
CAMT (2022). Colonialism and Music Therapy. Barcelona Publishers
It takes motivation to tackle an anthology of 605 pages, 25 chapters of postcolonial critique. But I have been a bit curious about the extent to which colonialism and postcolonial critique are relevant to music therapy in Norway. Indeed, we were, together with or subjected to Denmark, involved in the colonization of islands like St. Thomas and St. John in the West Indies. However, this has not left the same mark on our society and culture as it has in countries where colonial practices were extensive. Examples include the British in India, the treatment of Native Americans in the U.S. and Canada, slavery that supplied plantation owners in the U.S. and other Western countries with people from Africa, or the Zionists' expulsion of Palestinians, who at the time of writing are experiencing a neocolonial genocide in the Gaza Strip. Colonialism has not only affected the countries and peoples who were colonized. Today, in many countries, the descendants of those who carried out this activity are trying to settle the score.
Colonialism is about seizing territories, exploiting resources, and attempting to govern and control the inhabitants of occupied lands, often with force. Colonialism is closely linked to capitalism and has resulted in massive transfers of resources to wealthy countries. Together with imperialism as an ideology, the European control project has introduced a concept of races, created narratives of their own superiority, and used science to justify their actions. Through the education system, they influenced the thinking, belief systems, identities, and self-understanding of the indigenous peoples. Even after several generations, the aftereffects of colonial systems remain. The transfer of resources has created a gap between social classes that economic liberalism cannot bridge.
In this country, we colonized the indigenous Sami people, who for many years had to go through a process of "Norwegianization," where not least joik (traditional Sami singing) was rejected along with shamanistic rituals. Today, new tensions are felt between the Sami people and the broader society due to disputes over building wind turbines on Sami land. Otherwise, the situation for Norwegian Sami is more favorable than for most indigenous peoples worldwide.
In times marked by immigration, refugee crises, globalization, and labor migration, we are all affected by the human fates that have been touched by the consequences of colonialism, such as oppression, poverty, and trauma. In that sense, a good dose of postcolonial theory would be beneficial in domestic music therapy practice as well. But is Norway a colonial nation? Have we built Norwegian music therapy, the profession, as well as its practice and research, on colonial values? Are we continuing, in the best neocolonial fashion, to perpetuate colonial ideologies and practices? Are we a society marked by racism, suppressing ethnic minorities, keeping indigenous healing traditions down, excluding music therapy education from musical expressions other than European ones, and so on, as this book easily seems to suggest?
White Fragility
What is now called the postcolonial period or epoch—the time after independence was achieved—has given rise to the term "postcolonialism," which simply stated means that people should have the right to define themselves. A question that has arisen recently is whether postcolonialism allows others to describe a life-world they do not know from the inside. Can anthropologists study foreign cultures? Can only autistic individuals study autism, for example? This makes it difficult to critique the individual chapters and stories in this book, as one is not inside the life-world that the oppressed live under.
But it is, of course, important and correct to accept and acknowledge the many stories presented in the book. As a white participant in this discourse (cisman, able-bodied, neurotypical, hetero, and situated in a country with good pension systems), one experiences uncertainty and tends to examine one's own attitudes and practices, fearing to reveal one's own participation in maintaining discriminatory structures and practices. The book should provide plenty of examples of where the dangers lie, even for those of us living on the fringes of the largest "settler" nations. But reflection also brings a greater awareness of the values on which we have built Norwegian music therapy, the choices we have made along the way, and the practices this has led to. And what I ask myself after reading through all the chapters is whether we in Norway have not created a completely unique tradition in music therapy, a tradition that is even disconnected from colonial practices and has inspired the creation of new forms of music therapy in other countries.
