Presently, in the case of the WikiLeaks founder, Julian Assange, the central, moral question seems to be what the price of leaking damning and confidential state-secrets should be. In the matter to have him extradited from the United Kingdom (‘U.K.’) to the United States of America (‘U.S.A’), to which these secrets belonged, the London High Court found the limit to be before direct execution. So, following the request for assurance by the London High Court that it would not cost his life, U.S.A would likely have the 52-year-old Assange pay with 30 to 40 years in prison. Realistically, this is still a death sentence for Assange for the crime of exposing the war crimes and other confidential horrors U.S.A has committed.
Yet one Andrei Molodkin, a politically active Russian artist, has placed a wager, or hostage, against these two nations’ justice systems. Already, he has amassed an estimated forty-five million dollars of artworks from legendary artists such as Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, and Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn; in addition to pieces from modern artists who shares the recalcitrant attitude of Molodkin, like Santiago Sierra. Works from these artists amongst others, all of which are donated, constitute project ‘Dead Man’s Switch’.
The purpose of this project is to ensure and assure that Julian Assange dies neither in Belmarsh nor any other prison. If he were to, these precious art works would be automatically reduced to sludge within the chemical spray of the safe wherein Molodkin has them stored. While is not clear whether Molodkin’s concern for Assange’s health arises only from Assange’s weakening physical and mental state in Belmarsh prison, or fear of covert, ruthless operations by interested parties, Molodkin has made it evident that Assange’s extradition stands as a statement: should Assange be delivered to U.S.A, democracy will have been transgressed.
The theme of art as human expression and, more specifically, protest is not foreign to this blog. However, the idea of holding art ransom has not yet been explored. It is a rising trend for those disempowered and dissatisfied with the failure of governments, societies, and the world at large to express their desperate concerns through art – be it art’s defacement or creation. Regrettably, apropos to the protest art decrying the fossil-fuel industry, the success of this form of protest has not been fruitful. The impact of ‘Dead Man’s Switch’, however, is yet to be seen with the next hearing of Assange’s matter set for the 20th of May 2024 in the London High Court. (Although the probability that the Court will dignify the project with any obiter dictum is low).
More philosophically, art as protest is intimately connected to violence. The connection between art and violence is a particularly popular modern focus, by no means only a modern phenomenon, and the violence most often imbricated in protest art is institutional violence. Interestingly, ‘Dead Man’s Switch’ further diverges from the protest art detailed in Ntsiki Ntuli’s post, ‘Protest art or vandalism?’, on this same blog, given that the art that stands to be liquidated has been donated to the cause. Bar an unconsidered law that states otherwise, it would seem that Molodkin’s project is legal. While it does stand as a direct challenge to the two legal institutions, it can be said to neither frustrate the ends of justice nor transgress any known-of-to-us statutes of the U.K. or European Union, or the English common law. Perhaps this protest art could even be construed as an eruption of the boni mores of Europe in conjunction with the protestors that rallied around the London High Court for the two days of Assange’s most recent hearing in February.
Notwithstanding the efficacy of ‘Dead Man’s Switch’, it is simple to state that this form of protest art is largely unoffensive – presuming support for private ownership and the corresponding entitlement to use and dispose of one’s property as allowed within the law. In fact, in contrast to the nonconsensual ruin of art held open to the public, this sacrifice of private art is in reality preferable to the defacement of unimplicated, unproblematic public art, which some may cavalierly call vandalism. For, in avoiding the violation of what is publicly enjoyed, the only entitlements breached are those voluntarily given – the violence limited, yet (maybe) effective.  While the project remains essentially theoretical pending its avoidable execution, should the ‘red line’, as Molodkin refers to, be crossed, the voluntary martyrdom of these invaluable works will likely – and hopefully – be remembered as symbols of protest against the atrocities that nations commit. A painful but impressive reminder of arts connection to violence.
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