addition, the ambiguity of these forms leads the way to dialogue with the other person: they generate new stories, interpretations, inquiries, synergies, questions and manifestations of the memories6. A book, an exhibition, can bring together photos, stories, poetry, testimonies, drawings, and so on, creating a whole where the dialogue includes the plurality of personal expression of heritage which changes, is shared, in an opportunity to generate new narratives. In this sense, the internet stands out as a tool par excellence for expressing the plurality of heritage, where the fleeting processes of transmission become visible. There are increasing numbers of blogs, web sites, and Facebook pages where memories

“Drawing from memory”: Art as a tool for the expression of memories. “Higüela abajo, tras los pasos de Juan Rossi” (Down Higüela, following the footsteps of Juan Rossi) (2014)

Vincenzo Padiglione (2003: 542543): “the centralisation of the local, contextual and affective resonance, means simple appraisals in documentary testimonies assume a “total meaning””.

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can be exchanged. For example, local photos from the past are uploaded triggering conversations, exchanges, and new searches7. Also, local collectors, like Juan Naval Luís in Chipiona8 and Gabriel Cara in Roquetas de Mar9 use the internet to share their research, uploading articles, essays, new dissertations, and showing the vitality, complexity, depth, and local uniqueness of transmission processes: The other day, while I was reading a magnificent article by Victor Eugene Rodríguez Segado on the history of the fishing in Adra, published in the magazine Farua from Berja, I came across a couple of boats sponsored by two brave and reckless fishermen from Roquetas: I asked my father if he could try and find out something about them, I read him the article out loud, and a week later I had the results: “Gabriel, they are the ancestors of the cripple, Juan Rodriguez Martinez”, his son is Juan Rodriguez Moreno, to whom I dedicate this article. Diego Rodríguez García and Antonio Rodríguez, brothers, were the only ones who dared to take boats laden with salt from the silos in Roquetas, at the foot of the castle, to the salt stores in Balerma, Adra and La Rábita. (Blog of Gabriel Cara, Roquetas de Mar) The environment, a place of memory, a place of heritage Personal expressions of heritage are not found unless you look for them: they are not always found where there is hegemonic expression of heritage (museums, interpretation centres, etc.), they are not communicated through hegemonic mechanisms for expressing heritage (scientific reconstruction of history), and they are not disclosed by hegemonic agents of heritage (technical and legal patrimonial corpus).

Personal expressions of heritage lead us to people and their surroundings: their houses, places of work, and where they gather socially. They lead to us, even so, to intimacy, that always, to some degree, is public and shared: indeed, it is precisely in these borderlands between the public and the private, in these

places for communication, where we find the footprints of heritage. Because they are here, these spaces become “places of memory”, which establish links between the past, present, and future, where, whenever a story is heard, cracks open up to new, fleeting transmission processes. Houses hold photos and documents, boat owners keep disused fishing gear, like purseseines, sardine nets and ships’ logs. Old ice factories have images of the evolution of the port, long-time port workers preserve historical documents, children of boat builders treasure the tools, models and plans of the boats in their workshops, and net makers collect models of gear exhibited in bars and restaurants. Fishing gear and models of

“Drawing from memory”: Visual reconstruction of the Río Viejo street in Barbate (Cádiz) made by José María Rossi thanks to his father’s stories. ”Un paseo por las Lonjas de Barbate” (A stroll through the Barbate markets), by Juan Rossi (2012)

These websites include: http:// lalineaenblancoynegro.blogspot. com.es/; http://atunara.com/ gallery/index.php; http://sanlucarmemoriagrafica.blogspot.com.es/; https://www.facebook.com/BarbateSomosTodos/photos_stream.

http://chipionacronista.blogspot. com.es/

http://www.museogabrielcara.es

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boats, old photos of the port, of nets, and of galleons with their sailors, of processions of the Virgin del Carmen, are also used to decorate the associations of fishermen and those of their wives, as well as former cooperatives.

people from Carboneras compiled by Isabel García, Ernesto Pedalino, and the collector Mario Sanz, exhibited in the Castle of San Andrés10.

Sometimes, personal museums or those belonging to associations, do bring together personal expressions of heritage, relinquished by local people or others who are in some way involved and who take part in constructing the collection. In this sense these spaces become places of encounter and memory exchange, generating stories, interpretations, and new meanings. Sometimes, institutional museums also contain some of these expressions, which do not always identify the traceability of the history of the objects: the personal imprint dissolves in the museographic discourse that obscures the intersubjectivity of the heritage. These expressions are also gathered together in exhibitions that transform rooms in civic centres or municipal buildings into “sacred” spaces, like the exhibition of photos of local

My father and the sea: My father and the blue sea in the west. Three long darknesses without seeing you. You come at dawn and my real awakening it seems. What joy to be able to meet without death! My father and the sea, the nets ready for staining by the famous dyers. My father and the blue sea in the west. (fragment of poetry by Francisco Malia Sanchez, dedicated to his father)

The collector Gabriel Cara with his “helpers” at the “fishing museum” built on the ground floor of his home (Roquetas de Mar, Almería) (2014). MARTA FARRÉ RIBES

Personal universe, collective universe

Focusing on the personal expression of heritage puts us in a place of communication and relationship between dichotomies. It puts us in the borderlands, with margins and confluences, pushing us to demolish the limits between object and person, between the material and immaterial, between house, town, boundary, region and territory, sea and

To cite a few more examples: in the Estepona (Malaga) ethnographic museum is an exhibition of fishing gear and equipment compiled by the collector Ildefonso Martinez. In spring 2014, the Centro de Interpretación Nautarum de Garrucha (Almeria) put on a display of photos of the town from the collection of the deceased collector Ginés de León. On various occasions, the Horacio Noguera municipal theatre on Isla Cristina, has exhibited scale models of boats by the shipbuilder Francisco Zamudio. In the Chanca building in Conil de la Frontera (Cadiz), is an exhibition of photos entitles “Conil en la Memoria”, or Conil in the Memory. This is the result of a compilation of photos by local people promoted by the town council, and which has led to the publication of two books. (see http://www.conilenlared.com/conilenlamemoria/fotografias.html).

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mountain, between person and collective, history, biography, memory and personal and collective identity, between the life history of objects, people, and the community. Collectors of memories, take initiatives that exemplify how the most individual and private dimension of collecting and the most collective and public dimension of heritage dissolve. Collecting brings us closer to identity and the need for individual symbolic reproduction. But simultaneously, heritage pushes us towards an identity and need for collective symbolic reproduction. Thus, through these collecting initiatives we see how the personal expression of heritage fuses personal, family, and collective legacy: the collecting takes on a special cultural dimension and the heritage becomes visible from its most intimate and personal dimension. … to feel that the history of your town is also your history and belongs to you, and everything that it is to discover the emotions of old people, whether they are relatives or people that lived at a specific time, to find out the hum-drum, the everyday, what it felt like, the history of your grandparents, how they lived… looking for yourself in them... (…) is to look for your history, at a personal level in the history of your father… (Jose Maria Rossi, narrator of the memories of his father, Juan Rossi) There are books dedicated to the settlers of the Zapal (the seagoing district of Barbate), to the market workers, to the fishermen of the south, tomes that at the same time pay tribute to the parents of the authors. The personal grain of sand potentiates the construction of the collective. Collecting initiatives are accomplished though will and pleasure, based on a personal drive to search for meaning, resignification and reinterpretation. They are fortified by the vital need to keep personal and family memory alive, strongly linked to the memory of lost cultural values or those in danger of extinction. Through the uniqueness of the memories, a collective recollection is brought to the present that contains values from the past contrasting with those prevailing in neoliberal globalisation: the value of

effort, interaction with the environment and between people, ingenuity and care of natural and material surroundings, self-sufficiency, responsibility for survival, sharing, mutual aid and solidarity, knowledge transfer, biodiversity, and collectivity. Under these shared cultural values, recovering personal history is recovering that of every single person in the population, and recovering that of the people in a town and a culture in extinction is recovering their own history. … this book touches on a shared sensitivity and it grabbed my attention that they made personal contributions… “because I was hoping that your father would explain this, what happened to me with him (…) well, there are many people who have identified very strongly with it” (José Rossi, relator of the memories of his father, Juan Rossi) However, in this compilation work, it is the people that steal the limelight. They do not describe detailed values, practices and customs with the sole purpose of taking us further down the rabbit hole of a culture. What is relevant are their personal ties and the personification of history: those who are honoured, are the people, the protagonists of the stories. The people feel themselves reflected in photos, poems, songs, stories, and objects, which evoke their own memories and spark new processes of personal investigation of their own past. Emphasis is placed on the daily life of the common people and not on the “great feats” of “great personalities”: little anecdotes are singled out, they put names and surnames to neighbours, employers, ship-owners, life savers and shipwreck survivors, specify who used certain equipment and fishing gear, who worked in certain trades, the names of the net makers and boat builders, the names and the histories of the boats, the nicknames of the fishermen and their stories, the names of the streets and the numbers of the houses, and who lived in those houses. Local ethnographers, memory bridges And I’m talking to a friend from the port, a friend who is still alive but who is already a little bit ill, the poor man, and I say,

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Antonio, tell me about the Almadraba, you were captain of the Almadraba in Ceuta ... and he says to me, Gabriel as I was captain I had to fill out the log book, where everything was recorded hour-by-hour –sunrise, such and such a wind, the draft forward– a true marvel! I move on… and I find… this one has still got all his marbles… Paco el Chilao… he’s got all the payslips from 1942… you know? After six months work they took home 700 pesetas, and 400 grams of bread a week. At the end of the campaign they subtracted the value of the bread… they slept in little alcoves… ate from tins…. (Gabriel Cara, Roquetas de Mar) Local heritage ethnographers, known for collecting and disseminating memories, collectors, as well as drinking deeply of bibliographical sources, newspaper libraries, and public and private archives, hold high the information from the stars of local history, these people being, very often, the living memory

of this history. Memory collectors are local ethnographers, translators, and interpreters, with affective ties to their “informants” –children, relatives, friends, neighbours, and the community that they bring new meaning to. They track memories easily, they look for, find and socialise the personal expressions of local heritage, and their role as collector is recognised by the community. They take and they receive, from the privacy of homes, stories, photos, drawings, songs, and documents, socialising personnel heritage and opening up plurality through their initiatives: they make the information in their archives available, along with that from personal museums and those of associations, books, magazines, blogs and webpages, introducing them into the memory communication network. In addition, they undertake resignifying because they are personally motivated to rescue and transmit this personal and collective legacy, without institutional, academic, or mercantile restrictions.

Photo collection of former lighthouse keepers belonging to Mario Sanz, lighthouse keeper at Mea Roldán (Carboneras, Almería). PHOTOGRAPH BY MARTA FARRÉ RIBES, 2014

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To begin with, I read all the service logs from the lighthouse keepers that came before me, which fortunately, in Mesa Roldán are complete, not like in other lighthouses, where they have disappeared. This helps me understand how hard the life was for my companions and how complicated the relationship between humans and the sea is. There were so many interesting things narrated in the first person, I felt obliged to publish them so they were not forgotten (…) later, my avid reading continued and I devoured the service logs from all the lighthouses in Almeria and Granada, which led to yet more publications. The action of the collector opens up knowledge production processes that incorporate the subjective, intuitive, emotional and relational dimension, and which are linked to processes of identity investigation that arise from the interaction of a person immersed in their surroundings. This investigation is made from the precision, uniqueness, and proximity to the local reality, from the affective bond and contact with the people and their memories. Collectors are curious people with the sensitivity to find out, interpret, inquire,

ask, and investigate. They are experts on their local reality, in contact with the social and institutional fabric. This fact, together with their openness to communicating and disseminating the knowledge they gather, means that, depending on their relationship with their surroundings, they are held up as spokesmen for the local meanings and significance of heritage or, in other words, the cultural legacy to be transmitted to future generations. Memory vehicles, communication bridges, not by chance, they are often are key informants for anthropologists and anthropologists who touch down in new realities. Their knowledge is important for academics, who make use of their sources to research the history of the place. Somehow, the collector’s knowledge becomes significant at the global level, because they rescue the stories of people, towns, and communities that would otherwise be forgotten and lost11. Pathways of dialogue and plurality: the humanisation of heritage Focusing our view on the personal expression of heritage makes it possible to approach its greatest manifestation of plurality, by giving value to a person, as a vital agent of the

Some bibliographical productions of local collectors: Roman Fernando, Malia Francisco, Daza Juan M. (2013). “Soltando Amarras. Ediciones el Tío de los Aullíos. Cadiz. Naval Molero, J.L. (2004) Los corrales de pesquería. Seville: Junta de Andalucia, Consejería de Relaciones Institucionales. Carrillo Alonso A. (2013). “Pescadores del Sur”. Arraez Editores. Mojácar. Almeria. Sanz Cruz M. (2012). “Memoria de un pueblo casi invisible para Almería que ha sido un imán para el mundo”. Edita Asociación Cultural Destellos-ArteFacto. Carboneras. Almeria. Cara González G. (2004). “Roquetas de Mar 400 años de historia Siglos XVI-XX”. Edita Gabriel Cara González. Roquetas de Mar.

Ildefonso Ramírez, showing his collection of implements and sea documents at his skipper’s hut in Estepona (Málaga) (2014). MARTA FARRÉ RIBES

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“heritage praxis” undertaken by “common people”. From this perspective, new heritage or heritage construction processes are visible that up to now have been rejected, invisible, or delegitimised by the hegemonic powers that be: the version, the voice, the testimony of the person becomes valuable as it contributes introspection and complexity to the process of heritage construction. In this sense, focusing on people’s actions makes it possible to explore the many personal expressions that enter into, directly or indirectly, the fleeting but vital and transcendental memory transmission networks, which they safeguard, from the symbolic dimension, cultures in danger of extinction. An intersubjective reading of the heritage phenomenon, reveals that the heritage is “transmission” and that it only exists as an act of communication and dialogue with “another person”. Through, and thanks to, socialisation, these small selections, yearnings, memories, narratives, and personal histories become collective. The transmission process involves new “places of heritage” that consecrate the territory and bring into play profound knowledge production processes based on the harvesting and transmission of memories. These processes, above all, set out the family and personal anchor to heritage, the permanent dialogue between personal legacy and that of the group, and the need to communicate and transmit this personal and collective inheritance. They make it possible to see how people –their stories, memories, and narratives– demand, seek and find a way to be heard. They show people’s need to enter into history and recognise themselves there, to reconstruct a history that is human and proximal, incorporating personal experiences, friendships, and neighbourhood. This narration of the past incorporates the experiences of the people and the need to introduce, into the collective, testimonies, stories, and the experiences of its protagonists. Investigation of the memory transmission processes reveals the need to give meaning to the past, interpret it, and bring it into the present, but above all else they

show the need for some to relate and others to listen. In the same way, the intersubjective perspective opens the door to the complexity of the collective entities that produce heritage-associations, institutions, companies, considering them a unit constituted from the diversity of people, driven by diverse needs, concerns, and interests. In the same way, this perspective, allows us to discern links and interaction between these groups –differing from one another in terms of structure, form and interests. Somehow, the view of people, offers us the possibility of reading the collective from the complexity of interaction between subjectivities, far from holisms and reification, approaching the pulse and vitality of the needs that emerge from the social reality. Opening paths of dialogue and plurality may be listening to these small but powerful memory transmission processes, in which heritage is management or guardianship, becomes just one more act of safeguarding. This perspective positions “common” people, and why not, as “living human treasures” that maintain vital memory communication networks. Going deeper into the dialogue between personal and collective heritage, investigating how these transmission processes unfold (who, how, why, and what), introducing the subjective, the emotional into the heritage debate, and exploring the languages, vehicles, and places where memories are manifest when these are expressed from the creativity and contradictions inherent in a person’s action, are considered possible pathways that can open up the gaps of plurality in heritage construction. n

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REFERENCES

Agudo Torrico, J. (2012) “Patrimonio etnológico y juego de identidades”, Revista Andaluza de Antropología, 2: 3-24. Arévalo, J.M. (2010) “El patrimonio como representación colectiva. La intangibilidad de los bienes culturales”, Gaceta de Antropología, 26/1: article 19, s.p. Ariño Villaroya, A. (2002) “La expansión del patrimonio cultural”, Revista de Occidente, 250: 129 150. CANDAU, J. (2002) Antropología de la memoria. Buenos Aires: Nueva Visión. Carreras, G. (2011) “El atlas del patrimonio inmaterial de Andalucía y la convención de 2003. Sujeto y predicado en el patrimonio cultural ¿Una cuestión de sintaxis?”. In Actas del XII Congreso de Antropología de la FAAE, s.l., s.p. Cruces, F. (1998) “Problemas en torno a la restitución del patrimonio. Una visión desde la Antropología”, Alteridades, 8: 75-84. De Sousa Santos, B. (2005) El milenio huérfano: ensayos para una nueva cultura política. Madrid: Trotta. Escobar, A. (2007) La invención del Tercer Mundo. Construcción y deconstrucción del desarrollo.

Caracas: Fundación Editorial “El Perro y la Rana”.

museus i museologies. Lleida: Pagès Editors.

Farré Ribes, M. (2014) “Coleccionistas de los olvidos: la(s) memoria(s) como estrategia local de supervivencia cultural”. In Periferias, Fronteras, Diálogo. Actas del XIII Congreso de Antropología de la Federación de Asociaciones de Antropología del Estado Español, 5546-5578. Tarragona: Universitat Rovira i Virgili.

Martínez Latre, C. (2007) Musealizar la vida cotidiana. Los museos etnológicos del Alto Aragón. Zaragoza: Instituto de Estudios Altoaragoneses, Prensas Universitarias de Zaragoza.

Farré Ribes Marta (2016). “Col· leccionistes dels oblits, una mirada plural al patrimoni. Les Garrigues”. Editorial Barcino. Barcelona. García, R. (2006) Sistemas complejos: conceptos, método y fundamentación epistemológica de la investigación interdisciplinaria. Barcelona: Gedisa. Gonzalez Alcantud, J.A. (ed.) (2003) Patrimonio y pluralidad. Nuevas direcciones en antropología patrimonial. Granada: Biblioteca de Etnología, Diputación de Granada. Hernández, J. (2008) “Historia, memoria y activación patrimonial: el Palacio del Pumarejo en Sevilla”, Boletín de Monumentos Históricos, 13: 116-121. Iniesta González, M. (1994) Els gabinets del món. Antropologia,

Padiglione, V. (2003) “Pequeños museos etnográficos”. Dins GONZALEZ ALCANTUD, J.A (ed.) Patrimonio y pluralidad. Nuevas direcciones en antropología patrimonial, 537-548. Granada, Biblioteca de Etnología: Diputación de Granada. Pearce, S.M.; Bounia, A. (2000) The Collector’s Voice. Volume 1: Ancient Voices. Farnham: Ashgate. Prats, L. (1997) Antropología y patrimonio. Madrid: Ariel.

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Jordi Abella Pons VALLS D’ÀNEU ECOMUSEUM

Holds a degree in Cultural Anthropology from the University of Barcelona and has been director of the Valls d’Àneu Ecomuseum since 1994. Academic coordinator of the Master’s degree in The Pyrenees, Museology and Heritage Management (1998-2000), run by the University of Barcelona and the Agricultural School of the Pyrenees. Lecturer on the Masters in Heritage Management and Museology and the Masters in World Heritage and Cultural Development Projects (University of Barcelona).

Local museums in the High Pyrenees Local vision, the economic crisis, and the creation of cooperative structures

lt Pirineu i Aran is an administrative region of the High Pyrenees, located in northwest Catalonia and which occupies an area of 5,775 2 km . This mountainous zone has 74,310 inhabitants (according to the latest census, from 2011) divided between the counties of Alta Ribagorça, Alt Urgell, La Cerdanya, Pallars Jussà, and Pallars Sobirà, as well as the Val d’Aran (which has a special management system). The region is also to home to several environmentally protected localities (covering around 152,046 Ha) that are integrated within a National Park (Aigüestorte s i Estany de Sant Maurici), 2 natural parks (Cadí and Alt Pirineu), and natural reserves, or parts of these. In 2011, there were more than 55 heritage centres in the Alt Pirineu i Aran area, a number that has now risen to 60, meaning that investment into natural and cultural heritage, museums, interpretation centres and other heritage facilities over

In this article, we review the current situation of museums and heritage facilities in the High Pyrenees and reflect on the need to work as part of a network, as a strategy to provide coherence and sustainability, and overcome the ravages of the crisis in the heritage-management sector.

recent decades is an interesting phenomenon to both analyse and interpret. The creation of this set of facilities involved three distinct stages (Abella, Alcalde, Rojas, 2012: 620). The first began in the mid-20th century and continued until approximately the 1980s. During this time, the first museums were created, primarily motivated by a drive to reclaim local identity and culture that, as a result of economic changes and the ecological, social and cultural transformations that had begun around the 1960’s, had generated an important sense of cultural loss. It was the first attempt at recovering specific cultural elements, like language, lifestyles, the so-called customs and traditions, and traditional elements, and museums were seen as a potential collective tool for achieving this.

Keywords: museums, heritage facilities, Alt Pirineu, High Pyrenees, Networking, cooperation Paraules clau: museus, equipaments patrimonials, Alt Pirineu, treball en xarxa, cooperació Palabras clave: museos, equipamientos patrimoniales, Alto Pirineo, trabajo en red, cooperación

The next stage began in the 1990s and lasted until 2008, coinciding with the launch of the majority of museums and heritage projects in the High Pyrenees area. This period saw

En aquest article fem un repàs de la situació dels museus i els equipaments patrimonials a l’Alt Pirineu en aquests darrers anys i presentem algunes reflexions sobre la necessitat de treballar en xarxa com a estratègia per donar coherència i sostenibilitat i superar els estralls de la crisi en el sector de la gestió patrimonial.

En este artículo hacemos un repaso de la situación de los museos y los equipamientos patrimoniales en el Alto Pirineo en estos últimos años y presentamos algunas reflexiones sobre la necesidad de trabajar en red como estrategia para dar coherencia y sostenibilidad y superar los estragos de la crisis en el sector de la gestión patrimonial.

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a progressive change in the objectives and justification for setting up many of these facilities. Little by little, tourism crept in, with the arrival and necessary management of visitors from outside the region, a fact that often blurred the most conservationist and heritage ideals. This period also coincided with an abundance of relatively accessible funding and subsidies from European programmes, government grants, and a greater economic capacity at the local scale. The use of heritage to benefit local communities constitutes a patrimonial right (Moragues, 2006). This is not at odds with the fact that museums in small towns also address the visitor population and become part of a tourist system. It is, however, necessary to design these facilities to fulfil this function and provide them with the resources and structure to do so. At that time, many municipal buildings were recovered with the idea of setting up museums or interpretation centres, but in many cases there was no plan for their subsequent management or sustainability. A large number of the Pyrenean interpretation centres date back to this period; many of these had enormous theoretical expectations of attracting visitors, but weak final results. The third stage coincided with the advent of the financial crisis. From 2007-8 to 2016 the creation of new facilities slowed considerably due to a fall in investment, budget cuts, and the new economic containment laws driven by the state. Many projects that were already in full swing were halted or curtailed, in hopes of better times to come. There has been very little talk about the creation of new museums in recent years, and efforts are being concentrated into maintaining centres that are already in existence, and keeping these open. In fact, this period has resulted in an important weakening of local heritage facilities, which have lost legal autonomy, human resources, and management capacity. What we are left with is a weakened and unfocused sector, increasingly dependent on generating its own resources

and desperately seeking an increase in visitor numbers to stay afloat. In this sense, resources destined for personnel, research, conservation, and investment (renewal of the museography, infrastructure growth, and so on) are drastically reduced and are basically used for activities and actions that attract visitors (particularly tourists), promotion, and dissemination. In general, this process also implies: –– Little museographic renewal in the facilities and the ageing of permanent exhibits. Even some of the museums opened in the early 2000s are already obsolete in terms of design, interpretative resources, and narrative. –– An important loss of autonomy for many museums and facilities that began as consortia, foundations, and entities supported by patrons, and which, as a result of the crisis, have become municipal centres, consequently losing the ability to manage themselves (this involves further difficulties when it comes to accessing certain funds and subsidies as it often means competing with the city councils that manage them). –– Loss of visibility, presence, and positioning of museums as part of the cultural offer in the Pyrenees. This is exacerbated by the fact that many museums and facilities have lost, or do not have, temporary exhibition halls1, as these facilitate a certain degree of constant museographic renewal, and could provide alternatives for visitors who have already visited the centre. The fact that a large number of museums have only a permanent exhibition, which is very expensive to renew and update, implies a significant stagnation in what they are able to offer. Currently, although we are still feeling the effects of the financial crisis, there are signs that suggest new changes. On the one hand, new proposals for museums and facilities have begun to emerge over the last few years, from city councils, parks, and other public bodies. There had been a distinct lack of

In fact, only 10.6% of the facilities analysed throughout the Alt Pirineu i Aran area have their own exhibition halls that can accommodate temporary exhibits.

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this in recent years and, in fact, some of the projects that were in progress had stopped altogether. Now some are being recovered and reactivated, and there are even new ones in the pipeline. Often, these new proposals come from national or natural parks that are developing a series of heritage facilities and small themed museums that must be kept current. In this regard, and in view of this new potential stage for implementing heritage projects, it seems evident, much as it did in the first decade of the 2000s, that strategic plans must be developed and heritage facilities organised in order to establish coherent, connected, and sustainable regional scenarios. Data on the museums and heritage facilities in the High Pyrenees area From a preliminary analysis of 47 selected centres2 that are currently active and open to the public (entirely or in part) in the High Pyrenees, we have extracted some significant data.

In the Alt Pirineu region, the distribution of museums and facilities is approximately the following: Alt Urgell: 12 (25.5%) Alta Ribagorça: 3 (6.3%) Cerdanya: 6 (12.7%) Pallars Jussà: 8 (17%) Pallars Sobirà: 11 (23.4%) Val d’Aran: 7 (14.8%) Of which only 5 (10.6%) are listed in the Catalan Government’s museums register3, while the rest are considered collections open to the public or interpretation centres. By theme, 38.2% are devoted to ethnological heritage, 23.4% to industrial heritage, 17.2% to natural sciences, 17% to archaeological or historical heritage, and 10.6% to art. It seems clear that, at least up to now, ethnological heritage has been the predominant theme in the heritage map of the Pyrenees,

followed by industrial heritage, natural sciences, archaeology/history and then, finally, art. Currently, as a result of the consolidation of the parks and the development of their network of facilities, it seems that there are increasing numbers of centres dedicated to natural heritage, although curiously, interest in other areas of cultural heritage is also on the rise, particularly in the ambits of archaeology and ethnology.

Guide to museums and facilities edited by the Alt Pirineu i Aran Network of Museums and Facilities (2008)

The first surprising fact is the large number of museums and heritage facilities existing in the Alt Pirineu i Aran area. The selection basically includes minimally active and stable organisations (without taking into account churches open to the public).

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Of all the centres, only 34% have stable, permanent personnel responsible for their management. Over recent years, there has also been a trend towards the reduction or disappearance of directly employed staff, with facilities opting to outsource the opening and management to private companies. On the other hand only 27.6% of the centres open all year round. The rest do so only in the summer or holiday periods (and in some cases for advance bookings). This, of course, greatly reduces the management possibilities of these facilities, their visibility, and their potential to become good tourist products. If we analyse the various functions and activities these centres develop, we can see that 19.0% do scientific research, 27.6% manage temporary exhibitions, and 38.2% organise cultural revitalisation and/or social activities. In contrast, the vast majority have a permanent exhibition (93.6%) that they consider to be the keystone of their heritage activity. These figures, which undoubtedly need to be tuned and updated (as they were collected mostly during the first decade of 2000s), do, however, allow us to present a preliminary analysis of the local museums and interpretation centres found in the Pyrenees. In general, we can state that in the High Pyrenees there are many museums and heritage centres, dealing with diverse subjects. They are characterised by a certain weakness and fragility, with few stable, and often untrained staff members. These facilities are open seasonally rather than permanently, and their main function is the display and management of a permanent exhibition, which is infrequently updated and renewed. Beyond the management of this permanent exhibition, they develop a few research activities, preventive conservation and revitalisation. Obviously this profile does not apply to all the museum centres, and there are important exceptions. Indeed, despite being small, some centres make real efforts to invigorate their local heritage resources.

Similarly, it is worth mentioning the progressive appearance of private-sector facilities, managed with no public resources, and which may even be a complement to agricultural and livestock farms, or tourist proposals linked to rural tourism. This is a new cradle for heritage that is worth investigating and evaluating. Networking. Proposals for shared management in the Pyrenees It is true that the most common scope for museums in the Pyrenees is municipal, focused on a city, town or municipality, and this has led to the development of basically local narratives, with few connections to other municipalities, counties or neighbouring regions. However, as far back as the 1990s there were economic initiatives developed to implement cooperative management in broader territorial terms and transverse fields. These include projects that have taken over the common management of several facilities, the ownership of which depends on different municipalities or counties, and that in some cases have even dared propose stable partnerships between the public and private sectors.

In this regard, we can cite at least the following cases: –– The creation of the Val d’Aran museums that, under the direct management of the General Council of the Val d’Aran, coordinate the opening, promotion and development of activities in various museums and public heritage facilities linked to different Aranese municipalities. The same council maintains the technical team and provides the necessary resources to ensure the operation and coordinated promotion of these facilities. –– -The Valls d’Àneu Ecomuseum, a project inaugurated in 1994 that currently manages the opening and promotion of various facilities in the four municipalities that make up the Valls d’Àneu in Pallars Sobirà. In this case, in addition to public facilities, some private centres have also been incorporated. In recent years, they

That being said, there are some who meet all the criteria and could soon be added to the register.

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Detail of a room in Casa Gassia. Valls d’Àneu Ecomuseum (2009). VALLS D’ÀNEU ECOMUSEUM

have also begun considering the possibility of collaborating with other Pyrenean municipalities by setting up management agreements including even more facilities. –– Another more recent example is the case of the shared management of the two palaeontology museums in Alt Pirineu: Cretaceous Park in Isona, and the centre in Coll de Nargó. In this case, even though the staff of each of museum is managed

in the corresponding municipality, the technical management is shared under the supervision of the Ministry of Culture and the Institut Català de Paleontologia Miquel Crusafont. –– We should once again mention the coordination dynamics involved in the deployment of heritage facilities, as the parks are doing throughout the region. One of the most successful cases is the

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National Park of Aigüestortes and Sant Maurici Lake, which has created and maintains various museums and interpretation centres over its geographical area (Alta Ribagorça, Pallars Jussà, Val d’Aran, and Pallars Sobirà). The examples given represent the trend towards shared management that has been consolidating and which has proved effective and sustainable even in the most dramatic moments of the financial crisis. On the other hand, beyond the existence of this supralocal cooperation, since 2000 there has been very active revindication, especially from the technical and professional sectors, for the creation of a support structure that would allow the development of joint actions and cooperatives between the various Pyrenean museums and heritage facilities. The most significant moment in this process was in the year 2008 with the creation of the Alt Pirineu i Aran Network of Museums and Cultural Facilities, supported by the IDAPA (Institute for the development and promotion of Alt Pirineu i Aran. Min-

istry of Territory and Sustainability and the Ministry of Culture (Government of Catalonia), and again in 2010 with the creation of the Alt Pirineu i Aran Museums Service. This network represented the first instrument for cooperation and cross-cutting action linking and articulating the different museums in the Pyrenees. As reflected in the 2010 Annual Performances Report (Alt Pirineu and Aran Network of Museums and Facilities, 2010): “Following the launch of the Alt Pirineu and Aran Network of Museums and Heritage Facilities, and thanks to the complicity of the administrations, not only have these facilities been joined together and consultation and reinforcement begun, but little by little they are achieving the strategic objectives highlighted at the outset. Today, the Network is a clear reference for the Alt Pirineu i Aran area that works in four clear strategic areas: 1. Advice and technical training. 2. Promotion and visibility. 3. Museum strengthening (creation of brand, products sets, search for funding sources, and so on).

Technical course for heritage interpretation through the guide, organised by the Alt Pirineu i Aran Network of Museums and Facilities (2009). VALLS D’ÀNEU ECOMUSEUM

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4. Promotion of intangible heritage: the Network is in a position to act as a spokesperson and generator of debate in the case of actions or situations that may affect the Alt Pirineu i Aran area.”

ture, or at least what we can deduce from the wording of the new Museum Plan prepared in 2017, which firmly vindicates the need to create museum management structures, permits us to be a little optimistic for the future.

Unfortunately, despite the many joint actions that could have been developed over those years, involving essential areas such as training, research, the creation of shared cultural and tourist products, the dissemination and promotion or organisation of transverse activities4, the lack of political and institutional support, both locally and regionally, together with the severity of the economic crisis have affected museum centres as a whole. To this it is necessary to add the strong regional and administrative recentralisation process which the Pyrenean area has suffered. This has led to the loss of an important part of their own management structure in the field of heritage and museums, for example, implied by the disappearance of the Alt Pirineu i Aran museums service and its merger with the museums service of the network of museums in Lleida and Aran5.

Currently, there is also a new trend that, although being in its early stages, may represent an interesting step towards the creation of greater regional coordination. Dialogue has started between several parks and museums to establish a cooperation framework agreement that will allow them to carry out projects and develop common policies under a comprehensive vision to incorporate cultural and natural heritage. In principle, these actions are binding in the areas of research, promotion, and management of local heritage resources. During 2017, from the initial contact between the General Directorate of Cultural Heritage (Ministry of Culture) and the General Directorate of Environmental and Natural Environment Policies (Ministry of Territory and Sustainability), a first pilot plan is being hammered out so that joint actions can be taken in different areas of Catalonia, one of these zones being the Pyrenees. It is necessary to watch the evolution of this new core area of work that could help unite and strengthen heritage resources in this territory. In short, it seems that a new scenario is forming where strategies of cooperation and shared management will play a key role.

Together, this has progressively led to the network’s dilution and loss of structure. This process of dismantling the network was also accompanied by a significant individual weakening of many of the Pyrenean museums and, as we mentioned earlier, they lost staff, autonomy, and significant financial resources that they will probably never recover. Today, after the hardest and most difficult years of crisis have passed, it seems there is a resurgence in revindication by the same experts, who remain active, as well as by the institutions that participated in the original network-creation process, like IDAPA. They wish to recover and redefine that network or construct a similar structure of supralocal cooperation within the Pyrenees. Additionally, the new regional perspective seemingly expressed by the Ministry of Cul-

In any case, I believe that the example and the status of the museums is representative of the general situation in the Pyrenees in other fields, where individuality, geographic dispersal, and a lack of transverse management tools is still very significant. It is necessary to strengthen and promote new structured and transverse policies in which the management of heritage resources, based on museums and other cultural facilities in the region, should be strategic considering the enormous potential heritage has to bring about regional cohesion and as a potential area for economic and cultural development, and not only in the scope of tourism.

The creation of this network even meant the creation of a new post in the form of a local employment and development agent for four years, who gave permanent technical support to various museums that made up the network.

These institutional networks only included those museums in the Catalan Government’s museums register, meaning the majority of heritage centres not considered to be museums could not benefit.

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Course dedicated to heritage as an educational tool, organised by the Alt Pirineu i Aran Network of Museums and Facilities (2010). VALLS D’ÀNEU ECOMUSEUM

The management of local heritage resources is a huge responsibility that requires significant financial investment and this cannot rest exclusively on the shoulders of the local area, as it seems to have done thus far. The responsibility for conserving, researching, promoting, and managing our cultural heritage, to pass it on to future generations in the best possible condition, is the duty of a country to which all regions in the country are entitled, and as such the administration must generate clear policies with regard to how to do this. Without a doubt, local muse-

ums can and should play a fundamental role in these processes, but this necessarily implies that they are the product of planning and design, and are minimally endowed. They should not be simply the result of tourism or local political dynamics. n

REFERENCES

Abella, J.; Alcalde, G. i Rojas, A. (2012) “De la guadaña al forfait. Análisis del uso turístico de los museos etnológicos del Alto Pirineo catalán”, Pasos. Revista de Turismo y patrimonio cultural, 10/5: 619-628. Abella, J; Aliaga, S.; Arbués, C. et al. (2008) Guia de Museus i Equipaments Patrimonials de l’Alt

Pirineu i Aran. Tremp: Garsineu Edicions. Xarxa de Museus i Equipaments Territorials de l’Alt Pirineu i Aran (2010) Memòria d’actuacions. Internal document. Moragues, D. (2006) Turismo, cultura y desarrollo. Madrid: Spanish Agency for International Development Cooperation (AECID)

Roigé, X. (2007) La reinvención del museo etnológico. In ARRIETA URTIZBEREA, I. (ed.) Patrimonios culturales y museos: más allá de la historia y del arte, 19-44. Bilbao: Euskal Herriko Unibertsitatea.

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Alexandre Delarge FRENCH FEDERATION OF ECOMUSEUMS AND SOCIETY MUSEUMS, OR FEMS

During his career, Alexandre Delarge has always worked in society museums, putting into practice and defending participatory approaches. Until 2017, he was curator of the ecomuseum of Val-de-Bièvre de Fresnes (France), an example of a community museum in the Île-de-France region. From 2013 to 2017, he was Chairman of the Fédération Française des Ecomusées et des Musées de Société (French federation of ecomuseums and society museums, or FEMS).

Society museums, their territory and innovation in places of conservation

any aspects relating to society museums could be discussed to present this family of museums, but we will not be able to cover them all here. It should be noted first of all that while this term exists only in France, that does not mean that the museums it refers to do not exist elsewhere. The close link between ecomuseums and society museums deserves to be outlined. Much of what makes society museums is not specific to this type of museum. We will try to define their most specific aspects here, through the reflection and commitments of the Fédération Française des Écomusées et des Musées de Société, which represents museums of this kind, without associating all members of this family. Each society museum is special, since it has to adapt to the characteristics of its area or region and the needs of its inhabitants. We will not, however, present any examples, rather we will describe what we believe represents the quintessence of our museums – in other words, a kind of ideal which each member of the Federation seeks to achieve, and which it inevitably implements only partially. After recalling the emergence of this concept in connection with the Fédération des

Écomusées et des Musées de Société, we will define the term, and show these museums’ characteristics and the current challenges they face. Brief history of society museums in France The notion of heritage inherited from the French Revolution has long been understood in the sense of prestigious, exceptional, emblematic elements of a distant past. The evolution of museums of popular arts and traditions, and more generally of local museums, in a country undergoing profound changes in the mid-1960s (industrial crisis, desertification of the countryside, accelerated urbanisation) was

Keywords: Museums of society, Federation of ecomuseums and museums of society (FEMS), France, territory, development, engagement Paraules clau: museus de societat, Fédération des écomusées et des musées de société (FEMS), França, territori, desenvolupament, compromís Palabras clave: museos de sociedad, Fédération des écomusées et des musées de société (FEMS), Francia, territorio, desarrollo, compromiso

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driven by the desire to conserve the vestiges of a social landscape that was disappearing, which led to the gradual widening of the notion of heritage: Factories, corporate towns, rural houses, boats, forges, mines, etc. This adaptation to how society had evolved led to the emergence of ecomuseums and subsequently to a new form of museology. What these two movements have in common is the reconsideration of the relationship with visitors, knowledge, time and territory, with museums favouring a broader consideration of these matters. From then on, new audiences were taken into account, sharing neither the same history, nor the same relationship with the country, nor the same relationship with the museum.This double expansion of the notion of heritage and audiences did not come without difficulty, and it has shaken up the benchmarks of a legitimate and often elitist culture. Collective action emerged as a form of cultural and social emancipation, and the

The definition of museums of society adopted in 2011 by the Federation of ecomuseums and museums of society constitutes a horizon rather than a normative framework. As a result, every museum of society is unique, but each one evolves to adapt to the specificites of its territory and the needs of its inhabitants. Therefore, the museum of society is a process more than an institution. Historically the museums of society are related to the invention of the ecomuseums. They have brought new conceptions of heritage and public by promoting collective action as a form of cultural and social emancipation. The museum of society is a place of debate allowing to develop joint projects for the territory and its inhabitants, stimulating the transmission, social and solidarity economy and sustainable development. The philosophy of the museums of society is the basis of their adaptation to the evolutions of the society thanks to original solutions. In order to defend the originality of territorial development through heritage and community engagement, the museums of society must constantly maintain their spirit of resistance.

museum became the tool. Objects, previously at the centre of museums’ attention, lost their power in favour of projects. In France, the association movement, the demand for local identities, which flourished in the 1970s, and the decentralisation of the state from 1982 onwards, led to the number of museums and heritage interpretation centres to multiply, ensuring a heritage network which covered almost the entire country, of which the Fédération des Écomusées et des Musées de Société is a prime example. In the 1990s, museums entered the communication age. To attract and engage audiences, museums strove to schedule numerous ephemeral events. This constant renewal of supply was underpinned by a compulsion to innovate, often understood as a form of rupture. This permanent race for innovation, in which «action» prevailed over thought, often conflicts with the museum’s deliberately reflexive posture.

La definició de museus de societat adoptada el 2011 per la Federació d’ecomuseus i museus de societat (França) constitueix un horitzó i no un marc normatiu. Com a resultat, cada museu de societat és únic, però evoluciona per adaptar-se a les característiques del seu territori i a les necessitats dels seus habitants. Per tant, el museu de societat és un procés més que una institució. Històricament els museus de societat estan relacionats amb la invenció dels ecomuseus. Han aportat una nova concepció dels patrimonis i del públic mitjançant la promoció de l’acció col·lectiva com a forma d’emancipació cultural i social. El museu de societat és un espai de debat per desenvolupar projectes comuns per al territori i els seus habitants, promovent la transmissió, l’economia social i solidària i el desenvolupament sostenible. La filosofia dels museus de societat és la base de la seva adaptació a les evolucions de la societat gràcies a solucions originals. Per defensar l’originalitat del desenvolupament territorial a través del patrimoni i la participació de les poblacions en els projectes, els museus de societat han de mantenir constantment el seu esperit de resistència.

La definición de museos de sociedad adoptada en 2011 por la Federación de ecomuseos y museos de sociedad (Francia) constituye un horizonte y no un marco normativo. Como resultado, cada museo de sociedad es único, pero evoluciona para adaptarse a las características de su territorio y en las necesidades de sus habitantes. Por tanto, el museo de sociedad es un proceso más que una institución. Históricamente los museos de sociedad están relacionados con la invención de los ecomuseos. Han aportado una nueva concepción de los patrimonios y del público mediante la promoción de la acción colectiva como forma de emancipación cultural y social. El museo de sociedad es un espacio de debate para desarrollar proyectos comunes para el territorio y sus habitantes, promoviendo la transmisión, la economía social y solidaria y el desarrollo sostenible. La filosofía de los museos de sociedad es la base de su adaptación a las evoluciones de la sociedad gracias a soluciones originales. Para defender la originalidad del desarrollo territorial a través del patrimonio y la participación de las poblaciones en los proyectos, los museos de sociedad deben mantener constantemente su espíritu de resistencia.

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In the context of the financial crisis of the end of the 20th century, the weight of events increased even more, to the point of competing with museums’ emancipatory nature, which was reduced to an economic and financial approach. Brief history of the Fédération des Écomusées et des Musées de Société The Fédération Française des Écomusées et des Musées de Société (French federation of ecomuseums and society museums) is an association that encompasses nearly 200 not-forprofit museums or heritage establishments that are involved in the social and solidarity economy, as well as local development. They include both private and public entities, are highly varied in size from one person to several hundred, and some are recognised by the State (as a «Musée de France») while others are not. The majority of its members are located in France and scattered throughout the country. The values defended by society museums are: Communication, debate, participation, the social and charitable economy, and sustainable development.

The Federation has its roots in the final years of the 1960s, when George Henri Rivière invented ecomuseums, with a philosophy based on the idea of the local area, landscapes and the participation of the population. From 4 March 1981, the importance of these new heritage institutions was officially recognised by the Minister of Culture and Communication, who establishes a «charter of ecomuseums». In 1989, ecomuseums regrouped to form a federation of their own in order to obtain better recognition and to protect their interests. Elected officials and communities became aware of these new museums’ rich heritage and their importance to the country. In June 1991, the term «society museum» came into being, when the Ministry of Culture organised a conference on «Museums and societies», the aim of which was to increase the recognition of museums with collections not related to art, archaeology or the exact sciences,

but rather those related to the evolution of man and society. These museums hoped to renew museography and mediation. The following year our federation broadened its field of activity by becoming the Fédération des Écomusées et des Musées de Société (Federation of ecomuseums and society museums). It defines its missions based on four primary fields of activity: –– Leading the network of heritage establishments –– Offering reflections and training on museum practices –– Strengthening the recognition of ecomuseums and society museums and their philosophy –– Documentary monitoring of ecomuseums and society museums, and exchanges

Network of FEMS members. As the only network of its kind in Europe, the Federation comprises nearly 200 heritage establishments (ecomuseums, society museums and interpretation centres) (2017). ANNE WENGER

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Definition and philosophy of society museums The philosophy of society museums originates from that of ecomuseums and from the so-called «evolutionary» definition given to them by George Henri Rivière in 1980. Similarly to this 1980 definition, the text adopted in 2011 by the Federation of ecomuseums and society museums constitutes a guideline and not a regulatory framework, allowing such museums to develop a wide range of experiences by adapting to their context. If a framework must be established, it is that of an ethic which can only be found in this movement of the heart which encourages sharing, by putting museum supporters in a position to receive and to give. Society museums are public spaces which bring together men and women around common projects for the local area or region and its inhabitants. This open and permanent space raises questions related to the evolution of society, and various different groups have an interest in it: Supporters, employees, visitors, members of a local or professional community.

Joint projects are set up and implemented by agents (employees) and supporters (volunteers), with the active support of elected representatives. These projects use their natural, cultural, tangible and intangible heritage to develop the local area or region and its activities. This heritage flourishes through research and mediation activities. The projects help to maintain and generate links between different groups, but also to collect, conserve and share heritage. These projects require human, material and financial resources. They can take multiple forms, ranging from mediation, communication or dissemination tools to economic achievements. Society museums are a process; the people involved and the projects can change according to the changes that occur in the local area or region. The central idea of society museums, heirs of the new form of museology, resides in the goal that they assign themselves to develop

View from the headquarters of the FEMS at the MuCEM in Marseille (Old Port of Fort Saint-Jean). The Tour du Roy René, located in Fort SaintJean and adjacent to the MuCEM, has housed the offices of the Fédération des Écomusées et Musées de Société since 2015 (2014). DIEGO RAVIER – LANDSCAPING OF THE JARDIN DES MIGRATIONS: AGENCE APS PAYSAGISTES DPLG ASSOCIÉS

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projects for a particular territory, which can be either physical or theme-based1. All the other terms of the definition and the philosophy flow from this concept. As such: the project can only be developed within the framework of a space for public debate involving all the stakeholders of the local area or region, at the risk of not being supported by the population and being carried out without its involvement, which to a certain extent would mean against its will. The public invest in society museums with their presence, their skills and their enthusiasm. The development and implementation of the project requires the presence of professionals to stimulate and support the dynamics, but also so that the museum can be a permanent institution that allows for the emergence, structuring, development, completion and even the death of different projects. In order to carry out projects, the society museum will debate issues related to the evolution of society and of the local area or region, in an inter-disciplinary and open reflection on its environment. This

environment is envisaged as beginning with the nearby area and expanding concentrically to include the rest of the world. These museums’ distinctive nature lies in their unbreakable link to the heritage that they collect, conserve and share. Society museums are involved in all forms of heritage: natural, cultural, tangible and intangible. They regard these various forms of heritage as a common asset which, as such, links populations, whether they have been established for a long time or not. Each inhabitant is affected, because heritage is constantly evolving; it is constantly being enriched by newly created elements and elements that are old but recently designated as such. Sometimes, it is impoverished by elements that were formerly designated as heritage but have fallen into obsolescence.

This territory is a geographical area in which populations that form a community have an interest. The theme-based territory, meanwhile, is an intangible space which brings individuals together around a common interest, and it evokes the conceived notion of community.

For society museums, the development of the local area or region and its activities relies on all aspects of heritage by constantly The Dauphinois museum collects objects as well as oral memory. Jean-Pierre Laurent and Charles Joisten in the home of the Marrou family, their informants, during an investigation in Saint-Véran (1980). CHARLES JOISTEN (COLLECTION OF THE MUSÉE DAUPHINOIS)

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updating them in order to make them active elements of the territory’s life. As such, society museums consider all their missions and their fields of activity to be in a constant state of evolution. For this reason, they are a process more than an institution. They are born, they grow, they live, and they sometimes die; the journey is the goal. Secondarily, and more commonly, we can say that the society museums’ mission is to communicate aspects of heritage to different audiences, with specific actions for each one. In order to do so, they raise questions and provide the key to understanding these elements of heritage and how the local area or region has evolved. As stakeholders in their territories in their own right, they play a role in the economic, cultural, social, tourist and commercial fields, favouring the social and charitable economy as well as sustainable development, a field which society museums have been involved in for over 30 years. Context and difficulties It would be hazardous to say precisely what the society museum’s predecessor was. They

first emerged in the 19th century in various forms: Cantonal, folklore, ethnography and anthropology museums, those on popular arts and traditions, and even history museums. Since that time, they have constantly changed, adapting to developments in society, tastes, social representations... in short, their environment. They are, therefore, in a state of constant tension between their history and their future, between their missions and their social injunctions, between their needs and current means. The major tensions they are currently experiencing include the demand for them to maximise self-financing as well as their ratings. This leads them to favour events, contemporary art and derivative activities2, to the detriment, at least partially, of museums’ basic missions. For society museums, it is their role as a player in the tourism economy that is in competition with their role related to the social and cultural development of their local area or region. Although questioning the institutions, places of power and legitimacy of the past has

Like we refer to consumer goods related to culture that are sold by museums as «derivative products».

Glass blower/workshop – Musée du Verre, in Trelon – site of the ecomuseum of Avesnois. The workshop is a production centre which allows know-how to be conserved and shown to visitors (2013). SAMUEL DHOTE

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little effect on museums, it nevertheless leads them to develop participatory approaches. In this area, society museums have a strong lead and expertise. The development of digital tools favours institutions with well-funded budgets. Many small-sized society museums counterbalance this disadvantage by inventing forms of mediation that create a more playful and/ or more active relationship with knowledge. The museum, considered a dusty, backward-looking institution in the 1980s, has undergone a process of change, and is now continuing to evolve and become more open to contemporary issues and questions of citizenship. In this context, the tension that society museums must resolve is to find the balance between past and present, even future, particularly in their permanent presentations and in the way old collections are showcased. As a place for conservation, museums continue to work to transcend this passé image

in order to become a place full of life. They must also be careful not to do so to the detriment of their missions relating to heritage, in particular by attracting audiences without this becoming their sole objective. The way the French population is made up is constantly changing, as are its expectations; the notion of the public has diversified to the point of speaking about various publics or audiences (based on age, education, nationality, social or cultural group, handicap, motivations, etc.). Responding to this cultural diversity requires significant financial or human resources, with the risk of diluting the museum’s actions. Participatory approaches can provide solutions, but choices must inevitably be made. Society museums have always adapted fairly quickly, even though the museum behaves somewhat like an ocean liner, slow to change direction. Without a doubt, their willingness to set goals through a museum project3 and to redefine it once its objectives have been

Ecomusée Paysalp, in Viuzen-Sallaz (Haute Savoie department, AuvergneRhônes-Alpes region). Consultation at Mont Vouan “Vouan avec et pour tous”, conducted during a year with the users of the site around the co-use of the space. A day-tour of their work was organised with the various users, including hunters (2017). CORALINE CROSA

Implemented fairly recently in France by the «Museums» act of 4 January 2002, under the name of scientific and cultural project (or PSC, in French).

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met, or on a regular basis, explains this strong adaptability. The current challenges Museums have long been driven by a policy based on supply, i.e. a programme developed by professionals. The current trend is to shift towards a policy based on demand or expectation (Agenda 21, Faro Convention...). For society museums, it is not a question of replacing a traditional decision-maker, the curator, with another one, but of sharing decisions with the users, who have become partners, without renouncing the essence of their institution.

As such, society museums try to offer leisure activities without abandoning culture, they try to offer mediation activities without rejecting education. Given the complexity of the task and the risk of dissolving cultural issues, society museums struggle to keep scientific personnel at the head of their institutions, even though the trustees often seek to place managers in them, convinced of the pre-eminence of economy, «the sinews of war», above all else. To describe the ideal society museum, one which would have the means to carry out its missions, is to describe the current challenges. In order to be a tool for the popula-

tion, the ideal society museum must work on most of its missions based on participatory approaches: the definition of the museum project and the focus for the creation or inventory of collections, documentary and oral memory collection, the restoration of collections and preservation of know-how, the creation of innovative exhibitions and activities related to heritage, the preservation and showcasing of animal or plant species, the creation of shows and the revival of festivals, and so on. In order to reach out to the local area or region, to deal with all types of heritage, to diversify their activities and to reach as many people as possible, society museums must be able to intervene beyond their walls, whether in public spaces, institutional settings or residents’ homes. In this way, they can carry out activities that are often impossible on-site: Educational, awareness-raising or creative workshops, cultural activities, programmes for collecting objects, documents or words, showcasing interchangeable heritage by disseminating it, guided tours of the area, mobile exhibitions, organising symposiums and conferences, creating places for the expression of know-how, highlighting the economic value of their heritage, and so on. The range of activities carried out by society museums is extensive, covering almost all Cuckoo chicken of Rennes in the courtyard of the Bintinais farm, converted into an ecomuseum of the Pays de Rennes region. This old breed of hen has been saved thanks to the ecomuseum’s research and showcase work. Today, the breed is granted a regional quality label. © H. RONNÉ – ECOMUSEUM DU PAYS DE RENNES.

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the traditional missions of museums, but also expanding to include new activities for museums, such as those related to social integration or the local economy, all the while not losing sight of their heritage-focused missions. It is in this way that society museum will better respond to the complexity of the modern world, as well as to its great tendency to change. It must do so as part of its analysis of the characteristics of its territory, which necessarily means taking a long-term perspective. The diversity of society museums is the expression of the heuristic richness of these museums’ philosophy. It is also the basis for their adaptation to changes in society; the richness of their experiences and experiments allow them to offer original solutions to pursue their mission of conservation. This central mission has at least two functions: Local development, understood as a response to the needs of the inhabitants of the surrounding area, and tourism, understood as an economic driver. But just as the various fields of heritage (art, technology, ethnology, history, etc.) are not assured by the same institutions, these two functions can be dissociated.

Does society change the society museum? Does the society museum change the museum? Society museums operate within the framework of public service missions and collaborative practices conducted with a reflective depth and carried by strong values. They must be explorers and inventors of the future of museums. By paying close attention to changes in society, they will become, in relation to their partners, increasingly indispensable players in the field of heritage in their local areas and regions, which since the birth of the ecomuseums forms part of their responsibility for heritage alongside their collections.

In a context in which society over-emphasises masterpieces by contrasting them against «ordinary» collections, in which sponsorship sanctions the success of institutions, in which the profitability of public services (or services to the public) is taken for granted, society museums are led to rekindle their vocation for resistance. They must fight against this wave by defending and emphasising their specialist nature, where seeking regional development through heritage and getting the public to participate in projects are the key elements. n

The historic mining centre in Lewarde (Nord department, Hauts-de-France region), located on the site of an old mine, allows visitors to discover three centuries of coal mining in the Nord-Pas-deCalais region. Visitors use the miners’ bridge to reach the lift, which allows them to go down to the coal yards (2010). E. WATTEAU

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Tangible ethnicity: in search of traditional cultural expressions in Catalonia, Gunayala, Guatemala and Senegal1 MÒNICA MARTÍNEZ MAURI GEMMA CELIGUETA COMERMA MONTSERRAT CLUA I FAINÉ JORDI TOMÀS GUILERA

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The non-appropriability of intangible heritage ORIOL CENDRA PLANAS RAFEL FOLCH MONCLÚS SANTIAGO ORÓS MURUZÁBAL

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Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia FRANCESCA ROMANA UCCELLA

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From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running ALEXANDRE PLANAS I BALLET XAVIER TORREBADELLA I FLIX

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Catalonia’s street food culture FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

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Tangible ethnicity: in search of traditional cultural expressions in Catalonia, Gunayala, Guatemala and Senegal

Keywords: Traditional Cultural Expressions, intellectual property, indigenous, tangible culture, heritage Paraules clau: Expressions Culturals Tradicionals, propietat intel·lectual, indígena, cultura material, patrimonialització Palabras clave: Expresiones Culturales Tradicionales, propiedad intelectual, indígena, cultura material, patrimonialización

he objective of this article is to present ongoing research on tangible culture and the intellectual property dilemmas that arise from their use and appropriation in different modern societies in America, Africa and Europe. Since 2015, anthropologists from the University of Barcelona, the Autonomous University of Barcelona and Sabhal Mòr Ostaig in Scotland have been studying the conversion of cultural artefacts into intellectual property, heritage or ethno-commodities in a range of ethnographic contexts, such as the islands of the Gunas peoples of Panama, the Mapuche communities of Chile’s Araucanía region, the production centres of Scottish kilts, the fairs of Santa Llúcia de Catalunya, the Mayan peoples of Guatemala and the Joola and Manjack societies of Senegal. This field work has allowed us to perform a comparative study of tangible culture and its appropriation, both by local and external agents. In this article, we want to present the first sets of data and reflections that arise from the fieldwork performed among the Gunas people of Panama, as well as in Catalonia, Guatemala and Senegal2.

The EtnoMAT project What all this research has had in common is the EtnoMAT project: “Expressions Culturals Tangibles i propietat intel·lectual” (Tangible Cultural Expressions and Intellectual Property) directed by Dr. Mònica Martínez

Mauri and coordinated by Dr. Jordi Tomàs Guilera during the period between October 2015 and March 20173. The project consists of a comparative investigation of so-called Traditional Cultural Expressions4 (TCEs), in particular on the social, economic and political issues raised by their production, use and marketing and sale, as well as their conceptualisation as intellectual property (IP). According to the World Intellectual Property Organization – OMPI, the body that defines them – , TCEs include a wide range of popular arts, such as wood carvings, baskets, fabrics and typical costumes, and they can be both intangible and tangible. The proposed research is based on the axiomatic of the importance of tangible culture in the elaboration and expression of ethnicity, and focuses on the processes through which certain objects, but not others, are converted in a given context into ethnic markers. Some of these objects considered TCEs are involved in disputes over intellectual property rights and in some cases become protected by legal instruments at the state level. The problem posed by the EtnoMAT project is of great interest for the cultural economy of the 21st century, dominated by growing globalisation and ethnicity. The commodification of products associated with certain cultures, as well as the demands to control the rights posed by these products, are rapidly expanding processes that are leading to heightened concerns regarding who should benefit from the exploitation of traditional

This article collects the results of the ethnographic research carried out as part of the project “Tangible Ethnicity: Tangible Cultural Expressions and Intellectual Property” funded by the Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness (Ref. CSO2015-62723-ERC).

This article does not include the case of Scotland or Chile, as it is a brief and exploratory text only. In 2018, the group will prepare a dossier on the subject in a specialist journal that will include all the cases studied.

The project in question successfully passed the first and second assessment stage of the 2014 StG call (European Research Council, ERC), but faced with the ERC’s budgetary constraints, it was finally partially funded by the Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness.

According to the latest version of the “Glossary of the Most Important Terms Related to Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Traditional Cultural Expressions” (2017, WIPO/GRTKF/IC/34/INF/7), TCEs or “expressions of folklore designate the tangible and intangible ways through which traditional knowledge and cultures, as well as music and performances, narratives, names and symbols, designs and works of architecture of a traditional nature are expressed, communicated or manifested”.

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

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Mònica Martínez Mauri

Gemma Celigueta Comerma

UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA

Currently a professor attached to the Social Anthropology Department of the University of Barcelona (UB). Doctor in Social and Cultural Anthropology from the Autonomous University of Barcelona (UAB) and the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (Paris). She has been a postdoctoral researcher on the Beatriu de Pinós programme at the University of Lleida and the Juan de la Cierva programme at the UB. Since 1999, she has carried out field work in Panama, but has also performed research in Chile and has contributed to ethnography in international political processes in Geneva and New York (IGC Committee of the World Organisation for Intellectual Property and the Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues).

AUTONOMOUS UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA

Doctor in Social Anthropology and a Professor of Anthropology at the Autonomous University of Barcelona, she has studied nationalism and the construction of ethnic and political identities. She has performed research on the case of Catalonia, on the discourses of ethnic inclusion and exclusion and on the independence process. She has also worked on the history of anthropology and the anthropology of the peoples of Spain.

The article presents the first results of ongoing ethnological research on Traditional Cultural Expressions (TCEs) and the intellectual property dilemmas that arise from their use and appropriation by external agents. The results from four case studies are presented: the conversion of the mola into collective property of the Guna people (Panama); Mayan peoples’ identification with the indigenous traje (Guatemala); the use of the pagne manjack by fashion designers (Senegal) and the new types of caganer (Catalonia).

A doctor of Social Anthropology and Ethnology at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris, she has performed research among the Mayan peoples of the western plateau of Guatemala on subjects such as authority and indigenous political representation, ethnicity, development and, more recently, tangible ethnicity and collective intellectual property. Since 2010 she has been a professor of anthropology at the University of Barcelona (UB) and a member of the research group CINAF (Indigenous and AfricanAmerican Cultures) of this same University.

Jordi Tomàs Guilera CENTRE FOR INTERNATIONAL STUDIES (INSTITUTO UNIVERSITÁRIO DE LISBOA) AND AFRICAN SOCIETIES STUDY GROUP (UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA)

Montserrat Clua i Fainé

images, designs or knowledge. Various international players5 are asking for research to be performed on these issues in order to have an empirical basis on which to develop IP policies. The project, designed to address this challenge (which interests academics, as well as politicians, technologists, communities, and other players affected by these issues) focuses on the study of the appropriation of various tangible TCEs on three continents, including the mola of the Guna people of Panama; the fabrics produced by the Mayan peoples of Guatemala; the so-called pagne manjack of Casamance, in Senegal; and the

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Doctor in Social and Cultural Anthropology, he has performed research in West Africa, especially in Senegal, on issues of identity and nationalism, royalty and traditional authorities, African religions and education. He is currently a researcher at the Centre for International Studies (Instituto Universitário de Lisboa, in Lisbon) and for the African Societies Study Group (University of Barcelona). He has been a coordinator of the project Etnomat: Cultura Material, Etnicitat i Propietat Intel·lectual (Tangible Culture, Ethnicity and Intellectual Property), at the University of Barcelona. As an author and editor, he has published several books on Africa.

caganer in Catalonia, all dealt with in this article. The starting hypothesis of the EtnoMAT project suggests that intellectual property issues related to TCEs respond to new ways of understanding tangible culture, property and rights, both at a global and local level. Although appropriate mechanisms for recognising and protecting TCEs have not been established, TCEs hold a prominent place in the transactions of goods, ideas and information in the global economy. Our hypothesis is that the majority of dilemmas surround-

L’article presenta els primers resultats d’una recerca etnològica encara en curs sobre les expressions culturals tradicionals (ECT) i els dilemes de propietat intel·lectual que susciten el seu ús i la seva apropiació per part d’agents externs. Es recullen els resultats obtinguts a partir de quatre estudis de cas: la conversió de la mola en propietat col·lectiva del poble guna (Panamà), la identificació dels pobles maies amb el traje indígena (Guatemala), la utilització del pagne manjack pel món de la moda (Senegal) i els nous models de caganer (Catalunya).

Entities such as the European Union, the World Intellectual Property Organization, the World Trade Organization and the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues raise the need for empirical studies on these issues.

El artículo presenta los primeros resultados de una investigación etnológica todavía en curso sobre las expresiones culturales tradicionales (ECT) y los dilemas de propiedad intelectual que suscitan su uso y su apropiación por parte de agentes externos. Se recogen los resultados obtenidos a partir de cuatro estudios de caso: la conversión de la mola en propiedad colectiva del pueblo guna (Panamá), la identificación de los pueblos mayas con el traje indígena (Guatemala); la utilización del pagne manjack por el mundo de la moda (Senegal) y los nuevos modelos de caganer (Cataluña).

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ing the intellectual property of TCEs arise due to matters related to the control of their production. In other words, the aspects that raise controversy are: how they are made, who produces them and who benefits from their distribution and/or marketing and sale. During 2016, in addition to carrying out exploratory field work in Panama, Senegal, Guatemala, Catalonia and Scotland, the EtnoMAT team has also followed the negotiations between Member States, industry representatives and indigenous delegates at the IGC Committee of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO)6. The evidence that these field trips has provided us has allowed us to redefine the research goals for the period 2018-2022, to limit the number of ethnographic case studies (Guatemala, Senegal and Panama) and to appreciate the importance of following international debates on the subject matter of TCEs and intellectual property. There are four general objectives that currently guide our research: –– Study the conditions in which the TCEs included in a material product become relevant to the ethnic group and whether they are affected by intellectual property issues. –– Develop a comparable intercultural method for understanding the role of tangible culture in ethnic affiliation processes. –– Systemise data to help local communities, technologists and lawyers to improve the protection measures against the commercial exploitation of culturally valuable objects. –– Explore interpretations and protections of intellectual property – both state and customary – of TCEs and how they interact with current international models. The objects that define us In recent years, many cases of misappropriation of indigenous tangible culture have come to light. One of the cases that has drawn the most media attention was the lawsuit filed in 2015 by the Mixe indigenous community of Santa María Tlahuitoltepec, Oaxaca, in southern Mexico, against the

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French designer Isabel Marant for having copied their traditional dress in several pieces of her spring-summer collection7. Because tangible culture formed by artefacts, fabrics or symbols is not clearly defined within the categories of cultural heritage created by organisations such as UNESCO, it is difficult to design policies that prevent them from being unlawfully appropriated by external players. According to current international legislation, tangible heritage includes architectural and/or unique assets (works of art), which by their nature are not highly movable, whereas intangible heritage, as its name suggests, seems to exclude artefacts, emphasising the knowledge and processes that allow them to be produced. Although they are not officially protected, many objects – clothing, food, tools, or ornaments – are the tangible format that allows social and cultural identities to be asserted and materialised, which is why they can be considered cultural agents (Bennet, 2010; Braun and Whatmore, 2010; Latour, 2006; Miller, 2005). In situations where ethnic, social and cultural identities may seem fragile and attempts are made to defend them through giving them heritage status, the objects’ tangible nature itself allows these identities to be presented as stable. Insofar as granting heritage status often involves showing “culture” to an external perspective, the artefacts’ material nature can turn them into instruments that exhibit “culture” in a more visible and direct way than knowledge or techniques that have enabled their manufacture. Sometimes certain objects of a colonial origin, even those that were imposed as signs of marginalisation, can be adopted and claimed as heritage of the societies that were colonised, often transforming their original purpose. This is the case, for example, of the clothes introduced during colonial times to American indigenous societies. In a way, all objects produced by members of a social or ethnic group are bearers of the group’s culture. However, since the processes of building the ethnic border involve a synthetic presentation of culture, only certain

Des del mes de setembre del 2016, EtnoMAT és una de les poques organitzacions acadèmiques acreditada per l’OMPI com a observadora al Comitè Intergovernamental sobre Propietat Intel·lectual i Recursos Genètics, Coneixements Tradicionals i Folklore (CIG).

Per saber més sobre aquest cas, vegeu la notícia publicada al The Guardian: “Inspiration or plagiarism? Mexicans seek reparations for French designer’s look-alike blouse” https://www.theguardian. com/global-development-professionals-network/2015/jun/17/ mexican-mixe-blouse-isabel-marant (consulta: 29/05/2017)

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

objects are selected as emblems of identity, both within the group and by external agents (national or international institutions responsible for keeping an inventory of heritage, anthropologists, tourists, consumers of different markets, neighbouring ethnic groups, etc.). In some cases, selecting emblematic objects of tangible culture is likely to be problematic. Internal conflicts may arise when not all members of the group possess the same mastery of the production of objects that can be recognised as “cultural”. The selection can also cause conflicts because it has been done by outside agents who do not usually share the same definition of what is “cultural”. They can also arise due to differences in the group’s view of their “culture” with that of the outside agents. In short, although apparently there is a certain agreement when it comes to choosing the objects that represent a group’s culture, the reasons for this choice may not be the same for all the players involved. As part of these processes of selecting culturally distinctive and significant material elements, the commercial value that certain objects acquire outside of the group can be a factor to consider. Although there are objects that are preserved for internal use, others can be used for external circulation and become ethnic hallmarks. In these cases it is necessary to question how objects that retain an internal value (ritual acquisition and/or external origin, cf. Gordon, 2006) compare with those that have an external value (ethnic “authenticity”). It is also worth observing the methods used for the marketing and sale (commercial channels, labelling, direct sales, etc.) of these and other objects that can be acquired by the groups in order to transform them and “re-export” them, endowed with a sort of “heritage coating”. This process, which does not involve any material change, is an ontological transformation of the object into an “artefact” (Gell, 1998) that cannot be ignored. Lastly, another point to consider in the study of the selection process is how per-

manent or temporary the objects selected appear to be. In the same way that knowledge and technical processes must be able to show a certain age or a certain stability over time in order to be recognised as “heritage”, “cultural” objects must be relatively durable and should not come across as recent collective inventions. This requirement can be difficult to accomplish in certain cultural contexts, such as in the indigenous Amazon (cf. Santos Granero, 2009), where certain objects (body ornaments, musical instruments, etc.) often have a brief existence (they are destroyed after being used in rituals, or after the death of their owner) or have value because they embody the uniqueness of the person that produced them, rather than a stable collective identity. The techniques for the production of these objects are transformed, sometimes to be recognised as “cultural” (which entails producing more of them to be marketed and sold). Similarly, the social, aesthetic or commercial showcasing of certain “cultural” objects within a group may involve them being adopted – or on the contrary, rejected – by a neighbouring group as a representation of culture. This is, for example, the case of crafts made with glass pearls or fabrics of European origin adopted as “cultural” emblems by certain Native American groups and rejected by others. In some contexts, the selection of an object as an incarnation of culture often implies attributing a particular history to it (for example, a mythological origin), and at the same time a specific future is outlined: to favour its perpetuation and to control the generational transmission of the knowledge necessary to produce it, among others. Fully aware of the wide range of circumstances surrounding the conversion of tangible cultural elements into TCEs, and how this conversion can empower an indigenous people or ethnic group to identify and represent their culture, we will briefly present the cases of four objects classified as TCEs: The mola in Panama, the indigenous traje in Guatemala, the caganer in Catalonia and the pagne manjack in Senegal.

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The conversion of the mola into collective intellectual property of the Guna people (Panama) The Guna people of Panama (also known as the Kuna, Cuna, Dule, Tule or Gunadule) are one of the few indigenous peoples who have been able to conserve and consolidate a certain political autonomy over the last few centuries. The autonomy achieved by the Gunayala region is particularly significant in today’s world (Martínez Mauri, 2011). To talk about TCEs in Gunayala is to talk about the mola, a highly colourful textile composition that women and transsexuals (omegids) make to wear as an important piece of traditional clothing or to sell to tourists. The mola came into being during the colonial era, as a result of the contact that the Gunas’ ancestors had with the Europeans who tried to dominate the Darien region and the Caribbean from the 16th century. Although the origin of their production can be traced to the 19th century, the mola became an identity emblem during the 1920s, when the

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Panamanian government’s assimilationist policies tried to eradicate it. The traditional Guna dress is made up of several pieces: the mola, a navy-blue patterned fabric which serves as a skirt, a red headscarf with yellow-colour patterns, glass pearl bracelets adorning both forearms and legs, and the oloasu (a golden ring that women wear between their nostrils). Among the assimilation measures that the Panamanian government adopted in order to civilise the inhabitants of the Gunayala region was one forcing women to abandon their traditional dress. After years resisting the government’s attempts to “civilise” the “Indians”, in 1925 the Gunas revolted against the Panamanian police who imposed the assimilationist order on their islands. The revolt that ended the lives of more than 30 non-indigenous people led to the beginning of a new period of political relations with the Panamanian government, characterised by respect for the Guna territory, their forms of self-gov-

Guna women choosing rice (2009). MÒNICA MARTÍNEZ MAURI

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

ernment and customs (their dress was an important part of this). Panama is currently one of the few countries in the world that has adopted sui generis legislation to protect traditional knowledge and traditional indigenous expressions. In the year 2000, Panama passed Act 20 aimed at protecting and conserving indigenous peoples’ collective rights over their cultural identity and their knowledge (Valiente, 2006). In 2016, it approved a new law, Act 80, with the aim of promoting and protecting traditional medicine. Seven peoples benefit from this particular legal framework. The inhabitants of Gunayala, in addition to having a territory since 1938 and forms of government recognised by the Panamanian State (Act 16 of 1953), have been able to protect three TCEs. In 2001, the lawyers of the General Guna Congress (known as CGG, the highest authority in the Gunayala region) registered the mola, the ham-

mock and musical instruments as collective intellectual property in the Department of Colonial Rights and Folklore of the Ministry of Commerce and Industry of Panama. In doing so, as well as being a very important source of income through its sale to tourists and collectors, the mola has become collective property of the Guna people. Since 2006, the Gunas have received large sums from litigation for use of the mola in advertising campaigns, as a brand image or a part of commercial products. One of the most famous cases is the litigation initiated by CGG against the country’s biggest rum company, Seco Herrarano, when it proposed to launch a campaign for the national holidays consisting of a limited edition of bottles decorated with designs of the mola. The company had to negotiate with the Guna congress and compensate the Guna people to avoid being forced to withdraw all the bottles from the market. Another source of income that comes from the collective intellectual property rights of the mola is the

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Products of Zancona Coffee with designs inspired by the mola (2016). MÒNICA MARTÍNEZ MAURI

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payment made by some companies to the Guna congress in order to obtain licenses to use the mola. This is the case, for example, of Franklin Panamà, a company led by a Panamanian lawyer which prints Italian silk scarfs with designs inspired by the mola, but redesigned to follow the latest trends on the international catwalks. Under the agreement that this businesswoman has signed with the CGG, a percentage from the sale of each scarf goes to the Guna congress. The other case is that of the company Zancona Coffee, which since 2016 has adopted a certain mola design as its brand image and uses it on its coffee and merchandise packaging. The conversion of the mola into collective property of the Guna people is a process considered successful and exemplary by some international organisations, such as the WIPO itself. However, the process has not been free from controversy. At the internal level, there have been conflicts between the different groups, as until August 2016 only one group, the region of Gunayala, received the profits derived from the licenses for use and the various litigation cases with national companies. The General Guna Congress only represents 33,000 Gunas that live in the Gunayala region, but not those that reside in the Wargandi and Madungandi regions, or the Guna communities of Colombia or the urban areas of Panama. In other words, of about 80,000 Gunas, only the government of 33,000 of them was receiving the profits generated by this particular collective property. In order to put an end to this situation, the political authorities of all the groups organised a meeting in August 2016 and agreed to divide the profits between the three regions (Gunayala, Wargandi and Madungandi), the Guna communities of Panama represented by the Tagargunyala congress and the Guna communities in Colombia. Nevertheless, indigenous people living in urban areas were left out of the agreement. The money generated by the mola and received by the Guna authorities becomes part of the regional funds. Although these funds are used to cover the costs of main-

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taining the political structure of the Guna people, they are sometimes also used to fund small infrastructure or community projects. But the management of these funds is not free from controversy, nor is it beyond internal power struggles. Mayan identity and clothing in Guatemala today In Guatemala, indigenous peoples represent a large percentage of the national population. In the 1980s, a large part of this indigenous population began to make demands as a Mayan people. The Mayans have been known since pre-Hispanic times for the quality and beauty of their fabrics, which they produce with a wide variety of techniques, materials, colours and designs. In fact, each community of the Guatemalan plateau identifies itself with a distinctive costume, or typical traje, that differentiates them from neighbouring communities (Hendrickson, 1995: 51). Some researchers point out that this diversity is due to the very colonial policy that forced the inhabitants of each town to dress in the same way to facilitate their control (Martínez Pélaez, 1998: 497), while others claim that the diversity is the product of a trend that can be traced back to the pre-colonial era (Otzoy, 1992: 97). Whatever the case may be, the fact is that the indigenous traje remains one of the main ethnic hallmarks of a Mayan person, not only identifying them with their community of origin but above all with their indigenous heritage. In fact, as well as being a fundamental element of the Mayan identity, the traje also forms part of the country’s national identity. Although the State often acts against the interests of indigenous peoples, government institutions have appropriated some of their symbols to use in advertising campaigns or commercial products.

