Tyrannical regimes may be influenced by cultural 'soft power', but a boycott can be less compromising
Blowing in the wind at the moment is the question of cultural diplomacy. Bob Dylan plays a gig in Beijing, then heads with his guitar to another of his nation's traditional enemies, Vietnam. That's a commercial transaction – rather than the state-aided entertainment known in the contemporary buzz-phrase as "soft power" – but we simultaneously see an example of soft-toy power: the US government has stumped up $20m over four years to fund an Urdu version of Sesame Street in Pakistan.
For Dylan to be singing in the week when the Chinese artist Ai Weiwei and many other cultural figures have again been silenced feels queasy, especially given his longstanding image as a troubadour of reform. And the protest singer has weakened his position by seemingly meekly agreeing to the censor's request not to perform Blowin' in the Wind or The Times They Are A-Changing or to preach cultural freedom from the stage.
My own experience of Dylan performances is that his renditions are now so idiosyncratic and his inter-number mumbling so impenetrable that it remains entirely possible that he performed both of his most famous protest songs, and made an impassioned plea for the release of Ai Weiwei, without either Chinese censors or audience noticing. But the key question in exporting art into contentious territories is the extent to which the work's essential values are diluted, as seems to be the case with Dylan.
Contrastingly, while it seems inevitable that sections of Pakistani society will be suspicious of the reversioned Sesame Street on the grounds that the puppets may be spreading CIA-scripted imperial propaganda, this feels like a benign example of soft power, as were equivalent British versions of The Archers for Afghanistan (with advice on landmines) and Rwanda. Sesame Street was impressively multicultural long before that became fashionable and will spread through its Pakistan spin-off the message it preaches in America: spelling counts and counting spells intelligence.
Inherent in much of the criticism of Dylan this week is the suggestion that we should consider soft power's hard flipside: a cultural boycott. The South African playwright Athol Fugard has argued that the theatrical ostracism of his nation during apartheid (when some writers and actors refused to work there) did play some role in embarrassing the government, although the sporting boycott was more influential, as it put out of reach a product that was in greater demand.
The counter-argument is that the punters in a country should not be punished for the human rights abuses of their government, especially as the general population can not be assumed all to freely support their leaders' actions. It was presumably this reasoning that led UK performers (including Elton John and Queen) to perform in South Africa during its period of political toxicity. And, indeed, Sir Elton, when appearing in Red Square during the communist era, offered a model for singing in oppressive places by breaking into "Back in the USSR" even though his Soviet minders had apparently asked him not to.
According to this theory, any democratic western culture that breaches the actual or metaphorical walls of tyranny may have some progressive and tempering effect on the local politics. The fact that there exists a demand in Beijing for a Dylan gig can be seen as a defeat for the country's leaders, as can their decision on Friday to license a Disneyland in Shanghai. Dylan's and now Mickey and Minnie's presence is likely to make citizens feel better about themselves.
The obvious risk, though, is that they also feel better about their government. Remember those successions of South African politicians having to explain to their people why the country didn't get to play high-class sport any more.
But we should also listen to the resonant echo of a comment made by a member of the England cricket hierarchy when the Brown administration seemed to be putting moral pressure on the squad to abandon a planned tour of Zimbabwe without actual Foreign Office orders not to go. "You can't," the spin bowler warned the spin doctors, "expect cricketers to improvise a foreign policy for you."
And nor should the burden of global moral leadership fall on entertainers. But the spectacle of a celebrated protest singer becoming a target of liberal political protest shows how treacherous this issue can be. Perhaps Dylan should offer a song for the Pakistani Sesame Street, an example of American cultural diplomacy that seems to involve less compromise of values.