Definitions
Postcolonialism refers to different ways and practices of reading and portraying the postcolonial situation, the attitudes, and values that shape the practice. In terms of music therapy, it is about how we should relate to music therapy practices, theories, and scientific findings. Another term used is "decolonization," which refers to a more confrontational approach. Postcolonial theory offers some critical lenses to observe and understand how power structures and social norms still prioritize whiteness, thereby opening up opportunities for critique. Decolonial theory seeks a more radical disconnection from the sources of the ongoing inequality that has such deep roots in European imperialism. The term "anticolonial" is also used as a counterpoint to postcolonial theory, a sort of theoretical counter-narrative or political action, a way of understanding the lived experience under colonialism. We can trace these various understandings of postcolonialism in the many stories told throughout the book.
The Legacy of Carolyn Kenny
The book is dedicated to the now-deceased Carolyn Kenny. She has been a great inspiration to a generation of music therapists worldwide and is frequently quoted throughout most chapters—over a hundred references in total. Since she has played such a foundational and guiding role in the postcolonial critique of music therapy, I will take some time to share our mutual history here.
Kenny had a Native American mother from the Choctaw tribe and was later adopted by the Canadian Haida Nation. Her father (who is never mentioned, curiously enough) was Ukrainian, and Carolyn once told me that her father had helped develop the black box now found in all airplanes. Carolyn was truly a child of two cultures—a Western scientific-technical culture and a culture enriched with the wisdom of a traditional indigenous people. This duality, coupled with intellectual curiosity, courage, and an engagement for the North American indigenous peoples, particularly the First Nations people in Canada where Carolyn was a professor of music therapy for many years, gave her a leading counter-voice in the fight against colonial oppression. Carolyn's anticolonial commitment grew stronger with time, and she worked directly with the Canadian indigenous people, not necessarily based on music therapy.
But long before this strong engagement, I noticed how her Native American background influenced her. Once, in the 1990s, we were walking around Berlin together. Along with us was an American of Jewish background. This person expressed anxiety and concern about being on German soil, a reminder of what had happened to Jews here during Nazism. Carolyn said nothing but later remarked to me that it was difficult for Americans to understand that the same feelings could arise in her when she walked on her own native North American soil. A territory that had been colonized, where millions of Native Americans were exterminated due to conflict, infectious diseases, and the destruction of their livelihood. In Kenny's life-world, this was a living reality that shaped her academic, poetic, pedagogical, and political engagement.
Ambivalence and the Meeting of Two Life-Worlds
I had regular contact with Carolyn for twenty-five years. This friendship was not primarily about postcolonialism or her Native American roots. We were both interested in shared theoretical topics; she sent me books and articles, ranging from systems theory, philosophy, and anthropology to more shamanistically inspired literature, such as by anthropologist Carlos Castaneda. That esoteric and otherwise New Age-inspired theory she referred to in her articles didn't appeal to me (see Ruud, 2018). Politically, I stood—and still stand—firmly on the left in Norwegian politics and am more concerned with critiques of capitalism and the economic consequences of colonialism and neoliberalism (which I also feel is underplayed in this anthology, along with the understanding of class). My background from a non-academic working class on the east side of Oslo had given me a political platform where social class, economic inequality, and capitalist ideology became important topics to integrate into music therapy. But I don't think Carolyn was interested in my working-class culture either, just as I did not view her as a Native American. We read the same books, and Carolyn nourished herself on European colonialist literature, some might say. She taught me about systems thinking, which became important for the development of community music therapy in Norway.
When I visited Carolyn in Vancouver while giving a seminar on Music and identity at Simon Fraser University, she took me to meet her friends and colleagues at the University of British Columbia. She was truly recognized as one of the few from the First Nations with a Ph.D. We visited her anthropologist mentor (who had a cabin on a small island in Vancouver Bay), and I was also introduced to the sweat lodge culture.