The indigenous traje or the Mayan clothing includes items such as the huipil or blouse, the corte or skirt, the perraje or shawl, the belt, apron, shirts and trousers, as well as necklaces, earrings and sandals. The indigenous traje is therefore an entire outfit, but how many items are necessary for an outfit to be considered an indige-

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

nous traje depends on the person and the indigenous group (Hendrickson, 1995: 33-34). Folk festivals, indigenous beauty queen contests, the Guatemalan institute of tourism itself and museums such as the Museo Ixchel del traje indígena of Guatemala have attempted to create and produce catalogues that define the precise clothing of each of these communities. For example, the Museo Ixchel exhibits 117 huipiles of everyday use from 117 municipal areas and 16 different linguistic groups. But the museum itself explains that some of these huipiles “are already assigned to history” or that they coexist with other huipiles in the same municipality. Indeed, the reality is much more dynamic, rich and flexible than we usually imagine when we think of a cultural expression labelled as “traditional”. For example, huipiles and cortes salesmen in the markets of Quetzaltenango are well aware of indigenous fashions; and although they identify each item with a particular community, this identification responds

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more to a style than to a particular colour, design, technique or material. We can therefore consider Mayan fabrics to be a central traditional cultural expression for this group, but despite their economic importance – as well as their importance as an expression of identity – there is no legislation that protects their production, marketing, sale and consumption. This is why, in 2016, a group of Guatemalan Maya-Kaqchikel women began a series of demonstrations which led them to file, firstly, a claim of unconstitutionality for the lack of rules protecting the intellectual property of Mayan fabrics and, secondly, a legislative proposal that has now been approved by the commission of indigenous peoples of the Congress. These legal actions, which both the Mayan women and their lawyers call strategic litigation, have been accompanied by demonstrations in the streets, the creation of a National Assembly of Weavers and extensive media coverage on both television and

Quetzaltenango market (2016). GEMMA CELIGUETA COMERMA

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in the written press and in the digital media (blogs, websites of national and international activists, Facebook and YouTube). The organisations involved note significant grievances such as state racism, which turns Mayan women and their clothing into folklore symbols at festivals and in advertising campaigns for tourist purposes, the economic exploitation of craft weavers or a lack of respect for indigenous peoples, since ritual fabrics that are only used by brotherhoods as part of religious events are marketed and sold. Among the threats identified in these legal actions, we find domestic and foreign companies that use Mayan fabrics in their products without paying any kind of royalties. In particular, in recent years, companies that produce bags and designer shoes have proliferated, selling them in boutiques or exporting them to Europe and the United States as luxury products. As an example, one of these bags made with a huipil by Santiago Atitlán costs 600 dollars, while the huipil is

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bought from an Indian woman for about 70 dollars. Another of the identified threats is the use of new techniques to design and produce fabrics using computers that reduce the production costs, which are damaging to handicraft producers, almost always women. Handicraft production includes old techniques such as the use of the waist loom of pre-Hispanic origin or the pedal loom introduced during colonial times and dye techniques such as jaspeado8 (Miralbés, 2003) or decorative techniques such as hand or machine embroidery and brocade9 (Knoke and Senuk, 2010). Some of these techniques are mostly employed by women, such as embroidery, brocade and use of the waist loom (although there are also men who perform them) while others, such as the pedal loom – and now computer fabrics – , appear to be dominated by men. Lately we find so-called computerised fabrics that require investment in machines imported from Asia,

Successió de nusos practicats al fil abans del tint, que després formaran figures amb el teixit final.

Teles que s’adornen formant figures amb fils addicionals, que s’entrellacen amb la trama bàsica mentre es teixeix la tela.

Santiago Ixcot at his Quetzaltenango workshop in front of his pedal or foot loom (2016). GEMMA CELIGUETA COMERMA

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

which use computer programs to reproduce the designs of huipiles and cortes that were previously weaved in looms. Computerised fabrics cost four times less than handcrafted fabrics, bringing down the prices of the national market which until now were in the hands of the weavers. Women fear that the indigenous population, characterised by low purchasing power, prefer to buy the cheapest fabrics, putting at risk a production process they performed in their home, which could be combined with other production and reproduction tasks and which served to supplement household income. It is interesting to point out that although some laws in force in Guatemala (such as copyright law or industrial property law) allow designs to be registered, and the Ministry of Culture has declared indigenous trajes national cultural heritage, these are not the forms of recognition and protection sought by the Mayan people of Guatemala. By filing the claims of unconstitutionality and the legislative proposal, these groups are seeking the recognition of their collective authorship as a people, vindicating not only their political recognition but also a more autonomous management model for these groups. In this regard, lawyers recognise that they have in mind a model similar to that of the Gunas of Panama, although they state that it will need to be adapted to the reality of indigenous peoples in Guatemala, which is much less centralised. In fact, the great challenge of these actions is to apply them in such a way as to protect and benefit indigenous producers. Traditional, popular and famous: caganers for all tastes Catalonia is a land with a rich tangible and intangible heritage. It is also a land with a strong differentiated cultural identity which, due to various historical and political circumstances, ended up generating a nationalist political claim in the 19th century, which has experienced varying levels of intensity up to the present day. In this context, it is not surprising that the cultural heritage has received particular attention, given its relationship with the construction and representation of

the Catalan identity. From the first more or less ethnographic collections of 19th century folklorists to the debates on popular and traditional culture of the anthropologists of the years of the transition to democracy in Spain (Llopart et al., 1985; Prats, 1996), the study and protection of traditional Catalan cultural expressions has been part of the Catalan academic debate due to their relationship with the ethnic-national identity. But it has also attracted the interest of the local administration. Since the reintroduction of the Generalitat de Catalunya (Catalan regional government) in 1980, the various governments have devoted public resources to the promotion and protection of cultural heritage, under different names reflecting the academic debates that have taken place over time, under the umbrella of the department of culture. Some TCEs, both tangible and intangible, have also been the subject of specific legislation that complements or falls under the laws on the protection of national or international cultural heritage. Given this context, it was decided to include Catalonia in the cases analysed in the project, although from the beginning it was clear that it was not easy to determine which TCE would be chosen for analysis. Unlike the other three cases studied, here we cannot find the effects of a colonial context or, for the time being, any kind of public (political or media) grievance regarding the defence of any collective intellectual property rights of any TCE in particular. This may be precisely because of the existence of legislation on cultural heritage that we discussed above, which provides a legal and institutional framework for the recognition, protection and dissemination of cultural heritage, and which provides protection and a framework of reference for the reproduction of TCEs. This does not mean that within the scope of so-called popular or traditional Catalan culture there have been no controversies about the “right” way to reproduce TCEs in order to meet criteria of remaining faithful to the tradition or of authenticity to give them meaning. Having confirmed that in Catalonia there were no TCEs linked to fabrics that could be compared to the other three cases

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studied, finally it was decided to analyse the figure of the caganer. The caganer may not be the TCE that Catalan people would mention first as the one that encompasses and expresses today’s Catalan identity, where other elements of traditional culture such as the casteller human towers, dances or fire beasts have played the leading role as emblems of public expression of Catalan identity in the hegemonic statements of identity. It is, however, indisputably recognised by Catalan people as a homegrown and distinctive element of Catalan culture. It is a TCE that plays a full role in Catalan Christmas celebrations and which in recent times has been enjoying great popularity, especially among children, who play the biggest role in creating the nativity scenes where caganers are placed (Wormsbecher, 2015; Carbó, 2016). The iconographic representation of the traditional figure of the caganer can be found, during the Christmas period, not only in the nativity scene but elsewhere: in stories, in painted murals on the streets, in nativity scene competitions or supermarkets, as well as all year round at the Museu del Caganer and at the events organised by an association dedicated exclusively to the study and dissemination of this figure (known as the Associació Amics del Caganer, with its magazine and a prize for “Caganer of the year”). The case of the caganer is interesting because it allows us to observe a particular expression of a phenomenon present in Catalonia, namely eschatology, which for some is a distinctive cultural element of the Catalan people and is expressed in other TCEs, such as the Tió de Nadal (Christmas log) or linguistic expressions (Cardín, 1990), where the caganer would become the carnival counterpoint of a sacred representation (Roma, 2006). On the other hand, it is a good case to analyse the relationship between tradition and modernity: how does the maintenance of a traditional cultural form relate to its adaptation to the modern world. By this we are referring to the emergence, from the 2000s, of a new form of caganer: “celebrity caganers” – figures representing public or

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popular figures (politicians, actors, sport personalities, television or film characters, etc.) reproducing the bodily position of the traditional caganer. These figures have become well-known and popular not only at a local level but also internationally, increasingly becoming a gift item, both for collectors and tourists10. The study of the caganer, therefore, allows us to observe the current tension between local production and globalisation, expressed in this case with the impact of tourism in Catalonia and especially in the city of Barcelona. The “traditional” caganer is therefore maintained as a TCE produced by local craftsmen and sold in a highly limited local area and time period in the calendar (at the Santa Llúcia Christmas fair, for a local consumer who will exhibit it in the nativity scene only during the Christmas holidays), while at the same time an industrial production has been developed for “celebrity caganers”, which are sold throughout the year as international consumer merchandise for tourists and collectors in souvenir shops (including the stalls on the Rambles of Barcelona) and over the internet. The most interesting part of the case are the paradoxes that this dual production generates. On the one hand, tourists buy the caganer figures with the idea that they are buying a genuinely traditional and typical product of the area they visit, in a context where the globalisation of tourism makes it increasingly difficult to find non-globalised souvenirs. But both how they are produced and their use have little to do with the original traditional figure and its use by Catalan “natives” (Amades, 2009 [1946]). On the other hand, despite being a TCE that is confronting a new form of production that goes far beyond the original form, apparently the appearance of the contemporary version of “celebrity caganers” has not generated any debate regarding intellectual property, neither on the part of the craftsmen involved in the production of the traditional figure, nor on the part of the large multinational corporations that hold the copyright or image rights of many of the characters (whether

Cf. la notícia “L’escatologia nadalenca catalana s’escampa pel món”, VilaWeb, 24.12.2015: http://www.vilaweb.cat/noticies/ lescatologia-nadalenca-catalana-sescampa-pel-mon/ (consulta: 29/05/2017)

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

real or fictional) that are reproduced in this kind of caganer. As such – paradoxically and in contrast to the other cases studied – the caganer would enter the debate over intellectual property not so much as a TCE but precisely based on the new forms it has taken, which have less to do with the protection and reproduction of forms of traditional culture. Identity, ritual and commerce: the pagne manjack of Casamance (Senegal) Nestled between Gambia and Guinea Bissau, the region of Casamance, in southern Senegal, is one of the most culturally diverse areas in the country. Populated by Joola (or Diolá), in Lower Casamance (in the Atlantic area), by Manding, in the Mid-Casamance area, and by Fula (or Pehl) in the Upper Casamance (the most Eastern area), we also find in this region, with the river Casamance constituting its backbone, small groups made up of a few thousand people such as the Manjack, the Mancanya, the Balanta and the Banyunk. Many of these groups are also found in northern Guinea Bissau. The region is known throughout the country for its strong identity, for the maintenance of different traditions and institutions of pre-colonial origin and especially

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for its traditional religions, which coexist with Catholicism and Islam (the majority religion in Senegal). In colonial times, Casamance was one of the last areas in Senegal to be colonised and anti-colonial revolts took place up until World War II. In the 1950s, several Casamance autonomous movements emerged to claim a distinct identity from the southern zone and to counteract the centralism of the so-called Quatre Communes (Dakar, Gorée, Rufisque and Senegal) in the north of the country. These movements would disappear in 1960 with Senegal’s independence.

Shop window in Tossa de Mar, August 2016.

Since 1982, a political-military conflict has been ongoing in the region between different factions of the Movement of Democratic Forces of Casamance (MDFC) and the Senegalese government. In 2004, some of these factions signed a peace agreement with the government, but others maintained their ideas of independence and did not abandon their weapons. In 2012, the new president resorted to international mediation to find a definitive solution to this conflict – which after 35 years has become one of the longest on the continent. During his mandate, the government has promoted a series of policies to unlock the region and to showcase the cultural wealth of the south11.

MONTSERRAT CLUA I FAINÉ

Per saber més sobre el conflicte, es poden consultar Marut (2010) i Evans (2013).

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Besides promoting handicraft products from the region for tourism – since Casamance is one of the most important tourist regions of Senegal – , while emphasising the link between traditional culture, commerce and innovation, the government also decided to investigate what were the Casamance region’s TCEs. Thus, in 2013, it began carrying out research at sites such as Oussouye, Sédhiou and Bignona, in order to find ten TCEs that the population considered representative. Among the most popular cultural expressions were dances, masks, musical instruments and, above all, a king and a fabric. While in Oussouye (in Lower Casamance), the most voted element was the figure of the king – an institution of pre-colonial origin that anthropologists classify as a sacred royalty –12, while in Sedhiou (in Mid-Casamance) the element chosen was the so-called pagne manjack. The pagne manjack is a cotton fabric, usually woven in black and white geometric figures, which many Casamance societies use for different ritual events, such as births, weddings and initiations, and particularly during funerals. Among the families of the south, having many fabrics is considered a sign of wealth – both economic

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and social – because when a relative dies, if they are loved by the population, on the day of their funeral the family will receive dozens and dozens of fabrics. It is a fabric that has historically been produced by the Manjack in an artisan manner, but also by the Joola, the Bainunk and other peoples of the region, as well as various societies of Guinea Bissau (Andrewes, 2016; Saraiva, 2003; Pink, 1999). For three decades, this fabric has been gaining presence in the world of Senegalese fashion, and has been appropriated by various Senegalese artists, producing it in creation centres in Dakar and other parts of the country. One of the best-known cases, although not the only one, is that of the Franco-Senegalese dressmaker, Aissa Dione, who early in her career decided to learn the art of weaving in the local manner. As she explained to Forbes magazine in 2016, she learned thanks to her grandmother’s tailor, a Manjack man who originated from Casamance. According to her: “La fabrication de ces pagnes est un savoir-faire ancestral commun aux peuples d’Afrique de l’Ouest. Au Sénégal, c’est la spécialité des Manjacks de Casa-

Cf. Thomas (1959) i Tomàs (2005a i 2005b) sobre la reialesa d’Oussouye.

Traditional Joola weaver in the village of Eloubalir, Senegal (2016). JORDI TOMÀS GUILERA

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

mance”13. Dione extended the length of the strips of the fabric from 15 to 60 centimetres and began to be inspired by Manjack motifs to create her own designs. The success of this dressmaker was overwhelming and soon she went from the shops of Dakar to exhibiting and selling in different parts of the world, in Africa, America, Europe and Asia. She went from selling dresses to creating accessories of all kinds, from shoes and hats to table cloths and computer cases. The pagne manjack has gone in a few years from being an important ritual fabric for many groups in the region to appearing as a manjack symbol and having an economic value that it never had in the past14. In addition, it has caused a certain discomfort among some people because it is considered that dressmakers from the north have appropriated sacred designs that can only be used by those who have been initiated. Meanwhile, Senegal’s government is increasingly committed to intellectual property defence policies. In this regard, it has signed various international treaties in defence of intellectual property and has approved several laws on the subject, such as Act No. 2008-09 of 25 January 2008 on Copyright and Related Rights, which gives more protection to the rights of the population over their creations.

Specifically, in its section four, “Folklore et domaine public payant”, in articles 156 to 160 it is stated that the illicit exploitation of folklore will be punished with very high economic fines of up to half a million CFA francs (about 15,000 euros)15. The pagne manjack is, therefore, at the heart of a debate in the political, social, economic and ethical fields. Following the fieldwork, everything seems to show that a debate is gradually beginning to appear in some areas of Senegalese society that highlights the tensions between reciprocity and capitalism, between tradition and modernity, between customs and the law, and between the local and the global. We will have to monitor it closely. Conclusions The cases presented in this article allow us to reflect on the choice of objects that identify ethnic groups or indigenous peoples, their conceptualisation as TCEs and the controversies that arise from their use or marketing and sale by third parties. As we have seen, there is a wide range of processes for selecting culturally distinctive tangible elements. Sometimes an object becomes a TCE through the action of an outside agent that wants to eliminate it, while in other

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Fabrics donated by friends and relatives on the occasion of the death of a woman from the village of Oukout, Senegal (2016). JORDI TOMÀS GUILERA

Podeu veure l’entrevista a http://www.forbesafrique.com/ Aissa-Dione-la-reine-du-tissuafricain_a1308.html (consulta: 29/05/2017)

Cal recordar que alguns grups del sud, i especialment les generacions més grans, no veuen el comerç com una forma moralment acceptable de guanyar-se la vida (cf. Tomàs, 2007).

Tot i que està encara lluny de dur a terme polítiques com les que han tingut lloc en altres països com Ghana (cf. Boateng, 2011).

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cases they are elements which, despite having colonial origins, recreate local identities, and sometimes their marketing and sale in tourist markets places them ahead of other cultural elements. Only in one of the cases, that of the Gunas, have sui generis laws been approved that recognise collective ownership rights over certain TCEs produced by indigenous peoples. Nevertheless, in the case of the Mayas of Guatemala they already consider this to be a “strategic” path, because of their demands as a people, and in three of the four cases there is talk of misappropriation and third parties, usually government agents or companies outside the local cultural context, are accused of inappropriate use and exploitation. In the case of the caganer, there is no talk of misappropriation or any claim of intellectual property rights, but there are certain groups that reject the celebrity caganer insofar as it does not represent the traditional figure, since they consider it to be a business – in this case of a local company – based on the trivialisation of the authentic TCE. These demands highlight that at present, human groups maintain a relationship of ownership with traditional cultural expressions, whether they are objects or intangible elements. This may be one of the many consequences of the heritage policies implemented in different parts of the world in recent years. If, as Cabanellas does, we understand misappropriation as the incorporation, by a spontaneous act, of something from our heritage into another item without having the right to do so (Cabanellas, 1981), we can understand that the appropriation of designs, clothing or textiles by people outside the group can be considered an infringement of property rights, since in most cases the incorporation of these elements into commercial objects has not been negotiated with the indigenous or ethnic group. However, as recent ethnographies carried out in the Amazon show us (Brightman et al. 2016), we must not even assume that private property is universal, nor that in egalitarian indigenous societies property does not play an important role. In fact, what Brightman et al. show us is that, in order to understand the appropriation of things and people in the Amazon,

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we have to see how upbringing (nurture) interacts with property (ownership). Only in this way will we be able to understand that the asymmetrical relationships between humans and non-humans, such as objects, not only imply care and protection but also involve very complex control and dependency relationships. The examples of the mola, the indigenous traje and the pagne manjack show us that these fabrics are more than just things. They are objects that represent identify and transmit messages. They serve as a means of communication between humans and, in some cases, also a means of communication with a world that is often not perceptible to all humans. The use of these objects in contexts marked by commodification creates new tensions between human societies and raises new global challenges: finding legal mechanisms to protect certain TCEs from voracious commercialisation is one very important challenge. In the Catalan case of the caganer, the appropriation by part of a group or nation is not entirely obvious. In this example, at first glance there do not seem to be any intellectual property dilemmas. In fact, current heritage laws do not provide for the protection of these figures, but intellectual property right laws regarding the image rights of the celebrities who are caricatured in “celebrity caganers” could well be applied. We could say that in the case of the caganer – as also occurs with Easter cakes – , tradition hampers the strict application of copyright and image right laws regarding these popular creations. No doubt the companies that control these rights at the global level have already assessed this situation and have come to the conclusion that starting an aggressive campaign against the incorporation of iconography with copyright or image rights16 in these TCEs would not favour their popularity. We can therefore conclude by stating that the caganer, as a TCE, does raise intellectual property dilemmas, but in a rather different way to the previous cases. n

Exemples de violacions d’aquests drets són la reproducció de figures inspirades en produccions de la factoria Disney, com Star Wars o Frozen, o en futbolistes mediàtics, tant en els caganers com en les mones de Pasqua.

Etnicitat material: a la recerca d’expressions culturals tradicionals a Catalunya, Guna Yala, Guatemala i Senegal

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES:

Amades, J. (2009) El pessebre, Barcelona: Arola Editors. Revised edition by Albert Dresaire, Josefina Roma and Antoni Serés. Andrewes, J. (2016) Bodywork: Dress as Cultural Tool: Dress and Demeanor in the South of Senegal. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Bennet, J. (2010) Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press. Boateng, B. (2011) The Copyright Thing Doesn’t Work Here:Adinkra and Kente Cloth and Intellectual Property in Ghana. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. BRAUN, B. and WHATMORE, S. (2010) Political matter: technoscience, democracy and public life. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press. Brightman, M., Fausto, C. and Grotti, V. (eds.) (2016) Ownership and Nurture. Studies in Native Amazonian Property Relations. New York – Oxford: Berghahn Books.

Hendrickson, C. (1995) Weaving identities. Construction of Dress and Self in a Highland Guatemala town. Austin: University of Texas Press.

Roma, J. (2003) “Le caganer catalan”, inside Mallé, M.P. (dir.) Rêver Noël. Faire la crèche en Europe, 119-121. Marseille: Réunion des Musées Nationaux.

Knoke, B. (2011) Huipiles mayas de Guatemala. Guatemala: Museo Ixchel del traje indígena.

Santos-Granero, F. (ed.) (2009) The occult life of things: native Amazonian theories of materiality and personhood. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

Knoke, B. and Senuk, R.E. (2010) Bordados: puntadas que unen culturas. Guatemala: Museo Ixchel del traje indígena. Latour, B. (2006) Changer de société – refaire de la sociologie. Paris: La Découverte. Llopart, D., Prat, J. and Prats, Ll. (eds) (1985) La cultura popular a debat. Barcelona: Fundació Serveis de Cultura Popular – Altafulla. Martínez Mauri, M. (2011) La autonomía indígena en Panamá: la experiencia del pueblo kuna (siglos xvi-xxi). Quito: Editorial Abya Yala.

Cabanellas, G. (1981) Diccionario Enciclopédico de Derecho Usual. Buenos Aires: Ed. Hestiasta.

Martínez Peláez, S. (1998) La Patria del criollo: Ensayo de interpretación de la realidad colonial guatemalteca. Mexico: Fondo de Cultura Económica.

Carbó, A. (2016) Celebrem el Nadal. Quan, com i perquè de la festa més gran. Barcelona: Edicions Morera.

Marut, J.-C. (2010) Ce que disent les armes. Paris: Karthala.

Cardín Gray, A. (1990) “Escatología navideña catalana”. Inside Lo próximo y lo ajeno.Tientos etnológicos II, 279-296. Barcelona: Icària editorial. Evans, M. (2013) ‘Historiographies, nationalisms and conflict in Casamance, Senegal’. Inside Griffiths, C. (ed.) Contesting historical divides in Francophone Africa, 93-119. Chester: University of Chester Press. Gell, A. (1998) Art and agency. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Gordon, C. (2006) Economia selvagem: ritual e mercadoria entre os índios Xikrin-Mebêngôkre. São Paulo: Unesp.

Miller, D. (ed.) (2005) Materiality. Durham: Duke University Press. Miralbés, Rosario (2003) Magia y misterio del jaspe. Nudos que encierran figuras. Guatemala: Museo Ixchel del traje indígena.

Saraiva, M. C. (2003) “Rituais funerários entre os papéis da Guiné-Bissau (Parte I)”, Soronda, 6: 179-209. Teixeira, M. (1997) “Dynamique des pouvoirs magico-religieux des femmes manjak de Canchungo (Guinée Bissau) émigrées à Ziguinchor (Sénégal)”, Soronda, 1 (1): 121-157. Thomas, L.-V. (1959) Les diola: essai d’analyse fonctionelle sur une population de Basse-Casamance. Dakar: IFAN. Tomàs, J. (2005a) La identitat ètnica entre els Joola d’Oussouye (Húluf, Bubajum áai), Doctoral thesis in Social and Cultural Anthropology, UAB. Tomàs, J. (2005b) “La parole de paix n’a pas tort. La paix et la tradition dans le royaume d’Oussouye”, Canadian Journal of African Studies. 39 (2): 414-441. Tomàs, J. (2007) “Commerce, religions et relations inter-étniques dans un royaume joola. Une approche étno-historique”, Mande Studies, 9: 117-133.

Otzoy, I. (1992) “Identidad y trajes mayas”, Mesoamérica, 23: 95-112.

Valiente, A. (2006) Régimen jurídico de protección a la mola como manifestación cultural. Degree thesis, University of Panama.

Pink, S. (1999) “Panos for the Brancus: Interweaving Cultures, Producing Cloth, Visualizing Experience, Making Anthropology”, Journal of Material Culture, 4: 163-182.

Wormsbecher, L. (2015). El caganer. Anatomia folklòrica d’una figura del pessebre català. Barcelona: Associació d’amics del Caganer.

Prats, Ll. (1996) “Invention de la tradition et construction de l’identité en Catalogne”, inside Fabre, D. (dir.) L’Europe entre cultures et nations, 25-39. Paris: Éditions de la Maison des sciences de l’homme.

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Oriol Cendra Planas

Rafel Folch Monclús

DIRECTORATE GENERAL OF POPULAR CULTURE AND CULTURAL ASSOCIATIONS – MINISTRY OF CULTURE

Cultural manager who developed his professional career in the Government of Catalonia’s Ministry of Culture, where he is Head of Internal Communications (2005). Since 2011, he has been working in the General Management of Popular Culture, Associations and Cultural Action.

Graduated in Social and Cultural Anthropology and holds an Advanced Studies Diploma from Rovira i Virgili University. He has worked in the field of migration and rural-urban relationships, as well as in the ambit of cultural heritage. He currently works as an ethnological heritage technician in the Government of Catalonia’s Ministry of Culture.

Santiago Orós Muruzábal INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY REGISTRY OF CATALONIA

A law graduate, he is a member of the Government of Catalonia’s Law Department. He has been a registrar of Catalonia’s intellectual property since 1996.

The non-appropriability of intangible heritage Intangible cultural heritage and misappropriation Introduction

n February 23, 2016, the newspaper El Segre reported that the town council of Pont de Suert (Alta Ribagorça) had registered the expression #focalfaro in the Spanish Patent and Trademark Office (Oficina Espanyola de Patents i Marques; OEPM)1. The mayor of the town explained that the reason the council had done this was so that “everyone could use it freely”. The idea behind registering the expression2 was to prevent anyone with particular commercial or economic interests from appropriating it and creating an exclusive brand. In certain ways, its registration is something we could define as a “preventive” or “defensive” appropriation. The capital city of the Alta Ribagorça county promoted this “defence” of its local heritage shortly after the Festa de les Falles was declared intangible cultural heritage of humanity by UNESCO3. This suggests that someone anticipated that this, or other elements of the celebration, could be at risk of the dangers inherent in the

heritage label and which, paradoxically, the same patrimonial declaration intends to curb: external appropriation, commercialisation, privatisation, and so on. Currently, heritage production is a firstrate economic agent. If a cultural practice or manifestation seeks to survive in today’s global culture, it must first appeal with its heritage dimension, together with its difference, uniqueness, and exceptional nature. And it must also appeal commercially, through its economic power and social attractiveness, as well as its ability to produce new services. This also explains, in part, the success of heritage policies in recent years: in contrast to processes with a global character, like homogenisation and social and cultural uniformity, an increasing number of resources have been deployed at the global, regional and local levels to identify, define and protect cultural differences, whether these are genuine or reinvented. The news of #focalfaro being registered, reported in the local media, impels us to make a first summary search of the ways certain celebrations preserve their identity, and regulate their non-appropriability by

The expression “Foc al faro!”, in other words “Light the signal fires”, refers to the celebration of the Pyrenean Festa de les Falles, or torch festival. The expression is a festive cry that, particularly in some villages of the Alta Rigaborça region, is heard when it is time to light the signal fire or bonfire from which the falles, or torches, are lit and which are then carried down the mountainside to the village. Therefore, the word faro (and its variants: far, foro, haro) designates the point the falles are lit. The Festes de Falles in Ribagorça “generally comprise a signal fire at altitude, a descent, a run through the village, coca pastries and wine distributed on arrival, as well as a children’s descent, either just before or linked to main event (and a little faro, or one for the kids) “(Farré, 2014: 199).

In the trademark locator of the Spanish Office of Patents and Trademarks (OEPM) the brand “Foc al Faro” is registered in Category 41 of the Nice classification, a category that includes the fields of education, training, entertainment services, and sporting and cultural activities. The trademark number is M3589701, granted by resolution of 18/04/2016, and is the property of the Pont de Suert town council.

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Pont de Suert registers the festival expression #focalfaro. News published in the El Segre newspaper on February 22 and 23, 2016. SCREENSHOT OF THE DIGITAL EDITION OF THE NEWSPAPER.

In 2015, UNESCO added this Pyrenean festival to the Representative List of Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

The Patum de Berga festival received the distinction of Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity in 2005 and was later included in the UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

third parties. In this way we arrive at the La Patum de Berga dossier. An application for the title of Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.4 This document tells us that “The Municipal Board of the Patum de Berga has initiated a registration programme for various brands and elements that make up the festival of the Patum with the aim of safeguarding and protecting its special identity and cultural singularity, as well as regulating its use by third parties. To this point, “Patum” and “Fuets” have been registered”. The document, written during the process of submitting the candidature to the UNESCO lists, adds that the registration of “Plens” is underway, and it mentions, as a reference,

This article examines strategies for protecting intangible cultural heritage assets in Catalonia, addressing the nature of the collective and/or group sense of intangible heritage; it holds that the regulatory framework which oversees industrial and intellectual property is not suitable for safeguarding these assets from possible use and appropriation by third parties; and it proposes components for a regulatory reform that introduces the concept of non-appropriability of popular and/ or traditional practices, representations, expressions, and knowledge.

Spanish Law 20/2003, of July 7, on the legal protection of industrial design. In the OEPM the “Patum” brand is registered in category 28 of the Nice Classification, entitled “Games, toys, gymnastic and sporting articles, and Christmas tree decorations”. As in the case of Pont de Suert, and with the purpose of preserving its heritage, the Municipal Board of the Patum has also registered other “brands” related to the festival: El Fuet (2004), Els Plens (2005), La Guita (2006), and Els Turcs i Cavallets (2007). And its strategy to safeguard and preserve their reproducibility has been to register them in different categories of the Nice Classification: as an example, the tabal (the drum that announces the arrival of the

L’article examina algunes estratègies de protecció de béns del patrimoni cultural immaterial a Catalunya abordant la naturalesa del sentit col·lectiu i/o grupal del patrimoni immaterial; sosté que el marc normatiu que regula la propietat industrial i intel·lectual no és idoni per salvaguardar aquests béns davant d’usos i apropiacions que en puguin fer terceres persones, i proposa elements de treball per a una reforma normativa que introdueixi el concepte de la inapropiabilitat de pràctiques, representacions, expressions i coneixements populars i/o tradicionals.

Keywords: cultural heritage, intangible heritage, intellectual property, misappropriation, protection, safeguarding, common good Paraules clau: patrimoni cultural, patrimoni immaterial, propietat intel·lectual, apropiació indeguda, protecció, salvaguarda, bé comú Palabras clave: patrimonio cultural, patrimonio inmaterial, propiedad intelectual, apropiación indebida, protección, salvaguarda, bien común

El artículo examina algunas estrategias de protección de bienes del patrimonio cultural inmaterial en Cataluña abordando la naturaleza del sentido colectivo y/o grupal del patrimonio inmaterial; sostiene que el marco normativo que regula la propiedad industrial e intelectual no es idóneo para salvaguardar estos bienes ante usos y apropiaciones que puedan hacer terceras personas, y propone elementos de trabajo para una reforma normativa que introduzca el concepto de la inapropiabilidad de prácticas, representaciones, expresiones y conocimientos populares y/o tradicionales.

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Patum) has been registered in categories 16, 28, 35, 38, 41 and 09. A simple search for the words “falles”, “patum”, “gegant” (festival giants), and “casteller” (human tower builder) in the OEMP’s trademark register, brings back 23 brands related to products in the ambit of intangible assets, classified within 11 different product categories according to the Nice classification: We can also identify other strategies for managing intellectual property and the rights of third parties. This is the case of the CONECT-e project (Compartint el CONeixement ECològic Tradicional), which has developed an interactive platform to gather together and transmit traditional knowledge related to plants, animals, fungi, traditional crop varieties, and ecosystems5. CONECT-e calls for traditional ecological knowledge to be managed as a communal or pro-common good, that is, as an asset whose ownership corresponds to a group of people,

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so that none of them has the sole control of the asset, and everyone can enjoy it under certain norms established by the group. To this end, they submit the information to the protection provided by a Creative Commons licence6. In this same context, it is also worth mentioning the discussion generated in 2017 in the human tower building world on “television rights” and “rights to television broadcasts”. According to the Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres de Catalunya (CCCC), these televisual rights include the rights to the images of the castellers, the human tower builders themselves, as well as the intellectual property rights of the groups for building of each of the castells (human towers) made on the days they are broadcast on television. For the CCCC, image rights and intellectual property rights are complementary and necessary for the television broadcast of a casteller festival: “Image rights are part of the fundamental right protecting an individual’s own image, honour, and privacy (in this

Poster with the hashtag #focalfaro, and the recognition of the Falles of the Pyrenees as intangible heritage of humanity, located in the centre of Pont de Suert (Alta Ribagorça) (August 2016). RAFEL FOLCH MONCLÚS

5 See www.conecte.es. 6 Specifically, the Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International Public Licence that allows any user to continue sharing and adapting knowledge obtained from the platform, provided that the origin of the information is recognised, it is not used for commercial purposes and, if it is republished, this is done using the same licence

Dimonis de la Patum – Patum demons. Pastry and confectionery product, described as diables (devils) or other horned, characters, with or without wings, registered by Panificadora Berga-La Valldán SA IMAGE TAKEN FROM THE WEBSITE OF THE SPANISH PATENT AND TRADEMARK OFFICE.

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Patumaire. Lettering with special graphics registered by Vanessa Velmar Puig. Registry of the Spanish Patent and Trademark Office. IMAGE TAKEN FROM THE WEBSITE OF THE SPANISH PATENT AND TRADEMARK OFFICE.

CATEGORY. NICE CLASSIFICATION

TRADEMARKS1 2

16 Publications, magazines and newspapers; Posters, M3583954 “TPC taula periòdica castellera” brochures, catalogues and printouts (16, 26)*

HOLDER Recorda Pellicer, Joan

M3579086 “Diari Casteller”

Edicions digitals del Camp SL

M2587984 “Castellers revista castellera independent”

Roigé i Solé, Jordi

28. Games and playthings; gymnastic and sporting articles not included in other classes; decorations for Christmas trees

M2596845 “La Patum”

Patronat municipal de La Patum

29. Register of meat, fish, fruits

M3097779 “Castellers”

Enxaneta Trading SL

30. Food products of plant origin and additives

M0387452 “Dimonis de Patum”

Panificadora Berga-La Valldan SA

32. Beers; mineral waters and other non-alcoholic beverages

M2896727 “San Miguel selecta el gegant del pi ara balla funky pel camí alicante”,

Mahou, SA

M3608247 “La castellera”

Soriano Ruiz, Ivan

33. Wines, alcoholic beverages except beers

M3651471 and M2115033 “Casteller”

Covides SCCL

M3538375 “El gegant del vi”

Jovani Viticultors SL

M2970227 “Patumaire”

Belmar Puig, Vanessa

M3105312 “Castells colles castelleres de Catalunya” (35 and 41)

Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres de Catalunya

38. Telecommunications, radio and television programmes

M3586486 “Foc i falles”

Ros Sagreras, Francisco José

39. Organisation and direction of tours, excursions and tourist visits

M3504304 “Maridatge casteller” (39, 41 and 43)

Miguel Torres SA

41. Education; training; entertainment services; sporting and cultural activities.

M3584359 “Foc i falles”

Part Escrivà, Artur

M3586343 “Falles”

Excelentísimo Ayuntamiento de Valencia

M3588537 “Foc&falles”

Ros Sagreras, Francisco José

M3554178 “Anxovetes castells, castellers i castelleres”

Pachón Larios, Montserrat

M3636237 “La plaça més castellera”

Ajuntament de Vilafranca del Penedès

N0351257 “Nans&gegants”, “2014

López López, Raquel

M3536172 “MAF-Mig any de falles València festival”

Llongo Aguilar, Antonio Vicente

M2951025 “Junta local fallera falles a Cullera” (16 and 41)

Junta local fallera de Cullera

35. Advertising; commercial business management.

M3074958 “2C14 Cervera ciutat gegantera” Grup de Geganters de Cervera

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case referring to each member of a human tower building group individually). (...) In contrast, intellectual property rights protect the performers of a collective work. Intellectual property includes the following rights: the obligation to identify the group that has constructed a castell, the right of the group to oppose any deformation, modification, mutilation, or any attack on their action that damages their prestige or reputation, their rights in any form to construct castells and, particularly, the rights to reproduce, distribute and publicly communicate of the building of their castells” (CCCC, 2017). The CCCC considers “that the performance of the castellers and musicians who accompany them, despite taking place in the public domain, is a new, unique performance, which the law covers and protects.” In this sense, a human tower building group functions like a musical, theatre or dance group, which generates collective works: this artistic and musical performance is protected by rights known as “related” intellectual

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property. For the CCCC, the intellectual property route would be the most effective defence in case of conflict due to unauthorised and/or inappropriate use of a casteller image.

Commemorative plaques, located on the walls of the main street in the city of Tarragona, indicating various moments in the heritage recognition of the human tower movement (July 2017). RAFEL FOLCH MONCLÚS

Intangible cultural heritage, intellectual property vulnerability and misappropriation Based on the examples mentioned in the introduction, it seems clear to say that a need to protect incorporated community property has been detected, something which has not yet been included in the regulations governing intellectual property and copyright, nor in the Catalan regulations relating to the cultural heritage sector.

What UNESCO identifies as intangible cultural heritage (ICH) directly correlates with what the World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) defines as traditional knowledge and/or traditional cultural expressions7. However, due to its non-tangible nature

In 2000, the WIPO created the Intergovernmental Committee on Intellectual Property and Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge and Folklore (IGC), to establish national and international mechanisms for protecting traditional knowledge based on the concept and rights of intellectual property, with the aim of preventing unauthorised use of such knowledge or cultural expressions by third parties.

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and the fact it is linked to tradition, in other words, to a certain historical and cultural pathway, cultural expressions defined as intangible heritage have specificities that are difficult to fit into the current norms and the legislation regulating, on the one hand, cultural heritage, and on the other, intellectual property rights. In the first case, we are faced with regulatory frameworks that still rely on a tangible and objective concept of cultural heritage, conceived as something that can be measured, delimited, and protected by isolating it from potentially dangerous social or environmental factors, such as a work of art, object, or building of historical value; and in the second, the regulations are based around the defence of individual rights and the private ownership of a work, object, or brand. Indeed, assets that can be integrated into what we call intangible heritage are goods that cannot be isolated or extracted from their context of social expression and reproduction, as they belong to live, ongoing and constantly evolving activities (taking them out of their social environment implies converting them from something that, by nature, is always in motion, into something trapped, delimited, and inanimate). Neither are they usually works that conform to the social and

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economic dynamics of intellectual property and the protection of private property. They are, in essence, assets expressed by a group, and their protection is directly proportional to the capacity for cultural expression that this group has at any moment or historical stage. The processes of exclusion, marginalisation, and social invisibility, as well as those of colonisation and cultural standardisation, are the main drivers in the destruction of heritage, in other words, the eradication of the diverse spheres of expression of cultural diversity. We can look at this in greater detail. The adoption of the 2003 UNESCO Convention not only added a new category to cultural and natural tangible heritage, but also offered a challenge to the hitherto hegemonic discourse on heritage, not only “by drawing attention to the variety of ways in which intangible heritage could be expressed, but also through aiming to prioritise the heritage of communities and other subnational groups” (Smith, 2014: 14). With regard to this article, it seems important to focus on some of the challenges involved in ICH, and ways of expressing this heritage, in order to understand the scope of the misappropriation concept we are formulating.

Reproduction of the Mulassa de Reus. Photograph taken during the Sant Pere Festival (June 2014). ORIOL CENDRA PLANAS

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At this point, it seems important to dwell briefly on the notions of “intangible cultural heritage” and “community”, an essential concept when establishing the ownership regime of a heritage asset, as well as “vulnerability” and “misappropriation”. The concept of Intangible Cultural Heritage (ICH) is institutionalised in the Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage, approved by the UNESCO General Conference, on October 17, 2003. The notion of ICH marks an important change in debates on the nature and meaning of heritage, and gives us a new perspective of the notion of heritage as defined in 1972 by the Convention on the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage. The 2003 Convention (UNESCO, 2003. Article 2.1) understands ICH to be “uses, representations, expressions, knowledge and techniques, along with the instruments, objects, artefacts and cultural spaces inherent to them”, provided that: a. these are recognised as an integral part of the cultural heritage by “communities, groups, and in some cases, individuals”, b. are transmitted from generation to generation, c. are constantly recreated by communities and groups according to their environment, interaction with nature, and history, d. infuse “a sense of identity and continuity and thus contribute to promoting respect for cultural diversity and human creativity”, and e. are compatible with the existing international human rights instrument, as well as the imperatives of mutual respect between communities, groups, and individuals, and sustainable development. It is therefore necessary to understand ICH as the patrimonial counterpart of certain cultural practices8, which due to their social and historical nature are dynamic and changing, and are originated, expressed and developed collectively; a heritage whose right of use and enjoyment is also collective. Despite the novelty of the UNESCO Convention’s concept of ICH, the granting of heritage

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status to certain cultural practices that today we catalogue as intangible heritage is nothing new: there is in Catalonia, as well as in many other places, a long tradition of ethnographic records and studies of culturally based elements that are not strictly tangible, of popular culture, of various museum initiatives (themed museums, ecomuseums, museums of society, and so on), and of research, promotion and management, which, considering the inheritance of folklore studies, has been denominated by ethnological heritage, a concept that, as we will see, has also influenced cultural heritage legislation. As Roigé states, “the notion of ICH represented continuity with other earlier concepts [...] in which the notion of “popular” has been more or less present with different labels [...] Each of these concepts undoubtedly has its peculiarities, and also suggests changes in disciplinary orientation and political intervention” (Roigé, 2014: 25). The development of social practice intangible heritage, or traditional cultural expressions9, can be related in the majority of cases, to the creation of rules and rights based on collective uses and customs in relation to something shared. Such norms, which generally form a type of law or informal legal system related to a particular social group, can be linked to what Thompson (2000) identified as moral economy, a regime that regulates a culture in common and shapes a social and economic system defined by common cultural values and mutual collaboration between equals. This differs from an economic system based mainly on the production of surpluses and economic benefits. We are thus addressing a field of cultural values that, through the emanation of a “collective” (a group of people or a community that shares cultural features and historical and/or territorial rights over certain goods), social practices materialise that do not belong to anyone at an individual level, but rather to the group, the collective. These rights are rights of use shared by the members of the group in question. They are rights that incorporate the fact of belonging to the group or collective, basically because the group expresses itself and is defined by social

It is interesting to see how in a particular culture certain practices become cultural heritage and others do not. We cannot go into this issue in the scope of this article, although it is a key aspect in understanding the political and economic dynamics underlying any heritage status granting process.

We consider that the adjective intangible does not equate to a lack of material, anchor, or physical support. All cultural activity is also expressed in a physical, spatial, or objectual dimension. No cultural element is only or purely intangible, nor is there any element that is only or strictly tangible.

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and cultural traits, of a shared collective constitution. Here the concepts of communal property and public domain can guide and, in particular preserve, traditional expressions of culture. We will see later, that the current legislation on cultural heritage in Catalonia, although not that of other closely related regulatory frameworks, lacks guidance for the preservation of heritage based on the notions of common good and public domain.

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The concept of community It seems necessary, then, to ask ourselves about the collective, the community on which ICH rests. The Convention (UNESCO, 2003. Art. 2.1) grants communities, groups and, in some cases, individuals, the competence to recognise the heritage asset, transmit it, and recreate it. Bortolotto (2014) identifies the discussion on the scope of the notion of “community” as one of the problems arising from the introduction of the ICH category. The fact of choosing certain cultural elements, and not others, conditions the identities and institutional representations of social groups and highlights the social and political dimensions of heritage interventions: the production of the heritage is no longer conceived only as a production of knowledge, but also as the expression of a power. The same Convention, in its declarations of intangible heritage of

The dragon of Vilafranca del Penedès in action. Image taken during the Festa Major de Sant Fèlix (August 2014 and 2015). ORIOL CENDRA PLANAS

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humanity, recommends the identification of the “carrier community”, or the “holding community” of the intangible asset in question, and that this community be involved in the “management” of the element given heritage status. In formal legal language the carrier community would be the community that owns the asset, and the “management” could be equated with the possibility that, as noted earlier, the group or community maintains (and has freely available) its capacity for expression, which is nothing more than the fact of having and maintaining a social and cultural voice. But this is not always the case. The technical language of heritage management can become a tool for dispossessing the community of the capacity for expression in favour of the authorised voice of the expert or cultural manager. Thus, heritage status conversion contains an implicit risk of misappropriation of the asset by the agent

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specialised in the political, technical and/ or economic management of the culture. But communities are not homogeneous or consensual groups. Bortolotto (Bortolotto, 2014: 14-15) also mentions that Dorothy Noyes provides the example of the Patronat de la Patum, which “does not represent the sociocultural diversity of the agents of this popular festival held during the feast of Corpus Domini in Berga. Nevertheless, the Patronat represents the festival when it comes to national and international authorities. Once an organisation has been established as the representative of the community, its participation is limited to the management of a cultural icon that has now become a brand.” The term “community” is, therefore, complex and difficult to translate into the social

Pencil sketch of the Vilafranca del Penedès dragon. Image taken during the Festa Major de Sant Fèlix (August 2014 and 2015). ORIOL CENDRA PLANAS.

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reality, where all members of a society can simultaneously belong to different communities. Probably, the ICH Convention starts off from an idealised bias of the term community, presenting it as something homogeneous, compact, expressed through a single voice, and with little internal division. Obviously, this notion of community does not exist beyond technical reports on cultural heritage, but it must be considered that, most likely, what UNESCO wanted to emerge through this term were those collectives that, due to factors of a political, economic, and/or territorial nature, have traditionally been either not present or directly excluded in heritage production policies, in other words, minority groups that have little visibility in the “showcase of heritage” (Quintero and Sánchez, 2017: 53). Threats and vulnerabilities The Istanbul Declaration (2002), entitled “Intangible Cultural Heritage, a mirror of cultural diversity”, warns of the vulnerability of this heritage in a context of conflicting development models, and mentions “over commercialisation” as a result of these threats. Section 4 of the Declaration states that “the extreme vulnerability of intangible cultural heritage, which is under threat of disappearing or being marginalised, due principally to conflict, intolerance, excessive commercialisation, uncontrolled urbanisation, and the impoverishment of rural areas, invites governments to take decisive action, respecting the contexts in which the expressions of the intangible heritage are developed.” The Declaration also mentions the processes of globalisation and cultural homogenisation as serious threats to the maintenance of local heritage and, therefore, the preservation of cultural diversity10. It is clear that, in a moment of patrimonial growth and in a society such as ours where the value of economic profitability is sacred and forms a kind of moral economy, the commercialisation of culture clearly puts it at risk of distortion and misappropriation. In a market where everything ethno is on the rise, the conversion of culture into heritage can, likewise, favour processes that convert culture into commodities (Comaroff and

Comaroff, 2011). But it is also necessary to analyse the current patrimonial acceleration, the quest of groups, collectives and institutions to ensure “their” cultural manifestation obtains some kind of heritage declaration, which in the words of Appadurai (2001) equates to “the production of locality”, as a strategy to adapt local cultures to the requirements of a globalised economic and cultural market where the search for contact with cultural difference and authenticity (but also natural and landscape elements) has possibly become the top economic industry in the world. It is therefore impossible to ignore the fact that the success of this new type of patrimonial packaging represented by the Convention for the Safeguarding of ICH (UNESCO, 2003) cannot be separated from the growing demands of the tourism industry with regard to the supply of new markets and products (Quintero and Sánchez, 2017). In this context, it seems appropriate to introduce the notion of “vulnerability”, and refer to exogenous threats and unauthorised uses of intangible heritage assets: 1. Spain’s national plan for safeguarding its intangible cultural heritage (Plan Nacional de Salvaguarda del Patrimoni Cultural Immaterial; PNSPCI – Instituto del Patrimonio Cultural de España, 2011) refers to the appropriation and privatisation of collective knowledge by sectors with no legitimate claim as one of the risks inherent in the social development of cultural heritage. In this sense, “intellectual property is affecting many of the productions of the culture whose survival depends on its value in the market; it should not attract more attention than necessary when establishing the dangers to which ICH is subjected. The authorship of cultural manifestations is collective and their implementation has proprietary mechanisms that, far from being typifiable from the point of view of law, must continue to follow the norms of tradition. The pretence of conceiving these representations as acts subject to legal norms may transform their original meaning, discouraging participants

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In 2001, UNESCO approved the Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity and, in 2002, the Istanbul Convention on Intangible Cultural Heritage. Together these provided inspiration and prepared the ground for the approval, in 2003, of the Convention for the Safeguarding of ICH, when the concept of safeguarding was applied to the maintenance of cultural heritage.

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or even generating enormous tensions between them. This danger is important if the products of ICH begin to be regulated from outside their communities by legislation similar to that governing consumer products. 2. WIPO considers that innovations based on traditional knowledge can be protected by patent, brand, and geographical indications, as well as in the form of trade secrets or confidential information. In contrast, it admits that traditional knowledge, that is, historically rooted knowledge usually transmitted orally, is not protected by conventional intellectual property (IP) systems. Misappropriation The notion of misappropriation refers to the fact that someone, a third party outside the “community”, appropriates an asset and extracts it from its context for purposes that are also external to or outside the community. A misappropriation risk identified by the PNSPCI is the action of agents from outside the community (i.e., the tradition carriers) when they replicate the manifestations and heritage productions, as well as the exogenous action generated by protection and safeguarding policies that do not recognise the work of legitimate representatives. Likewise, WIPO defines misappropriation of a traditional cultural expression as: an act of reproduction, adaptation, public performance of a traditional cultural expression or works deriving from it; its use or adaptation that does not recognise the community; its deformation, mutilation and modification, and the acquisition or exercise of intellectual property rights over these expressions (WIPO, 2006). Brands, protection and heritage assets From the patrimonial perspective, the protection of heritage assets is one of the basic functions of any public administration in the matter of culture. Although ICH was incorporated somewhat late into the state legal system, it is no less true that various Spanish property laws incorporate ethnological heritage with meanings that relate to

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intangible assets and popular culture. This is the case of the 1985 Spanish Historical Heritage Act (Ley del Patrimonio Histórico Español), which in its Section VI refers to ethnographic assets; the 1991 Andalusian Historical Heritage Law (Ley del Patrimonio Histórico de Andalucía)11, which explicitly recognises movable property, places, practices, knowledge, activities, and expressions of ethnological interest; and the Catalan laws on heritage, popular culture, and cultural associations, both from 1993, which refer to “a broad concept of Catalonia’s cultural heritage, encompassing movable heritage, immovable heritage, and intangible heritage, whether publicly or privately owned, as well as manifestations of traditional and popular culture” (Law 9/1993, on Catalan Cultural Heritage12, Preamble), and these introduce the concept of “ethnological heritage”, an inclusive concept encompassing immovable, movable and intangible elements (Law 2/1993, of March 5, on the promotion and protection of popular and traditional culture and cultural associations, Art. 5)13. From the perspective of intellectual property, ICH elements are “unprotected facts” or “works already in the public domain that can therefore be used by anyone”. In many cases, the existence of a copyright protection system has been used to “patrimonialise” elements that were in the public domain. However, within intellectual property rights there are ways that impede the misappropriation of common heritage assets and that allow the creation of a common heritage through the temporary protection of authors and other holders of intellectual property rights which generate a body of work and benefits protected by the public domain (Garrote, 2009). However, what is missing is a univocal instrument, with international scope, that regulates the geographical dispersal of the standards of the different states in the matter. Thus, in Catalonia, certain regulatory and protection instruments are in force, both in the field of property and intellectual property, which are useful in preventing a brand from appropriating or misappropriating

Law 1/1991 of July 3rd, on the Historic Heritage of Andalusia, amended and updated in Law 14/2007 on the Historical Heritage of Andalusia

Law 9/1993, of September 30, on Catalan cultural heritage

We can also cite, as an example, the Galician Law of Cultural Heritage, a law passed in 2016, in which all the cultural heritage of Galicia, tangible and intangible, is addressed jointly and in equilibrium, and in which the ethnological and anthropological characteristics of heritage are fundamental in identifying and determining their heritage value.

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intangible heritage assets. We can look at this in more detail: 1. The legal recognition of a brand, even if the brand is requested by a public administration, acquired by being included in a register, and the exclusive rights of use conferred on the person who owns it seems antagonistic to the concept of public access to intangible cultural heritage, which the Convention guarantees to safeguard when it establishes that states will do their best to “ensure access to the intangible cultural heritage while respecting customary practices governing access to specific aspects of such heritage” (UNESCO, 2003: Art. 13.d.ii). The notion of safeguarding presented in the Convention goes beyond the classic idea of protection (which often involves actions to separate and/or isolate the object from its social context), and points, above all, to the establishment of the actions necessary to preserve contexts and social processes as key factors that will guarantee the cultural continuity and expressive and creative capacity of the groups or communities. 2. In addition it is impossible to register the brands “contrary to the Law, public order, or good behaviour” (Law 17/2001, of December 7, on Trademarks, Art. 5.1.f). For this reason, strictly speaking, an element of ICH (for example: the expression “foc al faro”) may not be registered as a brand, nor as an industrial design or property, since it does not meet the requirement of novelty. We have seen, however, that the complexity of ICH opens new perspectives, not covered by the current normative frameworks, in aspects such as the development of new designs based on elements of the ICH, recreations and contemporary adaptations of traditional elements, and so forth. 3. The concepts of transmission, revitalisation and recreation of ICH accepted by the Convention (UNESCO, 2003: Art. 1 and Art. 2.3) are incompatible with the concept of ownership and protection of the reproducibility of a brand and, therefore, are a way to defend the interference of trademarks in the legal regime of ICH.

The concept of transmission, which is not included in Catalan Law 9/1993 on Cultural Heritage and is only mentioned in the preamble to Catalan Law 2/1993 on the promotion and protection of popular culture linked to the notion of associations, “understood as the will of the citizens to create and freely transmit values and symbols that are arise from both their roots and their own experiences – individual and collective – transforming forms of life”, is mentioned in State Law 10/2015 on Safeguarding ICH that grants public administrations the function of “ensuring adequate dissemination, transmission and promotion of intangible assets subject to safeguarding” (Article 6).

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El Gegant del Pi ara balla funky pel camí – The pine giant now dances funk down the street. Image from the “Reinvent a classic campaign”, a promotion for the San Miguel beer Selecta XV. IMAGE TAKEN FROM THE WEBSITE OF THE SPANISH PATENT AND TRADEMARK OFFICE.

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4. The introduction of a brand, which implies a monopoly of use of a certain subject, could be considered incompatible with the “diffusion of popular and traditional culture” that Catalan Law 2/1993 defines as a promotional action by the Public Administrations (Art. 3.e) 5. These protection instruments and regimes for heritage assets present in the Catalan legal system are tools that may be used to protect ICH. This is the case of the declaration of a Cultural Asset of National Interest (Bé Cultural d’Interès Nacional; BCIN), which includes the specific category Area of Ethnological Interest understood as a set of remains, which may include interventions in the natural landscape, buildings, and facilities, that contain constituent elements of the ethnological patrimony of Catalonia and of the Inventory of the Ethnological Heritage of Catalonia (Inventari del Patrimoni Etnològic de Catalunya; IPEC) in which the assets of this heritage will be incorporated However, these protection measures do not respond to certain issues that arise with the institutionalisation of the ICH: who owns the contemporary expressions and adaptations of popular or traditional cultures created people who may not be part of the community? Is it necessary to register, and in what way, traditional expressions and knowledge that are not protected by intellectual property systems because they are not “original” or “new”, or because there is no identifiable “author”? How are collective rights (similar to intellectual property) recognised and exercised when it comes to traditional manifestations? Nor is it less true that the diversity of legal frameworks and the need to manage the complexity of the ICH concept creates confusion. And finally, we cannot ignore the fact that in Catalonia, within the specific framework of the management of ICH, we find ourselves with: 1. a legal corpus dating back to 1993 that needs updating based on conceptual evolution and new approaches to safe-

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guarding and protection, also taking into account the legislative changes that have taken place in various areas of the legal system that are linked to them. 2. an inventory, the IPEC, which does not grant legal protection to its constituent elements, and the absence of a BCIN category for elements of an intangible nature (Costa and Folch, 2014: 60). 3. limited human resources for managing ICH, and no administrative body with specific knowledge of ethnology and anthropology in the Catalan public administration. Conclusions We have seen that intangible heritage is especially vulnerable if external agents are involved in the community, it is controlled through regulatory frameworks that, as is the case with intellectual property, do not take into account the specific characteristics of ICH, and it is conceived as a consumer product. We have also seen that the legislation in force in Catalonia relating to heritage and ICH does not affect its misappropriability. We have seen that traditional knowledge, practices, representations, and cultural expressions are registered as brands.

We have also seen that the establishment of the ICH category is problematic and generates a series of theoretical and practical challenges. We have seen that the uses, representations, expressions, knowledge, and techniques, together with the instruments, objects, artefacts, and cultural spaces inherent to them, are not compatible with the instruments for managing intellectual property rights and/or defending the performance rights of a work. The Convention (UNESCO, 2003) calls for new methods and protection procedures to be addressed from the perspective of safeguarding, a term that has different nuances to the term protection. These nuances address the promotion of the initiatives necessary for the redevelopment and cultural continuity of the social practices of the groups. In some ways, safeguarding is equivalent to recognising the management

The non-appropriability of intangible heritage

capacity and social autonomy of the group or community in relation to its culture, in other words, recognising the group’s own “moral economy”. However, these methods and approaches require personnel skilled in the field of social sciences to help develop and implement them. In this context, the authors propose debate on and study of regulatory reforms in matters of heritage and authorship: 1. to include in the current legislation on heritage an explicit mention of the misappropriability of heritage assets, making specific reference to intangible assets. Although in matters of international intellectual property the protection of expressions of folklore is not subject to formal requirements,14 so it does not seem necessary to record it in a public registry in order to obtain protection against misappropriations (Garrote, 2009), we understand that normatively influencing the misappropriability if ICH is justified both by the fact that the protection of the ICH goes beyond the discussion on intellectual property, and because it would facilitate the action of the public administration, which could oppose the appropriation and registration of the asset on the basis of the absolute prohibitions established in Law 17/2001 on Trademarks15; 2. to deploy a technical process of multidisciplinary discussion on the treatment of heritage objects, expressions, and elements of collective or community property, and discuss together, from the perspectives of ethnology and law, the concepts of work, authorship, and moral and exploitation rights characteristic of intellectual property, and the promotion of timely regulatory reforms. In this sense, the WIPO’s (2004) work in the field of intellectual property suggests that, in general, traditional expressions/expressions of folklore are dealt with separately from specialised knowledge and traditional techniques. We are also interested in the work of Garrote (2009), following the path marked by the model law on the protection of folklore expressions, and opposing illicit exploitation and other harmful

actions developed jointly by WIPO and UNESCO in 1985. This law establishes, as a basic idea, the fact that expressions of folklore cannot be the object of misappropriation or illicit exploitation by third parties and the authorisation to use popular culture expressions for profit can only be given by the interested community when it wishes, or an organisation at the request of the community and on its behalf; 3. to deploy resources so the public administration can promote legal mechanisms for identifying community groups that are legitimate holders of heritage assets and traditional knowledge (PNSPCI, 2011)16. According to our understanding, this also entails going further into and legally defining the concepts of “legitimacy” and “ownership” of traditional assets and knowledge; studying whether or not there are objective conditions, and developing the mechanisms, where necessary, so that communities can exercise the right of prevalence, regardless of their declaration or affiliation with an inventory; 4. to inter-administratively link the protection established, connecting national and municipal registries, trademarks, intellectual property, and other records; 5. to increase public resources in the field of ethnology and intellectual property, based on an inventorying and safeguarding ICH plan that, among other measures, defines public services and competences in the field of ICH, objectives and evaluation indicators, and allocates human and budgetary resources for its deployment. n

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In this context the use of the term “folklore” is equivalent to the concepts of “popular culture”, ICH and others with similar connotations.

Specifically, Article 5.1.f of this law sets out that no brands may be registered that are contrary to the Law, public order or to good behaviour.

The ICH Convention considers that public administrations (States) have inventories as instruments to “ensure the identification [of elements of ICH] with the aim of safeguarding them” (Art. 12.1). The same convention outlines a series of other measures that the States are required to implement to ensure this safeguarding, including “adopting appropriate legal, technical, administrative and financial measures” (Art. 13.d).

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BIBLIOGRAFIA Llibres i/o articles

Appadurai, A. (2001) La modernidad desbordada. Dimensiones culturales de la globalización. Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Econòmica. Bortolotto, C. (2014) «La problemàtica del patrimonio cultural inmaterial». Culturas. Revista de Gestión Cultural, vol. 1, núm. 1: p. 1-22. EISSN: 2386-7515. Carrera, G. (2015) «La Ley 10/2015 para la Salvaguarda del PCI (2013-2014): ¿patrimonio inmaterial o nacionalismo de Estado?». Revista PH, 88: p. 21-23. Castro, M. P.; Ávila, C. M. (2015) «La salvaguardia del patrimonio inmaterial: una aproximación a la reciente ley 10/2015». RIIPAC, 5-6: p. 89-124 [En línia: http:// www.eumed.net/rev/riipac]. Comaroff, J. L.; Comaroff, J. (2011) Etnicidad S. A. Buenos Aires: Katz. Costa, R.; Folch, R. (2014) «El patrimoni cultural immaterial a Catalunya. Legislació, actualitat i reptes de futur». Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, núm. 39: p. 57-72. ISSN: 2014-6310. Farré, X. (2014) «De falles a la Ribagorça». Trobades Culturals Pirinenques (10es: 2013: Ripoll, Catalunya), p. 195-206. Andorra la Vella: Societat Andorrana de Ciències ISBN: 978-99920-61-21-3. Garrote, I. (2009) «El Patrimonio Inmaterial y los derechos de propiedad intel·lectual». Patrimonio Cultural de España, 0: p. 111-132. ISSN: 1889-3104. Plata, F. (2017) «Proteger el patrimonio cultural inmaterial en Andalucía: competencia jurídico-política, alcance y función social». Revista Andaluza de Antropología, 12: p. 94-116. ISSN: 2174-6796. Quintero, V.; Sánchez, C. (2017) «Los verbos de la participación social y sus conjugaciones: contradicciones de un patrimonio “democratizador”». Revista Andaluza de Antropología, 12: p. 48-69. ISSN: 2174-6796.

Riart, O.; Jordà, S. (2012) «Catalogació de les falles al Pirineu. Descripció dels processos i elements fallaires». Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 38: p. 162-173. Roigé, X. (2014) «Més enllà de la UNESCO. Gestionar i museïtzar el patrimoni immaterial». Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, núm. 39: p. 23-40. ISSN: 2014-6310. Smith, L. (2014) «Patrimoni immaterial: un repte per al discurs de patrimoni autoritzat?». Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, núm. 39: p. 12-22. ISSN: 2014-6310. Thompson, E. P. (2000) Costumbres en común. Barcelona: Crítica. Xalabarder, R. (2011) «La propietat intel·lectual en el món digital: un monopoli en extinció?». Quaderns del CAC, XIV (2): p. 61-69. ISSN: 2014-2242. Textos jurídics

Llei 1/1991, de 3 de juliol, del patrimoni històric d’Andalusia [http://www.juntadeandalucia. es/boja/1991/59/1], reformada i actualitzada en la Llei 14/2007 del patrimoni històric d’Andalusia. Llei 9/1993, de 30 de setembre, del patrimoni cultural català [en línia] <http://portaljuridic.gencat. cat/ca/pjur_ocults/pjur_resultats_fitxa/?action=fitxa&documentId=92717> [consulta: 29 maig 2017]. Llei 2/1993, de 5 de març, de foment i protecció de la cultura popular i tradicional i de l’associacionisme cultural [en línia] <http:// portaljuridic.gencat.cat/ca/pjur_ ocults/pjur_resultats_fitxa?action=fitxa&documentId=73601> [consulta: 29 maig 2017]. Ley 17/2001, de 7 de diciembre, de Marcas [en línia] <http://www. oepm.es/cs/OEPMSite/contenidos/NORMATIVA/NormasSobreMarcasYOtrosSignosDistintivos/NSMYOSD_Nacionales/ LEY_172001_de_7_de_diciembre_de_Marcas.htm> [consulta: 29 maig 2017].

Ley 10/2015, de 26 de mayo, para la Salvaguardia del Patrimonio Cultural Inmaterial [en línia] <https:// www.boe.es/diario_boe/txt.php?id=BOE-A-2015-5794> [consulta: 29 maig 2017]. Ley 5/2016, de 4 de mayo, del Patrimonio Cultural de Galicia [en línia] https://www. boe.es/buscar/pdf/2016/ BOE-A-2016-5942-consolidado.pdf [consulta: 30 maig 2017]. Webgrafia

Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres de Catalunya. (2017) FAQ sobre la cessió de drets per retransmissions televisives [en línia] <http://www.cccc.cat/continguts/ noticies/faq-retransmissions-televisives-17_11318_46> [consulta: 12 juny 2017]. Departament de Cultura de la Generalitat de Catalunya; Ajuntament de Berga. Dossier de la candidatura de la Patum al reconeixement com a obra mestra del patrimoni oral i immaterial de la humanitat [en línia] <http://cultura.gencat.cat/ web/.content/dgpc/documents/ arxiu/patumph.pdf> [consulta: 15 gener 2017]. Instituto del Patrimonio Cultural de España. (2011) Plan Nacional del Patrimonio Inmaterial [en línia]. Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte. <http://ipce.mcu.es/ conservacion/planesnacionales/ inmaterial.html> [consulta: 2 maig 2017]. UNESCO. (2001) Declaración Universal de la UNESCO sobre la Diversidad Cultural. [En línia]. <http://portal.unesco.org/es/ ev.php-URL_ID=13179&URL_ DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html> [consulta: 29 maig 2017]. UNESCO. (2002) El Patrimonio Cultural Inmaterial, espejo de la Diversidad Cultural. Istambul, 1617 de setembre de 2002 [en línia] <http://www.congreso.es/docu/ docum/ddocum/dosieres/sleg/ legislatura_10/spl_70/pdfs/31. pdf> [consulta: 29 maig 2017].

UNESCO. (2003) Convenció per a la salvaguarda del patrimoni cultural immaterial. París, 17 octubre 2003 [en línia] <http:// www.unescocat.org/fitxer/1605/ CONVENCI%C3%93%20PATRIMONI%20IMMATERIAL.pdf> [consulta: 22 maig 2017]. OMPI (2004) Las expresiones culturales tradicionales/expresiones del folclore: opciones políticas y jurídicas [en línia] <http://www. wipo.int/edocs/mdocs/tk/es/wipo_grtkf_ic_6/wipo_grtkf_ic_6_3. doc> [consulta: 22 maig 2017]. OMPI (2006) La protección de las expresiones culturales tradicionales/expresiones del folclore [en línia] <http://www.wipo.int/edocs/ mdocs/tk/es/wipo_grtkf_ic_9/wipo_grtkf_ic_9_4.pdf> [consulta: 22 maig 2017]

Catalonia is the guest culture at the 2018 Smithsonian Folklife Festival, the most important exhibition of living cultural heritage and traditions in the world, held annually in Washington, D.C. The main Catalan institutions cooperate to make of our culture, language and traditions the best ambassadors of Catalonia in the United States. The participation at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival is one of the catalan promotional activities in the United States.

Sponsored by:

With the support from:

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Francesca Romana Uccella UNIVERSITÀ LA SAPIENZA DI ROMA

She holds doctorates in Social Anthropology and Culture from the Universities of Barcelona and La Sapienza di Roma and has specialised in the study of the relationship between literature and territory. From 2005 to 2013 she worked for the M. Àngels Anglada – Carles Fages de Climent Chair of Literary Heritage at the University of Girona.

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

n order to describe and analyse the situation of literary heritage and its creation in Catalonia and Italy and identify the differences, which is the aim of this article, we need to clarify certain key ideas to bring out the importance of the links between literature and location. By literary heritage we mean a collection of items, both tangible and intangible, related to writing and literature. They include, first and foremost, the book, together with the legacy of the writers and institutions connected with literature: manuscripts, libraries, archives, interpretation centres, museum-houses, literary works, and objects forming part of the lives of authors considered representative of a particular group, whether they are canonical or not. As well as the tangible items in this list there are intangible aspects of literary heritage but their definition is more complex. We may say that the intangible part of literary heritage is everything one can draw from the writing, narrative or thought of an author: ideas, feelings and intuition arising from the text and reflection on its content, and processes whose origins are in the text or which obtain moral support from it. The two countries chosen for this comparative study have a common secular baggage which makes it possible to identify

elements present in both and show clearly the differences we shall be highlighting in the following pages; both are open to the Mediterranean and are descended from the same Latin origins but there is an important and very obvious difference between them: Italy is a nation state with its own language, while Catalonia is defined by its inhabitants as a nation without a state which constantly experiences the problem of having to affirm its identity, to which end it needs to use its language and consequently its literature, among other tools. According to the Spanish state, Catalan is a minority language and, for this reason, more than in Italy, the acknowledgement of literature as heritage is a useful mechanism for recognising the literature written in its language. In this context, Catalonia’s literary heritage plays a fundamental role, especially with regard to affirming the country’s collective identity.+ As well as this first, very significant difference in the political situation, there is another important difference: the size of the two countries, which leads to obvious differences in the management of the networks for recognising their literary heritage, networks which we shall consider in our study. The area of Italy is almost ten times that of Catalonia and the relative sizes of their populations are similar. These differences influence the role that the

These considerations are very relevant to our time, in which Catalonia needs strong political and cultural support for the status of its language, while in Italy the national language now seems to be accepted as sovereign. The acceptance of the language by the Italians was the result of a long process that began at the time of Italian unification in 1861 and ended, at least partly, in the 1960s. As Tullio de Mauro explains in Storia linguistica dell’Italia unita (1963), the establishment of Florentine as a national language was the result of the progressive replacement of the different regional languages, reducing their status to dialects, although they survive thanks to the resistance of many local writers and poets. In Italy the imposition of Florentine led to national cohesion, a process of identifying a “national” language with a nation-state, a situation shared with other European countries in the nineteenth and early twentieth century.

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

recognition of literary heritage may play in cultural, social and political terms, so that it becomes an element that generates a shared sense of identity. Having clarified these initial concepts, let us look more closely at the situation in Italy. The recognition of literary heritage in Italy Italy is a literary country, both because of the large number of writers who were born there, lived there and travelled there throughout history, from classical times to our days, and because of the countless pages it has inspired. We find epics, novels, poems, essays, verses and texts that have made a substantial contribution to the universal canon of literature, visible in numerous inscriptions, manuscripts and books, ancient and modern, published and unpublished documents, libraries, archives, monuments and literary houses and, more recently, through centres

The article offers an analysis of and a comparison between the situation of literary heritage in Italy and Catalonia, two countries with a parallel cultural history, sharing, at least over the last twenty years, a special interest in the way in which locations become part of the literary heritage. The study first examines the fundamental concepts determining literary heritage in the scenario according to which places are incorporated in heritage, considering Barcelona, Girona, their peripheral areas and the equivalent locations in Italy: large cities, towns and small regions, like the Basilicata, which includes several literary interpretation centres. The constant dialogue between writing and region is shown, between tangible and intangible, through houses, writers’ museums, museums and literary routes, monuments dedicated to writers and their characters, all bearing witness to the links between the writers and the heritage left by them in their countless literary locations. In all these considerations the role played by identity in its relationship with literature is no less important, both being closely linked to the policies on heritage and language in the two countries.

for the recognition of literary heritage and literary routes. One of the most visible phenomena, or rather one of the most publicised in the media, is the Parchi Letterati, but these are not the only example of the recognition of literary heritage in Italy. There are many museum-houses that do not form part of the literary park network, interpretation centres that have been created independently, literary societies and museums, foundations, and libraries that function not only as study centres but also centres for the propagation of the literary heritage. They are dedicated to writers of all periods who have written in different genres and in one way or another left their mark on the country: the houses of Dante Alighieri in Florence and the Lunigiana area (between Ligúria and Tuscany), Luigi Pirandello’s studio in Rome, the Parco Letterario Grazia

L’article proposa una anàlisi i una comparació entre la situació de la patrimonialització literària entre Itàlia i Catalunya, dos països amb un recorregut cultural paral·lel i agermanats —almenys pel que fa als últims vint anys— per una atenció especial a la patrimonialització literària dels espais. Al començament s’exposen els conceptes fonamentals que emmarquen el patrimoni literari en el panorama de la patrimonialització de llocs entre Barcelona, Girona, el seus territoris extraurbans i els seus equivalents italians, com ara grans ciutats, pobles o regions petites, com la Basilicata, que inclou diferents centres d’interpretació literària. El diàleg continu entre escriptura i territori es manifesta, entre materialitat i immaterialitat, a través de cases-museu d’escriptors, museus i itineraris literaris o monuments dedicats als escriptors i als seus personatges, tots testimonis del lligam entre els autors i l’herència deixada per ells en els llocs de les seves innombrables geografies literàries. No és secundari, en totes aquestes manifestacions, el paper que desenvolupa la identitat en relació amb la literatura, ambdues estrictament lligades a les polítiques patrimonials i lingüístiques dels dos països.

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Keywords: literature, identity, literary heritage, literary heritage management, comparison Italy – Catalonia Paraules clau: literatura, identitat, patrimoni literari, gestió del patrimoni literari, comparació Itàlia – Catalunya Palabras clave: literatura, identidad, patrimonio literario, gestión del patrimonio literario, comparación Italia-Cataluña

El artículo propone un análisis y una comparación entre la situación de la patrimonialización literaria entre Italia y Cataluña, dos países con un recorrido cultural paralelo y hermanados —al menos en los últimos veinte años— por una especial atención a la patrimonialización literaria de los espacios. Al principio se exponen los conceptos fundamentales que enmarcan el patrimonio literario en el panorama de la patrimonialización de los lugares entre Barcelona, Gerona, sus zonas extraurbanas y sus equivalentes italianos, como grandes ciudades, pueblos o regiones pequeñas, como la Basilicata, que incluye diferentes centros de interpretación literaria. El diálogo continuo entre escritura y territorio se manifiesta, entre materialidad e inmaterialidad, a través de casas-museo de escritores, museos e itinerarios literarios o monumentos dedicados a los escritores y a sus personajes, todos ellos testimonios del vínculo entre los autores y la herencia dejada por ellos en los lugares de sus innumerables geografías literarias. No es secundario en todas estas manifestaciones el papel que desarrolla la identidad en relación con la literatura, ambas estrictamente ligadas a las políticas patrimoniales y lingüísticas de los dos países.

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Deledda in Galtellì (Sardinia), the Parco Letterario Giosuè Carducci in Castagneto Carducci (Tuscany), Francesco Petrarca’s house in Incisa Valdarno (Tuscany), etc. As well as the centres dedicated to Italian writers, there are some devoted to foreign writers, which also act as cultural and literary embassies for their country, such as the Casa di Goethe and the house dedicated to Keats and Shelley, the English romantic writers par excellence, both located in the centre of Rome.2 The scholar Roberto Cicala, in an essay entitled I luoghi delle parole (2009), refers to “narrated cities” and explains how each of these cities is portrayed in an almost limitless variety of texts. In the late nineteenth century Milan, for example, was described in the works of Luigi Capuana and Giovanni Verga on the occasion of the 1881 Universal Exhibition (Riccardi, 1991). Turin is described in numerous books, as the setting for their plot, as is Trieste in the work of James Joyce and Claudio Magris, Italo Svevo and Umberto Saba, while Rome appears in the writing of countless authors, including Luigi Pirandello, Carlo Emilio Gadda, Elsa Morante, Alberto Moravia and Pier Paolo Pasolini, to name but a few. In Naples, Palermo and any other city the situation is the same: as well as the many writers who document them and describe life in them, we find a series of centres, museum-houses and Parchi Letterari with literary connections. Outside the cities we find a similar scenario. Some of the centres we have mentioned, like others in Italy, are independent; others have formed associations and propose joint activities and lines of work. The foundation responsible for most of the Parchi Letterari, proposing the creation of many of them, was the Fondazione Ippolito Nievo; leading associations include the Associazione Nazionale Case della Memoria, while Coordinamento dei Musei Letterari e di Musicisti, one of the thematic committees of the ICOM (International Council of Museums), has carried out important work in its field.

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In 2009 the Fondazione Ippolito Nievo was replaced by a limited liability company called Paesaggio Culturale Italiano, which is committed to continuing the work Ippolito Nievo started several decades ago. The Associazione Case della Memoria, set up in October 2005, brings together 49 houses occupied by writers and other notable figures in certain parts of the centre and north of the country: Piedmont, Lombardy, Veneto, Emilia-Romagna, Lazio, Sicily and Sardinia. The activities organised by the association are designed to create a common area for work, debate and exchange. Meetings are held to share ideas and experiences, linked to a wide range of cultural situations: the houses are very different from each other because of the different character of their former occupants and their geographical and social setting. Two years after the association was set up Coordinamento del Musei Letterari e di Musicisti was created, its main aims including putting houses and museums dedicated to writers and musicians in touch with each other to facilitate the exchange of knowledge and experience, with special attention to research and study.3 Through their platforms, these organisations inform each other about their activities and impose some order on the mass of information about the activities taking place: talks, exhibitions, literary routes, meetings, shows, seminars, etc. Apart from these entities, which bring various centres together, there are many small associations and museum-houses which organise their own activities and operate independently, often with the support of local government and private bodies. It would be very difficult to describe all the meetings, talks and other activities that take place, in view of the impossibility of listing them and identifying common features, but it is feasible to give an outline of the literary routes they organise. Among those created and managed outside the main national literary heritage networks, there are some examples that can be found on the internet. In various major Italian cities we can find one such route or more. In Milan,

The house where Goethe lived in Rome belongs to the German Association of Independent Cultural Institutes (AsKI), while the Keats-Shelley Memorial Association, whose headquarters are in Leamington in England, owns the museum-house dedicated to the two romantic poets.

http://www.parchiletterari.com/; http://www.casedellamemoria.it/it/; http://www.icom-italia.org/index. php?option=com_phocadownload&view=category&id=8:coordinamento-dei-musei-letterari-e-di-musicisti&Itemid=103 (Accessed 5 July 2017).

