Art Is Weaponised

 

Today in the postcolonial lecture, one sentence did not just pass through me. It stayed.

Art is weaponised.

And I don’t know why, but it felt personal.

I have always loved art as something soft. Something almost sacred. Like stories of Radha and Krishna whispered through generations. Like poetry that feels like moonlight resting on skin. I never saw art as violent.

But today I understood it doesn’t have to shout to be powerful.

Colonialism did not only invade land. It invaded imagination. It told entire nations how to see themselves. It labelled cultures. It ranked languages. It shaped beauty. And it did all this so subtly  through books, paintings, education, cinema.

Through art.

Art was used to make one identity look superior and another feel small.

And that is what unsettled me.

Because when art is weaponised, it doesn’t wound the body.
It reshapes the mind.

It makes you admire the coloniser’s tongue more than your mother’s.
It makes you question your skin tone.
It makes you distance yourself from your own traditions in the name of “modern.”

That is not accidental.
That is crafted.

Postcolonial theory is not just theory. It is awakening. It tells us that representation is never neutral. That even beauty can carry politics. That even aesthetics can serve power.

And I started thinking how many times have I internalised something without questioning where it came from? How many times have I unknowingly admired the very gaze that once tried to reduce us?

But here is where my heart found strength.

If art can be weaponised to dominate, it can also be weaponised to reclaim.

When we tell our own stories.
When we honour our myths instead of mocking them.
When we write in our own rhythm, even if it is not “perfect” English.

That too is resistance.

Art is powerful. That is why it is used. That is why it is controlled. That is why it is feared.

Today I did not leave the lecture feeling small.
I left feeling alert.

Alert that what I watch matters.
Alert that what I write matters.
Alert that identity is not just inherited it is constantly shaped.

And maybe that is why this sentence is still echoing in me.

Art is weaponised.

So the real question is 
who is holding it?
And in whose name is it being used?

I will leave you with this Question...