Diversity and Community
Finding and Forming a South African Music Therapy
Abstract
How does music therapy engage diversity? My participation within three different South African communities offers possibilities, questions and thoughts to music therapists as we form our profession in this country and perhaps also globally. In a diverse, transient community, music is able to draw people together and may help to reconcile our many differences, but can also highlight the fragmentation of this community if all individuals and groups are not considered. As I introduce music therapy to an affluent school community, I find the cultural understandings I share with community members a helpful advantage, and yet I need to consider that by working only in wealthy, resourced communities similar to my own community, I may be highlighting the divide between wealth and poverty. In this way, I compound our countries' struggle with social inequality. As I initiate a short term music therapy group in a community very different to my own, I struggle with questions of whether music therapy has any relevance here, and find myself adapting my thinking, and working closely with the community to form a music therapy practice that has value in this context. These diverse work experiences challenge music therapists to increase our awareness of pertinent national and global issues and the possibilities our profession holds for addressing these issues. We need to explore new communities whilst continually reflecting and questioning all that we do and sharing our different work experiences with one another. Otherwise, whilst our work may hold much value within a particular community, we may find ourselves addressing or compounding national or global issues and may be growing or inhibiting our profession.
Keywords: Music therapy, South Africa, diversity, growing profession, addressing issues.
Introduction
On Sunday I find myself in Midrand, a bustling, developing city between Johannesburg and Tshwane, with a population representing someone from just about every corner of Southern Africa. On Monday my work takes me to a quiet, established and affluent residential area in Johannesburg with tight security. By Wednesday, I am preparing to fight noisy taxi's all the way to Soweto, one of the city's 'townships', where I will stand out as one of only a few white people...
Every week, my work and life brings me to visit each of these diverse contexts. What music therapy is, could be or needs to be in each is not necessarily the same. And yet, all these areas are just a small part of South Africa - one country. How does music therapy engage with diversity?
Though many South Africans still do not have a clear idea about what we do, music therapy as a phrase or as a profession is becoming more familiar in this country. Some wealthier institutions and parents are willing to consider the services of a music therapist and community centres are beginning to ask questions, to offer possibilities. As one of very few music therapists working in the Johannesburg area, I find I need to carefully consider my priorities when deciding which work opportunities to accept. I have many options and there are not music therapists to fill those places I reject. Besides questions around how I could best work in one community, I need to consider whether my resources will be best utilised in one community or another. The choices I make in how I utilise my skills, whilst holding great value for a particular community, may serve to grow or inhibit our profession and may serve to address or compound pertinent issues affecting the country as a whole.
I turn to offer some thoughts, questions and possibilities that my work with groups in Midrand, Johannesburg and Soweto may offer music therapists as we continue to find our ground in this country and perhaps also globally. I begin by considering the culture, not necessarily of distinct individuals within these communities, but in terms of the dominant cultural features that have formed each community and are being formed by these communities. In this sense, culture is not viewed as a stable entity, but as an adapting, changing concept, "enabling and regulating human co-existence" (Stige, 2002, p. 38). I then consider the challenges and future possibilities my work within these communities may hold both for the community of South African music therapists and for the music therapy profession globally.
A Warm Welcome
'All are welcome' is the message broadcast to those who enter the church that I attend in Midrand. The community appears to hold true to this value. Songs, shouts or whispers in all 11 national languages emerge from the colourful crowds that arrive each week, as well as some hints of foreign languages from our neighbouring countries. The community virtually emulates the racial demographic balance of the South African population.[1] There are other differences between those who come to worship. Business managers arrive in top of the range BMW's whilst battered minibus taxi's drop off elderly domestic workers. Families staying in government funded low-cost houses sit beside young couples boasting newly purchased homes in opulent estates.
On first arrival, the community exudes a warmth, a genuine welcome. After some time spent in the community, relationships do not seem to have developed. Midrand is a transient community. Most people are here for contractual work or setting up their first home, before moving on in their careers. The community is new, changing and has not had time to form a stable identity. Families begin to change their customs as they interact and youth begin to date across the race barrier, often to the disappointment of hopeful parents. This community presents exciting possibilities, but is very tentative, easily upturned. Tensions between church members can all too easily be explained in terms of difference. We begin to label: 'those people keep stealing from the church', 'those people are always late', 'those people are arrogant and try to control us, or 'those people never get involved'.