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

the official page for promoting tourism, Turismo Milano,4 presents a multi-author itinerary, La Milano letteraria del ‘900, with a map showing the places frequented by some twentieth-century writers and intellectuals. These iconic cultural sites include the premises of Corriere della Sera, the Trattoria Bagutta, where the Premio Bagutta, the city’s first literary award, was instituted in 1927, and Bar Giamaica, in Via Brera. On the website of the Palermo city council library there is a literary map of the city5, created as a collective project in which all those interested in adding their favourite location can participate. In Rome there are no institutional pages presenting literary routes but there are some associations that offer other types of routes including some with literary associations. For example on the website of APPasseggio we can find an itinerary devoted to the Ragazzi di vita (1955) by Pier Paolo Pasolini, and two devoted to La storia (1974) by Elsa Morante.6 A few years ago an interesting app, Cityteller7, made its appearance in the world of literary heritage. The project is similar to the literary map for Palermo, as users can upload their own locations, which are posted after being checked by the app’s managers. The novel feature of this app is that users with smartphones can read the texts in the places referred to. The Cityteller project, launched in 2014, offers users a map indicating places that inspired authors and in which they lived and is defined as a social platform designed to share and geolocate places featuring in books. The above websites were inspired in one way or another by the numerous printed literary guides we can find, as were many others that are relatively static in nature (as yet there are not many platforms similar to Cityteller or pages that regularly update information about events related to the world of literary heritage). During the last twenty years in Italy, as in many other countries, there has been a notable proliferation of this type of

book, which traces the footsteps of writers who have lived in or travelled to a particular place. Most of these literary guides have a similar structure: they explain a writer’s links with one or more locations and then suggest, with the aid of a map, one or more routes, highlighting the points of interest. The itineraries range from short walks to long journeys and the books alternate quotations from the writer’s work with texts by the writer of the guide which create a narrative thread and highlight the connections between authors, their works and the places associated with them. One such guide, published by a literary park, is La Sicilia del Gattopardo, by Beatrice Agnello. The book proposes a journey from Palermo to Palma di Montechiaro and Santa Margherita del Belice and has a different structure from other books of the same type: the first part deals with Tomasi di Lampedusa’s life in Sicily and the settings for his life and writing, with reference to his texts; this is followed by an anthology of his landscapes, especially those described in Il Gattopardo (1958). I luoghi di Montalbano. Una guida (2006) allows us to discover the places where Andrea Camilleri’s Inspector Montalbano carries out his investigations. The book contains nearly 400 pages and has all the characteristics of a good guide, as it suggests a range of different routes, taking the practical requirements of the reader-visitor into account. The guide stemmed from the ideas of five writers who were mainly motivated by their enthusiasm for the investigations so skilfully described by Camilleri. Although Vigata and Montelusa, where the writer sets the novels, are imaginary towns, they are practically a literary recreation of places in his real life, based on a combination of the locations one can visit between Agrigento, Porto Empedocle, Siculiana and Palma di Montechiaro. The authors of the guide have searched in the streets, beaches, squares and buildings of these towns for places that were the setting for Montalbano’s cases, revealing step by step

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http://www.turismo.milano.it/wps/ portal/tur/it/scoprilacitta/itinerari/ culturale/itinerario_milano_letteraria_900. The following writers are mentioned in this route: Carlo Emilio Gadda, Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, Eugenio Montale, Ernest Hemingway, Salvatore Quasimodo, Dino Buzzati, Elio Vittorini, Alda Merini and Giovanni Raboni. (Accessed 30 May 2017).

http://mappaletteraria.comune. palermo.it/mappaletteraria/index. php/MappaLetteraria:Avvertenze_ generali (Accessed 30 May 2017).

http://www.appasseggio. it/?it/130/la-nostra-offerta-di-passeggiate-culturali#letterarie (Accessed 30 May 2017).

http://www.cityteller.it/(Accessed 30 May 2017).

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the way in which they were camouflaged by Andrea Camilleri. After a long, entertaining and enthusiastic study of the places in question, the authors created twelve routes, each of which corresponds to one of the novels that had appeared up to 2007, the year when the guide was published, beginning with La forma dell’acqua (1994) and finishing with La pista di sabbia (2007). The routes are described in the first part of the book, which contains descriptions of the real places one can visit, quotations from the novels, practical instructions for reaching points on the route and details of the best places from which visitors can view the countryside and locations in towns. Coordinates are given so that readers can identify the exact location of the points to be visited on the maps at the back of the book. The book also includes a few paragraphs on each location, with information about bars and restaurants, an important matter for the author and for his hero. This link illustrates the importance of the strong connection between literature and gastronomy, often exploited as an attraction

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for tourists. The places featured are Porto Empedocle, Agrigento and Racalmuto, which in the novels appear as Vigata, Montelusa and Brancato respectively, plus some smaller locations. The third part of the book deals with the locations where, starting in 1999, the television series inspired by the novels was filmed. Apart from their purely literary connotations, they are also destinations of considerable interest to tourists and enthusiasts. The locations used for the television series were not those portrayed in the novels: Montalbano’s places in Camilleri’s novels are more real than we imagined – they are merciless in their causticity. It is a world where illegal building has ruined a beautiful region, where man has destroyed the land. The places in the book are muffled, splendid in their imperturbability, places where modern man has not yet managed to contaminate. (Clausi et alii, 2006:356). Aesthetic concerns predominated in the selection of locations

Inspector Montalbano’s house in Punta Secca, Sicíly (2016). Gennaro Liardo. FRANCESCA R. UCCELLA COLLECTION.

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

for the series, useful for creating a promotional image of Sicily; the places appearing have become part of the imaginary of readers and viewers, leading to the development of tourism linked to Camilleri’s works, with trips and routes organised by specialist tour operators (Fig. 1). Apart from these individual cases of promoting literary heritage, it is useful to examine how the network of Parchi Letterari was created, to understand the motives and dynamics involved. The history of the Parchi Letterari began when, after the earthquake that devastated the Friuli region in the north of Italy in 1976, writer Stanislao Nievo (1928 – 2006) thought that he could save his family’s castle in Colloredo de Montalbano from neglect and destruction. To save the building, which dates back to 1302, Stanislao Nievo looked for ways to obtain some kind of public or private funding. In this historic location Ippolito Nievo (1831 – 1861), one of Stanislao’s ancestors, wrote Confessioni di un italiano (1867), his best known work, published posthumously, which is set in the castle, and two centuries earlier it was the birthplace of another distinguished ancestor, Ermes di Colloredo (1622 – 1692), who, writing in the Friulian dialect, promoted the status of his language. To launch the process of establishing a heritage site, Stanislao Nievo chose the figure and work of Ippolito Nievo, focusing the attention of institutions that might provide funding on the key aspects of landscape, gastronomy, stories and feeling, which were to become the main ingredients in the formula for all future literary parks, subsequently brought together by the Fondazione Ippolito Nievo. The project for a literary site extended the closed precinct of the castle to the surrounding area including the natural spaces and villages located near the castle and stretching as far as the sea. In this way the idea of the Parchi Letterari began to take shape. In its initial stages, Stanislao Nievo’s idea was disseminated between 1990 and 2000 in a series of publications which highlighted the

links between certain writers and the places associated with them. In just a few years the project created for the Colloredo castle was transferred to other sites and models of organisation and activity common to all the parks were devised; the name Parchi Letterari soon became a brand assigned to the foundation’s associates in exchange for an annual quota. The books published gave those who were to become their managers guidelines for the creation of the parks and their activities: they highlight the attractiveness of literature, history and nature and the need to study the best way to work with local public and private institutions to promote a creative and innovative model for making these spaces part of the country’s heritage. Initially Stanislao Nievo thought that students would be the main users of these literary spaces, but over time it became clear that other groups could benefit from the activities they programmed and they gradually changed from having an educational purpose to being a product for tourists. Depending on their location, the parks have widely differing sites and situations and their management is entrusted to a variety of bodies such as associations, local councils, interpretation centres and libraries, which want to create a park based on the heritage available to them. Since the establishment of the Fondazione Ippolito Nievo the Parchi Letterari brand has brought together different lines of work and management systems to develop activities that will be announced under the same names everywhere, such as the Viaggi Sentimentali, the name chosen for literary itineraries. Stanislao Nievo died in 2006 and in 2009 the Foundation transferred management of the parks to a limited liability company, Paesaggio Culturale Italiano. At the time of the transfer there were fifteen literary parks in eleven regions, dedicated to such writers as Dante Alighieri, Gabriele D’Annunzio, Salvatore Quasimodo, Virgil and Homer. According to its social and economic situation and the human resources available, each park had developed its own activities,

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some common and others more directly related to local conditions. In an interview, the sole administrator of Paesaggio Culturale Italiano explained that the literary parks should be a permanent point of reference for the local community and for the region, as they are sometimes the only expression of its culture, based on essential elements like identity and hospitality.8 Today there are seventeen literary parks. The recognition of literary heritage in Catalonia The recognition of literary heritage in Catalonia is a very active and dynamic process. Interest in Catalonia’s literary heritage first became evident in the 1990s, as in Italy, when groups of scholars and cultural managers began to realise the importance of the connections between literature and territory in the context of Catalan cultural heritage, especially with regard to the links between language and identity. Jacint Verdaguer. Deu rutes literàries, by Llorenç Soldevila, published in 1992, was one of the first literary guides, showing the author’s commitment to the study of literary geography. As evidence of how the concept of literary heritage can be considered an integral part of the Catalan cultural fabric and how books and writers have made a space for themselves in the common imaginary and in the country’s customs, we may recall that 23 April, Saint George’s Day, was declared World Book Day by UNESCO in 1995, although it is not celebrated extensively outside Catalonia.

In Catalonia, as in Italy, there are many museum-houses and centres dedicated to the recognition of literary heritage, including libraries, university departments, foundations, cultural associations, archives, interpretation centres, museums, societies and consortia, many of which belong to Espais Escrits. Xarxa del Patrimoni Literari Català.9 Espais Escrits was founded in 2005 and the links established between centres were based on the activities carried out by members and the work done to establish the country’s literary heritage in the dec-

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ades preceding its creation. While writers like Jacint Verdaguer and Josep Pla began a process of making the places referred to in their works part of the literary heritage, the work done during the last thirty years has generated a varied heritage which is fundamental for the creation of the common feeling of identity that is so much desired. An important contribution was made by the studies highlighting links between works, writers and locations, beginning with the Vic area, in the work of Vicenç Soldevila. In the 1980s Mariàngela Vilallonga began work on a project that was also to provide valuable assistance in developing Catalonia’s literary heritage. Her interest in the links between writing and location developed because of personal circumstances: in 1984 she bought Senyal Vell in Romanyà de la Selva, the house where Mercè Rodoreda spent six years of her life, from 1972, and where she wrote some of her books. Mariàngela Vilallonga felt a special responsibility for the intangible legacy she had received by living in the same place the writer had occupied in the previous decade and, rereading Mercè Rodoreda’s books, she realised that their pages contained descriptions of the natural settings around the house (Fig. 2). As a result of this very personal stimulus, combined with her studies of Latin literature and the classics and her profound knowledge of Catalan literature and its geographical associations, she undertook a process that culminated in 2003 with the publication of her Atles literari de les terres de Girona and, in 2004, with the creation of the M. Àngels Anglada Chair, now renamed the M. Àngels Anglada – Carles Fages de Climent Chair of Literary Heritage. Parallel to these didactic and academic projects, many others have been organised, especially since 2000, some of them more commercial in nature. Since that period a large number of literary routes have been created by different types of organisations, which manage them in different ways. In the opinion of Montserrat Comas i Güell, manager of the Biblioteca Museu Víctor Balaguer in Vilanova i la Geltrú, the role of

Unpublished interview with Stanislao de Marsanich. Rome, 6 August 2010.

http://www.espaisescrits.cat/ (Accessed 30 May 2017).

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

these routes in cultural tourism is to allow the reader-visitor to complete a slow journey on foot, an exercise of observing and reading spaces, with the time each person needs to learn about literature in the places that generated it: Cultural tourism looks for ways to become part of the society visited, even if only ephemerally. A country’s literature can be a good figurehead for this type of trip. In these cases we need to increase our potential audience. The routes should be available on reception desks in hotels and should be translated into the main international languages. Literary routes can also be presented as a contrast to the speed of modern travel and also as something real and authentic, an alternative to the virtual world we live in. Literary routes oblige visitors to rediscover walking tours, with sufficient time for observation. Looking at streets and squares at the pace allowed by our own legs brings us closer to the truth, which is what we are all seeking when we agree to take part in any kind

of cultural activity. If we compare it to scientific research, going to places to find out what we are looking for directly would be equivalent to going to primary sources, original documents. In the case of a route the sources would be complex: the place and the text chosen (Comas i Güell, 2011: 269). Routes have indeed been taken to the reception desks of hotels by some private companies. For some years now they have offered literary routes in Barcelona based on commercial publications which have been translated into various languages and achieved very good sales. The routes proposed include one dedicated to La sombra del vent (2001) and El joc de l’àngel (2008), both by Carlos Ruiz Zafón; and one based on La catedral del mar (2006), by Idelfonso Falcones. These are interesting routes, although they were created around works originally written in Spanish and aimed at Spanish visitors.

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Mercè Rodoreda’s house in Romanyà de la Selva during the inauguration of the literary route (2008). MARIÀNGELA VILALLONGA COLLECTION.

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There is also a route dedicated to El joc de l’àngel organised by Puigcerdà Town Council, taking in ten points in the town where parts of the story take place. Another type of route is that dedicated to Cervantes, entitled Barcelona vista per Don Quixot, based not only on the pages set in Barcelona written by Miguel de Cervantes but also on another book, Cervantes en Barcelona. Guía de la ciudad vista por Quijote (2013), by Rafa Burgos. With the text in their hands, visitors can go to the places described by Cervantes in the six chapters of Don Quixote that are set in Barcelona. The itineraries based on the works of Zafón and Falcones are among the most commercial and clearly aimed at tourists, while there are also many routes dedicated to canonical works, which constitute the most visible activities of Espais Escrits. Xarxa de Patrimoni Literari Català, throughout Catalonia. The itineraries proposed by the organisations forming the network are mainly aimed at a Catalan audience, although in recent years, thanks largely to a website project that has made it possible to develop the Mapa Literari Català, versions of texts in other languages have also been added. The words of Joaquim Molas emphasise the fact that literature and its itineraries are fundamental in reinforcing national identity among the inhabitants of a country: Since the time of the Romantics, literature has not only been a form of personal expression or artistic creation but also a shrine for the civic values of the language (Molas, 1992:9). As a shrine for civic values, literature becomes the raw material for the construction of a country and many of the routes are designed so that participants can feel directly involved in enjoying its cultural wealth and can discover the value of the works featured. Consequently, and also for purely educational reasons, the natural place for itineraries dealing with Catalan writers is study programmes, often as a complement to literature courses. Among the itineraries used most extensively for educational purposes are those dedicated

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to Jacint Verdaguer and Josep Pla. The Verdaguer route can be considered the pioneer. Together with Josep Pla and other classic writers, the author of Canigó and works dealing with Montserrat and other symbolic locations in Catalonia is considered to be among the founders of modern Catalan literature and is highly regarded in Folgueroles, his home town. In 1977 the local council prepared a leaflet about places in the town linked to the writer to mark the hundredth anniversary of the first edition of l’Atlàntida. In 1995 the itinerary was extended by the managers of the Casa-Museu Verdaguer and became the current Jacint Verdaguer a Folgueroles route. In 1993 the Ruta Josep Pla was published. The documentation includes a cardboard folder containing ten fact sheets on locations in Palafrugell, birthplace of the writer and home to the Fundació Josep Pla, Tamariu, Sant Sebastià, Llafranc, Calella and Llofriu. As well as the fact sheets describing places connected with Pla there are some dealing with the climate of the Empordà plain, two biographical fact sheets and two about the complete works of Josep Pla, plus a literary map. The fact sheets contain texts by the author, with photographs, other illustrations and some explanatory texts. We need look no further than the introduction to see the character the authors wanted to give to the project. Following the route we suggest and reading the texts which support it, you can admire the landscape and allow yourself to be carried away by the literature. We would also like you to engage with the surroundings and the writing, the quintessence of this country and its people. Although the places you will visit are easy to identify, we must point out that Palafrugell today is not the Palafrugell Josep Pla lived in and described. The warmth of his words will take you back in time and you will feel the nostalgia of an irrecoverable past which mythicises rural life. You will not see carts, peasants or groups preparing rice on the beach. But you will be able to admire what remains of the landscape and, above all, appreciate Josep Pla’s desire to be universal in his local descriptions.10

The text is not signed.

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

In recent decades in Catalonia, as in Italy, many literary guides have been published in addition to those already mentioned. An interesting example is that issued to mark the Any del llibre i de la lectura, in 2005. Entitled Paseos por la Barcelona literaria, it presents seventeen routes covering a number of districts in the city and following the footsteps of 174 Catalan and foreign authors, writing in genres as varied as the periods in which they lived. La Barcelona del senyor Esteve. Passeig literari was published in 2007, in connection with the celebration of the Rusiñol Year. The most famous book published in 1907 was L’auca del senyor Esteve and the itinerary created by Margarida Casacuberta and Pilar Vélez comprises a selection of texts, images and commentaries which allow visitors to familiarise themselves with the settings of the book, concentrated in the Ribera district. Through Rusiñol’s texts and the vicissitudes of Senyor Esteve, visitors can also trace the transformations that have taken place in the city of Barcelona. The guide was designed to complement an interactive exhibition at different points in the city which feature in the book: the Sant Agustí convent, the Arxiu Històric de la Ciutat, the Frederic Marés

Museum, the Picasso Museum, Museu d’Història de Catalunya, Casa Llotja de Mar and Teatre Romea.

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http://www.atlesliterari.cat (Accessed 30 May 2017).

A series of literary guides, designed as pocket books and dealing with other routes, was published by the M. Àngels Anglada – Carles Fages de Climent Chair of Literary Heritage at the University of Girona: Rodoreda Romanyà (2008), Ripoll (2010), Maria Àngels Anglada a Figueres (2011), La Casa de la Literatura (2011), Gaziel a Sant Feliu de Guíxols (2011), La Casa Masó literària (2013), Fages de Climent a Castelló (2014), L’Empordà de Maria Àngels Anglada (2015), Fages de Climent a Figueres (2017), etc. There were fourteen books in all (Fig.3). These guides issued by the department have stemmed from the two volumes of the Atles literari de les terres de Girona. Segles XIX i XX, which we have referred to previously. The paper and website editions of the atlas both contain an extensive database11 and this was the starting point for research regarding the preparation of the routes. Since its publication this work has made a valuable contribution to establishing the literary heritage of the Girona region. The atlas, in two volumes, was presented to the public on 22

Part of the literary route Les closes de M. Àngels Anglada, Parc dels Aiguamolls de l’Empordà (2006). ESTHER FABRELLAS, M. ÀNGELS ANGLADA-CARLES FAGES DE CLIMENT CHAIR OF LITERARY HERITAGE COLLECTION.

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April 2003, the result of intense work carried out over three years, guided by Mariàngela Vilallonga and Narcís Jordi Aragó, who coordinated the activity of a large group of specialists in different disciplines including experts in literature, photography and cartography. The atlas is divided into nine sections covering nine counties, each of which was entrusted to a specialist in the literature of the area. It is important to understand the criteria according to which writers were included. Some, like Montserrat Vayreda and Josep Berga i Boix, are authors born in El Gironès county. Others are writers who in one way or another put down roots in a particular location, like J. V. Foix and Josep M. de Sagarra, who spent the summer at Port de la Selva, or travellers who wrote about the sensations a particular location produced in them, like Hans Christian Andersen and George Steiner, while there were also writers who chose a place that had not previously been associated with writing to make it their literary home, as happened to Mercè Rodoreda with Romanyà de la Selva and Maria Àngels Anglada with Vilamacolum. The writers were also selected according to a chronological criterion: as the second part of the title suggests, they were all nineteenth – and twentieth-century writers, although none was born after 1975. Almost all literary genres are included: in the pages of the atlas we find narrators, poets, biographers, essayists and travel writers. Historians are not included, except those whose writings link history with literature. As well as internationally known, universal writers, we find local authors who are not widely known by the general public but who are often the only ones to leave a literary record of a location with which they established a profound and productive connection. The group that produced the atlas needed to cover the whole area, trying not to leave any towns or areas without writers and attempting to balance the number of references for one place and another. They thus experienced considerable difficulty when dealing with locations where a great deal of literature

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has been produced, as “in some places one is surrounded by literature” (Vilallonga, 2008:47). Mariàngela Vilallonga emphasised that the texts in the atlas were chosen on the basis of their relevance and not because of their quality, as it was not a work of literary criticism or a history of literature. The main concern of the authors of the chapters dealing with each county was to emphasise the presence of the area in literature and, conversely, the influence of writing on the location. It was thus an exercise in literary geography and geographical literature. We wanted to record the literary landscapes of the Girona region (Vilallonga, 2008:47). From the time of its publication the Atles literari de les terres de Girona inspired many projects related to literary heritage. The Maria Àngels Anglada – Carles Fages de Climent Chair of Literary Heritage uses it as the basis for many of its projects, often working in association with the Espais Escrits network. Here we should explain the process leading to the creation of this association, which can be considered a twin of Paesaggio Culturale Italiano. The Catalan association was set up in response to a very practical need and to solve two main problems: in the course of a meeting of ACAMFE (Associación de Casas-Museo y Fundaciones de Escritores) at the end of the 1980s, the founder members of Espais Escrits became aware of the limited presence of Catalan writers in the Spanish association and they also realised there was a lack of communication between the different centres in Catalonia involved in establishing the country’s literary heritage. In that context the difficult professional situation of those in charge of different centres also became evident, especially regarding the political situation: “We often find we are involved in resisting the established political powers when pursuing our goals and in many cases this calls for considerable determination.”12 The lack of attention to Catalan authors and the inadequate communication between centres involved in promoting the literary

www.espaisescrits.cat/ home.php?op=4&module=editor (Accessed 30 May 2017).

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heritage led the founder members to share the problem with the Institució de les Lletres Catalanes, asking for help in studying a way to solve the two issues. The first step taken by the Institució was to call a meeting for all the centres and arrange for a list of all the centres in Catalonia to be drawn up. This list, the Directori de Cases, Museus i Arxius d’escriptors en llengua catalana, was presented at the Palau Marc in Barcelona, on 23 April 2002, and published on the website of the Institució de les Lletres Catalanes. The creation of this first instrument was very useful and it was followed by regular meetings until 2003, when the decision was taken to create Espais Escrits, with the following aims: 1. To give support to each associate, in order to ensure access to the written works of the author concerned for present and future generations, so that his/her writing can facilitate the creation of a collective literary imaginary linked to literary locations, and to provide tools to safeguard the most significant and evocative sites in Catalan literature. 2. To favour exchange and cooperation between the association’s members. 3. To list the elements that make up this tangible and intangible literary heritage so as to protect it effectively. 4. To monitor the conditions under which documentary, bibliographical and symbolic resources related to writers are conserved and accessed, whether public or private, and to work to incorporate them in the association. 5. To publicise the work of associates in promoting literature. 6. To represent the members of the association publicly in this country and abroad. The centres comprising the Xarxa del Patrimoni Literari Català are of various types, as we have already pointed out, but the fact that they existed before the association was formed is an added value and keeping the peculiarities of each centre enriches the network, especially in terms of the skills of the managers and the range of experience acquired. At the same time, however, the

coordinators of Espais Escrits detected the problems that these differences could lead to and it became necessary to schedule meetings for coordination and sharing ideas to ensure well regulated, structured management, then as now. Since 2005 seminars have thus been held on basic themes for management and theoretical reflection, followed by a second period of technical sessions.13 During the first seminar the essence of what was to become the Mapa Literari Català 2.0, one of the network’s most visible tools, was presented. This initiative, constantly evolving since 2010, has made its mark as an innovative project, nationally and internationally. The members of the network dedicated to establishing literary heritage, aware of the importance of literary cartography, produced a map of the world, positioning all the writers represented by Espais Escrits on it. On the map one can see icons with portraits of writers placed in countries all over the world. Each icon has one or more texts in Catalan or, in some cases, other languages. The map has a menu which allows users to access the literary routes, from which GPS references and texts can be downloaded. These routes include some of those referred to previously and many others, 57 in all, part of the 78 that appear in the Espais Escrits listing, and they cover practically all parts of Catalonia. They can all be traced virtually using the literary map or they can be followed on the ground, freely or using the centres’ guides linked to the authors. The itineraries include those dedicated to Antoni Maria Alcover in Palma, the Catalan Modernist Group in Reus, Cristòfol Despuig in Tortosa, Narcís Oller in Valls, Marià Manent in L’Aleixar, and Pere Quart in La Vall d’Horta. The locations connected with the works of Maria Barbal do not appear on the Mapa Literari Català but they are of special interest as an example of literary routes in a mountainous region, with characteristics that therefore differ from those of urban routes (they take up to four hours, for example). The first is entitled Pels camins de Pedra de Tartera and the second is Pels camins de Mel i metzines,

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The seminars and technical sessions dealt with the following themes: The value of literary spaces, Strategies of communication regarding literary heritage, Models and formats, From the academic world to financial viability, The indirect view as a literary memory, Literature and the development of the setting, Literary heritage, an incentive for towns?, Literature, region and identity, The management of literary heritage under discussion, etc.

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both situated in La Vall d’Àssua, in the Pallars Sobirà county14. The literary map page is interactive, but with limited access: content can only be added by the members of Espais Escrits and not by other users. In 2013 another project was launched, thanks to Pyrénées Méditerranée Euroregion funding, to create an application based on the map: Mapa Literari Català 3.0. The users of these innovative instruments for establishing our literary heritage are mostly Catalan and the number of visits rises substantially in summer and during holiday periods. Coincidences and differences In the complex, multifaceted context of these two countries, it may be useful to carry out a brief analysis of the points they have in common and the main differences in how they promote their literary heritage. We have identified certain common elements in their desire to promote the region via literature (recognition of locations with literary connections, literary routes as a way to promote culture, education and tourism) but there are also obvious differences in management and the policies governing it.

Beginning with the causes that led to the creation of the two main networks for the recognition of literary heritage that we have discussed, we see that in the case of Italy the idea of the Parchi Letterari arose to safeguard a private estate, the Colloredo castle. From requirements motivated by what we may describe as an individual concern, the system applied was transferred to a more extensive context and became a brand, providing a way of preserving other literary locations and promoting a new type of economy, linked to education and tourism. The Espais Escrits network arose as the result of a collective concern expressed by a group who identified two main problems, the low profile of Catalan authors and a lack of communication, and who found a way to publicise the relationship between Catalonia and the literature it has generated to create an identity.

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The Fondazione Ippolito Nievo has promoted the creation of literary parks in places where previously centres for establishing the country’s literary heritage did not exist, creating a network of institutions which followed the same initial process and applied the same methods in their activities. Espais Escrits came into existence because of the desire of existing centres to unite with a view to working more effectively, each contributing its own methods and experience. The fact that the networks and the centres forming them have such different origins has led to differences in the recruitment of those working in them. In 1993, in one of the first articles about the literary parks, Stanislao Nievo defined the volunteers as individuals who had to become involved to work in the management of the centres without being paid. Over the years, at least in the cases observed, such as the Parco Letterario Carlo Levi d’Aliano, in Basilicata (Southern Italy), this way of viewing the “worker” has changed only partly: volunteers are a way of offsetting the lack of resources but cannot ensure continuity, which affects the quality of the functioning of the park, preventing it from having deep roots in the region, and the perception of those living in the area, who could otherwise have more visible advantages. Over the years this has quite frequently led to the creation and disappearance of literary parks in different parts of Italy. In spite of these problems, in some locations the literary park played a decisive role in the creation of a common identity. This was the case, for example, among part of the population of Aliano, known locally and nationally as the “land of Carlo Levi”. Indeed, some elements that have helped to establish literary heritage appear in everyday conversation as expressions used to describe the town and its characteristics (Fig. 4-5). Two cases studied, that of Mercè Rodoreda, in the Gràcia district of Barcelona and in the village of Romanyà de la Selva, and that of Maria Àngels Anglada, in Vic, Figueres and L’Alt Empordà, illustrate interesting aspects of the construction of identity in connection with language and literature. These two writ-

http://www.valldassua.cat/ pdf/itinerari4.pdf; http://www. valldassua.cat/pdf/itinerari5.pdf (Accessed 6 July 2017).

Literary heritage, tangible and intangible: Italy and Catalonia

ers were significant figures on the Catalan cultural scene in the early post-Franco years, when the country was experiencing a period of renewed freedom and the benefits of the first years of democracy were beginning to be felt. During that period what happened in cultural life, in public events, festivals, etc. had a clearly political character, everything that was organised having a significant political component. In the case of Maria Àngels Anglada, the locations associated with her were used to reinforce Catalan identity, as they still are. The writer herself was well aware that she was writing to defend and disseminate the Catalan language and culture. This awareness lies behind every activity of the Maria Àngels Anglada – Carles Fages de Climent Chair of Literary Heritage at the University of Girona to promote and raise awareness of her legacy and its message. In Italy literature and the heritage associated with it come together in the formation of an identity, but in a different way: there is no need to press for the recognition of a

state, as there is already one which is clearly defined, even though it dates back little more than 150 years. The Chair of Literary Heritage is aware of the importance of the professionalisation of the managers of literary heritage and, together with other centres in the Espais Escrits network, contributes to the training of those who work or could work there, designing courses for this purpose. This highlights a major difference from Italy, where the recognition of literary heritage is also part of the process of creating a cultural identity and a means for creating cohesion, but probably more on a local di campanile level than on a collective national scale. The difference in the way the two countries understand the concept of identity is obvious if one reads the definition of “identity” in the Italian and Catalan dictionaries. In the Grande Dizionario Garzanti della Lingua Italiana (1987)15 there is nothing that refers to collective identity, while the IEC Diccionari

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1. Being identical, absolute equality; a logical principle that states that a thing or a concept is what it is, and is nothing else; 2. The set of physical or psychological characters that make a person who they are, different from anyone else; a (psychological) contradictory notion that a subject has of themselves; it may constitute a pathological condition; (bureaucratic) personal and somatic data that allow you to recognise a person; 3. Refer to what is, their peculiar characteristics; 4. True equality by definition, verified by any value of the variables it is composed of.

Literary map of locations linked to the writer Carlo Levi in Aliano, Basilicata (2013). Drawn by Nicola Toce. FRANCESCA R. UCCELLA COLLECTION.

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House in Aliano, where the writer Carlo Levi was exiled from 1935 to 1936. Lorenzo Bojola. FRANCESCA R. UCCELLA COLLECTION.

de la llengua catalana (2011)16 mentions the community explicitly, using an example that refers to language as an essential part of the identity of a people, of national identity. In the light of these considerations, it can be seen clearly that the recognition of literary heritage has a significant role in our societies, that those administering and experiencing literary locations use literary elements to narrate and express themselves, to reflect on the past and present and create a shared identity. The locations are recognised in the writers’ texts and their managers are aware of the importance they have acquired over

time in the development of the image of their community; the identity of literary locations is characterised by the presence of writers, it is forged in their narrative, the creation and recreation of a landscape packed with signs and symbols, highlighting the constant need for elements that contribute to the values on which a community is founded. n

1. The fact of being the same; 1 2. The fact that a person or thing is as supposed or is the one sought; 2. The ability of human beings to maintain their own personality; 2. 2 A series of characteristics that determine who or what an individual or a community is. “Language is an essential part of a people’s identity.” “National identity”; 3. 1 Mathematics The equality of two expressions, whatever values are given to the symbols they contain. 3. 2 A transformation that leaves an object unchanged; 4. Equality existing between different manifestations of a linguistic element at a certain stage in a language or at different stages in its development.

BIBLIOGRAFIA

Agnello, B. (2001) La Sicilia del Gattopardo. Palermo: Parco letterario Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. Aragó, N.J.; Vilallonga, M. (2003) (coords.) Atles literari de les terres de Girona. Girona: Diputació de Girona. Cicala, R. (2009) “I luoghi delle parole: la vocazione inespressa della geografia letteraria in Italia. Tra bibliografia e prospettive”. In KAHRS, A; GREGORIO, M. (coords.) Esporre la letteratura. Percorsi, pratiche prospettive. 294-320. Bologna: Clueb.

Comas i Güell M. (2011) “Perfil del gestor de patrimoni literari”. in Literatura, territori i identitat. La gestió del patrimoni literari a debat. 259-271. Girona: Curbet Edicions. Clausi, M.; Leone, D.; Lo Bocchiaro, G., Panucci Amarù, A.; Ragusa, D. (2006) I luoghi di Montalbano. Una guida. Palermo: Sellerio.

ques, museos y patrimonio natural. Alzira: Editorial Germania. Molas, J. (1992) “Pròleg”. In SOLDEVILA, L. Jacint Verdaguer. Deu rutes literàries. 9-10. Argentona L’Aixernador. Nievo, S. (coord.), (1990) I parchi Letterari (vol. I) XII-XVI sec. Roma: Abete.

De Mauro, T. (1963) Storia linguistica dell’Italia unita. Bari: Laterza.

Nievo, S. (coord.), (1991) I parchi Letterari (vol. II) XVII-XVIII sec. Roma: Abete.

Frigolé, J.; Del Marmol, C; Roigé, X. (2014) (coords) Costruyendo el patrimonio cultural y natural. Par-

Nievo, S. (coord.), (1998) Parchi letterari dell’Ottocento. Venezia: Marsilio.

Nievo, S. (coord.), (2000) Parchi letterari del Novecento. Roma: Fondazione Ippolito Nievo, Ricciardi & Associati. Riccardi, C. (1991) Milano 1881. Palermo: Sellerio. Soldevila, V. (1992) Jacint Verdaguer. Deu rutes literàries. Argentona: L’Aixernador. Vilallonga, M. (2008) “Entorn de l’Atles literari de les terres de Girona”. Jornades de la Secció Filològica de l’Institut d’Estudis Catalans a Banyoles: 45-50.

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running

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Alexandre Planas i Ballet

Xavier Torrebadella i Flix

INSTITUT DEL CENTRE D’ALT RENDIMENT

BARCELONA AUTONOMOUS UNIVERSITY

Graduate in the Sciences of Physical Activity and Sport, graduate in the Philosophy and Science of Education and Specialist Technician in Athletics. He has won a number of literary prizes including the Vila de Lloret Poetry Award (2015) and the Mirall review Poetry Award (2017) and has also published Irrealitats, a collection of verse (AdiA Edicions, 2016). Lecturer in Physical Activity Teaching Methodology at the Institut del Centre d’Alt Rendiment, Sant Cugat.

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Degree in Physical Education from the University of Barcelona and Doctorate from the University of Lleida. Athlete, trainer and delegate of the Athletics section in the Sícoris Club, Lleida (1972-1992). Lecturer at the Institut Centre d’Alt Rendiment Esportiu, Sant Cugat del Vallès, and Associate Lecturer at the Faculty of Science, Barcelona Autonomous University.

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running A history of running as physical exercise and foot races in Catalonia Introduction

eople have reused and reinterpreted historical elements which are deeply rooted in their own culture, together with contributions from other cultures and even features which are pure invention, to build a sense of national identity. In Catalonia this process, the Renaixença, began in 1833 with Carles Bonaventura Aribau as the leading figure in founding the movement. Working with Joaquim Rubió i Ors (“Lo Gayté del Llobregat”), he laid

In the ethnological heritage of Catalonia physical exercise and sports involving movement have played an important role. In connection with this theme we have undertaken a historical review of the ancient foot races known as cóssos. Primary documentary resources and other research work lead us to reflect on the loss of Catalan cultural heritage and revise the place of the Catalan running tradition in the country’s collective consciousness.

the foundations for a long period that was to conclude with the nationalisation of a large part of Catalan society. The revival of language and customs fostered by these writers was the beginning of an ideological development reaffirming the national identity of the Catalan people. The process of defining the cultural sense of Catalonia as a people has been strongly influenced and in some cases hindered by dominant external cultural traditions, such as the Andalusian ideology and Spanish purist attitudes prevalent in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the military dictatorships of the twentieth century, and cultural globalisation since the 1960s. For

Dins el gran conjunt d’elements que conformen el patrimoni etnològic de Catalunya, les expressions vehiculades a l’entorn de l’exercici físic i del joc motor són profusament presents arreu. Efectuem en aquest context una revisió històrica de les curses a peu ancestrals anomenades cossos. El suport de les fonts documentals primàries i d’altres investigacions ens conviden a reflexionar sobre la pèrdua del patrimoni cultural català i, alhora, a ressituar la tradició catalana del córrer en la consciència col·lectiva del país.

Key words: cós, cursa de la cordera, traditional sports, foot races Paraules clau: cos, cursa de la cordera, esports tradicionals, pedestrisme Palabras clave: cos, carrera de la cordera, deportes tradicionales, pedestrismo

Dentro del gran conjunto de elementos que conforman el patrimonio etnológico de Cataluña, las expresiones vehiculades al entorno del ejercicio físico y el juego motor son profusamente presentes en todas partes. En este contexto, efectuamos una revisión histórica de las carreras ancestrales llamadas cossos. El soporte de fuentes documentales primarias y otras investigaciones nos invitan a reflexionar sobre la pérdida del patrimonio cultural catalán y, al mismo tiempo, a resituar la tradición catalana de correr en la conciencia colectiva del país.

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example, the decline of deports1 or games for pleasure and physical development (Torrebadella and Planas, 2011) has meant a very significant loss in our own popular culture.

Recent studies have catalogued the cóssos by location: those recorded by Capdevila (2009, 2012) were mainly in L’Urgell while Juli Suau (2013) focuses on the Pla d’Urgell area.

Games involve a sense of play and many of the distinctive cultural characteristics of a people. As Janer (1982) says, we should not undervalue the paedogogical task of recovering the popular games of our ancestors and (re)discovering, via them, forgotten customs and symbolic rituals or language that has been lost. So, in line with Janer’s recommendation, we shall apply a “subversive” ecological ideology to the recovery of popular culture.

Modern sport developed in England as a recreation for middle class society following the rise of capitalism, urban growth and the industrial transformation that took place in the nineteenth century (Elias and Dunning, 1992). In the case of Catalonia it dated from the Bourbon restoration and was particularly significant in late nineteenth century and early twentieth century Barcelona (Lagardera, 1992; Pujadas, 2010; Torrebadella-Flix, Olivera-Betran and M-Bou, 2015). In this process, which Elias and Dunning (1992: 34) call “sportization”, we must distinguish the old physical activities and sports (Lagardera, 1996). Although some of these activities or games are absorbed by sportization, as is the case of fencing or pelota, others are excluded from this new area of recreation (Brasó and Torrebadella, 2015, Capdevila, 2009, 2012). It is thus necessary to distinguish the origins of the old sports and games from contemporary sports (Lagardera, 1996). According to Bourdieu (1993, 2008), we can identify two distinct models. Sport has a bourgeois origin and grows in line with the process of civilisation (Elias), or the development of education and trade, which implies a reduction in the levels of violence associated with traditional physical and recreational pursuits (Elias and Dunning, 1992) while defining a model of social distinction (Veblen, 2008).

The introduction of what we refer to as modern sport in Catalonia at the beginning of the twentieth century was not only a result of the social circumstances of the time but was also influenced by a long tradition of participation in games and deports (Brasó and Torrebadella, 2015). Artells (1972) reports that, as well as the popular games of the period (skittles, throwing the barra, tag, races, jumping, hitting targets, pelota, lifting weights, etc.), “shows of strength were also common, in the form of contests between groups. For example, they would see who could put a sack of corn onto his shoulders most quickly, or who was able to lift a weight or pick something up with his teeth” (Artells, 1992: 28-29). Artells (1972: 30) adds that “These popular sports were spontaneous, democratic and open, requiring no codification or regulation, such as the creation of clubs or associations to which one had to belong in order to participate.” One of these deports was the cóssos2, ancient foot races rooted in the popular culture of some Catalan towns. As Capdevila says (2007: 286), these races had “a magical and religious origin, linked to the cycle of nature, like all the rural sporting activities that were finally replaced by the rise of football after the second decade of the twentieth century”.

In this article we pay special attention to the history of the cóssos to show how the distinctive features of a people, which were

By deports we understand traditional open-air games played in Catalonia before the arrival of competitive physical activities originating in Anglo-Saxon countries, which reached us in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century and which we would call esports.

Cós: “[pl. cóssos] In certain festivities a race on foot or horseback and other popular games in which a prize can be won” (IEC, 1995: 510).

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running

once the living expression of its traditions, can be erased from cultural memory. Today we are recovering some of the traditions (festivities, events, customs, crafts, cuisine, words, games, etc.) that were on the point of being forgotten or disappearing: there is a post-modern revival of popular culture which emphasises ethnic experience in the face of globalisation (Capdevila, 2016). In this study we shall trace the role of games and deports in our traditions with a view to helping to (re)position the cóssos in our country’s collective consciousness. The methodology we have applied is based on historiographical techniques using primary documentary sources. The findings of recent research have also contributed to the constructivist interpretation and critical study we present. The cós between tradition and renovation Sport in Catalonia has been rooted in the activities of the popular classes since long

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ago. So much so that we can find evidence of popular races as early as the fifteenth century. Capdevila (2009, 2012) and Suau (2012, 2013) have identified documented events in towns in Lleida (1476), and in Bellpuig (1558), Vallfogona de Riucorb (1603) and Torà (1644). In 1580 there were foot races and horse races in Bellpuig, in which the Duke of Cardona gave the prize of a sword to the winner of the foot race (Bach, 1972: 111). But the reward most prized by the winners was to take home a lamb. Consequently the events became known as the “race for the lamb (or lambs)”. The name is still used for the cós in Albesa, held every year on August 16 (Saint Roch’s day), which can be considered the oldest race still taking place in Catalonia, as there are records of it taking place in 1590. Pere Anguera (1992: X), when speaking about the foot races in the districts of Reus, mentions that in 1756 the Municipal Coun-

“The Sant Pere Cós in Plaça Mercadal, Reus”. Source: 1.000 imatges de la història de Reus d’Albert Arnavat. (ca. 1920)

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cil discussed the problems arising from the races in which chickens, hens and lambs are given as prizes, with young and old competitors in scanty clothing that gives rise to “scandal and profanity” and that the tradition of holding such races remained alive throughout the nineteenth century and the early twentieth century. The races were traditionally linked to pagan rituals (which were subsequently transplanted into religious festivities) to mark the conclusion of the harvest (Capdevila, 2012; Dalmau and Solé, 1985; Garganté, 2011; Suau, 2012, 2013). Amades (1987: 483) identifies the races as a possible survival of the ritual of sun worship. As we shall see, the cóssos were organised to mark the festa major or a saint’s day, thus constituting an opportunity for people to congregate and enjoy themselves. The fittest young men in the locality would take part in the races, sometimes with strong competitors from neighbouring towns and villages. As Lagardera (1996) says, this type of event was part of a symbolic and magical ritual, and had, moreover, a clear local nature (in a particular community) which could not be exported to other communities, as was to happen subsequently with sports (Bourdieu, 1993, 2008). From the nineteenth century onward in Tarragona, Lleida and some parts of Valencia we find abundant written documentation of the word cós used in the sense of a race between young runners competing for a prize or a jewel. In some dictionaries (Ferrer, 1836; Labernia, 1844; Saura, 1859), we find that the word còs [sic] has the same Latin root as the noun corsus (race) or the verb corso (run), which would correspond to the Spanish coso or cosso. The words cós and coso have been used to describe the place where one runs, the street along which people normally go or the square in which bullfights and other events take place3. Bofarull (1880: 143) makes the following comment on còs [sic.]: “This word is a contraction of cors, an older, more explicit word

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which has the same meaning as the old Spanish coso in one of its senses, both referring to a race, something related to running”. The Diccionari Català, Valencià Balear gives the following information under the entry for cós: “races; action of running or competing with animals or vehicles to win a prize, especially in a town’s festa major or in neighbourhood festivities. As used in L’Urgell, Segarra, Noguera, Segrià, Conca de Barbera, Priorat, Camp de Tarragona, Ribera d’Ebre, Terra Alta, etc.”. In Lleida the corderes or cóssos take place in towns and cities such as Àger, Agramunt, Albesa, Alcarràs, Aitona, Arbeca, Balaguer, Bellcaire d’Urgell, Bellpuig, Bovera, Castelldans, Corbins, El Poal, Guimerà, Guissona, Juneda, La Granadella, Les Borges Blanques, Linyola, Lleida, Maials, Maldà, Mollerussa, Pons, Tàrrega, Vallbona de les Monges, Verdú and Vilanova de Segrià. (Capdevila 2012; Suau, 2012, 2013). The statesman Pascual Madoz (1847: 2014) tells us that “races between men called cosos, in which a lamb, chickens or other similar prizes are given to the winner” are a regular form of entertainment in many towns. These races were not unnoticed by foreign travellers: “Having rested in Lérida for three days, we left by carriage for Barcelona and after passing through Bell-lloch, Sidamunt and Mollerusa we ate in Golmes, which is four leagues away. The four towns we have just named have no outstanding features but the fact that in Golmes it was a feast day for some religious celebration or other gathering gave us the opportunity to observe some games that attracted our attention. The first was la morra, the origins of which go back to Roman times. The two players have to show their right hands at the same time, holding out one or more fingers. The game consists of guessing the total number of fingers the two players will hold out. Another event was the races or cosos. There were races for men and for women, the prize for the men

In older dictionaries the word appears with a grave accent but we shall write it with an acute accent, as it appears in the Diccionari de l’Institut d’Estudis Catalans.

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running

being a well fattened lamb. The prize for the women was a rooster and two hens, but it was more difficult for them to win it, as they had to run with a pitcher full of water on their heads without spilling a single drop. During this lively gathering we also saw two bouts and several games with balls and skittles. Golmes has a population of three hundred and sixty-two and

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is in the judicial district of Lérida, Solsona diocesis. (Mellado, 1848: 65) The traditional roots of the cóssos are also expressed by one of the leading figures of the Renaixença in Lleida, Lluís Roca Florejachs, who presented a poem at the first Jocs Florals in Barcelona in 1859, entitled “Los cóssos” (Pelay, 1866: 479-481):

The cóssos. Popular festivity. Today, on this special day people are in formal attire, the festival has arrived, Our Lady of the Rosary. The plants are coming to life, after dying in the cold; The mists have gone, the sad mists of winter. Day by day the fine weather gives us greater pleasure; April brought us beautiful flowers, May is sure to bring us more. Everything reflects new life; everything breathes new pleasure. The joyful spring rules the world, covering it with a rich cloak of beauty. There is a great tumult in the streets and squares: today is the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. The dawn chorus announced it in the early hours: now the bells ring out to proclaim it. The people are restive with joy. The clock strikes ten. Time to go! Time to go! The young people are getting ready for the race. Come to the hermitage, girls. Bring roses and carnations. Before the races start We’ll dance a while for May. The big prize is a lamb, whoever wins it will be very lucky:

he can boast about it at the fairs. Such a fine lamb is hard to find. He who wants to win it needs to run hard, from the back of the hermitage to Plaça de la Creu. Come on, young men: nothing ventured, nothing gained, the people say. The girls are waiting for you: be courageous, boys. Whoever wants more, more must say; whoever is able, more must run. It’s quarter to eleven, hurry now! Another quarter of an hour and you’ll be late. Four runners are standing ready, all handsome young men: Jaume, Pere, Tito and Pep. They take off their espadrilles to run faster. They all remove their jackets and caps, for caps and jackets slow them down. Now the four line up; the tumult grows and grows: all the village wants to know how well they will perform. Some of the girls hurry to see them close up. A steward mounts his horse and goes ahead to clear the way. The clock strikes eleven Clear the way! Clear the way, everybody!

The steward shouts, going ahead, spurring his horse on. Behind him the four runners race off, in search of victory. Clear the way! Clear the way! Be courageous, boys! Come on! Come on! Come on! Come on! Run faster if you can; don’t be afraid of the distance! Run hard, don’t weaken. However weak your legs feel, don’t give up, keep running! You can sit down afterwards. They’re approaching in line, they’re coming to the Cross and it’s Pere, Pere who arrives first. The lamb! Give it to him! Give it to him! He’s won it, it’s his. Isabel, his fiancé, is waiting anxiously for him. He wants to give her the lamb. Well done! Let us give them both our heartfelt congratulations, let them live together happily for ever. And may Our Lady of the Rosary let him always win cóssos on feast days. Lluís Roca Florejachs (1859)

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Announcements for these races can be found in some of the programmes for the festa major in Lleida. In 1863/4/5 the course for the cordera race began at the Gardeny fountain or munitions dump and ran to Sant Joan Church. We may suppose that these races were held every year, as they were firmly rooted in tradition. The programmes for 1883 and 1884 still contained a cordera race4. In 1887, the race for the lamb started in Rambla de Ferran and went along Blondel, Sant Antoni and Font del Governador to Gardeny, returning via Acadèmia, Sant Antoni, Major and Paeria, ending in Plaça de Sant Joan5. With the growing popularity of races (as we shall also see below), some individuals specialised in the event, making their stamina another means of subsistence. It became common to see runners (also known as andarins) challenge each other at the festa major in large towns. In Valls, the winners had their prizes and the public could bet on the participants6. A news item in La Vanguardia commented that “two famous runners are in Tortosa and will compete with each other, exhibiting their skills to the public by running round Plaza de Alfonso XII 100 times in an hour and a half” 7. We have references to the race up to the Serra de Sant Eloi in Tàrrega in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. J. Segura describes it as follows: “Watch them barefoot in shirtsleeves and shorts, with kerchiefs round their heads. Who will win the lamb? From there you can see all the changes of leader in the fiercely disputed contest. Now they’re going up the slope, their fists clenched, their arms bent at the elbow, pumping alternately, their faces yellow and dripping with sweat. It’s not just the prize that drives them on, it’s also glory. The people look at them, applauding them in their moment of triumph. Tomorrow the winner, just like the Romans in their finest

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age, will be guiding a plough pulled by two mules”. (Segura, 1890: 266) In the Costumari català, Joan Amades describes races for a lamb in Vila d’Àger, La Noguera, the site of a very important market in the Middle Ages. During the festivities for Saint Vincent, on January 22, this town was the setting for a dance by the winners of the Cós de la Cordera. It was a jota in which the winners of the race carried their prizes on their shoulders: the lamb, the chicken and the string of onions. “The band played and accompanied those carrying the prizes as far as the square. The runners were in shirtsleeves with shorts and kerchiefs round their heads. A pistol was fired to start the race. A man on horseback went ahead to clear the route.” (Amades, 1987, vol. I: 582).

The first to reach the square and touch the lamb was the winner. The runner-up was the sotacós and the third to arrive won the onions. This is the origin of the expression “you didn’t even win the onions” referring to the person who comes fourth in a race. When the dance finished, the prizes were offered to members of the public who could buy them, the money raised being used to cover the cost of the festivities. At night there

Institut d’Estudis Ilerdencs: Programmes for the Festa Major in Lleida, nineteenth century.

Diario de Lérida (1887) 10 May: 3.

“Noticias de Cataluña” (1883) In La Vanguardia, 22 June: 4.

“Noticias regionales” (1889) In La Vanguardia, 18 March: 2.

Dance of the winners of the “cós de la cordera” in Àger (1987). JOAN AMADES

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running

was a dance, during which the musicians sang a serenade to each of the winners. In Àger the cordera race still takes place on 15 August. La Granadella is another place described, where on 15 September (the feast of Saint Nicomedes) a race for a lamb took place and sometimes a race for 12 stones. These races in La Granadella were popular until the end of the 1930s. A runner known as “Cal Cetro” was an outstanding participant.

the traditional cóssos will take place, some of them using the Middle Ages system”. We do not know exactly what the Middle Ages system8 meant, although it is known that in one race in the 1920s a young competitor ran up to Sant Eloi barefoot with a piece of bread in his mouth (Torrebadella, 2011: 433).

We find other explicit references to the cós in Sant Eloi, Tàrrega, in the poem “Santaloy” by Francesc Pera, who described the race as follows in 1901: “Watch how they run up/ poor lads/ come on, quickly/ let them get by/ the lamb/ is the big prize...” (Capdevila, 2012: 55-56). Another reference, dated 1902, says that “if it does not rain,

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La Lloca, revista satírica, Tárrega, 1904, 1: 3.

In the 1903 Jocs Florals we find another poem about the popular race “Lo cós de la Cordera”. This poem by the poet resident in Maldà, J. Iglésias i Guizard, as part of

The race for the stones consisted of running round a square a certain number of times. At one point in the square there was a heap of stones and runners had to take one each time they passed until none were left. The winner was the one who had the most stones and had, therefore, run round the square most times. This race also took place in other parts of Catalonia (Amades, 1987; Rocafort, 1991). Towards the end of the nineteenth century modern sport was beginning to flourish in cities and large towns. In small towns, however, people continued to participate in the traditional local games linked to popular culture and rural life (Amades, 1987; Capdevila, 2012) that had been passed down over the generations. At the beginning of the twentieth century, therefore, the cóssos were still very popular in Lleida. The most successful runners included: Miquel Lladó from Castelldans, Francesc Batalla from Vilanova de Segrià, Bonaventura Tilló from Cal Pitxell, Ramon Bellmunt from Cal Matabous, Joan Morell from Arbeca; Bonaventura Baldomà from Roselló; Jaume Florensa from Corbins, and Jaume Gòdia from Alpicat.

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Miquel Lladó “Lo Sirera” from Castelldans, with the lamb he won in Albagès at the Festes de les Fonts (1886). INSTITUT D’ESTUDIS ILERDENCS

his “Costum de la terra”, won second prize. The races were announced in the press. In 1906 El Pallaresa (Lleida) refers to races in Guissona, Aitona, Alcarràs, Bellpuig and Pons. The prizes varied and the winner did not always receive a lamb. In 1907 the first prize in the race at Alcarràs was a calf, while the second was a lamb. Moreover, in that period, a new trend emerged in Lleida when runners began to win cash prizes. In 1906 we find a cós de la cordera in the Camps Elisis park. In 1907 some races were held there with cash prizes, although the lamb and

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Sant Eloi cós in Tàrrega. 1920s. The runners have a piece of bread in their mouths. PHOTOGRAPH GUMERSINDO PASCUAL. PRIVATE COLLECTION OF PACO PASCUAL

the chickens were also awarded. The 5 km provincial race was won by Bonaventura Tilló from Arbeca, followed by Francesc Batalla from Vilanova de Segrià. The winner received fifty pesetas and the runner up twenty. Other races were organised for local athletes, members of the military and runners aged under 15. Other novelty events were also included, such as the sack race and the pitcher race, over 450 metres.9

As soon as the race began, Prat took the lead, impressing everyone with his strong, elegant style. By the end of the race he had built up a lead of two minutes over the second to finish and was universally acclaimed for his speed. We offer our congratulations to this friendly sportsman, whose fine performance was a pleasure for lovers of athletics to behold.” (Editorial, 1912: 2)

The foot races (curses pedestres)10 held in the counties of Lleida had a considerable reputation, leading some of the finest Catalan athletes to take part. They included Pere Prat, undoubtedly the first star of Catalan athletics, champion of Catalonia in long-distance and cros11 from 1911 to 1917 and Spanish cross-country champion in 1916 and 1917. Pere Prat, the champion Catalan runner, honoured us by taking part in the cós de la cordera event held in Balaguer each year during the Sant Crist festivities. He is a magnificent figure, tall and admirably proportioned with a bull’s neck and deep chest. The other competitors included some very good runners but he eclipsed them all.

During the festa major in Lleida in 1914 Pere Prat ran against Bonaventura Tilló, probably the best of the Lleida runners. Prat won all the races plus the high jump12. The following year the events in the Camps Elisis had become an “Olympic celebration”, which also served to publicise the newly created Catalan Athletics Federation. As well as the usual races, other events were included (races over 100 m, 800 m and 10,000 m, 200 m hurdles, high jump, long jump, shot put and discus). The 10 km race was again won by Pere Prat, second place going to Bonaventura Tilló13. In Tàrrega, in the 1924 Sant Eloi cós, the lamb, i.e. the first prize, was won by the distinguished FC Barcelona runner Ramón Bellmunt from Arbeca, second place going

El Ideal (1907) 14 and 15 May; El Pallaresa (1907) 14 May.

Cursa pedestre: “A sport consisting of walking or running” (IEC, 1995: 1374).

Cros: “Athletic race on an uneven marked course in open country” (IEC, 1995: 528)

El Pallaresa (1914) 16 May.

“En Lérida” (1915) In El Mundo Deportivo, 15 May: 4. “Ferias y Fiestas de Lérida” (1915) In El Pallaresa, 15 September 1915.

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to Joan Morell, also from Arbeca. In 1932 this traditional race was still being held and even inspired the occasional verse: “The runner from Preixana; the runner from Cedó; and others who never missed a cós in the festa major” (Torrebadella, 2011: 433). During the first third of the twentieth century, in some towns, such as Lleida and Tàrrega, there was a progressive sportization of the cóssos, evidenced by the presence of experienced athletes who took part with a view to winning money. Some towns stopped holding traditional races but others tried to preserve them. The cóssos continued to be popular but over time, especially with the success of football from the 1920s on, the number declined. From cursa pedestre to cross country We now move to Barcelona, the first place in Catalonia to host modern sports and the first races for athletes, which would subsequently spread throughout the country. However, we also find a long tradition of foot races here. The participants were the andarins, the popular name used in Spain for people charged with taking personal letters or packages from one place to another, covering long distances on foot. The andarins knew the region well and used mountain paths and passes where only a man on foot could get through. With the growth of the railways, carriage services and the national post, these walkers gradually lost their occupation.

In nineteenth century Barcelona we find records of some of these individuals, who went to the city to take part in races and win money. On 14 September 1837 the Diario de Barcelona announced that: “At half past four this afternoon Francisco Bonilla will set off from one end of the Paseo de Gracia, running to the other end and back four times. He is informing the public so that they can witness his speed and agility. He is not being paid to run but will be grateful for any donations spectators care to make.”

Physical demonstrations, challenges and wagers related to walkers were very popular during the nineteenth century. On occasion walkers even challenged the best horsemen, their exploits usually being recorded in the press. El Áncora on 25 February 1854 listed some of the achievements of Catalan walkers, in connection with the journey from Vic to Barcelona completed by a young walker in five and a half hours. In the 1880s some walkers used their skills professionally and went from town to town publicly challenging any young runner who dared to bet against them. Barcelona was a focal point for for most of these walkers. They included Bargossi, the famous Italian walker, known as the “locomotive” because of his ability to keep running over long distances. He is said to have beaten all his challengers and his skills were compared with the achievements of other Spanish walkers. On 29 October 1882 Bargossi arrived in Barcelona with a view to offering various displays in the bull-ring. The first was on the day he arrived. He offered a prize to anyone who could run round the ring more times than he did in one hour. He ran against a young fisherman who, although he did not beat the Italian, ran round the ring 125 times (Bargossi managed 139 despite the fact that he had walked there from Sabadell only a few hours earlier). In the second race, on 1 November, he ran against a man riding a horse, spurred on by a bet of 2,000 reales. The winner would be whoever ran round the ring most times in two hours. The horse could not complete the two hours and stopped after an hour and a quarter, having completed 123 circuits (Bargossi himself ran two more) (Torrebadella and Arrechea, 2015). This outstanding athlete was also remembered for his races against the Aragonese runner Mariano Bielsa (nicknamed “Chistavín”) (Adell, 1998). In La Vanguardia for 17 November 1882 we see that the “running craze” was in the news, as two Catalan walkers, Josep Biosca

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and Pascual Ruano, waiters at busy cafés in the Rambla, planned to run a long race with a view to emulating the achievements of Chistavín. Josep Biosca, from Fonollosa in El Bages, challenged Pascual Ruano to run a straight 2-kilometre race for a bet of 23 pesetas. On the day of the race a large crowd had assembled on the Rambla, some of them betting on the runners. Biosca, “27 years old, single, tall, dark, neither handsome nor ugly to be honest” won by over 30 metres (Editorial, 1882: 1). These races took place frequently and were very popular, attracting large crowds, who laid bets on the participants. Their success also led to their inclusion in the programme of festivities for the Universal Exhibition in 1888. One such race was on Saturday 1 September in the Parc de la Ciutadella, with

the participation of “famous national and foreign runners” (Editorial, 1888: 3). In the press of the time we find references to some runners from other regions who came to Barcelona to compete with local athletes. They included Pere Orcal Monsech. “On Sunday there will be a race between walkers. Pedro Orcal Monsech from Caspe challenges his fellow countrymen to complete the following course in 25 minutes: Ronda de San Pablo, Ronda de San Antonio, Ronda de la Universidad, Ronda de San Pedro and back to the start. The race will begin at 6 p.m.” (Editorial, 1890: 2) Pere Orcal was the best runner in Barcelona for a decade, taking on all the runners who visited the city. One of them was the French runner M. Davy.

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“Next Sunday at four p.m. two runners, one French and the other Spanish, will be racing against each other. The first is M. Davy, who was challenged to a race by Pedro Orcal, from Aragon, almost as soon as he set foot in the city. The competitors will run laps along Calle de Cortes between Plaza de Tetuán and Paseo de Gracia. The race will continue for three hours without stopping, from four p.m. until seven. The amount wagered by the athletes is 1,000 pesetas and the winner will be the runner who has completed the most laps within the time limit. (Editorial, 1892: 2) The spectacle of the cursa pedestre continued almost to the end of the nineteenth century, when the movement to regenerate physical education changed the orientation of these

events with the formation of the first gymnastics associations and the development of contemporary sport. Towards the end of the nineteenth century gymnasiums and sports associations in the city tried to modernise foot races, emulating those organised by athletics associations in England and France. Alberto Maluquer (1916) offers some details regarding these early modern races held in Barcelona: “The first race of which we have any record was organised in Barcelona on 9 December 1898 by Jaime Vila, an instructor at the “Tolosa” gymnasium, who was distinguished in many areas. To demonstrate the value of his training he prepared his pupils Julián García, Ismael Alegría and Eusebio García (the current master of arms), who, together with fencing instructor Eduardo Alessón and Jaime Vila himself ran from the gymnasium in Calle Duque de la Victoria

Reproduction of advertisement (1883). Reto. La Vanguardia (22 November 1883)

From the cós and cursa pedestre to cross-country and running

to Sarriá and back, a distance of about 14 kilometres, at 5 in the morning, taking only 55 minutes and experiencing so little fatigue that after breakfast they went for a cycle ride.” (Maluquer, 1916: 15-16) On 10 December 1899, as reported by Alberto Maluquer (1916), an 800-metre race (organised by the “Los Deportes” association) was held as part of a sports festival in Carrer de la Indústria, opposite the “Blau” factory. A total of 8 runners took part, including Juan Gamper, who had recently founded Barcelona Football Club. Albert Serra, sports editor of La Vanguardia wrote a report on the race declaring that this sport was “almost new” in Spain (Serra, 1899: 3). In the same year the fortnightly journal Los Deportes included an item saying that Barcelona Football Club planned to organise all kinds of contests and athletic events including cross-country and other foot races (Los Deportes, 1899). The Club can thus be considered as a major contributor to the birth and growth of Catalan athletics. Albert Serra outlined the popularity foot races were gaining among English and French sportsmen. The purpose of emphasising this point was none other than to encourage people to take part in races, after those organised by the Spanish Gymnastics Federation (1898-1909) and Hispania AC and Barcelona FC, “whose members include some very good runners, as we shall see in the first festivities organised by these sports associations” (Serra, 1900: 3). As we can see, these races were considered “sport”, a word whose meaning was clarified by Josep Elias (1900: 2): “We may say that SPORT, a word used widely today although many people do not know what it means, refers to any exercise in the open air. The term comes from English, as a variation of “disport”, which in turn comes from the old French, and indeed old Catalan, “deport” meaning “enjoyment”.

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As Alejandro Barba (ca 1912: 85) says in the early twentieth century: “In Barcelona foot races found a first class centre of organisation, some highly successful events being held there”. In these early years football clubs and gymnastics associations organised a good number of races of different kinds. But it was not until 1907 that foot races became serious events with a high level of participation. That year the famous El Mundo Deportivo race was held in Parc de la Ciutadella (Artemán, 1907). We should mention here the exploit of Bonaventura Tilló, at the age of 25, who expressly walked from Arbeca to Barcelona to take part. He arrived just as the 10,666metre race was about to start. Tired from the long journey, he was unable to perform as he would have wished and he finished fourth behind three excellent French runners. After the race Tilló, who ran barefoot, challenged French champion Bouchard, who had won the race, to run against him the following day for a 400-peseta wager but the runner from Arbeca lost again. Nevertheless, El Mundo Deportivo said that Tilló had clearly won a “moral victory” as “he had no previous knowledge of the terrain, knew nothing about Bonaventura Tilló i Bellmunt, the runner from Arbecas. SANTI TORRAS I TILLÓ

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training methods and reached the finish without any signs of fatigue only a few seconds after his famous foreign rivals” (Artemán, 1907: 2). Tilló was the first Spanish runner to finish in a field of 67, an impressive performance, as his rivals had excellent previous form and were considered professionals. The winner, Luis Bouchard, aged 24, was the French Cross Country champion, the second to arrive, L. Orphee, aged 28, had won the marathon at the Olympic Games in Athens, while the third to finish, E. Neveu, aged 26, was champion of France in 1901, 1902 and 1906. Tilló finished two minutes ahead of the Fonoll brothers, the best runners from Barcelona, who finished fifth and sixth. Seventh to finish was José Tovar from Madrid, champion of the races organised by the Spanish Gymnastics Federation (Artemán, 1907). In the light of this performance, Tilló, a farm worker who enjoyed taking part in cóssos, can be considered the best Spanish runner of 1907. In Barcelona a person who “seems to have come from Arbeca” is someone who is out of touch with reality and some people associate the origins of this saying with the exploits of Bonaventura Tilló, an unknown runner from the west of Catalonia who suddenly appeared in Barcelona and took on the best athletes of the time. Enthusiasm for foot races was the main reason for the creation in 1909 of the “Solé Pedestre Club” (Editorial, 1909: 4). The club had been born in association with the “Solé” gymnasium, whose owner, Manuel Solé, was its president. The head trainer was Manuel Casí, who organised sessions every evening in the Parc de la Ciutadella (Serra, 1909: 8). The Solé Pedestre Club very soon began to organise a large number of races and supported many of the sports events that were being held. On 30 January 1910 the first Spanish Marathon took place in Barcelona. Juan Santos issued an invitation for runners to take part

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in the Eco d’Sports newspaper and the event took place at the Parc d’Esports cycle track, where competitors had to complete 163 laps. Only four runners took part: Juan Santos, Conrad Miquel, Robert Boix and Francesc Túnica (Editorial, 1910: 2).

We already find references to cross-country races in El Mundo Deportivo in 1910 (10 February and 5 May). One was organised by the Athletics Section of Club Natació Barcelona and another by the French Patrie Club and Hoquei Club. We find the following comment about the increasing popularity of cross-country: “As can be clearly seen, there is rapidly growing enthusiasm for cross-country, a sport that is arousing great interest in major cities abroad” (Traceur, 1910).

On 20 December 1914 the first ascent of the Mola de Sant Llorenç del Munt took place, a cross-country race that became one of the most popular events of the time. It was organised by the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya, the Centre Excursionista de Terrassa and the Centre Excursionista de Sabadell (Co de Triola, 1914). The race was held every year until 1922. In 1915, the formation of the Catalan Athletics Federation, promoted by the union of sports journalists and supported by the Acadèmia d’Higiene de Catalunya changed the scenario of races (Santacana and Pujadas, 2012). The Federation associated physical education with racial regeneration, a very fashionable idea at the time, and supported the development of popular physical culture (Cabot, 1915: 178; Nogareda, 1925). In this period Pere Prat ran against the clock to set records14 but he also took advantage of opportunities to take on any rivals who challenged him15. In September 1915 Prat held the Spanish records for 800 metres (2’14”), 1500 metres (4’31”) and 5000 metres (16’19”)16. With the creation of the Commonwealth of Catalonia (1914-1923), presided over

“Pedestrismo” (1915) in La Vanguardia, 26 April: 4. “Pedestrismo” (1915) in La Vanguardia, 12 March: 5.

“Pedestrismo” (1915) in La Vanguardia, 19 February: 6. “Records espanyoles” (1915) in La Vanguardia, 19 September: 5.

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The first ascent to La Mola at Sant Llorenç del Munt became one of the first athletic events in El Vallès. STADIUM (20 NOVEMBER 1915)

by Prat de la Riba and later by Puig i Cadafalch, sport received strong support from the pro-Catalan representatives of the Lliga Regionalista. Sport became the expression of the symbolic capital of a progressive, modern, civilised country, with economic, social and cultural growth that looked to Europe (Pujadas and Santacana, 1995). In the construction of this ideological framework, it was difficult to strike the right balance between tradition and renovation. In the case of races two models coexisted: the cóssos, the popular model established by national tradition, and cross-country running, the foreign bourgeois version strongly influenced by Anglo-Saxon customs, which looked to Europe and favoured modernisation. On 19 December 1915 the sports section of the CADCI organised the Copa Autonomia de Pedestrisme (Editorial, 1915). Soon after this, on 9 January 1916, the first championship of Catalonia was held (now called “cross-country”), a 10-kilometre race in Vallvidrera, which was won by Pere Prat in a field of 58 runners17. A month later, on 6 February 1916 the first Spanish cross-country championship was held in Madrid, Pere Prat, who was running for the Catalan Athletics Federation, again being the winner

(A. A., 1916). The following year, also in Madrid, he won the title again. In December of the same year, the Centre Excursionista de Catalunya organised a race from Argentona to Granollers (Co de Triola, 1916). With this race and the ascent to La Mola the CEC gave new impetus to its mountain sports section. From then on sports associations organised races of many kinds. With clear political connotations, the racing section of the Centre Autonomista organised the Copa Autonomia de Pedes-

“Pedestrismo. Cross- Country Vallmitjana” (1916) in Stadium, 15 January: 38.

Pere Prat was trained by Francesc Antoni Trabal i Sans and was signed up by FC Barcelona. Stadium (31 March 1917). BIBLIOTECA DE CATALUNYA

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trisme (Editorial, 1918). At that time the Commonwealth of Catalonia was engaged in a dispute with the government of Spain over increasing its powers of self-government. In the 1920s awareness grew of the threat of professionalism. Josep Antoni Trabal, director of the Jornada Deportiva and Pere Prat’s trainer, saw sport as a means to achieve the physical and moral regeneration of young people but also warned that financial interests could lead sport towards professionalism. Trabal (1921: 7) said that “any sport that becomes a profession stops being a sport, because professionalism and offices mean subordination and sport is, above all, a school of discipline based on freedom, a means of enjoyment, an instrument for racial regeneration”. In the 1920s Catalan athletics was indeed shaken by professional sport. Medals were no longer important and people spoke of a crisis in athletics. The rivalry between clubs was so intense that some paid money to sign up supposedly amateur runners (Berenguer, 1926; Clark, 1926; Meléndez; Sabater, 1926). The accusations of payments to leading Catalan runners and money paid for signings by clubs like FC Barcelona, led to a crisis within the Federation (J. T., 1926; Trabal, 1926a, 1926b). The Catalan Athletics Federation (1926) suspended the membership of these runners. The crisis involving the clubs and paid signings came to be considered as the “corruption” of sport. The fact that certain clubs tried to attract the best Catalan athletes was considered disloyal to the smaller clubs that had trained them. The monopolistic position of a single club was seen as a deadly attack on the sport, as it undermined the illusions of clubs with limited resources that sacrificed themselves morally and economically (Sabater, 1926). In the 1920s cross-country races were a great success and spread throughout Catalonia. The most popular event, and one

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which is still held, was the Jean Bouin race, organised on 1 February 1920 by El Sport newspaper. The following year the race was organised with the support of the Catalan Athletics Federation and subsequent editions by other sports publications such as La Jornada Deportiva, DíaGráfico and Gráfic-Sport, until it was finally taken over by El Mundo Deportivo, which still organises it today (Pujadas, 2012).

“Atletismo. Rosario Reventos vencedera del primer Cross-Country femenino” (1933) In La Vanguardia, 14 November: 17.

In the 1930s sport with popular roots grew and diversified. The participants reflected the ideological and social conflicts of the era and one could see runners representing the Bloc Obrer i Camperol wearing the hammer and sickle and athletes with the estelada flag representing Catalan independence. A particularly notable feature of the period was the incorporation of women in sport. In the case of athletics it was largely promoted by the publicity issued all over Catalonia by the Club Femení i d’Esports de Barcelona (Justribó, 2015; Real, 1998). On 12 November 1933 the first women’s cross-country race in Spain took place in Torre Baró, Moncada with seven participants18. We can thus see how the traditional cursa pedestre was transformed or disappeared because of the nature of the new athletic events introduced by sports associations, Arrival of Miquel Palau in the Jean Bouin race 1926. Source: Mundo Gráfico (6 January 1926). (BIBLIOTECA NACIONAL DE ESPAÑA)

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which developed international modern sport in Catalonia. From dictatorship to popular races as a revival of democratic sport Popular sport is only possible in a context of democratic freedom. This was not the case in the Franco era, when censorship and repression were always present. The Franco government never encouraged popular sport and limited participation by the public. Even so, cross-country races continued to take place under the supervision of the sports federations and other institutions belonging to the regime such as the Frente de Juventudes and Educación y Descanso.

Returning to Lleida, we find a number of runners who were internationally successful, including Jaume Florensa de Corbins, Ventura Baldomà de Roselló and Luis García (Capdevila, 2012; Torrebadella, 2003), who also took part in the races for a lamb, which still persisted (Suau, 2013). In Lleida Luis García (nicknamed “Paganini”) became a leading trainer and, together with other top Catalan former athletes and coaches, contributed to the growth of cross-country in the 1970s and 1980s. During these decades, the official cross-country races organised by the Catalan Athletics Federation drew the best Catalan and Spanish long-distance

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runners. Examples include the race at Calldetenes, which is the oldest in Catalonia, dating back to 1951, followed by the Sant Sebastià race in Sabadell (1962) and events in Granollers (1964), Manresa (1965), Santa Coloma de Gramenet (1970) and Mataró (1970). During these years the modern cross-country event coexisted with the cóssos, which survived in Lleida, with the participation of leading athletes from Aragon, Lleida and other parts of Catalonia, who could win attractive prizes, now in the form of cash. The coexistence of cross-country and cóssos continued almost to the end of the 1990s. The democratic nature of popular urban races was not restored until the transition to democracy, with the support of local councils, neighbourhood associations and groups of athletes (Abadia, 2014). Towards the end of the 1970s jogging made its appearance, an activity associated with the growing popularity of urban races (Abadia, 2011) and also linked to the individual enjoyment of leisure through healthy physical exercise, separate from activities organised by sports associations (Puig, 1981). The development of such races was boosted by the work of the Comissió de Marathon de Catalunya and Ramon Oliu’s book L’essència del CórThe first cross-country championship of Catalonia in 1934, won by Joaquima Andreu of the Sarrià Esportiu club. Crónica (March 1934). TORRENS (BIBLIOTECA NACIONAL DE ESPAÑA)

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rer (1979). From the 1980s popular races returned to the streets and were used by the public as a symbol of freedom and to express a wide range of ideologies (Abadia, 2014). These years also coincided with a high point in the history of cross-country in Catalonia, with the appearance of promising young athletes like Jordi García and Pere Casacuberta, junior champions in the World Cross-country Championship, in 1980 and 1984, respectively19. Even so, the popular races that are held in Barcelona now, such as the traditional Cursa de la Mercè, the Cursa del Corte Inglés and the Cursa de Bombers, which began as an expression of freedom and personal autonomy, as Lagardera (1996) says, have been completely taken over by the dominant logic of “sportization”. At the end of the twentieth century there have thus been races organised by the federations, the cross-country events, and also popular races for everyone. However, some cóssos have survived, like the race for the lamb in Albesa, held every year on 16 August. In conclusion, some critical comments We have seen how in many Catalan towns in Lleida and Tarragona races for a lamb, or cóssos, had been very popular events since ancient times during festivities for the local patron saint, activities by groups and other celebrations. Subsequently these races were marginalised in the process of sportization that took place, especially in Barcelona, where it was encouraged by the middle classes, and they were progressively discontinued. Modern sports, especially football, eventually reduced traditional sports to a residual role (Brasó and Torrebadella, 2015, Capdevila, 2009, 2012).

During the 1970s the Californian fashion of slow running reached Catalonia and the loan words “jogging” and “footing” were used to describe it. Today running is fashionable

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once again and we use the English word “running” to refer to it. It is a fashion created by the systemic nature of neo-capitalist globalisation. In recent years participation in races has grown rapidly throughout the Principality. They are more popular than ever and there are races of many kinds: extreme events, solidarity races, races for everyone, events with a gastronomical theme, etc., every municipality having its own race. Lastly, there are some races that reconstruct old traditions for commercial purposes or to attract tourists. The ecology of language is also that of the region, its customs and national roots. Why should we lose words, replacing them by others of foreign origin, when the Diccionari de la Llengua Catalana still contains traditional expressions like cós, pedestre and cros, which were previously part of our language and are still valid? Does this mean that we adopt an activity mainly or even exclusively because it comes from abroad? If the activity is part of our own traditions, how is it that we not only fail to promote it but abandon it altogether? Why is it that if the same activity comes from another country we adopt it and its practice becomes generalised? Could it be because, when it is presented to us, it has been manipulated by publicity and this is a concealed strategy for certain economic elites to impose their will? If this were the case, would it not be a morally more worthy objective to support and promote what is already part of our traditions? Would this not also help us to establish objective, critical criteria (for example, in terms of their benefits for society) for prioritising one sporting activity or another? These criteria could be economic or ecological but they could also value activities that are part of the country’s tradition, such as the cóssos. First cross-country, then jogging and now running have replaced the traditional cós.

Carme Valero from Sabadell won the same championship in 1976 and 1977.

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Remembering the popular significance of the cóssos, we would be in favour of reviving traditional sporting activities, because they constitute a common good and because they are not presented to us by economic elites whose purposes are not immediately obvious to us. Today running has become a business with a wide range of intermediaries.

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ning without worrying about records, speed, distance or terrain. n

However, we can still take pleasure in running freely, away from the stress of modern life, running without any obligations, run-

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Abadia, S. (2011) “Deporte, ciudadanía y libertad: la transición en España y el deporte, 1975-1982”. In X. Pujadas (coord.) Atletas y ciudadanos. Historia social del deporte en España, 1870-2010, pp. 89-123. Madrid: Alianza Editorial.