An Enigmatic Theory About Music Therapy
While Carolyn was completing her master's in anthropology from the University of British Columbia, I was pursuing my master's in music therapy at Florida State University. Both of us were strongly opposed to the dominant positivism in music therapy during the 1970s. Carolyn was the first music therapist to challenge this with her book The Mythic Artery (Kenny, 1982). Clifford Madsen, one of my supervisors writing my master’s thesis, and a leading behavior therapist, wasn't too fond of the critique I hinted at, so it didn’t make it into my thesis in 1973 or the book I later published (Ruud, 1980). It was Carolyn who later suggested that the book I published with Barcelona Publishers in 1998 should be titled Music Therapy, Communication and Culture (Ruud, 1998), where I more openly addressed my views on behavior therapy and positivism.
I wrote the foreword to the book most frequently cited in postcolonial music therapy literature: Carolyn’s doctoral work The Field of Play (Kenny, 1989). I felt proud and honored by this task but must admit that I found the text very enigmatic, and I still do. A brief and precise summary of Kenny's theories on music therapy can be found in Kenneth Bruscia's review in Voices (Bruscia, 2018).
Carolyn herself admitted that her theories "are enigmatic and wait enduringly for the ‘conditions’ in each unique field of experience and engagement" (Kenny, 2000, p.67). I also critiqued her theories and her use of the term “holism in my article” in Voices (Ruud, 2018). After rereading her book, I am more convinced of the necessity to concretely discuss the worldviews and traditions of music and health work found in various indigenous cultures—not to condemn or exclude, but to create a just practice that provides all (indigenous) peoples with the necessary health care for illnesses of the body and soul. This must be built on cooperation and dialogue.
Standing Between Two Cultures
I can’t delve into all twenty-five chapters, but I will highlight a few. I made several reflections and notes while reading. In the opening chapter, Carolyn Kenny recounts an interview she did with Richard Vedan, a prominent representative of the Canadian indigenous people and a long-time professor of social work. They introduce a theme that recurs throughout the book: how it is possible to reconcile the roles of therapist and social worker within a Western healthcare system while preserving and utilizing the wisdom and traditions passed down through centuries by indigenous peoples.
The health traditions often discussed among indigenous or other traditional communities involve public health traditions and health-promoting or healing goals. Key terms include holistic thinking, spirituality, connection to roots and traditions, balance and harmony, self-development, regulation, relationships with society, community, nature, and, importantly, the earth they tread on.
The various authors appear to speak from very different positions, resulting in differing approaches to solving the dilemmas they face. Some seem to have developed a conciliatory philosophy, wanting to build bridges. They wish to reclaim the use of traditional instruments and integrate them with theories from music therapy. Others are entirely unyielding, seeking to separate themselves from Western music and health practices, holding onto their own cosmology and understanding of the connections between music and health. To a Norwegian ear, this can sound very exotic and foreign. There is a prevalent mix of anger, resignation, despair, determination, reconciliation, self-reflection, pragmatism, and diversity in adaptation.
“Don't Listen to What They Say, Look at What They Do”
In several chapters, attempts at dialogue become parallel stories, and I miss concrete case studies that can be illuminated from different positions and worldviews. I’ve previously said that one shouldn’t focus primarily on how music therapists explain what and why they do what they do but rather look at what happens in practice. How a music therapy session is represented in language depends on the theories and forms of understanding held by the participants. For example, I’ve witnessed good music therapy sessions performed by anthroposophical music therapists, but I haven’t fully aligned their sometimes esoteric explanations with what I observe. With more dialogue and openness, it may become clear that ancient traditions and different musical practices aren’t so inexplicable or untranslatable to those outside the culture.
Cultural Generalization
Learning from practice through sharing a case is illustrative. A good example is found in a chapter where a therapist makes a mistake by correcting the language of a young boy who raps and uses too much American pronunciation. She wants him to express his own identity and use his own language, not realizing the value of the boy’s choice of self-presentation at the moment. The communication breaks down, and she effectively conveys what we can learn from this.
This story reminds me of my years of involvement and observation in the Norwegian ‘community music’ project in a Palestinian refugee camp in southern Lebanon. Over a decade, this orchestra, developed and supported by Norwegian music educators, has evolved into a stronger Arabic and local musical expression. This aligned with the identity, culture and health-work they aimed to promote. But it should be noted that not all young Palestinians fully identified with this identity. Some also wanted to be part of a global youth culture, where central popular music forms could be included in their identity narratives (Ruud, 2020).