Numerous news reports[2] of tensions between religious, racial or ethnic groups and increasing numbers of immigrants and refugees in many countries suggest that South Africa is not unique in our struggle with the issues of a multicultural community. However, "what does give the South African context a specific flavour...is our history of segregation and the particular cultures that co-exist in this country."(Dos Santos, 2005). The legal apartheid system has left a residue of segregation so deeply embedded in our collective unconscious that if we don't segregate according to race, we split the wealthy and impoverished, or generations, sexes or those with differing view-points. Many of us have grown up in this country without being given the tools to interact with difference, and here, in this community, we are faced with the very difference we have managed to avoid.
As a musician and participant in this community, I occasionally take on the difficult task of leading the musical part of worship services. Individuals in the community hold vastly different views of what a worship service should contain. My song selections for one service might include an English hymn, more popular gospel choruses in English, Afrikaans and Zulu, as well as some traditional Sotho and Tswana hymns. Then there is the music. The more elderly African women prefer to sing without instrumental accompaniment, nothing to taint the quality and power of the voice. Some younger folk think these elderly women are being 'old-fashioned' as any real gospel music has to include a keyboard. The English don't sing if there's no strong accompaniment, preferably an organ? Through the service, I notice how some groups only sing in their own language, whilst others attempt to twist their tongues around unfamiliar clicks and slurs. Often, the worship experience is jerky, jumping from one style to another. Our music team may struggle to adequately represent certain styles, leaving us and those who attempt to sing along frustrated. It is hard to come together and be a diverse, inclusive community.
Though it is difficult to lead the church community musically, I find myself drawing from my music therapy skills. I begin to improvise, to find ways of slightly altering music to flow from one style to the next, holding each distinctive traditional flavour without losing a quality of worship that is continuous. I watch the community and direct the team intuitively. Small (1998) suggests that when we participate in the act of making music together we can communicate something of who we are to one another and we can explore the possibilities and potential of our community and of our relationships with one another. In music, I have experienced moments where the community has come together, where we have begun to sing as one voice, where those who initially refused to sing in a particular style are irrevocably drawn into the community experience - so that I notice them beginning to sway slightly, to sing a little, unable to keep silent in this powerful experience of togetherness that most members of this community long for. I, myself, have come to love Zulu hymns long before I have come to any understanding of the particular cultural nuances of a truly traditional Zulu worship service and the community that celebrates such a service.
Could music therapists play any role within the lengthy process of reconciling the many differences between South Africans? If music is such a powerful medium of drawing people into community, do we not have a responsibility towards using our skills for drawing diverse groups of people together into relationship? (Krige, 2005). From her experiences of working with immigrants in Israel from the former Soviet Union, Amir (2004) suggests that "among the tasks and challenges of music therapy in a multicultural society is helping clients to find their authentic voice and to find their place within society" (p. 265). With communities globally becoming increasingly diverse, this could be some of the most crucial work music therapists could offer.
I need to be careful though. In this Midrand community, if music is not negotiated with consideration towards all community members, it may become a source of division rather than integration (Ruud, 1998). With so many cultures and varied view-points represented in one place, it is almost inevitable that no individual or particular group can be fully represented or heard. Music that is prepared with the intention to draw people together can so easily highlight the fragmentation of this community.
The experience of participating in the Midrand church community can be quite overwhelming. Whilst we may experience powerful moments of togetherness in our worship, relationships are forged more easily when we are able to interact in smaller groups, where we can find some common base on which to relate and so begin to accept and acknowledge our differences. I now turn to consider work with groups in two communities where there is a stronger foundation within the community, from which I can encourage growth through music therapy. Though music therapy is new to both communities, my own background allows me to relate to the first, whereas I come to the second as an outsider.
A Familiar Community
I've set up a circle of chairs to prepare for music therapy with a class of 6-8 year old children in a private remedial school in Johannesburg. The school is situated in an affluent suburb and I feel refreshed after driving to the school through avenues of tall shady Oak trees as the road wound past quiet, clean side-walks and high walls hiding lush gardens and some comfortable, spacious homes. As the security guard let me into the school, he had greeted me with a warm smile, proudly noting the fact that I own some 'real' African djembe drums from Ghana! On my way to the hall, where music therapy sessions are held, I passed a colourful playground, some beautifully tended flower beds, and brightly painted walls and classrooms.