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Serra, A. (1899) “Notas de Sport”. In La Vanguardia, 12 December: 3. Serra, A. (1900) “Notas de sport. Carreras a pie”. In La Vanguardia, 25 October: 3. Serra, A. (1909) “Solé Pedestre Club”. In La Vanguardia, 6 July: 8. Suau, J. (2012) “Aproximació històrica a l’evolució de les curses a peu a la ciutat de Mollerussa”. In Mascançà, 3,85-92. Suau, J. (2013) “El cós o cóssos de la cordera a les poblacions de la comarca del Pla d’Urgell: des dels seus orígens fins al segle XX”. In Mascançà, 4,85-97. Torrebadella-Flix, X.; Olivera-Betrán, J.; M-Bou, M. (2015) “Origin and Institutionalisation of Sports and Gymnastics Associations in Nineteenth-Century Spain (1822-1900)”, Apunts. Educación Física y Deportes, 119: 7-54. DOI: http://dx.doi. org/10.5672/apunts.2014-0983. cat.(2015/1).119.01 Torrebadella, X. (2003) 150 anys d’esport a les terres de Lleida (1850-2000). Lleida: Generalitat de Catalunya. Torrebadella, X. (2011) “El boom de l’esport. Ideologia i Societat a

l’esport targarí (1920-1937)”, Urtx, 25: 423-455. Torrebadella, X. (2012) “Los orígenes de una ciudad olímpica: Barcelona y el asociacionismo deportivo decimonónico ante la gestación de los primeros Juegos Olímpicos”, Citius, Altius, Fortius, 5(2): 91-134. Torrebadella, X.; Arrechea, F. (2015) Orígenes de una Ciudad olímpica. La Vida Gimnástica-deportiva en la Barcelona decimonónica. Madrid: CIHEFE. Torrebadella, X.; Planas, A. (2011) “Del deport a l’esport i de l’esport al deport. Més que una discussió terminològica”, Terminàlia, 3: 2230. DOI: 10.2436/20.2503.01.22 Trabal, J. A. (1921) “Al mergen del fútbol”. In La Jornada Deportiva, 28 November: 7. Trabal, J. A. (1926a) “Serà descalificat en Miquel Palau per professionalitat?”. In L’EsportCatalà, 21 July: 2. Trabal, J. A. (1926b) “Serà descalificat en Miquel Palau per professionalitat?”. In L’EsportCatalà, 28 July: 16. Traceur (1910)“Cross-country”. In El Mundo Deportivo, 27 January: 4. Veblen, T. (2008) Teoría de la clase ociosa. Madrid: Alianza Editorial.

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Francesc Fusté Forné RAMON LLULL UNIVERSITY

PhD researcher in the Faculty of Communications and International Relations Blanquerna, at Ramon Llull University. His research focuses on the study of gastronomy. On the one hand, in relation to its role in the media and as the protagonist of social and cultural change, and on the other, from the geographical and tourism perspective, based on rural development.

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G Introduction

astronomy is defined as the “knowledge of everything that has to do with cooking, the elaboration and composition of dishes, the art of tasting and appreciating food and drinks” (Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2016). Therefore, gastronomy makes up part of the values of any cultural identity, and is transmitted from generation to generation. These values, also linked to the natural environment of each society, are those that help define the way of life and experiences of a particular culture. At the same time, they are projected externally. In this outward projection, or when other people want to find out about a particular foreign culture or get to know it better, in particular its cuisine, the most traditional elements become part of this cultural tour-

This article demonstrates the culture of street food based on its culinary value. We analyse the importance that food, cooking and gastronomy have in a sociocultural context, tourism, and the media. Beginning with some of the most internationally recognised examples of street food, the article focuses on the case of Catalonia, where this phenomenon is consolidating itself as trend in culinary culture.

ism, especially its gastronomic aspects. This is the case of so-called street food, with its beginnings far back in history, and which has become strongly incorporated into the sociocultural, tourism and media context of Catalonia. In other countries, particularly Anglo-Saxon and eastern nations, this culture is much more deeply ingrained, and for this reason we will look at some examples that demonstrate its impact. Street food is an amalgam of products, flavours and smells, and also of cuisines, depending, for example, on the type of product, whether it is vegetarian, or according to its origin, like Hindu food. It is also a phenomenon that is easy to transport anywhere in the world, i.e., it is exportable, both in its form and content, which also presents the problem of food globalisation. One of its most important features is the use of local products in the dishes, which also promotes a development in a very regional sense, something that benefits not

Aquest article mostra la cultura del menjar de carrer a partir del seu valor gastronòmic. Per fer-ho, s’analitza la importància que l’alimentació, la cuina i la gastronomia tenen en el context sociocultural, turístic i mediàtic. A partir també d’alguns exemples més reconeguts internacionalment del menjar de carrer, l’article posa el punt de mira en el cas de Catalunya, on aquest fenomen s’està consolidant com una tendència de cultura gastronòmica.

Keywords: cuisine, food truck, gastronomy, street food, gastronomy journalism, gastronomy tourism Paraules clau: cuina, furgoneta gastronòmica, gastronomia, menjar de carrer, periodisme gastronòmic, turisme gastronòmic Palabras clave: cocina, furgoneta gastronómica, gastronomía, comida callejera, periodismo gastronómico, turismo gastronómico

Este artículo muestra la cultura de la comida callejera a partir de su valor gastronómico. Para ello, se analiza la importancia que la alimentación, la cocina y la gastronomía tienen en el contexto sociocultural, turístico y mediático. A partir también de algunos ejemplos más reconocidos internacionalmente de la comida callejera, el artículo pone el punto de mira en el caso de Cataluña, donde este fenómeno se está consolidando como una tendencia de cultura gastronómica.

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only street food vendors, but also producers. Due to the many different aspects of street food, it is logical that there is growing interest in the phenomenon, both in the media and the academic literature. The importance of gastronomy: culture, tourism and the media Food is a social and cultural value Food refers to the set of products and dishes that make up a particular diet. This is, therefore, very closely related to social and cultural values, as well as the natural environment. On the one hand, nature is the environment that provides the food, and which does so through the primary production activities of agriculture, livestock rearing and fishing. On the other hand, culture plays a fundamental role in food traditions. This is transmitted, for example, through recipes, or at meeting points like producer markets. Intergenerational transmission, which historically has been one of the most important aspects, is also very significant given that this method of oral transmission has, in many cases, been the only way of transferring knowledge between generations.

Nunes de Santos (2007) emphasised that the eating habits of each region differ according to geographic, climatic, sociocultural, and economic conditions, and consequently the cultural habits associated with the cuisine come from the meanings attributed to the foods consumed. In this way, the consumption of a food incorporates symbolic qualities associated with the nature, culture, and identity of an area, while at the same time integrating it into a social context (Bessière, 1998). However, at present it is very easy to find products that are typical on the other side of the world. This should not be a negative issue if food and catering establishments are able to use fresh products from the local area in their preparations. In the case of street food, this fact, added to the speed with which the dishes are made, and the reasonable cost to consumers, results in an attractive combination (Fusté, 2016).

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Gastronomy and its tourist pull There is an increasing interest in getting to know the cuisines of different places. For this reason, gastronomy tourism has been studied from very different perspectives, and has recently led to the publication of an astronomic number of scientific articles both in Catalonia and abroad. Interest in gastronomy lies, in part, in the desire to discover new products, new recipes, and new forms of consumption. In addition, visits to production centres or gastronomic events make up part of the range of possibilities that food tourism offers (Hall and Sharples, 2003). Be that as it may, however, in order to assess the value of gastronomy, it is necessary to look backwards, and this allows us to recognise food as an instrument for regional development (Contreras and Ribas, 2014). In other words, if traditional culinary manifestations are recovered and promoted, they represent a tourist attraction. At the same time, encouraging the development of machinery and proprietary tools, and encouraging the use of local craft products, essentially benefits the region itself (Fusté, 2015). The natural and cultural environment gives each gastronomic tradition an unequivocal sense of authenticity, in such a way that it converts the culinary ingredient into a feature which is attractive for visitors and tourists alike. It should be added that authenticity ought to be understood as the manifestation of a particular identity, without this being altered or adapted as a result of the need to raise its profile or as a way to market it.

At the same time, when a gastronomic product is elevated to the category of tourist product, it generates debate about the capacity for attraction this food possess on its own. Logically, there are gastronomic elements that lead to the movement of tourists (the most widely studied being related to wine). Depending on their degree of maturity, these can be either a primary or secondary motivation. This also varies according to each context, the type of offer, as well as the profile and previous experience of the

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demand. Broadly speaking these could be used to categorise the gastronomic appeal of the three categories of restaurants with Michelin stars, in other words: those that deserve a trip in themselves; those worth visiting; and those that represent a good resource. Either way, food and cuisine are inevitably part of people’s day-to-day activities, making them a product that all visitors and tourists must consume, and which consequently represent a constant business and economic opportunity. This is indeed true of street food, whose target audience also encompasses locals. Cuisine has become a media phenomenon The Institut d’Estudis Catalans (2016) defines cuisine as the “art of preparing food”. When one speaks of art, and looking at the same dictionary, there are two meanings that could be applied here: “the skill or dexterity to do certain things gained through study, experience, and observation”; and also “a system of precepts and standards for doing something well” (Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 2016). Cuisine is, therefore, the set of food preparation methods used by each cook and, by extension each nation. Without forgetting all the previous historical references, nor the most traditional cuisine prepared at home, preparing food as an art has attracted increasing interest in society since the nineteenth century, when cooks began to gain a certain prominence. This is the case of Auguste Escoffier, who is considered one of the first artistes in the kitchen (Hanke, 1989). Escoffier, who had a close relationship with luxury hotels in Paris, was the forerunner of what would become, more than a century later, an unprecedented media storm around food.

In fact, French cuisine continued to predominate at the international level, first with haute cuisine and then nouvelle cuisine, until the definitive consolidation of, mainly Catalan and Basque, chefs that took place at the beginning of the 21st century, and

which culminated in the transition to the molecular cuisine. Currently, the presence of chefs in the media is so strong that they hit the headlines every time they are awarded a Michelin star, or Restaurant Magazine names the world’s best eateries. Television has also played a very important role in this media game, and using chefs in advertising is yet another means of raising their profile in the media. So, when these new stars fly the flag of phenomena such as street food, the impact and visibility of these is multiplied many times over. Street food Research into the street food phenomenon is relatively recent and deals with very diverse aspects, such as food safety (Solomon, 2015), the use of urban space (Newman and Burnett, 2013), and design (Larcher and Camerer, 2015). In general, it seems to be a very trendy topic for research, and for a definition of this phenomenon we can look at Calloni (2013), who defines street food as any food or drink prepared and sold by a travelling vendor using a food stall or mobile cart. At first glance this theoretical definition may seem simple, but we should also consider the fact that it involves a multiplicity of factors, including, for example, agricultural production, food handling, and food transformation, street vending, and, obviously, consumption; in practice it is a complex phenomenon.

Markets, in other words, the selling of products on the street, could be considered the oldest origin of street food. The oldest references to this relate to Ancient Greece and Rome, where food was prepared, sold, and consumed in city streets (Larcher and Camerer, 2015). However, current street food is inevitably associated with the so-called food trucks, or less glamorously, trailers. These street vendors, according to Luque (2015), are first recorded from the second half of the 19th century. In 1872, it occurred

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to Walter Scott that he could sell pies and sandwiches through the streets of Providence (Rodhe Island) in a horse cart. In this way the original cart evolved, and the culinary offer was expanded and broadened. It is considered that the year 2008, when “Roy Choi’s Kogi food truck won over Los Angeles with its Asian barbecue tacos, was the milestone marking the birth of the modern food truck” (Luque, 2015). As well as the American tradition, popular British culinary culture also provides one of the most popular images of street food, associated with the typical food of the coastal areas – fish and chips. Here it necessary to mention the fashion for finger food, linked to examples such as tapas, and other offerings that have become international trends over the past decade, such as Japanese sushi. This custom, of consuming small portions of food, is found in many cultures, particularly in the Mediterranean area, but also in Scandinavian, Latin American, and eastern cultures (for example Chinese dim sum). The role of the phenomenon in each place is different, but in so-called developed societies

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it has become a leisure activity that increasingly attracts more people, either because the products and specialities are valued, or because they are offered to consumers in a more structured way, in the form of establishments, routes or events. Although Gutman, together with Kaufman (1979), were among the first to publish articles on street food, particularly regarding the beginnings of catering in the United States, recently Larcher and Camerer (2015) have confirmed that there is an increasing tendency to eat in the street, and that this is spreading across Europe. In addition to providing culinary products quickly, street food joints can be a platform for promoting a healthy diet as well as gastronomy. Thus, Larcher and Camerer themselves claim that beyond the traditional takeaways, new culinary concepts such as street food, as well as conquering public spaces, also have the ability to help preserve knowledge and values related to food and culinary culture. In short, street food becomes a transmission chain for cultural and social values. It uses

North American food truck trailer (2016). FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

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Poster at a catering establishment in the Born district, Barcelona (2016). FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

local products, it demonstrates characteristic features of food in a particular place, in some cases it helps promote traditional recipes, and at the same time it becomes a tourist resource. In addition, it brings us closer to the cuisine of the media, that which advocates recovering typical dishes and knows how to reinterpret the traditional (Hobsbawm and Ranger, 1983). The success of this phenomenon is also driven by two factors: on the one hand, media chefs have been promoting a culture of finger food, and

on the other, social media networks have contributed to expanding the phenomenon in a way that was unimaginable not so many years ago. The case of Catalonia As we have seen above, the street food phenomenon is as old as trade related to food. For example, Catalonia has a long tradition of agricultural produce markets, which at the same time show the authenticity of the cuisine based on the products. “The essence

Anglo-Saxon tradition of fish and chips (2015). FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

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of Catalan gastronomy can be found in the markets. Escudella, cap i pota, carn d’olla, bacallà amb samfaina, xato, escalivada, esqueixada, suquet... our grandmothers have always known it, and the great chefs confirm the same: the success of a dish does not start in the kitchen, but in the raw material, and the markets are a sure way to find the best ingredients” (Exposito, 2005). For its part, tapas, also offered at street outlets, is another of the most easily exportable elements of our cuisine. As we understand it today, the phenomenon of street food began to gain prominence in Catalonia from the middle of 2013, and did so “with all the characteristics of a gastronomic bubble” (Luque, 2015). According to Rius (2015), this phenomenon “also benefits from the world-wide gastronomic boom, and the hook represented by vintage vans converted into innovative kitchens that people had so far only seen in movies and on TV series”. This bubble, it seems, is still expanding, and associations have already sprung up that in some way manage Catalonia’s street food. Examples of these

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include the Catalan Association of Food Trucks and Catalonia Street Food. These types of initiatives serve to bring together a range of products and at the same time raise the profile of the various activities related to street food. The sociocultural context of the street food culture in Catalonia has evolved from a culinary subsistence system linked to the markets, as mentioned above, to a fashionable gastronomic system, in the context of a consumer society that increasingly dedicates the majority of its leisure time to eating out. So this evolution can be seen when analysing producers and sellers, as well as consumers. For the first group, the street food phenomenon represents a diversification that allows them to sell their products through the many possibilities offered by the dishes. For consumers, street food satisfies a set of needs that, understood from the perspective of a postmodern society, are based on a unique appearance, the consumption of a cool product and social interaction – both physical and virtual – as key motivations.

Example of a food truck (2016). FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

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The main format for publicising and consolidating street food in Catalonia has involved events, and most typically, food trucks. Some events are structured around these vans, and others, increasingly, use them as a complementary offer. Examples of events that have received the most media coverage include Van Market, Eat Street Barcelona, and Palo Alto Market. Another example is Born Street Food, where restaurants in the area prepare specific dishes in the street food format. However, street food festivals are not exclusive to Barcelona and its metropolitan area, and other areas of Catalonia also host important events such as Rec Street Food, in Igualada. All are gastronomic festivals with a varied culinary offer that expands as the editions progress. This also shows how well they are received by the public. Regardless of the type of event, it is the products and dishes that are the key to this phenomenon. Because of this, there is a very wide range of products that can be found in these street food establishments. For this reason, we consider it advisable to propose a classification scheme (Table 1), which, while not intended to list each and

every culinary possibility, can be used to obtain gain an overview of the dimension of the phenomenon, and may be useful for future research on street food from the point of view of the products and offerings available. Table 1 shows a wide variety of products, as well as cuisines, from the point of view of type of food as well as origin. It should be pointed out that this classification is not exhaustive, and there are possible duplications related to some products, such as crepes and brochettes, among others, that can be either sweet or savoury. The diversity of products, then, is one of the main advantages of street food. It is able to satisfy a very heterogeneous demand, as, thanks to the informality of the service, a variety of culinary products can be consumed in the same space. This includes cuisines that have dominated the street food tradition, such Asian cooking. In addition, we should highlight all those categories in Table 1 that refer to vegetarian or vegan options, as well as products with no gluten, lactose, or sugar, as this shows concern for different groups.

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Example of a food truck (2016). FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

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Table 1: Proposed classification of gastronomic products found as street food. SWEET PRODUCTS

SAVOURY PRODUCTS

DRINKS

CHEFS

Crepes

Tortillas

Pasta

Shakes

Argentine cuisine

Croissants

Salads

Potatoes

Coffee

Artisan cuisine

Cupcakes

Bagels

Fish

Beer

Brazilian cuisine

Doughnuts

Brochettes

Piadinas

Cocktails

Grilled food

Meat

Pinchos

Slushes

Fusion cuisine

Ice cream

Ceviches

Pizzas

Horchata

Italian cuisine

Waffles

Croquettes

Rotisserie chicken

Smoothies

Japanese cuisine

Frozen yoghurt

Curry

Sausages

Juices

Mediterranean cuisine

Muffins

Couscous

Sandwiches

Tea

Mexican cuisine

Cakes

Cured sausages

Soups

Chocolates

Organic cuisine

Xurros

Empanadas

Sushi

Vermouths

Thai cuisine

Baguette

Tapas

Wines

Taiwanese cuisine

Burgers

Omelettes

Vegan cuisine

Hot dogs

Wok

Vegetarian cuisine

Paella

Wraps

Gluten-free Lactose-free Sugar-free

At the same time, you can see a wealth of food choices from other cuisines, as well as some traditionally associated with fast food establishments. As we saw at the beginning, this does not have to mean falling into the industrialisation of gastronomy. Indeed, one of the driving forces behind street food is the use of local products. In fact, dishes that include local products are a way of transmitting the authenticity of the landscape, which directly benefits the producers, and consequently, the development of the zones where primary sector activities predominate, as mentioned earlier. This brings this phenomenon closer to the idea of “km0” products, those with zero food miles, as part of the slow food movement, represented by artisan or organic cuisine. However, there is an unavoidable contradiction that future research on the subject could deal with: the fact that street food, in a way an example of fast food, is becoming

increasingly popular as being healthy, sustainable and using local produce. In addition, the different ways of eating in the street bring us into direct contact with the seller, who in this case is also the cook, and who may in some cases also be the producer. This represents an added value that other forms of catering do not have, and establishes the authenticity of the transmission between vendors and customers. A final element to keep in mind is the role that food trucks can play in bringing life to public spaces. The aesthetics and designs of these vehicles are an increasingly important factor that, up to a certain point, can be associated with temporary or ephemeral art. At the moment this is still an emerging trend in Catalonia, mainly linked to various themed events or providing street food as a complementary offer, but it is gradually

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expanding, as well as being regulated and studied. Conclusions As Rius (2015) states, “eating in the streets is a fashion.” It must be pointed out, however, that this fash-

ion differs depending on the society. Thus, while in developing countries, street food is an essential part of everyday life for people, in the countries of the so-called Western world, it is becom-

ing a lifestyle and a genuine trend (Larcher and Camerer, 2015). Either way, one of the differential features of street food is that it is part of a nation’s culinary culture, and as such affects its sociocultural development.

Street food at a fair in Reus (2016). FRANCESC FUSTÉ FORNÉ

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Street food has many values, including its tourist appeal and its media component, thanks to the efforts of cooks such as Ferran Adrià, among many others, in the promotion of finger food. As we have seen, celebrity chefs have been a key element in raising the visibility of an ancestral tradition. Another example is the Roca brothers from El Celler de Can Roca who dipped their toes into the food truck phenomenon. This form of food benefits various sectors in many ways, as shown in the case of Catalonia. One of the objectives of street food is to demonstrate the close relationship between producers, vendors, the region, and healthy eating. In this sense, there are several areas that could be explored in future research on

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the street food phenomenon where debates are begun on topics such as the empirical study of to what point food trucks and markets are suppliers of local products, the profile of the consumers, what benefits are there and can there be from the relationship between celebrity chefs and street food, and what impact the events surrounding this phenomenon have in Catalonia, both as a way of bringing life to urban spaces and as a method for developing rural environments. n

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Bessière, J. (1998). “Local development and heritage: Traditional food and cuisine as tourist attractions in rural areas”, Sociologia Ruralis, 38(1): 21-34. Calloni, M. (2013). “Street food on the move: A socio-philosophical approach”, Journal of the Science of Food and Agriculture, 93: 3406-3413. Contreras Hernández, J; Ribas Serra, J. (2014). “Sobre la construcció social del patrimoni alimentari”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 39: 84-94. Expósito, J.M. (2005). “Mercados para todos los gustos”. El Periódico, September 5, 2005. Fusté Forné, F. (2015). “El turisme gastronòmic: autenticitat i desenvolupament local en zones rurals”, Documents d’Anàlisi Geogràfica, 61(2): 289-304. Fusté Forné, F. (2016). “Los paisajes de la cultura: la gastronomía y el patrimonio culinario”, Dixit, 24: 4-16.

Gutman, R.; Kaufman, E. (1979). American diner. New York: Harper and Row.

Luque, J. (2015). “Contra la moda de los food trucks”. El País, September 17, 2015.

Hall, C.M.; Sharples, L. (2003). “The consumption of experiences or the experience of consumption?: An introduction to the tourism of taste”. In C.M. HALL, L. SHARPLES, R. MITCHELL, N. MACIONIS i B. CAMBOURNE (eds.). Food tourism around the world: Development, management and markets, 1-24. Oxford: Elsevier.

Newman, L.L.; Burnett, K. (2013). “Street food and vibrant urban spaces: lessons from Portland, Oregon”. Inside Local Environment: The International Journal of Justice and Sustainability, 18(2): 233-248

Hanke, R. (1989). “Mass Media and Lifestyle Differentiation”. Journal of Communication, 11: 221-238. Hobsbawm, E.; Ranger, T. (1983). The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: University Press. Institut d’Estudis Catalans (2016). Diccionari de la llengua catalana. <http://dlc.iec.cat> [Consultation: December 2, 2016] Larcher, C.; Camerer, S. (2015). Street food. Temes de Disseny, 31: 70-83.

Nunes Do Santos, C. (2007). “Somos lo que comemos: identidad cultural y hábitos alimenticios”, Estudios y perspectivas en turismo, 16(2): 234-242. Rius, M. (2015). “El menjar de carrer triomfa”. La Vanguardia, June 29, 2015.

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The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony

t is true that industrialisation, its development and influence – a process that began between 1830 and 1840 – is one of the most discussed chapters in Catalan economic history. It is no less true that often the works that offer a “Catalan” perspective on this topic are based on the predominant and leading role of Barcelona and its immediate surroundings. However, the map of the main industrial concentrations in Catalonia of the 19th and 20th centuries (Izard, 1968: 42) shows the existence of other centres which, in the mid-19th century, suggest an industrial reach beyond the Barcelona area (Nadal, 1975: 198). These are areas which, apart from the Maresme, Baix Llobregat, Garraf and Barcelonès areas, are not located on the Catalan coast, but in the so-called “interior” or “hinterland” of Catalonia. They include counties such as Anoia, Vallès Occidental, Bages, Alt Penedès and Osona. In recent years, several studies and initiatives have been published with the aim of highlight-

ing this industrialisation that began in a wider Catalonia. The corollary of factories and industrial colonies that extends across various parts of Catalonia’s interior remains a very significant image in the region’s landscape and a heritage which, in many cases, is still in the process of disappearing.

The article is about the Gallifa factories located in Les Masies de Voltregà and the model of factory and industrial colony they assume, as well as their role in the industrialisation process of the Voltreganès area (Catalonia). The article explains the links these factories had with the area’s textile past, their relationship with the area’s resources, the morphology of the industrial colony they make up and how they have affected the new ways of life and the socio-economic transformations of the area in which they are located.

L’article gira entorn del model de fàbrica i colònia que presenten les fàbriques de Gallifa de les Masies de Voltregà, així com del seu paper en el procés d’industrialització de l’àrea del Voltreganès. Per això es plantegen els vincles d’aquestes fàbriques amb el passat tèxtil del territori, la seva relació amb els recursos de l’entorn, la morfologia de colònia que desenvolupen i la seva incidència en les noves formes de vida i en les transformacions socioeconòmiques de l’àrea en la qual s’inscriuen.

This article is a direct result of research that proposes the recovery and analysis of the tangible and intangible heritage of the so-called “Gallifa factories” located in the Ter basin, specifically in the town of Les Masies de Voltregà (Osona). They were a cotton yarn factories which, following the trail of rural industry, were established upstream and remained in operation for almost a hundred years, from the end of the 19th century up until the last decade of the 20th century. The study is not limited to creating an inventory of the entire heritage that can be drawn from these factories, rather it aims to give this heritage a wider dimension and to delve deeper into the historical reality it holds. In any case, it represents a micro-

Marina Cirera Gaja MUSEU DEL TER

A History graduate and external collaborator of the Museu del Ter in research and dissemination tasks since 2014. Author of the unpublished work Una història a la intempèrie: la fàbrica i colònia de Gallifa, coordinated by Pere Casas.

Keywords: Ter basin, industrial colony, Gallifa factories, oral history, intangible heritage Paraules clau: conca del Ter, colònia industrial, fàbriques de Gallifa, memòria oral, patrimoni immaterial Palabras clave: cuenca del Ter, colonia industrial, fábricas de Gallifa, memoria oral, patrimonio inmaterial

El artículo gira alrededor del modelo de fábrica y colonia que presentan las fábricas de Gallifa de Les Masies de Voltregà así como de su participación en el proceso de industrialización del área del Voltreganès. En este sentido, se plantean los vínculos de estas fábricas con el pasado textil del territorio, su relación con los recursos del entorno, la morfología de colonia que desarrollan y su incidencia en las nuevas formes de vida y en las transformaciones socioeconómicas del área en la cual se inscriben.

The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony

view of the national and continental phenomenon of industrialisation. The reduction of the study scope, focusing on the specific case of a textile factory, allows for a more in-depth look at everything that is developed around it, the dynamics that develop and the impact all this has on peoples’ way of life. The purpose of this approach is to highlight what similarities and differences exist between this specific case and the more generic and “Catalan” statements regarding industrialisation, thus seeking to offer a more dynamic view of this period of our history. When we talk about rural industrialisation – particularly understood in terms of the exploitation of the Ter and Llobregat rivers – the paradigmatic model for industrial colonies – developed, planned and autonomous – is often placed at the centre of the whole explanation. This ignores the presence of factories which, despite being located in the same river basins, adopted the factory system or urban factory model. It also eludes to the existence of industrial experiences that present other forms of development and organisation of the industrial colony model. Besides being a few cotton yarn factories, the Gallifa factories gave rise to various residential spaces for their employees. In a way, this brings the case of these factories closer to the category of industrial colony. However, the final form that they acquired, the organisation system they developed, as well as the reasons that impelled this development show a rather specific case of factory construction. Gallifa is very far from examples such as the industrial colonies of Güell (Baix Llobregat), Ametlla de Merola (Berguedà) or Borgonyà (Osona), but in the long run this allows us to question whether Gallifa is an exception or whether it is consistent with other cases of the river Ter in Osona. Without trying to establish new models, the case of Gallifa highlights the existence of other manufacturing arrangements that dif-

fer from the most accepted models. After all, trying to understand what type of factory-colony we are talking about means addressing the ways in which human activities on the land have adapted and developed and what ways of living derive from this process. This is why it is necessary to raise issues such as resources, industrial origin and socio-economic structures that are developed around these factories in question. Heritage, sources and methodology On 22 April 2014, the partial demolition of the Gallifa factories began due to the bad state the architectural complex had been in for a long time. The intervention affected the factories that had been the two most important manufacturing sites and which housed virtually the whole production process. These two buildings were given the name la Nova – located in the north of the complex – and la Vella1 – in the south –, and the Gallifa factories were always made up of two factories which were independent but had a particular form of coexistence and operation. The demolition also partially affected the space that for many years had been occupied by the small weaving work-

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shop known as Can Rovira and much earlier as Can Borra. However, the two storage warehouses, the gatehouse and the housing of a manager and of a locksmith are still standing today – albeit in a somewhat advanced state of deterioration. Apart from all these spaces, the Gallifa factories also had a block which housed the director of the la Vella factory and a house in the style of the usual master’s home, although it was never occupied by this person, rather by the director of the la Nova factory. All of them were buildings next to the factories and, consequently, erected right on the banks of the Ter, two kilometres from the town of Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà. The only architectural element that is still in good condition and still performs its original function is the three blocks of housing that were built for the workers in these factories during the 1950s: the so-called Sant Salvador Group. It is obvious, therefore, that when we talk about the Gallifa factories, we are faced with a case where much of the architectural heritage is on the verge of disappearing. Disappearing at a similar rate is the so-called intangible heritage, which in this case is essentially the direct testimonies of the life of these factories: former workers as well as

Current appearance of a part of the Gallifa factories (2014). MARINA CIRERA. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TER

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people with other significant links to Gallifa. Living memory is a unique source of information about ways of life and everyday life that is often left out of documentary records. In addition, in many cases it is through these same testimonies that another kind of heritage is found: photographic material and movable property. The research on the Gallifa factories, entitled Una història a la intempèrie: la fàbrica i colònia de Gallifa2, began in the same year as its partial demolition, 2014, as a result of the “9th Conference of grants for cultural research or diffusion projects of the Ramon Muntaner Institute”. The project contains a significant element of creating an inventory of heritage, essentially focused on three types: architectural assets, made up of the fourteen manufacturing buildings and the three blocks of housing of the Sant Salvador Group; graphic material, consisting of eightyeight photographs; and intangible assets, consisting of the oral memory emanating from the recorded testimonies of sixteen informants3. In this sense, the sample of testimonies tries to maintain a correspondence with the reality of the factory during the mid-20th century and thereafter. As such, the research has sought to ensure the number of former workers interviewed is in proportion to the number of workers in each of the three factories, the quantitative and qualitative weight of women as a majority labour force during those decades has been sought and, at the same time, maximum diversity has been sought in the profiles of those interviewed in order to obtain a broad perspective. On the other hand, historical-documentary research has also played an important part in the research on these factories. This line of work combines the information from several local and regional historical archives as well as administrative records, since any private archives or collections regarding the Gallifa

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factories remain untraceable and/or have been lost. In this sense, the documentation provided by the Mercantile Registry and the Property Registry is essential, as are different documents obtained with statistical information that are stored by local archives in particular. After finishing the research phase, the project was closed with a traveling exhibition opened in February 2016, which has been exhibited in spaces such as the town hall of Les Masies de Voltregà and the Museu del Ter.

a supporting role. However, the indepth study of the case of the Osona region and in particular the Plain of Vic shows that as early as 1831 there was an important industrial concentration in the region (Albareda, 1981: 54). Manlleu, the industrial capital of El Ter, had seen important industrial initiatives already emerge in 1840 (Bayón, 2008: 35), and by 1850, between the five municipalities of Vic, Manlleu, Roda de Ter, Torelló and Sant Vicenç de Torelló there were eighteen weaving factories in operation.

Textile origins The foundation of the Gallifa factories is first referred to in 1890, when the old factory, known as la Vella, and the Can Borra / Can Rovira weaving workshop came into operation. It was not until twenty years later, in 1910, that the new factory, la Nova, would be commissioned. Both dates are rather late in relation to when industry was established on the Plain of Vic. In the general and economic books on Catalan industrialisation, rural or inland industry is first referred to from 1860, when the contribution of these areas began to have a greater impact on wider Catalonia, although it always played

The name of Les Masies de Voltregà does not appear in this series of chronological and statistical findings, although like the other towns mentioned, the Ter river also ran through it. It was not until 1872 that the factory of Fortià Moreta and B. Darhis, which would later be known as Can Riva, was erected. This is considered one of the first factories of the Voltreganès area4 , after the factory of La Farga was set up a coupe of decades earlier. There is a certain delay in the start-up of industrial activity in the Voltreganès area compared to other municipalities of Osona, or in any case a slower industrialisation process, which has led it to be defined

fig. 1: Ubicació de les filatures del Voltreganès.

The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony

as an example of late industrialisation within the context of the area (Albreda, 1981: 109). All in all, it shows that the appearance of the Gallifa factories in the last decade of the 19th century is not related to any economic matter but rather to structural questions related to the local idiosyncrasy. Before continuing, it is essential to mention that the Voltreganès area is a territory made up of three municipalities. On the one hand is Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà which, with an area of 0.97 km², essentially urban and with a high population density, is completely enclosed and limited by Les Masies de Voltregà. The latter is a municipality of 22.4 km² and in the period in question it had an agricultural profile with a dispersed urban structure. It is through Les Masies de Voltregà that the Ter river passes and, consequently, it became the town where the factories of industrialisation were built. Finally, Santa Cecília de Voltregà, with an area of 8.6 km², lies to the south of the Voltreganès area and even today it is the municipality with the lowest population and with an essentially agricultural profile. The current collection of towns that make up the Voltreganès area date back to the late 18th century and grew precisely because of the significant importance which textile manufacturing had for many years in Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà. Since the 17th century, this town had been growing its drapery and wool activities, becoming the main cloth manufacturing centre in Osona thanks to its exports. It had the largest volume of local production of this product and in 1780 it accounted for 25% of the looms on the Plain of Vic (Pladevall, 1978: 582, inside Serrallonga, 1986: 76). This economic activity was orchestrated through the trade union organisation, which used the ancient secular structures of many brotherhoods, and was controlled by the Voltregà cooperative. The boom situation for the craftsmen-wool workers began to

decline after 1780, causing economic and demographic decline in the area defined by the Brotherhood of Wool Workers and Weavers of Sant Hipòlit (Serrallonga, 2000: 176). The wool crisis accentuated the conflicts that had been waged between the guildmen and agricultural owners over the distribution of communal lands. This would result in territorial segregation in 1796, in which the area of Sant Hipòlit was allocated to the wool workers and Les Masies to the farmers. While it is true that in the initial years of the 19th century the wool crisis – which had begun twenty years earlier – led to a deteriorating of textile manufacturing in the Voltreganès area, the question remains regarding why, despite its old textile tradition, the area was late in adopting the industrialisation model. In order to understand this discontinuity and the disconnection between the proto-industrial phase and the industrial one, the theories of Torras and Ribé and Torras and Elias are very important (Torras, 1981; 1994). According to these scholars, the transition between the two phases in the case of rural industry depended essentially on the figure of the wool worker5 and the development of their trade. The introduction of cotton in rural areas allowed for a greater intensification of work based on the reduction of wholesale production costs. This led to the separation of spinning and weaving, a greater division of labour and a production intended more for sale than for consumption. It was the wool workers that showed a greater capacity to organise the new largescale production and the rotation of labour distributed among the farms. The wool workers’ progress compared to other trades would not be due to “their contribution of fixed capital, but their capacity to coordinate and manage a rather complex process” (Torras, 1981: 15). This wool worker activity allowed for the accumulation of com-

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mercial capital and at the same time the establishment of an extensive production network that would be essential for the industrial development of these economies. The introduction of cotton in Sant Hipòlit did not occur until the 19th century. It seems that the delay in the new fibre becoming established was due to the strong trade union structures that had been consolidated during the previous decades. The unions’ tight structure had prevented further development of independent wool workers, which would have laid the foundations and structures necessary for the arrival of modern industry (Albreda, 1981: 58). The delay in the arrival of industrialisation in the Voltreganès area and, consequently, the appearance of the Gallifa factories would be due to a lack of initiative, which could be explained by an underlying structural cause, since it was a territory with plentiful resources. Besides all these issues, the industrial model could not be developed by itself through an internal process of maturity of the previous pre-industrial production model. Exogenous causes were necessary that would bring about the changes in the production and the economic organisation. In this sense, it has been established that the decisive element for the implementation of the industrial model in rural economies was the growing demand for printed fabrics known as indianas in Barcelona which, together with the lack of yarns from Malta, led to manufacturers seeking higher levels of production with lower investment in small towns. This explanation has often led to the defence of the thesis of Jordi Maluquer de Motas on the importance of capital from Barcelona in rural industry initiatives, leading such initiatives to remain under a productive and economic hierarchy led by large companies from Barcelona. These companies would act as true capitalists, while the indigenous industrial bourgeoisie would serve as

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a group of “technicians”. This meant “lower economic risks which, together with the lower wages, were attractive enough for capital to be moved into the region’s interior, not to mention the availability of hydraulic energy and the low cost of rents” (Albareda, 1981: 58). If this thesis is taken into account to explain the origin of the initiative and the capital that gave rise to the Gallifa factories, it would seem that we should look to Barcelona for their origin. In a way, accepting this paradigm unreservedly would mean understanding rural industrialisation and the banks of the Ter as a projection of initiatives that radiated from the Plain of Barcelona and ignoring the existence of indigenous industrial models (Ferrer, 1986: 62-70). Opposing this idea based on the predominance of Barcelona, the history of the Gallifa factories reveals that its promoters and capitalists were home-grown, many of which came from lineages linked to the old drapery of Sant Hipòlit. In this regard, the old factory, la Vella, founded under the company name of “Gallifa-Rierola”, was the result of an association between Pau Gallifa Espadamala – heir to one of the most influential houses of the Voltreganès area, the Gallifa house, which owned the land where the factories were

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established and which gave them their name – and Josep Rierola Albó – born in the nearby town of Gurb and with strong links to the textile industry. It goes without saying that the company’s partners changed as the 20th century progressed, leading to a change in the company name: “Rierola, Pugcerinarell i Cia” (1904) and “Roca Albó” (1917). Along with this company, the small fabric workshop of Can Rovira, or Can Borra, was set up inside the same factory complex. The Rovira family had been former wool workers of the Voltregà cooperative and had a long tradition in textiles. The construction of the workshop in Gallifa led to it being incorporated into machining work. The company responsible for the la Nova factory (1910) was “Font, Vigué i Pascual”, formed with capital essentially from the Osona area, its partners having a highly varied profile: from agricultural owners to men already familiar with commerce and the textile industry. This company also changed its owners and in 1913 it was renamed “Baqué, Viguer i Espaulella”. The list of all these names that appear as owners of the companies located in Gallifa shows how, in spite of the stronghold of the textile activity, it was reinstated through home-grown initiative. The availability of capital

Postcard of the Gallifa factories (early 20th century). PHOTOGRAPHER UNKNOWN. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TERV

accumulated by them, along with a certain capacity to convert commercial capital into industrial capital (Vilar, 1986), is undoubtedly what enabled these new entrepreneurs to embark on initiatives of this kind. What is necessary to consider is that the origin of accumulated capital may well not be found in the old manufacturing activities but rather in agricultural activities or modern business initiatives. In 1920, all these companies which until then had occupied the Gallifa factories closed, with the exception of Can Rovira, bringing an end to this phase in their lifespan. In this year, the company “Hilaturas Voltregà, S.A.”, founded with an initial share capital of 3,230,000 pesetas, set up in the la Vella factory and three years later “Hilaturas Marquet, S.A.”, which also began with the same initial share capital figure, did so in the la Nova factory. The two companies were formed by capitalist businessmen from Barcelona and among them, of particular note was the Marsal family, which had had an industrial colony in Cabrera d’Anoia since 1854. Although Marquet and Voltregà were always different companies, at several times some of the partners were shareholders of both companies. This meant that there was always a close connection between the two factories. It is in this second phase of the Gallifa factories, already in the 20th century, that there is really a predominance of capital from Barcelona. In fact, both companies established their economic headquarters in the Catalan capital so that in the factories of Les Masies only manufacturing work was carried out, while the management and marketing tasks were carried out from the offices in Barcelona. As it progressed, industrialisation took on different forms, but in any case Gallifa allows us to support the idea that the development of rural industry was not a unilateral expansion led by Barcelona but rather a process of

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interaction between different contexts and models. The settlement: a question of resources It is virtually indisputable that the establishment of textile industries in the Catalan interior was absolutely related to the river basins of the Ter and the Llobregat and their tributaries. This means that when we refer to these river basins, we do so within the category of riverside factories, since in the vast majority of cases they were built on the shores of the rivers and they used the hydraulic system. Catalan industry was initially projected as an urban phenomenon based on the energy supply of the steam engine and therefore of coal. The scarcity of coal resources from the Catalan subsoil generated a huge “energy bill” due to the imports of minerals – mainly English – which the Catalan factories were obliged to carry out. This situation made use of the energy alternative provided by hydraulic exploitation of Catalan rivers – which was low-cost and widely available in Catalonia. However, the main rivers exploited were rivers with irregular flows that were often affected by periods of freezing or drought. In view of this, virtually all the river factories incorporated a steam engine in order to have complementary energy when faced with insufficient energy from the river, meaning that the desired energy saving could not be achieved in its entirety (Clua, 2001: 30). These circumstances have led people to suggest that in the case of textile colonies, the energy issue was not the real reason for their projection (Terrades, 1994). The real objective pursued by the colonies was social control, isolation, loyalty of the workers towards the owner and the factory, the suppression of class demands and, as a result, the reduction of labour costs more than energy costs. Thus, according to this approach, colonies were not the result of industrial restructuring and relocation, but rather

Gallifa mechanics fixing the turbine belt (1970s). JOSEP MARIA MUSACH. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TER

they represented social restructuring of the industry. Gallifa had river factories that were erected just by the banks of the Ter in Les Masies de Voltregà and, therefore, about two kilometres away from the town of Sant Hipòlit. In relation to the aforementioned issues, these factories in Voltregà are a rather specific case and, unlike most, the Gallifa factories never incorporated the use of a steam engine. The explanation is undoubtedly in the fact that they had a 10m-high waterfall at their disposal, which offered great potential6. With this, the energy that the two turbines could generate – that of la Nova and of la Vella – to mobilise all the machinery through the system of paddocks was highly optimal, which is why they had a capacity of 300 HP each. This privileged location no doubt explains the fact that at the same site two different companies dedicated to cotton spinning were erected, along with the Can Rovira weaving workshop. In addition, this concentration also represented a way to make a profit from infrastructure such as access roads, the canal or the land, thus constituting an early form of industrial estate. Oral

memory interviews have indicated, however, that despite the power of the Gallifa turbines, it was not immune to the variations of the river flow, which kept the factory on hold when water was scarce. In all, these factories could be considered a clear case of hydraulic exploitation and cost optimisation. Establishing the energy factor as the sole cause for the Gallifa factories’ location would be to ignore all the other elements that allow the production process to work. In spite of the mechanisation that took place with industrialisation, manpower remained an essential element with significant costs. In this regard, the fact that mountain salaries were lower than those established in the large urban centres of the coast and the Plain of Barcelona, where the workers’ movement had already begun to effectively apply pressure for wage increases, is a significant factor. Thus, river factories benefited from savings both in terms of energy and also labour, because in the interior the workforce was docile and was still far off entering into social-labour conflicts. Apart from the possibility to exercise greater control over the work-

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Having energy and labour resources was not enough for industrial location. It was necessary to have a communication and marketing network that enabled the transit of raw materials and processed products. The centre of the Plain of Vic was a confluence point of six major historical routes and therefore a large communications centre with a good commercial network within the Catalan interior (Font, 2014: 946). Although Les Masies de Voltregà was unable to have the railway network that connected Sant Joan de les Abadesses to Barcelona pass through its vicinity, it did have a road connection and was quite close to the train station in Manlleu. All this meant that the Gallifa factories remained very close to the main commercial centre that was Barcelona.

Worker in the pocket section of the la Nova factory (mid-20th century). PHOTOGRAPHER UNKNOWN. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TER

force, the availability of labour was indispensable when deciding upon location. Although both Sant Hipòlit and Les Masies were small towns – in comparison to Manlleu, Torelló or Roda de Ter – in 1901 together they had a total of 3,427 inhabitants. Although not a high population figure, there was a good predisposition to convert this into a workforce for the factory. On the one hand, we must keep in mind that Sant Hipòlit did not have any agricultural activity due to its limited

size and high degree of urbanisation. It was, therefore, a population with few economic alternatives, besides manufacturing activities, which were debilitated since the wool crisis of the late 18th century. On the other hand, at the time when the Gallifa factories entered into operation, the only other industry in the area was the aforementioned factory of Fortià Moreta and B. Darhis and, in 1890, that of Ca l’Escola, very close to the Voltreganès area although they belonged to the municipality of Manlleu.

A model halfway between an industrial estate and an urban factory When explaining the industrialisation of the river basins of the Catalan interior, the experience of industrial colonies is often taken as a paradigm. The fact that they are a phenomenon with a significant presence in these areas leads them to often be given a leading role that eclipses all other river factories which remains in an urban location and were based on the so-called factory system. Between 1850 and 1880 on the rivers of Catalonia, a first phase of development of the phenomenon of colonies took place, in which a process of this model’s maturing would be assumed (Dorel-Ferré, 1992: 56). In the case of the Ter, in 1853 the colony of La Colomina had already been founded and in 1857 that of Can Remisa, and it was a little later that much more developed colonies with a certain degree of urban and architectural planning were established. This is the case, for example, of Còdol-Dret (1871) or the colony of Salou (1864) – in Roda de Ter –, although the one that would become a truly extensive

The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony

and autonomous colony would be Borgonyà (1895). What is interesting to ponder is why the Gallifa factories, which were not located in the urban centres of the Voltreganès area, were not planned following the colony model at a time – in 1890 – when this model had already entered its maturity phase. In this sense, the Gallifa factories only adopted some of the actions typical of river colonies: the construction of housing for the two directors, a house for a locksmith, another for a manager and the writer, in addition to the gatehouse. These were measures that sought to resolve the difficulties posed by this location, slightly set away from the population centre. As was common in many cases, providing housing attached to the factory to these positions was a way of ensuring fast action could be taken in the event of an accident or an emergency, but it was also a way of exercising a certain control and presence. One of the elements that facilitated the development of industrial colonies was the different legislative provisions established by the new liberal state. There were a number of laws that were published, until on 3 June 1868 the definitive

provision was established. The most important part of this law was the establishment of fiscal exemptions in contributions provided by agricultural industries located in a rural town and which requested colony status. In Catalonia, only thirty-five colonies were able to benefit from these advantages and specifically in the Osona region only the colonies of Vila-Seca de Torelló, La Mambla d’Orís, Salou and Còdol Dret de Les Masies de Roda managed to do so (Serra, 2010: 243). None of the companies that were located in the Gallifa industrial complex achieved this kind of exemption, meaning the benefits that could be provided by the construction of a colony in relation to the costs were lower. A second action linked to housing was carried out in 1953, when the factories were under the control of the companies “Hilaturas Voltregà, S.A.” and “Hilaturas Marquet, S.A.”. In line with the economic environment in Catalonia, the 1950s were a period of good performance for these factories. As in most of the Catalan industrial

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centres, this situation encouraged the arrival of a large group of families from Andalusia and Murcia. The so-called “Castilians” resolved one of the problems which the Gallifa factories, along with the other industries of the Voltreganès area, had to face in the mid20th century: the lack of labour force. At the same time, rural families continued to abandon the old occupations of the countryside to enter fully into urban life and undertake industrial activities. The profile of these families was perfectly suited to the demands of the factories’ bosses: they represented cheap, unqualified and docile labour. However, what turned out to be a solution to the demand for workers raised the problem of housing. It was therefore necessary to offer this new workforce a place to live, and in this regard “Hilaturas Voltregà, S.A.” initiated the construction in 1949 of the three blocks of flats with a total of eighteen homes that would make up the so-called “Sant Salvador Group”. The peculiarity of the case is that the development was not erected on land adjoining the factories but was built in the middle of the town of Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà. It was clear that the isolation of its workers was not an objective, probably because this would have

Central block of the Sant Salvador Group as it stands today (2014). JAVI FUNES. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TER

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meant organising different services such as a food shop, schooling and a tavern and it therefore would have been a long-term project with uncertain prospects for providing benefits. Therefore, the factories’ relationship with the housing was entirely pragmatic, taking care of functional matters of immediate importance. However, while it is true that the San Salvador Group was unable to isolate its inhabitants-workers from the rest of the population and from possible social conflicts, it is true that it achieved a certain loyalty between the workers and the factory. As the interviewees that had lived in these apartment blocks have explained, the price of rent – 75 pesetas per month during the 1950s and 1960s – was lower than in the rest of the market. The fact that the factories offered a certain number of newly-arrived families not only a place of work but also a house to live in with cheaper rent was a request and, at the same time, a mechanism for fostering loyalty between factory and workers. The fact that their home depended on their link with the factory was a disincentive when it came to considering going to work in another factory.

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Without trying to fall into benevolent interpretations, constructions such as the Sant Salvador Group were an important platform for improving the living conditions of a portion of this immigrant population. In this regard, the testimonies of some of those who arrived in the thirties and forties coincided by commenting on the unhealthy and precarious state in which they had lived in the early years of their residence in Sant Hipòlit. The town’s lateness to incorporate urban planning was undoubtedly the factor that had caused many families – in many cases consisting of six or seven members – to live in 20 m² spaces. This was explained by one of the old residents: “The Group was a major step forward for us because when we arrived there were no houses, not even any free rooms, in Sant Hipòlit. Everything was occupied and in the garages people had pigs”. It goes without saying that despite the improvements offered by this housing development, many large families lived there and therefore the occupation density remained clear. In a way, this aspect was one of the elements that led to the stigmatisation of the so-called “Castilians” and, in fact, this group of homes became a small ghetto.

Group of residents of the Sant Salvador Group in the backyard of the block of flats (1950s). PHOTOGRAPHER UNKNOWN. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TER

However, it is clear that the case of Gallifa is a form of colony that hardly conforms to the paradigmatic models or those of the majority of the colonies of the Llobregat river basin. This is an underdeveloped case in which only a small group of houses was provided very late and without offering the amount of resources and services offered by the colony model. Furthermore, these homes had a segregated distribution which at the same time constituted a clear form of workforce hierarchy: the houses for those who held positions in the factory were located next to the factory complex as early as the end of the 19th century, while the workers’ flats were planned very late and were located in the centre of Sant Hipòlit. Gallifa became a model of factory that was halfway between the urban factory and the industrial colony factory and which was characterised by precariousness, a lack of development and urban planning, the dispersion of the housing spaces, the lack of services and the low level of investment in long-term projects. According to the classification of industrial colonies established in 1991 by the geographer Jordi Clua, the Gallifa factories would fall under the category of “Industrial colony of

The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony

basic morphology”, characterised by the inclusion of the manufacturing space together with a small workers’ colony destined exclusively to housing (Clua, 1991: 222). However, it should be considered that one of the reasons that explains the limited development of the Gallifa colony is the fact that the town of Sant Hipòlit itself served as a colony. Despite this town’s small size, it had an adequate level of services to provide for its needs and at the same time it remained at a certain distance from the nearest industrial towns, such as Manlleu or Torelló. Furthermore, despite the fact that the Gallifa factories were located two kilometres away from the town centre, there was a certain proximity between these two points and therefore there was a good availability to take advantage of the town’s urban services and network. Although it is true that all these elements make Gallifa a model of factory far removed from what is usually understood by industrial colony, it is not so far removed from other neighbouring factories. The factory of Can Riva in Les Masies de Voltregà, despite being more developed than Gallifa, was also a precarious exam-

ple of a colony, with widely dispersed constructions (Casas, 2005: 14). Ca l’Escola, a factory located already in the municipality of Manlleu, had given rise to a small amount of housing, also without services. Even the Russiñol colony of Manlleu, one of the most emblematic of the Osona region, may have been concentrated in the same space but it had a small number of houses. In this case, services like a food shop, school and church were provided, and therefore it reached a certain level of development. However, it remained a small, precarious colony with little capacity to create any sense of isolation due to its proximity to Manlleu. Without trying to establish categorical links, it is true that there are a number of cases on the banks of the river Ter in the Osona region that oscillate between an urban factory and a colony. These are cases that often constitute intermediate models, due to the provisions of the local area and the socio-economic structures of the surrounding area; small, underdeveloped factory-colonies, in many cases with a disseminated composition and with a limited capacity to exercising effective social control over their workforce through isolation.

Group of Gallifa workers outside the factory. (1950s and 1960s). DIEGO GARCÍA. PHOTOGRAPHIC COLLECTION OF THE MUSEU DEL TER

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Gallifa as an agent for socio-economic changes Despite the good availability of manpower that the Voltreganès area provided, the number of workers available for the industries were not as high as those found in the large urban concentrations of Catalonia. Consequently, Gallifa was considered a medium-sized factory and therefore its importance in the industrialisation of the Ter and of Catalonia was limited. However, it did represent a major transformation for Voltreganès society. In 1922, la Vella factory alone had a total of 219 workers and from the second half of the 20th century the two factories together – la Nova and La Vella – accounted for approximately 300 workers. Progress in the mechanisation of spinning, had undoubtedly been the main cause of the decline in the workforce. When, from 1990, as a result of the structural crisis of the Catalan textile industry the Gallifa factories declared a suspension of payments, 118 jobs were eliminated, and in 1995, when these factories finally ceased textile operations, there were only 45 active workers.

The impact of industrialisation in the Voltreganès area was no less significant, and according to the 1936 census, Sant Hipòlit had a total of 576 workers out of a total population of 1,895 inhabitants7. This represented 30% of the population and in 1955 the percentage was 40%, which already indicated a change in the economic and social structures. Within this general data of the municipality, Gallifa accounted for 25% of the population working in the textile industry of Sant Hipòlit and Les Masies de Voltregà. Clearly these factories were one of the main workforce focal points and in this regard they were not far behind the other important textile factory in the area, Can Riva. There is no doubt that women also played a very important role in the operation and development of the

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Gallifa factories, representing a large group in the figures of the active population for the first time. Women accounted for 18.7% of the workforce of the textile industry in the Voltreganès area. However, if we break this figure down we can see that while in 1936 Sant Hipòlit had a total of 352 women in the labour force, the town of Les Masies had 250. The reason for the difference most likely lay in the urban profile of Sant Hipòlit, which offered its inhabitants few options for making a living besides working in the factories, whereas Les Masies still conserved its rural activity which delayed the appearance of working families. Although in the beginning there was a balance between male and female workers, who were clearly segregated inside the factory, at the beginning of the 20th century the situation was reversed in favour of female workers as they began to take up tasks which until then had fallen to men. In 1981, of the total workforce of the Gallifa factories, 65.5% were women. In all, the factories of the Voltreganès area’s industrialisation led to changes in the lifestyle and consumption patterns, in the distribution of the population in the area, in the composition and organisation of families and in social relations. But surely the most obvious change is that this phenomenon led to the configuration of a society with a dual economy centred on agrarian and industrial activities. Thus, a large part of the population of the Voltreganès area went from being subjugated to the limitations of the countryside to being conditioned by the new rules of industrialisation and Fordism. However, the documentary sources do not provide exact data on the Gallifa factories’ influence in the process of building this new economy in the Voltreganès area. As such, the contributions of oral memory have been very useful since they have provided a small sample of how, even in the second half of the 20th century,

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many rural families abandoned their activity in the fields to take up the modern life brought about by industrialisation. In addition, this type of source has highlighted that this diversity of economic activity that sustained the area’s population also translated into particular cases, as there were many factory workers who complemented their working day at the factory with work in the field or in construction. There would need to be background studies in order to show how this change took place and what effects it had on socio-economic structures in the Voltreganès area and the true role that the Gallifa factories played in it. However, the testimonials used in this research have provided their views on all these changes in the forms of production and ways of life. It is especially among the old workers where we see a more optimistic view of joining the factory, despite being the most disadvantaged and least recognised form of work. In most cases, the factory is seen as a place of intensive work but at the same time as a space where personal and affectionate relationships were established among colleagues. Apart from that, what is highlighted in the interviews is how the factory was valued as a line of work that freed them from working in the fields, which was considered harder and not recognised in the case of women. Furthermore, for many, the factory also provided job security which, despite precarious wages and conditions, ensured families were able to provide for their needs and subsistence. Conclusions In closing, we will present some of the conclusions that this article seeks to highlight about the study of the Gallifa factories. First of all, the late establishment of these factories, along with the others in the area, shows a certain break between the old textile tradition of Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà, based on a system

understood as proto-industrial, and the later industrialisation. The textile activity in this area remained lethargic as a result of the difficulties of dismantling the rigid trade union structures and the impediment this represented for the development of a key figure such as the wool workers. Nevertheless, Gallifa was founded thanks to a home-grown initiative that was undoubtedly fostered by exogenous questions, that is, by the influence and industrial development of the neighbouring towns and by the accumulation of capital from agricultural activities and from the already industrialised textile activity carried out in other towns. Another important element of this case is that the location of the Gallifa factories is subject to the quantity of resources available to it, whether energy resources – due to the exceptional waterfall they would use – or the workforce – thanks to the good availability provided by the Voltreganès area. In addition, Gallifa pursued a clear optimisation of resources and investment, since it avoided the need to incorporate a steam engine – despite the Ter’s irregular flow – and opted for a concentration of the factories of different companies, thus giving rise to an incipient form of industrial estate. The organisation and distribution of Gallifa’s housing constructions – both the annex buildings and the housing estate of the Sant Salvador Group – is also one of the most important elements. The dispersion, the lack of effective isolation and the non-existence of internally provided services made this a model that fell somewhere in between the urban factory and the colony. In a certain way, the town of Sant Hipòlit itself served the functions of a colony, since it became the main centre for the workers. Gallifa had characteristics similar to other neighbouring factories of the Ter, which are also characterised

The Gallifa factories: a cross between a factory and an industrial colony

by their precarious, small and, in many cases, scattered nature, underdeveloped and with a lack of urban and socioeconomic planning. Finally, it is worth noting the possible role that the Gallifa factories may have played in the economic transition of the Voltreganès area towards a dual economy based essentially on agricultural and industrial activities. Gallifa, along with two other factories, became one of the main employers of the local

Anglada, E. (2008) Noms propis del Voltreganès.Vic: Eumo Editorial. Bayón, E. (2008) “Els orígens de la industrialització al Ter mitjà”, L’Avenç, 331: 32-36. Casas, P. (2005) “Can Riva, la fàbrica de la Gleva”. IPEC research project. Unpublished work. Clua, J. (1991) “Morfologia urbana de les Colònies Industrials a Catalunya”. Actes del Congrés Català de Geografia: Societat Catalana de Geografia, vol. III: 221-230.Clua, J. (2001) Processos hidràulics i aplicació de la legislació pel foment de la població rural a les colònies industrials. Sant Cugat del Vallès: Amelia Romero editora (“Els llibres de la Frontera” collection). Dorel-Ferré, G. (1992) Les colònies industrials a Catalunya. Barcelona: Publications of the Abbey of Montserrat. Ferrer, LL. (1986) Els orígens de la industrialització a Catalunya Central. Barcelona: Rafael Dalmau, DL. Font, J. (2014) “La xarxa de camins i les comunicacions a Osona al segle XVIII i la vertebració territorial de la comarca”, Ausa, 174: 945-970. Izard, M. ( 1969) “La Revolución Industrial en España (1832-1861)”. Doctoral thesis published by the University of the Andes. Nadal, J. (1975) El fracaso de la revolución industrial en España, 1814-1913. Barcelona: Ariel. Serra, R. (2010) “Les colònies industrials de Catalunya”. Catalan Historical Review, 4: 241-255.

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population. These factories helped to build the new economic structure and this led to radical changes in the labour and production systems, in people’s way of life and relationships, and in the composition and organisation of the population. In this way, a working society was formed in the midst of a rural environment that co-existed with agricultural activity and which remained this way until well into the post-Ford era. n

NOTES

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Albareda, J. (1981) La industrialització a la Plana de Vic (1770-1875).Vic: Patronat d’Estudis Ausonencs.

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Serrallonga, J. et al. (1986) Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà dins la historia. Vic: Eumo Editorial. Serrallonga, J. (2000) “Prohoms, propietaris i artesans de camí a la industrialització. La crisi del gremi de Paraires de Voltregà (Osona), 17601796”. Manuscrits, 18: 163-184. Terrades, I. (1994) La qüestió de les colònies industrials: l’exemple de l’Ametlla de Merola. Manresa: Centre d’Estudis del Bages. Torras, J. (1981) “Estructura de la industria precapitalista. La draperia”, Recerques,11: 7-28. Torras, J. (2007) “Transformacions agràries i industria rural. Qüestions obertes”, Estudis d’Història agrària, 20: 155-163. Vilar, P. (1986) Catalunya dins l’Espanya moderna. Vol. III. Barcelona: Editorial Curial

“la Nova” and “la Vella” are the common names which the population of the Voltreganès area referred to each of the Gallifa factories. They were recorded by Anglada, E. (2008).

Una història a la intempèrie: la fàbrica i colònia de Gallifa. Unreleased work that can be consulted in the Ethnological Heritage Archive of the Documentation Centre of the DGCPAAC.

Recordings of verbal sources that can be consulted in the Ethnological Heritage Archive of the Documentation Centre of the DGCPAAC.

This term refers to the territory made up of the three municipalities of Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà, Les Masies de Voltregà and Santa Cecília de Voltregà.

Skilled artisan figure dedicated to the purchase and preparation of wool to later be transformed into cloth. These figures largely participated in the transformation tasks, in most cases by directing them.

The great height between the factory and the river was one of the reasons why Gallifa was not affected by the flood of 1940.

All the figures and percentages are the result of the draining recorded in the 1936, 1955 and 1981 censuses of Les Masies de Voltregà and Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà.

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Dying and passing away are not synonyms Social and cultural practices in the face of loss

here is a story by Wolf Erlbruch1 in which Death, seen as an amiable old figure, explains to a duck that he has always been beside her “just in case”. In case something bad happened to her: a bad cold, an accident, a fox. If any of those things happened, he would accompany her. Today, it seems that this dialogue with death and the idea of accompanying the person who dies are being lost. Our article is the result of research in which we explore aspects of people’s concepts and experiences of death, both those that have changed and those that have remained the same, from the early twentieth century to our time. In this period we can observe two different approaches to dealing with loss which coexist and conflict with each other in our towns and cities. This is what the title means: passing away (faltar in Catalan) and dying (morir in Catalan) are not synonyms because they reflect these two opposing models. In the following pages we shall discuss

them and illustrate the transformation they reflect. Today we move in an anthropological framework of flight. Santiago Alba Rico (2017) makes this point when he states that there is a social, economic and technological structure that not only treats the body as marginal but has left it behind. Because it is obsolete and inconvenient; because it interferes with economic and cultural relations. It’s a matter of fleeing from everything incompatible with the predatory maelstrom in which we live. And the natural processes of decomposition, ageing and, consequently, death are the opposite extreme. This is why we flee from the dialogue with death and, by extension, its presence and even its existence. As a result, many authors2 have treated the study of death as taboo. A taboo reflected in distancing oneself from it, rejecting it, hiding it and denying it, as manifested in general trends such as individualism, consumerism and the consecration of youth. In the western world death seems to be reduced purely

Raquel Ferrero i Gandia

Dying and passing away are not synonyms. The way a community copes with death reflects the way in which that community conceives life. Maintaining awareness of the ongoing changes in the rites surrounding death and the consequences of these changes, we explore how a sample of informants from the Vall d’Albaida (Valencia, Spain) experience and feel about death. In traditional Valencian society, shrouding, wakes, and burials are social events linked to passing away that transcend physical disappearance (dying). Together they form a collective act that helps people to cope with the loss of a member of the community. This idea is the basis for the affirmation above. Faltar i morir no són sinònims. Les maneres d’abordar la mort parlen de la concepció de la vida al si d’una comunitat. Sabedores dels canvis que els afecten en l’actualitat i atenent al fet que eixes mutacions tenen conseqüències imperatives, aprofundim en les vivències i el sentir del procés de mort. Amortallar, vetlar i soterrar són fets socials que, en la societat tradicional valenciana, no s’han limitat a l’estricta desaparició física, sinó que han tingut la capacitat de transformar el fet individual de morir en un acte col·lectiu per a pair la falta. Eixa és la clau de l’afirmació inicial que guia el present article.

VALENCIA MUSEUM OF ETHNOLOGY – VALENCIA PROVINCIAL COUNCIL

Degree in Social and Cultural Anthropology from the Rovira i Virgili University, Tarragona. Currently she is working as the curator at the Valencia Museum of Ethnology. She coordinates the Museu de la Paraula – Arxiu de la Memòria Oral Valenciana.

Clara Colomina i Martines VALENCIA MUSEUM OF ETHNOLOGY – VALENCIA PROVINCIAL COUNCIL

Degree in Social and Cultural Anthropology from the University of Barcelona and a Master’s degree in Linguistic Assessment and Literary Culture from the University of Valencia. Currently she is an intern in the Oral Memory Unit at the Valencia Museum of Ethnology.

Keywords: death, Valencia region, life stories, traditional practices, modern strategies Paraules clau: mort, País Valencià, relats de vida, pràctiques antigues, estratègies de modernitat Palabras clave: muerte, País Valenciano, relato de vida, prácticas antiguas, estrategias de modernidad

Faltar y morir no son sinónimos. Las maneras de abordar la muerte hablan de la concepción de la vida en el seno de una comunidad. Sabedoras de los cambios que les afectan en la actualidad y atendiendo al hecho de que esas mutaciones tienen consecuencias imperativas, profundizamos en las vivencias y el sentir del proceso de muerte. Amortajar, velar y enterrar son hechos sociales que, en la sociedad tradicional valenciana, no se han limitado a la estricta desaparición física, sino que han tenido la capacidad de transformar el hecho individual de morir en un acto colectivo para asimilar la falta. Esa es la clave de la afirmación inicial que guía el presente artículo.

Dying and passing away are not synonyms

and simply to the destruction of life, to what is radically opposed to it. It is even associated with something dirty, to be avoided, which explains the technologies placed at its service, the bureaucracy, the aseptic atmosphere of hospitals and funeral parlours, the impersonal treatment. This is “dying” understood strictly as physical disappearance. This coldness towards such an essential moment in the life cycle suggests problems we should reflect on, and more so if we look at the phenomenon from a historical perspective, as we can detect substantial changes in ways of thinking about and experiencing death that affect different areas of life. In traditional Valencian society death was not hidden, it was a social event whose theatrical nature provided therapy for the tension and distress it generated. The wake helped to dissipate tension and served to distract mourners from grief so that they could assimilate it. People talked a lot. And wept even more. And everything had a meaning: social, cultural or therapeutic. This all echoes the observations of anthropologist Marcial Gondar (1987), who, in his study of traditional Galician society, detects strategies that can contribute to health in the community. Taking his comments as a starting point, we

would confirm that shrouding, wakes and burials have a wealth of meaning and helped to transform an individual death into a communal event designed to help one cope with loss. Death was thus a transversal phenomenon that played a natural part in everyday life. What interests us is “passing away”, as a collective way of dealing with loss, not as a synonym of “dying”. From the Ateneo in Madrid to Vall d’Albaida: a gap between generations In our research we propose an approach to socio-cultural representations of death and the practices related to it based on a consideration of the importance of the way in which certain moments in the life cycle are dealt with collectively and individually and the implications of neglecting or abandoning them. We are thus considering traditional knowledge as part of our heritage, arguing for its value and usefulness now and in our projection of the future. Changes have undoubtedly taken place in ways of experiencing death, from an intimate context to an unfamiliar, external setting. In the first part of our study, we therefore examine how people born in the first half of the last century coped with and still cope with the processes of death.

Interview at Atzeneta del Maestrat (2017). R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

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The study was conducted in various towns in the Vall d’Albaida county, according to the guidelines followed in previous studies by the Museu de la Paraula – Arxiu de la Memòria Oral Valenciana (www.museudelaparaula. es) at the Valencia Museum of Ethnology. Our project is based on the knowledge and experience of the generation born between 1920 and 1940. The philosophy of the project is that by focusing on everyday life and emphasising direct knowledge of social experience we can achieve a more complex understanding of social and cultural phenomena. One of the basic aims of the Museu de la Paraula is to determine the changes occurring in the Valencia region throughout the last century. However, the Museum’s work does not deal exclusively with describing change and verifying that it has taken place but also emphasises the way in which it affects people’s identity. We work with a qualitative methodology, placing subjects in their context and drawing up biographical portraits by using open interviews with those we have identified as the “gap generation”. We use the term “gap” because we believe that the people interviewed perpetuate the way of life, cultural world view and social customs of their forbears, while their descendants are becoming increasingly disconnected from those ways of living and being. We interviewed twentyseven men and women aged seventy to ninety. In each of the biographies of these individuals there is an episode involving death which they have assimilated naturally and calmly in their lives. It is precisely this naturalness that has allowed us to examine in depth a topic that initially seems delicate and has enabled us to gather significant, open and transparent commentaries on a social phenomenon, discussion of which is banned in contemporary society. First we extracted information from the Ateneo de Madrid survey carried

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out in 19023 and compared it with the map showing the interpretation of our interviews. The results are shown here: the intersection of these two moments in history, what the survey says people did and what our grandparents say they did or still do. The idea is to determine where we are now, without losing sight of the ethnographic data we have from the beginning of the century. The people interviewed could be the grandchildren of the subjects of the original survey. To complete our study of the topic it would be interesting at a later stage to interview the grandchildren of the interviewees we worked with in Vall d’Albaida, i.e. people born between 1960 and 1980. In this study we have also looked outside our own region, where we find practices which are distant in terms of space and time but similar in content. All this information, together with various contemporary theoretical contributions, serves as a framework for reflection on the two opposing models for dealing with death. In connection with the survey conducted by the Madrid Ateneo, we should note that it was drawn up with the aim of carrying out research into customs and traditions at the key points in the life cycle: birth, marriage and death. The document provides an ideal framework for the compilation of data on rituals and beliefs related to funerals: the scholars who drew it up knew that practices related to death are powerful indicators of how our society is organised. Polish sociologist Zygmunt Bauman (2014) goes further, suggesting that cultures can be understood better if we consider them as ways of approaching and dealing with death. He states categorically that awareness of death is the primordial feature of human existence and even argues that history can be understood as a chronicle of changes that have taken place in the imagery of death and the ways in which humans have

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dealt with it. Death has always been a chimera. Sifting through old times At the beginning of the twentieth century it was customary for people to prepare a shroud and pay for a funeral niche during their lives. The Ateneo survey describes cases in which the coffin was prepared and even tried, together with the shroud. Today, over 100 years after the survey, Elvira, one of our interviewees, born in Quatretonda in 1926, tells us that she has her shroud ready in a box, together with her husband’s. This little gesture illustrates the acceptance of the social and biological fact of death with the naturalness we have already mentioned as characteristic of that generation. Although it may seem a picturesque detail, it condenses a great deal of social information, which we should not lose sight of by relegating it to the status of anecdote.

In the Ateneo study, a section is devoted to the individual’s dying moments and preparations for death. When a person was dying, candles were lit in front of the images of saints, bells were rung in the parish church and the priest conducted various ceremonies for the sick person: saying prayers, giv-

ing communion and anointing them with oil. During the process the dying person was helped to “die well”4. Only a few people witnessed death: family members, the priest and, in some cases, friends and neighbours, who remained calm while accompanying the person. The practices reported in the survey coincide with the testimony of our informants and with the first major model of death identified by historian Philippe Ariès (2000): “domesticated” or “tame” death, which he situates in the period from the Middle Ages to the nineteenth century and defines, among other things, as leaving space for awareness, accompanying the dying person, who would prepare actively for death, as well as the fact that death was announced by natural signs, personal conviction or premonitions5. In many parts of England in the early twentieth century, people thought one couldn’t die while locks and bolts were closed in the house. Consequently, they undid them when they considered the person’s death was imminent, so as not to prolong his suffering unduly (Frazer, 1944 [1922]). In the south of the Valencia region it is recorded that some families used to burn rosemary, thyme or lavender to purify the air so that the house would be clear of any

Thyme to ward off spirits. R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

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evil being that might try to enter the soul of the deceased. In the Ateneo study’s section on people’s dying moments no consideration is given to omens or portents of death, which are characteristic features of the “tame death” described by Ariès (2000). However, both in our interviews and in the bibliography we have consulted regarding traditional funeral practices in Spain6 there are reports of changes in the light in the dying person’s room, shadows, sighs, the grinding of the dying person’s teeth, wanting to be dressed in a certain way, the howling of dogs, the appearance of animals such as flies or owls, certain dreams, folding bedclothes, and certain sounds. Hermínia, born in Salem in 1943, describes purely physical changes in the appearance of the person who is dying, in particular a sharpening of the nose or ears. She also mentions changes in the colour of the skin, the way the person breathes and prolonged snoring. Lola, born in Pinet in 1936, tells us that the dogs barked when someone was about to die and that crows flew in circles above the house. Another respondent, Rosa, confirms the howling of dogs as a portent of death and in her testimony we have details of death, the wake and burial. Born in Bufali in 1943, she lives in the twenty-first century but she could have been born at the beginning of the twentieth century and been one of the subjects of the Ateneo survey. Rosa is responsible for shrouding in her village. She began to dress the dead when she was sixteen, starting with her mother-in-law. Her father and her sister followed the same occupation. We shall be returning to her soon. Before this, however, we should point out that the methods used to verify death were very simple. At the beginning of the twentieth century it was customary to place a mirror or a lit match in front

Stuffed owl donated by José Balbino Rodríguez Díaz to the Valencian Museum of Ethnology. The appearance of an owl near a sick person could be interpreted as a sign of imminent death (2017). R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

of the dead person’s mouth. Paquita, who was born in Rugat in 1938, tells us that such traditional practices still exist, despite new technology. When an acquaintance died recently and the doctor had to confirm the death, she asked for a mirror to see whether the patient’s breath clouded it. And now we come to shrouding, an action that provides valuable information on the process of dying. We shall begin with the question of who does it. It seems that at the beginning of the last century those responsible for shrouding were “enthusiasts” or people “with spirit”, pious people, people who were fond of the deceased, close relatives or close friends. The majority of our interviewees still use terms of this kind to describe them. Rosa, who shrouds the dead in Bufali, is one of these bold, decisive women who are important for the village. She holds the key to the church, tolls the bell for the dead and carries the cross when the dead are taken to be buried. Rosa emphasises the importance of being resolute about

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shrouding the dead, asserting that it is an activity that must draw the person, call them to it: “Nobody needs to teach you, it’s something you’re born with, the will to do it”. In the same vein, it is interesting to note that the survey reveals the idea that when shrouding it was not right for “mercenary hands to touch the body”. This attitude is clearly reflected in some of the interviews. Isabel, born in Guadasséquies in 1921, says: “Back then they were dressed by the whole village, the family. And nobody minded. I helped to dress my mother and father myself. I did it for a lot of people. Because, as I was saying, at that time I still helped, I used to go a lot. That was before I came here. But you didn’t mind dressing someone, helping. Nowadays it bothers me more that strangers come, people you don’t know. I was talking to a girl, a good friend, and I said: “Mari Carmen, I’d rather you took care of me than the people from the undertaker’s”. It’s true, because, how can I say it, they’d be more careful and look after you better than people who do it professionally”. Her answers show the importance of personal links and proximity as against the coldness of the professionals. Today it is common for people to delegate responsibility to professionals, not only when dealing with death, but also in connection with the sick, the mentally ill and criminals. Bauman (2014: 41) considers that acting in this way reveals an inclination, not necessarily healthy or voluntary, to banish things we consider unpleasant from our sight and our minds. The underlying idea is that of eliminating everything negative from our lives and death is the most obscene, most disrespectful negative phenomenon.