Complex and Thoughtful
Perhaps the best and most thoughtful example of what this tension means when practicing music therapy in countries with two traditions is found in Kamal Singh's chapter (Chapter 11). He describes the meeting between modern, Western-adapted music therapy and ancient healing traditions in India. Raga music is also prominent here, in a master-apprentice tradition that, with high artistic quality, has maintained the belief that certain scales offer specific health benefits. With the respect these musicians hold in society, it is no simple task to criticize this music tradition. Singh doesn’t either. But he refrains from basing music therapy solely on such ancient traditions and prefers more research on the effects of this health-musicking. Singh seems to have a realistic understanding of what it means to navigate between these traditions in the effort to build the profession and discipline of music therapy so that it is recognized and integrated into Indian healthcare. To achieve this, he emphasizes the need for dialogue between the traditions, cooperation, and utilizing each other's strengths.
Other Roles
One point that emerges from Singh’s story, and which is relevant in other cultural contexts, is that the therapist role in Western music therapy, including in some Norwegian role models, involves setting boundaries and interactions between therapist and client. In rural India, a distanced therapist role would likely not be very effective. The therapist is closer in relationships, participates in family rituals, shares transportation, and can act more as a friend.
In the value systems that shape many indigenous communities, the community, tribe, and family are far more important than in Western individualistic culture. It is crucial to highlight these cultural traits and not just focus on the music and health practices that arise from individual cosmologies.
A Complex Critique
The critique formulated in this postcolonial discourse in music therapy is also complex. Primarily, it targets the attempt to ignore, fight against, and discriminate against the music and health traditions among indigenous peoples, as expressed in practices or in values and explanations. The critique of colonialism also permeates the criticism of Western science and research in general, sometimes to an absurd degree, claiming that all music therapists, no matter what they do, carry colonialism within them as researchers or practitioners. However, there is also valid criticism of the lack of countermeasures and programs that can address discrimination and ableism (discrimination against people with disabilities or "funkophobia" in Norwegian).
Another critique is directed at educational institutions for not accommodating foreign students, which I will comment on later in the article. The criticism can also address cultural appropriation, where instruments and genres are taken out of context and stripped of their original functions.
The Uncomfortable Therapist
While it is ultimately about providing the best and fairest treatment for music therapy clients, the book often focuses on the music therapists. A common theme is that many of the authors are uncomfortable with the role they play within a postcolonial world order. Some are directly troubled by operating on indigenous land. They refer to themselves as “settler” music therapists and are well aware of which indigenous groups originally inhabited the area and what that piece of land is called in the indigenous language. The authors often introduce themselves with an apology for this positioning and express respect for "the elders" who remain among the indigenous people.
One therapist who has truly internalized this discomfort is Jeff Smith (Chapter 18), a Canadian music therapist I became interested in after reading an article he wrote in 2012. He is one of the few who uses the philosophy and conceptual framework of Deleuze and Guattari (rhizome, territory, lines of flight) to escape the "colonial code of treatment" that this trap is called. He returns now with an expanded theoretical text and the same story about his work with youth who, in colonial terms, are diagnosed with dual disorders of addiction and psychiatry, including indigenous youth. This makes the work particularly painful and challenging. Communication is strained, but the case is saved through shared guitar improvisations.
There is, therefore, an escape route for therapists in such an uncomfortable position. Often, the answer lies in improvisation, in dialogue, and in resource- and community music therapy-based thinking.
Trauma-Informed Music Therapy
Elly Scrine (Chapter 17) has written a sharp critique of the tendency within trauma-informed therapy to search for causes of traumatic disorders in individual psychology. (“Trauma” is referred to 273 times in the book). She argues that too much emphasis is placed on traditional diagnostic criteria, which leads to the neglect of sociocultural perspectives that contribute to the creation of trauma. The focus is on individual experiences, not the social and structural conditions that are at the root of suffering. Too much attention is given to pathology instead of possibilities.