There's a hush in the school as I wait for the group. I listen for the sounds of rushed footsteps as the class of ten children approach, including one Sotho girl, one Indian boy and a majority of English speaking, white children (of which several boys wear yarmulke's, indicating their Jewish religion). Once all the children have found a seat and their teacher has joined the group, I take out a djembe drum to begin our session. One of the girls in the class comments that my hairstyle looks just like her mother's, another child laughs and the noise and activity levels in the class increase. I notice their teacher motioning to me to ask whether she needs to discipline these children, as I move quickly to begin our song, drawing the group to focus on the music. I offer the drum to the Indian boy to play as we greet him. He looks at it with distaste, folds his arms and states emphatically that he will only participate in Rock and Roll, because this is the only music that can be considered music at all. As I show him that he could beat the drum to make our greeting song sound like Rock and Roll he's happy. We end our greeting and I ask if anyone knows the song 'Bare Necessities'. The usually quiet Sotho girl shouts out that she does, speaking English with more clarity in her pronunciation than many of those who speak English as a first language. Most of the group have watched the movie, 'Jungle Book', from which I have taken our song and children start to offer a number of scenario's from the story as I prepare to start singing.
The following setting may sound as diverse as the community I presented before this if I note the races of the children, their different family customs or religious affiliation. As with any group situation, I need to heed these differences. But, in this established urban community I find a need to consider a shared urban culture that seems to hold a stronger influence in the lives of these children (Dos Santos, 2005). The fact that their parents are able to afford the fees for this private school suggests that these children all belong to relatively wealthy families. Most share a familiarity with a number of popular TV programs and movies and most spend their free time playing sports at clubs or going to the coast for holidays. They attended English pre-schools from a young age and can all recite the same nursery rhymes or songs. I grew up in a similar community and find I have an advantage in terms of relating to certain aspects of these children's lives. The group are comfortable with my role, comparing me to parental figures or teachers. My prior experiences of work in schools and tertiary academic studies further allow me to share a common discourse with teachers and other therapists working at the school.
I still need to negotiate the functioning of the group within the community. Though I may identify with these children and their teachers on one level, as a music therapist I bring something new to this school, just as this particular school offers a new experience for me. The teachers here work in a very structured manner to help children to regulate their behaviour and the very presence of instruments and the chance to 'play the drum any way you want' offers children something different. The fact that I can pick appropriate songs, that I identify with stories that children tell me or understand the way teachers speak does not mean that we will immediately come to an understanding about what music therapy is, or how it needs to adapt to become something that is most helpful to these children.
As I struggle to introduce and form music therapy within this community, I find it extremely helpful that I can identify with some aspects of what seems to be the dominant culture. The cultural 'common ground' I share with teachers and pupils is a valuable resource on which I can begin to build relationships. Many parents, private schools and institutions in Johannesburg are also willing to spend money on introducing new and innovative ideas to help their children, pupils or residents to be able to participate better in their community. With so few music therapists in our country, there is plenty of such work available. And this work is extremely valuable. The community may be wealthy (perhaps also giving the impression of being well off, or healthy), but those I work with have been marginalised due to disabilities (in this case, learning disabilities) and music therapy can serve to help these children to become integrated with their communities again (Stige, 2002). Perhaps working within our own communities forms a useful starting point for music therapy. In this way, our own cultural experiences can inform and guide how we utilise therapeutic skills, enabling us to form a music therapy that belongs to the community (Proctor, 2004).
This work also poses some difficult questions. Those who are part of the school community are able to pay high school fees, and so earn an 'exclusive' place in the community. Though the majority of people belonging in this community are white (emulating the old system of apartheid), perhaps a more defined division would be in terms of wealth. Poverty is excluded and here is the danger of forming another 'apartheid', this time not due to race, but according to class, or wealth (Parenzee & Wilhelm-Solomon, 2004). Since our country has become a democracy, South Africa has seen a widening gap between the rich and poor, so that "this level of inequality is comparable with the most unequal societies in the world" (Schwabe, 2004). Poverty, or "the inability to maintain a minimal standard of living" affects nearly half of our population and brings with it many related difficulties such as ill health, a lack of power, high levels of anxiety or stress, violence and a lack of access to assets or services (May, 1998). Many wealthy communities have cordoned off our suburbs with booms or put up high walls with electric fences around our properties, outwardly to limit the amount of crime, but possibly also to exclude ourselves from the constant and stressful signs of poverty in our country.
All music therapists currently working in our country are white (Dos Santos, 2005) and most come from relatively wealthy communities (we could all afford to study to the masters level), which implies that if we don't begin to work in communities that are different from our own, our profession will remain within communities that make up very little of the South African population, in this way, emphasising the divide between poverty and wealth. Forinash (2004) asks whether music therapy as a profession has any relation to politics. In a socially unequal society such as South Africa, the collective cultural backgrounds of music therapists and the choices we make in terms of our particular work contexts become political statements, whether we engage consciously with politics or not.
