A Modern Dada Manifesto (Published in INDEX Magazine)

Dada is a protest with the fists of its whole being engaged in destructive creation: Dada; the abolition of logic. Dada; the decay of corporations who have drained us for too long. Dada; the child’s first word. Dada; the selfless discovery of you. Dada: the reclaiming of personhood, a far-off memory you will now grasp again. Dada; to exist as Art. Dada; the moment you wake up and are no longer alone in the world. Dada Dada Dada, a fierce collision of protests, connected artists, and all other contradictions, grotesques, and absurdities.

“To put out a manifesto, you must want for ABC to fulminate against 123.” (Tzara).

Tristan Tzara spoke this nearly one hundred years ago. He outlined the truth of Dadaism, or Dada, and the truth of a great many other things, for that matter. One hundred six years ago, there was Dada, and today there is still Dada. It is only the case that people have now forgotten. 

So, Dada was born, reborn, or otherwise suicided in 1918. It was, simply, a revolutionary movement of anti-art, whose aim was to address the absurdity of a wartime era: an admixture, equal parts nihilism, angst, or avante. It lived briefly but was soon enveloped by neglect. Tzara could not have known this; indeed, he would have likely cared entirely little. Yet, it is now the time for Dada to arrive from its hibernation. From amidst the great sleep, there are people in need of Dada, now more than before. Dada is the medicine for a disease that eats away at us. Dada is the pill that cures us from becoming stuck. We are a society filled to the brim with impossibly beautiful people. But it is a sordid state that we live in, where art is taking haggard breaths, and there is money in the business of suffocation. 

When Dada first stepped into the light, there was a great war. There was a brutal world of new violence, the likes of which humanity could not begin to process. There was vicious savagery, chemical weapons, and that ever-rampant disease of corruption. As such, those original Dadaists felt that art ought to reflect a truly senseless world. 

So now, in this modern era, what are we left with? We can see it plainly, that there is still violence, wherein the sky gives only tears of metal. We can hear the abuses hurled from the lips of a pale politician or bigot. We are once again left in a world that is foul and disoriented. Dadaism is an offering. It is the way to comprehend the incomprehensible. It is the method to show our discontent to those who relish in cruelty. 

Dada rejects war, and it rejects power, and it rejects, above all else, authority. Everything one does in every scene of life ought to be performed with a downright hatred for control. If you are made to wear a certain clothing, then Dada says to burn it. If you are told that there is an ideal beauty, Dada says to warp it. Every act, under Dada, should willfully spit in the face of all things powerful and established. 

Dada is a tool, above all else. So that we might truly understand ourselves, Dada is the broken mirror to show us our reflection. In a literal sense, Dada is a doctrine. It is the belief that we are in a culture that is soured by things like greed, logic, and sensibility. Dada will say that these things are a bad joke — logic and sensibility are lies to distract us from the art. For art is not logical, nor should it aspire to be. Dada is the instrument to help see past this deception. So we might undo the damage done to us. So that we may once again be in a world of artists or dreams. 

Dada also rejects logic, religion, and sensibility, as these are the tools of the business. To decide for yourself, yes Dada is for me, you must despise all things corporate. There is no art to be found there, and no amount of digging in the octane mud will ever uncover it. Businesses are not for art. They are not for fashion. They are not for culture. The Dadaists of yesterday, who thought of themselves as afflicted by the corporate disease, would look at our state of things now and shiver. For we are now in the snake pit of consumption, and Dada is the cold water to wake us from this dream. 

Dada will say that we ought to be distrustful of anything corporate. It is the case that Art comes only from the people. So when you see a movement, some sickly trend, and it is evident that it has dripped down from an executive boardroom, here is your first chance to practice Dada. When you see some insincere, hollowed out, carcased attempt at culture, loudly exclaim DADA! if only to remind ourselves that nothing corporate is ever genuine. If a business suggests some artistic movement, then you ought to check for the hidden barcode. There is no men’s Dada. There is no women’s dada. There is no extra large, slim-fit, or trending Dada. Businesses would prefer that we exist within borders– demographics that can be neatly arranged. Dada is the escape lever for those who want out. 

Although Dada is indeed completely unserious and staunchly against principles, it should be understood that Dada simply must insist on certain things. Dada insists on sincerity; a muscle that we have not flexed nearly as much as we should. We are unpracticed, having forgotten the need for something genuine. Dada suggests calisthenics, little exercises in how to be anti-everything. In wearing a skirt, for example, you might find that the trend of the current moment is to wear pleated pants instead. Dada would then recommend wearing twenty skirts over the top of one another to say, there is nothing to see here but me! To remain completely individual is to breathe in Dada as fresh air. 

Dada understands the need for a distinctive self. That is not to say that you must isolate yourself or be selfish, but merely that you must exist firstly as a unique, irreplaceable, singular person. Once we all do this, the culture will be better off. Once we each take a moment to embrace our true passions, as removed from expectation or money-making, it will become clear that we can contribute willfully towards a greater Art. For now, Dada is the safety where you can truly find yourself. It is time you love something that loves you back. 

How does one escape this modern hopelessness? By saying, Dada. How does one become free? By saying “Dada” with emphatic insistence—until one cannot say it more. Until one cannot possibly be more certain. How can one eliminate everything that has been forced onto us, everything proper, established, Europeanized, and etiolated? By saying, Dada. Dada is Robin Hood, giving us back our stolen attention. It is the voice that dares us to dream outside of sleep. We are only given so much time. So Dada is the tick-tock, reminding us to live. 

Here, we find the truth of Dada. This is a much-needed protest for our modern era. Businesses have sucked our culture dry, made it redundant, made it into an algorithm. Instead of this, consider Dada, who only asks that you welcome everything strange. Everything askew, avante, or otherwise unattractive is Dada. To escape ourselves, Dada means to fall hopelessly in love with the pure and grotesque beauty of this world.