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Going back to the survey, respondents spoke about shrouding as a tribute to the deceased and in some of our interviews we find that this attitude persists. Reme was born in 1933 in Salem. Her husband was a dancer and when he died his dancing partner asked Reme, as a favour, if she could shroud him. She did so and later, when the woman fell ill, Reme felt indebted to her and went to visit her to return the favour. An example of reciprocity, an altruistic way of closing the circle. James Frazer, in his classic The Golden Bough, explains how the Māori excluded from social relations and communication all those who had touched corpses, helped to take them to their graves or simply touched the bones of the dead (1944: 248). Although Rosa is separated from the Māori by geographical distance and lives in a different age and a different culture, something similar still happens to her today. In her village she is tacitly forbidden to enter a house where someone is sick or dying. People believe that her presence attracts death. And there is some justification for this: Rosa appears with her hands crossed over her stomach and this is the position of the dead when they are prepared for burial. If Frazer were to return he would surely see this as sympathetic magic according to the law of similarity. Shrouding means preparing the corpse for burial. Turning to another ethnological example, the natives of the Marquesas Islands used to close the nose and mouth of the person dying in the belief that he could be kept alive if they prevented his soul from escaping. The Itonama in South America used to close the eyes, mouth and nose of a dying person so that his spirit would not escape, taking other spirits with it. The people of Nias, fearing the spirits of those who had just died and identifying them with their breath, tried to keep the errant soul within its earthly

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confines, blocking the corpse’s nose and tying the jaws together7. In Valencian villages shrouding used a similar technique. The body was placed on a sheet on the floor, as it was believed that it suffered in bed. So that the eyes of the deceased remained closed, a coin was placed on them until they set; so that the mouth remained closed, a handkerchief was tied round the chin. The deceased’s feet were also bound together, round the ankles, after the body had been straightened, and the hands were crossed on the abdomen, sometimes holding a crucifix. All our interviews confirmed this information with very little variation8. Regarding the tradition of keeping the eyes closed, we know there was a superstition that, if they were left open, the deceased might be doomed to wander around in purgatory. It was also believed that looking into the dead person’s eyes could attract the evil eye (Flores, 2000). When the body had been prepared it was time for the wake. The wake has always been considered one of the indispensable funeral rites for controlling grief. In our region, when a death was announced, relatives, neighbours

and acquaintances rallied round so that the deceased person’s house was never empty, and all those affected by the loss would always be accompanied. It was a matter of “never leaving the family alone”, Reme from Salem points out, confirming what is said by Gondar (1984: 108) who considers that the fact that the group forms and reforms until the corpse goes to the cemetery fulfils a function similar to that of antibodies when they concentrate in a part of the organism that is damaged. Let us now turn to the place where the event occurs. When the deceased was dressed, he or she was placed on view in the coffin, until the time of the funeral, at the entrance to the house, so that those going along the street could see the corpse, or in the room in which the person had died. The area where the corpse was to be placed for the wake was cleared. Rosa gives a very detailed description of this: “They took away furniture, vases, paintings, everything, because they were luxuries”. Or “because all those things suggested happiness”, as Reme from Carrícola comments on the plants. Moreover, if the wardrobe had a mirror on the door,

The entrance to Ca Reme, where wakes took place in days gone by, Carricola (2015). R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

Dying and passing away are not synonyms

it was covered with a sheet. According to Rosa, “so that people wouldn’t see each other in it”. Frazer also comments on the widespread custom of covering mirrors or turning them round to face the wall when someone in the house died. It was feared that the souls of the living, projected outside them as reflections in the mirror could be carried off by the soul of the deceased, which was commonly thought to roam the house until burial took place (1944: 233). Beyond the physical description of the places where the wake took place, and in line with the thoughts of Jack Goody (1962) regarding this type of ritual, we consider the wake as a privileged space which involves predetermined – ritualised – ways to channel feelings, acting as support by the community for the surviving relatives at a moment of crisis. As we have already mentioned, at the wake relatives and friends accompanied the deceased and each other. The rosary was said aloud, with a prayer leader, who might be paid in some cases. And people talked, sometimes even joked and laughed. The guests were offered coffee, even wine or chocolate and cakes, according to the family’s social standing. Gondar (1984) suggests that the wake made it easier to overcome one’s loss; it helped to overcome the tension generated in those most directly affected and all those who shared the experience. This occurred via different practices: explaining, distracting attention and releasing emotion. In the first case, more than pain, the person affected feels unable to explain what is happening and, in the course of conversation, people mention reasons, true cases, experiences, etc. that throw light on the present situation. The fact that the house was filled with people who entered and left acted as a distractor from grief over the loss and the wake also served as a space to express that grief. Everyone benefited from the

therapeutic nature of the wake, not only relatives but also friends and neighbours, who took advantage of the situation to face the problem of their own distress regarding death. According to Norbert Elias (1987) the distress caused by the death of others is related to the fact that it acts as a portent of one’s own death. In the section concerning burial, the survey deals with announcement and burial. The burial was normally announced by bells tolling. This not only told the residents that a death had occurred but also whether it was a man (three chimes), a woman (two chimes) or a child (a little bell). If the corpse was that of a child it was carried by children and if it was an adult the closed coffin was carried on the shoulders of four bearers. “Death goes out by itself ”, Reme from Carrícola tells us, suggesting that there were enough people for one not to have to worry. The coffin was more or less luxurious according to social class, black with decorations or white for children. If the burial was a “better class” event, they paid the coffin bearers and some poor people received money to bring candles and the table on which the coffin would be placed, and even to cry. Elvira tells us that in Quatretonda a poor widow called Carmela hired her services at funerals to carry lighted candles to the cemetery. In Beniatjar, Rafaela says that, if there were not enough people to carry the coffin, they hired the poorest people in the locality plus an old lady whose job was to carry the table on which the coffin would rest during the three stops for the responses before they arrived at the church. The poorest person in the village would dig the grave. According to the survey, social class was reflected in three types of burial: for the well-to-do the ceremony was attended by the clergy with the finest cross in the parish church; for the second category only some of the clergy

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attended and the cross was simpler; and the third category was attended by the priest and some altar boys with a small crucifix. Respondents in the survey and our interviews occasionally mention the difference between solemn funerals for leading figures in the upper classes at one extreme and funerals “for the love of God” for the lower levels of society at the other. One of our interviewees, Ana, born in Montitxelvo in 1940, makes the following comment: “People were all equal when they were buried but they weren’t equal. As you might say: depending on the saint, the image will be finer”. She also mentions the existence of a community coffin used for the really poor, and says that if necessary the local council would pay for the burial. Ana’s contributions illustrate a tendency that recurs everywhere at all times, in a wide range of forms: funeral rites and commemorative ceremonies are one of the codes through which inequality is often demonstrated (Bauman, 2014). From the church the funeral procession went to the exit of the village to bid a last farewell and then the coffin was taken to the cemetery without mourners. In the survey respondents explained that, after taking their leave of the deceased, people returned to the family’s house to express their condolences and that visits for this purpose continued in the days following the burial. The funeral service was held after eight days. Up to this point the family would not have left home and during this period they obtained black mourning clothes. At home it was also customary to say the rosary for three days. There were a lot of visitors, especially women. The people we interviewed recall all this information about the days following death and some practices have continued with very little change. For example, there are still people commissioned to weep or pray (sometimes for money) and people still take their leave of the deceased at the exit from the village.

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mass and didn’t go to the cemetery. They stayed at home, crying their hearts out. Weeping and wailing.” And now we come to activities after the burial. The interviews provide significant new information about the days when they said the rosary at home. José María, born in Fontanars dels Alforins in 1928, tells us that when someone died in one of the houses near his village a procession of carriages went to the village. Everyone in the area went there and the following days they went to pray on foot. The expedition was often prolonged because many couples were formed at this time. Mourning can thus be a way of opposing death and redirecting our energies towards life. It can appear in very varied practices but in the final analysis it comforts the living and reconstitutes the group in the face of death.9 We find another example of this in the testimony of Paquita and Herminia, who recall that wakes were an opportunity to do work like knitting, crochet work and weaving: “People didn’t sit there empty handed with their arms folded”.

Finisterre S.A. funeral insurance company, Valencia Museum of Ethnology library (1945). R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

Mercedes, born in 1929, explains how those in Llutxent displayed grief during the burial. “People wept a lot at the burial. The women related to the deceased wept a lot. They were supposed to weep and express their grief. They were expected to speak and say: “I love him so much! I really loved him! We were so happy! And now you’ve left me alone.” They spoke a lot and they wept a lot. And if they wept a lot, people would say: “She

wept so much, didn’t she? She must have loved him a lot.” or “He loved her a lot.” But if they didn’t weep, they’d say: “She didn’t weep much at all! She doesn’t seem to miss him”. Know what I mean? People wept but they were criticised according to how much they wept. When the coffin was taken out, they opened up the house and the female relatives who were closest to the deceased didn’t go to the church, didn’t accompany the coffin, didn’t go to

We have a less agreeable description of the rigour of the grieving process from Lola, who asserts that “when one person died, everyone died”. Whether it was for close or more distant relatives, she spent her youth in mourning. There was a very strict dress code for women: “dressed in black like beetles” according to some of our interviewees. Black dresses, heavy drawers, even in summer, wimples in winter and mantillas on hot days, with scarves on their heads, replaced later by veils, “which looked nicer”. If anyone was due to get married when they were in mourning, they wore black and the ceremony was at five or six in the morning. If there was a baptism, the baby was dressed in a black cap, with black ribbons and an amulet in the form of little black hands. Overall, as one of our interviewees rightly says, “mourning went a long way”.

Dying and passing away are not synonyms

In other places in the Mediterranean, such as Italy, there were women in strict mourning who even covered earrings and accessories for their hair with black silk or black thread (Di Nola, 2007: 55). Mourning clothes came into existence as a way for family and friends to identify themselves when accompanying the soul of the deceased on its journey to the after-life. Black is the colour of mourning in many cultures

to demonstrate her grief. In Rugat, when Paquita’s grandfather died, her grandmother sewed black patches onto the tablecloth, the tablecloth they used every day, for the pleasure of eating and drinking. Here we see the need to indulge oneself in bereavement and make it visible. Any activity that involved pleasure beyond mere subsistence was curtailed. And even subsistence was subject to restraint. As

Herminia demonstrates how the veil was worn when in mourning, Castelló de Rugat (2015). R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

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dance; doors and windows could only be opened a little, everything was closed, a deathly silence, a black bow on the horse (a very important member of the household) and black ribbons on the shutters. Alberto sums up the essence of these customs: “It’s as if others are happy and you’re sad, it’s not right”. Mourning is a process in which loss, whether anticipated or sudden, is

Memento of a dead woman made with her hair, stuck to glass to form a text with decorative elements; Valencia Museum of Ethnology collection (1916). R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

and, whether people are dressed completely in black or only wear a black tie, armband or button, it has served to identify those accompanying the deceased and it was considered desirable to wear it for some time (Flores, 2000: 204,180). The outward signs of bereavement were not restricted to people’s clothes but even affected items in the home. In Salem, one woman, when her son died, painted the skirting of the wall black

Reme says: “You had no right to enjoy anything”. Bereavement was also demonstrated in various social customs10: no rice casseroles, no cakes at Christmas or Easter (and sometimes killing rabbits was forbidden), people couldn’t sweep the street or paint the fronts of their houses, cover their balconies for a procession, go to the bar or go out to enjoy the cool of the evening; they couldn’t go to the village feast, to the casino, or to

transformed into the absence of the deceased. And reclusion helped. This necessary individual and collective process allows one to recover the will to live despite the absence of the loved one, gradually linking the loss to a renewed desire to live. Psychiatrist Fernando Colina (2016), comparing processes of mourning today and in the past, sees them as essential for the individual’s recovery and points to the long-term advantages of mourning in the past, in the sense that it progressively helps

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one to develop a wish to emerge from the closed state of mourning. The tangible aspects of passing over provide strong symbolic support, they give meaning to the situation and make the person’s absence bearable through the codification of grief and its expression (Thomas, 1983). This is why they are necessary. However, thirty years ago Gondar was already suggesting that mourning clothes were becoming an anachronism. And with the clothes, the other customs too. Nowadays, bereavement, expressed in those terms, is seen as a weakness, a wretched, reprehensible habit instead of a practice that helps us to assimilate death. It is also clear that mourning activated a feeling of belonging and mutual support. Our respondents report that on special dates meals were taken to the house in mourning by neighbours, friends or relatives: “little gifts” as Herminia calls them. These exchanges, which were always reciprocated, these offers of free gifts, fulfilled the function of social solidarity and continuity appropriate to the funeral process in its fullest extent. Indeed, death was a community matter. And this is the sense of passing away that interests us. However, the transition that we can detect in our analysis of the interviews suggests that the concept of passing away, and everything associated with it, is losing its meaning. We are beginning to detect the extinction of the processes, practices and representations related to death which were part of traditional Valencian society’s view of the world, and can sense the essence of change. Let us look more closely at it. Traditional practices versus modern strategies The language of our elders is not a neutral instrument used only to tell us things, but a medium in which they live, a way of saying things that reflects a particular way of life. The people we interviewed in Vall d’Albaida refer to

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“passing away” (faltar in Catalan), rather than “dying”, when they are talking about losing someone they know. In cities, however, and among young people, the word chosen is “die” (morir in Catalan). This reflects an impoverishment in the language which we should pay attention to, as it alerts us to the disappearance of a way of living and understanding the world, demonstrating a transformation on which we should reflect. In this framework we would assert that in Valencian villages people pass away rather than die. Although the two expressions are synonymous in grammatical terms, when we analyse social practice we see that the parallel is reductionist: “passing away” means much more than “dying”. Talking about “passing away” requires us to refer to the context in which the loss occurs, while the word “dying” detaches the loss from the surroundings. In other words “passing away” gives the loss a collective sense, the community is involved in dealing with the disappearance of one of its members, while “dying” means simply disappearing. This difference, apparently subtle, has social implications which we should not underestimate. When we say that “pass away” is used regularly in Valencian villages to refer to death and that the concept is being progressively replaced by the word “die”, we mean that a metonymic displacement is occurring in which a part (physical death) is making the whole (the social act of dying) invisible. And this is the danger: the displacement is hindering the development of the healthy codes we need to assimilate the absence of those dear to us. Consequently, for anthropological purposes, the socio-semantic field corresponding to “pass away” is more comprehensive than the action of “dying”. In this sense, ‘pass away’ provides the complete ceremonial sequence described by Van Gennep

(1986 [1909]) in his systematic analysis of rites of passage. We can thus say that the death throes and death define the separation stage, the wake corresponds to liminality, while prayer and mourning represent incorporation. “Dying”, on the other hand, would only be included in one stage, liminality. The other activities involved in death as a rite of passage are lost in the process of change we have referred to. The strictly physical disappearance of the deceased only acquires a social sense when it is perceived as a loss by the community of which the deceased was part, i.e. when the social group intervenes to deal with the loss collectively. Today all the ceremonies associated with death as a major rite of exclusion are being lost because of the modern insistence on displacing death from our day-to-day lives. As Bauman (2014) says, over the centuries death has ceased to be a step towards another stage in our existence and been reduced to a simple departure: the end of all our plans and projects. So, while passing away implies continuity, dying is surrendering. If passing away is remaining within the community, still linked to it as part of the social fabric, dying is accepting the imperative of progress, assuming a transformation of society into disconnected dots. Our interviewees describe the transformation and are experiencing it. When Paquita dies, for example, if she is taken to the undertaker’s, afterwards, before going to the church, she would like people to go to her house and stay for half an hour. This simple wish illustrates the tension between change socially imposed and a personal desire for continuity; the conflict between personal preference and the standards of modern life. The conditional “if” (if she is taken to the undertaker’s) reflects her assumption of a future imposed on her against her wishes.

Dying and passing away are not synonyms

Obviously the tension between these two models involves suffering, whether one leans towards change or continuity. As in the case of Claudio d’Aielo from Rugat, many respondents feel uncomfortable about the difference between what they would like for their own death (“I’d rather be at home, it’s more natural isn’t it?”) and a desire not to detract from the well-being of their descendants (“they can do what they like but I want to die here, to be brought here, I’ve been here all my life”). Others, however, are very clear about their decision. Isabel, the oldest of all our respondents, who already has a framed copy of the photograph she wants on her gravestone, says that nowadays the deceased are carried around a lot. She is aware of the uncertainty her sister feels about her final moments and offers some advice she is not altogether sure about. “(...) my sister is fretting because she says she’s been told she has to go to the undertaker’s. She says ‘I don’t want to go’. And I say: ‘Once you’re asleep you don’t know where you’re going or where they’re taking you’. But I wouldn’t like to be taken there either. I’d rather stay at home. And she has some concerns about the undertaker’s... As she has a single son, she says: “It’s so that Rafa doesn’t always have me there afterwards. And I say: ‘But if he...’, I don’t know, I don’t want to say anything either. Because in this world, although he’s a man, he could still be uneasy about it. I’ve never been afraid of the dead myself”. Rosa from Bufali also tells us that she wants a wake at home, even though her children say no, that the undertaker’s is the “modern” solution: “When I die, here. Bring the table and put it here”. Hermínia, on the other hand, prioritises her children’s decision, although comparing what she has experienced and the new cus-

toms that are appearing, her opinion is categorical: “That’s why I prefer this”. Similarly, for Mercedes and some others, the showcase of modernity they see in the funeral parlour does not change their preference for the way things were done before. “At home I feel it’s more familiar, you’re better at home. I’ve heard people say you get a de luxe funeral at the undertaker’s. As far as I’m concerned my home is more luxurious. There may not be so much luxury for the person who’s died, fancy glasses and all that, but it’s home. And your relatives are in the house, all sitting there, the house full. I like it better at home.” However, we also find the opposite view. Fernando de Quatretonda chooses the undertaker’s. The wake at home, with the presence of family, friends and neighbours is excessive for him, an unnecessary fuss, because from his point of view it’s a time when the family can’t cope with so much activity. Nowadays, with professional undertakers, “You don’t have to worry about anything”. Curiously, he refers to the undertakers as the sanatori (rather than the tanatori), the lexical confusion highlighting its associations with sanitation, the health system and the technologies used to manage death and reflecting a shift in thinking towards something considered healthy, clean and, ultimately, desirable. It is an association of health with a location, the funeral parlour, which would seem to represent just the opposite: emptiness, coldness, isolation. Fernando is not the only one who uses the word with this meaning. And the natural way in which it is used again reflects the distorted view that leads to a false, artificially constructed need for asepsis, going beyond what is physiologically justified. The fact that death has become part of the domain of science and technology11 and has yielded to the

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hegemony of hospitals and funerary institutions reveals a deritualisation that leads to the rejection and denial of death and the taboos regarding it that we mentioned at the beginning of this article. We can thus see that there is, undeniably, tension between the different practices surrounding death for those belonging to the “gap” generation, between old customs and the bewildering modern trends. It is as if people wanted a neutral transition from one to the other but this is obviously not happening. For our interviewees the transformation does not necessarily denote progress in terms of quality of life or unmitigated well-being and naturally the transition involves losses and disagreements, on both the individual and collective levels. Their testimony warns us about rushing towards a new model of death in which discretion, understood as hiding grief, becomes the “modern form of dignity” which Baumann mentions (2014). In our view it is the consummation of death as resignation and surrender. Examining the issue in greater depth, he considers the inability of people in contemporary society to verbalise their deepest emotions, which condemns us to silence. Similarly, he warns about our aversion to grief, which pushes the dying person into solitude. He comments on the normality of “tame death” in previous ages, assumed to be part of everyone’s destiny; although it could be lamented, there was no alternative to accepting it. Moreover, it did not call for action, it did not involve a sensation of failure and consequently humiliation. The author argues that when death is no longer tame it becomes a “guilty secret” which has to be hidden in the functional, pleasant, tidy home modern life promises us. Death thus becomes unspeakable. Fifty years ago Geoffrey Gorer (1965) described death as pornographic, in the sense

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that it was an intrinsically despicable aspect of human existence. He saw his death as tending to be clandestine and associated with feelings of guilt and shame, not to be discussed around him or mentioned directly. We no longer have the customs related to death and mourning described by our interviewees, while we await fresh interviews with their descendants. It seems that today death is uncomfortable: people avoid looking at each other, no comforting words are spoken, everyone wants to get away. In view of this situation, we would insist on the importance of working with those we have referred to as the “gap generation”, precisely because in them we can see the mutations of progress on the one hand and the harm caused by modernisation on the other. And we turn once again to the views of Gondar, as mentioned at the beginning of the article. The treatment of death in traditional societies can be a healthy influence, as the codes surrounding it bring together numerous circles and neutralise the distress caused by the person’s absence, as we have been able to observe in the responses of our interviewees. This occurs through activities that facilitate a healthy acceptance of the sorrow caused by one’s loss. We must therefore recognise the beneficial, protective nature of traditional customs for accompanying the grieving, as against the social pathology observed by Gorer in the late 1960s, brought about by the exclusion of death from day-to-day life.

19th century tombstone. Reial Fàbrica de pisa i porcellana del Comte d’Aranda collection, Alcora Ceramics Museum. R. FERRERO AND C. COLOMINA

Contrary to what one might think, in traditional Valencian society the word “faltar” is not simply a euphemism. Although it does soften the harshness of the concept of death, its social use shows that the choice of word does not conceal the intensity of the death process; far from this, it helps people to face death as something familiar. Paradoxically, nowadays the extensive use of the word “die” to refer to the loss of someone may be detracting from the meaning of the process, avoiding the subject. As a hypothesis on the basis of which we may continue researching, we suspect that when death is referred to less crudely and more subtly, there are denser social relationships, closer and more affectionate bonds, whereas a less respectful, less delicate

approach implies less social, cultural and therapeutic substance.

Alba Rico, S. (2017) Ser o no ser (un cuerpo). Barcelona, Seix Barral.

Bauman, Z. (2014) Mortalidad, inmortalidad y otras estratègies de vida. Madrid, Sequitur.

Cátedra, M. (1988) La muerte y otros mundos. Enfermedad, suicidio, muerte y más allá entre los vaqueiros de alzada. Madrid, Júcar.

Ariès, P. (2000) Historia de la muerte en Occidente. Desde la Edad Media hasta nuestros días. Barcelona, El Acantilado.

Blanco, J. F. (2005) La muerte dormida. Cultura funeraria en la España tradicional. Valladolid, Universidad de Valladolid.

Finally, although changes are not necessarily good or bad, we need to bear in mind that they sometimes have negative consequences. It is by not disregarding these consequences that we shall be able to determine the advantages and disadvantages of the changes. The philosopher Byung-Chul Han (2017) warns us that when death is denied in the name of life, life itself mutates into something destructive. In the final analysis, the problem does not reside in the change from one model for dealing with death to another but in our current neglect of its disruptive effects. n

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Colina, F. (2016) “¿Luchar contra el estigma? El mayor estigma lo provoca la psiquiatría haciendo diagnósticos” [en línia]. <http://kaosenlared.

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Frazer, J. G. (1944 [1922]) La rama dorada: un estudio sobre magia y religión. México D. F., Fondo de Cultura Económica.

Han, B. C. (2017) La expulsión de lo distinto. Percepción y comunicación en la sociedad actual. Barcelona, Herder Editorial.

Di Nola, A. M. (2007) La muerte derrotada. Antropología de la muerte y el duelo. Barcelona, Belacqua, Barcelona.

Gómez-Tabanera, J. M. (ed.) (1968) El folklore espanyol. Madrid, Instituto Español de Antropología Aplicada.

Thomas, L. V. (1983) Antropología de la muerte. Mèxic D. F., Fondo de Cultura Económica.

Duque Alemany, M. M. (2003) El cicle de la vida: ritus i costums dels alacantins d’abans. Picanya, Edicions del Bullent.

Goody, J. (1962) Death, Property and the Ancestors. Palo Alto, Stanford University Press.

Elias, N. (1987) La soledad de los moribundos. Madrid, Fondo de Cultura Económica. Flores Arroyuelo, F. (2000) Diccionario de supersticiones y creencias Populares. Madrid, Alianza.

Gondar Portasany, M. (1984) “Velatorio e manipulacion de tensions”, I Coloquio de Antropoloxía de Galicia. A Coruña, Ediciós do Castro. Gondar Portasany, M. (1987) A morte. A Coruña, Museo do Pobo Galego.

Thomas, L. V. (1991) La muerte. Una lectura cultural. Barcelona, Paidós. Van Gennep, A. (1986) Los ritos de paso: estudio sistemático de las ceremonias de la puerta y del umbral, de la hospitalidad, de la adopción, del embarazo y del parto, del nacimiento, de la infancia, de la pubertat. Madrid, Taurus Ediciones.

Gorer, G. (1965) Death, Grief and Mourning in Contemporary Britain. Londres, Cresset Press.

NOTES

Erlbruch, W. (2016): El pato y la muerte. Granada, Barbara Fiore Editora [https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=N_lNJSAe6Y8].

Thomas (1983, 1991), Ariès (2000), Cátedra (1988), Gondar (1987), Bauman (2014), Gorer (1965), etc.

In 1902, the Moral and Political Sciences section of the Madrid Ateneo científico, literario y artístico sent a circular to its correspondents in different regions of Spain: teachers, notaries, ministers of religion, lawyers, doctors, etc. They were asked to participate in the compilation of data regarding rituals and beliefs, with exceptional recognition for the time of popular skills and knowledge. In its circular the Ateneo defined the purpose of the section as follows: “Science can tell us what is known as fact or hypothesis, but it also needs to gain ground in the immense area of the unknown. As well as teaching what is known, we need to find out what is unknown. This is the origin of research.”

(faltar) in our towns and villages. Secondly, he refers to a type of death he describes as “inverted” or “forbidden”. According to this model, which he situates in the modern era, death becomes shameful and subject to taboos, with tendencies like protecting those who are dying and concealing their condition, depriving them of their rights and control over their death, which becomes an illness. The physical location of death has also been displaced, so that people die alone in hospital, there is a lack of awareness and ritual around them, death is silenced in daily life, and the emotions it inspires are rejected, grief has to be hidden and mitigated.

Blanco (2005), Duque Alemany (2003), GómezTabanera (1968).

Frazer, 1944: 220.

According to Duque (2003), in his study of the rituals and customs of old Alicante, the presence of the godfather was favourable to dying well.

For example, sometimes, instead of shrouding the body on the floor, some strips of wood were placed on the bed or, if it was done on the floor, the corpse was laid on a new wickerwork mat, on which a shroud or sheet was placed. At other times, instead of using a handkerchief, an orange or a small glass of coffee was placed under the corpse’s chin to keep his or her mouth shut.

Philippe Ariès traces changes in the concept of death and attitudes to it in the western world, distinguishing two opposing models. Firstly, he speaks about “tame” death, treated simply, with no theatrical overtones, as a public, organised ceremony. This is the sense of “passing away”

Anthropologist Alfonso di Nola (2007) develops this idea in his work through the study of the positive, reconstituting effects of the customs associated with grieving in pre-industrial or archaic societies.

Other manifestations of grief involved clearing the house of mirrors and bright objects (Valencia region, Andalusia), not listening to music, letting one’s beard grow (Murcia), wearing a button covered in black cloth in one’s lapel, not lighting fires (Castile), etc. (Flores, 2000: 180). In Sardinia they painted the doors, windows and outside walls black. Black curtains were hung at the windows, the bed was covered with a dark bedspread and sometimes they even painted the bed and the fireplace black. A black ribbon hung from the head of the bed and the mirrors were covered in black. In Santa Teresa, in Gallura, sailors keep the boat painted black for a year after the death of the captain (Di Nola, 2007: 55). Manuel, born in Perellonet in 1922, tells us that when his father died they painted the whole boat black and that they were all very upset.

One of the consequences of this is that westerners see death as something obscene and shocking and they place their trust in scientific and technological progress, hoping that one day death will be conquered. Death is thus likened to sickness, health is technified and as death is seen as indecent, dirty and inopportune, it is thought of as solitary. Moreover, hiding death has become part of social behaviour, as can be seen, for example, in the fact that the dying are isolated, the process of death is concealed from children, and public expressions of grief are avoided (Thomas, 1983).

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Naming cohabitation

Terminology and lack of definition regarding living together without marriage Cohabitation and the not-sonew family

ouis Roussel (1989) spoke of “demographic surprises” to refer to the way in which the family changed and diversified from the 1970s onward, both in terms of demographic changes and changes in social and marital patterns (increasing divorce rates, increasing cohabitation, single-parent families, etc.) affecting the meaning of family. Roussel recorded the surprise generated in the scientific community by the fact that in the “kingdom of the conjugal family”, seen by sociologists at that time as the fundamental model for the family, it should be questioned. Since then the family has undergone transcendental changes in its structure,

concepts and functions. Today we speak of recomposed families, single-parent families, mothers who are unmarried from choice, cohabitation, etc. as an indication of the major transformations which have repercussions on the meaning and the imaginary of kinship. These models of cohabitation are the result of different processes such as the growth of the nuclear family (Meil, 2008), diversification in residential practice and family structures (Rivas, 2009; Sanz Abad et al., 2013; Ajenjo and García Saladrigas, 2016), the reinforcement of networks and family solidarity in response to the instability of other relationships (Roigé and Bestard, 2015), or the importance of being able to choose in areas of kinship where this was not previously possible (Bestard, 2009; Stone, 2007). Bestard (2009) emphasises the idea of constructed kinship that is freely chosen,

Marta Rico Iñigo UNIVERSITY OF BARCELONA AND UNED

Academic background: Associate lecturer in Social Anthropology at University of Barcelona, tutor in Anthropology degree course for the UNED distance university (Barcelona) and member of the Research Group in Relationship and Heritage Anthropology (GRAPP), Barcelona.

understood as a process in which the fact of caring for others is what really defines the kinship: “Behaviour and the meaning of kinship relationships are not determined by birth, blood or genes. They can be cultural symbols of a relationship and thus arbitrary and individual, but not necessarily universal or determining behaviour. If we can speak of an ontological primacy, this stems not from birth, but from care. Humans are organised around who

Cohabitation favours innovation in rituals, especially those associated with weddings. PEXELS FOTOS

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and what we care for” (2009:87). In line with this idea, relationships based on attention and care define the links between people more than consanguinity.

In the case of cohabiting couples, different authors have defined various types of cohabitation without marriage which highlight the wide range of situations and motivation involved. We thus find classifications that emphasise the motivation for cohabitation:

cohabitation forced by social or legal circumstances, ideologicalor as a trial (testing the relationship) (Domingo, 1992). Heuveline and Timberlake (2004) established formats for cohabitation based on indicators such as the incidence of cohabitation, the average duration of the union and the percentage of cases in which cohabitation led to marriage in different countries in Europe and North America: marginal, as a prelude to marriage, as another stage in the marriage process, as an alternative to being single, as an alternative to marriage, or indistinguishable from marriage. We find another example in Domínguez (2011), who includes cohabiting couples who change their outlook over time: those who cannot get married, those who do not want to get married, those who want to get married but want to try living together, and couples who go from one type of relationship to another at different stages in their lives. This last category is especially interesting as it reveals how these unions can go

This article is based on a historical survey of the terminology used to refer to cohabitation without marriage. Over the years different terms have been applied to it, leading to the current difficulty of finding a suitable term for a new situation which is becoming increasingly common. This lack of terminological clarity in the academic field also extends to couples who cohabit and their close relatives, who do not have a single, clearly defined concept for this type of relationship. This article aims to highlight the inherent lack of definition regarding a current social reality in Catalan families as an example of changes in marital life. The terminology shows how cohabitation is an option forming part of a transformation that goes beyond the couple, affecting the family and family relationships in general. The article is the result of an anthropological analysis carried out as part of the research thesis “L’amor sense papers. Parella, fills i parents en la cohabitació a Catalunya” (Love without papers. The couple, children and relatives in cohabitation in Catalonia) (2016).

Aquest article es basa en el recorregut històric pel qual ha passat l’ús de la terminologia que defineix la convivència sense matrimoni. Al llarg de la història ha estat objecte de diferents denominacions, que han portat a la dificultat actual per trobar un terme idoni per a una nova realitat emergent. Aquesta manca terminològica en l’àmbit acadèmic es fa també extensiva a les parelles que practiquen la cohabitació i als seus parents afins, als quals els manca un concepte únic i definitori de la realitat viscuda. L’article vol posar en evidència la indefinició inherent a una realitat social actual de les famílies catalanes com a mostra dels canvis en la vida conjugal. D’aquesta manera, la terminologia evidencia que la cohabitació és una opció de convivència que forma part d’una transformació més enllà de la parella, que afecta la família i les relacions de parentiu en general. L’article és producte de l’anàlisi antropològica L’amor sense papers. Parella, fills i parents en la cohabitació a Catalunya, realitzada com a recerca de tesi l’any 2016.

As a result of all these developments, we are witnessing numerous debates about the new situations in families, about the possibilities offered by assisted reproduction, international adoption, paternity and maternity, homoparental families, mixed couples, and stepfamilies in which a new couple have children from previous relationships. And among these new possibilities we find cohabiting couples, as another indication of the changes that are taking place generally (Grau, 2016).

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Keywords: cohabitation, marriage, terminology, kinship, family transformations Paraules clau: cohabitació, matrimoni, terminologia, parentiu, transformacions familiars Palabras clave: cohabitación, matrimonio, terminología, parentesco, transformaciones familiares

through different stages (trial, stable cohabitation, marriage, etc.) without this being an ideological problem for most couples. There are certain clear differences between countries, which display very unequal distributions in purely numerical terms1. In Spain, for example, there has been a sharp increase, suggesting that the rise in the numbers of cohabiting couples has become a permanent trend (Domínguez and Castro, 2013).According to the authors it was expected that there would be a homogeneous process throughout Europe, following the patterns established in the Second Demographic Transition

Este artículo se centra en el recorrido histórico por el que ha pasado la terminología que designa la convivencia sin matrimonio. Ha sido objeto de múltiples denominaciones a lo largo de la historia, que han llevado a la dificultad actual para encontrar un término idóneo para una nueva realidad emergente. Este vacío terminológico en el ámbito académico se hace extensivo a las parejas que practican la cohabitación y a sus parientes afines, que no disponen de un concepto único y claro de la realidad que viven. El artículo quiere poner en evidencia la indefinición inherente a una realidad social actual de las familias catalanas como muestra de los cambios en la vida conyugal. De esta manera, la terminología evidencia cómo la cohabitación es una opción de convivencia que forma parte de una transformación más allá de la pareja, que afecta a la familia y a las relaciones de parentesco en general. El artículo es el resultado de la investigación antropológica de doctorado El amor sin papeles. Pareja, hijos y parientes en la cohabitación en Cataluña, presentada en 2016.

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but, once the change reached countries like Spain, it proceeded more quickly and intensively than in other European societies. Spain and Italy were the first to reach the lowest levels of fertility, while the lateness of marriage and the birth of the first child has been more pronounced than in the rest of Europe. The complexity and heterogeneity of the way in which consensual unions are formed is also evidenced in other areas, such as Latin America (Cortina et al., 2010). As well as quantitative considerations, we have to take into account other aspects such as traditions regarding cohabitation in a particular area or country and social perception of it, which generate more or less diverging models. Recent comparative studies in Europe show how cohabitation is closely linked to concepts of individualisation and freedom (PerelliHarris and Bernardi, 2015). The authors argue that cohabitation and marriage establish different relationships depending on the society we are talking about. Perceptions vary from country to country: in Australia cohabitation and marriage are considered parts of the same process in the life cycle, the first associated with young people and the idea of freedom and the second with older adults who seek stability and less risk. In Norway the meaning of a couple depends more on children than marriage, the latter being seen more as a personal option to demonstrate one’s love. In the United Kingdom marriage represents a real commitment, while cohabitation is a kind of test of the relationship. In Italy marriage is normally the step following cohabitation. And finally in East Germany marriage is viewed negatively because of the negative consequences of divorce, so that it is something to be avoided. According to the authors, the different ways of viewing these forms of cohabitation are due to the way in which the

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life cycle and sequential changes are interpreted, how individualism (more a characteristic of the young) is understood, and the history and culture of each society. A study by Mynarska et al. (2014) shows how in Russia and Poland cohabitation allows women a certain freedom from the domestic obligations traditionally assigned to them, thus favouring greater equality. These couples have been a subject of interest for social scientists since their presence became obvious in various European countries from the 1970s onwards. They raise doubts about certain aspects which had previously been seen as part of the basis of conjugal relations. We are talking about marriage as a ritual celebration and legality as a way to consolidate the relationship. The existence of and the increase in this type of relationship and the growing number of births outside marriage clearly suggest new ideas on which concepts of the couple, relationships and commitment are based. As we shall see, this way of cohabiting involves flexibility and an evident lack of definition in the social behaviour that contributes to changes affecting families in general (Domínguez and Castro, 2013), terminology being a clear example of the conceptual difficulty intrinsic to the phenomenon. This article is the result of an analysis conducted as part of a doctoral thesis2. From concubines to de facto couples: history of a concept Cohabitation has existed in society for hundreds of years and has been referred to in texts from Roman times to the present. The most notable aspect of this long historical period is that in the last century the status of cohabitation outside marriage has moved on from being close to marginalised at certain times, adopting a new meaning and transmitting the idea of a real alternative for living as a couple that is socially valid and not stigmatised.

Some of the earliest allusions to this way of living together refer to the phenomenon as concubinage. We find one of the earliest references to concubinage in Greece, where Athenian law treated it as an inferior form of marriage but with the status of a legal union. The basic difference from marriage was that the children of such unions were not considered Athenians and had the same status as the children of foreigners (Reina, 1998). If we consider different periods in the history of classical Rome, we can see how cohabitation passed through different levels of recognition, sometimes being seen as a form of stable, continuous and monogamous relationship similar to marriage. The situation of these couples went through high and low periods during the history of the Roman empire, worsening under emperors like Constantine, who attacked and punished them, forcing them into marriage, and improving under those like Justinian, who treated concubinage like morganatic marriage (marriage with an inferior), trying to equate it with legitimate marriage (Miquel, 1992). Relationships without marriage were often between people of different social status, marriage between whom was sometimes even forbidden. This would have been the case under the laws of Augustus, which forbade marriage with women of bad repute and punished relationships with women who were ingenuae and honestae (born free and of high social standing), because they involved adulterium and stuprum (Miquel, 1992). We can thus see that in classical times concubinage passed through different stages as to its social and legal recognition, but was never fully equal to marriage. Other examples of concubinage as a response to relationships which were disapproved of socially include Visigothic law, under which concubinage was practised by serfs, who had no

Naming cohabitation

legal personality; Muslim law, where men could only marry free women and have slaves as concubines; and Mosaic law, where concubinage was also the relationship between a slave and her owner (Fosar, 1985). In Spain we find the practice known as barragania or barraganería, which existed from the eleventh to the sixteenth century. This was not merely a de facto situation but had important legal effects, more than in earlier periods. From the legal point of view this can be seen as the most glorious period in the history of these couples, as explicit legal regulations were established for them. The children of these unions were treated no differently from those of marriages3 (Ferreiro, 1998; Fosar, 1985). Before the Council of Trent (16th century) marriage and concubinage were formally distinguished by the desire of the couple to opt for one practice or the other. The few distinctions that existed were frequently questioned and there was no significant, absolute differentiation on a social level. From the thirteenth to the fifteenth century in Europe, according to theologians, moralists and the popular view, marriage should be totally free and voluntary, without the intervention of third parties, although fathers clearly had authority over the marriage of their sons and daughters. The Gregorian revolution, which aimed to establish a degree of order and impose canonical law, tried to prevent marriages conducted by lay persons, referred to as “clandestine”, but this was not achieved until the sixteenth century (Burguière et al., 1986). After the Council of Trent (1563) the situation was changed considerably by the introduction of standards governing marriage. According to Casey (1989), a campaign was waged against sexual immorality but it did

not have great impact in Spain initially, as the Inquisition focused its activity on homosexuality, bigamy and blasphemy. As a result, if heterosexual relations were discreet, they were not punished. As Reina (1998:17) says, “The survival of relationships based on concubinage was evidently ‘tolerated’, and they were treated as a kind of ‘second class’ marriage”. One of the best known forms of cohabitation in recent history is workingclass concubinage in the nineteenth century. Big cities like Paris favoured this practice as those involved were young people from rural areas who resisted social control. These unions were also referred to as “extra-marital” or “illegitimate”4. At that time these “false” households were considered trial marriages if they had been living together for less than three years. The relationship is connected with what we have already said and is based on sexual relations while waiting, a way of advancing them without having to commit to marriage at too early an age. In this way the woman acted as wifeservant in the home and the man had a partner for some time before marrying another woman of his own social class, thus avoiding brothels (Corbin and Perrot, 1991). As Segalen (1992) says, for women being a concubine was a way of getting by but their hopes lay in marriage. Living conditions in the city were harder for women, as a result of which they sought an association with a man, even without marriage, thus making their financial position less precarious. It could be said that in a sense women were the victims of concubinage, in a situation that needs to be understood as a consequence of the economic and social circumstances of the time (Roigé, 1995). In time, as a consequence of the adoption of bourgeois values by the proletariat, working-class weddings became public and more sumptuous, while

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being based on affection and conjugal love. The members of the bourgeoisie, for their part, whose marriages took family wealth into account and were based on carefully planned strategies, were interested in concubinage, as it did not pose a risk for their families’ financial interests (Segalen, 1992). Cohabitation between members of the working class represents a first step towards a new conception of concubinage. The change is due to the fact that cohabitation occurred between persons of the same social and economic status, i.e. between workers or between members of the bourgeoisie. As we shall see, from the end of the nineteenth century there was a major change in the history of the phenomenon: de facto couples ceased to be a response to anomalous and conflictive social situations. Such relationships moved from being a form of marriage that was denigrated or a “second class” marriage to symbolising protest movements and socially innovative and revolutionary ideologies. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries workers had a unit of resistance in the family, empowered by the trade union movements, which promoted new ways of viewing the family and marriage. Economic problems, housing, health and food were clearly issues at this time (Janssens, 2004). As a result, the working class family model differed greatly from the bourgeois model, as it led to a substantial increase in de facto unions. Against this background various movements arose, promoting different models for the couple, including the anarchist view, which took as its primordial value “free love”, understood as a legitimate, exclusive commitment by two individuals, which did not need the approval of the church, the state or society (Armand, 1934). Ideas of respect and freedom between and towards the couple were to predominate in this discourse, which would

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later lead to twentieth and twentyfirst century arguments for rejecting marriage. Other discourses such as the Marxist and feminist viewpoints contributed to this ideology, leading the governing bourgeoisie to undertake a campaign to restore working-class morality with a view to inhibiting these alternative positions (Roigé, 2016). We find an example at the end of the nineteenth century, when a special form of cohabitation, known as a “marriage of conscience” became common among Swedish intellectuals (Domingo, 1997). In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the “Stockholm marriage” appeared as a result of the conditions in which people from rural areas lived in cities. They lived together and waited to find steady employment, so that they could afford housing and get married. When the practice of cohabitation increased in the mid-1960s, it was referred to as a “marriage of conscience” or “Stockholm marriage”, adopting the terms mentioned above, although the situations involved were very different from those in the nineteenth century (Domingo, 1997). In the twentieth century cohabitation without marriage reached a peak in the 1960s, with the appearance of the ideological de facto couple who aspired to form a new type of relationship with more equality in roles and relationships for both sexes. In this case it would be described as a “free union”, highlighting the fact that the relationship did not involve any ties between the partners and emphasising the voluntary nature of the union above all. More recently this form of de facto relationship has moved towards a situation agreed by both partners and its meaning as an expression of protest and the ideological component have become less prominent. It should be pointed out, however, that research has also shown that the fact that many couples

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in recent generations have given up their relationship has meant that gender differences remain very obvious, diminishing the prospect of a transformation in this area envisaged at the end of the twentieth century (Alabart et al., 1988). Inequality in household tasks and the care of children are still two key elements in the everyday life of cohabiting couples and they have been evidenced in the results of this research (Rico, 2016). In this regard we find a range of situations in more recent studies that show how the habits of married and cohabiting couples do not diverge greatly in their day-today activities, especially those that have children (Brown and Booth, 1996; Smock, 2000; González et al., 2010). Cohabiting couples are not, therefore, something remote and unfamiliar for our history, but we must bear in mind that the current situation is substantially different from previous historical situations. This major difference depends on the fact that the reasons for it are no longer economic or social, at least not exclusively, as the way couples in western society live together is based mainly on personal choice. Although there are some who are obliged to cohabit by their situation (economic, legal, etc.), many couples do not marry as a result of a joint decision, which can have many reasons. Consequently, today we are moving towards a new view of the practice of cohabitation, brought about by the changes taking place in the broader context of the transformation of western families. In search of a representative term A brief historical survey of this issue and the terms associated with it in each period helps us to understand the importance of terminology and the way of referring to it. The term chosen gives us clues as to how the phenomenon was interpreted at a particular time. Accordingly, we can see how ter-

minology has varied and been modified in different historical contexts, revealing a lack of unity or agreement in referring to the phenomenon. Regarding the transformations currently taking place in kinship, we find a lack of concepts or terminology to express new situations. This applies to some very obvious aspects of family recomposition and the different roles played by its members, who often lack a new name to redefine the stepfather, the stepmother or the stepchildren, for example (Rivas, 2008). The phenomenon of cohabitation, as we are seeing, is not unaffected by these terminological difficulties. We thus find many terms to refer to the same thing: de facto couple, cohabitation, consensual union, stable union, concubinage, free couple, pre-nuptial union, etc. Despite the diversity of terms available, no single term has emerged for the social sciences to refer to cohabitation, suggesting that terms always have a particular ideological background, which makes it difficult to opt definitively for one of them. The need to find a new terminology reflects the change in the sociological sense of the phenomenon and again highlights the social importance of naming. All these terms are based on emphasising a criterion that allows one to define this form of living together, such as the residential criterion, as in “cohabitation”, focusing on the fact that the couple live together under the same roof. This concept could be considered inadequate because it emphasises the residential aspect, so that we could ask: “What happens when a couple do not live together permanently?” or “What about married couples? Don’t they cohabit too?” Speaking about “cohabitation” ignores the relationship between the couple and its content and does not allude to the real difference between married and unmarried couples, the absence of legal ties or a

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marriage contract. The advantage of this concept, which contributes to its use in social studies, is that, as it is new, it is more neutral and is less likely to have negative ideological or moral connotations, or stigmatise the situations it describes. When the concept of “youthful cohabitation” was first used, it had the advantage of neutrality (Roussel, 1978), as if that were what really defined a phenomenon that did not want to be defined. Chalvon-Demersay (1983) rightly said that this term was so neutral that it made no reference to emotional relationships, which is precisely what one is talking about when studying couples. The same author hinted that perhaps the fact that there is no welldefined name is a result of matters concerning couples being private: “so private that we deprive it of a name” (1983: 16). As Domingo says: “The old names are rejected because of the social stigma they convey. They are words that do not correspond to the specific characteristics of the union between a couple or to the tolerance and acceptance with which this type of union is seen today, indeed, its legitimacy” (1997: 200). In some cases reference is made to a “trial marriage”, which raises problems when one combines in a single concept couples who do want to live together to test their relationship and others who live together and do not see their relationship as a trial but a stable partnership that could equally apply to single and married couples. “Cohabitation can be seen as a trial before marriage, but in fact one experiences, from the very first day, a relationship like marriage. (...) The purpose of cohabitation is not a test but the beginning of a relationship” (Rico and Ribot, 1999: 20). Other terminological options have ideological connotations that are intended to transmit a clear opposi-

Cohabiting implies not knowing how to define oneself or the couple. PEXELS FOTOS

tion to marriage and what it represents in terms of institutional control. The term “free union” has been used to refer to less stable situations of cohabitation, involving a loving relationship with one person without ties. We could say that both “free union” and “free couple” suggest a clearly militant left-wing political attitude (Alabart et al., 1988). As Domingo (1997: 201) says: “in the case of ‘free union’ marriage is qualified negatively, attaching strong ideological assumptions to a relationship based on the rejection of marriage, which does not seem to be true in most cases, although it was the case in a particular historical context, as part of a current of left-wing thought, more specifically within the libertarian movement.” Despite the perspective associated with this term, it is still commonly used to refer to de facto couples. According to Kaufmann (1993), the terms cohabitation, free union and concubinage all refer to those who live together rejecting ecclesiastical marriage, but each one focuses on a particular quality: “cohabitation” refers to those who share a home, “concubinage” those who share a bed, and “free

union” to those who basically reject the institution of marriage. Legal studies use a very extensive set of terms, being one of the disciplines that has studied the topic most in recent years, as a result of the debate on regulating such situations. Accordingly, if we want to emphasise the legal aspect of the relationship, it is more appropriate to use the expression “de facto couple”, because it refers to the lack of a legal contract between the two members of the couple and is what differentiates these unions from married couples in practical terms. This concept is the one we find most often in the legal field, although others such as “paramatrimonial relationship”, “stable union” and “free union” are also found. If we examine current Catalan legislation, the 2005 law on stable couples (Act 25/10 of 29 July in Book Two of the Catalan Civil Code, concerning individuals and families), raises various considerations regarding the term used in these cases. Why did it not use the expression “de facto couple”, which is the one used most frequently in the

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legal field? The use of this terminology suggests that what is being emphasised about the couple who live together without being married is a very important requirement in the eyes of society: stability. As if the de facto couple were characterised by greater instability than the married couple. And it is even more obvious if we bear in mind that the couples formed in the 1960s and 1970s are not the same as today’s, which have moved away from the more ideological view. According to Llebaría’s analysis (1996), it seems that the term “stable” is found more in connection with the duration of the couple than their real stability. In other words, when people talk about stability they are really talking about durability: “(...) ’stability’ would function more as a temporal requirement for cohabitation than as a defining feature of the relationship” (Llebaría, 1996:135). The fact that the latest legislation mentions concepts such as “couple” and “family” indicates an effort to recognise them and bring legislation more into line with current family circumstances, which was not the case in the old law’s references to “stable unions between couples” (Act 10/1998 of 15 July). Today we can say that the term “cohabitation” has been one of the most frequently used in social studies since L. Roussel5 first used “cohabitation juvénile” in 1978 to refer to the cohabitation of young French couples. The “juvenile” element was subsequently removed so that other generations were included. Other categories were then identified according to age (“juvenile cohabitation” and “adult cohabitation”) or with respect to previous or subsequent experiences (“pre-matrimonial cohabitation” and “post-matrimonial cohabitation”), among others. In view of the difficulty of finding a term that includes the wide range of situations involved in cohabitation,

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the simplest option would seem to be to experiment with new terms that did not refer to or have any implications regarding situations that had existed in the past. Despite the possible problems that we have mentioned, the great advantage of the term “cohabitation” is the fact that it is newly introduced, which allows us to speak about a phenomenon that is different from others without prejudice or ideology behind the word we use. We shall now see how these difficulties in academic terminology extend to the expressions used by those directly involved when they refer to their partners. Again there is no single way to refer to the couple but a range of options. How do you refer to your partner? Non-existent terminology in the couple The study of kinship terminology has devoted pages and pages to an understanding of the social structure of the family. Names define the position and role of the person based on two terminological forms: the term used to refer to the person and the term with which one addresses the person. The terms are thus related to behaviour, relationships, rights and duties between individuals and groups who recognise each other as equal in their category (Moncó and Rivas, 2007).

(Schneider and Homans, 1955), so the terms say a great deal about relationships, as does their non-existence or unsuitability. In the case of cohabitation there is obviously a lack of terminology that clearly expresses the phenomenon and more generally describes the new situations affecting families (Rivas, 2008). It is especially interesting to note the uncertainty generated by some of these new situations and the difficulty of finding a new term, free of connotations, that allows us to reflect these situations with precision. As Bourdieu said, “uncertainty about terminology is definitively an expression of uncertainty about functions, statutory assignments, rights and duties, limits and prohibitions” (1996:4).

“Naming a person is giving them an identity, placing them in a system for representing our relatives, those who are and are not “one of ours”. The references that give meaning to terms of kinship are the kinship categories and groups that predominate in a given society”. (Moncó and Rivas, 2007:1).

We have seen how historically there have been other terms to refer to cohabitation outside marriage, but as a result of the change in social perception of the phenomenon today and ideas concerning it, the terms used up to now have been rejected, precisely because they do not give an accurate picture of the cultural practices to which they refer or have connotations that do not correspond to current circumstances. This shortcoming directly affects the terms of reference used by those in this situation, who do not have an appropriate, specific term to refer to those who live together in this way. It seems that this situation is common to western cultures, as other studies in different countries report the same problem with terminology6. It is the use of one term or another that will show us how cohabitation is interpreted by the couple themselves and by their respective families.

Kinship terms allow us to classify or order people and name or define a relationship between them. The nature of the relationships between the person using the term and the person it refers to clearly determines the term used

The interviews conducted in the study show how individuals do not know how to refer to their partners before third persons or when they introduce them and they often turn to existing expressions, trying to apply them to

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their situation (partner, girlfriend, etc.). Cadoret (2012) mentions this issue in connection with homoparental couples, who often have recourse to non-innovative kinship terms, because they offer them the possibility of being considered part of what is socially acceptable. In these cases the use of a term that is already recognised and shared helps them to be viewed without prejudice or discrimination. It is a matter of not standing out and forming part of the social structure, thanks to the use of conventional terminology. In the case of cohabitation we have not found a single new term which would fit all those cohabiting, which obliges them to turn to terms which already existed but which do not accurately describe their situation. We may say that these are “loan” terms, or “fallback” expressions. According to Chalvon-Demersay (1983), hidden behind the non-existence of specific terms lay a refusal to give a fixed homogeneous verbal status to a relationship seen as unstable and evanescent. For the author, if it was given a name, it was being normalised and institutionalised, which was undesirable when marriage was considered the final purpose of cohabitation. Although this was the case for some of the first generation interviewees studied, it was not the case for the second generation. Numerous authors have considered the use of terms referring to cohabiting couples and marriage. Berrington et al. (2015) emphasise the fact that marriage still leads to a series of changes in social identity, with direct repercussions on the use of a particular terminology. In line with the ideas of Chalvon-Demersay (1983), Nock (1999) emphasises the idea that cohabiting couples are not governed by convention, reaffirming the non-existence of a term to define them. We even find cases in which married couples want to play at the lack of definition implied

by not being married. In Quebec, for example, some married couples use terms normally applied to cohabiting couples to create a playful feeling of uncertainty (Le Bourdais and Juby, 2001). Nearer home, we can see from the study in Barcelona and Madrid by Alabart et al. (1988), that couples did not feel comfortable with traditional terminology because it did not describe their current situation; they saw it as pejorative and inappropriate but could not find terms that allowed them to make a fresh start with referring to a new, different type of relationship. Research for the doctoral thesis has shown how the complexity of the situation is reflected in the terminology used, stemming from the fact that there are no specific terms, while couples feel the need to make their unmarried status known to others. Moreover, we should add that the context in which the term is used may mean that it varies and the same person may use different expressions according to the situation and the person being addressed.7 a) “We have only one problem, nomenclature.” Terminology for referring to one’s partner In everyday language the fact of not using “marit/dona” (husband/wife) shows the other person that the couple are not married or is intended to make explicit a situation that does not correspond to the social status of married people, thus establishing clear differences. In the case of unmarried couples, an analysis of terminology allows us to see and understand these hidden relationships, the genealogical space in which they are located, how relationships are classified and invented through terms that need to be rethought and selected in each situation. What is the logic behind them? Why are some terms or others used?

We shall now look at some of the commonest terms and the explanations

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given for their use in each case. We can see that there are different terms but that each one involves some kind of shortcoming or conceptual connotation that prevents it from fully covering a particular case. One of the most frequently used in Catalan is “company” (colleague, comrade) which has a strong ideological background, having been used extensively by couples in the 1970s at a time of political and social protest, when they were trying to highlight gender equality. The use of this term emphasised the importance of friendship and equality in relationships entered into freely. It placed the status of the man and woman in the couple on an equal footing, ruling out any kind of discrimination. It is still used today but we cannot say that it corresponds exactly to the same ideological standpoint from which it was used some years ago. Some interviewees even dislike it precisely because it is associated with this older concept. Apart from its ideological connotations, it is a term that does not leave the status of the couple clear, although it demonstrates the non-existence of marriage by the mere fact that the couple do not use “marit/muller”. Sometimes it seems more acceptable to say “companya” than “home” (husband), because saying “el meu home”(my husband) gives the impression that one possesses the other person. Considering these linguistic alternatives, one never knows which is the best option. (...) I don’t know about her but I think “la meva dona” (my wife)” is what people have always said so, according to who I’m speaking to, I prefer to say “companya”. It definitely sounds more modern and represents a relationship between equals, doesn’t it? (Jordi) I never say “la meva dona”(...) I’ve never used that expression, it seems

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as if...I don’t know...as if I’ve bought an appliance and it’s there for me to use. (...) I don’t know, it sounds a bit strange to me. Um...I prefer to say “compañera” or “amiga”, but “la meva dona” sounds so wrong, don’t you think? (Ernest) However, precisely because of its connotations, this word is rejected by others interviewed, such as Anna: “It’s a

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“Parella” (partner) is another term, which is more neutral, as it does not have any ideological connotations regarding the union, while explicitly stating that there is no marriage. As it is gender neutral (the masculine and feminine forms are identical), it can be used by both heterosexual and homosexual couples. Some respondents used it together with “novio” or “xicot” (boyfriend), alternating these

problem of finding the correct term is common to many couples, as Flora declares: “It’s a big problem, because sometimes I don’t know if I should say: ‘the boy who lives with me’, or ‘the boy I live with’”. For a long time I called him my “novio” but then people were confused because they didn’t know we lived together (Flora).

The couple is the basis for the relationship, increasingly autonomous and independent of the social context. PEXELS FOTOS

bit trendy, isn’t it? I don’t like talking about my ‘company’”, while Marina says “using ‘company’ and ‘companya’ sounds like May 68, and that’s not it either.” The two respondents make it clear that they do not feel comfortable with this term and don’t identify with it, as it is associated with protest movements which are not part of their relationship and they add that they do not rule out marriage in future, which political militants certainly did.

forms, like Lola (“mi novio” or “mi pareja”), Almudena (“con mi pareja, mi chico”) and Ona (“pareja orchico”). “Novio” and “novia” (boyfriend/ girlfriend) are also used but suggest a situation which has little to do with reality. Although they imply a relationship, they do not specify cohabitation. For her part Elisa says “I used to say ‘xicot’ but we can’t do that now, we’re a bit too old” (she laughs). The

It could even give the impression that the relationship was just beginning and was not stable yet. As it is often understood as indicating a situation prior to cohabitation, it poses problems and may even be seen as offensive by the member of the couple referred to, as a number of interviewees have pointed out. One of our respondents says that she calls her partner “novio” “because I don’t know what to call him” and it’s easier to continue using the

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same term as when they were going out together (Esther). Another couple we interviewed explained that when they were living together she called him “parella” or “marit”, while he called her his “novia”. Now that they are married, he refers to his “dona”, which shows how the fact of getting married has affected the term used. “Home” (man, husband) is a term that facilitates referring to a male partner. As it is not heard much in urban areas, it is a useful option, although it is also used by married couples. It can be introduced easily in new situations such as cohabitation, because it is very neutral and includes both married and unmarried. As a result many women prefer it because it saves explanations and leaves no doubt in the listener’s mind8 as to the sentimental relationship, as Núria explains: I found it difficult to use it, but now I do say it. It’s a quick way of saying it, “mira el meu home” (look at my husband). Because if I say Sergi this or that, the other person thinks “What?”. They don’t know what the relationship is. But if I say “el meu home” everything’s clear, it’s more practical (Núria). In this sense it is a good alternative to “marit” (husband, spouse), which does convey a clear, concise idea of marriage, although in certain cases the cohabiting couples interviewed prefer it when they do not want to give explanations about their marital situation. It is a question of convenience, although it is not an easy term, because couples feel that they are using it inappropriately. We may consider that the use of “home” or “marit” is equivalent and that the choice of one or the other depends on how familiar they are. As Abril says: “it works well calling him ‘marido’ because you don’t have to give any explanations. A similar viewpoint is put forward by Mireia:

“I used to say ‘company’ but now I increasingly use ‘marit’. (...) They say ‘dona’ and ‘la meva dona’ is a more indefinite term because it doesn’t imply you are married or not. And for them that works well, but I don’t say ‘el meu home’, which is what they say in small towns and villages... (...) It dates back to the days of “Everybody to the demonstration, comrades” and it sounds a bit comical. (...) People keep saying ‘la meva parella’ whether they’re married or not, it’s ‘parella’ all the time! (...) I feel less comfortable saying ‘company’ or ‘parella’ than saying ‘marit’” (Mireia). The word “dona” (woman, wife) would be the feminine equivalent of ‘home’ as a neutral term. Although it is used in the context of married couples, many of the men interviewed use it because it retains a certain ambiguity and does not always imply marriage, simply indicating that one has a female partner. Another advantage is that in this case Spanish and Catalan can use equivalent terms (“dona” in Catalan and “mujer” in Spanish). A similar situation exists in French with the terms “femme” and “mari” (Chalvon-Demersay, 1983). In some interviews we thus found that, when the couple got married, the women changed from saying “parella” or “company” to saying “marit”, while the men used “dona” before and after they were married because it did not constitute a problem (Laura and Judit). Thus far we have seen some of the terms used most often and the circumstances in which they are applied. But what happens if one does not use one at all? If we have said that naming gives an identity, institutionalises and normalises, not using a name implies just the opposite. We thus find cases in which, despite using the terminology described above, the person who has to use the term does not feel comfort-

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able with it and does not find a fully satisfactory option, making do with the alternative that makes them feel least uncomfortable or calls for fewest explanations. This discomfort can lead to a lack of definition, as there are those who prefer not to give any name to the relationship and allow it to become explicit in time. We find different options to avoid the use of specific terminology. Many couples use their first names and allow listeners to draw their own conclusions about the relationship between them. For example, when they meet a group of friends they expect the others to understand their relationship through the conversation, gestures, possible signs of affection, comments and explanations by those who know them, etc. Margarita, for example, always introduces her partner by her name and waits for someone to ask her whether they are a couple (Margarita). Others report similar situations: Often if we were with people and had to introduce ourselves, we used our names. People could see or understand what the situation was. We didn’t say anything more (Lourdes). What’s it to other people if he’s my boyfriend or not? And if we’re with a group, they’ll realise he’s my boyfriend, I don’t need to say it, I don’t know, I don’t like that (Esther). I say his name and that’s that, though there can sometimes be misunderstandings (she laughs). But not straight away, definitely! Later, if you talk to the person for a bit longer, then you say it... (Montse). Another alternative is the descriptive option, using more complex expressions to describe the situation, such as “the boy/girl who lives with me”, “the boy/girl I live with”. Even the children the couple have in common can express the link between them: “my

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son’s father” or “Pere’s father”. This is the case of Flora, who uses “my son’s father” or “Antonio’s father” to refer to her current partner, and Ernest, who describes his former partner as “my son’s mother”. Finally, considering the responses of interviewees and comparing the generations studied, we can say that in general terms there has been an evolution, showing that for the first generation “company” was one of the terms most often used and it is indeed still in use today, because of its associations with social and political protest. However, with the second generation we see that the range of terms has grown and become diversified, so that all those we have presented coexist, leaving users to choose the option they consider most appropriate. We cannot say that the temporary or permanent nature of cohabitation determines the use of one term or another, it is influenced more by the underlying ideology (if there is one). We need to bear in mind that many of the couples interviewed did not know if they would get married and, if they did, they did not know when, as Domínguez (2011) also reveals in his classification. What we can see is that what has not happened yet is the appearance of a new term that really serves to refer to this way of living together. Perhaps it will never be necessary, because the real change goes beyond cohabitation in itself. It could be another product or consequence of a larger transformation in relationships between couples, going further than the meaning of marriage. We can see how the concept of marriage saves couples a lot of trouble regarding terminology. Once married, although the terms used may feel strange initially, the couple can use them legitimately and do so. It is a moment of transition, from ambiguity to clarity.

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b) “A father-in-law is a father-in-law”. Terminology for close relatives Although interviewees experience certain difficulties with the terms used to refer to the couple and finding one that meets all their needs, we find a different situation with the terms used to refer to close relatives, where they can use those common among married couples. The use of expressions like “sogres”, “cunyat” and“nebot”(parents-in-law, brotherin-law, nephew) is thus common. As Margarita says, somewhat relieved, “there’s no problem with that”.

Using conventional terminology for close relatives is the most frequent option among all interviewees, irrespective of their generation or the stage of research. These are easy, familiar terms that require no explanation. It seems then that with close relatives there is no need to give details or make distinctions, which does happen when one is talking about the couple. Albert jokes that one of the advantages of not being married is that you don’t have parents-in-law. Respondents have fully assimilated the role of these close relatives, as their comments reveal: My parents-in-law have always been my parents-in-law. Since we started living together they’ve been my parents-in-law. (Laura) For me my sister-in-law is my sister-in-law. Now my sister-in-law is going to have a child and he’ll be my nephew. (Andrea) When her father died, I said my father-in-law had died. Of course, because it’s clear a father-in-law is a father-in-law. (Maurici) These expressions confirm that the use of terms normal among married couples indicates similar affinities to those in marriage. By using these terms cohabiting couples confirm that they do not obviously require different terminology or changes in the nature of their relationships with

close relatives and the way they interact with them. These terms correspond to the patterns that society has adopted for married couples and they provide a good option, a fall-back solution. Even so, if couples do not want to use them, they can again turn to more descriptive expressions like “my husband’s sister” or “Joan’s father”, which give a fuller and more complex definition of the exact kinship relationship. It is a good option for those who reject the above terms or who feel uncomfortable with them, an attitude more typical of the first generation, who wanted a more explicit break with the relationships assumed to be part of the institution of marriage. If we look at this from the other point of view, that of the parents of the couples interviewed, interesting doubts arise, leading to complicated explanations and terms which are inappropriate from the viewpoint of their sons and daughters. The uncertainty of not knowing how to describe their children’s relationships with others and not having a clear terminology again produces complex situations when they are speaking about their son’s or daughter’s partner. Some of them talk about “my daughter’s partner”, “my son’s girlfriend”, “the girl who lives with him”, etc. without applying a specific term because of the uncertainty caused by the situation. Many parents turn to words that do not define the couple clearly but are commonly used in everyday language. Their children will approve of the use of such terms to a greater or lesser extent. Here are some examples from our interviews: (...) they don’t like “novio” at home. (...) not “company”, definitely not. That and “novio”, I’m almost sure they wouldn’t. “The boy Arian is with...” (Arian)

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People used to say “Carme’s Pere”. (Carme) Her grandmother gave all sorts of explanations: “her boyfriend, the one she lives with now...” (Iolanda) The use of terminology is not accidental and, as we can see, it has important repercussions on how the couple’s relationship is presented to third parties. Roser jokes that she and her partner have now got the “official diploma” and their parents-in-law refer to them as “son-in-law” and “daughter-in-law”. Judith reports that her mother-in-law refers to her as “my son’s friend”, which she finds deeply offensive. She sees it as pejorative because she does not consider herself to be just a friend but to be in a relationship that goes beyond friendship. His mother introduced me as his friend (...) This is very offensive (...) when you’ve been living together for five, six or even seven years, introducing you as a “friend” is very disrespectful, it’s like introducing you as just anyone, it feels really bad, sometimes I was just ignored and not introduced at all. Sometimes the fact of not using one of the habitual terms is intentional, because the parents do not really recognise the relationship. This is the case of a father who never referred to his “son-in-law”, whereas the mother did, as she accepted the relationship better than he did. And Jordi says: Your mother didn’t say “son-in-law” because she’s very picky, she was deliberately being nasty. A case worthy of attention is that of Rosa and her partner, who have a little girl. Her mother is from a village in Soria, although she now lives in Barcelona with her husband. In August the couple usually spend a few weeks

in the village with her parents and one of her sisters and her children. When her mother wanted to introduce them to someone in the village, she said “my daughter and her compañero”, which Rosa found embarrassing because it gave the impression that they were together in a trade union or workers’ movement. She thinks that for her mother it was a very awkward situation “because she didn’t know what to say, it wasn’t natural”. She tried to be natural but she couldn’t, that’s why she said it like that. In fact she thinks that her mother did it so that everyone could see that she wasn’t hiding anything, she was making it explicit. Rosa also thinks that her grandmother and maternal grandfather assumed their cohabitation more easily, more naturally than her own parents. Her grandfather called her father “yerno” (son-in-law) and referred to her partner and her sister’s husband as “yernecillos” (little sons-in-law). In an informal conversation we had once, a man9 told us that he referred to himself as “compasuegro” because his son lived with a girl and they called each other “companys”, so he invented his own word for the father-in-law of the “companys”. It is clear that the concept of “boyfriend/girlfriend” suggests a less stable couple, which makes our interviewees feel uncomfortable. But we also find the opposite case, in which the couple refer to each other in a way that the parents dislike, precisely because it gives the impression of a relationship that is not consolidated in the eyes of the family, as in the case of Margarita. I just can’t say it (...) I don’t know, it sounds very harsh, doesn’t it? (...) once I said “I’ll be going with my “chaval” (bloke)” (laughter) and my mother said “you can call him lots of things but not ‘chaval’ (...) and I said no, with my “company”, and my

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mother said “What do you mean? Is he a schoolfriend?” (...) And the same thing happens to him. Sometimes he wants to introduce me and says “Margarita...” and then she can’t stop herself and she says “you mean your wife” and the fool says “well, my wife, yes, OK”. Once again we see how terminology is not used without a purpose and helps us to better understand the perception parents have of the relationship between the cohabiting couple and the extent to which they are included in the family. The problem with terminology is more evident in one direction than the other. The couple have no problems when referring to their partner’s parents (they refer to the father-in-law, sister-in-law, nephews, etc.), while the family do have problems when referring to their children’s partners. In cases where cohabitation is more accepted, the parents talk about their children’s husbands or wives, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, without making any distinction from traditional terminology. But we can also find cases where cohabitation is more difficult to accept or creates a feeling of uncertainty, leading them to use alternative expressions, like boyfriend, girlfriend, friend, etc. We should point out that the lack of acceptance of the couple’s relationship in some cases, linked to the use of terms that are not the usual ones, is commoner among couples in the first research period than the second, for the same reason we gave regarding the acceptance of cohabitation by families, which becomes increasingly greater in more recent interviews. The lack of definition regarding cohabiting couples and possibilities of innovation Couples who live together without being married can find small spaces where they have greater freedom thanks to the lack of definition in this form of cohabitation. This becomes evident in

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various areas, including terminology, where it has not been possible to find a single name to refer to this type of relationship, generating all kinds of possibilities and arguments to justify one name or another, depending on when it is used and by whom. We have seen how the use of terms can be related to the generations to which our interviewees belong, the first being a clear example of the use of terms like “company/companya”, intended to indicate a more egalitarian relationship, while in more recent generations it is very common to find the word “parella”, which disconnects the concept from the social and political ideology with which it was associated in the earlier generation. In the case of near relatives, terminology helps to normalise the situation, the terms used being exactly the same as for married couples. In this case it is clear that the problem of terminology exists almost exclusively regarding the couple and not other relatives, so that it does not affect them and helps to equate them with other unions they know. Terminology regarding relatives interprets relationships within the established family pattern, using conventional terms (parents-in-law,

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brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, nephews, etc.) with no apparent differences between groups of interviewees. As we have seen, a couple’s intention to cohabit on a long-term basis does not mean that terms are applied differently from cases of temporary cohabitation, because of the flexibility provided by this type of relationship and the wide range of situations through which it may pass. In fact the lack of definition is more noticeable in other areas of the social life of cohabiting couples, such as sociability, family solidarity and rituals. The specific case of terminology shows that cohabiting couples are participating in the transformations taking place in patterns of kinship, showing how one can live in an undefined situation and how this is not exclusively an issue affecting unmarried couples living together but part of a far reaching global revolution in family life. Cohabitation is thus a way of living together that contributes, together with the other changes affecting the family and kinship taking place in the twenty-first century, to making families more diversified and heterogeneous, favouring the creation of spaces

for innovation and change, where terminology can be used to modify patterns and innovate. The terms used reflect a situation which has existed for some years and which has not found its place conceptually but does clarify the difference with other types of family. At present we are witnessing a process of transformation, which may lead to the coexistence of cohabitation and marriage as different models or to parity between them, with the subsequent elimination of one of the two models, which have an increasing number of points in common. As García Pereiro (2011) says, in Spain, cohabitation is gaining ground as being close to marriage and losing it as an alternative. Indeed, the change is much more extensive than the fact of cohabitation in itself and also goes beyond terminology, affecting the situation of families and kinship in general. Cohabitation is thus one more expression of the dynamics that reinforce ideas such as choice, flexibility and individual freedom. n

NOTES

If we look at data for Europe we can see that the increase is obvious in most EU-27 (Eurostat) countries, where 38.3% of children were born outside marriage in 2010, compared with 17.4% in 1990. Among countries with high numbers of such births in 2011 and 2014 we find: Estonia (59.7% in 2011), Slovenia (58.3% in 2014), Bulgaria (58.8% in 2014), Sweden (54.5% in 2014), and France (55.0% in 2011). The highest figure recorded, however, is for Iceland, with 65% in 2011. The lowest percentages of children born outside marriage correspond to Greece (8.2% in 2014) and Cyprus (16.9% in 2011). In most countries there has been a progressive increase over decades but in Spain it has been very pronounced. We find a similar trend in the CzechRepublic (Source: EUROSTAT).

“Love without papers. The couple, children and parents in cohabitation in Catalonia”, is based on 88 in-depth interviews with 110 respondents taken from research for the thesis together with two research programmes conducted by the Research Group in Relationship and Heritage Anthropology (GRAPP) at the University of Barcelona. Two groups of informants are defined: Generation 1 (born up to 1971) and Generation 2 (born from 1972 onwards). The cut-off point may not correspond strictly to ways of thinking and interpreting cohabitation but can help to define two ways of understanding the relationship in a couple. One group seeks a new model for couples which is more egalitarian and outside the control of government and religious authorities and the other does not want this type of change. The study focused on cohabiting

couples living in the city of Barcelona and the surrounding area in the province of Barcelona, especially the Barcelona Metropolitan Area. The study was conducted in two different periods: STAGE A includes interviews conducted as part of the “Noves famílies” project at the University of Barcelona (36 interviews) and the interviews conducted during the first stage of my thesis (28 interviews). STAGE B encompasses the interviews conducted during the “Famílies d’avui” project at the University of Barcelona (18 interviews) and the interviews conducted during the second stage of work on my thesis project (2 discussion groups with 6 members in each) around the year 2010 (between 2009 and 2014), ten years after Stage A. We can find couples who express different opinions at different times and this classification allows us to identify respondents according to the stage and the

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generation to which they belong. A1 thus refers to couples interviewed in the first period (Stage A) who belong to the first generation, while A2 refers to interviews with the second generation in the same period. B1 refers to interviews with members of the first generation in the second period of research, while B2 indicates more recent interviews conducted with the second generation.

3 We should, however, bear in mind that, despite the similarities with marriage, women who practised barragania continued to be from the lower classes, indicating that this form of cohabitation was a way of dealing with differences in status.

4 From studies by Louis Chevalier and later by Michel Frey (Corbin and Perrot, 1991) we know that concubinage was practised before marriage because of the cost of the ceremony and also in response to the prohibition of marriage among the destitute in Paris before 1850.

5 In his article “La cohabitation juvénile en France”, Population, no.1, p.15-42.

For France see Chalvon-Demersay (1983), for Sweden Trost (1979) and for Spain Alabart et al. (1988a) and Domingo (1997).

Below we give a summary of the details of the interviewees mentioned in the article, who can be identified from the pseudonym used to refer to them. The details include their date of birth and place of residence when the interview took place, the reference code for the interview and the group to which they belong according to the classification described previously. Ernest, man, 1958, Barcelona (318NF1998), group A1 Judit, woman, 1964, Barcelona, (403NF1998), group A1 Abril, woman, 1966, Hospitalet de Llobregat, (404NF1998), group A1 Andrea, woman, 1972, Premià de Mar, (411NF1998), group A2 Montse, woman, 1969, Barcelona, (413NF1998), group A1 Maurici, man, 1962, Barcelona, (506NF1998), group A1 Mireia, woman, 1966, Barcelona, (509NF1998), group A1 Flora, woman, 1966, Barcelona, (510NF1998), group A1 Jordi, man, 1951, Sant Cugat, (604NF1998), group A1

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A2 Carme, woman, 1946, Barcelona (7TES2000), group A1 Marina, woman, 1973, Barcelona, (8TES2000), group A2 Jordi, man, 1972, Barcelona, (8TES2000), group A2 Rosa, woman, 1965, Barcelona, (13TES2000), group A1 Albert, man, 1967, Barcelona, (17TES2000), group A1 Judit, woman, 1968, Barcelona, (18TES2000), group A1 Iolanda, woman, 1970, Barcelona, (22TES2000), group A1 Roser, woman, 1960, Barcelona, (24TES2000), group A1 Ona, woman, 1980, Barcelona, (14FH2011), group B2 Lola, woman, 1980, Barcelona, (29FH2011), group B2 Almudena, woman, 1979, Mataró, (50FH2011), group B2 Núria, woman, 1972, Capellades, (1TES2014), group B1 Elisa, woman, 1976, L’Espelt, (5TES2014), group B2

Margarita, woman, 1973, Barcelona, (1TES2000), group A2

It should be pointed out, however, that the term “home” is only used in Catalan. Spanish-speaking couples cannot use it because there is no exact equivalent in Spanish.

Aurora, woman, 1972, Barcelona, (2TES2000), group A2

Esther, woman, 1970, Sitges, (709NF1998), group A1

Laura, woman, 1971, Castellar del Vallès, (3TES2000), group A2

A 60-year old man resident in Madrid.

Anna, woman, 1965, Barcelona, (4TES2000), group A1 Arian, woman, 1972, Barcelona, (5TES2000), group

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Schneider, D. M.; Homans, G. C. (1955) “Kinship Terminology and the American Kinship System”, American Anthropologist, no.57, p.1194–1208. Segalen, M. (1992) Antropología histórica de la familia, Madrid: Taurus. Smock, P. J. (2000) “Cohabitation in the United States: An appraisal of research themes, findings, and implications”, Annual review of Sociology, no.26(1), p.1-20. Trost, J. (1979) Unmarried cohabitation, Vasteras: International Library.

Entre el celler i la taverna Un recorregut per les bodegues de barri de la ciutat de Barcelona

Temes d’etnologia de Catalunya, núm. 29. Cultura

Aquesta recerca s’acosta a les bodegues de Barcelona, enteses com la principal institució social de la Barcelona popular, a rri partir d’una panoràmica etnohistòrica que s de ba odegue er les b p t u g e rr na en ressegueix els orígens, transformacions Un reco Barcelo utat de de la ci i imaginaris culturals. L’objectiu és posar de .) s (Coord manifest el paper cabdal desenvolupat per s Olivera Fàbrega to si Bernat ó ura-Exp Joan Ro rín Pizarro a les bodegues en el seu entorn més immediat, cia Albert M bet i Grà Olga Llo ps i Escribano Cam ra u La el barri, a través d’una anàlisi profunda de la seva sociabilitat. La investigació planteja que les bodegues aixopluguen vincles forts basats en el coneixement, el respecte i la confiança entre els parroquians; i que vertebren el teixit veïnal i associatiu de molts barris de la ciutat. Més enllà del recorregut històric, la hipòtesi de la recerca també es pregunta per la vigència d’aquesta funció nya C a ta lu social a la Barcelona contemporània, i aporta un g ia d e 29 d ’E tn o lo Te m e s treball de camp que ha abraçat quasi dos-cents establiments i una etnografia extensa de la Bodega Xifré, al barri del Parc. Camps

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Novetat editorial A la venda a les llibreries i a la Llibreria en línea de la Generalitat de Catalunya.

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Donors who give, recipients who give back: Egg donation advertising Anna Molas Closas MONASH UNIVERSITY (MELBOURNE)

PhD student at Monash University in Australia. She is also a member of the anthropology and heritage group GRAPP (Grup de Recerca en Antropologia del Parentiu i el Patrimoni), an organisation attached to the University of Barcelona, where she did her Masters. Her dissertation addressed the donation of eggs in Spain, a topic that she continues to look at in her doctoral thesis.

