Neoliberalism is the root of all evil, and the arts have borne the brunt of it. You take any issue in the world and neoliberalism will always be sitting at the end. It’s like following a trail of wrappers to find a smug, chubby lil kid with chocolate smeared on its face. It’s why we ended up with a neoliberalism themed issue of Critic last year; all roads lead back to it. That and the patriarchy.
Neoliberalism is a stupidly complex term to wrap your head around, especially if you haven’t encountered it before. Even two of my second-year Geography lecturers, who taught an entire paper dedicated to the nasty thing, said they still struggled since it is so multifaceted – but it’s entirely possible they were just saying this upon seeing our dumbstruck faces to try to make us feel better. Put simply, neoliberalism is the capitalist system that froths the market, means public services are privatised, and the disadvantaged are told to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.
Much like your mate’s denial that they caught the Re-Ori mid-winter flu, neoliberalism also manifests as a mindset – one on a massive scale. It permeates fucking everything. Neoliberalism prioritises endless productivity above all else, and puts a certain monetary value on that productivity. Living in a neoliberal world, it’s likely you’ve internalised it to the point that it’s the voice in your head making you feel guilty for any moment you are not being useful. And useful isn’t learning a song on the guitar or admiring the sunset with your loved ones. No, it’s the grindset; 5-9 before your 9-5!
For me, the voice of neoliberalism has gotten me so good that I’m annoyed if I'm not exercising MAX EFFICIENCY at all times. If I’m not multitasking, it’s simply not good enough. An example of this is my morning routine, which often sees me brushing my teeth on the toilet, or simultaneously drinking coffee and doing my makeup with one eye trained on The Spinoff’s daily newsletter. You’ll often find me frozen in one spot, overwhelmed with strategizing how to most efficiently complete the tasks I need to – ironically wasting time in the process.
Where was I going with this? Oh – yes. Fuck neoliberalism, because it dictates how we’re spending our time, and what we place value on as a society – not only down to my bathroom habits, but what institutions like our esteemed Otago University pours its resources into as well (arguably more important). Tertiary education began as a public good, valuing all knowledge. But since its privatisation during the Rogernomics fuckery of the ‘80s, Unis have had to become increasingly tight-pocketed – forced to function like a business, and not a public good.
I sat in a Uni Council meeting last Tuesday listening to Pro-Vice-Chancellor of the Sciences Richard Barker list with pride the efficient way he’d “aggressively consolidated” science degrees, knowing that part of that was cutting the Science Communication program I went through. I still remember the devastation on my film teacher’s face, who likely made the Division of Sciences’ ‘Our People, Our Place’ video that Tony was oh so proud of for its “marketability”.
Look at what was the first to be sacrificed on the chopping block when savings needed to be made: languages and cultural studies papers. Other degrees are valued more. Why? Because they’ll get you a high paying job. A useful job. Arts are side hustles, allowed less and less time and resources as we become busier with those productive jobs.
Safe to say, the environment for arts at the moment is pretty depressing. The fact that Act’s spokesperson for the arts took 20 minutes to think of a single New Zealand author is just one example of how little our current Government values the sector. Which is why it’s so important to show up for events like the New Zealand Young Writers Festival that’s going to be held in Dunedin in September. We’re pretty isolated down here in ol’ Duds, so the fact that nationally acclaimed writers are travelling down for this is no small thing.
I don’t know about you, but I’d hate to imagine a world without music, or colourful murals like the one gracing the side of Thirsty, or – hell – even Critic could be considered an art and what would you do without your weekly shitposters? There is no way we’d be able to put together the magazine without being paid. Continue to show up for the arts and place value in them, even while our leaders disregard it.