NEWS

Robert R. Janes’ Museums and Societal Collapse lands with bracing clarity. It is the rare sector book that says the quiet part out loud. Janes writes with the authority of his very long practice, and after years of trying to persuade gently – first with the reflective case-study Museums and the Paradox of Change (first published in 1995, now in it’s 3rd ed., 2013), then the hopeful/pragmatic Museums in a Troubled World (2009), and the field-handbook Museum Activism (with Richard Sandell, 2019) – he has run out of patience with green gloss and managerial euphemism. Collapse is not something we can expect in some obscure future, it is already happening – unevenly, unjustly – and cultural institutions must either become useful or be left to their rituals.

From where I sit at SCALE, working across c\a\n\a\d\a\’s  arts ecosystem on climate and justice, this lands less as theory and more as work-list. There’s no performative optimism here, no “a bit more recycling and we’ll be fine.” Instead: a stark inventory of the forces bearing down on communities – ecological overshoot, political failure, corporate capture – and a plain invitation for museums (please read: all cultural organisations) to step into their civic role with honesty, hospitality, and skill.

The argument, in a nutshell

Museums are among the few public places that still carry social trust. If they stop pretending “sustainability” is compatible with business-as-usual growth and start telling the truth, convening difficult conversations, and building practical capability, they can help communities face disruption with dignity. If not, they’ll drift into irrelevance, ever more polished and ever less helpful.

That’s the hinge of the book. Not “How do we keep growing?” but “How do we become useful?”

A museum is not a mall, so stop acting like one

One of Janes’ clearest provocations is to challenge our borrowed metrics. Throughput, footfall, and brand reach may reassure funders, but they often distort purpose. He’s not arguing for smallness as virtue; he’s arguing for meaning as measure. What if we counted care? What if we reported on preparedness, co-created knowledge, local repair, the relationships we’ve mended, the emissions we’ve actually stopped (not just offset)?

That reframing is uncomfortable in boardrooms and budget cycles, and it is necessary. It’s also refreshingly concrete. Janes doesn’t leave us marinating in dread; he keeps pointing (sometimes with exasperation) to things institutions can actually do.

From hope to helpful

A thread runs through the book: hope without practice is theatre. Janes urges museums to become hospitable, truthful convenors – trusted civic spaces where people can encounter the reality of our moment without being overwhelmed or deceived. That means programming that bridges nature and culture (because that divide was always artificial). It means staff trained to hold conflict well, to welcome grief and anger without spiralling, to keep conversations plural and grounded. It also means choosing partners who aren’t simply purchasing proximity to public trust.

As someone working with festivals, galleries, venues, and artist-run centres, I recognise the portability of this argument. Replace “museum” with your organisation and the case still stands. We already act as neighbourhood anchors in a thousand quiet ways: we are the cooling centres during heatwaves, gathering points during blackouts, places to charge phones and swap news when smoke closes playgrounds. Janes is simply asking us to own that role and design for it.

The myth Janes won’t indulge

“Sustainable development” as most of us use it – more, but greener – doesn’t survive contact with physics or with the world outside our communications plans. Janes names the growth logic that threads through our sector: bigger shows, touring at all costs, collections that accumulate faster than we can care for them, capital projects that promise “resilience” while locking in dependency. He’s not scolding; he’s diagnosing. And he’s blunt that some habits will need to end well rather than linger badly.

There’s an ethical clarity here that will make some readers bristle. Good. If a model contradicts your stated values or your community’s needs, hospice it. Make a clean exit and free up attention for practices that actually matter.

How this reads from the SCALE vantage

At SCALE, many of our days are spent in the gap between what institutions say about climate and what they actually do. Janes’ book collapses that gap. It is not a policy manual; it is a call to adulting. The ideas align with what we’re testing in practice:

• Truth-telling as programming: being candid about local risks – heat, smoke, flood, outage – and curating public conversations that are neither alarmist nor anaesthetised.
• Care metrics over growth metrics: reporting on community benefit, local procurement, closures avoided through adaptation, the number and quality of co-created programmes.
• Letting some things go: retiring high-carbon touring patterns and extractive partnerships, and redirecting effort to local capacity-building.
• Bridging nature and culture by default: pairing artists with scientists and knowledge holders, putting land, water, and more-than-human kin in the same story as labour, housing, and public health.
  

If you’re already doing versions of this, the book will feel like permission to keep going, only much louder. If you’re not, it’s a very sturdy on-ramp.

Notes from the margins

There are moments when Janes’ exasperation risks flattening the differences among institutions – what a national museum can move is not what a rural artist-run centre can move. But even here, the provocation is productive: stop hiding behind scale. Do the piece that’s yours. Be specific about it. Publish your “start / stop / ask” list in plain language and invite the community into it.

I also wished for more on labour and care within institutions, the emotional and logistical work of holding climate truth without burning out staff. To be fair, Janes gestures to this; I simply wanted one more chapter dedicated to the humans asked to do the holding – but that may just be his next book.

Who should read this, and why now

• The people others look to when decisions get hard (with or without titles) who need shared language to shift a room from performative sustainability to purposeful change.
• Programme and learning teams who want to design for courage and care, not just attendance.
• Boards/leadership circles who sense that old metrics are pushing unhelpful decisions and are ready to pilot new ones.
  

The value of the book is not that it comforts; it clarifies. It refuses the perky lie that “we’ve got this” and replaces it with an adult proposition: we can become useful to our communities in a time of upheaval, and we can do it together, in public, without pretending. That, to me, is an act of radical care.

Take this into your next meeting

If you read only one chapter, read the one that asks institutions to tell the truth and to decide. Then give yourselves ninety minutes to do exactly that: name the local risks; choose one thing to start, one to stop, one relationship to repair; assign owners and a modest budget line; publish a one-page note in plain language. It won’t fix the world. It will make you a better neighbour.