As I work amongst wealthy people, I am often not the only therapist available. It may seem unreasonable that those who already have so many options are afforded yet another, whilst many in this country have access to few such resources (Stige, 2004). Whilst a goal of music therapy could be to integrate isolated individuals into groups or communities, do we need to consider whether there are entire communities (geographical, or cultural) that are not heard by music therapy, who cannot access what we have to offer, who we exclude through the way we talk about or think about our work or through the contexts where we choose to offer our services?
Could my resources be best utilised in one community or another? And, even in my work with those included in wealthy, resourced communities, do I not need to hold in mind those we exclude as possibly affecting our social health? Is music therapy a luxury available only to those who have the resources to afford our services, or do we need to find new ways of working that allow those who are not a part of our communities the opportunity of benefiting from our skills? (Krige, 2005). I turn to explore some work with a group that is removed from my own culture in many ways.
Unfamiliar Territory
I leave behind my own suburb's high walls and familiar landmarks as I drive towards Soweto where I will be offering short term therapy to a group of teenage boys. This work forms part of a diversion programme for teenagers who have committed sexual offences and ten sessions of music therapy will make up their last requirement for completing the programme. My role is to offer a space where this group can openly express themselves and feel valued, where they can learn to work together in a positive way, offering them alternative options for their future. On the way, I stop to pick up the counsellor who will work with me. He has the advantages of a shared culture and already existent relationship with the group and he can speak Zulu - the home language of most in the group (though most are also relatively proficient in English).
As we approach Soweto, I notice wisps of smoke streaming up above clusters of corrugated iron shacks that spread out to create numerous informal settlements. Between shacks, I notice dogs, goats and chickens running across eroded dust roads, children rushing about, women working busily in tiny vegetable patches. We turn into the township and the scenery changes. Here, I swerve around rows of taxi's waiting for clients. The streets are lined with crowds of people, whilst hawkers eagerly lay out their goods, chatting noisily to each other. Then we pass some small residential houses surrounded by grassy patches, or a dusty yard, some with low walls and perhaps a slightly rusty gate.
After a brief discussion about past sessions (including my ongoing attempts at explaining what it is I do as a music therapist), the counsellor and I arrive at the clinic where this group will be held. I have had to wait for the counsellor to complete some other important work (which all depended on who arrived to see him that day), and the session starts when we arrive (any time after three in the afternoon). Before therapy has begun, I've already had to re-address my assumptions about session norms. There is no fixed time for sessions to start and the group and I will set up our therapy space together, so that this process becomes a part of the session itself. I've also had to re-think the way I speak about and introduce music therapy to the counsellor, who's past experiences and training have been different to my own.
The group is waiting for us inside the clinic. There's a lot of dialogue and some sounds of drums being tapped or maracas shaken as they help to carry instruments from my car and set up. I am no part of the dialogue - it's all Zulu, a language of which I understand very little. As we set up, I reflect briefly on my plans for this session. The group has written a story together and their choice of theme was about a band that persevered through a lot of difficulties and eventually became famous. I want to offer this group the chance to write a song together - a song that makes them feel famous!
As we begin to write our song I feel the energy in the group fading quickly. No-one offers any ideas, perhaps as a means of indicating that I do not hold any power in this group, or possibly due to a lack of understanding of my instructions, offered in English. Slowly, after some uncomfortable moments in which a number of my suggestions and options have received unimpressed glances, one boy takes the lead. He murmurs some words to a friend in Zulu, leans forward, then offers a line in English to start us off. Another group member adds a Zulu line and the counsellor translates, with some difficulty. Then the group gets more involved. The language switches to Zulu and suggestions begin to come so quickly that it would be ludicrous to expect constant translations. I see the group's energy directed to this process. Something good is happening here - though the words may hold little meaning for me. I feel excluded and unsure how to interact (if at all), as an English speaker, as a white female amongst this group of black males, even as a therapist. My only role seems to be to watch and listen, strumming my guitar quietly to support a vocal line at the group's request. Even here, the group keeps changing the way I accompany them. This is not my music and I find it hard to offer the group accompaniment that resonates with their imagined musical product.