Scrine sees positive potential in a resource-oriented and community music therapy approach, where diagnoses and treatment are not the focus. She highlights songwriting and improvisation as opportunities to give users control over therapeutic processes. By allowing users to become active participants and co-create experiences of safety and security, music can play an important role in trauma treatment. However, we should not assume that people with traumatic backgrounds, who may not always trust the treatment they have received from white "helpers," will automatically trust our reassurances.
When discussing diagnoses, Katja Gottschewski's chapter on cultural perspectives on autism must be mentioned. Along with Brynyjulf Stige's chapter, these are the only contributions from Norwegian music therapy. Gottschewski uses the concept of colonialism in a figurative sense when discussing the lack of understanding in attempts to remove symptoms of autistic individuals' ways of being. This is a well-written contribution from someone with insider experience of the autistic world, and it should be included in the curriculum of all music therapy studies.
Representation Through Photography
Another thought-provoking chapter (Chapter 19) comes from Vee Gilman, who writes about how photographs of music therapy situations help construct and maintain colonial worldviews. Gilman begins by examining how music therapy is portrayed in images used to recruit volunteers for international aid work in formerly colonized countries, a practice known as "voluntourism." This is another theory-heavy article, drawing from personal experiences and academic work, connecting disability studies with critiques of ableism and postcolonial theory.
Music therapy is often depicted in these contexts in ways that position recipients as needy, passive, and inferior, alongside a white, able-bodied "helper" offering music through a Western instrument. Gilman analyzes four such scenes and provides very thoughtful critiques of the photos. This is something to consider when choosing images to illustrate music therapy.
As an avid amateur photographer, I have contributed images to music therapy literature, especially from the community music project in Lebanon, which I visited at least three times. I am forced to rethink what kinds of images I have provided, what kind of reality I have helped construct and represent. Most of the images I've taken there are of active Palestinian children and youth playing various instruments, both Western and their own traditional drums. One example is a photo I contributed to Stige and Aarø’s Invitation to Community Music Therapy, p. 97, where a Palestinian girl instructs younger girls, rather than a white musician being depicted. In the same book, p. 264, I photographed a row of hands sharing an electronic keyboard. While the project was initiated by Norwegian music educators and experienced community musicians, local Palestinian musicians with diverse musical backgrounds, including new digital instruments, were also engaged on a more permanent basis.
It should also be mentioned that when I taught about Music and identity in Vancouver, Carolyn Kenny took me to a party with her friends. There, I met an amateur photographer with a fine Nikon camera and was inspired by his photos to invest in a better camera. That happened later that fall, when I received an unexpected honorarium for a lecture in Tokyo—enough to purchase a new analog Nikon at the local camera shop.
A Resource-Oriented Community Music Therapy
Many chapters ultimately advocate for community music therapy and resource orientation as good strategies within a postcolonial horizon. A Palestinian music therapist, however, got a somewhat different impression of community music therapy after reading an article by an Israeli music therapist. In that article, community music therapy was about reducing stress in newly arrived Russian immigrants to Israel, thereby using music therapy to prepare and facilitate their integration into the new society. From a Palestinian perspective, this was a grotesque example of using music therapy to help new "settlers" occupy their land. From this story, it also became clear that, for Palestinians, "coping" and solidarity within their community were their responses to surviving occupation and trauma. “Therapy” was a Western concept not fully integrated into their vocabulary. With the images from the Gaza Strip that we see on the news every evening, we understand that this capacity for "coping" has long been overstretched.
Although a resource-oriented approach is positively highlighted in many chapters, there are some who warn against building resilience, strengthening resources, and thereby helping with the assimilation of, for example, vulnerable youth—bringing them back into the fold—rather than raising awareness of the social and economic structures that have caused their suffering and marginalization. However, when coupled with empowerment philosophy and political awareness, particularly with Black Afro-American youth, there are acceptable approaches within music therapy. In this youth work, genres from hip-hop music are especially central, though the use of this genre is also controversial.