Introduction

pain’s first assisted reproduction laws (1988 and 1996) specified that donations of gametes should be free and altruistic, with no financial reward for donating. It was not until 1998 that the concept of “financial compensation” was introduced. In its annual report, the National Commission for Assisted Human Reproduction recommended that donors receive controlled financial compensation that, according to them, must only compensate for the physical discomfort, travel, and labour costs that could be incurred due to the donation, and must not be an economic incentive for donating1. (Orobitg; Bestard; Salazar, 2013: 94) The subsequent updating of the law in 2006 indicated that “in no case may donation be encouraged through the offer of compensation or economic benefits” (Law 14/2006, of 26 May, Chapter VII, Article 26). This last point is particularly interesting for the analysis presented in this article, which examines the advertising used

for recruiting egg donors by focusing us on the ideal that the donor transmits. To do this, we have selected audiovisual material from various fertility clinics that have recently advertised on social networks. During the first decade of this century, egg donation ads were mainly found on the walls of universities (Orobitg; Salazar, 2005: 31), but now they are being promoted much more forcefully through social networks like Facebook and Instagram. And instead of seeing them on television or listening to them on the radio, it is now more common to hear them via the music platform Spotify or watch them on YouTube. These new channels allow the audience to be targeted much more accurately, since it is possible to select the advertising that users receive according to their gender, age, and other variables. This study is part of a research project on egg donation in Spain to complete a Master’s degree in Anthropology and Ethnography at the University of Barcelona. The investigation involved eight informants: seven egg donors and a biomedical practitioner from a fertility clinic in Barcelona. The donors interviewed are three unemployed

Keywords: Spain, egg donation, social networking, advertising, the internet Paraules clau: Espanya, donació d’òvuls, xarxes socials, publicitat, Internet Palabras clave: España, donación de óvulos, redes sociales, publicidad, Internet

women, two employees (an immigrant from Brazil who works as a carer for an elderly person, and a grocery shop assistant from Madrid), and two vocational training students who live with their parents (both from Barcelona). Two are mothers with one child each (one is from Ecuador, the other Barcelona), and all seven made donations when they were between 20 and 25 years old. The following table gives more details on the participants: Five of the seven participants in this research were contacted through the social networking site Facebook. All of them had left comments on assisted reproduction pages on that platform. Of the remaining two, one was the family member of a contact and the other was a friend hers who was also a donor. The selection was a convenience sample, involving women who wanted to participate voluntarily, from part of a larger group that was proposed. Information was obtained through semi-structured, in-depth interviews and an analysis of audiovisual material from egg donation ads on social networks. The adverts selected were from four fertility clinics in Barcelona that are particularly active on social

Donors who give, recipients who give back: Egg donation advertising

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ORIGIN

EMPLOYMENT SITUATION

LIVING SITUATION

NUMBER OF DONATIONS

Barcelona

Vocational Training student (intermediate)

Lives with her mother

Marta

Barcelona

Vocational Training student (upper) and part-time employee

Lives with her parents

Sara

Barcelona

Unemployed. Preparing for university access (PAU+25)

Lives with her mother

Mònica

Barcelona

Unemployed

Lives with her partner, son, and in-laws

Diana

Ecuador

Unemployed

Lives with her partner and daughter

Ruth

Madrid

Employee in a grocery store

Living with her partner

Noa

Brazil

Carer for elderly lady

Living with the person she cares for

NAME Olga

AGE

TABLE DRAWN UP USING CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION FROM THE DONORS

Advertisements to attract egg donors are commonplace in the social networks of young women. This is achieved, in part, thanks to the internet’s new advertising techniques that target a specific audience. The ideal of the donor that emerges from these ads has implications both in the imaginations of the women who decide to give eggs as well as those who receive them. After ethnographic research involving interviews with seven egg donors, an interview with a professional from a fertility clinic, and an analysis of the ads found on various internet channels, this article aims to assess how donors are attracted and what ideal they transmit. On the one hand, we will look at how women who give eggs are depicted in ads aimed at potential donors, where we see that despite the fact we talk about the altruistic value of giving, the emphasis is put on material compensation. On the other, we will focus on how these same donors are represented in ads aimed at the women who will receive the eggs, where we see, in contrast, that the donor is portrayed as being a world away from a woman with financial needs. Finally, we will examine the way clinics create the illusion of the gift being returned to the donors, through images and texts that refer to the supposed appreciation of recipients for the gift received. This, then, meets the three obligations cited by Mauss for giving: giving, receiving, and giving back.

Els anuncis per captar donants d’òvuls apareixen en abundància en els comptes de les xarxes socials de les dones joves. Això s’aconsegueix, en part, gràcies a les noves tècniques de publicitat a Internet, que permeten concretar molt més el públic al qual es dirigeixen. L’ideal de donant que es desprèn d’aquests anuncis té implicacions tant en l’imaginari de les dones que decideixen donar com en el de les receptores dels òvuls. Després d’una investigació etnogràfica que ha inclòs entrevistes amb set donants d’òvuls, una entrevista a un professional d’una clínica de reproducció assistida i l’anàlisi d’anuncis vistos en diversos canals d’Internet, aquest article té l’objectiu d’analitzar quines són les tècniques de captació de donants i quin és l’ideal de la donant que se’n desprèn. D’una banda, ens fixarem en les representacions de les donants en els anuncis dirigits a les potencials donants d’òvuls, en què veurem que, malgrat que es parla del valor del do altruista, l’èmfasi es posa en la compensació material. D’altra banda, pararem atenció a les representacions de les donants en els anuncis dirigits a les receptores, en què, en canvi, observarem que la donant que s’hi mostra està lluny d’una dona que té una necessitat econòmica. Finalment, examinarem la manera en què les clíniques creen la ficció del retorn del do a les donants amb imatges i textos que fan referència al suposat agraïment de les receptores pel do rebut, de manera que es puguin complir les tres obligacions del do maussià: donar, rebre, retornar.

Los anuncios para captar donantes de óvulos aparecen en abundancia en las cuentas de las redes sociales de las mujeres jóvenes. Esto se consigue, en parte, gracias a las nuevas técnicas de publicidad en Internet, que permiten concretar mucho más el público al cual se dirigen. El ideal de donante que se desprende de estos anuncios tiene implicaciones tanto en el imaginario de las mujeres que deciden donar como en el de las receptoras de los óvulos. Después de una investigación etnográfica que ha incluido entrevistas con siete donantes de óvulos, una entrevista a un profesional de una clínica de reproducción asistida y el análisis de anuncios vistos en diversos canales de Internet, este artículo tiene el objetivo de analizar cuáles son las técnicas de captación de donantes y cuál es el ideal de donante que se desprende de ellas. Por un lado, nos fijaremos en las representaciones de las donantes en los anuncios dirigidos a potenciales donantes de óvulos, en los que veremos que, a pesar de que se habla del valor de la donación altruista, el énfasis se pone en la compensación material. Por otro lado, prestaremos atención a las representaciones de las donantes en los anuncios dirigidos a las receptoras, en los que, en cambio, observaremos que la donante que aparece está lejos de la mujer que tiene una necesidad económica. Finalmente, examinaremos la manera en que las clínicas crean la ficción del retorno de la donación a las donantes con imágenes y textos que hacen referencia al supuesto agradecimiento de las receptoras por la donación recibida, de manera que puedan cumplirse las tres obligaciones de la donación maussiana: donar, recibir y devolver.

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networks. In order to protect against possible connections that could be established between clinics and donors, we have changed the names of both the clinics and the informants. We have given the participants a pseudonym. We talk about the clinics in a generic way. Compensation as a tactic All the women in the advertising images of egg donors on Facebook that we analysed are portrayed as very young (apparently less than 25 years old), white (with the exception of one clinic that also depicts a black girl and an Asian), and their clothing and accessories (sunglasses, laptops, etc.) leads us to assume that they are, at least, middle class.

In general we can distinguish two categories: firstly, those images that portray girls who are full of life and seem to be having fun; and secondly, there are quiet girls with folders or computers that make us think they are students. Although it is true that the values transmitted by the texts accompanying each ad vary according to the individual clinic, they all fall within the limits of a more or less specific meaning: the majority of texts emphasise the altruistic nature of the gift offered by these women, and refer to the moral value of their action. At the same time, however, a great deal of emphasis is placed on the concept of the compensation they will receive. In most cases, the ads do not explicitly allude to this financial indemnity (as we have seen, this is in fact prohibited by law), but in some it is understood that donors will be compensated by the clinic. Let us now focus on Figure 1. ¡Here the clinic uses the expression “Te compensamos”, we will compensate you, referring to the donation. From

Figure 1.

this one can infer that they are talking about financial compensation. In some less frequently seen cases, the clinics actually state the amount of money the donors will receive, as can be seen in Figures 2 and 3, where despite the fact that reference is made to the altruism of the act, the financial compensation makes up the main information in the ad. ¡In their research into egg donation at the end of the 1990s, Gemma Orobitg and Carles Salazar (2005: 35) pointed out that the slogans in ads for attracting donors predominantly emphasised solidarity among women. At the same

time, donors also cited altruism as their main motive for donating eggs. The financial compensation paid became clearer once the process had begun, when the donors were made aware of all the inconveniences involved. However, in our research, carried out over 15 years later, we see that ads almost always refer, explicitly or implicitly, to financial compensation. In addition, donor motives are framed within a context of economic insecurity where money has a very specific meaning, decided upon prior to donation, and often linked to the payment of a particular family necessity (Molas; Bestard, 2017: 493).

Donors who give, recipients who give back: Egg donation advertising

Even though there is no direct reference to financial compensation, the fact that the donation is publicised through a channel for people who are actively looking for work, is a clear example of how many clinics, far from the alleged compensatory function for inconvenience due to time, transport, and health issues, use financial compensation as an incentive to attract donors.

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Figure 3.

Figure 2.

Other dissemination channels Despite social networks being the most common distribution channel for egg donation advertising, these can also be found on other internet sites. The case that we will look at next is that of a fertility clinic that places some of its ads on a job portal. People who sign up on this site regularly receive job offers by email according to selected preferences. To do this, users have to enter their personal data, including their gender and age. In this way, the same email address used to send the job offers to, can also be used as a recipient for adverts like that we can see in Figure 4. (Figure 4)

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Waldby (2012) interpreted payment for egg donation in Spain as a de facto payment. This is based partly on a comparison with the compensation model in the United Kingdom, where donors have to justify their inconvenience, and the amount of compensation varies according to each case. In contrast, in Spain the value is not relative, but fixed by each clinic.

Figure 4.

All the participants in this study had known for some time that egg donations were remunerated. Some of the women explained that the ads they continually saw around them were part of the decision they made later on, when they needed the money. Olga, aged 21: “Everyone’s got Facebook. I don’t know if that “donate in such and such a clinic” has come up for you, it sometimes does. (...) Well, they keep putting it up. And then you see it in a magazine, and later on the telly. Then, of course, you end up thinking I’ve got to do that, you get paid for it and you’ve got that option. I knew about it for years, that they gave you money for donating eggs. But, of course, if you don’t need to, you don’t even consider it.” Another trend is to offer gifts to donors, along with financial compensation. The website of one fertility clinic states: “Free gift of virtual reality glasses

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In addition to financial compensation, now just for coming to the first visit everyone interested in donating eggs will receive a gift: virtual reality glasses! Get in touch with us with no further obligation.” These gifts lie at the edge of current law, which only prohibits the use of financial incentives. The altruism of donation in the centre One of the clinics studied is exceptional in the type of advertising it uses. In some ways its communicative strategy is different from that of the other clinics. Its ads always focus on the altruistic aspect. Figure 5 shows an example of its typical tone.

In addition, its Facebook page also publishes pictures of women with children together with messages of gratitude This advertising centres on the act of solidarity by the donors, emphasising the happiness this will bring to other women. It is one of the few clinics that, at least communicatively, treats egg

Figure 5.

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donation as a “gift” in the way that we can understand modern gifts to strangers (Godbout, 1992: 111-114). A gift that, despite the fact it cannot be reciprocated with a counter-gift due to its anonymity, and that for the same reason cannot create a relationship between the donor and recipient, is returned in the form of gratitude by the clinic, which uses these images to contrive the gratitude of the recipients towards their donors.

Figure 6.

The adverts try to address several facts that are often linked to assisted reproduction through egg donation: firstly, the feeling donors have of being tools, something that comes up a lot in the donation stages according to the participants in this research; secondly, the reduction of their act to financial necessity, which has a negative effect regardless of their real need; and thirdly, the invisibility of their body in relation to the birth of the boy or girl (Rapp, 1995:7). The main page of their website contains a quote from a supposed donor that exemplifies the values listed above: “Here they make you feel as impor-

Figure 7.

tant as the woman who will receive your eggs.” The stories of the donors interviewed for this study confirm this: all those who made their donation in this clinic highlight the personal treatment and direct contact, concern for their health, and the comprehensive follow up. Marta, aged 21: “(...) I went to this clinic, because I read about it on the internet and it was ones of closest and had the best recommendations. (...) in fact, the clinic is actually really good. Everything was really well controlled, they called me every day before the jab and afterwards to see how it had gone. They also emailed me if I had any questions. And then, even after the donation, when you say “Well, after that they don’t care”, when I had my period they phoned

Donors who give, recipients who give back: Egg donation advertising

me to check if everything was alright and if there had been any problems.” Ruth (aged 26), another of the donors interviewed, went to this clinic the fourth time she gave eggs. And she stayed for the next three donations. She particularly highlights the difference in treatment she received: “I like the way they do it here the most. The other one doesn’t treat you in the same way, they’re not so kind. I don’t mean they do it badly, but I don’t know, I feel more comfortable here. I can’t say why, but really they are very kind. If you have a problem you can call, an emergency, or whatever, it’s great.” These observations allow us to confirm that regardless of the donors’ degree of financial necessity, they feel more comfortable with treatment centred on solidarity. They want to identify with the image of the supportive modern woman (Molas; Bestard, 2017:493), as this transforms their decision into empowerment (Konrad, 1998:652654; Thompson, 2001:182 and 186). Among the eligible and the ineligible The psychological exam all egg donor candidates are subjected to is vitally important in the significance placed upon the act. The fact of having to undergo physical and psychological tests to be considered “suitable” to give, is seen by them as a quality control. In addition, this selection generates an imaginary distinction between those that pass these tests and those that do not. According to whether the candidates are selected or not, they identify egg donation as an act of solidarity or as an exercise in exploitation by the clinics.

Those that pass often use it as an argument to say that the clinics “don’t take just anyone”. These words (quoted

from one of the participants) lead us to ask ourselves what view the donors have of the unsuccessful candidates. Those who pass the selection tests feel that these examinations include values beyond the mere biological, and generally they express satisfaction. Marta, aged 21: “It’s true, I see that they don’t take just anyone. It’s not like “I need it and that’s it”, they look at you quite closely. P: What do you mean exactly? Well, I don’t know, it’s something I think. From the questions they ask you, I think they reject a lot of people, I was given a psychological test. Of course, I understand that not everyone is prepared for it. The idea that you have to be very conscientious to do it, and take a psychological test, and they make you go twice, puts many people off. And in a way I think this is really good, because if not, loads of girls who had just turned 18, particularly the younger ones, would be like “Come on, let’s go and do it”, and then I think they’d back off because they’d get scared.” On the other hand, those that fail the tests often feel discriminated against. They allege racial and aesthetic motives in their denial and express their disagreement with the clinic. Despite the clinic explaining that donors are always selected according to medical criteria, the unsuccessful candidates do not see it like this, and they are often hurt as they think this rejection means people like them should not procreate. A comment from March 18, 2016, in the evaluation section on the page of one of the clinics analysed, reads: “One star because it cannot be minus five2. Regrettably a denigrating, discriminatory, and racist institute where simply being of Latin American heritage is enough

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to exclude you from being able to donate and help others fulfil their dream of being parents. Just the fact of not having European features. But in case they don’t know, the vast majority of Latin Americans are descended from Europeans, with features as marked as theirs, although I really think that this should not be a limitation when it comes to giving to help others.” It is interesting to bear in mind that what annoys these women most is not the fact they could not collect the compensation money, but the message they receive when they are rejected. They feel spurned, as if this was a personal attack on their appearance and phenotypic characteristics. So they disassociate themselves from the idealised images the clinics propagate through their ads. Diana, aged 28: “I would do it again, but now they would reject me because of my height. I am only one metre fifty tall. [After the first donation] I got into financial trouble again and called them. Then they asked me how tall I am. I called loads of clinics to do the test. I left my data on the internet, they rang me. They asked me how old I was, when I was born, if I had children… but when they asked me for my height they automatically said no. And I told them that I had already donated. Well, they just said no. And I told them that I found it discriminatory, you know? (...) But height couldn’t be the issue. In my world you are not allowed to be born.” How the donor is depicted for the recipient Some clinics also have YouTube channels. Through these they disseminate videos they have created on various topics. Unlike the adverts discussed

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above, these videos are mainly directed at egg recipients. By analysing a web-series, created by a fertility clinic in Barcelona, it is possible to observe some of the ideas about egg donors that they promote. The series has five episodes and is about a woman over 40 who, due to her fertility problems, decides to have a child using an egg donor. The topics covered by the series are very diverse and include, among other things, acceptance of infertility, overcoming genetic parenting and confronting egg donation, single motherhood, homosexuality, and donor anonymity. When the main character in the story has doubts about whether she wants to use egg donation as a treatment, the biologist responds: “The donors are all fantastic girls. Well-mannered and intelligent. (...) Donating eggs is a wonderful thing.” Later on, we see an egg donor going into the consultation. She is tall, blonde and, as she explains, an engineering student. In another video analysed, entitled “Who are our egg donors?” we see the coordinator of the centre who explains their donor profiles. She says that they are all very different, that some are mothers and they come to the clinic with their children. And then later: “Lots of girls give blood and when they find out they can help other women by donating their eggs they decide to get in touch with us. There are girls who come because they have friends who are donors, or they know women who are having problems becoming a mother, or they even think it could have been them who had problems and they would like someone to help out.” In neither of the two examples do they mention the financial motivation for the donors. This contrasts with the adverts aimed at attracting donors,

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where the compensation is more or less explicit. In the videos directed towards recipients of eggs, however, the fact of this act being undertaken purely or partially for financial reasons entirely disappears. In an article on egg donation in the US, Rene Almeling (2006) talks of what she calls “the production of altruism” as a strategy by the clinics to attract recipient couples. Almeling notes that egg donors emphasise their altruistic motives much more than sperm donors do, who often allege economic reasons. She concludes her research by stating that there are gender differences in how male and female gamete donors are treated. Egg donation clinics encourage women to place greater importance on altruism in their online profile, which is visible to interested recipients [there are online donor catalogues in the US], since these are much more in demand than profiles that focus more on financial compensation. Charlotte Kroløkke, (2014: 61) in her study on the idealised views of Spanish donors by the Danish women who come to Spain for fertility treatments, shows how Danish couples are reassured by the strongly rooted culture of altruism they think exists in Spain –a supposed cultural trait explained to them by the staff in the clinics. They say they would not feel as comfortable with donors from Eastern Europe, as they could not be sure the eggs were donated freely. In a similar way, the clinic who released the video draws a picture of a woman who is naturally charitable and might be a blood donor. A woman who empathises with the problems of infertile women and who wants to do something to help. As indicated by one of the images, an egg donor is like a “good fairy”.

Another common feature that we see in one of the videos and some of the adverts analysed is the supposed high intellectual capacity of egg donors (Vlasenko, 2015: 204). The first video says that donors are “well-educated and very smart”, and the example they give of a donor is an engineering student. This representation can also be seen in some of the advertising images where girls appear with folders and computers and are apparently students. Synthesising these observed aspects, we can state that the image of the donor depicted in these communicative strategies is that of a young, vivacious, goodlooking, charitable university student. We should note at this point that the data collected in a survey of nearly 500 donors from Spain (Pennings et al., 2014) shows that the average egg donor has rather different profile. Firstly, only 24.9% of donors are students, the rest are employed full time, part time, or unemployed in similar percentages. Secondly, only 22.5% have technical or university studies, while 46.7% have only studied to secondary school level. Finally, 56% say that the reason for their donation is both financial and altruistic, compared to the 19% who state it is purely financial and the 30% who donate altruistically. In this particular study, it is clear that none of the seven participants fit the image portrayed by the clinics. Firstly, only one of them is a student at university. After that, the highest level of studies achieved by the women is the upper level of vocational training. Secondly, only one among of the seven also gives blood, and thirdly, in all cases their primary motivation for donating was financial, although altruism plays an important role in the construction of their narratives.

Donors who give, recipients who give back: Egg donation advertising

How the recipient is depicted for the donor In some ads targeting donors, recipients are represented with children supposedly born as a result of the donation, either with their partner or on their own. The women in these images appear to be aged from 35 to 50. All of them appear smiling and again the canon of beauty and upper middle class status are imposed.

It is also interesting to note that one of the clinics shows many images of recipients accompanied by messages of gratitude. In Figure 6 we can see a mother telling a story to her daughter, and she says “and thanks to our good fairy you were born.” This creates the fantasy that the mother will tell her son or daughter how they were conceived and that they will be grateful for the gift received. The anonymity that nullifies the relationship between the donor and the recipient is replaced by these images offered by the clinics through their various media channels. They portray an idealised image of both the recipient and the donor that will have a subsequent effect on the imaginations of both. Diana (aged 28), for example, assumed that the recipient belonged to a higher social class than her: “Sometimes I’m curious when I go to such and such a place and I see people with a little more money. I look at the children that have slightly different features or that

Figure 8.

don’t look European. I am looking at them like “no, this one’s Asian, this one’s African”, in that way. “ At the same time, donors often construct their donation narrative around the idea of being indispensable, a recurring message in the ads. They think of their “gift” as something necessary, thanks to which a woman can fulfil her dream. However, today, according an interview with Marc3, a biomedical practitioner in a fertility clinic, there is a surplus of egg donors in Spain and therefore this indispensability is not so clear cut. In addition, although they often think recipients will be grateful for the gift they offer, they cannot know if the woman who receives their eggs will see it as a “gift” that has been given to them, or whether they will understand it to be a commodity they have paid for and to which, therefore, they are entitled. In fact, the statements from Marc, the doctor we interviewed, would tend to point in this direction in some cases: “In the end it is a service. It’s a service but not a product, which is what people sometimes think. On occasion the recipients, not all of them, but some, don’t understand that there are things you cannot choose. ‘Give me the most beautiful donor’ or ‘the most highly educated’ –you don’t choose these things4. P: Have you heard phrases like that there? Wow, you wouldn’t believe it, not everyone, but you just wouldn’t believe it. Or “make sure she’s from this country”.

Figure 9.

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Meanwhile, donors believe their giving is an irreplaceable act, imagining a mother or a couple who can finally fulfil their dream of being parents. Olga, aged 21: “(...) when I got home, the truth is I felt better because you say, the girl that gets the eggs has problems without them, and I know that there is a person in the background who, although she doesn’t know me, must be grateful for getting this opportunity. [...] I am sure that when they get it they will be thankful, right? Like to that girl who gave her the eggs, and, I don’t know, that makes me feel good, really. It’s great for me, and the girls who do this, of course.” Marta, aged 21: “(...) you feel good because you know that thanks to you a person is going to be a mother and that might have been their dream.” Conclusions In their representation of both donors and recipients, advertising images for egg donations have important effects. Ads targeting donors use a language that mixes financial interests and altruism. Meanwhile, images of donors addressed to recipients, portray an idealised image of the donor, highlighting values such as beauty or educational level, and this latter characteristic does not, in many cases, correspond to the reality shown by the available statistics.

At the same time, the way recipients are depicted to donors is also idealised. A normative model of these woman is projected that emphasises the supposed gratitude of the recipients towards the donors. In this way, with their messages of thanks, the clinic acts as the mediator of the counter-gift that the donor will never receive due to the anonymity enshrined in current law. n

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NOTES

REFERENCES5:

Almeling, Rene. (2006) “’Why do you want to be a Donor?’: Gender and the Production of Altruism in Egg and Sperm Donation.” New Genetics and Society 25(2): 143-157 Godbout, Jacques T. (2000 [1992]) L’esprit du don. Paris: La Découverte. Konrad, Monica. (1998) “Ova Donation and Symbols of Substance: Some Variations on the Theme of Sex. Gender and the Partible Body”. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute. Vol. 4 (4): 643-667 Kroløkke, Charlotte. (2014) “West is best: Affective assemblages and Spanish oocytes”. European Journal of Women’s Studies. Vol. 21(1): 57-71 Mauss, Marcel. (2010 [1921]) Ensayo sobre el don. Forma y función del intercambio en las sociedades arcaicas. Madrid: Katz Editores: 81-95. Molas, Anna; Bestard, Joan.(2017) “En Espagne, le don d’ovules entre intérêt, solidarité et précarité”, Ethnologie française, 167 (3): 491-498. Orobitg, Gemma; Bestard, Joan; Salazar, Carles. (2013) “El cuerpo (re)productivo. Interés económico y altruismo en las experiencias de un grupo de mujeres donantes de óvulos”. Revista Andaluza de Antropología. Spain. (5): 91-103. Orobitg, Gemma; Salazar, Carles. (2005) “The gift of motherhood: Egg donation in a Barcelona infertility clinic”. Ethnos Vol. 70 (1): 31-52 Pennings, G., De Mouzon, J., Shenfield, F., Ferraretti, A.P., Mardesic, T., Ruiz, A., Goossens, V. (2014) “Socio-demographic and fertility-related characteristics and motivations of oocyte donors in eleven European Countries”. Human Reproduction 29 (5), 1076–1089 RAPP. Rayna. (1995) Conceiving the New World Order. University of California Press: 2-7.

Thompson, Charis. (2001) “Strategic Naturalizing: Kinship in an Infertility Clinic”. In FRANKLIN, Sara; MCKINNON, Susan. (eds.) In Relative Values: Reconfiguring Kinship Studies. Durham/London: Duke University Press: 175-202 Vlasenko, Polina. (2015) “Desirable bodies/ precarious laborers: Ukrainian egg donors in context of transnational fertility”. A KANTSA, Venetia; ZANINI, Giulia; PAPADOPOULOU, Lina (eds.) (In)Fertile Citizens. Anthropological and Legal Challenges of Assisted Reproduction Technologies. (In)FERCIT, Lesbos: University of Aegean: 197-216 Waldby, Catherine. (2012) “Reproductive Labour Arbitrage. Trading Fertility across European Borders”. GUNNARSON, Martin; FREDRIK, Svenaeus (eds.) The Body as Gift, Resource, and Commodity. Exchanging Organs, Tissues, and Cells in the 21st Century: Huddinge: Södertörn Studies in Practical Knowledge 6: 267-295 Law 35/1988, of November 22, on Assisted Reproduction Techniques. “BOE” no. 282, November 24, 1988, pages 33373 to 33378. Access at: https://www.boe.es/buscar/doc. php?id=BOE-A-1988-27108 Royal Decree 412/1996, of March 1, establishing mandatory protocols for the study of donors and users related to assisted human reproduction techniques, and regulating the creation and organisation of the National Registry of Gametes and Pre-embryos for purposes of human reproduction. “BOE” no. 72, March 23, 1996, pages 11253 to 11256. Access at: https://www.boe. es/diario_boe/txt.php?id=BOE-A-1996-6644 Law 14/2006, of May 26, on Assisted human reproduction techniques. “BOE” no. 126, 27/05/2006. Access at: https://www.boe.es/ buscar/act.php?id=BOE-A-2006-9292

Currently, the financial compensation for egg donation in Barcelona varies between approximately 900 and 1100 euros. Data extracted from a comparison of financial compensation in 6 clinics in Barcelona.

On Facebook the ratings range from one star to five.

Pseudonym.

The process of pairing donor and recipient is called “matching” and is based on the phenotypic similarity between the two women, and the compatibility of their blood group and Rh.

References to the images in this article have been omitted to avoid revealing the clinics to which they belong. For the same reason there is no reference to the videos that have been analysed. If anyone wishes to access these materials, please contact the author.

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage

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The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage Joan Arimany i Juventeny MUSEU DEL TER DE MANLLEU

Master’s in Cultural Management (Open University of CataloniaUniversity of the Balearic Islands-University of Girona, 2015). Degree in Humanities (Open University of Catalonia, 2008). Diploma in Social Education (Ramon Llull University, 1998). Postgraduate qualification in Animation and Management of Popular Culture (Ramon Llull University, 1999). Specialist in popular religion and Catalan hagiography.

or nearly a decade the Associació de Sant Antoni Abat – Tonis de Manlleu, under the presidency of Llucià Pujadas with Joaquim Casas as Secretary and working jointly with its governing board, has been campaigning for recognition as one of the most important bodies in the town and, by extension, in Osona county, a distinction justified by its documented 125-year history. A first step was to liaise with the Museu del Ter to plan activities to this end. In 2010, thanks to a grant from L’Inventari del Patrimoni Etnològic and with the support of the Museu del Ter, I had the opportunity to carry out

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu is a dance associated with the feast of Saint Anthony the Abbot and performed by the Associació Sant Antoni Abat – Tonis de Manlleu. The earliest description dates from 1893, when it was performed by muleteers and innkeepers. However, the groups performing it have undergone many changes since then. This article examines the possible origins of the dance and details aspects that have been modified over the last century with a view to identifying the key moments when changes took place and those involved in them.

research into the Tonis in Manlleu and their festival. The outcome was a study entitled La festa dels Tonis de Manlleu. Entre la devoció i la gresca, a short summary of which was published in this journal (Arimany, 2012). At the end of 2014, based on this research and other activities such as the workshop Desvetllem la memòria (Awakening memories), the museum held an exhibition of photographs related to the Tonis. Shortly after this, the material was incorporated in an informative monographic work Els Tonis de Manlleu: a cavall de la devoció i la festa (The Tonis in Manlleu: between devotion and festivities) (Arimany, 2014).

Key words: Ball del Ciri; Tonis; feast of Saint Anthony the Abbot; Manlleu Paraules clau: Ball del Ciri, Tonis, festes de Sant Antoni Abat, Manlleu Palabras clave: Ball del Ciri, Tonis, fiestas de San Antonio Abad, Manlleu

However, it then became clear that there was still a great deal of work to be

done, especially regarding an in-depth study of one of the essential elements of the festivities, the Ball del Ciri, which is a jewel in Manlleu’s intangible heritage. A few months later, as part of a new study project supported by the Tonis, Museu del Ter and the Esbart Català de Dansaires, new research began, dealing specifically with the dance. Thanks to financial support from the Institut Ramon Muntaner, it was possible to make further progress with the study. The members of the team carrying it out were Judit Solà, Immaculada Tubau, Montse Piella and Anna Bosch on behalf of the Tonis, Jordi Grané and Carles Garcia from the Museu del Ter, Montserrat Garrich from the Esbart Català de Dansaires and the author of this article as coordinator.

El Ball del Ciri de Manlleu és la dansa associada a la festivitat de Sant Antoni Abat i protagonitzada per l’Associació Sant Antoni Abat – Tonis de Manlleu. La primera descripció és del 1893, quan era interpretada per traginers i taverners. El col·lectiu, però, ha viscut una gran transformació des d’aleshores. Aquest article explica, tot elaborant una relació de fets cronològics per identificar-ne els moments de mutació i els seus actors principals, quins són els possibles orígens manlleuencs del Ball del Ciri i quins aspectes han canviat en el transcurs del darrer segle.

El Ball del Ciri de Manlleu es la danza asociada a la festividad de San Antonio Abad y protagonizada por la Associació Sant Antoni Abat – Tonis de Manlleu. La primera descripción es de 1893, cuando era interpretada por arrieros y taberneros. El colectivo ha vivido una gran transformación desde entonces. Este artículo explica cuáles son los posibles orígenes manlleuenses del Ball del Ciri y qué aspectos han cambiado en el transcurso del último siglo elaborando una relación de hechos cronológicos para identificar los momentos de mutación y sus actores principales.

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The project had the following aims: –– To continue studying the origins of the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu in greater depth. –– To situate and contextualise the dance geographically and in time with respect to other such dances in Catalonia, without neglecting the analysis of its original function in a society undergoing transformation. –– To conduct a study of the different musical versions of the dance during its history. –– To produce an accurate choreographical description, based on

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technical criteria, bearing in mind the changes that had taken place over the years. –– To examine changes in the costumes worn by the dancers, with special attention to those worn originally. To pursue these objectives we first conducted a search for documents that could provide historical information or transcriptions of music. We thus conducted a thorough search of the Santa Maria Archive in Manlleu, the Municipal Archive in Manlleu, the Episcopal Archive in Vic and the Centre for Documentation on Traditional and Popular

Culture, which houses the Ethnological Heritage Library, the Ethnological Heritage Archive and the Traditional Catalan Music Collection (FMTC). An exhaustive search was also made in local and county newspaper collections and other bibliography in the Manlleu BBVA Municipal Library and the Joan Triadú Library in Vic. Finally, the researchers drew material from ten personal interviews, which gave individual views of different aspects of the dance. The interviewees were: Francesc Camps, Francesc Domènech, Marta Grané, Josep Jofre, Montse Piella, Judit Solà, Immaculada Tubau and M. Carme Valls. A session was also organised to recreate the two choreographies known, with dancers who had performed them, and the steps and movements were recorded. On 27 January 2017, as part of the Tonis’ festival programme, the study was presented, with its main conclusions and an outline of future work proposed.

Discussion and analysis of the choreography of the dance (2016). JOAN ARIMANY

Recreation of the original choreography of the Ball del Ciri (2016). JOAN ARIMANY

The Ball del Ciri as a ritual dance The Ball del Ciri is a dance for couples which originally had a well determined function about which there is a high degree of consensus among scholars: it dramatised the annual renewal of posts in a religious organisation, especially a brotherhood. Francesc Pujol and Joan Amades give the following definition: “Ceremonial religious dance marking a change in the person administering the altar of the patron saint in some towns” (Pujol, 1936: 148).

The brotherhoods fostered the cult of the altar devoted to their patron saint (or the advocacy of Our Lady, who they considered their protector) in the side chapels of parish churches and took responsibility for its administration. While some brotherhoods

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage

were responsible for a large area, it would be shared by many parishes depending on the saint to whom they were devoted. The name There are various theories about the origins of the name Ball del Ciri for this type of dance. Francesc Pujol and Joan Amades (Pujol, 1936: 152) suggest the following: “The name of this dance, which has no connection with its nature, would not be explicable if it were not for the candle carried by the dancers; there are some who believe that Ball del Ciri is a corruption of ball del sir (dance of the Lord) and that, as a result of the change from sir to ciri, through ignorance of the first word, which had fallen into disuse, the custom of carrying a candle in the dance arose. Bearing in mind that the use of the words sir and ser to mean Lord is not common in old Catalan (and it is in translations from other languages where these words are used regularly that we find them most often, such as the Decameron), we are inclined to think that this is unlikely to be true”. However, based on a document from L’Esquirol dated 1762, which mentioned “ballar lo Ciri”, they consider that the main emphasis is on this element, the candle, and suggest the following: “Is it not possible that the

name Ball del Ciri simply comes from the obligation for the members of the brotherhood to give each other candles to light on the altar of the patron saint they were responsible for?”. And they conclude: “The hypothesis we propose seems the most reasonable to us”. The importance of the candle as a distinctive element in this type of dance is undeniable. In some places it is accompanied by other objects, such as pitchers or bunches of flowers and, in the case of Manlleu, a bouquet of boxwood cuttings. But is the presence of this item sufficient to give a name to the whole dance? In connection with brotherhoods or groups responsible for altars we find another possibility. In a document dated 18 November 1621, originally from the parish church of Santa Maria in Manlleu and preserved in the Episcopal Library Archive in Vic, detailing the instructions given by bishops or their delegates in pastoral visits, we find the following: “the brotherhoods founded in said church, and the administrators of any candles used for worship in the church...”1. The concept “any candles used for worship” referred to the procedures for administering, maintain-

Items used in the dance: the candle in the middle of the boxwood posy (2014). JOAN ARIMANY

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ing and lighting candles in honour of the saint or advocation to which the altar was devoted. We find various examples of minor organisations called “Ciri de...” in inland parishes in Catalonia in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Regional presence The Ball del Ciri existed in various towns in Catalonia, as it does today. At the end of the nineteenth century Domènec Torrent wrote that this dance was not originally from Manlleu “[...] and is not even exclusively its heritage, as it is characteristic of various villages in the Montseny area” (Torrent, 1893: 188). In another text the same author says that “[...] it is originally from the Vallès area, from where it spread to other counties in Catalonia” (Torrent, 1899: 2). According to the Tradicionari encyclopedia, the Ball del Ciri is found mainly in the counties of Osona, La Selva, El Berguedà and El Bages and less frequently in L’Anoia, El Barcelonès, La Cerdanya, El Vallès Oriental and El Maresme. The same source establishes that of all the places in which it has been danced at some time the greatest number fall within the bishopric of Vic (Anguela, 2006: 152). Age The elements that will help us to date the origins of the Ball del Ciri are indirect and scant. Alonso, Forner, Garrich and González (Alonso, 2004: 34-36) suppose that this dance and others coexisted in a series of dances known as Branda, which were courtly dances from the Middle Ages that died out around the seventeenth century. As the authors say: “It seems likely that there was an exchange of information regarding different types of dance at a particular time in the past. Some brotherhoods may have wanted to add more complex features to a social activity that formed part of festive celebrations and introduced more creative

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elements. It seems clear that the dance adopts formal and choreographic elements from other dances typical of the locality or county, while it incorporates the element of light, which represents the transfer of roles. Although the Ball del Ciri is based on a variety of preexisting elements, the whole acquires an identity of its own, supported by its having its own music” (Alonso, 2004: 36). According to the hypothesis put forward by these authors, the Ball del Ciri would have been consolidated by being associated with the brotherhoods. The first documented record of the Ball del Ciri is from the mid-eighteenth century and mentions complaints by young people in the parish of Santa Maria de Corcó (now the municipality of L’Esquirol) about the fact that it was danced by an outsider, a young man who had not been born in the village2. Pujol and Amades commented on this document, drawing the following conclusion: “The wording of the document indicates that in 1762

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this dance had a very respectable history and nothing shows it more clearly than the fact that it had given rise to privileges and customs that would not have arisen overnight” (Pujol, 1936: 150-151). The calendar The date the dance took place has varied (and continues to vary) according to the location: Anglès (Our Lady of Los Remedios), Argentona (La Minerva brotherhood), Castellterçol (Saint Víctor), Manlleu (Saint Anthony the Abbot), Moià (Saint Sebastian), Osor (Our Lady of the Rosary), Santa Maria de Corcó / L’Esquirol (Saint Roch), Taradell (Saint Sebastian), Torelló (Saint Felix) and Viladrau (Our Lady of the Rosary). These differences seem to have depended on the brotherhood, its patron saint and the festivities in honour of the saint (Alonso, 2004: 28). The Tonis festival in Manlleu and the Ball del Ciri The first documentary reference to the Tonis festival in Manlleu and their

Flag and ribbon bearers during the dance (2014). JOAN ARIMANY

activities, including the Ball del Ciri is that known to us before work on the study began. In 1893, the Manlleu notary Domènec Torrent i Garriga, author of Manlleu: croquis para su historia, included a chapter on “Festivals, fairs and markets”. According to the annual calendar, the first of the festivals was 17 January, devoted to Saint Anthony the Abbot and celebrated by the town’s muleteers and innkeepers. In mid-afternoon the festival programme included its own dance: the Ball del Ciri. Despite the generalisations often made about dances of the same name, we do not know the specific origin of the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu or how it came to be associated with the group that maintains it. In 1893 Domènec Torrent described the Ball del Ciri as “traditional” and attributed a certain air of antiquity to it when he commented “it seems to be very old, although we could not prove that it was danced in Manlleu

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage

before the last third of the seventeenth century” (Torrent, 1893: 189).

under the authority of the Sant Jaume Dominican Monastery in Tremp.

The connection between the Ball del Ciri and those who danced it invites speculation about the reason why muleteers and innkeepers, groups whose numbers and economic importance in late nineteenth-century Manlleu were only relative and who were not recorded as having formed a brotherhood, should perform a dance of this sober nature. The question is inevitable: How and when did they become associated? We can only suggest some hypothetical explanations.

First hypothesis: A review of side altars with their own administration in the Santa Maria parish church in Manlleu allows us to put forward a hypothesis linking one of them to the image of Saint Anthony the Abbot and devotion to this saint.

Adoption of the practices of a fraternity administering Santa Maria parish church We cannot disregard the likelihood that, at some time before 1893, the muleteers and innkeepers in Manlleu took as a model a ritual for the transfer of positions of responsibility performed by a brotherhood established in the town. However, there is no record of those established there performing this type of dance.

In 1750, according to the book of parish employees and administration, different bodies were responsible for the altars in Santa Maria church, Manlleu: Our Lady of the Rosary, Our Lady, the Martyr Saints, the Holy Sepulchre and Saint Eulalia3. But, subsequently, a document from the Manlleu Municipal Archive dated 3 March 1770 said: “... there is no congregation, brotherhood or fraternity for any guild”. It only states that in the parish of Santa Maria there is the Minerva fraternity, without a constitution or ordinances, and those for Our Lady of the Rosary and the Souls in Purgatory4. The origins of the first two brotherhoods, linked to the Dominican friars, have a logical connection with Santa Maria in Manlleu because from 1592 to 1830 the priory in Manlleu came

A document5, dated 4 August 1933, preserved in the Episcopal Library Archive in Vic and signed by the priest Joan Torra, gives a description of this altar. It details which images could be seen in each of the chapels, with illustrations. The figure of Saint Anthony was on the altar dedicated to the Martyr Saints, the second if one entered the nave from the left. Among other images, there were those of the four Martyr Saints and a larger central figure depicted Saint Anthony. The Martyr Saints were four early Christians killed in Rome: Victor, Pacific, Justa and Clara. Domènec Torrent said that the Baron of Canyelles had paid for this altar, which would have survived until the mid-1930s (Torrent, 1893: 173), without specifying the date of construction. We can deduce that this occurred in the midnineteenth century from the texts of two pastoral visits, by Bishop Pau de Corcuera in 18296, and Bishop Antoni Palau i Termens, in 18577. The cult was promoted by its own administrative body. While the existence of the body administering the altar devoted to the Saint Martyrs has been proven, we may pose the following question: Could the Ball del Ciri have been a ritual transferred from the administrators to the devotees of Saint Anthony? This would be a case like that of Castellterçol, where the Ball del Ciri is associated with devotion to Saint Victor. The town received his relics in 1660 and dedicated an altar to him (Pladevall, 1991: 251-261).

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Therefore, we may conclude that the first hypothesis proposed would involve the adoption by devotees of Saint Anthony the Abbot of a ritual for the transfer of roles used by the administrative fraternity attending to the Saint Martyrs. During the nineteenth century the progressive decline in veneration for the relics of the Martyrs would have been paralleled by an increase in devotion to Saint Anthony and his greater importance as patron saint. Second hypothesis: If we discount links with a brotherhood and consider connections with our region, a new hypothesis can be suggested. Could a tradition from another town have been borrowed? Although we are well aware of the fragile nature of oral information, in this case we consider the words of Francesc Domènech, one of the respondents in this study, significant when he recalls details of his relatives, especially his uncle Pepet: “[...] he told me some very interesting stories about muleteers and farmers long ago, the Tonis of that time you could say, which he had heard from his grandfather, who’d heard them from his elders. We’re talking about a couple of centuries ago if you bear in mind that his grandfather, who was my great grandfather, was born in Sant Martí Sescorts in 1863.” The festival took place in mid-January: “In those days, when Saint Anthony’s day came, they organised processions with carts, carriages and people riding horses, with their saddles, saddle blankets and stirrups. According to Francesc Domènech, they assembled at a point between L’Esquirol and Sant Martí Sescorts, as described in an article in the festival bulletin for 1999: “[...] possibly on the Pla de Tarrés” and the event brought together farmers “... from L’Esquirol, Sant Martí Sescorts, Les Masies de Roda and Manlleu, too” (Domènech, 1999: 14). He states

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categorically that at that time nobody danced the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu and that the older generations in his family never mentioned this dance. Because of its proximity and the social contacts between Manlleu and the Cabrerès area, especially on the occasion of the feast of Saint Anthony the Abbot, an explanation based on geographical factors seems feasible, especially if we take into account that the existence of the dance was recorded in Santa Maria de Corcó in 1761. The second hypothesis is thus that the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu was an adaptation of this dance, taken to Manlleu and adopted by the devotees of Saint Anthony. Historical periods Earliest references. The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu seemed to be in decline in the late nineteenth century, when it was first documented by Domènec Torrent i Garriga (Torrent, 1893: 188189). At that time, the male dancers had abandoned the traditional costume. In his description we find other equally interesting details: the dance was divided into two parts, the Ball del Ciri and the Ball del Boix, but with the same choreography, each part being danced by two couples, married in the first dance and single in the second. This detail, which could have implied a ritual indicating a change in the family relationships between dancers, cannot be confirmed, however, owing to lack of documentation.

He also records that the women in the first couples carried a bunch of artificial flowers and those in the second carried a boxwood posy with a lighted candle. The 1930s. In the 1920s people stopped dancing the Ball del Ciri. There are no references to tell us whether this interruption was continuous or sporadic.

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At the end of the 1920s concern was expressed about the disappearance of the Ball del Ciri. In 1929 the Manlleu newspaper pubished an article by Ramon Costa i Homs entitled Ciri apagat (Z, 1929: 6). The text makes it clear that, although the dance was still fresh in people’s memory, it was no longer performed and there was demand for its return. This explicit warning must have been effective, as it was announced in the same newspaper the following year that the “grandiose Ball del Ciri” would take place. It was danced on Saint Anthony’s day in the evening in Plaça Fra Bernadí, as it always had been until its disappearance. However, the dancers were dressed in the clothes typically worn on Sundays at the time. As a result, after a few weeks, Joan Puntí Collell, after describing the costumes worn in the nineteenth century, commented: “Don’t you think that this old dance would be much better with period costumes? Don’t you think this traditional festivity would be twice as interesting if we did this?” (Vilardell, 1930: 1). The following year Puntí’s request had been granted. The dance had two new features, which were announced in the press: first it was danced in period costumes, and secondly some of the couples were children, the sons and daughters of Tonis, who formed the children’s troupe. The latter change was to become a regular feature in later periods, up to then the dancers had all been adults. At that time, the person advising the dancers and giving them instructions was Esteve Corominas, known as El federal. The break after the Civil War Because of the Civil War the celebrations by the Tonis did not take place for over a decade. However, there were

at least two performances of the Ball del Ciri in this period. A publication produced in Manlleu to mark the fourth anniversary of the end of the Civil War recorded the participation of the local Sección Femenina in the National Choirs and Dancing Contest held in Barcelona. The performers were praised for their meritorious fifth place among fifty competitors from all parts of Barcelona province8. The arrangement by Joan Martínez of the traditional music for the Ball del Ciri, subsequently adapted for the cobla by Jaume Pons, can be attributed to this period. In 1950, the tune for the Ball del Ciri was used for the giants’ dance during the giant encounter held in Terrassa. From the restoration of the dance in 1953 to 1969 The Tonis festivities of 1953 were a milestone in the history of the Ball del Ciri. That year the flag bearer Sebastià Mas i Valldaura pressed for the restoration of the dance. For some years the departing flag and ribbon bearers and those taking over, in both the adults’ and children’s troupes, took part in a dance that was performed on the patron saint’s day in Plaça Fra Bernadi in the evening.

Maria del Mar Basagaña, recalls that this can be traced back to 1953 and an anecdote of which there are various versions. The one she quotes is as follows: “It happened because Casasampera the contractor wouldn’t buy numbers for the Tonis until the Junta, headed by Sebastià Mas, reinstated the dance” (Basagaña, 2002: 212). At that time artistic direction was the responsibility of Ramon Roca i Corominas, who had danced with the Núria, Flors Camperoles and Dàlia sardana groups and presided the Agrupació Sardanista Manlleuenca.

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage

Between 1961 and 1969 the participation of the adults who carried the flags and held the ribbons in the Ball del Ciri became intermittent and only the members of the children’s troupe danced. The 1969 edition was the last in which these adults took part in the dance.

young adults, who were older than the young dancers’ group. Immaculada Tubau was the driving force behind this group and coordinated it. From 1994, over ten editions, they acquired items of clothing to reflect that worn in the nineteenth century, although there were some distinctive features.

From 1970 to 2004 During a period lasting over three decades various groups of children and young people danced with the children’s troupe, helping to keep the tradition of the Ball del Ciri alive. From time to time a sardana group or other dance association would participate.

From 2005 to today: relays of flag and ribbon bearers In 2005, M. Carme Valls was certain that the original format of the Ball del Ciri, in which the departing flag and ribbon bearers handed over to those replacing them, should be restored. And when Pere Prat, the flag bearer for that year, invited her to hold the ribbons, she imposed one condition: the restoration of the Ball del Ciri by adults. Accordingly, the group who were to take over in that edition, one of whom was Miquel Torrents, agreed that they would seek the support of the current Junta, the flag bearer and ribbon bearers who were leaving.

At the beginning of this period the Tonis festivities, which up to then had taken place on the patron saint’s day (17 January), regardless of the day of the week on which it fell, were moved to the nearest Sunday, which had a positive impact on the Ball del Ciri, leading to regular participation by young dancers and better attendance by the public. Between 1982 and 1983 responsibility for these children’s groups was transferred from Ramon Roca, who had been doing this work since 1953, to the current monitor, Montse Piella, who has been assisted or replaced at times by various people, including Núria Puig, who is standing in for her now. The young dancers’ group and the recovery of traditional costumes. In the early 1990s a group of young dancers joined the children’s troupe. On the occasion of the Congrés dels Focs de Sant Joan in Manlleu on 14-15 May 1983 there was a campaign to restore local traditions. As part of the event, there was a dance by some of the performers of Els Pastorets, who wore the costumes used in the play. A notable development in this period was the incorporation of a group of

That year it was established that agreeing to be a flag bearer or ribbon bearer necessarily involved dancing the Ball del Ciri after the Tres Tombs procession. Handing over One aspect of the Ball del Ciri today is the desire of the Tonis in Manlleu to make it a visual representation of the transfer of responsibility from the flag and ribbon bearers who are leaving to those who are taking over from them. Initially, this feature, which is intended to bring the dance into line with the general idea of Balls del Ciri, was not altogether clear. In the first description of the dance given by Domènec Torrent, there is no connection between the order in which the couples appear and the appointment or departure of any members of any organisation. Nevertheless, the subsequent institutionalisation of the dance, especially after its restoration in 1953, supports the generalised opinion that the origins

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of the dance are related to the ritual transfer of roles in a brotherhood. In the case of Manlleu, there have always been references to the Junta responsible for the local festivities in honour of Saint Anthony. Until the 1960s the term “Junta” was used to refer to the group of men comprising the flag bearer and two ribbon bearers, who would be replaced each year. Between those stepping down and those replacing them a total of six people were involved. The El Ter journal provides the oldest record of the members of the Junta between 1898 and 1901. Unfortunately, however, there is no record of the other editions in the early years of the twentieth century. A study of the names of the men who must have been members of the Junta allows us to identify some of the dancers and their partners in both parts of the dance. It can be deduced that by the early years of the twentieth century some formal aspects had been abandoned, such as the costumes for men, as indicated several times by Domènec Torrent, and this would also have applied to the women. In the mid-1920s the dance was still being performed. For the Republican period, from the restoration of the dance in 1930 to the Civil War, there is no documentary evidence that the dancers were members of the Tonis’ Junta. However, in 1931 the Junta Infantil was created, with the same system of flag and ribbon bearers as the adults, and they were expected to dance. Folklore specialist Joan Amades, in his Costumari català, describes the dance and states that it is a ritual form of transferring roles and that the proclamation specifies the names of those chosen: “[...] the announcement of whose names was always received with applause and signs of satisfaction

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Flag and ribbon bearers leaving the dance (2015). JOAN ARIMANY

(Amades, 2001: 488-489, 951-952)”. However, we cannot say what date this very explicit statement refers to. The graphics and illustrations that appear in this work suggest that the information is based on a field study in the period before the Civil War, as the dance was not reinstated until 1953. However, other works by the same author refer directly to Domènec Torrent’s work, which makes no mention of a transfer of roles (Amades, 1932: 113).

ried and the second two single. Locally, there are no similar cases where these two categories apply.

Dancers: number and type The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu is danced by mixed couples, the number of couples changing over the years (four, six or more).

In the 1930s three couples danced and after the resumption of 1953 the current number of six couples was established in accordance with the membership of the Junta. By 1960 the numbers had stabilised for both adults and children.

According to Domènec Torrent’s description of the dance, as performed in 1893 (Torrent, 1893: 188), there were two clearly differentiated parts: the first two couples had to be mar-

The two-couple format does not reflect the traditional composition of the Tonis’ Junta, which generally consists of six people (the flag bearer and two ribbon bearers who were appointed the previous year and who will relinquish their posts, and the flag bearer and two ribbon bearers who will replace them).

The five-year interval in which the participation of the adult Junta was suspended led to changes in the numbers

of couples of children, which ranged from five to nine. Since 1970 a variable number of children’s couples have danced, grouped according to age. Occasionally they have been accompanied by a sardana group or dancing association. Since 2005 the event has focused on the six couples of adult dancers, who perform in the last round of the dance. They are preceded by 18 to 20 couples of children in two groups: the first for children aged 4 to 6, according to height, and the second for children aged 7 to 12, which included the children’s flag and ribbon bearers. Attire The traditional costumes of those performing the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu disappeared at the end of the nineteenth century. Since then, apart from a

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage

small number of special editions, both men and women have worn their Sunday best, according to the fashions of each period. Domènec Torrent explained that the women used to wear “the traditional elegant white Catalan hood” while men wore “a top hat and long coat” (Torrent, 1893: 188). These clothes, like those worn in the different Balls del Ciri were elegant, for special occasions (Alonso, 2004: 83). In Manlleu this attire was progressively abandoned towards the end of the nineteenth century. Domènec Torrent gave an indication of this in 1893 when, after describing the traditional attire of the dancers, he added the following comment: “[..] although for some years now the men have been suppressing these clothes, a lack of good taste which detracts from the nature of the dance” (Torrent, 1893: 189). At the end of the decade this shortcoming was still noticeable and a few years later the same was true of the women. At the beginning of the 1930s, after some breaks, the dance was reinstated with the same style of clothes as worn in the period. Pressure in the local press for the reinstatement of original attire led to the introduction of some costumes with a traditional flavour. Because of the long break after the Civil War the recovery of original attire did not continue and when the dance was resumed in 1953, street clothes were worn again. In 1958, Josep M. Gasol wrote: “[...] now the women wear a white mantilla and the men a round, wide hat, not very orthodox from the traditional point of view, perhaps” (Gasol, 1958: 59). Not long after this the women’s white mantilla disappeared and the clothes worn were in the style normally sold for festive occasions, as is the case today.

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Accessories In recent decades, as today, the women in the dance have carried a boxwood posy with an unlit candle in the middle decorated with coloured ribbons. Despite variations at different times, the distinctive elements have always been boxwood, the posy and the candle.

the posy but it can be clearly seen in pictures dating from the 1950s.

According to Domènec Torrent, in the late nineteenth century the candle they carried was lit. Joan Soler (Soler, 1998: 100) refers to the candle as having a special significance: he says that it indicates “spiritual presence” and that “light is identified with the spirit”. And Francisco J. Flores makes the following statement: “The flame of the candle represents purification and even life itself” (Flores, 2000: 290). It would be interesting to verify this information but we do not have reports from participants who have danced with a lit candle to establish the meaning they attributed to the fact. The practice fell into disuse many years ago.

As well as this transcription, with scores for the instruments in the cobla (flageolet, tible, tenora, trumpet, fiscorn, trombone and double bass), others were compiled by musicologists and ethnographers in the second half of the twentieth century: Joan Tomàs i Parés (1896-1967)9, Joan Bial i Serra (1888-1970)10, Joan Comas i Vicens (1909-1977)11, deposited in the relevant archives of the documentation centre of the Directorate-General for Popular Culture and the Ignasi Viñolas i Roig (1908-1986)12 archive.

The second distinctive feature of the dance is boxwood. In the earliest years documented, its presence even provided the name of the second part of the dance. Because of its decorative appearance, its availability and the fact that it was perennial, it had been used by the poorer classes to decorate and add colour to a variety of activities and venues which required a touch of elegance. In the first decades of the twentieth century and the post-war years the Tonis used to fill carriages with boxwood for the Tres Tombs procession. The posy had also been an important item but its use had ceased some decades earlier. Domènec Torrent places it in the first part of the dance, performed by married couples, with the women holding it in their hands. He specifies that it was a posy of artificial flowers. Other descriptions do not mention

Music The music used for the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu is usually played by a cobla. The score is a transcription byJaume Pons in 1986 of the arrangement written by Joan Martínez in 1943.

The scores can be divided into two groups. The first comprises the scores by Joan Tomàs, Joan Bial and Ignasi Viñolas. These only include the main theme of the music for the Ball del Ciri and are almost identical. All differ somewhat from the current versions. The scores in the second group are attributed to Joan Comas and present a fuller transcription than the first group, especially the score dated 31 January 1954, which is closest to the current version. Choreography Oral sources allow us to identify two distinct versions of the choreography and these were recreated, so that they could be properly transcribed. The Esbart Català de Dansaires, an institution participating in the project, assisted with this task after a number of dancers in two groups performed the dance as they remembered it.

The first and last part of the dance is a gallop in which, beginning with the

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first couple, the dancers hold their arms up to form a bridge under which the other couples pass.

tain dancers – the new flag bearer and ribbon bearers in that order – at the end of each part of the dance.

In the choreography used up to 1969 the couples stood beside each other and moved in and out of the circle.

Domènec Torrent recorded the following formula, which we may suppose was used at the end of the nineteenth century: “People of the most loyal town of Manlleu. He who today does not celebrate the feast of Saint Anthony shall pay a wineskin full of Alella wine; I say one...” (and he places the proclamation in the first part of the dance, which he refers to as “del Ciri”, the part where the candle appears) (Torrent, 1893: 188).

Since then, although some young couples danced according to this choreography for a few years, it was simplified to make the dance easier for children. In the current version the dancers form two circles, with the women on the inside and the men on the outside. The women change partners successively until they are back with their original partners. After each of the three parts of the dance, the flag and ribbon bearers who are taking over issue the proclamation. The proclamation A distinctive feature of the Ball del Ciri in Manlleu is the proclamation by cer-

Joan Amades, in the first edition of Costumari català, in 1950, records the following proclamation, which he associates with the supposed transfer of roles which is part of the Ball del Ciri: “People of the most loyal town of Manlleu: today is the feast of Saint Anthony the Abbot and he who does not celebrate it shall pay for a wineskin

Ribbon bearer Miquel Collell delivering the proclamation (2017). JOAN ARIMANY

full of wine in honour of the saint and for the benefit of the brotherhood. The following have been elected as members for the coming year... And their names were announced and always received with applause and signs of satisfaction” (Amades, 2001: 488). Josep M. Gasol noted the following wording in 1958: “My friends in the town of Manlleu: he who does not celebrate the feast of Saint Anthony shall pay for a wineskin full of Alella wine: and I say one...” (Gasol, 1958: 59). Each of these formats dates from a particular period in the history of the dance. For example, when Domènec Torrent says that it was addressed to the “People of the most loyal town of Manlleu...”, he was using the honorific title bestowed by Philip V in a decree issued on 16 April 1715, because the people of Manlleu had supported him in the War of Succession (Gaja, 1976: 139).

The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu, an intangible heritage

The formula which has been used in practice for some decades now runs as follows: “People of the town of Manlleu, anyone from a donkey upward who does not celebrate the feast of Saint Anthony shall pay a wineskin full of Alella wine. I say one...” We cannot be sure when this model was adopted, with the additional wording “from a donkey upward”. The oldest members of the Tonis associate it with the Ball del Ciri as far back as they can remember. It should be noted, however, that in the 1930s the children’s troupe was referred to as the “donkeys’ flag”, as the flag and ribbon bearers rode donkeys. It would thus be a way of saying that everyone should celebrate the feast of Saint Anthony, from the youngest to the oldest. A feature of the proclamation that has been retained, unchanged, is the reference to the wineskin full of Alella wine. This payment, which supposedly had to be made by anyone who did not celebrate the feast of Saint Anthony, may be a reminiscence of the participation of innkeepers, together with muleteers, in the group that originally celebrated the feast of their patron saint. It is curious that Alella wine is specified rather than a generic reference to a skin full of wine. However, the fame of this wine dates back to Roman times and it was well established by the Middle Ages, while the eighteenth century brought notable growth when it was exported to the colonies via the port of Barcelona (Denominacions, 2005: 54). Conclusion The research project “The Ball del Ciri in Manlleu”, carried out by Museu del Ter, Associació de Sant Antoni Abat – Tonis de Manlleu and the Esbart Català de Dansaires, with the financial support of the Institut Ramon Muntaner (IRMU), has enabled us to write this article. The research has provided greater knowledge of this dance, associated since the nineteenth century

with those celebrating the feast of Saint Anthony the Abbot in Manlleu. It has also enabled us to place the dance in context geographically and chronologically and to establish two hypotheses to explain why it is performed as part of the festivities in honour of Saint Anthony in Manlleu: it could have been adapted from the ritual for transferring roles in the body administering the Saint Martyrs or it could have developed through the influence of nearby areas, especially the Cabrerès region. Unfortunately the data compiled and analysed are not sufficient for us to confirm one or the other. Thanks to the research, the different musical versions of the dance have been compiled and the tune played currently has been transcribed by Anna Bosch. This work has been accompanied by an accurate choreographical description by the Esbart Català de Dansaires, based on their recreation of the dance and taking into account the changes that have occurred over the years, leading to two different versions. Finally, we have been able to give details of the changes in the clothes worn by the dancers, with special emphasis on describing the original costumes, to confirm the Tonis’ long-standing practice of dancing in the normal clothes worn on a feast day. Finally we have recorded the different versions of the proclamation made by the dancers during the history of the dance. n

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Alonso, M. Rosa [el al.] (2004) El Ball del ciri. Ciudad Real: CIOFF España. Amades, J. (1932). Les diades populars catalanes. Barcelona: Editorial Barcino, v. 1. Amades, J. (2001) Costumari català: el curs de l’any. Barcelona: Salvat, v. 1. Anguela, Antoni [et. al.] (2006) “La dansa popular d’arrel tradicional” in Tradicionari: enciclopèdia de la cultura popular de Catalunya. Barcelona: Enciclopèdia catalana; Generalitat de Catalunya, v.6. Arimany, J. (2012) “La festa dels Tonis de Manlleu. Entre la devoció i la gresca”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, no. 38, July 2012, p. 249-252. Arimany, J. (2014). Els Tonis de Manlleu: a cavall de la devoció i la festa. Manlleu: Museu del Ter. Basagaña, M.M. (2002) Manlleu: recull gràfic 1886-1965. El Papiol: Efadós Denominacions d’origen: vins i vinyes (2005) Barcelona: Centro Editor PDA.

Domènech, F. (1999) “Història dels Tonis explicada per l’oncle Pepet”, Gremi de Tonis: Manlleu Festes 1999. Manlleu: Gremi de Tonis, 1999, p. 14. Flores, F. J. (2000) Diccionario de supersticiones y creencias Populares. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Gaja, E. (1976) Historia de Manlleu. Barcelona: Jaimes Libros. Gasol, J. M. (1958) “Calendari folklòric manlleuenc”, Lletres amicals, v. 18 [typewritten series deposited at the Manlleu Municipal Library].

Torrent, D. (1893) Manlleu: croquis para su historia. Vic: Imprenta y libreria de Ramón Anglada y Pujals. Torrent, D. (1899) “La fiesta de Sant Antonio Abad”. El Ter: Periódico independiente defensor de los intereses morales y materiales de la villa de Manlleu, 14 March, no. 29. Vilardell, A. (1930) “Del ball del ciri”, Manlleu, no. 31, 15 March, supplement Pàgines manlleuenques no. 3, p. 1 [pseudonym of Joan Puntí i Collell]. Z. (1929) “Ciri apagat”, Manlleu. 19 January, no. 1, p.6 [pseudonym of Ramon Costa i Homs].

Pladevall, A. (1991) Castellterçol: història de la vila i el seu terme. Vic; Castellterçol: Eumo; Ajuntament de Castellterçol. Pujol, F.; Amades, J. (1936) Diccionari de la dansa, dels entremesos i dels instruments de música i sonadors. 1, Dansa. Barcelona : Fundació Concepció Rabell i Cibils. Soler, J. (1998)Enciclopèdia de la fantasia popular catalana. Barcelona: Barcanova.

NOTES

ABEV. Manlleu, Sta. Maria H/1 (1599-1653), p. 90

Arxiu Episcopal de Vic, Inventario de la Parroquial Iglesia de Santa Maria de Manlleu, Oficialato de Vich [s.p], 1933

Joan Amades Archive, box 16, cover 221

Joan Bial Serra Archive, box 120, cover 257

“Qüestions pel Ball del Ciri en 1761”, La Veu del Montserrat, 25 October 1902, no. 10, p. 390-391

Arxiu Parroquial de Manlleu, “Llibre de visites pastorals”, 19 September 1829, note 3

Parish Archive of Santa Maria, Manlleu, book A/7: “Elecció d’obrers i administració parroquial 1699/1935”.

AMMA: Manlleu Municipal Archive. “Governació 19”. [Sheaf deposited at the Manlleu Municipal Archive], folio 8 reverse

Arxiu Parroquial de Manlleu, “Llibre de visites pastorals”, 26 July 1857, note 3

Manlleu: Boletín de la Delegación Local de Prensa y Propaganda, 1 April 1943, p. 19

Joan Comas Archive, box 91 cover 134 Ignasi Viñolas i Roig Folklore Archive

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Hold up your hand, the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls and the heritage process of the castellers Introduction

arta Casals, the wife of the famous cellist Pau Casals, justified the passion her husband from El Vendrell had for the world of the casteller, the human tower builders, by saying that, for him, they were the soul of the nation. Indeed, over the past half century castells have become, even more so, an ineffable symbol of Catalan identity and culture, breaking out from the Camp de Tarragona and Penedès area, spreading throughout Catalonia, and even beyond. This popularisation of tower building has led to a huge increase in the number of groups practising the pastime as well as diades – the special days where the groups come together to build castells. This has happened in parallel to the process of granting the practice heritage status, something that was particularly supported by governmental bodies and the community of castellers, and which reached a peak in 2010, when human towers were included in UNESCO’s Representative List of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. As part of the dynamic of assessing the heritage value of castells, the creation of a museum or cultural institution to become a permanent emblem of the tradition has featured prominently: the Museu Casteller de Catalunya, based in the town of Valls. This work is devoted to the new centre, soon to be added to Catalonia’s museum map, which should focus the heritage activity surrounding these

human towers, and become a stable beacon of this intangible practice. The hitherto unsuccessful idea for a casteller museum originally surfaced half a century ago, making it necessary to look at the activity’s chronological evolution, the actors involved, and the formal changes that have been made. However, there is also the question of how this intangible heritage can be displayed in a museographic form, and the challenges posed by the management of such heritage. Likewise, the decision to place the museum in the city of Valls is a response to the semiotic characteristic of the castells, but within the city the fact that the old quarter has been designated as its home, opens up a new topic of debate. The area is partially depopulated and has visible structural degradation, but efforts are being made to remedy this situation, including the siting of the Museu Casteller. It will be interesting, then, to see whether or not urban regeneration or remodelling is possible through the creation of cultural spaces. This is an act technically known as gentrification and has recently been undertaken by several, relatively nearby, cities, like Paris, Barcelona, Bilbao and Santander. In short, it involves laying on the table the network of cultural, social, urban and cultural processes in Valls that is being woven around the Museu Casteller de Catalunya as a focus point, from

Alexandre Rebollo Sánchez Holds a degree in history from Rovira i Virgili University and a Master’s in Cultural Heritage Management and Museum Studies from the University of Barcelona. He has worked as a curator in the Conca de Barberà county museum and has collaborated with the museography company, Molècula, the Museum of Rural Life, and the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls.

the museum’s own history to how this entity is seen by member of the Valls community, as well as what its arrival in the old quarter of the city will mean. The Human Tower Builder Museum, more than half a century of projects The Museu Casteller is somewhat of a paradox, since despite not being up and running it has almost sixty years of history.

By going through local periodicals such as Juventud, Cultura, La Crònica de l’Alt Camp (digitised by the Alt Camp Regional Archive and available online) and newspapers such as El Vallenc, as well as other national publications such as Destino and La Vanguàrdia, you can construct an accurate timeline of the relationship between Valls and the Museu Casteller. The idea of building a museum centre dedicated to human towers, and

Keywords: Intangible heritage, museums, human towers, castells, gentrification Paraules clau: patrimoni immaterial, museus, castells, gentrificació Palabras clave: patrimonio inmaterial, museos, castells, gentrificación

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The new square created inside the Museu Casteller (May 2017). ALEX REBOLLO

more specifically the Xiquets de Valls group, was first mentioned in print in November 1958, when the local magazine Semanario Juventud de Valls ran a small article entitled “Un Museo de los Xiquets de Valls”, explaining the desire to reserve a room in one of the town’s public buildings as a place to exhibit photographs, trophies, souvenirs, and other objects related to castells. The initiative was lauded from the pages of the magazine Destino, in January 1959, by the photographer from Valls, Pere Català Roca. Indeed, as of that moment,

Català Roca must be considered one of the project’s main supporters. Although the display room for the Xiquets de Valls group never came about, it did give rise to the February 1964 exhibition entitled “Vida e historia de los Xiquets de Valls y de los castells en general”, the life and history of the Xiquets de Valls and of human towers in general, set up specifically to raise funds for the monument to the Xiquets de Valls that the county town of Alt Camp wanted to build. It is, however, inter-

esting to see how this exhibition was just the first museographic act relating to the world of the castellers, not only in Valls but throughout Catalonia. Four years later, in 1968, the city of Tarragona picked up the baton at the Santa Tecla festival, with a new human tower exhibition at Casa Castellarnau. In this case, the casteller groups of Valls, El Vendrell, Vilafranca del Penedès, and L’Arboç all participated, as well as those from Tarragona itself. It was a remarkable achievement as it broke away from the local character of the earlier exhibi-

Lately, castells, or human towers, have been strengthened as a symbol of the Catalan identity in parallel to them being raised to heritage status, attaining the highest official distinction as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity as recognised by UNESCO. Because of this, there is a need for a central base where this pastime can be permanently exhibited: the Museu Casteller de Catalunya, in Valls. The article reviews the history of the museum (conceived more than half a century ago) as well as its inclusion in the heritage status process of castells and the urban regeneration involved in it being situated in the old quarter in Valls.

En paral·lel a la patrimonialització dels castells, darrerament s’ha esdevingut un procés de consolidació d’aquests com a símbol de la identitat catalana, els quals han assolit els màxims distintius oficials i han estat declarats Patrimoni Cultural Immaterial de la Humanitat per la UNESCO. Per això els cal una seu estable on mostrar-ne la pràctica permanentment: el Museu Casteller de Catalunya de Valls. L’article repassa la trajectòria del museu (ideat fa més de mig segle) i la seva inclusió en el procés de patrimonialització dels castells, així com el vessant de regeneració urbanística que suposa ubicar-lo al Barri Antic de Valls.

Últimamente se ha producido un proceso de afirmación y patrimonialización de los castells como símbolo de la identidad catalana. Estos han obtenido los máximos distintivos oficiales y han sido declarados Patrimonio Cultural Inmaterial de la Humanidad por la UNESCO. Por eso necesitan una sede estable donde mostrar su práctica: el Museo Casteller de Cataluña de Valls. El artículo repasa la trayectoria del museo (ideado hace más de medio siglo) y su inclusión en el proceso de patrimonialización de los castells, así como la vertiente de regeneración urbana que supone ubicarlo en el Barrio Antiguo de Valls.

Hold up your hand, the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls and the heritage process of the castellers

tion in Valls, and took strides towards a universality that would become the key to the project. The report on the exhibition in the Diario Español was written by a journalist from Tarragona, Lluís Mezquida (under the pseudonym of Petrofilo) who, seeing the success, advocated for the creation of a folk museum in Tarragona – without doubt the predecessor of the current Casa de la Festa – where the castellers had their own space. Years later, in 1976, in the context of the annual get together of the Colla Joves dels Xiquets de Valls human tower group, the city’s mayor Romà Galimany announced the council’s serious desire to create a casteller museum, anticipating it opening in 1978. Although this deadline was not met, in 1978, the Institut d’Estudis Vallencs, through its Folklore Commission, joined the project as an independent commission to give a boost to the museum. At that time, the IEV, was also looking for a place for its activities, causing them to suggest the facilities of the old Sant Roc Hospital as both the headquarters for the Institute and the Museu Casteller. Along the same lines, during the 1981 Festes de la Candela celebrations a casteller exhibition was held with part of what was to be museum funding. In parallel to what was happening in Valls, there were discussions at the territorial scale relating to a museum dedicated to human towers. Once again, Pere Català Roca was the one who pushed to give the topic greater visibility, initially in the 1977 Congress of Catalan Culture, and then more strongly in the First Congress of Traditional and Popular Culture in 1982, for which he was part of the advisory committee. In the conclusions to the casteller section of the congress, in the seventh point, the need is expressly conveyed: to promote the creation of a human tower museum

setting, proposed for installation, by the groups in Valls. (Department of Culture, 1984: 94) As a result, the Catalan Government, through the Museum Service, intervened with the intention of revitalising the project. Therefore, in 1984, Daniel Ventura Solé, a painter from Valls, was appointed director and a large exhibition on the museum was held in the old Sant Roc Hospital. The display was accompanied by the official presentation ceremony for the museum project, chaired by representatives of the institutions involved as well as casteller groups from around Catalonia. The unsuitability of the old Sant Roc hospital building led to the search for a new space, which would eventually result in the building of Ca Segarra, in Plaça del Blat. During the main Sant Joan festival in 1985, the doors were opened to a permanent exhibition on the casteller world, housed on the first floor of the building. However, this exhibition was not regularly open to the public, but was for specially booked visits, in particular coinciding with the town’s main festivals, such as Santa Úrsula and the Christmas festivities. Once again, structural deficiencies in the building obliged the display to close its doors, only two years after its startup. Additionally, despite the fact that work began in Ca Segarra, it was not finished, and the building was never to house the human tower museum. The first half of the 1990s was marked by talks between the town council and the Catalan Government, relating to the project’s funding. In September 1997, the work was invigorated, with Josep Mañà and the Museu de Valls drafting the museum project, in order to resume the adaptation of Ca Segarra. At that time, the end of the work and the opening of the museum was planned for 2003.

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However, the end of the century was also tainted by disagreements about the location of the museum: while the city council stood firmly behind Ca Segarra, the Catalan Government’s Ministry of Culture was looking for other options, highlighting the shortcomings of the building in Plaça del Blat. At the start of the new century, alternative proposals arose, among which was a suggestion to use the old military barracks that was then being occupied the Narcís Oller secondary school. With the change in municipal government after the 2003 elections, this last location gained favour and Ca Segarra was sidelined. The project was given a further boost when, on October 25, 2003, in the building of the former military barracks, the Minister of Culture, the President of the Diputació de Tarragona, the Mayor of Valls, and the President of the casteller association signed the consortium constitution that made the museum possible. However, the saga of where the Museu Casteller de Catalunya was to be located does not end here; in October 2007, Valls town council published the construction of a new building for the museum, outside the town, in Partida de Ruanes. The new project was presented in October 2009 by its author, the Barcelona architect Daniel Freixes and his company Varis Arquitectes SLP, together with the top representatives of the administrations involved. The design included a new, 3,000 square metre building situated in an area of more than 10,000 square metres, connected to the city by several walkways. The siting of the Museum in that location was conditioned by factors including the ownership of the land –initially it was announced that a native of Valls had gifted it altruistically, but later it was specified that it must be bought. Likewise, the casteller museum was listed as part of the Residential Strategic Area (Àrea Estratègica Residencial; ARE) of Ruanes. But the

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new destination of the museum was included in the demands of citizen protest movements, including the Valls Viu platform, created in June 2008 and which, in its founding manifesto, moved, among other things, to eliminate the ARE and transfer the museum to the old quarter of the town.

Carrer Espardenyers, near Plaça del Blat. An agreement with the Institut Català del Sòl allowed the land to be obtained, with 29 buildings in ruins or extremely poor condition being redeveloped, integrating a space that had, initially, been reserved for the construction of social housing.

