Mercédès Pavlicevic, 1955-2018. Photo: Private
We publish this issue of
In 1999, when I started to explore the possibility of establishing an inclusive and
international open access journal of music therapy, together with Carolyn Kenny (another
pioneer who we sadly have lost the last few months), one of the first things we decided was
that there should be editors from each continent. We did not need a long time to sort out
which person in Africa we wanted to invite. At the time, Mercédès Pavlicevic was the head
of the first music therapy education program on the African continent. She was a prominent
figure in music therapy internationally, and her self-critical reflexivity about how music
therapy is culturally situated fit very well with the vision we had for a new world forum
for music therapy. The first paragraph of the first piece Mercédès wrote for the very first
issue of
My neighbour at Pretoria University Music Department is Meki Nzwei. Master drummer and
music ethnologist, he speaks with passion and authority as befits an elder in Africa. We
disagree on many things. And the more I listen to what it is that I disagree with, the
more I think he has a point or two. Meki, who hails from Nigeria, maintains that music
in Africa is healing, and what is music therapy other than some colonial import? Why is
music therapy separate from music-making? Why is it calling itself thus in South Africa,
instead of imbibing African music-healing traditions? My blood pressure rises instantly,
and I suggest to him that perhaps African music-healing, too, might absorb something
from music therapy. This is where Meki and I are at the moment. I think that this is
where music therapy in South Africa – and much of Africa – is at the moment (
Re-reading this today, I feel that this paragraph captures the spirit of Mercédès, both as a person and as a scholar. She was (almost) always intensely engaged in the moment, but with a capacity to step back and reflect. She was (almost) always open, but in ways that did not step back from debate and challenge.
At the time, the editors regularly wrote columns, and the two first columns Mercédès wrote
for
In “Moments”, Mercédès shared her experience of social-musical situations of particular
intensity, in hospital wards and in the community: “These moments are treasures; they are
the sacred generosity of this extraordinary Continent. They happen all the time” (
In the column “Open Doors,” Mercédès shared experiences of being drawn to, included in, and excluded from various social-musical situations. Again, she was able to step back and reflect, and to introduce thought-provoking perspectives on what music therapy perhaps could be:
There are multiple analogies, of course. As a music therapist, I think of creating the
'therapeutic space' – and how exclusive or permeable is this? In our minds? Do we allow
the client's world – the tangible world, to be in this space? Do we really? I think of
music therapy sessions in schools – where children begged me to come to music therapy,
because they heard the sessions were fun – and I had to say 'not this time, 'not today',
week after week. Until they stopped asking. They remained 'outside'. I think of our
different music therapy ideologies and trainings – and how flexible we are in really
absorbing and inviting some 'other' approach into our own. I think of our work here in
South Africa, and the enormous mind shifts in both ourselves and clients, in order to
'make music' together in a way that 'feels right' to all of us in the room – in fact,
not in 'the room' – because one of the things I've learned is that the door needs to be
left open. Others might want to join in (
Concluding note: Mercédès worked with