Hip-Hop and Rap
Some of the more complex and challenging chapters and themes are related to how one should engage with Hip-Hop (as a culture, with capital letters) and Black consciousness. In two well-written chapters, we encounter truly decolonial and anti-colonial challenges to the use of music with roots in Black history and music culture. Here, it's not just about postcolonial reflection but a disconnection from colonial structures—what is termed "desettlement." This is where I feel keenly aware that I am an older white Norwegian man, raised in a postcolonial outskirt and innocence—or naivety, as some might say.
Engaging with Hip-Hop, as a culture with all its subgenres of hip-hop and rap, feels like stepping into a minefield. Hip-hop artists and cultural practitioners emphasize the music's and culture's historical roots in Black cultural history. They view these forms of expression as a way to preserve and protect a vulnerable Black humanity and authenticity, which has been threatened and in many cases destroyed by the ravages of colonialism. Rap—or trap—is seen as the music industry's and capitalism's extension of colonialism, corrupting the original humanizing role of this music. Music therapy is caught in this same colonial relationship by viewing poor, vulnerable, marginalized, and traumatized Black youth as damaged and using rap as a means to repair and assimilate them into a white neocolonial present.
There are, however, nuances. There are ways to harness the groove that rap creates. Cypher, that is, to create groups and communities around sharing rap in informal settings—is a good way to develop the creativity this cultural form offers. In the role of therapist/music producer, musical productions can be shared and discussed in groups where historical awareness, social contexts, and personal stories can be brought to light. However, the book creates the impression that only Black therapists and artists (cf. Hip-Hop Therapy) can do this—only those who are phenomenologically inside the Black life world. The guardians of this culture can sometimes be seen as religious gatekeepers, viewing any attempt to use commercial rap as a corruption of an original authentic culture. Nonetheless, the reflective Michael Viega, as a white, so-called "settler" therapist, as he calls himself, seems to navigate this ambivalent role well—serving academic colonial capital while also doing important therapeutic work, and conveying his work in a thoughtful and critical manner.
Hip Hop in a Norwegian Context
The question that naturally arises is what this discourse means for a Norwegian music therapist who works with young people and has discovered that rap is a good way to communicate. Now, the custodians of Hip Hop culture recognize how the genre has become a global music form used by very different groups of Indigenous or other colonized peoples worldwide. But what about youth from the east side of Oslo (where I grew up)? Should we not acknowledge that for these young people, hip-hop and rap, in all their commercial varieties, could potentially be part of their authentic youth culture? Or is this authenticity reserved only for those who grew up in Black culture, perhaps with ancestors going back to Jamaica, where the cultural and musical roots of hip-hop are found?
Once again, I see that ideas of "holism" arise, a kind of indefinable concept brought up to protect something original, a whole that was lost under colonialism. I believe that Norwegian music therapists in this field should not be held responsible for or feel shame and guilt for white European colonialism. Awareness and reflexivity, yes. It is important to have knowledge of the genre's historical contexts, the commercial exploitation of the music industry, misogynistic lyrics, and the glorification of material wealth. However, some seem to defend these commercial expressions as understandable and necessary for many poor and marginalized young people as a hopeful way out of misery. For those who safeguard the original Hip Hop culture, they are aware of the utopian ideas about this culture's potentially society-changing function.
We must be able to use the groove and songwriting in a therapeutic awareness-raising process as a tool for the underprivileged to tell and own their own stories. In a Norwegian social context, this will involve therapy as a means of personal development and, of course, could lead to assimilation and inclusion in the community culture. This can certainly be discussed, but although we have both racism and other phobias well represented in society, in addition to the less obvious structural racism and microaggressions, the counterforces are strong, and the support for common values differs from what we see in American society, especially as represented by the MAGA movement today. The Norwegian Association for Music Therapy is not an extension of white colonialism.