I am excluded from this group in many ways. Our languages, sexes, races, our thoughts about music and even our understandings of time and session norms all differ. There seems to be no foundation for us to build relationships and I often have to work through the counsellor to get ideas across. At times I become discouraged with this group. I wonder if I am wasting time, driving into this community boasting a car loaded with instruments and offering my music to those who would probably prefer to have someone they could relate to more easily doing music with them. Should I rather focus my time on training musicians from this community to do this work? The skills I have to offer can then be used more extensively by those who relate more closely to the culture. Is it helpful to enter this community with instruments and session plans or should I rather enter with nothing, so that my resources do not appear to outdo what the community has to offer, and so that we can build a shared music together? (Pavlicevic, 2001). My role in this group feels small, insignificant and not always comfortable. But is it unnecessary?
The boys who took a strong lead in our song-writing process have missed a few sessions and the group has opted to leave the song incomplete, preferring to spend time on group improvisations. For six sessions their joint improvised music was loud, aggressively competitive, impatient and quite chaotic. For six sessions, I had felt unable to hold this music, my interventions passed by unheard. In this, our seventh session, the group seems to grow tired of the monotony of their group expressions. For a moment, the music becomes still and almost a little nervous as if waiting for something new. The moment invites me to take up my role as music therapist. I move to the keyboard and offer a slow, quiet, but definite bass line, then a melody - something between 'my' music and 'theirs' in style, tuning into the group's quietness. The quiet playing gradually gains definition, it becomes less tentative and more expressive. The group relaxes and allows me to lead or to make music alongside them, as group members explore some very different emotional expressions through their playing. After this session, the group begins to give me more space to be a part of their music, realising that my role can help them to risk, to explore, to grow. I cannot enter this group with assumptions about how to address their needs, but they have found a place where my skills have value for them. I constantly need to sense, to improvise, to learn and to adapt my skills as the group leads, just as the group constantly needs to decide where and how to include what I have to offer. My difference, however, has further challenged this group to move forward, not only in terms of their own personal growth, but in learning how to accept and deal with difference as they allow me and all the resources I bring with me to come and be a small part of their lives and group.
I enter this community and this therapy process cautiously, holding in mind the possibility that music therapy may not be relevant in this situation, or perhaps that my music therapy does not have any value in this group. If what I have to offer is worthwhile, however, I may be able to establish, adapt and grow a music therapy here that becomes a valuable part of the life of one more community. As music therapists become involved in working in diverse communities, music therapy may find it's place more firmly embedded in many communities and countries as it becomes more established as a profession globally. Or, music therapy may begin to change, may be formed by these communities into something very different.
Conclusion
How and in which communities each music therapist works may be a question of individual choice and personality or even convenience. There are many choices available (especially in countries such as South Africa, where this profession is only beginning to form) and work possibilities can be and have been created in different communities. And yet, if music therapists do not begin to consider our work within a broader social context, we may be limiting this profession to certain communities and certain ways of working or thinking. Whilst offering valuable services within a community, we may then find ourselves unknowingly contributing to global or national issues such as segregation (as much as we attempt to address these very issues within our own therapy groups). This is not to suggest that all music therapists need to seek out work in a range of different communities, but rather that we need to carefully consider our work in any community. In Midrand I feel a need to struggle against my own temptation to simply offer the community music I enjoy and allow those who feel marginalised to find communities better suited to meeting their needs, so encouraging segregation. In Johannesburg, I find it easy to become ignorant of the poverty that surrounds me, allowing this ignorance to excuse my lack of investment in impoverished communities, increasing the divide between rich and poor. In Soweto, I may buy into an assumed role of being the provider of skills and material resources, and so encourage apathy within this community, promoting a divide between those who are 'qualified' and 'unqualified'.
The diverse experiences of my own work in South Africa challenge me to increase my awareness of the issues our country faces and the possibilities our profession holds for addressing these issues. Here lies a challenge for music therapists to find new contexts where our work may (or may not) have value, whilst continually questioning, assessing, and adapting to suit the needs of each community and our country as a whole. Further, we need to share stories and experiences and dialogue with one another so that in the future we will be able to reflect on what music therapy has become because of a thoughtful process. Whether we become a profession as diverse as the contexts in which we work or find common ground, let's find and purposefully engage the beat of our communities and countries in all their rich diversity.
Notes
[1] The Statistics South Africa (2006) estimate for the Racial Demographics of the South African population , mid-year 2006 is as follows: African - 79.5%; White - 9.2%; Coloured - 8.9%, Indian/Asian - 2.5%.
[2] Some recent reports note violent racial tensions in Australia between Australians and Australian-Arab Muslims (Greenlees, 2006), as well as America (Asthana, 2006) and Europe's (Wheatcroft, 2005) struggles with increasing numbers of immigrants.
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