Finally, in March 2013, Albert Batet, Mayor of Valls, announced that the Ruanes site had been completely abandoned, the ARE withdrawn, and that the old quarter would house the Museu Casteller de Catalunya. This change necessitated a redrawing of the plans. Dani Freixes was kept on as architect but a more modest building was designed, to be located in the area of

On March 27, 2015, on the site where the museum was to be built, festivities surrounded the start of the work, with the some thirty casteller groups taking part, the act witnessed by everyone in the human tower world. Ultimately, on January 8, 2016, the winner of the ideas competition for the museography was announced:

Rendered view of the inside of the Museu Casteller (2016). IGNASI CRISTIÀ – MUSEU CASTELLER DE CATALUNYA

the company of museographer and set designer Ignasi Cristià, with Lavinia Spurna Visual being responsible for the audiovisual production. This new building modifies the urban layout surrounding it by creating a space that joins Carrer Espardenyers with Plaça del Blat, fashioning a square crowned by a large upright cylinder that cuts through the building and allows one to contemplate the sky. Within this emptiness rises a great quadrangular prism. This is a new vociferation for the verticality of castells, and through integrated lighting it highlights all the bright colours of the various groups. At the same time, the structure adds to and modifies the Valls skyline, establishing a dialogue with the bell tower of the church of Sant Joan, the tallest in Catalonia. The interior of the museum, as well as housing the reception, shop, and café, is also home to the CEDOCA (Centre de Documentació Castellera). This publicly owned organisation brings together the largest documentary collection (graphic, photographic, audiovisual, etc.) on the world of human towers. The qualitative leap implied by CEDOCA’s change of location, will no doubt be reflected in its users and the research they carry out. The permanent exhibition will, however, constitute the bulk of the museum’s appeal. With 2,000 square meters and organised according to the casteller motto, strength, balance, value, and sanity (extracted from the work Los Xiquets de Valls by the composer Josep Anselm Clavé), the exhibition is based on audiovisual resources that convey information. Six major audiovisuals and two interactive displays comprise the main attraction, complemented by sensory experiences and participatory immersion that transport visitors closer to the values, sensations and experiences of the human tower builders. Some of

Hold up your hand, the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls and the heritage process of the castellers

the exhibits also make up part of the discourse: there are displays of related objects, including some of the pieces from the CEDOCA art collection, the cups from the first castell competitions held in Tarragona in the 1930s, and historic instruments such as a 19th century double-reeded gralla and a brass timbal drum made by the metal worker from Vendrell, Francesc Badia (18691957). But there are also much newer incorporations for the castellers, like the helmets worn by members of the pom de dalt, the three uppermost levels of the tower, that have been used since the summer of 2006. Also on display is the certificate signed by the general director of UNESCO, Irina Bokova, dated November 2010, whereby castells were raised to the category of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Beyond formal details such as museography or architecture, little has moved on in other aspects, such as the management of the equipment. Although, as previously mentioned, the project is guided by three Catalan administrative levels (national, provincial and local) as well as the Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres, once the inaugural tape has been cut, it is not known who will ultimately take charge. In 2014, Valls town council employed the consultancy from Manresa, Quaderna, to draft a management and viability plan for the Museu Casteller de Catalunya. This public document carefully sets out the state of the question and context within which the future museum must be framed, from the perspectives of tourism, space, economics, and management. Although they propose a management model and funding sources, they do not do so officially, as it will be the political agents themselves who will have to do this. The plans include a complicated framework deriving from the relatively minor tradition of tourism in Valls, and the high seasonality of the municipal-

ity’s current assets: castells and the mild calçot onions. They also consider the poor public transport network and insufficient and decentralised restoration proposal. Geography also works against the museum, and, according to the report, the proximity of Valls to centres that are very attractive to tourists, like Tarragona, Poblet, and Montblanc, may not be favourable. Nevertheless, the Management Plan forecasts the need to sell some 130,000 annual tickets in order to make the project viable and sustainable (Quaderna, 2014). This is a real challenge. As an example, in 2014 (the year in which the plan was drawn up) there were around 130,000 visitors (not tickets sold) to: the archaeological site of Empúries, which depends on the Archaeological Museum of Catalonia; the Museum of Jewish History in Girona; and the Gala Dalí Castle Púbol. Achieving those 130,000 tickets would make the Museu Casteller the most visited museum in the province, ahead of the National Archaeological Museum of Tarragona, which in 2014 received 85,801 visitors, and the Diocesan Museum next to Tarragona Cathedral, visited by 106,690 people in 2016 (Department Of Culture, 2014 and 2016). It goes without saying that the archaeological ruins in Tarragona, which are part of the Tarragona History Museum, are not taken into account as these are not in the Government of Catalonia’s museum register. However, these spaces in Tarragona were visited by around 640,000 people in 2016. Intangible heritage The importance of the technological and audiovisual displays used by the Museu Casteller to construct its museographic discourse, is further evidence of the special nature of the heritage exhibited there.

The official recognition of intangible heritage was a long time in coming,

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and there was much debate between supporters of the omnipresence of patrimony and those who restrict the meaning to everything that is not material. In other words, the first group claims that all heritage is intangible, since the value of objects – classified as material heritage – does not reside in the pieces themselves but in their meaning, i.e., an intangible quality. To give an example, a flag like those hanging on balconies around the region, would not be exhibited – apparently – in a museum, archive, or gallery. However, if this flag turns out to be the senyera that enveloped the ballot box containing the heart of President Macià and which the Tarradellas family took custody of while in exile, everything changes and it is justified that it be hung in pride of place, preferably in the Montserrat Tarradellas Archive, located in the Monastery of Poblet. The truth is that this is not a new concept, and not one invented by UNESCO. However, the recognition gives official status to certain precepts that were embedded in other categories, such as folklore from the beginning of the 19th century, or ethnological heritage, that was booming during the 1980s. At the UNESCO conference in Mexico in 1982, the supranational body cited the term intangible heritage for the first time, consolidating it in subsequent meetings, such as that held in 1993. It was not until the new century, that it would receive its final boost. In 2001, in Turin, experts from all over the world defined the term, as a preliminary step to the Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Heritage, held in Paris in October 2003. This meeting, in addition to consolidating the concept, also served to create the first tools for safeguarding and protecting intangible heritage, such as the list of elements that require urgent protective measures and, in particular, the

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Representative List Of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Castells, heritage status processes In November 2010, castells were registered on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, under UNESCO’s term “Human Towers”. This was the result of its candidacy in 2007 as a fundamental pillar in the heritage status granting process and significance of this Catalan expression. It goes without saying that both the candidature and the entire heritage status granting process for castells deserve careful study, far removed from what follows, which only includes brief notes.

The means by which something ends up being granted heritage status is a process of patrimonialisation. This requires the creation of a scalar network in which there is a multiplicity of actors with different intentions. It involves a reinterpretation of the past based on contemporary problems, which can be characterised as a remodelling, reconstruction, or re-elaboration of the past, giving it a political-identity, social-community, or economic-tourist use (Roigé, 2014: 29). All assumptions involve dangers, such as that of misrepresenting the meaning when the motives are political or related to identity, or the commodification of the heritage to meet the demands of tourism. In this way, and in the case of intangible heritage, we can see how the dances of indigenous peoples that were only used in specific periods and with clearly defined motives, are now sold to the highest bidder and are danced based on visits by tourists, who observe them thinking they are authentic. A new step in this path of patrimonialisation is the creation of a space that captures the heritage such as a museum or interpretation centre. For an intangible asset, this requires materialisation,

The certificate recognising castells as UNESCO Intangible Heritage (2010). CDOCA – CCCC

making it a “thing” that can be put on display, sold, or exploited. In the case of castells, a popular tradition geographically limited to the Camp de Tarragona and Penedès areas, these have become the symbol of an entire region. This undoubtedly derives from the political significance of human tower building, both at the beginning of the 20th century and especially since the 1980s following the restoration of democracy in Spain. The recognition, appropriation and projection given by the national administration to castells has resulted in the multiplication of diades castelleres – the festival days celebrating human towers – as well as the founding of more groups around the region and beyond, a key factor in the inclusion of castells in the Catalan idiosyncrasy. It is reflected in the fact that the opening ceremony of the Barcelona Olympic Games included 92 casteller groups building their towers under the whole world’s gaze, making it the best way to show the planet that “we are” Catalans (or at least those who make castells). And more recently we have seen the political use of the pastime, through events such as that organised by Òmnium Cultural in the spring of

2014, Catalans want to vote. Human towers for democracy, in which eight European capitals were treated to the sight of human towers being built amid banners and proclamations in favour of a referendum on the political future of Catalonia to be held on November 9 of that same year. Likewise, campaigns promoted by the Catalan Government and other administrative bodies are based on the image of the world of human tower building, to attract tourism, even programming ad hoc diades castelleres to make their festivals more attractive and increase visitor numbers. Nothing new there, at least nothing that had not been happening in cities like Vilafranca, Valls and Tarragona at the end of the 19th century and in the first half of the 20th, but in a very different context in terms of tourism. The castell-tourism relationship has been strongly ratified with the new century, the good standing of the groups and the many successes they have achieved help make the pastime yet more attractive to the public and popularise the act, which at the same time is encouraged as a governmental

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gona, Ciutat de Castells (Tarragona the city of human towers) promoted in 2013 and that aims to immerse visitors in the “casteller universe”, involving: itineraries taking in the main squares where tower displays are held; guided visits to the home bases of the casteller groups; and periodic events during the castell season designed expressly for the foreign public.

Castellers in the independence demonstration on La Diada – Catalonia’s national day (2014). DANI CODINA

strategy. However, the legitimacy of this process also involves obtaining certain distinctions that differentiate one’s practices from others. In Catalonia, diades castelleres in some of the region’s festivities are key in the cataloguing of the pastime as a Heritage Festival of National Interest. These include the main festivals of L’Arboç and Vilafranca del Penedès, the Festes Decennals de la Mare de Déu de la Candela de Valls, and the Santa Tecla festival in Tarragona, among others. But the greatest recognition to which intangible manifestations can aspire is the aforementioned UNESCO List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of

Humanity. The road started down in 2007 translates into this need to have an official seal from some prestigious acronym like UNESCO that legitimises the heritage status of castells. 2010, the year in which this supposed quality certificate was obtained, was also a milestone from which the exploitation and commodification of human towers expanded. In this way, and with the desire to extend the experience beyond the intangible, we find the justification for products and packages aimed at visitors. These include practices open to tourists, and initiatives like Tarra-

A first step taken by the Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres in 2014, was the launch of the brand Castells – Colles Castelleres de Catalunya, together with its English version Castells – Catalan Human Towers, which were both registered in the Spanish Office of Patents and Trademarks. This act was supported by the Catalan Government and private companies, a symbol of the advertising potential of castells, as well as the possibilities for the business sector. According to the creators, the goal was to protect the image of castells, give the phenomenon projection, and take advantage of funding opportunities. For this reason, a proprietary line of merchandise was launched, and a tourist package was put together, including things like attending a group practice. In this way, for less than 25 euros, one can watch and join in with one of the practices of the Castellers de Sants, or Castellers de Barcelona, for example. The link between heritage and tourism implies entry into the market. At this point, changes in our concept of success, or not, can come about, such as assessing visitor number instead of the quality of the activity. And ultimately, the offer will be based on the demand (Prats, 2006), a fact that explains the actions described above, but which also justifies the creation of the Museu Casteller de Catalunya. The definitive boost to a project that had never had enough momentum to finally be realised is, symptomatic of the time these human towers find themselves in, its link to national identity, its attraction

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for tourists, and its emblematic status as intangible heritage of humanity. It clinches the deal with the opening of a permanent base where it can watch over and in some way fossilise the tradition, objectify it, and all under the academic aura linked to the word museum. The challenge that this type of proposal has to face is to not trivialise the intangible heritage, but make it accessible without decreasing its importance or emptying it of meaning (Grötsch, 2005). In Spain, other elements found on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity also have monographic museums, such as the Festes de la Mare de Déu de la Salut d’Algemesí and the Museu Valencià de la Festa; flamenco dancing and the Museo del Flamenco de Sevilla; and the Fiesta de los Patios de Còrdova with its interpretation centre of the same name. In Catalonia, the other great masterpiece of intangible heritage is the Patum de Berga (included in the list since 2005). Although recognition may appear to come at the hands of an interpretation centre or museum, in this latter case the project on paper has never become reality and the festival’s museum offering is limited to the Casa de la Patum, a small dwelling where a few pieces are displayed, accompanied by image and sound.

headlines that give us news relating to human towers, from the heirs of the casteller journalists, initiators of a genre at the beginning of the last century.

The academic aspect is also vitally important to success. For castells, this is not a problem: here the link between culture and heritage is well known thanks to folklore studies by people including Joan Amades and Francesc Blasi Vallespinosa. Scholars, literati, folklorists, and historians, among others, have all taken castells and castellers as their object of study, evidenced by the extensive literature on the subject that exists right through from the 19th to the 21st century.

The old quarter is the least populated area of the town, the most run down, and which has the highest percentage of immigrants. Therefore, the action forms part of the urban regeneration project for the old quarter of Valls. In 2006, Valls council presented a comprehensive intervention project for this part of the town, and the same year sanctioned an amount of 15 million euros from the Catalan Government’s Neighbourhood Plan Law. The Plan provided for the allocation of grants for housing rehabilitation, a list of commercial properties, and the construction of new facilities, such as the Espai Ca Creus including the Carles

These days, there are monographic publications, specialised media, and even sections within the main national

Likewise, doctoral theses on castells and castellers prove how the subject has entered the highest educational circles, particularly within Rovira i Virgili University. Since February 2017, this centre, together with the Colla Vella dels Xiquets de Valls, has been promoting the URV chair for the study of human towers, as a tool for interdisciplinary reflection, debate, and dissemination of the culture and evolution of castells based on historical research excellence. Museums and urban regeneration Nevertheless, the construction of the Museu Casteller de Catalunya incorporates other interesting aspects that can be analysed, including its location.

Siting it in Valls is an obvious attempt to respond to the symbolism of the city as the home of castells and the cradle of the casteller world, as happened with the Coordinadora de Colles Castelleres, which is also based in Valls. But the fact the old quarter was chosen to house the museum reveals further intentions.

Cardó library and a community centre. It also involved the restoration of heritage elements, like the old Convent del Carme, which houses a school and holds public events, the wall of San Francisco, where they seek to expropriate and demolish some urban blocks to free up space and recover the mediaeval wall, and the anti-aircraft shelter in Plaça del Blat, which in 2011 was incorporated into the Memory Spaces of the Democratic Memorial. The site of the casteller museum, up until 2013, was intended to accommodate social housing, involving around sixty homes as well as commercial premises. As mentioned earlier, the regulatory difficulties of Ruanes (the previously planned location), the need to resize, and the demands of locals who favoured the transfer of the museum to the historic centre, triggered this current situation. And it is justified by the fact that the housing blocks prevented the neighbourhood “breathing” (Quaderna, 2014). It does, however, involve dispensing with urban unity and the current street layout, to drop in a modern white construction with large windows that differs greatly from the neighbouring buildings. Just as has already happened with the nearby Espai Ca Creus. It is exactly this that causes a loss of heritage, if one believes the postulates of patrimony theorists who think of a town as a unique monument that includes topography, landscape, urban planning, and architecture. (Choay, 2007: 125-126). The planning is neither new nor innovative, many other cities around the world have used culture to reverse the decadent tendency of urban spaces. Often, projects of this type are framed within the context of economic crises that force communities to redefine their activities, and many of them turn in the direction of the services sector. In general, the teams that direct

Hold up your hand, the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls and the heritage process of the castellers

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Carrer Espardenyers in the old quarter of Valls and the human tower museum in the background (May 2017). ALEX REBOLLO

and plan these reforms are composed exclusively of architects, however, as of the 1980s, the figure of the economist has also been involved. The aim is to squeeze as much economic profitability out of whatever had to be remodelled, and this leads to incorporating services that are attractive to tourists and passers-by who will part with their hard-earned cash in the area. So we find, among other things, seafronts and beaches opened up, shopping centres, museums, and galleries. These last are, above all, focused on contemporary art to make it easy to create a collection ex novo. Later, sociologists and human geographers will add their two pennyworth so that the processes does not focus solely on tourism. (Lorente, 1997: 11-13). These approaches include examples like that of Paris and the Pompidou Centre (1977), and Liverpool and the Tate (1988). Closer to home, places that opted to use modern art for regeneration were Valencia with

the creation of the Institut Valencià d’Art Modern (1989), Madrid and the Centro de Arte Reina Sofia (1992), and Bilbao and the Guggenheim (1997). Others have focused not only on art, but include other infrastructure such as the Raval of Barcelona, especially in the surroundings of Plaça dels Àngels, with the creation of the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona (1994), the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona (1995), the University of Barcelona’s Geography and History Faculties (2006), and the Communication and International Relations Departments of Blanquerna – Ramon Llull University (2010). The same is true of other spaces such as Carrer Robadors with the Filmoteca and the connected Rambla del Raval. More recently, cities like Girona have also experienced this widespread growth in tourism. Back in Catalonia, Lleida has tried to use culture and

heritage to turn the city centre around. Along with the remodelling of streets, new projects are being launched, such as the creation of a new building for the Jaume Morera art museum and a desire to make the Turó de la Seu Vella a UNESCO World Heritage Site. This process parallels well with Valls, since both towns want to undertake urban regeneration based around an internationally recognised heritage element. Technically, this type of process is known as gentrification: “the socioeconomic transformation of a degraded urban area inhabited by lower-class or marginal social groups characterised by the urban and architectural rehabilitation of the area and by the progressive arrival of middle-class or upper-class social groups. This leads to a change in the economic activities and, sometimes, the displacement of the most vulnerable social groups.” (TERMCAT) As a general rule, business

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Immediate surroundings of the Museu Casteller in the old quarter of Valls (May 2017). ALEX REBOLLO

reforms entail increased land prices by opening the door to real estate speculation that forces the original inhabitants to leave, since they can no longer afford to live in the area, and these sites are replaced with homes for higher income families or tourist accommodation. Meanwhile, the area’s improved image and increased safety favour a rise in private investment, although this is principally in the tourist sector, meaning small shops succumb to establishments such as bars, restaurants, fashion boutiques, and souvenir shops. In some cases, this comes in the form of franchises or large commercial brands. In any case, these are hardly compatible with the daily life of a neighbourhood and the need for food, leisure, footwear, and affordable clothing. However, gentrification can improve the situation of an area by enhancing its aesthetics, level of safety, and relevance within the city as a whole. This also

involves risks, such as denaturing or even banalising the zone by generating a “theme park”, or making it classical and elitist, a place where it is no longer possible to live. (Garcia; Beltran, 2011: 140-142). Of course, each case is found within a different context, since all cities are different and, therefore, many other factors influence the outcome of these actions. But there does seem to be a certain trend towards these effects. Valls, therefore, is an example that cannot yet be evaluated as it is still only in an intermediate phase. A stage where there is still action to be undertaken, and to which we should remain attentive. Conclusions We are facing, therefore, the culmination of a journey that has been underway for more than half a century. Although the opening of the Museu Casteller de Catalunya in Valls will

bring this journey to an end, in truth it will be the beginning of an even more important road, that of bringing life, day-to-day, to this new facility. A unique museum in Catalonia, dedicated exclusively to the manifestation of intangible heritage and charged with the region’s cultural symbolism. And there many huge challenges still to face, like capturing the audience necessary to enable its survival, and the need to keep up with the life and activity of the human tower building world. A showcase displaying the result of the process of integrating enxanetes1, folres2 and manilles3 into the idiosyncrasies of the Catalan people, but whose origins we should also be aware of. Although, heritage-wise, we can have no further aspirations, having obtained the highest recognition of intangible cultural heritage of humanity, the challenge is how this is managed and what limits are impose to preserve it. To what

Hold up your hand, the Catalan Human Tower Museum in Valls and the heritage process of the castellers

extent is it possible to sell the image of castells for commercial purposes? Or what are the boundaries so practices and diades do not become void of meaning? It is true that the casteller is healthy and has excitement in his DNA. As true as the fact that emotional intangible heritage is very difficult to obliterate. But that does not mean it is exempt of risk. Just as there are dangers inherent in the processes linking urban regeneration and culture. Gentrification, in the majority of cases, ends up becoming a double-edged sword, introducing some conflicts while resolving others. It will be interesting to see, in the coming months and years, how the old quarter of Valls assimilates the actions that have been and are being carried out, and then evaluate their success or failure. What is certain is that a neighbourhood needs residents to revive it, and museums bring not inhabitants but visitors. This may be the reason many of the cities that have opted for this

strategy are only sporadically populated, by people who walk the streets and squares for only few hours, passing through, rootless and without time to create experiences there. It is therefore extremely important to make those inhabitants closest the new cultural centres, feel the need for them. Integrate them in the project right from the start and keep them constantly up to date. After all, it is they who will suffer the consequences of the building work, and they who will have to deal with the possible crowds after the inauguration, and, indeed, it is their taxes that will pay for it. It is imperative, therefore, to give the citizens a sense of belonging to the new museum, and not in vain, because if this is achieved, they will become the best advertising, guides, and attractive force that it will have. From a personal perspective, Valls does not appear to be doing this very diligently, and this attitude may lead to disaffection and indifference. It goes without saying, however, that it would be interesting to do a detailed study of the impressions, desires and regrets the Museu Casteller stirs up in

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the citizens of Valls. A possible path for further research. For all that, however, we will have to wait. To wait for the human tower museum to open to visitors, as well as local residents. To wait and see what effect it has on the town, in particular the old quarter. And also the evolution of the heritage status granting process of the castells and how they are used in the fields of economics, tourism, and politics. The political aspect acting as the soul of the human towers. Not for nothing did Pau Casals say that castells: “are the living symbol of the Catalan people’s firm virtues.” n NOTES

The casteller who crowns the human tower.

The reinforcement for the second level of a human tower.

The reinforcement for the third level of a human tower.

REFERENCES

Alonso, P. (2012) “El tratamiento del patrimonio inmaterial en museos”, Anales del Museo Nacional de Antropología, 14: 56-73. Castro, H; Zusman, P. (2007) “Redes escalares en la construcción de los patrimonios de la humanidad. El caso de la patrimonialización de la Quebrada de Humahuaca (Jujuy, Argentina)”, GEOUSP – Espaçao e Tempo, 21: 173-184. Choay, F. (2007) Alegoría del patrimonio. Barcelona: Gustavo Gili. Department of Culture. Government of Catalonia. (1984) Memòria del Primer Congrés de Cultura Tradicional i Popular. Barcelona: Department of Culture. Department of Culture. Government of Catalonia. (2014). Museum statistics. 2014. Visitors (in alphabetical order by museum). Barcelona: Department of Culture. <http://cultura. gencat.cat/web/.content/dgpc/museus/area_ de_difusio_i_explotacio/estadistiques_de_mu-

seus/2014/01.2014.Visites-per-ordre-de-nomdel-museu.pdf> [Consulted: 20th July, 2017] Department of Culture. Government of Catalonia. (2016). Museum statistics. 2016. Visitors (in alphabetical order by museum). Barcelona: Department of Culture. <http:// cultura.gencat.cat/web/.content/dgpc/museus/area_de_difusio_i_explotacio/estadistiques_de_museus/2016/01.2016.Visitantsper-ordre-de-nom-del-museu.pdf> [Consulted: 20th July, 2017]

Lorente, JP. (1997) “Focos artísticos de revitalización urbana, espacios para el sincretismo”. In LORENTE, JP. (coord.) Espacios de arte contemporáneo generadores de revitalitzación urbana, 11-27. Zaragoza: University of Zaragoza. Department of Art History. Prats, Ll. (2006) “La mercantilización del patrimonio: entre la economía turística y las representaciones identitarias”, PH Boletín del Instituto Andaluz del Patrimonio Histórico, 58: 72-80.

Fernández, E. (2004) “Museos y patrimonio intangible: una realidad material”, Mus-A: Revista de los museos de Andalucía, 4: 129-137.

Quaderna. (2014) Museu Casteller de Catalunya. Management and viability plan. Valls: Ajuntament de Valls.

Garcia, M; Beltrán, M. (2011) “Hibridación y destrucción selectiva como estrategias propulsoras en centros históricos de Salamanca y Estocolmo”, Ciudades, 14: 133-156.

Roigé, X. (2014) “Més enllà de la UNESCO, gestionar i museïtzar el patrimoni immaterial”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 39: 23-40.

GRÖTSCH, K. (2005) “Musealizar lo imposible – intangibles”, Areté Documenta, 21.

Santacana, J; Llonch, N. (2015) El patrimonio cultural inmaterial y su didáctica. Gijón: Trea.

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The dialectical relationship between popular and hegemonic culture

The nativity scenes in Plaça de Sant Jaume, Barcelona

being incorporated over the years, with little fuss. In this way we verify how the dialectic proposed by LombardiSartriani (1978) between popular and hegemonic culture is fulfilled.

he presence of religious symbolism in a public space is a controversial issue. Every Christmas there is a debate on the suitability of installing nativity scenes in public squares. As part of my doctoral thesis Simbologia religiosa a l’espai públic. El cas dels pessebres públics i les possibilitats d’innovació en el pessebrisme (Religious symbolism in public spaces. The case of public nativity scenes and the possibilities of innovation in the nativity scene movement) directed by Dr. Josefina Roma, which I defended in January 2017, I ethnographically analysed the reactions generated by the nativity scene in Plaça de Sant Jaume, in Barcelona, that allowed me to appreciate the dynamics established between hegemonic and popular culture. Nativity scenes that veer away from the idealised, traditional image of the manger generate a dialectic that favours the evolution of the tradition. Some ideas initially rejected by the establishment, which represent hegemonic culture, end up

From the institutional assignment to the project In 2004, Barcelona City Council selected Escola Massana, on the occasion of its 75th anniversary, to design the public nativity scene to be placed in Plaça de Sant Jaume. It has become the custom, over recent years, to invite one

The nativity scenes in Plaça de Sant Jaume, Barcelona, first displayed in 2004, have allowed the nativity scene movement and popular culture to reflect on these traditions and the possibilities of renewing them. Studying the reactions to that nativity scene allows us to observe the dialogue established between hegemonic and popular culture. A comparative analysis of how the nativity scenes have developed over successive years shows how this dialogue makes it possible for traditions to evolve.

Els pessebres de la plaça de Sant Jaume de Barcelona, d’ençà del que s’hi va instal·lar l’any 2004, aporten al pessebrisme i a la cultura popular la possibilitat de reflexionar sobre les tradicions i les seves possibilitats de renovació. L’estudi de les reaccions que va provocar aquell pessebre ens permet observar el diàleg que s’estableix entre la cultura hegemònica i la cultura popular. Una anàlisi comparativa de l’evolució dels pessebres d’anys successius mostra com aquest diàleg possibilita l’evolució de les tradicions.

The data I analysed comes from articles published in the press and indepth interviews. I have established certain reaction categories relating to the presence of religious symbols in public spaces, as well as the possibility of evolving and updating popular traditions.

Enric Benavent COL·LECTIU EL BOU I LA MULA

Member of the Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula, author of various studies and books on the nativity scene movement. He holds a PhD from Ramon Llull University and is a lecturer and member of the GIAS research group, in the Faculty of Social Education and Social Work Pere Tarrés.

The conclusions of this study give us elements that help us understand and reflect upon similar situations brought about by the presence of religious symbols in public spaces.

Keywords: Nativity scene, public space, traditions Paraules clau: Pessebre, espai públic, tradicions Palabras clave: Pesebre, espacio público, tradiciones

Los pesebres de la plaza de Sant Jaume de Barcelona, desde el que se instaló en 2004, aportan al pesebrismo y la cultura popular la posibilidad de reflexionar sobre las tradiciones y sus posibilidades de renovación. El estudio de las reacciones que generó aquel pesebre nos permite observar el diálogo que se establece entre la cultura hegemónica y la cultura popular. Un análisis comparativo de la evolución de los pesebres de años sucesivos muestra cómo este diálogo posibilita la evolución de las tradiciones.

The dialectical relationship between popular and hegemonic culture

of the city’s design schools to plan and implement this manger scene, together with the Rubió i Tudurí Gardening College. To carry out this assignment, Massana school held a competition for third year Art and Design Project students to select and develop a proposal. This subject was directed by the lecturer Jordi Canudas, and took place between September and December, right at the beginning of the academic year. It was initially difficult to fill the commission, both on the part of the teachers, as they were working on the curriculum for the art of commitment course, and the students, since, although licensed to participate in a contest and be involved in the city’s nativity scene, many of them did not feel motivated by such a project. In the end, several groups of students formed who then worked on projects for the competition. The process of designing the nativity scene was the same as for any other project they undertook at the school: there was an initial phase of research, they developed a sketch, and then they constructed a model. The research phase was exhaustive. It began with a general presentation on Christmas, as well as the nativity scene and its symbols, given by the lecturer Josep Mañà. From this point, and with the help of the students, various very different concepts took shape, relating to people’s personal experiences of Christmas, like nostalgia, gatherings, and consumerism, or in reference to the festival’s historical and pagan backgrounds, as well as the anthropological side of the festivities. They analysed popular nativity scenes and the figures typical of traditional Catalan versions, to see which figures are involved, what they symbolise, how they are dressed, what offerings they bring, and so on. They questioned the possibility of introducing today’s real-

ity into the nativity scene, of including modern technology. They also questioned which language should be used, how to make reference to the city –as this was a commission from the City Council to be located right in the middle of Barcelona–, about who the manger scene was addressed at, and whether the target audience comprised just children or the entire general public. The students particularly noted the presence of the townsfolk in the nativity scene, first looking at the nativities from Naples and Provence, and, subsequently, the Catalan figures. They realised with surprise that the manger scene brings together many meanings and symbols that go beyond religion per se. In the course of the research and reflection, the following key words emerged: periphery, residual, marginal, and poverty. The students therefore wondered how they could illustrate the things that are peripheral in the centre of the city. Little by little, two concepts became clearer: –– It had to be an urban nativity scene. –– It had to use contemporary artistic language. This enabled the project to be tied to classwork based on contextual art and the art of commitment. This approach does not look to represent reality, but demands a co-presence in which the artist introduces themselves into the landscape to work on and modify it. It is participatory art that seeks to involve the viewer. The work of art is not a finished product, it is an event that can benefit collective life and may interest many audiences. Ardenne (2006: 121) describes the artist, not as someone who creates a work from a position of authority, but who extends an invitation, who encourages the public to speak and listen, in other words, create

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collectively. Participatory art considers the viewer to be a citizen, a political being, and modifies the notion of public, revoking the principle of passivity. It should be noted that the majority of the students were not involved in the nativity scene, nor did they have a clear religious reference in their lives, but they were able to see that traditions bring together feelings, ancestral values and cultural symbols. This generated interest that motivated the search for more detail in the research phase. The formal possibilities of the nativity scene were then considered: how to use images, text, and observer participation. From this analysis, the students went on to ask what they wished to convey, the message they wanted to send out through the manger scene, and they decided to re-read the tradition with the intention of updating it. Winning project: Pessebre Barcelona The winning project focused on the public square and the daily activity there. Its design was based on knowledge of nativity scene traditions and an analysis of its origins. The idea involved transposing the popular nativity scene into the present day, to include a representation of the people, including their jobs and daily activities. The nativity scene was an urban space, a fragment of public park. And the citizens were the figurines, paralleling each other’s activities – the woman fetching water, the shepherd, the washerwoman, the woodcutter, and so on. And the visitors, too, were incorporated into the whole, becoming yet more characters.

One of the great ideas of this winning project was to ensure a clear parallel with the traditional nativity scene. Pessebre Barcelona comprised a set of silhouettes made from photographs of modern people mirroring the actions of the figures in 19th century nativity scenes. The intention was to translate

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the characters from the popular manger scene into people typical in the city. If the traditional nativity scene represented the townsfolk around the time Jesus was born, who would these people be in a 21st century city? The parallels between the figures in the popular stable setting and the photographs of people were: The shepherd carrying a bundle of firewood: a man distributing butane gas bottles; the washerwoman: a lady with a bottle of detergent; the musician: a young man with dreadlocks playing the guitar; the woman fetching water: a lady carrying a couple of plastic bottles of water; a snowman: a tourist; the farmer: a workers from the parks and gardens; the spinner: a lady knitting; the woman with a basket: a lady with a shopping trolley; the woman giving food to the chickens: a lady feeding the pigeons; the shepherd bringing an offering: a man with presents; the woman with a basket of eggs: a lady with a dozen eggs; the man making allioli (garlic mayonnaise): a lady eating salad; the bread man: a young person with baguettes under his arm; a shepherd with the sheep: a man with a dog. It was decided that the silhouettes of the figures in the Nativity should not be made using modern-day people, and they were instead created from the photographs of popular figures from the ethnological museum. The students considered that this was the best way to maintain the tie with tradition and at the same time say this was a nativity scene. They thought that making silhouettes using contemporary figures would not have helped build this link between the representation and the Nativity concept. On the other hand, Baroque or Neoclassical figures would not have meshed with the process they had been following. The entire nativity scene was a translation of popular figures into contemporary urban characters, and therefore the figures had to

“The farmer” Nativity Scene BCN (December 2004). ESCOLA MASSANA.

“The Woman of Water” Nativity Scene BCN (December 2004). ESCOLA MASSANA

Figures from the Nativity. Nativity Scene BCN (December 2004). ESCOLA MASSANA

The dialectical relationship between popular and hegemonic culture

make this relationship with the popular nativity scene very clear. Analysis of the reactions that appeared in the media. Getting the nativity scene movement into the press is not an easy job. The news relating to this topic almost always ends up being simply a reference to clichés. There are, however, certain recurrent issues seen each year at the beginning of the Christmas season. These include the Santa Llúcia Fair and the caganer, the ‘pooping man’ – a mainstay of the Catalan manger scene. In addition, it is typical to see news relating to the theft of Nativity figures or acts of vandalism to public displays.

Some years ago, the media got a new date for its Christmas diary: the inauguration of the nativity scene in Plaça Sant Jaume, in Barcelona, the timing of which, in some way, marked the beginning of the Christmas season. The attraction of this nativity scene from the media’s perspective changed dramatically as of Christmas 2004. The nativity scene whipped up a new media storm due to the novelty of its approach, proposing a dialogue between tradition and modernity, thanks to its aesthetics. The installation provoked many different reactions and, consequently, increased the attention the Plaça de Sant Jaume nativity scene received each year. As its creator proudly stated: all these reactions contributed to the fact that this was the highest profile manger scene ever in the history of the Catalan nativity scene movement. The proof is that, thirteen years later, many people still remember it. I have dug up the news and opinion articles that were published relating to that nativity scene. I can start, therefore, with opinions published years ago without any interaction between the researcher and the people who expressed their views. I have classi-

fied and categorised what was said, either in favour of or against the idea. Finally, I have grouped the comments transcribed literally from the original sources according to certain core concepts that allow us to see how the views are contrasted. a) First impressions of the nativity scene. We can see that the initial positive or negative reaction to the display is more linked to emotional than rational aspects. Those who value it positively express superficial feelings of surprise, novelty, or the fact it is “fun; original; something new; provides variety; a good idea1; it is good to change2; surprise; it makes me laugh; it is novel; you have to keep adapting; it is provocative3”, while those that negatively assess it are more concerned with the feelings involved “lacking mystery, magic and emotion4; very poor nativity scene; has no soul; lacks tenderness; it upsets me; traumatising nativity scene6; controversial design; the idea is idiotic7; it’s a zero”. b) A second block of comments can be grouped around tradition. In this section we see that tradition is understood in different ways. We could say that there are two trends: one is evolutionary in nature, linked to ideas of progress, which admits that tradition is not immutable: “transposition to the present day, an updating of the nativity scene8; re-reading of the traditional manger scene9; it is refreshing10; adapts old concepts; transported to the present; tradition does not have to be copied11; fits with tradition12; it symbolises the tradition of using local characters13; it maintains the tradition14; it recognises the modernity of the Nativity15”; and another is opposed to change. Tradition is both something that cannot be touched or that may be adapted, and this is the starting point for the way people received this nativity scene, a display that was clearly conceived by the artists from a vision open to tradition and with the intention

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of adapting this to the present day. Those who express negative comments hark back to an idealised nativity that “has ceased to be traditional; we want to think about the festival as we have always done, with the corny nativity scenes we have always known; if God came and saw this manger16; this is not a nativity scene17” c) Comments that appeal to religiousness. Among these comments we see that people who feel a negative connotation, also view the nativity scene as deliberate belligerence towards Christianity or religiousness: “simple propaganda18; it’s revenge19; it wants to bring about the end of our culture’s moral and ideological principles20; a lay nativity scene21; calling this human grouping a nativity scene is confusing reality; it’s a mockery; it stinks of anticlericalism22”. From the negative comments you can get the idea of a certain moral and cultural essentialism. On the other hand, the way those people who make positive comments view it leads us to a deeply religious interpretation of the proposal “it is not a lay nativity scene23, we are all called by God; you need to look for the symbolism in the figures24”. d) Opinions that emphasise the aesthetic aspect. Here we find two variables, one centred on personal taste, and another that tries to aesthetically reason. The aesthetic novelty is not accepted by some “I prefer a more classic style; aesthetically debatable; the figures should always be Baroque; the figures are too realistic; tacky25; the worst things are the figures of Joseph, the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus”, and yet, in contrast, others recognise it as “innovative; modern26; good design; up to date; contemporary artwork; it has a ground-breaking air about it27, kudos to the figurine makers for the nativity figures28”. It is remarkable that, on the one hand, the hyperrealism of the figures is criticised, while at the same time there was no acknowledgement

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of the figures chosen for the nativity scene, taken from a popular nativity scene and, therefore, closely linked to tradition. e) A final block of comments are grouped under the heading of public repercussion: from these comments we find that generating controversy in the opinions of the public is simultaneously considered a positive aspect: “there is a lot of talk about it so many people come and have a look29; it maintains the tradition30, it is the highest profile nativity scene31; it respects municipal bye-laws; it has exposed many prejudices32”, and negatively “the most highly criticised nativity scene in history33; they understand it is controversial and they do not like it34; demand its withdrawal35; women are doing traditional jobs... it should have other people in the city, like the window cleaners36”. However, what this last negative soundbite does, by saying that some characters typical on the public streets are missing, is show that the commenter understands the intention of the nativity scene’s artists perfectly. The great disparity of reactions highlighted the importance of the nativity scene in our traditions. There are a large number of factors involved in the comments we have seen: from the purely aesthetic to those that refer to religious symbolism. The experience of this nativity scene marked a turning point in regard to those that would be displayed on this site in later years, and invited them to reflect on the survival of traditions and the possibility of renewal. Should traditions be renewed? The 2004 nativity scene sparked reflection on traditions, on how to transmit them, and whether or not they should be updated. The people who designed the manger scene clearly intended to take a tradition and translate it into a

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contemporary aesthetic. It was by no means an impromptu manger scene. In fact the students made a serious study of the traditions surrounding the world of the pessebre and its figures, based on the books of Joan Amades and other basic literature dealing with this subject, to determine the figures of the popular nativity scene, as well as their symbolism. Next, interpreting the tradition, they transposed the typologies of the characters from the popular nativity scene to a new social and cultural framework. The decisions they made when translating the traditional characters had to respond to the symbolism of the figures and, at the same time, they had to be coherent with contemporary society. One of the results of this interpretation of the characters meant, for example, that it was impossible to incorporate the pooping figure of the caganer, or its urban reinterpretation – the urinating pixaner – , in order not to contravene the municipal bye-laws. For the same reason, the figure of the lady feeding the pigeons was omitted. Traditions have their dynamics of birth, maturity, growth and change. Hobsbawm (1988: 13) talks about the origin of certain traditions that seem old but which are not. He talks about invented traditions, how they come about in a way that is difficult to recognise, in a brief and measurable period of time. However, Llobera (1994: 223) clarifies this statement, arguing that the new forms of tradition are rooted in ancient ones, without which they would not be successful. In the process of transmitting traditions, this phenomenon of the origin of tradition must also be taken into account. All traditions have their own beginnings and in order to fully analyse the values, norms, or behaviour they channel, it is necessary to see where this origin is. Some traditions have survived better than

others. What provides us elements to analyse is not so much their endurance but the origin and journey of the traditions, as well as the processes of reinterpretation and recreation they have undergone. Ethnological heritage, says Josefina Roma (1995: 42), has taken hundreds and thousands of years to purify and modify itself, and it is precisely this peculiarity of evolution and constant adaptation to new circumstances that gives it its own distinct identity in different places. The presence of nativity scenes in public squares can be considered an invented tradition. Originally the construction of these displays was restricted to private spaces: firstly, monasteries or churches and, later, the palaces of nobles or the salons of stately homes, where they were exhibited in showcases, visible throughout the year as a decorative element within the home. The nativity scene is an element of the Christmas celebration that originally had a clear devotional function. Although at the end of the 18th century there were already signs of the presence of popular nativity scenes, it was during the 19th and early 20th centuries that the middle and working classes became fond of constructing nativity scenes and creating their figures. This produced what Hobsbawm (1988) had been talking about when he said that in the face of an unvarying tradition, a custom is moulded to give it new meaning, even being re-invented. The nativity scene that people incorporated into their homes, trying to simulate what they saw in the houses of the wealthy folk, unvaryingly maintained traditional elements, the scenes and characters, while at the same time including new components, in other words, the tradition was recreated. These nativity displays were not fixed decorative elements like they were in the more well-to-do houses, but rather ephemeral constructions that had to be remade each year, with

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only the figurines and a few other elements being preserved. The new nativity scenes did not lose their devotional character, in principal, although at the same time they became less formal and included the personality of the maker in the plastic expression of the Birth story. The roles in the popular nativity scene responded to this recreation of tradition and the depiction became a folkloric reality representing the characters specific to each place, their clothing, houses, landscape, and activities. In fact, representations of the birth of Jesus in all its artistic forms have always admitted anachronistic elements that regionally and culturally identify the creators. The custom of setting up and taking down the nativity scene makes people apply their manual dexterity to the display each year, striving to achieve a good effect. Observing nature and being ingenious enough to combine the elements well are important components of this popular art form that shows how tradition is enriched and transformed into a creative leisure activity. The manger scenes in houses, at the beginning of the 20th century, in many cases became elaborate constructions worthy of being displayed further afield than just the family environment. Many places picked up the habit of getting people to visit the nativity scenes in the houses by using written invitations, visiting hours, and special events. This led to nativity scene competitions, usually based in the parish or related to Catholic Action groups. We see, then, that from an ancient, deeply rooted tradition, such as the three dimensional representation of the birth of Jesus, which is perhaps the most essential definition of what a nativity scene is, new traditions have been created thanks to novel customs adapting the construction of the display to the new, welcoming context.

The tradition of crafting the nativity scene has also involved a steady evolution in the materials and techniques used. Using plaster to make the display is a technique that had already been documented in some early 20th century nativity scenes. A Barcelona native, nativity scene maker Antoni Moliné developed the work with this material, using it not only for joining pieces of cork and making distant mountains, as he had already seen in other examples, but to build all the elements of the landscape in the display (Moliné, 1952). Plaster nativity scenes soon achieved a new form: they ceased to be panoramic presentations, and became visible only from a single view point, allowing for better use of depth. This innovation gave rise to the construction of nativity scenes contained within boxes, in the style of theatre scenery. This meant the perspective could be forced and different visual planes employed. The diorama technique applied to these displays elevated the tradition of making them to a sophisticated art that deserved to be exhibited, and visited by the general public. The appearance of nativity scene associations was a response to this new tradition of building displays for exhibition. This began to generate what some have called the “second path” of the nativity scene movement. This is characterised by the idea of artistic recognition, relatively independent of all religious significance, and a creative excellence that justifies the attention of a cultured public (Cardús 2010: 13). At the same time, the nativity has stepped out of people’s houses onto the street. Some cities have begun to put displays in their main squares. In Barcelona, for some of the post-Franco years, it was typical that nativity scenes were set up in public places, promoted by various initiatives. Some of these kept going until the 1970s, as was the case of the Sant Roc festival commission from Plaça Nova, in the gardens

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of Avinguda de la Catedral. This trend did not break with tradition, but rather incorporated a new custom with a novel way of exhibiting the nativity scene, and in doing so generated a new tradition linked to Christmas. “Inventing traditions, it is assumed here, is essentially a process of formalisation and ritualization, characterised by reference to the past, if only by imposing repetition” (Hobsbawm 1998:15). The displays in public squares disappeared, only to be revived again at the beginning of the 1980s when many forms of popular street traditions were recovered. In the late 20th century, however, society was considerably changed from that of the 1950s. In fact, the same nativity movement associations that had had their golden age between the 1940s and 1960s were in decline, and they did not experience a revival until well into the 1980s. Public nativity scenes exhibited in town squares slowly gained a different kind of acceptance to that they had had in the 1950s. There were criticisms related to aesthetics and, later, concerning the pertinence of this type of religious display in a public place. The reactions, in some cases, involved acts of destruction or the theft of figures, particularly of Baby Jesus. The 2004 public nativity scene in Barcelona can be said to be the recreation of a traditional act, incorporating elements of the recipients themselves, contextualising the ideas being transmitted. Craft or art In the world of the nativity scene movement, chance has divided the displays into either popular, when they are made of cork and moss, or artistic, when they are made of plaster. Pondering this a little, it is clear that if the classification refers solely to the type of material used or the kind of nativity

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scene that is created, something is not quite right. We would like to reflect on this topic from the perspective of art and craft, which indeed have somewhat blurred boundaries, and between which there is, more often than not, continuity. If we had to place the nativity scene movement nearer one than the other of these poles, we would say that it is more closely allied to craft. Artisans, usually associated with useful creations, are concerned about reproducing an acceptable model, logically incorporating technical improvements, but with no other pretence than to transmit the model. An artist’s intention goes beyond the mere model. The artwork incorporates the will to enter into a dialogue with the public using symbolic language. The artist worries about transmitting, giving a message, and interpreting a reality. For this reason, Panofsky (1995) affirms that the understanding of a work of art cannot be satisfied with iconography –recognition of represented elements– but must arrive at iconology –interpretation of a deeper sense. Art contributes narrative intentionality. The artist interprets the reality and expresses it in a symbolic way, intending that the spectator takes part in this dialogue. Works of art can serve to criticise the society in which they have been created and present visual metaphors through which certain values are transmitted; in some way we can consider the artist to be a social critic. In the late 1950s Josep Maria Garrut (1957: 80) talked about the backwardness of nativity scenes, claiming that the movement was, within the arts and the aesthetic world, retarded by almost a hundred years. Despite being a firm advocate of popular nativity scenes, and especially indigenous scenes, he believed that the wealth of display was not exhausted in popular scenes

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or those made of plaster. He therefore stated that it was necessary to open our minds to those artists that make the nativity scene a work of art, since, beyond the valuable representations made by the craftsmen, they contribute to expanding the scope of this traditional activity. Nativity scenes that correspond to the category of works of art are not always well understood or accepted, since for many people the pleasure of observing a display comes from the recognition of that undisputed model typically transmitted by the craftsman. Those scenes conceived artistically, invite the viewer into a dialogue with the work, to complete it with their interpretation. The work of art is only truly finished when the audience comes into contact with it. The interpretation of a piece of work. Dialogue with the public Some people who visited the nativity scene in Plaça de Sant Jaume suggested that if the written explanation, which was next to it, was not read, the meaning was not clear. It is true that works of art do not always have an obvious meaning. After all, the relationship between an artist, their work, and the public is a process of coding and decoding symbols.

The 2004 nativity scene demanded a global view, looking beyond the formal elements that constituted it, since it was a work with deep intentionality. It was necessary to enter the paradigm of contemporary art, in which the boundaries between the audience and the work blur, and the observer becomes part of the work. In this case, the realistic figures that formed the nativity scene were iconographically so easy to recognise that this proximity prevented, in many cases, and in a natural way, further interpretation. Lluís Permanyer37 wondered whether it was sensible to put those figures out in the open, representing people exactly like those that could appear there. The

writer, who in the same text defended the art form’s need to evolve, did not consider that the installation was a work of contemporary art; they held to the traditional roles of a spectator who views and an object that is viewed, affirming that in an exhibition made in a closed space the realism would pose no problem. Since 2004, the nativity scene in Plaça de Sant Jaume has had a huge impact in the media. The press watch to see how well accepted the City Council’s new offering is among the public. This expectation comes from the fact that at some point it was decided to install an unconventional nativity scene. If Barcelona’s public nativity scene par excellence was always a classic manger, with classic figures, and conventional aesthetics, it probably would not capture the attention of the media or a good part of the population. All this leads us to consider the fact that proposing new languages in the display is a way to grab the general public’s attention, and in return, this helps generate nativity scene culture, as well as artistic culture. A nativity scene conceived from the mentality we have previously denominated ‘religious model making’ generates comments on aesthetics, on the patience needed to build it, and the work it entails. Normally, these are the comments heard among the public visiting exhibitions of dioramas, comments that stem from viewer’s most analytical and rational aspect. Instead, a nativity scene that intends to take a step further, that wishes to convey a message and bear witness to a specific social moment, never leaves the viewer indifferent, and generates a different kind of comment: of acceptance or rejection, initially related to the concept of taste and, later, referring to personal support, the harmony between the work and the spectator and, finally, the sense or the meaning

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being expressed. These kinds of comments have little to do with analysis and rationality, but are instead related to the person’s emotional facet. The nativity scene designed by the students from Escola Massana was not allegorical, it was a symbol. In other words, it did not intend to “represent” the birth of Jesus but instead wished to transport the spectator towards a not entirely rational reality (Duch 2010: 165). It was a nativity scene that sought to take pleasure in knowledge, not just recognition, it was necessary to make an interpretive effort. It was not looking for an analysis of the technical accomplishment, but wanted to provoke an emotional reaction based on a conceptual transposition. The process of interpreting and updating the tradition resulted in a work of art rather than a piece of craft. According to Panofsky (1995: 17) it is necessary to reach an iconological level in order to fully understand that particular nativity scene. Many people appreciated the display’s innovation or difference. These did not go beyond recognising the altered forms of wellknown iconography. However, behind this work was a deeper intention or, at least, more symbolism could be read into it. The iconological level aims to display the basic attitude of a nation, a period, a class, or a religious or philosophical belief that, in an unconscious way, is condensed into a work of art. To penetrate this level of a work of art, there must be a dialogue with it based on the knowledge provided by the iconography. This nativity scene permitted this exercise at different levels. One of the opinions analysed interpreted the nativity scene as deeply religious, reading into the work the symbolism of an incarnation of God for all men and women; another, in a similar vein, criticised the fact that a columnist described the display as lay

when he saw precisely the opposite. From a reading of the various comments on the nativity scene, we can only conclude that a work of art is never finished unless a viewer looks at it, and that the creative act is not executed by the artist alone; the observer brings the work into contact with the outside world, deciphering it, interpreting its internal characteristics, and thus adding their contribution to the creative act, as Marcel Duchamp propounded. The columnist, Manuel Trallero38, who criticised the nativity scene, describing it as being lay, lacking mystery, magic and emotion, sought to find a conventional meaning in the work, to recognise in the elements of the nativity that already known thematic content, that aesthetic of baroque or neoclassical figures that was already part of his magical and emotional Christmas imaginings. His final statement, where he explains that he missed the animals and the caganer, reinforces this idea. Qualifying the nativity scene as lay, goes no further than an iconographic analysis, which prevented him from appreciating the fact that this particular nativity scene could be seen as deeply religious, more in line with what the Archbishop of Barcelona published in a Sunday supplement around that time, where he emphasised the Christian God’s proximity to men and women. The unfavourable opinions stemmed from not identifying the work with a nativity scene, to the point that some did not even recognise that the figures were characters from the popular nativity scene. It is likely that we are faced with a situation where it is impossible to make even a preiconographic approximation due to lack of knowledge. In other words, there are many people who have a personal imagery of the nativity scene that predominantly centres on their daily experience or their childhood memory of the manger scene, and that is all. The most likely

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is that this image is based on figures in the classical or even Hebrew style. Many of these people are unaware of the wealth of characters contained in the popular nativity scene. In this case, they do not recognise the link between their idea of a nativity scene and what was in front of them. Some of those who designed the work were somewhat surprised to see such incomprehension, perplexity and discomfort generated in the face of what was an update of the story of the birth of Jesus. The only explanation they found for these reactions was a fossilised concept of tradition, and this was not a traditional nativity scene, it transgressed a canon, a solemnisation. Part of the resistance and discomfort was caused by the profile of the characters, who were mostly simple people. They were surprised to see opposition from some sectors of the Church and very belligerent reactions from certain elements in the nativity scene movement. It is also true, however, that the proposal broke some basic aesthetic codes that probably distracted the attention of the public and left them perplexed, not so much by the content but by the method of communication. Nativity scenes are usually three-dimensional, volumetric compositions, and one which comprises two-dimensional figures –cut-outs or old cardboard nativity scenes– is only made to be viewed from the front. Two-dimensional figures in a three-dimensional space did not make it easy to interpret this as a nativity scene. Also, the hyperrealism of the silhouettes in contrast to the nativity figures generated confusion. If the photographs of people represented characters from the nativity scene, how is it that the central characters in the story did not look the same? Additionally, some people expressed the bewilderment caused by the appearance of rough, poorly-finished figures that, amplified to fifteen times their actual

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size, gave out an image that many people could not comprehend. This Nativity also broke a classic code of the nativity scene movement –and of classical art– the separation of the observer and the observed work. All of a sudden, the people’s point of view changed and the observers became part of a landscape of aspiring nativity scene figures, with little difference between them. This change of perspective did not help many people see the silhouettes as updated nativity figures, since nothing marked the differentiation, and a space of human coexistence was generated, as one of the comments said, instead of a nativity scene as they are traditionally understood. Probably a good part of the adverse reactions to the nativity scene could be explained due to the numerous code changes produced simultaneously. Any communicative experience should be capable of being maintained around common interpretative codes, or those that are close to both the sender and the receiver. Some elements of the communicative process may be changed, whenever the context allows them to be deciphered, but a radical change of many of the elements can create a communication break down or a poor interpretation of the message the transmitter wants to convey, which is what happened with those people who saw the display as a mockery, an act of revenge, or ideological propaganda. Renewing tradition... to what point? Popular tradition cannot consist of the indiscriminate recycling of the past, but ought to involve bringing the origin and community objectives up to date. Tradition always involves hic et nunc a recreation in which the message must be made true within the culture of each space and time (Duch, 1980: 14). In a society marked by a progressive destructuring of symbols, a pro-

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gressive neutralising and objectifying of the human environment, and by a rationalisation of the entirety of human relations (Duch, 2010: 347), religion, and especially popular religion, represents a rarely appreciated relic that has also been spurned by an excessively reflective religiosity. This has led to the predominance of a theoretical faith lacking in plastic expressiveness. It is quite obvious that this display represented a recreation and contextualisation of tradition. Based on the iconographic elements of popular nativity scenes, it set out to take a step forward and contextualise the figures in the present time. The characters in the popular nativity scene are, in fact, an 18th or 19th century contextualisation of the evangelical story. The work by the students from Escola Massana simply proposed a new contextualisation. Traditions have, after all, always been adapted and have always evolved. A public space is probably the ideal place because traditions that have a strong, explicit religious component can explore forms of expression that engage in a dialogue with the plurality in today’s society. On the one hand, it is good for the tradition itself to question its forms of expression, and on the other, it generates a public debate that inevitably causes society to inquire about things, generating a collective maturing. The world of nativity scenes is, in general, an out-dated world. Popular nativity scenes, those constructed in houses, remain very faithful to traditional schemes, both in terms of form and content. Although nativity scenes themselves allow creative freedom and penetration of the work, in the end it is a creation that has advanced little. The nativity scene movement as found in the associations, stuck in the diorama formula, has evolved technically with the use of new materials and techno-

logical ingenuity in all the construction phases, but remains practically immobile with respect to the subject and the message that it wants to transmit. Few initiatives come out of the world of nativity scenes to move towards new forms of expression although from outside the field in its strictest sense, we do see some flexibility and creativity. We must here assess all the creative wealth and integration of the tradition that takes place in many schools. The particular nativity scene in Plaça de Sant Jaume that we have been looking at seems more like a display by a school, rather than an association. It would not be the first time that all the figures in a school nativity were a representation of the children in the institute. Not to mention the wealth and creativity when it comes to the use of materials and aesthetic forms, or the intention of the display to send some message or represent a value. The institutionalised nativity scene movement of the associations does not allow to this rich experience of school nativity scenes to filter through, and this dies between the walls of the school itself. In the nativity scenes of Plaça de Sant Jaume we can clearly see the dialectic relationship between popular art and hegemonic art. Popular art usually ends up expressing itself through the aesthetics of hegemonic art, but the behaviour expressed in the popular world always exhibits differences with respect to powerful classes, and they question them. When this happens, the culture of the masses ends up absorbing the most popular forms of culture to integrate the recipients. (Lombardi, 1978: 187). Popular art progresses hegemonic art towards new modes of expression and new languages. In recent years, the nativity scene in Plaça de Sant Jaume has found a balance between updating and tradition.

The dialectical relationship between popular and hegemonic culture

These symbioses are examples of contemporary aesthetics that maintain the essence of tradition, and involve commissions of designer Jordi Pallí in 2010, 2013, 2014 and 2015. It seems obvious, then, that the City Council, concerned about the impact the nativity scene in Plaça de Sant Jaume has had in the media since 2004, broke the ground and then gave it back to the city as their own idea. It is a process that has matured over almost ten years, and has tried various formulas. In the end, we see that the updated nativity scene proposed by the Escola Massana students, which was not well received by many people, inspired the 2013 offering by Jordi Pallí where the shepherds and other characters were transformed into locals of the city bringing the rooftops alive. Even Joseph and the Virgin Mary adopted the Barcelona aesthetic. We could say that, conceptually, it was almost the same as that proposed in 2004. Now, a nativity scene incorporating fellow citizens as protagonists is an officially accepted approach. Anyone who wants to do this can no longer be considered a transgressor. Typi-

cal representations of the Birth have always accepted that the people who make them are represented next to Baby Jesus. This is what we see in the paintings, in Els Pastorets (the Shepherd’s Play, a Catalan Christmas tale), and in the popular nativity scenes of each culture. The Massana students brought this simple, yet badly accepted idea, into the present day. However, it received a boost from the 2013 nativity scene and, as an official proposal, is now generally accepted. We find a similar situation with the 2015 nativity scene (awaited with bated breath because of the radical change government in the city), which placed the Christmas story in the framework of children’s stories, with young people who see a shining star, camels walking through the desert, and a couple in a humble neighbourhood that are showing off their new-born baby. Opinions expressed contrary to these nativity scenes where characters and scenes are updated are ever less frequent. Proposals that were rejected years ago are now considered more normal. These displays invite other nativity scene builders, like associations and people who make them at home,

Nativity Scene, Plaça Sant Jaume, 2015 (December 2015). ENRIC BENAVENT

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to consider the possibility of introducing new looks. Some nativity scene makers who criticised the 2004 nativity scene now incorporate elements of contemporary contextualisation into their own creations. The social ceasefire around the Barcelona nativity scene, was rocked at Christmas in 2016. The proposal presented that year, the work of the Olot artists Quim Domene and Toti Toronell, once again became a turning point between hegemonic and popular culture. A nativity scene created from the perspective of contemporary conceptual art, based on the verses of J. V. Foix, ignited the anger of certain defenders of the traditional essence. The 2016 creation was not easy to read, it is true. It had nothing to do with popular manger scenes or the nativity in most people’s imaginations. But there are people who, instead of recognising their own limitation, reject the work or the artist when it does not correspond to their own expectations or understanding. Behind these most daring nativity scenes that go beyond classic schemes, is a meticulous creation project, an elaborate intention to transmit a message, to cause reflection, or interact with the viewer. This is not always the case with the classic cribs scenes from the associations. Some forms of contemporary art are not easy to understand, they are not popular, and to link a popular, simple and easy-to-understand representation, like the nativity scene, to forms of expression that demand a certain degree of reflection is a complex enterprise. Not understanding an artistic representation, or the fact that this does not tie in with what we imagine, does not give us the right to reject it out of hand. Public spaces, which are shared by many and diverse people, is the ideal place for symbols to be debated, so that part of our tradition is able to evolve.

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Nativity Scene, Plaça Sant Jaume, 2016 (December 2016). ENRIC BENAVENT

The same people who in 2004 said that this was not a nativity scene, said they longed for that “gas man” display when they saw the 2016 offering. They reiterated, just as they had done twelve years before, that the 2016 proposal was not a nativity scene. This is a very clear example of the dialectic between popular and hegemonic culture. The defenders of the essence of the nativity scene in 2004 strongly disapproved of the work of the students from La Massana. The idea behind the 2004 nativity scene kept finding its way into the designs of successive years, until it was accepted almost without criticism. We can also see how displays from associations increasingly incorporate a contemporary approach to the nativity scene. Twelve years later, the same guardians of tradition, faced with a new innovative proposal that breaks

with classic canon, claim that this is not a nativity scene and they even say they miss the 2004 display. The presence of creative proposals that escape from the traditional has, in recent years, served to make people aware of the fact that there are several ways to approach the representation of the birth of Jesus. In our society we very frequently hear comments on contemporary works of art that are simply prejudice, that is, judgement before knowledge. It is also true of this particular nativity scene: many people were capable of despising the work without even trying to understand it. It is very difficult for us to define exactly what a traditional nativity scene is (Montlló, 2016), since this

is an ancient tradition that, like all of them, is in constant evolution and in which we find cohabiting models. Traditions evolve thanks to proposals that veer off from what is accepted at any given moment. St. Francis himself had to ask permission from the Pope to represent the birth of Jesus in the middle of the Mass. When new ideas from below collide with hegemonic proposals, it generates debate and disagreement, causing people to gain new perspectives. This has been the case throughout the long history of art. In the end, all this leads us to reflect on what type of nativity scene there should be in a public space: if it should be a classical-type, recognised and enjoyed by the majority, or a display that invites a different view, that trans-

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mits an open and universal message in which one finds a great diversity and plurality of people coexisting. I believe that public spaces are an ideal place for the dialectic to take place between popular and hegemonic forms of culture. Of course, the decision incorporates an important political component, since political leaders measure the impact that such a popular manifestation may have. n

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Hobsbawm, E. (1988). “The invention of tradition”. In The Invention of Tradition. Vic: EUMO.

Roma, J. (1995). “L’actualitat del patrimoni etnolòigic”. In L. Calvo & J. Mañà (Eds.), El patrimoni etnològic de Catalunya (p. 40). Barcelona: Government of Catalonia.

NOTES X. Trias. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 Veïns LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 J.Clos. LA VANGUARDIA 2/12/04 M. Trallero. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 J.Turull. AVUI 31/12/04 A. Villagrassa. AVUI 15/12/04 J. Bassegoda. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 J. Noguera. DIARI MÉS! 14/12/04 I. Banal. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 L. Permanyer LA VANGUARDIA 7/12/04 J. Mañá. LA VANGUARDIA 25/12/04 I. Banal. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 I. Mayol. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04

J. Noguera. 9NOU 10/12/04 CiU representative. AVUI 15/12/04 D. Bracons. AVUI 7/12/04 A. Villagrassa. AVUI 15/12/04 M. Trallero. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 A. Villagrassa. AVUI 15/12/04 D. Bracons. AVUI 7/12/04 M. Trallero. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 J.Turull. AVUI 31/12/04 J.Muñoz. LA VANGUARDIA 7/12/04 J. Quintano. LA VANGUARDIA 11/12/04 A. Fernandez. LA VANGUARDIA 2/12/04 Veïns. LA VANGUARDIA 2/12/04

A. Otal. AVUI 1/1/2005 I. Banal. LA VANGUARDIA 25/12/04 F. Narvaez. AVUI 15/12/04 L. Sierra. LA VANGUARDIA 2/12/04 J. Noguera. 9NOU 10/12/04 F. PerironLA VANGUARDIA 25/12/04 F. Peiron LA VANGUARDIA 25/12/04 E. Odell. LA VANGUARDIA 13/12/04 A. Fernandez. LA VANGUARDIA 3/12/04 I.Forn. LA VANGUARDIA 4/12/04 LA VANGUARDIA.7/12/2004 LA VANGUARDIA. 3/12/04

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POPULAR TRADITIONS AND FESTIVE IMATGERY –– The performance of the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” –– Festive imagery in Girona

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ARCHIVES AND MUSEUMS –– An archive with over a thousand press references on the nativity scene movement, accessible to everyone –– 10 years of the Ethnology Museums Network of Catalonia –– IKUNDE, taking guineas from Guinea

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CONFERENCES –– The interaction between natural and intangible

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BIBLIOGRAPHIC REVIEWS –– Mountains of cheese –– Posseïts pel dimoni

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The performance of the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” A milestone for the recovery of popular traditions in Rodonyà Isidre Pastor i Batalla

n June 2013, after almost 100 years, the “Ball Parlat” play of the Beheading of Saint John the Baptist was once again performed in the main square of the village of Rodonyà. The new staging of this piece of popular theatre became an unprecedented milestone for this village of the Camp de Tarragona region. Year after year, for five years now, thanks to the collective involvement of the village’s residents, the project to recover this popular hagiographical performance has gained momentum. Today, it has once again become one of the main socio-cultural expressions of this village. The interest that the resurgence of these theatrical street performances has aroused in most of the southern provinces for some decades now suggests that the restoration of this “Ball Parlat” will not be the last such case, by any means.

The project to recover the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” (the “spoken dance of Saint John”), a piece of folk theatre, has represented a real milestone in raising social awareness of the cultural value of the expressions of popular culture in this village in the Camp de Tarragona region. The project has galvanised the village’s inhabitants to organise a series of activities to ensure the recovery, preservation and consolidation of a number of their traditions, such as the “Ball Parlat” spoken dance, the singing of “goigs” poetic , “caramelles” Easter folk songs and the “pa beneït” blessed bread procession. These elements represent the major hallmarks of Rodonyà’s collective identity and popular traditions.

In the case of the Ball Parlat de Sant Joan of Rodonyà, as has probably occurred in other cases, it has become a reality as a result of the social fervour that has been unleashed by the restoration of a common heritage. It is in this sense

that an extensive participatory process has been generated with the collaboration of residents and local organisations which, under the protection of the village council, have led to the recovery of this piece of street theatre. The collective

Details of the cast of characters of the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” in the square of Rodonyà castle (2016). JAUME JOVÉ

El projecte de recuperació del ball parlat de Sant Joan, una obra de teatre popular, ha estat un veritable revulsiu per la conscienciació social dels valors patrimonials que tenen les manifestacions de la cultura popular en aquest poble del Camp de Tarragona. Aquest fet motivà que els veïns de la població endeguessin un conjunt d’activitats per tal de garantitzar el restabliment, la preservació i la consolidació de bona part de les seves tradicions, tals com el propi ball parlat, la cantada dels goigs, les caramelles o el pa beneit. Principals senyes de la identitats col·lectiva de les tradicions populars de Rodonyà.

El proyecto de recuperación del baile hablado de Sant Joan, una obra de teatro popular, ha sido un verdadero revulsivo para la concienciación social de los valores patrimoniales que tienen las manifestaciones de la cultura popular en este pueblo del Campo de Tarragona. Este hecho motivó que los vecinos de la población emprendieran un conjunto de actividades con el fin de garantizar el restablecimiento, la preservación y la consolidación de buena parte de sus tradiciones, tales como el propio baile hablado, el canto de los gozos, las coplas o el pan bobo. Principales señas de las identidades colectivas de las tradiciones populares de Rodonyà.

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implication has, undoubtedly, made it possible for the people to once again connect with the very essence of the tradition of Balls Parlats. The support and effort of a large part of the local inhabitants, when tackling the tasks that have been required to make this performance a reality, has been crucial in order to achieve it successfully. A wide variety of tasks have been carried out, involving both the arrangement of the text, the music and the dance routines, as well as the costumes of each and every one of the characters that appear in the play. Furthermore, the initiative has had a fundamental social impact, both at the local and regional level. The performance is a clear example of the theatrical tradition that lies behind these kinds of stage operations which, at the same time, represent a benchmark for the collective cultural heritage of this region. Besides this project’s importance for the restoration of the “Ball Parlat” tradition in question, the initiative has become a real trigger for reviving the popular traditions of Rodonyà. It is difficult to imagine that what had been originally conceived as a way to recover and showcase the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan Baptista” would eventually become a real milestone that would lead to a new-found interest in the typical examples of the customs of Rodonyà. As such, this event has not been the culmination of a whole process, but rather has become the beginning of a programme focusing on the revival of popular folklore in the village. Of course, it has been the conjuncture of the moment, favoured by the series Keywords: choir, recovery, Rodonyà, theatre, tradition Paraules clau: cant, recuperació, Rodonyà, teatre, tradició Palabras clave: canto, recuperación, Rodonyà, teatro, tradición

of synergies that have come together, which has led to the establishment of the necessary bases in order to undertake a heritage project of this nature, and thus to be able to set new goals for intangible heritage. Furthermore, both the results and the approaches that this project has involved have been essential for raising social awareness of the cultural value of the celebrations and customs of popular culture. They represent the hallmarks of the local collective identity. It is not at all surprising to also consider that one of the factors that has favoured this play’s recovery has been the resurgence of the spirit

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It is well known that a large part of these traditions have origins linked to the religious celebrations that took place based on the Catholic counter-reformist doctrine of the second half of the 16th century. This fact not only reveals their common origin, but also the fact that in most cases they share the same theme of praise and exaltation of a saint. Generally, the parish is named after this figure and they are also the town’s patron saint, as is the case for Rodonyà where the church is dedicated to Saint John the Baptist. It is in praise of this saint that the main popular festive commemorations of the

A scene from the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” of Rodonyà, with the stately castle in the background (2016). JAUME JOVÉ

of amateur theatre, which has long been rooted in the village. The project presented an opportunity for many residents to interpret the characters of the play, just as their ancestors had before them. On the other hand, it has been through the historical contextualisation of the “Ball Parlat” that the links that exist between this artistic performance and other examples of the repertoire of the village’s traditional collection have been brought to light. These are cultural expressions which, until not so many decades ago, were still fully active and formed the expression of the festive repertoire.

religious calendar are held, which as of this period will be consolidated among the place’s inhabitants. This dynamic would be reaffirmed starting in 1867, when the church of Rodonyà was canonically declared a parish church. Despite the eminent nature and religious sense that lies in the origins of these celebrations, over the years they have become the essence of the village’s fun and festive tradition. As a whole, most of these events include the peak of their collective expression in the programme of the village festival. It is based on this close relationship, estab-

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Singing of “Goigs” poetic hymns in praise of Saint John the Baptist in the parish church of Rodonyà. (2016). ISIDRE PASTOR

lished between the festive celebration and the confessional activities of exaltation of the patron figure, that the village’s traditional repertoire will be developed: the “Ball Parlat” play, the “goigs” poetic hymns, the “pa beneït” procession and, in a way, also the “caramelles” Easter folk songs. These represent a set of manifestations which, today, are considered just another part of the village festival, beyond their original religious sense. The documentary research that was carried out for the historical contextualisation of the “Ball Parlat” made it possible to locate a copy of the “Goigs” poetic hymns in honour of Saint John the Baptist. Over time, the text of this composition had been lost, even falling into a deep collective obscurity. The original text of this ancient poetic composition was duly musically adapted and arranged for its interpretation as a piece of choral music. This meant that, during the same year of 2013, the “goigs” poetic hymns were once again sung during the celebration held in honour of the saint, as part of the events of the village’s summer festival. Since that date, the signing of the

“goigs” poetic hymns has become one of the main religious events that are held in the parish church. This event is attended by a group of singers who collectively get involved, as amateurs and for reasons beyond strict devotion, to make it possible for this musical piece to be heard again. These recitals of the “goigs” poetic hymns, which have been happening year after year in the celebrations of the village festivals, have led to a growing interest in choral singing among much of the population. This interest in choral singing has been the trigger for setting a new challenge in relation to local folk traditions: the recovery of the “caramelles” Easter folk songs. At the beginning of the 1970s, “caramelles” Easter folk songs were sung for the last time in the streets and squares of the village, and to date the possibility of them resurfacing from their obscurity had never been seriously considered. In Rodonyà, as in so many other towns, “caramelles” Easter folk songs became one of the main exponents of popular choral tradition during the last century. As an expression of the cultural repertoire of the people, they had always been

Group of singers during a singing of “Caramelles” Easter folk songs in the street known as Carrer de les Barres in Rodonyà (1973). EMILI PASTOR

very participatory and they were one of the most colourful acts of the Easter celebration. Unfortunately, certain logistical factors, rather than a lack of popular will, led them to no longer be organised. The initiative to recover the “caramelles” Easter folk songs has become, in a short time, a firm proposal. This proposal is currently already supported by a large number of singers excited by the prospect of making this new milestone in the restoration of local popular traditions a reality. Although it is in its early stages, what is being worked on becomes an intrinsic recognition of their cultural value as a hallmark of the tradition that must be preserved. We must, therefore, wait for this initiative to soon become a reality and for Rodonyà to be able to once again be one of the towns that keep this ancient choral tradition alive. In the same vein as has been set out up to now, as a result of the recovery of the “Ball Parlat” and of the signing of the “goigs” poetic hymns, in the last few years the “pa beneït” blessed bread ceremony has

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region. It is for this reason that the fact that people from a small community such as Rodonyà are immersed in this dynamic of keeping these traditions alive is particularly significant. In this way, the foundations are laid for preserving them and, at the same time, transmitting them to the new generations as the cultural legacy they are. It is in this sense, therefore, that the restoration of the “Ball Parlat de Sant Joan” must be considered a determining factor that has enabled this whole process of recovery and preservation of the customs and festivals of this town to take place. The performance of this “Ball Parlat” has been the turning point for raising collective awareness around the preservation of the local intangible cultural heritage, whatever its nature.

“Pa beneït” blessed bread procession with the traditional decorated bread on pieces of wood adorned with cloths. (2016). ISIDRE PASTOR

experienced a particular revival. This is a popular tradition associated with the events of the village festival. Its origins go back to the blessing that used to be given to the old flour before the harvest of the new wheat, around the month of June. This calendar coincided with the beginning of the summer and the celebration of the patron saint’s festival dedicated to Saint John the Baptist. The event itself centres on the route that young couples follow around the village to bring bread to the church to be blessed, and then to share them among all those present. This procession, which until not so many decades ago was one of the most significant events with which the festival began, had been gradually lost. In the last few years, however, the celebration of the “pa beneït” ceremony is regaining interest among the youth. Such participation is an essential factor in order

for this typical tradition of Rodonyà to be preserved. Raising social awareness of the cultural value of these traditions beyond their original religious connotation has, in the space of just a few years, enabled everyone to once again feel identified with cultural hallmarks that are typical of the village. This participatory drive by the residents and friends of the village provides an essential factor to guarantee the restoration and preservation of these examples of local folkloric customs. Some of them had even been on the verge of disappearing with the passage of time. The “Balls Parlats”, the “goigs” poetic hymns, the “caramelles” Easter folk songs and the “pa beneït” ceremony are some clear examples of the ancient popular cultural manifestations typical of the majority of towns in this part of the Camp de Tarragona

As a whole, each and every one of these popular expressions referred to represent the reflection of a cultural tradition that is becoming one of the main hallmarks of collective identity and, at the same time, a benchmark for the cultural heritage of Rodonyà. n

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Pastor, I (2006) “El procés de segregació de Rodonyà de la parròquia de Puigtinyós 17911867” La Resclosa, no. 10 Centre d’estudis del Gaià. Vila-rodona, p. 89-102. Pastor, I (2014) “La restauració del ball parlat de Sant Joan de Rodonyà. El ressò popular d’un procés de participació col·lectiva”, Caramella Revista de música i cultura popular, no. 31 July-December. Carrutxa, Reus. p. 39-41. Pastor, I (2015) “Ressenya històrica del Ball parlat de Sant Joan de Rodonyà”, Teatralitat popular i tradició. II Congrés Internacional de Balls Parlats. Tarragona 2014. F. Massip, P. Navarro and M. Palau (eds). Ed. Afers, Barcelona, p. 365-373.

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Festive imagery in Girona Case study: 20 years of ‘Fal·lera Gironina’ (1997-2017) Assumpció Pararols Badia Government of Catalonia Ministry of Culture Regional Services for Girona

Introduction

mong other legislation, popular and traditional culture is regulated by Act 2/1993, of 5 March1, on supporting and protecting popular and traditional culture and associations with cultural aims. The Act specifies that popular and traditional culture includes “everything that relates to cultural manifestations, both tangible and intangible, including festivals and customs, music and instruments, dances and performances, festive traditions, literary creations, cuisine, trades and crafts, and all other expressions of popular and traditional culture, together with activities to disseminate them throughout the country”. The Act also gives information on what constitutes ethnological heritage in Catalonia, which includes Catalan cultural traditions and traditional social and economic activities.

To extend our knowledge of festive imagery in the city of Girona in the last twenty years and obtain first-hand information, five in-depth interviews2 were conducted with the following

individuals linked directly or indirectly to the Associació Colla Gegantera Fal·lera Gironina: Sebi Bosch has been an active member of the Association since it was founded and Bernat Grau has been a member since 2004. Isaac Sànchez has been with the Association for over fifteen years. Ramon Grau has worked with the Association and has extensive knowledge of festive imagery in Girona. Finally we interviewed Jan Grau, a specialist in popular and traditional culture with the Government of Catalonia’s Ministry of Culture, who has lengthy experience of matters related to giants and bigheads. He also has extensive knowledge of the Fal·lera Gironina, having followed its activities from the start. Background: formation of the Fal·lera Gironina When the legislation on popular and traditional culture was published, the Amics dels Gegants de Girona association was responsible for festive imagery in the city. It comprised the bigheads, the old giants, Fèlix and Àngels, and the new giants, Carlemany and Anna Gironella, owned by the municipality. The association also owned the giants Cugat and Musa and Maria and Narcís the fireman.

Key words: Fal·lera Gironina, popular and traditional culture, Girona, festive imagery, giants and bigheads Paraules clau: Fal·lera Gironina, cultura popular i tradicional, Girona, imatgeria festiva, gegants i capgrossos Palabras clave: Fal·lera Gironina, cultura popular y tradicional, Girona, imaginería festiva, gigantes y cabezudos

The aim of this article is to trace the history of the activities of Fal·lera Gironina, from its foundation to the present (19972017), to provide a written record of its first twenty years of existence. Fal·lera Gironina is a non-profit making organisation and is the second group in Girona devoted to traditional giants. The study is based on an examination of relevant documentation together with five in-depth interviews. We conclude that this group plays an important role in disseminating Girona’s popular traditional culture with special significance in promoting the city’s festive imagery. Aquest article té per objectiu traçar un recorregut històric de l’activitat portada a terme per Fal·lera Gironina des dels seus orígens fins a l’actualitat (1997-2017). Així, es pretén deixar testimoni escrit d’una trajectòria que just assoleix els vint anys d’existència. Fal·lera Gironina és una entitat sense ànim de lucre i és la segona colla gegantera creada a la ciutat de Girona. Per donar sortida a l’objectiu plantejat, s’ha desenvolupat, metodològicament parlant, una revisió documental complementada amb cinc entrevistes en profunditat. Es conclou que aquesta entitat desenvolupa un paper fonamental en la tasca de divulgació de la cultura popular i tradicional de la ciutat, amb especial rellevància en la promoció de la imatgeria festiva de Girona. Este artículo tiene como objetivo trazar un recorrido histórico de la actividad llevada a cabo por Fal·lera Gironina desde sus orígenes hasta la actualidad (1997-2017). Así, se pretende dejar testimonio escrito de una trayectoria que alcanza ahora los veinte años de existencia. Fal·lera Gironina es una entidad sin ánimo de lucro y es la segunda colla gegantera creada en la ciudad de Girona. Para dar salida al objetivo planteado, se ha desarrollado, metodológicamente hablando, una revisión documental complementada con cinco entrevistas en profundidad. Se concluye que esta entidad desarrolla un papel fundamental en la tarea de divulgación de la cultura popular y tradicional de la ciudad, con especial relevancia en la promoción de la imaginería festiva de Girona.

