Diversity and inclusion work is not always easy. It is “not gezellig” says Aminata Cairo, the new lector of Social Justice and Diversity at the AHK.

This was also recently the case at a symposium on diversity at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. On November 17, 2022, the symposium 'From exclusive to inclusive; diversity and inclusiveness in classical music' took place at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. According to the Concertgebouw, this is the first time that the classical music sector has organized a symposium on this subject.

The symposium is introduced on the website as follows:

How can the world of classical music become more inclusive? That question is perhaps more pressing than ever today. Because the classical music sector wants to be there for everyone. But not everyone feels welcome yet. That's an inconvenient truth. What can we do to bring about this much-needed change?

The introduction to the website alone raises a thousand questions: why is it now perhaps more pressing than ever? Why maybe? And why is it (only) now urgent and necessary? Is this a question based on a substantive and intrinsic motivation to change the sector? Or is it urgent and necessary because otherwise the money tap will be turned off, given that nowadays the Code Diversity and Inclusion in cultural subsidy land enforces that institutions relate to today's society? And how does the classical music sector want to be there for everyone? What does that mean? That anyone can come to the party, but must adhere to the dress code? Because who doesn't feel welcome? Or if we turn the question around: who does feel welcome? (Young climate activists?)

This symposium was apparently intended for people from the Classical Music Sector, but it remains a bit vague as to who they are, exactly. Who is being addressed? The group of people who maintain the dominant norm in the classical music sector?

Struggling with all these questions, but at the same time open to the new experience, I joined the audience for the first symposium on diversity and inclusion in the classical music sector. There was a decent line up with speakers and panels and two moderators. Some conversations and contributions were sharper than others. Unfortunately, it did not reach a real deep layer - there were certainly openings for it - but the discomfort was perhaps too great an obstacle. So the audience sat, listened and questions were asked from the audience at built-in moments, but these really had to be pulled out. Despite the moderators' attempts to probe and ask questions, sometimes with an open and honest contribution from the panel members (as Djuwa Mroivili did), the afternoon dragged on a bit.

It didn't get very exciting - and we just didn't manage to get to the key question: "What can we do to realize this much-needed change?"

But there was one last part left. It was announced in advance that all those present would "do" something. I had been looking forward to making music with the Amsterdam Andalusian Orchestra - but they only showed up to play for a short while and then disappeared again. No, something else was devised for us, namely a kind of accelerated crash course in 'diversity and inclusion' with a storytelling-like introduction and a PowerPoint with concepts such as assimilation. This is where things really started to go down hill.

The “do part” consisted of an assignment to share with the person next to you in the room when you last experienced a sense of exclusion. You had quite a lot of time for this. At one point we were given three more minutes. Then the question was asked: Who wants to share something?

Silence.

A brown hand goes up.

'... Wouldn't it be better to turn the question around - since exclusion is the daily reality for me - so: when was the last time you excluded someone?'.

“We will eventually get there”, was the reaction of the white speaker - and she continued with her Powerpoint.

It got very uncomfortable. Painful. Not “gezellig”. People wanted to start the conversation, but it didn't work. Cries such as "I see this as a learning opportunity" and "black pain" were shouted by white people in the room. It led to even more outrage and distance between those present. When the speaker explained that she herself knew what exclusion was because she had lived in Asia, the floodgates were opened. The people of color got up, walked out. The workshop leader on stage froze, did not get further than the PowerPoint text, and the organizing staff of the symposium neatly sat on the side lines. They never jumped in. If one of the moderators hadn't initiated a change of course, we might still be there.

Unfortunately, answers to the afternoon's question “What can we do to bring about this much-needed change?” were never forthcoming.

I was amazed at how it was dealt with immediately afterwards during the social cocktail hour, from people being deeply moved to networking or the sincere and not so sincere messages on LinkedIn afterwards. It all passed in review. Back at the lectorate, the messages of “have you heard about the Concertgebouw” had already arrived. Conversations within the lectorate helped to give it all a place and to not see the situation as just “another thing that went wrong once again” or an indication of how bad the culture sector is. "This is work and sometimes it's not gezellig," Dr. Cairo introduces the conversation. We discuss how change requires breaking patterns and that this can come with pain and discomfort. The challenge is to use that opening for change.

That might not have happened here, but that is the task of this lectorate, to give people in the culture and arts sector those tools. The feelings of discomfort are not even the biggest obstacle, it is explained, but how we must do it without judging others and putting them away for their mistakes. How do we stay sensitive and still connected despite the stupidities we might encounter along the journey? Perhaps that is the first question we should address.

Gabriela Acosta Camacho is part of the research team of the lectorate of Social Justice and Diversity in the Arts.