A Holistic Music Therapy Without the Body?
The critique directed at evidence-based music therapy, i.e., the one that seeks objective answers to the effects of musical interventions, can be interpreted in two ways. If these are the core values of music therapy, as formulated in the definition of music therapy on the website of the American Music Therapy Association, the post- and neo-colonial critique hits home. Let us remember that the American capitalist insurance system demands such evidence-based formulations and justifications if music therapists are to survive. It is also evidence-based research that, in many countries, makes it possible to gain full acceptance and jurisdiction for music therapy, potentially to the detriment of local healing traditions, as we learn in this book.
But we must not forget that evidence-based thinking is important and necessary when it comes to repairing bodily injuries, rehabilitation after brain damage, following medical procedures, implementing measures for people with memory challenges, reducing stress and anxiety during medical procedures, and so on. I cannot understand anything other than that colonized bodies also want to be treated in a medically responsible way. If one chooses a treatment form for the body with or without music based on other medical traditions, such as the thousand-year-old Indian traditions, this is not where the problem lies.
A Cultural Immunogen Practice
It is easier to understand that with what we call mental health problems or regulating emotions, energies, and moods in everyday life, one is justified in using traditions from one's own culture. Here, music therapy research has work to do, as we see examples of in the research on the regulatory functions of yoik among the Sami Indigenous people (Hämäläinen, 2017). It also leaves an impression after reading the many chapters that music and healing primarily involve inclusive and regulatory rituals with strong and long traditions in different cultures. These are, of course, presented in their local language, within a specific cosmology, or in a religious context that gives meaning to how the music is experienced and works. Music therapy research has a responsibility to highlight how a cultural immunological practice can be implemented within public health work, which will naturally include regulatory practices that are alive within traditional societies as well as today's digitized music cultures (Ruud, 2020).
A Norwegian Tradition
I claim that Norwegian music therapy history is founded on principles different from those in the U.S. We created a humanistic and critical starting point for music therapy. We have developed an approach to users where we ask about resources rather than diagnoses, we are concerned with identity and culture among those we meet, and we have a community- and participant-oriented value system maintained through community music therapy. And we acknowledge both transcendental and spiritual forms of consciousness that can bring meaning and hope into people's lives. When music workshops are organized for young unaccompanied asylum seekers in Norway, music therapists work alongside professional musicians with refugee backgrounds and knowledge of the homeland music these young people bring with them.
When I defined music therapy as "providing new possibilities for action" (now also possibilities for experiences) through music, I pointed out that such possibilities for action and experiences could be blocked by biological, psychological, material, and structural conditions in society (potentially including neo-colonial structures that help maintain racist attitudes and colonial ambitions). This is in contrast to the American Music Therapy Association, which defines itself as an evidence-based profession, in other words, prioritizing technical interests first, as Habermas would say. In this sense, they position themselves as an easy target for post-colonial criticism, which views Western science as a tool for oppressing Indigenous healing traditions.
Music Therapy Education
How music therapy education should relate to a post-colonial discourse is central in the book. The last part of the book is devoted to education, but in many of the earlier stories, it is also about what was learned, or rather not learned, in their education. Many of the voices we encounter come from music therapists in colonized countries like the West Indies, India, Latin America, or other Asian countries. Some have also brought their culture with them, settled in the U.S., and pursued their music therapy education there. Those who return from such an education often face challenges concerning the need for adaptations both in terms of working methods, instruments, and/or ideologies.
Now, there are significant differences in how many have been received. Many have had positive experiences with music therapy education in England and the U.S., while others feel more alienated and complain about a lack of understanding of their own cultural background. Some also seem to have somewhat high expectations about the ability of the studies to respond to the specific musical traditions they bring with them.
