Reading Korra in Tehran

I try to avoid "geeking out" over my favorite TV shows (and trust me, I could if I wanted to) in my blog posts, but this was simply too intriguing to avoid. The other day, I noticed that Mike DiMartino, the creator of my favorite animated show "The Legend of Korra," had started his own blog about the series and about life. Half hoping for some insight about the show and half simply geeking out, I decided to follow his blog. Turns out his most recent post not only struck a chord with my life but also related immensely to my recent study of modern Iran in English class. Relevance notwithstanding, DiMartino touches on something we could all use a bit more of.

[If you would like to visit DiMartino's blog post, click here. Highly intriguing (if you can get past the fandom nerdiness)!]

Just for some background, our English class is currently reading Azar Nafisi's Reading Lolita in Tehran. Following the story of several Iranian women who create a reading group in silent objection to the fundamentalist Islamic regime, Reading Lolita in Tehran provides key insight into the power of fiction and storytelling in a confusing and often unfair world. The world around this small reading group is considered to be a farce—a false reality—whereas the women's real selves are revealed within. In reference to Nabokov's Invitation to a Beheading, Nafisi claims the women are living in a "staged world," wherein the "only window to another universe is... writing."

This "staged world" clearly lends itself well to the umbrella of performance. What was not immediately evident to me, however, was how well this related to DiMartino's blog. What I originally thought would simply be a blog about upcoming developments in the new season of "Legend of Korra" has pleasantly surprised me, and DiMartino, too, talks about the power of storytelling and myth, quoting Joseph Campbell's "The Power of Myth" liberally. DiMartino claims, "Stories, when made with love and integrity, contain the possibility to effect personal and societal change."

Nafisi certainly would not disagree. Although our class is but one hundred or so pages into the book thus far, Nafisi has already revealed to us the vast restrictions placed on women in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Each day, as the women enter the living room to discuss literature, they cast off the black attire and veils that they are forced to wear outside. Nafisi claims these women had almost become solely defined by the veils they wore; in essence, the fundamentalist regime had stolen their individuality—stolen their stories. Only through fiction (or what DiMartino calls "myth"), can these women embrace the world around them as well as themselves. It's a powerful message to women in fundamentalist nations around the world, specifically Iran.

In his post, DiMartino mentions how strength lies in an individual's stories. In Iran, these stories are stolen from the individual, and the women in Nafisi's book feel worthless as a result. The upcoming season of Legend of Korra is titled "Change," and it is set to deal with the power that an individual (Korra herself) holds to change the world. I can't wait to see how it further relates to Reading Lolita in Tehran!

Museums are the Absolute Truth!!!

Woman sleeps in a glass box in a modern museum.
Performance exists in museums, too!

I tend to think of museums as nothing more than the absolute truth—neutral representations of what is or what was. This is a common assumption to have; museums are often considered the closest we can get to replicating actual events, so we tend to trust their portrayals. However, I have found that museums relate heavily to performance. In trying to replicate "the absolute truth," museum curators assign greater meaning to certain objects, inserting both their own biases and the biases of the actual museums into the mix. The museum is the stage, the exhibit items are the performers, and the curator is the invaluable director.

One of the best examples of performance at museums is seen at Colonial Williamsburg. This is more of "surface-level" performance, as museum actors quite literally re-enacting the everyday life of colonials. However, the site is not capturing the whole truth. It is performing—choosing which aspects of colonial life hold the most relevance and meaning in a modern setting. Is this wrong? Should small kids (the site's target audience) be exposed to the more gruesome realities—such as slavery and Indian conflict—of the colonial era? This becomes a question not of whether the "absolute truth" is obtainable, but rather if we want to obtain the absolute truth at all.

In more traditional museums, the same dilemma arises. Our English class has been studying the crucial role of the curator as the intermediary between reality and museum visitors. The power of the curator surprised me, as we often think of educating the public as museums' ultimate goal. The optimist in me would like to agree, however the pessimist in me knows that there are countless other factors to consider. Although a majority of museums in the US are non-profit, that doesn't mean that money is not a concern. In order to draw people (a.k.a. money) in, curators must adjust their plans to accommodate the knowledge and interests of the public.

All museums put on some type of performance. Some portrayals are more accurate than others, but effectively showcasing a historical event, culture, or idea in its entirety is nearly impossible by all standards. Performance is inevitable, and it is up to museum curators to balance performance and reality. Like my theatre director Ms. Robinson, they have a great burden to carry. A performance can be misleading, be it on the stage, in a discussion, or in a museum. We must remember that museums are not the absolute truth.