The Process of Liberation is Slow
Adrian Anantawan
“What does practicing liberation look like for you? What does liberation look like in process/in practice?”
Over the years, I have learned that in order to create a culture of humility, cooperation, and excellence in classical music, we ironically have to be counter-cultural. To bend, stretch, change the rules not for their own sake, but in service of something that is greater than ourselves. In our field, when we get lost in the idea of trying to be just like everyone else, we lose the power of our voice, or the capacity to amplify others’ voices. Practicing liberation means bringing our unique self to all we do, not in glory or self-inflation, but our true, humble, courageous, and vulnerable selves. The process of liberation is slow — one that involves patience, struggle, and oftentimes pain. This was certainly my truth, trying to find an accessible pathway into the world of music, being born without a right hand.
When I was nine years old, our music teacher informed us that we would be playing the recorder for next year’s music class. In this sense, I was disabled not in as much a sense of the noun, but the verb. In other words, disability was not only a social label that was implicitly attached to my character, but also the physical and cognitive effect of my environment on my ceiling of potential development; in this case, a combination of the class budget, the attitude of this particular teacher, and the tool she wanted us all use to play music.
My parents and I were already ruminating on the possibilities for alternatives. I chose the violin, not necessarily because of its practicality, but because it was the most beautiful sound I had heard. With the help of biomedical engineers at the Holland Bloorview Kids Rehab Hospital in Toronto, I was able to hold my bow with an adaptive device known as a “spatula.” Through this piece of plaster, aluminum, and the violin, I was able to connect with and understand the world in a deeper, richer way that in itself provided the impetus to refine this skill to a greater degree. Music became an essential part of my existence, and what seemed unnecessary to some was just a fact of living for me — excellence was not as much my goal, it was a byproduct of something deeper and foundational to where I fit in this world. As a musician, the most important appendages weren’t my hands, but my ears. This fact alone was a liberation from the stigma I felt growing up with a disability. It has taken me to a path where I am an educator, performer, and advocate within the intersection of disability, classical music, and education.
Adrian Anantawan playing an arrangement by Frank Peter Zimmermann in 2020 on violin. “I heard this arrangement — a challenge accepted, and after a few weeks of off-and-on practice, here it is! For those who are interested, the arranged is available via Ovation Press. A perfect encore, showcasing the full range and potential of the violin.”
Almost a decade after starting the violin, I created a program called the VMI Chamber Music Initiative, which brought together a team of musicians, music therapists, and educators to assist children with disabilities to play classical music using adaptive musical instruments and repertoire. My project worked in tandem with researchers at Holland Bloorview, a knowledge translation project that allowed us to use our disparate backgrounds to increase the technical and artistic functionality of a virtual musical instrument, and to conduct research into its efficacy in cultural spaces like a concert hall. As a professional musician and educator, seeing children with disabilities interact with the virtual musical instrument (VMI) was akin to observing the creative process at its inception, and it raised further questions ranging from the instrument’s aesthetic and educative quality within classical music. Our project cumulated with a performance of the VMI with the Montreal Chamber Orchestra, where a quadriplegic student at the University of Toronto was able to perform on the concert stage for the first time since he was paralyzed ten years ago.
“As an educator, I have been a witness to the liberation of our art form, through the transformation of the students we serve.”
This experience propelled me to move to Boston, to enroll at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, where I studied ways to incorporate technology into inclusive music classrooms. I now lead a program in our community that serves students with disabilities and their typical peers to make music together in an orchestral setting. As an educator, I have been a witness to the liberation of our art form, through the transformation of the students we serve. Like one student with Landau Kleffler Syndrome, who was becoming slowly aphasic, but was able to express himself through the violin. Or seeing a child with cerebral palsy use a digital xylophone to contribute their unique identity to the music ensemble. In these students, I see the future of our craft grow more intentional and hopeful.
My question at present is, who is to say these opportunities to deepen our expression, imagination, and exploration through music should be limited to those who are what we conceive to be physically or cognitively "able?" (Ability being used in a very reductive sense.) In this cast, the argument for music becomes wider than the improvement of reading skills or motor control, which are all valid arguments of why we need music. However, I'd also like to add that access to music is inherently a civil right, one that is essential to our quality of life. Music saved my life, not in the sense that I am literally alive because of it, but without music I would not be fully alive, experiencing the richness of life that we are all entitled to as human beings.
As a classical musician, I believe that we are not necessarily stewards of the what has been done, but cultural practitioners highlighting the essential qualities of creativity and disruption of past changemakers that move humans forward, that make the world a more beautiful place. What can we do together to continually redefine what it means to be an artist, and to be a complete musician? Where is our field headed, and how are we training our next generation of young, aspiring musicians? Part of it will always lie in pushing the boundaries of our technique and expression, but we need to start thinking about how music can fundamentally address key social problems of our time. In doing so, we drive our potential to evolve as an art form, responding and growing to challenges like accessibility, disability, education, and technology. In short, responding to a path of liberation.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adrian Anantawan holds degrees from the Curtis Institute of Music, Yale, and Harvard University. Adrian is also the founder of the Music Inclusion Program, aimed at having children with disabilities learn instrumental music with their typical peers. He is also the Artistic Director of Shelter Music Boston and is on faculty at Berklee College of Music. You can find him on Facebook and Instagram @Adrian Anantawan
