Dengbêjs is an installation that Halil Altindere produced for the 12^th Documenta, in 2007; it is the second proposition that the artist had made to the exhibition's curator. His initial proposition was entitled 15 dakikalik özgürlük (Fifteen Minutes of Freedom, 2007) and consisted of staging an escape of one of the life prisoners at the Kassel prison with the help of a helicopter, and have him make a circle above the Documenta, before accompanying him back to his cell. In spite of approval from the prison director, the organisation was unable to obtain authorisation from the courts. This cancellation radically changed the meaning of Altindere's participation. The critical power of 15 dakikalik özgürlük, based on a Foucauldian reading, could have sent a message to Western society. Dengbêjs, however, is a work based on questions relating to a particular geography, although it stems from the universal subjects of memory and transmission by way of an anthropological approach.

The word “Dengbêj” in the Kurdish tradition refers to storytellers; dengbêjs are Kurdish troubadours with exceptional memory capabilities, who ensure the transmission of history, culture, legends and traditions within a people deprived of written sources. They are witnesses and narrators, poets and composers. They often have exceptional voices, and a perfect mastery of a musical instrument to accompany their prose, even if the melody is only of a vocal nature. They travel the length and breadth of the Kurdish territories, from city to city, village to village, to transmit their tales, which usually last several hours but may be spread over several days.

Dengbêjs by Halil Altindere shows the traditional Kurdish interior of a wooden chalet with half a dozen men aged between 35 and 60 – dengbêjs, in this case – sitting on the ground around a big coffee table, reciting their poems. The floorboards and part of the walls are covered in bright-coloured tapestries, decorated with traditional motifs; a few pieces of pottery hang here and there. The dengbêjs start to tell their story, unhurriedly, with a certain degree of seriousness; the artist asks them to perform spontaneously. Although they often deal with political issues in their prose, with the presence of the cameras and the possibility that the finished work would be exhibited in Turkey or even in Diyarbakir, they focused more on the topics of love and courage.

After five songs, one of the dengbêj goes out for a cigarette. The camera starts to pull back; urban traffic noise can be heard. The spectator slowly discovers the exterior of the chalet, which is not found on a hillside, but in the city centre, on the roof of a recent building in a perfectly modern style of architecture.

Certainly, from an anthropological point of view, Halil Altindere's installation is a valuable work that draws attention to the oral Kurdish tradition that is verging on extinction; the number of dengbêjs diminishes decade after decade, and the young people no longer broach certain subjects such as popular legends. Besides its documentary value, it emphasises the fragility of a situation, through the interplay of symbols and through the staging. The wooden chalet seems solemn when it is full of the dengbêjs' songs and all of its traditional decoration, but proves to be no more than a tiny oasis, wedged and virtually incongruous amidst the urban architecture. The fragility is also that of the language. The transmission of Kurdish literature and culture was purely oral; however, the Kurdish language was subjected to many prohibitions throughout its history, and even very recently in Turkey. Its fragility therefore tends to recall the Kurds' situation in contemporary Turkey.

Yekhan Pinarligil

Translated by Yves Tixier and Anna Knignt