Rebekah Ubuntu

UAL, UK.

 

Find Rebekah online: @rebekahubuntu

 

Find out more about Rebekah here: rebekahubuntu.com

Rebekah Ubuntu is a multidisciplinary sound artist and university lecturer. Their practice explores speculative fiction through electronic music, sound art, voice, performance, installation, text, songwriting and the moving image.

 

Most recently, Tate Modern commissioned Rebekah to create ‘Despair, Hope and Healing’, an audiovisual performance exploring climate justice in response to the Olafur Eliasson exhibit. In tandem with this performance, Tate Modern’s Uniqlo Lates invited them to discuss the influence of Afrofuturism in their work.

 

Rebekah’s work has featured at BBC Radio 1, Tate Modern, Tate Britain, Wellcome Collection, Barbican Centre, The Foundation for Art and Creative Technology, New Art Exchange, Copeland Gallery, London’s Serpentine Galleries and European arts institutions.

 

A speculative conversation unfolds between two of my selves: Me One and Me Too.

 

Me One is my cyborg persona.

 

Me Too is my persona of lived experience.

 

The two engage in an autoethnographic dialogue modelled after bell hook’s self-interview in Chapter 4 of her renowned book ‘Teaching to Transgress’ (1994).

 

Me One: Hi Me Too. Lovely to be here with you in our cosy cocoon. I want the people reading this to know about you as an artist. Can you describe your current creative practice?

 

Me Too: Thanks Me One! Our cocoon is literally my favourite place and there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you! My lived experience is the compass and anchor for my work which spans sound art, sound design, music composition, installation, performance, costume, text and video. I have just completed an Afrofuturist EP exploring an ever-present paradox in my life: belonging and unbelonging. For me, the latter has been most prevalent. I am seeking to counter a lifetime’s unbelonging by creating worlds where I do belong. I have been fortunate to share the burgeoning fruits of this project with commissions from the Barbican Centre, the Wellcome Collection and Nottingham’s New Art Exchange.

 

Me One: To segue into our conversation, I want to start by congratulating you on therapy. I know it’s been a journey! Can you tell me a bit about it?

 

Me Too: Thank you! Yes, it has! I have been in trauma-based therapy for two-years and have undergone more transformations during this time than any prior period in my life. Trauma and abuse are known to dissociate and fragment a person’s psyche. Much of my trauma is a consequence of the eighteen years I spent in foster care. Prior to therapy, I couldn’t articulate the nuances of my lived experience but two-years in, I am developing tools, language and courage to confront and express the shame and stigma associated with my disabilities and upbringing.

 

Me One: You’ve mentioned shame and stigma. How do you cope with it in your day to day?

 

Me Too: I have learned that disclosing my disabilities and upbringing, especially Autism and my experiences of foster care, provokes discomfort in others. I have learned that it is better to mask my background and how my disabilities want to express themselves (social conformity), than risk being targeted, bullied or socially shunned. I prioritise social safety despite the ramifications to my wellbeing – chronic pain, exhaustion and poor emotional health. It doesn’t seem like a fair trade-off but when you’ve been repeatedly hurt like I have, making sacrifices to stay safe feels very necessary. Stigma is real and brutal.

 

Me One: Can you describe some of the nuances in your identity and upbringing in relation to disability?

 

Me Too: Sure, well, none of my experiences as a disabled person can be divorced from intersectional identity politics. I am Black, I am read as a woman, I am non-binary and gender non-conforming, I am queer, I am from an underclass and working-class background, I am a survivor of abuse and a survivor of the UK’s fostering system, I was a young carer to a single parent and I am an orphan. To say I am disabled and not much else doesn’t make sense. How can it make sense to anyone? There is no on/off switch for my disabilities or my coexisting identities. I am all of the above (and more) all of the time.

 

There is very poor research in the area of fostered children, less still for those who are disabled, Black, read as female and from low economic backgrounds. I was fostered and went to school in one of the poorest boroughs in London. My foster carers’ internalised stigma associated with chronic health conditions, learning differences and mental health issues meant I was punished for the way my disabilities presented. The stress of this on my body and psyche led to repeat hospitalisations, yet I remained undiagnosed until I left the fostering system and was able to take independent charge of my health.

 

In primary school, I was labelled a ‘problem child’ and an ‘attention seeker’, due to behavioural issues associated with (undiagnosed) anxiety, acute traumatic stress, ADHD, Autism and dyslexia. My school provided disability screening and support to my white middle-class peers but made no provision for me. The intersection of my race, class, gender and fostered status took priority.

 

In secondary school and college, the difficulties I presented continued to be seen as a consequence of being fostered, which again took priority over investigating my disabilities. It is well documented that those read as girls are systematically undiagnosed compared to their male counterparts, especially regarding learning disabilities such as ADHD and Autism. Only in recent years has there been an effort to address gender disparities in diagnosing and treating Autism and ADHD.

 

Me One: Who supports you in your daily life?

 

Me Too: My partner and my therapist.

 

Me One: What are your coping strategies in social situations?

 

Me Too: I never leave the house without earplugs and headphones to manage sensory overwhelm. Once out the door, I listen to Janelle Monae’s ‘Django Jane’ on repeat, which I have done since she released her ‘Dirty Computer’ album a year ago – the song calms me and makes me feel brave as I walk down a bustling street or enter a noisy tube station. I ensure I prepare a creative task for myself which I can complete on my phone during a commute to avoid eye contact. If I am drained/anxious I use mindfulness apps to listen to rainforest soundscapes or guided meditations. I try not to travel during rush hours. When I leave the house, I assume the persona of a middle-class non-disabled person. Performing a lie is often the most viable strategy to avoid judgement and social exclusion, especially in hostile environments. I acknowledge my passing privilege in this respect and that I am afforded safety because I pass.

 

Me One: There’s a lot of public discourse about ‘coming out’ and ‘owning’ your identity. Ru Paul’s Drag Race is a current popular culture example of this. The reality TV series sometimes features disabled contestants as well as those identifying as trans and those living with or affected by HIV/AIDS. An implicit expectation in the show is that contestants bare all or risk elimination. How do you feel about this?

 

Me Too: The notion of ‘coming out’ is problematic because there’s no guarantee of safety or care once you do. Many of the queens on Drag Race face death threats with no contractual or legal obligation from the show’s producers or any part of the Drag Race institution to protect them. ‘Coming out’ is a luxury dependent on ability, race, class, gender, sexuality, familial, economic and geographic privilege. This is the paradox of invisibility and hypervisibility inherent in intersectional oppression – if you ‘come out’ you risk harm to your safety and your health. If you don’t ‘come out’ you are labelled regressive. My survival as an intersectional person (disabled, Black, queer, transfeminist, working class, etc) depends on having access to my safe and cosy closet – aka my cocoon. I won’t be giving up my cocoon anytime soon nor should I be expected to.