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The bigheads were and still are owned by the municipality. They have existed since 1963 and are named after streets and other features of the city. We provide more details later in this article. Ramon Grau reports that in the 1990s there were two events involving festive imagery. These took place during the Festa Major, the festivities in honour of Saint Narcissus, one before the proclamation and the other for the assembly of giants in Girona. We should mention that when the giants were taken out into the street the giant association of Arenys de Mar helped to make them dance and the assembly of giants during the Festa Major was organised for a number of years by the Matadepera association. According to Sebi Bosch, in 1997 there was a split in Amics dels Gegants de Girona when a majority of its members felt the need to form a group which could gradually develop initiatives with a new approach to giant events in Girona, which had up to then been the responsibility of

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organisations outside the city. This independent group, together with the former members of the Tripijoc theatre company, formed the Colla Gegantera Fal·lera Gironina. For one of their first outings, the Festa Major in Salt in 1997, they had no giants and, to publicise their activities, they carried replicas of two giants with papier-mâché figures on drums. Since its formation, the group has attracted members of all ages including children, teenagers and adults. They appeared for the first time in Girona at the 1997 Saint Narcissus festivities. As is traditional, after the parade to open the festivities, the giants were on display in the entrance hall of the City Council, where they remained throughout the Festa Major. Disseminating festive imagery Fal·lera Gironina is the second association promoting traditional giants in the city. It organises a parade with a view to disseminating popular and traditional culture and our ethnological heritage via Girona’s festive imagery,

Members of Fal·lera Gironina, with white vests or shirts as the Association’s official attire, in the first parade in Salt during the Festa Major, with figures of giants made of papier mâché on a drum as part of their campaign to be granted responsibility for the city’s giants (July 1997). FAL·LERA GIRONINA PHOTO LIBRARY

including giants, bigheads, beasts and traditional music, as described on its

Fal·lera Gironina family photo, in the entrance hall of Girona City Council, where the city’s four giants are kept (October 1997). FAL·LERA GIRONINA PHOTO LIBRARY

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website3. The Association decided to adopt this name because of its enthusiasm for the parade of festive figures, including giants and bigheads, which represent the city. One of the Association’s aims is to “promote, develop and disseminate traditional and popular culture everywhere”. Initially, as Bernat Grau tells us, the Association’s activities were promoted and publicised in the printed press, especially in local newspapers, cultural diaries or bulletins giving details of the Festa Major, which were the most frequently used means of communication. Gradually, especially after 2011, use of the new technologies increased, with support for initiatives such as publishing videos on social networks, with a view to informing a wider public about the parades and other activities related to the city’s festive imagery, which were organised by the association. In 2013 its website was created and, as well as providing information about the group’s activities, the history of festive images in Girona and the nature of the Association, it allowed visitors to interact directly with Fal·lera Gironina. Today Fal·lera Gironina is on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, the three best-known social networks. The messages publicising the different activities that it organises, or in which it participates, are aimed at a family audience, with growing emphasis on children. As Bernat Grau, member of the association and the person managing social networks (May 2017), says: “children will be the ones to come and continue the group’s work in the future”. How is the Association defined? Agrupació de Bestiari Festiu i Popular de Catalunya defines Fal·lera Gironina as “an association concerned with the world of giants and bigheads, its activ-

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ity being organised around parades, street spectacles, activities for children, the world of dance and traditional and popular music. Every year Fal·lera Gironina organises around fifty parades with giants and bigheads, including activities related to the world of dance and traditional and popular music”4. Nina Kammerer (2014) describes Fal·lera Gironina as an association of volunteers, whose members share a love of the festive imagery of Girona through its giants and bigheads and adds that anyone who is interested in taking part in the parade organised by this association can join one of its four sections: musicians, giants, bigheads and bastoners (stick dancers). J.M. Sansalvador (2015) considers that Fal·lera Gironina may well be the most active and professionalised association in Catalonia. As Isaac Sànchez, a member of the Association’s musicians’ section, says, this professionalism is based on understanding the parade as a moving spectacle, in which all the members of the Association taking part are performing. Consequently, all the participants are similarly dressed (yellow shirts, brown-beige trousers and waistcoats). These items were designed by artist Nuxu Perpinyà i Salvatella, an expert on giants and mythical beasts, and produced by fashion designer Carme Puigdevall i Plantés, who is familiar with the group and the patterns and fabrics they need for their clothing. The unity of the group is an important feature, the close relationship between them in all the parades they organise. Each section has its own choreography, linked to the music played during that part of the parade. The order in which they appear is: bigheads including the clown, bastoners, musicians (shawms and percussion), giants and the stiltwalker, if there is one.

The Association and the city’s ethnographical heritage, the bigheads and giants Fal·lera Gironina has an annually renewable agreement with Girona City Council under which it has responsibility for the city’s festive imagery. Isaac Sànchez, a member of the Fal·lera Gironina board, tells us that the agreement also includes the joint organisation of the spring festival, in which the figure of the Tarlà is hung over the street.

During the festivities in honour of Saint Narcissus, the association organises a parade before the proclamation and dances by each figure in Plaça del Vi; the Matinades, which take place on the first Saturday; the parade through Girona with the bigheads, and the Beatufarra, on the second Saturday, and the assembly of giant groups in Girona on the last Sunday. Among other elements, Girona’s ethnological heritage is reflected in the nine bigheads, which express the historical identity of different streets and places in the city and its distinctive features. These characters appear in the Sant Celoni Polka together with three more bigheads, Fraret, the only survivor of the old troupe of bigheads, nicknamed Esquivamosques (fly-dodger), Avi Tata and La Nena, in the parade organised by Fal·lera Gironina in its regular programme of outings. For over 50 years the bigheads whose names are those of streets have been joined by Esquivamosques. Joaquim Pla i Dalmau, publisher, writer, illustrator and composer, created a comparsa for these nine bigheads, who, with the exception of Esquivamosques, bear the names of streets which are representative of the city and have connections with its history. When the dance takes place they form four couples: Ciutadà and Beneta de la Força, Mercader and Argentera, Merdisser and Marieta de

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Beginning of the Tarlà parade with the Girona Witch stilt-walker. Hanging the Tarlà with the Girona giants, Anna Gironella and Carlemany. Beginning of the spring festivities (22 April 2017). ASSUMPCIÓ PARAROLS

les Cols, and Ballester and Pericota and finally, on his own, Esquivamosques, the esparriot. They are also joined by El Fraret, the only bighead who sees out of his eyes (unlike the others, who have a view through their mouths), who has been retained from the old comparsa. Before the existence of the present Esquivamosques, El Fraret played this role and acted as esparriot5. As good representatives of Catalan traditional popular culture, they wear espadrilles made of esparto tied on with ribbons, with attire typical of each role. Nuxu Perpinyà and Ramon Grau (2013), define the first couple of bigheads (Ciutadà and Beneta de la Força) as the bigheads who represent the living forces of the city: civil and religious power. El Ciutadà is associated with one of the city’s main streets: Carrer Ciutadans. He represents “honest citizens” (the urban bourgeoisie of the fifteenth century, who lived in the

stately houses in Carrer Ciutadans). He carries a mayor’s staff as a symbol of his authority and is dressed as for the courts, wearing a long maroon cloak like the municipal authorities of old. Beneta de la Força represents religious power, in the person of a nun from the Benedictine order. Her name comes from her association with Carrer de la Força, a street running from the centre of Girona to the Cathedral. Her face is that of an old woman with a hooked nose; she has a sad expression and wears big glasses. She is dressed in a navy blue habit and carries a rosary. The second couple, Mercader and Argentera, represent the commercial and business side of the city. Mercader’s name comes from Carrer Mercaders, a small street near the historical Jewish quarter. This bighead has a long nose, a close-cut beard and a wide smile, which reveals his single tooth. As an allusion to trade in earlier ages, he carries a bag full of money.

L’Argentera represents the craftsmen who worked with silver and precious metals in Carrer Argenteria. She wears a tiara and, like a well-dressed lady of the period, earrings and a necklace. She carries a chest to put money in. The third couple, Merdisser and Marieta de les Cols, recall the markets held in various streets in the city. Merdisser

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represents a manure merchant associated with the Mercadal district. For her part, Marieta de les Cols represents a cabbage seller in Plaça de les Cols, situated in today’s Rambla de la Llibertat. Merdisser has a kindly face and is dressed as a farmer in his best clothes with a barretina and necktie. As a good farmer, he also carries a wooden pitchfork. La Marieta’s face is that of a buxom farmer’s wife, her lips being painted red. She wears a bright blue dress with bizarre striped stockings, and carries a wicker basket containing cabbages. The fourth couple, Ballester and Pericota, were created in memory of the walled city of Girona. This is also where the makers of crossbows and arrows were to be found. This bighead has a curious face with a carefully carved beard and wears a red and white harlequin’s shirt, with tight green stockings. He also carries a crossbow. La Pericota bears this name in honour of Font d’en Pericot, a fresh water spring in Vall de Sant Daniel, a recreational area to the north of Girona. She represents a happy, smiling young girl, with clothes typical of sardana dancers, including a wide skirt and a headscarf. She carries an earthenware pitcher. The ninth bighead, and the only one to reach us from previous periods, is Esquivamosques. He is one of the most original bigheads. He has a fly stuck on his nose and, as Nuxu Perpinyà and Ramon Grau (2013) say, this explains his irascible character. Esquivamosques is also associated with the traditional legend of Saint Narcissus and the flies. The bighead has warts on his face with a beard and an expression of annoyance with the fly on his nose. He wears a green coat, and socks and shoes that do not match. He carries a fly spray or a fly swatter to chase away the flies. This bighead is the esparriot of the group and is often accompanied

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by El Fraret, also known as Berruga, the only bighead conserved from the previous troupe, the others having been lost in the flooding in October 1962. [To see the video of the bigheads’ parade in the Festa Major, learn about the history of each one and see them dance the Sant Celoni Polka go to www.youtube.com/ watch?v=sOTq22cbI6U] In 2012, nine of the original bigheads were restored and subsequently, during the festivities in honour of Saint Narcissus, they were presented to the city in the comparsa designed by Girona’s Joaquim Pla i Dalmau in 1963. Together with this parade, a ceremony was also held at the City of Girona History Museum, where the originals of the restored bigheads, the old giants of Girona (the King and Queen, who have Àngels and Fèlix as replicas), and the Girona Eagle are permanently on display. Fal·lera Gironina also has two bigheads designed by sculptor Ramon Aumedes: Avi Tata and La Nena. These were donated by Agrupació Mútua in 2002, as part of a series of gifts to county capitals to mark its centenary. The current bigheads are larger than those that existed before the flooding and the performer’s view is via the mouth. They are carried on the bearer’s shoulders, allowing more freedom of movement and making it possible to offer a better spectacle, according to the place occupied by the bighead in the group, its dramatized history and the parade. In his guide Figures de la Festa (2000) Jan Grau observes that the figure of the giants is the “magnification of a character who lives in the collective unconscious, its meaning being highlighted by the abnormally large dimensions”. In other texts (1996) he also says: “they are symbols of the identity of the community to which they belong”.

The four giants are another important part of the festive imagery of Girona’s performers. They comprise the old giants, the King and Queen, Fèlix and Àngels (the replicas of the King and Queen, which appear in the street), recovered in 1993, plus Carlemany and Anna Gironella, built in 1985. These two were given their names in 1993. The choice of Carlemany was influenced by the name of the emperor Charlemagne, who had ruled in Girona, while Anna Gironella was named after Anna, the couturier who made and gave to the city various costumes for giants, her surname being inspired by Torre Gironella, a tower forming part of the historical Girona city walls From the foundation of Fal·lera Gironina up to the present, these giants have been taken to different events involving giants, especially Anna Gironella and Carlemany, who dance to the rhythm of Jaleo during the Saint Narcissus festivities. Of the old giants, Fèlix and Àngels (the replicas), normally appear during the Festa Major in Girona, and in other parades where their presence is considered necessary. Since 1999, during the festivities in honour of Saint Narcissus, patron saint of the city of Girona, Fal·lera Gironina has organised an assembly of giants in which different giant associations take part, especially those from different towns around Catalonia. In 2006, 34 groups took part in the 25th edition, while ten years later, in 2016, 31 groups took part in the 35th edition. Other figures associated with Fal·lera Gironina In 2001, on 26 October, during the Saint Narcissus festivities, Fal·lera Gironina introduced the giant Gerió, in a show devoted to “Gerió’s Girona”.

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In their book “Faràndula”, Nuxu Perpinyà and Ramon Grau say the following about Gerió: “at a height of 4.43 metres and weighing 138 kilos, he is considered the largest giant in Catalonia” (2013: 148); “he represents the mythological giant with three heads and six arms. He is a combination of various legends. Each one of the heads has a different personality. The angry face, with the sword and spear, is Gerió the warrior. Mossèn Cinto explains that it was Gerió who killed the nymph Pyrene, a legend which explains the origin of the Pyrenees. The second face, which is looking out of the corner of his eye with a staff in his hand and his fist held up, is Gerió the oxherd. According to classical mythology, the oxen were stolen from him by Heracles, as one of his twelve famous labours. And the smiling face, with a trowel and a compass, is Gerió the architect, legendary founder of the city of Girona. A unique

feature of this giant is that he is carried by two people.” This giant was created by Fal·lera Gironina, using a design by Nuxu Perpinyà. It was constructed by Jordi Grau and the costume was made by couturier Núria Brengaret. During the festivities of Saint Narcissus, Gerió is on display in the main offices of Girona City Council. He comes out to dance on the day the giants appear in the parade held before the traditional proclamation in Plaça del Vi. The dragon Beatusaure is another element in the festive imagery of the city of Girona and is linked to the figures featured by the dragons group. This dragon, like the giant Gerió, was designed and constructed in 2004 by Nuxu Perpinyà with the support of various members of Fal·lera Gironina. The dragon’s size is considerable, as it weighs 52.5 kg, is 264 cm long, 97 cm wide and 416 cm high. The

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dragon Beatusaure is described as follows by Nuxu Perpinyà and Ramon Grau: “The uppermost head, which is bigger, is red and is reminiscent of a giraffe. It is topped by ten horns. The other six heads are in different parts of the dragon’s body. They are white and have feline features. The one at the top is sticking its tongue out and the one at the bottom is roaring. The open mouth in this head allows the bearers to see. On its back, there is a hump from which confetti can be scattered. Its tail is small and ends in strands of hemp” (2013: 149). The dragon Beatusaure can be carried by one or two people. When it comes out it dances to the rhythm of Porrots, an exhibition dance, on Saint George’s day and two days during the Saint Narcissus festivities. In the parade before the proclamation and, since 2015, in the Beatufarra, an event for young peo-

Presentation of the giant Gerió in Plaça del Vi, Girona, during the inauguration of the Saint Narcissus festivities, 21 October 2001. La Geriona d’en Gerió, a spectacle presented by Fal·lera Gironina (2001). JORDI S. CARRERA. GIRONA CITY COUNCIL – DOCUMENT, ARCHIVE AND PUBLICATIONS MANAGEMENT SERVICE

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ple, in which Beatusaure, summoned by the witch’s verses, walks down the steps of the Cathedral and follows a route to the Parc de la Copa, where the stalls for the Festa Major are located. Another mythical beast is the Eagle of Girona. According to Jan Grau’s classification (2000), it belongs to the group of “solemn” figures, representing power and divinity. In the parades in which it appears, it has always had a privileged place in the seguici and is an outstanding figure with its solemn, formal dance. According to the same author6,

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an expert on festive imagery, “the eagle is the symbolic element par excellence, and the eagle’s dance should represent the flight of the eagle, it should be special and very elegant because it is a tribute to those present”. The current eagle is a replica, as the original is in the Girona History Museum. Made of fibreglass, it is golden and carries a bunch of paniculata. It belongs to the municipality and is guarded by the Manaies, although Fal·lera Gironina brings it out every year to dance to the rhythm of brandle de l’àliga, during

the Saint Narcissus festivities and city’s Three Kings cavalcade. Isaac Sànchez argues that Fal·lera Gironina, following the recommendations of the music section, should assign an original composition of its own to each figure. Sunday 18 June 20177 saw the first performance of a new dance for the Eagle, Ball de l’àliga de Girona, composed by Ivó Jordà with choreography by Bernat Grau, the “dancer of the Girona Eagle”, reflecting a comment in Jan Grau’s interview when he said that there was “interest in improving the dance of the Girona Eagle”. [This audiovisual sequence shows the participation of Girona’s festive imagery and the Eagle in the Corpus Christi procession, beginning with its arrival at the altar in the cathedral, followed by the Eagle’s dance. Finally, we see how everyone leaves the cathedral and walks down the magnificent steps of this solemn building (www.youtube. com/watch?v=E9U0IaIk5ro)]. Ball de bastons section, musicians’ section, stiltwalkers’ section and present stilt-walker According to Bienve Moya (1999) the ball de bastons is one of the most widespread exhibition dances in Catalonia. Since 2009 Fal·lera Gironina has had a section for stick dancers, who perform this dance in the parade. Currently, they walk at the front of the parade and with their dances, typical of Catalan popular dances, they open up the route for those following. The dancers wear traditional esparto espadrilles, carry sticks and wear bells on their legs. They dance to the rhythm of the exhibition dance blackberries.

Greeting by the Girona Eagle at the beginning of the dance before the altar in Girona cathedral during the Corpus celebrations, 2017. The Eagle had not danced in the cathedral for 444 years (18 June 2017). ASSUMPCIÓ PARAROLS

It is not normal in Catalonia for a ball de bastons section to have its own space in a giants’ association. The choreography follows the rhythm of the parade. The dancers are accompanied by the musicians, who play wind and percus-

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sion instruments, so that there is music throughout the parade and the dancers, the bigheads and the giants can all perform. The percussion instruments comprise two or three side drums, snare drums and a bass drum. In the interview, Isaac Sànchez identifies two groups of wind instruments. One group comprises woodwind, including double reed instruments such as the shawm and the tarota, while the other consists of brass instruments, which will be added shortly. In the next festivities for the city of Girona this extended range of musical instruments will appear, including at least a trombone and a trumpet. Currently all the outings of Fal·lera Gironina include the musicians’ section, with the percussion group and shawm. The dance before the proclamation of the festivities in honour of Saint Narcissus is one of the most spectacular. It takes place in Plaça del Vi, with the participation of the dragon Beatusaure, who dances to the rhythm of Parrots; the giant Gerió, with the composition Parada d’un mercat africà; the bigheads, who dance to the lively Sant Celoni Polka; the Eagle, who dances to the rhythm of Brandle with its mediaeval flavour, and finally, the four giants who dance to Jaleo, an Aragonese jota. A few years after Fal·lera Gironina was founded, the stilts section was introduced. Initially they were made of wood by members of the Association and later they were made of aluminium. They were gradually modernised through the addition of suspension systems which would enable the user to make more agile and dynamic movements during the parade. As Bernat Grau tells us in his interview, in 2014 the figure of the Witch of Girona Cathedral reappeared with stilts. Among other occasions, this feature of popular Girona culture appears in the spring festivities and those in honour of Saint Narcissus (inauguration and beatufarra).

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Table 2. Chronological record (1997-2017) of Fal·lera Gironina’s activity in disseminating Catalan popular and traditional culture with special emphasis on its festive imagery. YEAR

ACTIVITY

1997

Formation of Associació Colla Gegantera Fal·lera Gironina and its first participation in festive events with the parade of giants and bigheads during the Saint Narcissus festivities.

1998

The early morning matinades were reintroduced on the first day of the Festa Major in Girona. Fal·lera Gironina organised an early morning parade in various streets in the city.

1999

In the proclamation for the Festa Major replicas of the city’s nine bigheads were presented by Fal·lera Gironina. The association also organised the assembly of giant groups in Girona, at which the new dance for the Giants of Girona and the Cathedral Witch, by Joaquim Pla i Dalmau, was presented. The original bigheads were taken to the Girona History Museum as part of a permanent exhibition.

2000

Fal·lera Gironina travelled to Maó (Menorca) for the first time, as part of a cultural visit. The giants Carlemany and Anna Gironella had new costumes, and Fal·lera Gironina introduced new pieces in its repertoire for the parade. The Association organised the matinades for the first time, during the Saint Narcissus festivities.

2001

In the proclamation for the Festa Major the figure of Gerió, a giant made by the group, was introduced in a spectacle relating the legend of “Gerió’s Girona”.

2002

In August, Fal·lera Gironina travelled to Alaior (Menorca) and took part in the Festa Major. On 4 October the Mas Abella centre, owned by the City Council, was opened, where Fal·lera Gironina, Diables de l’Onyar, and some other associations have their headquarters. During the inauguration of the Fires, Fal·lera Gironina presented the head of the seven-headed beast Beatusaure, drawn from the Beatus de Girona manuscript. Together with the other items of festive imagery held by the Association, it took part in the parade.

2003

For the first time Fal·lera Gironina took part in parading the Tarlà and hanging the figure in Carrer Argenteria, during the Spring Festival held by the Cor de Girona Traders’ Association. In summer Fal·lera Gironina travelled to Italy and held parades in Reggio Emilia and Fabrico Bolonya Ferrara (Venice).

2004

In summer, Fal·lera Gironina travelled to Belgium and organised various parades with a view to disseminating Girona’s popular and traditional culture. The dragon Beatusaure, with its head and body made of cartró-pedra (papiermâché), made its first appearance. It was designed and constructed by Nuxu Perpinyà with the support of Fal·lera Gironina.

2005

The regular assembly of giant associations in Girona during the festivities for Saint Narcissus was attended by giants from Vilanova de Conflent (French Catalonia).

2006

Celebration of the 25th anniversary of the assembly of giant associations in Girona during the Saint Narcissus festivities, with record participation: 34 giant groups from different parts of Catalonia.

2007

Commemoration of the tenth anniversary of Fal·lera Gironina, including the proclamation of the Festa Major, a celebration of the date and the first performance of the spectacle “Cocollona”.

2008

Incorporation of the ball de bastons group in Fal·lera Gironina.

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YEAR

ACTIVITY

2009

A second cultural visit to Reggio Emilia (Italy), participation in the Tricolorei Festival in Ferrara. Three groups from French Catalonia participated in the assembly of giant associations in Girona during the Saint Narcissus festivities. At this time the meeting point was changed. From then on, the meeting point was Parc Migdia and the route was extended through different districts in the city. Nina Kammerer, a lecturer at Brandeis University (USA), began her period of anthropological research into the giant tradition, the Fal·lera Gironina association being one of the organisations studied.

2010

In summer, the Association stayed in Cornellana working on a new team project for parades, in which every participant would know what they were supposed to do at each point and which movements to make to each of the pieces of music played. It was made clear who directed the parade and that the giants do not walk but dance to the rhythm of the piece played by the wind and percussion group. During the Saint Narcissus festivities, there was a double celebration: firstly, Fal·lera Gironina introduced new costumes so that they would be dressed as a team and be easily distinguished during the parade. And, secondly, the giants known as “Vivó’s giants” (they were designed by Carles Vivó in 1985), Anna Gironella and Carlemany, celebrated their 25th anniversary.

2011

The Girona Eagle, with a single dancer, Bernat Grau i Moré, danced to the rhythm of “Brandle de l’àliga”, played by the Fal·lera Gironina musicians, and joined the giants and bigheads, the other festive figures carried by the Association, in the parade before the proclamation on the first day of the Saint Narcissus festivities. Fal·lera Gironina travelled to various places in the Basque country, including Donostia and Deba, to promote Girona’s festive imagery.

2013

Fal·lera Gironina performed at the inauguration of the exhibition 500 anys d’imatgeria festiva a Girona at the Girona History Museum on 4 May. In mid-summer Fal·lera Gironina extended the content of its website, adding the “educational suitcase” for schools with a view to increasing pupils’ knowledge of Girona’s festive imagery, giants and bigheads.

2014

Publication of the article Catalan Festival Culture, Identities, and Independentism in QuAderns-e – Institut Català d’Antropologia, no. 19 – 2014 – pages 58 – 78, by the lecturer Nina Kammerer, who had been spending periods in Girona since 2010 and is an observer-contributor for Associació Colla Gegantera Fal·lera Gironina. The Girona Eagle, carried by members of Fal·lera Gironina took part in the assembly of Catalan eagles held in Reus on 2 October.

2015

Members of Fal·lera Gironina carried the Girona Eagle at Expo Milano 2015, held in Palazzo Giure – Via Mercanti de Milà, with other figures representing festive imagery in Catalonia, and participated in the events to close the fair held during the first fortnight of June. At the end of August members of the Association travelled to Ath in Belgium with the giants Fèlix and Àngels and the old giant known as the “Queen”, which is permanently on display at the Girona History Museum. This last figure in Girona’s festive imagery is one of the few centenarian giants and was displayed beside the giant from Ath at the assembly of giants from all over Europe in the exhibition “Oú sont les femmes?”. The exhibition continued until 13 September, commemorating the 300th anniversary of Madame Goliath, the giant from Ath. Fal·lera Gironina took part in the festivities in Ducasse (Belgium). During the Saint Narcissus festivities, the Beatufarra was introduced, an entertainment aimed especially at young people, so that they could enjoy the last night of the fair with the Fal·lera Gironina cortège, which included the Cathedral Witch and the dragon Beatusaure, who invited them to join a parade from the steps of the Cathedral to the fair stalls at La Copa.

2016

During the Saint Narcissus festivities, the celebration of Fal·lera Gironina’s 20th anniversary began. [The audiovisual document shows the preparations and the parade and spectacle before the proclamation of the Festa Major https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=whqZlQHjTcM] Some of the most important activities are described below.

2017

Fal·lera Gironina came first in the organisation section of the 31st Linguistic and Cultural Standardisation Awards presented by Ateneu d’Acció Cultural (ADAC). In summer, Fal·lera Gironina travelled to Xauen (Morocco), where it publicised Girona’s popular and traditional culture via a number of parades featuring the city’s festive imagery, especially the giants and bigheads.

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Activity by Fal·lera Gironina (1997-2017) Each year since its foundation in 1997 Fal·lera Gironina has carried out various activities to disseminate Girona’s festive imagery in Catalonia, Spain and Europe. In 2017, it extended its work to Africa. The table below shows some of the main events organised in this 20-year period: Major events marking Fal·lera Gironina’s 20th anniversary

Some of the activities carried out to commemorate the 20th anniversary of Fal·lera Gironina began during the 2016 Saint Narcissus festivities and ended during the following Festa Major. According to the public they were aimed at and the form of participation, they were as follows: –– On 24 September 2016, in Rambla de la Llibertat, Girona, children were offered an opportunity to get to know the bigheads via a workshop on bigheads and the decoration of sticks. Afterwards, the children were encouraged to use the bighead they had painted during the parade. –– The Association took part in different activities as a contributor-organiser with organisations promoting and disseminating Catalan, such as Plataforma per la Llengua and Òmnium Cultural. With Plataforma per la Llengua and other groups and organisations it was involved in the presentation of the book “Amb el català, fem pinya!” –– Working with Omnium-Gironès, it organised Gegants i Bestiari: 4 visions sobre la imatgeria festiva, Patrimoni Immaterial de la Cultura Popular. Fal·lera Gironina also took advantage of the opportunity to refurbish and publicise the storage space it has at Mas Abella, so that school groups could visit it. –– Girona residents and visitors were given the opportunity to see the

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Pictures of the store in which we can see the heads of the different bigheads that currently appear in the parade, the dragon Beatusaure and the Girona Eagle. (6 May 2017). ASSUMPCIÓ PARAROLS

has given a chronological view of the organisation’s activities from its foundation until 2017, to provide a written record of its first twenty years.

bouquets carried by the giants over the last 20 years. In the temporary exhibition section of the Girona History Museum, taking advantage of the 62nd edition of Girona, Temps de Flors¸ the bouquets carried for the inauguration of each year’s festivities were on display.

In conclusion, we can thus see how Associació Colla Gegantera Fal·lera Gironina has played, and continues to play, a very significant role in disseminating Catalan popular and traditional culture, with special emphasis on promoting the festive imagery associated with the city of Girona. The article

Acknowledgements The author would like to thank the following for their help and support: Fal·lera Gironina, especially Sebi Bosch i Vila, Isaac Sànchez i Ferrer, Bernat Grau i Moré, and Francesc Rigol i Llopart, Ramon Grau i Herrero, who has worked closely with the Association, and former member of the giants’ group Estel Puigdevall i Plantés, without whose assistance this study would not have been possible. n Display of the giants’ bouquets in the part of the permanent exhibition of Girona’s festive imagery held at the Girona History Museum, during the exhibition “Girona, Temps de Flors” (13 to 21 May 2017). All the bouquets were created by florist Roser Alsius i Dalmau. To the left we see those carried by Anna Gironella (since 1998) and to the right those carried by Àngels (since 2004), a total of 34 bouquets of artificial flowers. In the centre is this year’s bouquet in natural flowers (12 May 2017). ASSUMPCIÓ PARAROLS

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Festival%20Culture,%20Identities%20and%20 Independentism.%20Nina%20Kammerer.pdf> [Accessed: 18 April 2017] Moya, B. (1994) “Apunts per a una crònica sobre els nans o capgrossos de la festa tradicional”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 4: 92-109. Museu d’Història de Girona (n.d.) Exposicions temporals [on line]. Faràndula. 500 anys d’imatgeria festiva a Girona. <http://www.girona.cat/ museuhistoria/cat/agenda_exposicions.php?idReg=62> [Accessed: 12 April 2017] Pedres de Girona (n/a) Llegendes i tradicions[on line]. Els gegants i capgrossos de Girona. <http:// www.pedresdegirona.com/gegants_capgrossos_index.htm> [Accessed: 12 April 2017] Perpinyà Salvatella, N.; Grau Herrero, R. (2013) Faràndula: Cinc-cents anys d’imatgeria festiva a Girona. Col·lecció Història de Girona. Girona: Girona City Council Portal Jurídic de Catalunya (n/a). Llei 2/1993, de 5 de març, de foment i protecció de la cultura popular i tradicional i de l’associacionisme cultural [on line] <http://portaljuridic.gencat.cat/ca/ pjur_ocults/pjur_resultats_fitxa?action=fitxa&documentId=73601> [Accessed: 23 April 2017] Puig, Ll. (ed.) (1999) Les Festes a Catalunya. Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya – Editorial 92 S.A. Sansalvador, J.M. (2015) “Que no parin de ballar!”, Revista de Girona, 288: 60-62. Vila, F. (1993) “Cultura popular i acció local”, Revista d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 2: 118-125.

NOTES

More information at: http://bit.ly/2sA53d3 Date accessed: 03.06.2017

bestiari.cat/figura/drac-beatusaurus/> Date accessed: 13.04.2017

Jan Grau (2012) defines the role of the esparriot as follows: “He is a master of ceremonies, preparing the way for the appearance of the giants, but playing a more sober role”. For more information go to http://dom.cat/1a5b Date accessed: 12.07.2017

The interviews to Sebi Bosch i Vila, Ramon Grau i Herrero, Jan Grau i Martí, Bernat Grau i Moré and Isaac Sànchez i Ferrer were undertaken between April and May 2017. For more information go to http://www.fal-leragironina.cat/cat/la-colla.html Date accessed: 10.04.2016

From: AGRUPACIÓ DEL BESTIARI FESTIU I POPULAR DE CATALUNYA (n/a) Tot bestiari festiu – drac Beatusaurus.<https://www.

These comments are taken from Jan Grau i Martí’s talk on “Festive Imagery”, given on 6 April 2017 at the Centre Cívic Barri Vell-Mercadal.

Corpus Christi celebration, part of the acts to commemorate the 600th anniversary of the decision to build a single nave in Girona cathedral.

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An archive with over a thousand press references on the nativity scene movement, accessible to everyone Laura Golanó Pascual Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula

Enric Benavent Vallès Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula

Pere Catà Vidal (1935) is a nativity-scene and figure maker who has made a lifelong collection of press and magazine clippings on all aspects of the nativity scene. Dr. Cata’s newspaper and periodicals library was donated to the Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula in 2012, with the organisation’s commitment to take care of it and make it available to nativity scene and popular culture scholars. The archive contains 1150 elements (mostly press clippings) that mention nativity scenes. The oldest is the copy of a document from the City of Barcelona Archive, and the most modern is an article published in Mataró Escrit in 1987, on the craftsmen of Christmas. The majority of articles are from newspapers and magazines from 19301960, predominantly in Spanish. The collection has articles from 108 different publications including: La Veu de Catalunya, La Vanguardia, El Diari de Barcelona, El Noticiero Universal, Destino, Condal, and Canigó. The repository includes work by 516 different writers, scholars and folklorists, such as: Joan Amades, Violant i Simorra, Duran i Santpere, Josep M. Garrut, Basili de Rubí, Joaquim Renart, P. Andreu de Palma, Antoni Balsach, Esteve Busquets, Evelio Bulbena, Miguel Capdevila, Aureli Capmany, Anna Nadal, and Santiago Alcolea. The library’s value stems from the fact it is specialised in the world of nativity scenes, making it a very inter-

esting collection from which to study this tradition at the Catalan level. Even so, there are many other documents dealing with Christmas traditions in general: for example, Christmas cards, food, and music also figure among the articles in the archive. There are very few books published on the nativity scene movement in Catalonia, particularly from the first half of the 20th century. Reading the press articles gives you a very accurate and diversified idea of how this nativity scene movement evolved. We must bear in mind the fact that, prior to the re-founding of the Associació de Pessebristes de Barcelona, the Barcelona association of nativity scene makers, in 1921, there is very little documentation on the tradition of creating crib scenes, and the books published a posteriori have normally been produced under the umbrella of the Barcelona organisation. Being able to read opinion articles on the nativity scene movement from that time, helps us understand how the association’s official line co-existed other less orthodox ways of understanding nativity scenes. Christmas 2016 saw the end of the first phase of cataloguing and dissemination of the Catà archive by the members of the Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula, thanks to a grant from the Catalan Government’s Ministry of Culture. Digitising, cataloguing and publishing this set of documents, on the one hand, gives the general public access to a large amount of highly specialised information on nativity scenes that is not found in published books On the other, it provides the base for extending this newspaper and periodicals library

by incorporating material published later than those compiled by Dr. Catà, as well as including other similar documentary collections that are currently only in paper format. The project remains open for ongoing expansion. To make the Arxiu Catà archive available to everyone, the following tasks have been carried out: –– Treatment of physical documents: the original archive was stored in twelve, different-sized ring binders. The documents, mainly newspaper sheets, had begun to deteriorate over

Original archives (October 2016). ENRIC BENAVENT

Final archives (October 2016). ENRIC BENAVENT

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time. The processing and preservation of the physical documents has been standardised, whenever possible, to DIN A4 format. In some cases the specific item to be kept was cut out, isolating it from the entire newspaper sheet that had been preserved. All the documents have been put in plastic covers and sorted into new filing cabinets, maintaining the original file numbers. This process has highlighted the fact that some documents were already missing from the original donation. –– Document selection: from the entire archive, it was first necessary to select the documents to be scanned, since there were some repeats, and due to content or format-related issues, certain documents could not be digitised. The digitised catalogue includes 95% of the documents comprising the original physical archive. –– Document scanning: Scanning was done manually, taking into account the various sizes of the originals. All the digital documents have been generated in .pdf format. Where newspapers have scanned or online resources, these were taken advantage of. Due to the size of the older original publications, which do not always correspond to current standards, some double spread articles from very large newspapers have been scanned in parts, adapting them to the standards DIN A4 or DIN A3. –– Online document repository: the documents have been deposited in a free space that allows the creation of hyperlinks. All the .pdf files are now located in a DRIVE space in one hundred percent correlative folders, according to the original numbering of the documents. This DRIVE space, linked to the Col·lectiu El Bou i la Mula profile, allows open hyperlinks to be created for each document, as well as the possibility

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of sharing the entire archive online with researchers or other interested parties.1 –– Creation of a database, cataloguing and indexing of scanned documents by assigning a link to each record. Given the type of material and possible end users, we decided to choose simple fields that both identified the document (a physical description), and assigned some subjects in case the user wanted to know which topics were the most common. A total of 83 subject labels have been created. The database is now complete, with a physical description and access points classifying and indexing it. Fields like author, title, and magazine title are the most significant in the physical description. They are all recoverable and can be used in combination. The hyperlink allows the user to view and save each document in .pdf format. –– Webpage of the database http:// www.elbouilamula.net/: For the first phase of this project, it was decided to locate the entire Access archive online so that interested users could download it completely onto their own computer and use it from there. A second phase is planned where the entire database will be located in a

free online resource and the searches made always online. This will also favour the automatic updating of the database after any modifications, and it will not be necessary to download the archive to a personal computer. Once the cataloguing and online uploading of the archive had been completed, a campaign raising awareness of the project was undertaken through the popular culture study and diffusion entities in Catalonia, and via the organisations of nativity-scene makers. During this first year, a selection of articles from the resource are being periodically highlighted on the El Bou i la Mula website, together with a brief commentary. In time for next Christmas, a second phase of dissemination beyond Catalonia is planned, especially considering that most of the documents are written in Spanish and may therefore be of interest to Spanish-speaking users. n

NOTES

You can consult the archive at: http://www. elbouilamula.net/

Cataloguing process (October 2016). ENRIC BENAVENT

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10 years of the Ethnology Museums Network of Catalonia Daniel Solé Lladós Head of Museological Cooperation. History Museum of Catalonia

Background

he origins of institutional ethnology in Catalonia date back to 1935, during the Second Spanish Republic, when Pere Bosch Gimpera created the ethnology division, directed by Lluís Pericot and Joan Amades, within the Archaeological Museum of Catalonia. During the Republic, accounts of the existence of Local Museum networks begin to emerge but all these projects were uprooted with the eventual Republican defeat and the exile of most of the country’s intellectuals. After the war, in the 1940s, “the world of ethnology would consolidate its museographic projects in Barcelona, thanks to the political efforts of Carreras i Artau and Duran i Sanpere:

Touring exhibition: els paisatges a la taula (landscapes at the dinner table). D. SOLÉ

Art & Popular Traditions Museum of Violant i Simorra and the Museum of Ethnology, with foreign collections by August Panyella.” (Rueda, 2007: 139) During the 40 years of the Franco regime pre-established museums continued to exist, but a number of small local museums were also created by volunteers and associations, featuring ethnological collections. One particular museum’s name sets a fine example: “Museum of the people’s affairs”. These were museums of cultural resistance in a time (the 1960s) when society was making a profound technological change and many traditional professions were on the verge of disappearing. With the emergence of the Generalitat de Catalunya (Government of Catalonia) the Regional Museum Network of Catalonia was created (Decree 222/1982), resulting in the modernisation and professionalization of museums as

well as the adoption of the international trends of new museology and eco-museums. The 17/1990 Museum act signified an attempt to restore the organisations and structures of the museums of the Republic stemming from national museums that for the most part were in hands of the City Council of Barcelona and the provincial councils. This pyramidal structure in which ethnology was left without a flagship National Museum posed a serious hurdle. A series of committees and seminars were created, first by the Directorate General of Cultural Heritage (DGPC) in 1993 and later in 1998 within the Executive Committee of the Board of Museums of Catalonia. Ultimately, in 2007, the Board of Museums of Catalonia approved the Museum Scheme of Cat-

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alonia with the proposed creation of an Ethnology Museums Network of Catalonia (XME) in response to a lengthy demand from the country’s ethnological museums.

the creation of the Ethnology Museums Network of Catalonia will begin (provisionally under the direct management of the Museum Service until the museum’s inception).”

Creation and development The XME was created on 19th March 2008, with the signing of an agreement “to articulate common policies for heritage protection and the promotion, training and regional revitalisation of the constitutional elements of the ethnological heritage contained in the museums that comprise it”.

From this agreement, an addendum was signed to establish the financial contribution of the Ministry of Culture and Media, a grand total of 150,000 euros by the year 2018.

The XME consists of a series of museums that preserve collections of great importance intended to explain and understand Catalan ethnographic heritage. Network membership was and remains voluntary to this day and was carried out on request by the governing institution of the museum wishing to join “The requirements for joining the Network are to be a registered3 museum open to the public, to not be part of another national museum and to show a certain degree of involvement towards the region in which it is located”. –– The first six museums in the network were: –– Museum of Val d’Aran –– Montsià Regional Museum –– Ethnology Museum of Barcelona –– Valls d’Àneu Eco-museum, Esterri d’Àneu; –– Ethnology Museum of Montseny, La Gabella; –– Regional Museum of Conca de Barberà –– Fishing Museum of Palamós The creation of the XME was promoted by the Ministry of Culture of the Government of Catalonia under the 2008 Museums Scheme as specified: “In order to accelerate processes, be proactive and of service to the region,

This addendum also established objectives and management strategies: “This amount will be distributed equally between all signatory museums and invested in activities and studies for the restoration and conservation of their own ethnological collections and for environmental control and storage in order to improve the conditions of their collections.” In its early years, the network was managed by the Museum Service until 2014, when its coordination and management was turned over to the History Museum of Catalonia. Generally, it can be said that if the early years were marked by a concentrated effort to introduce and consolidate the XME and the equal distribution of financial resources, it has since evolved towards the development of common projects in which all museums included in the Network are fully involved. Currently, the XME consists of 13 museums: –– Can Quintana. Mediterranean Museum –– Fishing Museum of Palamós –– Valls d’Àneu Eco-museum –– Regional Museum of Conca de Barberà –– Rural Life Museum of L’Espluga de Francolí –– Museu de les Terres de l’Ebre (Lands of the Ebro Museum) –– Museum of Val d’Aran

–– History Museum of Catalonia –– Immigration History Museum of Catalonia –– Ethnographic Museum of Ripoll –– Ethnology Museum of Barcelona –– Ethnology Museum of Montseny, La Gabella; –– Vinseum. Wine Culture Museum of Catalonia The projects developed in recent years have been fundamentally cooperative in nature. Worthy of note is that of the Museu Virtual de la Societat Catalana (Virtual Museum of Catalan Society) that aims to “create a dynamic partnership between the museums of the XME through a common online platform, while attempting to promote research, the creation of collections and the development of physical and virtual exhibitions.” In the year 2015, a seminar was held entitled “integrated management of cultural and natural heritage, challenges and prospects” with the participation of Network museums as well as the Ministry of Culture and Ministry of Territory and Sustainability. This seminar was decisive in the further development of programs between national parks and the museums we will be touching on shortly. Another project that has involved a multitude of additional efforts and that is now a reality is the exhibition Els paisatges a la taula (Landscapes at the dinner table) that shows how globalisation has transformed our way of producing and consuming and how it has affected the variety of products that make their way onto our dinner tables nowadays. It is a two and a half year long touring exhibition that will make the rounds of almost all museums found in the network presenting heritage in the form of original objects as well as intangible heritage belonging to the territories where these museums are located.

Archives and museums

One could say that the year 2017 is a turning point. Work has begun more formally on projects which now possess a fixed budgetary allocation. The overall contribution of the Museum Service to the Network currently amounts to 100,000 euros, distributed this year across three programs: –– Itinerancy of the exhibition Els paisatges a la taula (Landscapes at the dinner table) –– National Parks and Ethnology Museums –– Support and improvement of collection inventory Of these three programs, it is necessary to highlight the proposed agreement between the Management of Environmental Policies of the Ministry of Territory and the Management of Cultural Heritage of the Ministry of Culture to promote the research, conservation

Permanent exhibition of the Palamós Fishing Museum. D. SOLÉ

and management of cultural heritage in Nature Protection Areas. It involves promoting the coordination between all stakeholders in the management of cultural and natural heritage and therefore creates a coordination board between National Parks and Museums, with three initial lines of action: Pyrenees, Terres de l’Ebre (Ebro region), and Montgrí and Baix Ter. Moving forward, it’s important to keep an optimistic eye to the future. Presented just recently, the Museums Scheme for 20172 consolidates and develops the system for Museums of Catalonia with that of the thematic networks of National Museums, specifically citing the Ethnology Museums Network. Moreover the relationship and coordination of the XME with the Observatori del Patrimoni Etnològic i Immaterial (Observatory of Ethnological and Intangible Heritage) are

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increasingly effective, especially in the field of thesauri and the documentation of intangible heritage. Both the heritage and the Museum of Ethnology of Catalonia need exposure and the strength of the joint initiatives that are being carried out in the region. In order to accomplish this, the collaboration and cooperation between institutions is critical. The Ethnology Museums Network of Catalonia is on the path to achieving this goal. n

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Catalonia. Ministry of Culture (2017) Museus 2030. Pla de museus de Catalunya. (Museums 2030. Museum Scheme for Catalonia) Barcelona: Government of Catalonia. Museum Board (2010) “Pla de Museus-2007” (Museum Scheme-2007). From SOLÉ, D. (coord.) Recomanacions per a la creació i gestió de museus (Suggestions for museum creation and management), 14-21. Barcelona: Government of Catalonia. Ministry of Culture and Media. Rueda, JM. (2017) “Els orígens i evolució dels Museus etnogràfics a Catalunya” (Origins and evolution of Ethnographic Museums in Catalonia), Mnemòsine. Revista Catalana de Museologia, 4: 121-139.

NOTES

The Catalonia Museum Register is an official inventory of museums of Catalonia that meet the requirements set out in the Museum Act 17/1990 and in the Decree of the register of museums to be registered. It is a dynamic inventory that is constantly updated, and it provides a detailed understanding of the reality of museums of Catalonia; its application has resulted in a progressive adaptation to the technical requirements of current museology. Fur further information see: http://cultura.gencat.cat/ca/ detall/Articles/Museus-registrats-de-Catalunya

The Museum Scheme of Catalonia, known as Museums 2030, has been developed by the Ministry of Culture and poses a strategic plan that defines and arranges a global policy for the museums of Catalonia around a vision of museums as institutions committed to cultural heritage and to society. For more information see: http://cultura.gencat.cat/ca/departament/ plans-i-programes/ambit-sectorial/museus2030-pla-de-museus-de-catalunya/

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IKUNDE, taking guineas from Guinea1 Agnès Villamor Casas

rom June 2016, the Museu Etnològic de Barcelona hosted the temporary exhibition “IKUNDE. Barcelona, a colonial metropolis”2 in its headquarters in the Museu de Cultures del Món. This Exhibition set out an empirical exploration of a specific colonial moment, in which Barcelona is the protagonist. This perspective has provoked a certain degree of criticism, specifically from the point of view of colonialism, because it emphasises the action of the Catalan elite in overseas territories and focuses less attention on the citizens of Equatorial Guinea (mainly the Fang people) who endured this. It is an inevitably fragmentary and incomplete exhibition. It simply exposes the fact that we should talk about an uncomfortable past that directly and personally challenges the people of Barcelona. It reveals a local history that is not explained in school, and which is rarely seen in the newspapers. Apparently these actions are the responsi-

bility of others, not us. It portrays –through imagery and practices– that which we wished to forget as a society, either through ignorance, indifference, self-complacency, or cynicism of what was previously (very) well thought of. It describes a machine, perfectly adjusted for the extractive industry on the exuberant African arcadia: with cunning, the colonialists plundered raw materials, captured specimens both living and dead, even using slave labour for their pursuit of a mythical economic development. The exhibition welcomes visitors into a bright room dominated by the figure of Copito de Nieve. The venerable figure of the great albino ape –at the same time both wild and yet as extraordinarily white as a human carrying an administrative identity card– is surrounded by, with no chance of escape from, all the humanised merchandising he inspired. Darkness floods the rest of the space where there are scenes of colonial enterprise: literature and propaganda, the Republican Governor and the

Copito de Nieve, a visible product of Barcelona’s colonial relationship with Equatorial Guinea. AGNÈS VILLAMOR

panoply of hunting, Barcelona City Council’s expatriated facility used by the scientific unit, the Catholic Claretian missions, the extraction of raw materials, the subjection of the colonised peoples. It should be noted that, thanks to the archive “Chronicles of Equatorial Guinea”3, it gives a voice to the settlers who had to leave Guinea in 1968 when independence was declared, and also reflects a certain nostalgia for that golden era and an identity from both here and there. It is not, therefore, a generic review of an uncomfortable past as has been shown in other institutions (like the “El Cor de les tenebres” (Heart of Darkness) exhibition at the Palau de la Virreina, in 2002, or parts of the permanent exhibition at the Tropen Museum in Amsterdam). It is part of a larger research project on the late-colonial relationships of the Spanish State where anthropology and historiography come together in the extensive background research undertaken by the curators. In addition, the Ethnological Museum of Barcelona has made an effort to highlight other issues omitted by high culture: “Gitanos, la cultura dels rom a Catalunya” (Gypsies, the Romani culture in Catalonia) from 2006, or “Fam i Guerra a Catalunya” (Hunger and war in Catalonia) from 2009, still going in the so-called Museu Nòmada. This project arose from a confluence of interests between the coordinators and the Ethnological Museum of Barcelona with a political moment conducive to studying this aspect of Barcelona’s social life. Cultural spaces, and ethnological museums in particular, are subject to a persistent lack of resources and political transformation (Serra, 2010),

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Devices of colonial domination. AGNÈS VILLAMOR

alongside working practices marked by the spirit of the times (Panyella, 2012). Today, anthropology museums are in crisis when it comes to deciding what their mission is. Each entity has managed to find a relevant solution, always somehow linked to the ideology of the time, some bolder than others, but what is undeniable is that, taken as a whole, ethnological museums offer a plurality of extraordinary narratives while simultaneously demonstrating what it means to be human and live in society (Monnet and Roigé, 2009). In the opinion of those in charge of the exhibition, a museum like the Ethnological Museum of Barcelona has to be a safe place to discuss sensitive issues involving complex reflections and uncertain conclusions. It is also necessary for anthropology museums to check back over their own memories on their participation in the colonial machinery. One has to expose oneself before talking about another, (Bestard, 2007) even though this runs the risk if what we find is ugly and uncomfortable. Tim Ingold uses an analogy in the round table4 on the exhibition in the framework of the AIBR Conference of Anthropology: like a rebellious little child that will refuse to lie down and sleep peacefully and without problem. It

means it has to be done, expose ourselves, precisely to find out in case we are, here and now, perpetuated in an uncritical, irresponsible colonial tradition. The exhibition has been complemented by a series of conferences and activities, as well as a careful publication that delves into the network of social relations behind this tremendous feat.

REFERENCES

Bestard, J. (2007) «Exposar l’altre o exposar-se a un mateix», Quaderns-e de l’Institut Català d’Antropologia, 9. <www.raco.cat/index.php/ QuadernseICA/article/view/73517/131238> [Consulted on: June 2, 2017] Panyella, J. (2012) «La vida en un museu: l’arxiu d’August Panyella Gómez i Zeferina Amil Mengual», Revista d’etnologia de Catalunya, 38: 240-242. <www.raco.cat/index.php/RevistaEtnologia/article/view/259440/346663> [Consulted on: June 2, 2017] Monnet, N.; Roigé, X. (2007) “Els museus d’etnologia i societat a debat. Presentació», Quaderns-e de l’Institut Català d’Antropologia, 9. <www.raco.cat/index.php/QuadernseICA/ article/view/73510/131221> [Consulted on: June 2, 2017] Serra, M de Ll. (2010) “Etnologia i museologia: els museus etnològics als anys quaranta”, Revista d’etnologia de Catalunya, 37: 142-144. <www.raco.cat/index.php/RevistaEtnologia/ article/view/259352/346572> [Consulted on: June 2, 2017]

The team of curators, including Alberto López Bargados, Andrés Antebi Arnó, Pablo González Morandi and Eloy Martín Corrales, already have their sights firmly set on other exhibitions on Spanish colonial relationships in the 20th century. The next deals with the recollections of the soldiers who did their military service in Ifni. n

NOTES

(Note: the original wordplay guineus (foxes in Catalan) and Guinea is lost in translation into English. Due to the figurative sense of foxes using their cunning to steal hens, and to maintain the sense of the article, the historic ‘guinea’ coin is used to denote the reaping of money from the African Eden.)

Ikunde. Barcelona, a colonial metropolis. <http:// museuculturesmon.bcn.cat/exposicions/ikunde-barcelona-metropoli-colonial> [Consulted on: May 25, 2017]

Crónicas de la Guinea Equatorial. <www.bioko. net/galeriaFA/>[Consulted on: May 25, 2017]

Round table “The Ugly Truth: Uncomfortable Cultural Histories at the Museum”. Museu de Cultures del Món.Museum of World Cultures. September 6, 2016. Archive available at: <http://ajuntament.barcelona.cat/museuetnologic/ca/imaginat-tangible>[Consulted on: May 25, 2017]

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Conferences

The interaction between natural and intangible Third National Conference on Ethnological Heritage Xevi Collell

Can Trona Centre de Cultura i Natura, Vall d’en Bas

rom June 8 to June 10 the Third National Conference on Ethnological Heritage was held at Can Trona Centre de Cultura i Natura, Vall d’en Bas. The main theme of this edition was the interaction between natural and intangible heritage. Heritage is a concept that has evolved over time. As societies undergo changes, new ways of interpreting their surroundings emerge. In recent years the way professionals understand heritage has undergone substantial changes. Today it has become clear that we need to manage the two types of heritage – cultural and natural – jointly and this also means creating multi-disciplinary teams. The need to work within a network and with a holistic approach led the Directorate-General for Popular Culture, Associations and Cultural Activities to relate both types of heritage in the Third National Conference on Ethnological Heritage, a project undertaken with great enthusiasm by the organisers and the managers, institutions and associations involved.

event, they emphasised the importance of the different types of heritage and the excellent work done by specialists in managing it. When the conference had been declared open, Doctor Jordi Abella, Director of the Valls d’Àneu Eco-museum, gave the keynote speech. He presented a historical survey of the management of natural and cultural heritage and described various systems for administering it in different parts of the world. He also opened a debate, which continued actively throughout the conference, dealing with the legal, administrative and institutional context within which specialists in natural and cultural heritage carry out management work. Although professionals in the field are keen to work jointly, the relevant legislation and administrative bodies do not facilitate this approach. After his speech the documentary “Dones de la Vall d’en Bas” was shown, included in the ethnographic cinema productions in the 2017 conference thanks to the agreement between Can Trona, Museu del Ter, a member of OPEI, and the Directorate-General. The documentary describes the everyday life of women working on the land in Vall d’en Bas in the mid-twentieth century.

On Thursday 8 June Lluís Puig, Director General for Popular Culture, Associations and Cultural Activities, and currently Minister of Culture for the Government of Catalonia, and Lluís Amat, Mayor of La Vall d’en Bas, opened the Third National Conference on Ethnological Heritage. Introducing the

On Friday attendees considered the first of the four main areas into which the conference was divided: Landscape, heritage and natural spaces. A total of six presentations were given on models for managing cultural heritage in natural spaces. The speakers were Joan Pijuan – from Parc Natural de la

Third National Conference on Ethnological Heritage (2017). AJUNTAMENT DE LA VALL D’EN BAS AND GOVERNMENT OF CATALONIA VALL D’EN BAS. MARC PLANAGUMÀ

Zona Volcànica de la Garrotxa – , Joan Nogué – Professor of Human Geography at the University of Girona – , Lluís García Petit – Director General of Institut del Patrimoni Cultural Immaterial – , Pepa Subirats – from Mas de Barberans Town Council – , Montserrat Solà – from Parc Natural de la Serra del Montsant – , and Joan Vaqué – economist and member of Prioritat –. All of them emphasised the success of projects managed with an approach that was holistic and comprehensive (including different types of heritage) and took account of the needs of those living in natural spaces, with regard to tourism, exploiting resources and cultural traditions. However, the need to go on analysing and cataloguing our heritage was also made clear, with a view to instituting better and more efficient management plans.

Conferences

The second topic was Nature, health and experience, an innovative area intended to reflect two different views: the spiritual qualities of the natural heritage and the therapeutic function of some natural settings. Doctor Josep Maria Mallarach, from Silene, and Jaume Hidalgo, from Acció Natura, spoke about these subjects. The session presented an alternative and enriching view of the concept of intangible heritage, which humanists and geographers often share. Among other matters discussed the session dealt with ways of managing natural spaces, especially in connection with health and therapeutic uses.

models, in others by diversifying sectors and in all of them by recovering identity through products and productive methods in a globalised world.

The third session Natural setting and human activity dealt with three experiences of managing cultural heritage in unique settings. Presentations were given by Miquel Martí, Director of Museu de la Pesca in Palamós, Eva Tarragona, from Projecte mOntanyanes, and Josep Ramon Mòdol, from the University of Lleida. All agreed that the present use of resources is unsustainable and that sustainable production is the only solution for the future. In some cases this can be achieved by recovering traditional

Finally, on Saturday 10 June, the conference drew to a close with the nineteenth edition of the Hostalets d’en Bas “Dia de la Dalla”. Participants compete in using the traditional scythe, thus keeping the essence of one of the area’s activities alive. It is particularly interesting to note the increased use of this tool among young people in the village.

The last area Processes for recognising heritage in the natural world was presented by Carles Blasco, from Associació de Pedra Tosca, who is Vice-president of Associació per la Pedra Seca i l’Arquitectura Tradicional, and Maria Piferrer, from Consorci de les Gavarres. They described models for conserving heritage created through civil society which also served to activate the local economy and culture.

Lastly, we would point out that the choice of theme for this year’s conference was very opportune. The speakers,

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those attending and the organisers all agreed that the conference took place at a key moment for the country and the management of its heritage and resources. It served to show the need to revise legislation related to the management of natural and cultural heritage, especially at a time when specialists, professionals and institutions in the sector are drawing attention to this lack of coherence. It also made a valuable contribution to raising awareness of the work done by civil society through associations and institutions to conserve heritage and to confirming the excellence of the professionals engaged in the management of natural and cultural heritage in our country. As we emerge from the recession, it is indispensable for us to revise the legal framework and organisational model and increase the number of specialists and improve their conditions, in all administrative bodies. We have a country with a unique, varied wealth of heritage and in this way we can ensure it is well conserved and well managed. n

Vall d’en Bas. MARC PLANAGUMÀ

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Bibliographic reviews

Mountains of cheese

Productive transformations and heritage processes in L’Urgellet and El Baridà, by Camila del Mármol Georgina Marín Nogueras

he last century saw social, economic, productive, and landscape transformations in the Catalan Pyrenees that are fundamental for understanding the region’s way of life, how it is seen, and how it is used today. The anthropologist Camila del Mármol takes us through these and studies them in detail, particularly L’Urgellet and El Baridà, geographical areas straddling the counties of L’Alt Urgell and La Cerdanya, on both sides of the River Segre. She focuses on their heritage processes, production of localities and exploitation of uses of the past. Muntanyes de formatge. Transformacions productives i patrimonialització de l’Urgellet i el Baridà (2016), or Mountains of cheese. Productive transformations and heritage processes in L’Urgellet and El Baridà, is a review of the ethnographic research undertaken over recent years by Joan Frigolé (2005) and the author herself, Camila Del Mármol (2012), also in the context of L’Alt Urgell, and gives them continuity. In this case, the thread that links them all together is an analysis of dairy and cheese production. This illustrates the end of an economic subsistence model centred on the domestic unit, in other words the home, as a production/ reproduction nucleus, the penetration of a capitalist agricultural model, and the reorientation of the local economy towards tourism and the services sec-

tor. Del Mármol looks in particular depth at the social and cultural changes related to agrarian transformations and their link with new dialogues and novel

ways of thinking about this Pyrenean mountain area, from an outside perspective as well as from within the place itself.

Book cover Muntanyes de formatge. Transformacions productives i patrimonialització a l’Urgellet i el Baridà.

Bibliographic reviews

Methodologically, the monograph is based on an extensive ethnographic study that seeps out throughout the work and which illustrates these social, economic and symbolic transformations throughout the last century, using many case studies. This ethnography brings us closer to the history, lives, and experiences of individuals and families from various valleys and towns in L’Urgellet and El Baridà, from dairy farms and cheese producers. The author also documents and analyses the reorientation of agricultural policies and rural development over the last decades and the effects of these changes, transcendental in the productive transformation and heritage status processes under study. She places special emphasis on the entry of Spain into the European Economic Community, today’s European Union, and the repercussions this had on the local economy and the direction of the projects developed by the various gov-

ernments. In this sense, it is a distinctly ethnographic work, a diachronic study that juxtaposes global political and economic dialogues with local discourses, practices and initiatives in the region. From the vineyard to the dairy farm It is left to the historian from Alt Urgell, Carles Gascón, to start the book. He gives us a historical introduction to the economic and agricultural transformations of the mid-19th to mid-20th century. The emergence of the Phylloxera plague in 1890 led to the immediate destruction of the vineyards in the area and ended the period of relative prosperity the agricultural sector had been experiencing thanks to their specialisation in grape production. This is a key starting point in Gascón’s concise historical timeline. The end of the vineyards led the way to a rapid reconversion of the crop fields into livestock pasture. This commitment to cattle

Arrival of the milk truck at Querforadat, L’Alt Urgell (1962). ACAU, Fons Gurri. FRANCESC GURRI

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initially revolved around meat, and milk production did not begin until the early decades of the 20th century. We must remember that in the mid19th century, milk drinking had just been introduced among the Barcelona bourgeoisie – influenced by its widespread consumption in northern European cities – but this requirement was fulfilled by the herds in the city itself; in the Pyrenees, at the beginning of the 20th century, milk consumption was considered almost eccentric, typical of Barcelona society, and also associated with medical prescriptions (Gascón, in Mármol, 2016: 29). The figure of Josep Zulueta, a bourgeois gentleman from Barcelona who holidayed in the Pyrenees, and who Gascón looks at in depth, is presented as a key player in the agrarian transformations that were to take place in L’Urgellet and El Baridà in the subsequent decades. Aware of various cheese

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and butter production projects that were emerging in the Pyrenees and close to the agricultural cooperative movement, in 1915, Zulueta was the driving force behind the La Seu d’Urgell dairy cooperative (today known as the Cooperativa Lletera del Cadí). In the 1930s, both the cooperative and the La Seu d’Urgell dairy factory, founded by a splinter group of cooperative members, began to incorporate cheese production, and they launched a marketing policy linking these products with the rural world of the Catalan mountains. After the Civil War, livestock farmers had to deal with the disappearance of many head of cattle during the Republican retreat. Prioritising milk production, and in an international context that made it difficult to import cattle from abroad, they opted to obtain Friesian cows from Santander. These black-and-white Cantabrians would end up replacing the brown Swiss cows, turning them into an emblem of the agrarian economy, dairy farms, and the landscape in Alt Urgell. The milk economy Over time, the new agricultural model focused on intensive milk production replaced the old self-sufficiency polyculture, experiencing its particular heyday between the 1950s and 1970s. Del Mármol’s dialogical work transports us back to this replacement of ancient

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subsistence livestock rearing on small commercial livestock farms through the voices of the land people. The stories she tells are used to analyse some of the most important changes that accompanied the expansion of the dairy model, including fixed incomes being introduced to family economies; the introduction of machinery like milking machines and tractors; improved hygiene; and the replacement, on some farms, of the cows from

Santander by other Friesians from Denmark and Canada, with a greater productive capacity. Also important for regional planning was the creation of fixed transport routes between various towns and La Seu for the lecheras, the trucks that transported the milk churns and which offered the same service to people and other goods. This capitalist transformation of the farms coincided with a period when many people moved to urban areas and the depopulation of the mountain regions (more than 40% of the population left L’Urgellet and El Baridà between 1960 and 1986), resulting in the closure of a large number of houses and the abandonment of several mountain villages. This is a tendency that had begun at the end of the 19th century and which, according to the author, was exacerbated by the economic policies promoted by the Franco regime (Mármol, 2016: 71-72). New concept of the region and entry into the common market The new economic models in the Pyrenees were accompanied by a new political concept of rural areas (Mármol, 2016: 80) that came about in the late 1970’s through specific actions and laws, from dialogues on the protection and safeguarding of these geographical areas at risk of degradation, or disappearing. Del Mármol proposes analysing how these global discourses Poster from the Sant Ermengol fair, showing a decorated milk churn (2010). LA SEU D’URGELL TOWN COUNCIL

Bibliographic reviews

translate locally, favouring, in the specific case of the Catalan Pyrenees, the development of a new local economy based on tourism and the services sector. It is impossible to separate this new use of the region from the discourses and values that accompany it and, in this sense, she looks at the production of rhetoric on rural development based on giving back value to the past, the idealisation of the landscape and the rural way of life, and the concept of the Pyrenees as a recreational area. A process developed from the centres of urban power to a rural periphery that had a bad name during many decades of the twentieth century: “The local perception of the region, built over time by the society that lived and worked in the towns and cities of the Pyrenees, has been replaced by a new urban sensibility, which interprets nature as a lost paradise whose return is longed for” (Mármol, 2016: 167). In this context, the social and economic repercussions of Spain’s entry into the European Economic Community in 1986, which end up transforming the region’s productive landscape, are fundamental. It was a situation largely characterised by incorporation into a common market surplus and a Common Agricultural Policy that restricted dairy production – a quota-based policy – and which had strong quality controls that were difficult for small farms to keep up with. Mármol presents us a complex view of this new reality and its consequences. The incompatibility between traditional methods and the highly productive agricultural model promoted by the European agencies ended up making small farms disappear – many of them sold their quotas to more powerful businesses and stopped production – and this benefited the more competitive farms, those that could modernise and intensify production. This situation was accompanied by alternatives to dairy farming,

like specialisation in meat cows and the development of tourism and rural holiday homes, in both cases promoted by the same organisations, and with specific public policies. The patrimonialisation of milk and cheese Patrimonialisation, the raising of a product to heritage status, is essential in these processes. In this study, it is approached as a key hegemonic discourse for the symbolic resignification of the local reality that the new territorial model needs. The author explains that certain elements of the earlier production system, previously considered obsolete, are selected, isolated and exhibited, being reinterpreted in the new context. “Tourist destinations” are created to attract visitors to the area. Del Mármol studies the role milk and cheese has played in the construction of heritage status in L’Alt Urgell from the 1990’s – with a local economy already based on tourism – up to the present day. She shows how “locally there has been a clear will to identify the dairy past, and in particular the cheesemaker, as a symbol of quality local production” and make L’Alt Urgell the Catalan benchmark for this product (Mármol, 2016: 139). She looks in depth at three aspects of this patrimonialisation of dairy products, promoted by various local actors: the development of a new tradition of artisan cheese production; the restructuring of the products from the Cadí cooperative and the receipt of EU quality distinctions; and the initiation of projects aimed at recovering the county’s dairy past. An example of this latter strategy is the musealisation of milk and cheese through the Espai Ermengol Museum in La Seu d’Urgell, from which is offered, in the final pages of the manuscript, a suggestive critical analysis from the perspective of romantic and abstract discourses on the rural past and the subjectivation of cheese that, in the words of the author, “seems to become a separate entity no

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longer linked to its social and cultural environment” (Mármol, 2016: 188). This ethnographic research invites us to think about the way global dynamics act on local initiatives in the region. It shows, in our opinion, the tension between economic and rural development models that are predetermined by or imposed from global contexts or supranational institutions, and the level to which these are adopted by the area’s inhabitants. The interest in exploiting uses of the past, insists Del Mármol, focuses on the desire of the actors who live in the region today, the present day local societies, to be “inventive when it comes to guaranteeing a viable future” (Mármol, 2016: 193). n

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Frigolé, J. (2005) Dones que anaven pel món. Estudi etnogràfic de les trementinaires de la Vall de la Vansa i Tuixent. Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya (Temes d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 12). Mármol, C. del (2012) Pasados locales, políticas globales. Los procesos de patrimonialización en un valle del Pirineo catalán. Valencia: Germania, AVA. Mármol, C. del (2016) Muntanyes de formatge. Transformacions productives i patrimonialització a l’Urgellet i el Baridà. Barcelona: Generalitat de Catalunya (Temes d’Etnologia de Catalunya, 27).

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Possessed by the devil

The festival of Sant Antoni from the perspective of rave and trance music Francesc Alemany Sureda

R University of Barcelona

eview of the book by Bàrbara Duran Bordoy, Posseïts pel dimoni. La festa de Sant Antoni des de la música rave i trance (2017). Palma: Lleonard Muntaner. Certainly, and as the title itself indicates, any approach to researching the festival of Sant Antoni that is celebrated today by the Majorcans is almost immediately eclipsed by the devil. Besides any aesthetic and ideological sympathies one may have for it, the figure has become a compulsory reference due to the dominant role it has acquired among the representations and the social practices that we usually classify within this framework of traditional popular culture that is so fragile, unpredictable and easy to capitalise on, and which has been rekindled and reinvented in the environment that emerged during the beginning of the

controlled transition towards democracy (the Transition, as some books still call it). For now, the devil is such an emblem, with meanings that span processes related to the construction and consolidation of identity around the island and which, of course, form part of the Catalan cultural framework. On the other hand, it is also true that the current celebration of Sant Antoni in Majorca encompasses many other fundamental elements of community besides imagery of the devil (music, gastronomy, dance, etc.) which also defuse any delusion of pure tradition - understood as something unchangeable, which remains just as our ancestors celebrated it at the beginning of the last century - due in part to the mass participation of young people. Even so, until recently specialists have still tried to study the celebration from a perspective that rewarded either melancholy or essentialism. As if the

Partying, music and youth of Sant Antoni in Manacor (2016). ANTONI RIERA VIVES, CENT PER CENT

today’s celebration was little more than an empty gallery of social meanings or as if it served the same meaning that it could have in the rural Majorca of the past or in those mythical and archetypal times that some people are bound to define as ancestral1. These are interpretations which reviews by new groups - for example, authors such as Antoni Vives or Francesc Vicens2 - have surpassed, no doubt based on the outline that Gabriel Janer started in the book Mallorca. Els dimonis de l’illa (1989) almost thirty years ago. It is precisely at this turning point that I want to contextualize the study Posseïts pel dimoni. La festa de Sant Antoni des de la música rave i trance (2017). The author, Bàrbara Duran Bordoy (Manacor, 1963), is a musician, a school teacher and, until the cuts imposed on the cultural sector prevented her, taught pedagogy and musicology at the Superior Conservatory of Music of the Balearic Islands. Before teaching, she was specifically trained in history of music, with a special interest in the musical transmission of oral tradition - folk songs - and the relationship with the social structure in which it is produced (as in the previous book, Voleu sales? Pervivència i recuperació del cant de salers i quintos al Llevant, Migjorn i Pla de Mallorca, published in 2015). In the book I am currently addressing, published by Lleonard Muntaner earlier this year, Duran uses her intellectual background and life experience - both musical and festive - to carry out research which, like the Sant Antoni party-goers and the “ravers” she tells us about, passes through worlds of dif-

Bibliographic reviews

ferent meaning, which are nevertheless needed. Interdisciplinary, if you like. At the same time as she discusses the world of ethnomusicology, at the hand of Jean Rouget- intimately related to maestros such as C. Levi-Strauss or Michel Leiris -, the author comes purposely closer to the transpersonal psychology of Stanislav Grof. This represents a theoretical projection which, we must not forget, owes much more than its name to the concept of transpersonal psychology introduced by the philosopher and psychologist William James in the classic The Varieties of Religious Experiences (1902), which has had so much influence from the point of view of pragmatism and genealogy of religious anthropology. In the meantime, it was the Americans who ventured to say that when they work - if they are a useful guide for action, if they match reality - religious ideas respond to categories of truth (James, 1994: 238-244).

ence within a framework of collective participation” (Duran, 2017: 28). The reference to possession that the title begins with thus goes beyond any central interest in the representation of the devil and refers to collective practices, through the social analysis not only of the musical factors but also of dance, movement, community and the ingestion of mind-altering substances. Although Duran does not perform any research focused directly on the phenomena of possession, nor does she claim to, through this brilliantly daring metaphor she shows us that, from the very first page (in which she

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surprises us with a short anecdote, an introduction she has experienced), she senses that at the peak moments of the rituals - except those which are more extinct - “the waves of a cheering mass come and go, all singing at the same time, with personal space ceasing to exist; leaving only a communal space, one’s breath invaded, the beating of a single heart, a creature of a hundred or a thousand heads” (ibid. 12). The book’s protagonists and their usual relationships, both for Saint Antoni and the raves, transcend and go through a collective effervescent state that fosters individual forces and imbues them with sanctity: “it is no longer a simple individual who

Despite the theoretical risk that threatens to lead the book to fall into psychological explanations, the mixture gives birth to a clearly anthropological solution which, despite not being the initial aim, becomes one of the good ethnographic books that focus on studying ritual processes and the conveyance of the sacred (which, in the words of Duran, falls under the arguable denomination of spiritual). In fact, in the book’s seventy-nine pages there is no lack of real-life experience or interviews that gives authority to the field work of any anthropologist. With such fundamentals, and through a clear and direct style, the book Posseïts pel dimoni... offers an individual “study of a parallel between the festival of Sant Antoni and the “raves” (parties also involving collective participation where music is one of the essential elements), and investigates how music (common theme) leads us to experience a sense of transcend-

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Cover of the book Posseïts pel dimoni. La festa de Sant Antoni des de la música rave i trance (2017). LLORENÇ GRIS

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speaks, it is a group, incarnated and personified” (Durkheim, 1987: 228). Also, at a general level the book’s reflection goes beyond merely the context of Sant Antoni and “ravers”, addressing humanity as a whole as the author reminds us that “humans have always used music as a portal to access our mind, which we could not otherwise visit” (Duran, 2017:28). Let us remember that when Maurice Bloch analysed the role of song and music in the articulation of authority and ritual functionality from the point of view of a circumcision ceremony of the Merina people of Madagascar, he stated: “To engage in a song in this kind of ceremony implies one moment of will: taking apart, followed by a period where the linguistic action of the song is so passive that it is as though the singer were experiencing language from outside himself” (Bloch, 1989:36). But if we return to the context of raves, which in the book are considered to be phenomena based on the simple act of having a collective experience “more fascination than meaning, sense more than conscious sensibility” (Duran, 2017: 49) - and not so much in the fact of thinking the same or sharing social positions, it is worthwhile emphasising that the author explores the function of music from a bipolar, even paradoxical, point of view. While shared and repeated exposure to raves and trance music can favour transcendence, an evasive movement and a reintegration of the individual into the collective body (as in the example of the bicycle wheel that Marcel Mauss proposed in his work Esquisse d’une théorie générale de la magie (Outline of a General Theory of Magic) or, more literally, J. Romains in the poem Le theatre (The theatre)), “this capacity that music has to enter our interior in an entirely invasive way” can simultaneously cause a transition from the outside to the inside (ibid. 54). This is an individual mental process (deep

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listening, in the book) which Duran is nevertheless sure is the result of a symbolic construction that we cannot unleash from the social structure and the cultural framework in which it occurs. All in all, the two transitions that music leads to are aimed at this very concept, “to create a kind of identity that offers them an alternative way to “be”, to build and lead one’s own existence” (ibid. 39). In integration, in community-based combustion, in those social spaces that Michel Maffesoli senses as confines of emptiness, “melting pots where the mystery of conjunction with otherness can, in an alchemic way, function” (Maffesoli, 2005: 131-132). In fact, the analysis in the book Posseïts pel dimoni...does not greatly different from what the French sociologist said about raves: “the ecstasy aroused by the music, the trance of the bodies, the utilitarianism of certain illicit “products”, all contributes to creating a collective body, that of a collective Me, which integrates the aspects that ordinary civility has dedicated itself to hiding” (ibid. 132). Therefore, when throughout the book Bàrbara Duran compares the world of raves and trance music with the world of those celebrating Sant Antoni (from Artà, from Sa Pobla, from Manacor, from Majorca), she is essentially reminding us of the importance, as well as the necessity, of human beings’ natural collective state. Finally, having contextualised the book and reflected on its central aspects, we must acknowledge that the understanding of today’s Sant Antoni celebration that is presented in the book, partially as a place for healing which dissolves boundaries between the individual and the community and which gives us the illusion of longevity (Duran, 2017: 71), is both an unusual and an appropriate one. In addition, it is along the right lines of a critical study of the popular culture of Majorcans that should be considered

and debated by those of us who want to make anthropological practices in Majorca something serious, with social significance, beyond exotic and superficial uses of the discipline. Bàrbara Duran’s attitude appears at first to be theoretically critical (“the expression “ancestral ritual” is very beautiful, but somewhat devoid of meaning”, ibid. 15), then mentally reflective when she questions the essence of the festival and what must be protected and how to do so, so as to not restrict vitality, popular youth and culture; and, last but not least, it appears politically committed and courageous when she warns us, recalling a recent threat against which we should not lower our guard, that “even those who believe they have gained clear respect for their way of life and their language can awake the next morning after elections to find a government that can decide to systematically work to exterminate any sign of cultural wealth of their own inhabitants” (ibid. 16). n

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bloch, M. (1989) «Symbols, song, dance and features of articulation: Is religion an extreme form of traditional authority». A: Bloch, M. (ed.). Ritual, History and Power. Selected Papers in Anthropology, p. 19-45. Oxford: Berg Publishers. Duran, B. (2017) Posseïts pel dimoni. La festa de Sant Antoni des de la música rave i trance. Palma: Lleonard Muntaner. Durkheim, E. (1987) Les formes elementals de la vida religiosa: el sistema totèmic a Austràlia. Barcelona: Edicions 62. James, W. (1994) Las variedades de la experiencia religiosa. Madrid: Ediciones Península. Versió castellana de J. F. Yvars. Maffesoli, M. (2005) La tajada del diablo: compendio de subversión posmoderna. Mèxic D. F.: Siglo XXI.

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