Brynjulf Stige also contributes an essay in which he advocates for a knowledge ecology where we engage in dialogue with other traditions and, through interaction, strive to reach new knowledge. Others also argue for developing what Homi Bhaba refers to as a "third space." This quest for such a conciliatory hybrid space, where traditions can coexist, is connected in the book's concluding chapter as a hope for music therapy.
Norwegian Detachment
I will not pass judgment on expectations and reactions. However, it is worth remembering that all music therapy students must adapt what they learn to the work challenges and local cultures they encounter after completing their education. This applies not only to those from countries with a colonial past. When I arrived at Florida State University, I encountered a positivist culture that is the very incarnation of the Western colonial science that is criticized in this book for having invaded music therapy as a discipline. However, this was something I distanced myself from early on and used my master's thesis to show that there were alternatives (Ruud 1973/1980). This was, as is known, translated into Japanese, German, Spanish, and Portuguese, and can thus be understood as an anti-colonial attempt to demonstrate diversity in music therapy. I also rejected the methods or working approaches offered to me during my studies at FSU. I was exempted from some methods that I considered useless in Norway. I also spent considerable time figuring out how a Norwegian music therapy education could be, based on entirely different principles than those I encountered in the U.S.
Back in Norway, I proposed drafts for a humanistically based music therapy (Ruud, 1986/90, 2010). I maintained the clinical improvisation of Nordoff and Robbins, as I had personally experienced it before starting my master's studies in the U.S. However, I did not accept the anthroposophical background of this method and turned to developmental psychology to find a foundation for musical communication within cognitive psychology and identity theory. I later advised Clive Robbins to seek legitimacy within humanistic psychology, which he followed up by studying and applying the understanding he gained from Abraham Maslow (Robbins, personal communication). Although we admired Paul Nordoff's way of improvising, and there is no doubt that this reached the children, we challenged his musical taste and repertoire, using instead music from Norwegian children's culture or music with different harmonics and rhythms than his neo-classical style. When students came with their background in rock and popular music, the band format naturally became part of the methodology. After completing my training in BMGIM (which was heavily based upon Western classical music), I developed a new music program based on music from the Norwegian composer Geirr Tveit (Aksnes and Ruud, 2008). When we established ourselves as a profession through the training of music therapists, we recognized the older women who had developed a music therapy practice for many years and who could now easily feel sidelined. But these women were used as lecturers and practice supervisors in the program, thus being included in the music therapy community.
I can mention several examples of such cultural adaptation and how Norwegian music therapy has developed with principles like critical sociological theory, systems theory inspired by Carolyn Kenny, resource orientation, user involvement, recovery thinking, and especially community music therapy. Looking ahead, I also see that we should adopt the new Power-Threat-Meaning framework, which serves as a counterbalance to the established diagnostic systems (Boyle and Johnstones, 2024), and further incorporate elements from critical posthumanism (Ruud, 2020).
This line of thinking and these principles seem to resonate well with the postcolonial critique of music therapy, which often proposes alternatives to evidence-based approaches. In this context, we must not forget that the right to culturally-centered music therapy is enshrined in the UN through ILO conventions. If one works in a country that has ratified this convention, one can refer to the provisions regarding the right to receive healthcare in a manner that respects cultural identity.
Based on this review, I conclude that Norwegian music therapy should be exempt from being treated as a colonial practice. This doesn't mean there aren't colonial attitudes, racism, or structural forms of discrimination in Norway. But I reject the notion that these permeate the practice, profession, and research in Norwegian music therapy. As a colleague of mine expressed, such attempts to characterize the practices of other countries, as seen in this book, could perhaps be viewed as signs of imperialist attitudes among postcolonial thinkers in music therapy?
Nevertheless, I would like to emphasize that the book is an important contribution to critical music therapy. It is relevant for many therapists, situations, and practices. Norwegian music therapists also need such an update, especially when working with refugees, immigrants, and their descendants, and particularly when they engage in international aid work.
Literature
Aksnes, H., & Ruud, E. (2008). Body-Based Schemata in Receptive Music Therapy. Musicae
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