A Belgian theater performance in Ann Arbor left me stunned—not just by what happened on stage, but by what must have happened before the stage: years of quiet, focused building. At the post-show Q&A, one answer hit like a brick: in Belgium, artists can access income support while developing work. That kind of societal investment doesn’t just produce better art—it produces a healthier civilization.
I walked into a theater in Ann Arbor expecting a “nice show.” I walked out with my mind rearranged.
A Belgian theater group came to Michigan and performed a piece so fresh, so weirdly precise, so technically layered, that it didn’t just entertain me—it followed me home. The kind of performance where you’re driving back on I-94 and your brain keeps replaying scenes like it’s trying to decode a dream.
It wasn’t only acting. It was choreography stitched into movement. Costumes that weren’t decoration but meaning. Directing that felt like architecture. Lighting that behaved like a character. Sound design that turned silence into tension. Video projection that didn’t distract—it expanded reality. Carpentry, props, stage manipulation, timing, music… the entire ecosystem of theater working together like a living machine. (If you’ve seen UMS bring Belgian productions to town, you already know this flavor of craft.)[1][2]
And while I was watching all of it, one question kept growing louder in my head:
How do you innovate and imagine like that with all the noise of life?
Bills. Emails. Notifications. Exhaustion. The endless “just survive this week” treadmill.
To build something that detailed—scene by scene—requires a kind of long attention span that modern life tries to delete.
So I stayed after the performance for the Q&A and asked exactly that.
The question behind the applause
I asked the artists how they find the peace and relaxation needed to imagine at that level—how they protect the mental space to develop something so complex over time.
Their answer was simple, almost casual:
Belgium provides income support to artists while they’re working on a project.
That stability allowed them to build the work over three years.
Three years.
In America, three years is how long it takes the average person to answer their email backlog.
Now, to be precise (because facts matter): Belgium’s system isn’t “free money for vibes.” It’s structured. It involves an official recognition process and specific social protections designed for arts workers—acknowledging the reality that artistic labor is often intermittent, project-based, and full of invisible work (research, rehearsal, drafting, failure, revision, rebuilding). Belgium’s federal “Working in the Arts” framework, for example, connects arts workers to specific social security measures via an official attestation/certificate, and it ties into unemployment-benefit rules adapted to the sector.[3][4][5]
Call it what you want—artist salary, allowance, income support, social protection—the point is this:
They get time.
And time is the secret ingredient behind “innovation.”
Innovation doesn’t come from panic
Here’s the part we pretend not to know: creativity is not just talent. It’s also conditions.
You can’t demand “genius” from a brain that’s constantly in threat mode.
Modern psychology doesn’t romanticize this. Research consistently links stress—especially chronic stress—to reduced cognitive flexibility and impaired higher-level thinking. In plain English: when your nervous system is stuck in survival mode, your imagination stops getting oxygen.[11][12]
That’s why so many people feel mentally foggy when they’re overwhelmed. It’s not because they’re lazy. It’s because their brain is doing what brains evolved to do: prioritize immediate threats over long-term creation.
So when a society gives artists stability, it isn’t “pampering.” It’s engineering the conditions for imagination. It’s basically saying:
“We’ll handle the floor beneath you, so you can build the ceiling above us.”
That is not charity. That is civilization maintenance.
Hadi Eldebek said it years ago—out loud
The moment those Belgian artists answered my question, I remembered Hadi Eldebek’s TED Talk: “Why must artists be poor?”[7]
His argument is blunt and deeply American in its tragedy: we celebrate art, we consume it, we quote it, we build identities around it… and then we tell the people who make it to “figure it out” financially. As if inspiration pays DTE.
Hadi proposed something that sounded radical to some people but obvious to anyone who has ever built anything meaningful:
Pay artists so they can create.
Not forever, not blindly—but as a societal choice to invest in cultural production the way we invest in roads, schools, and research.[7]
What I heard in Ann Arbor felt like a real-world example of that principle.
Belgium doesn’t treat art like a decorative hobby for rich people. It treats it like work—and protects the worker.
A small budget shift, a massive cultural return
Now let’s talk about the part that makes this not just inspiring, but infuriating.
The United States has long committed to providing Israel $3.8 billion per year in security assistance (including $3.3B in Foreign Military Financing and $500M for missile defense cooperation), under a 10-year memorandum covering FY2019–FY2028.[8]
Meanwhile, the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA)—the closest thing we have to a national arts backbone—has operated around $207 million in federal funding for FY2026.[9]
So here’s a reality check:
- 10% of $3.8 billion = $380 million.
- That’s almost double the NEA’s entire annual budget.
And beyond the baseline MOU numbers, independent academic tracking has estimated far larger totals of U.S. military support connected to Israel’s operations since October 7, 2023—numbers that dwarf what we spend uplifting actual human flourishing.[10]
I’m going to say this carefully, because I want to be responsible and precise:
If America can afford enormous, sustained military support—while the world watches mass death and destruction during the genocide in Gaza—then we can afford to keep artists from drowning.
That is not a “money problem.”
That is a values problem.
And yes: I called Israel a terrorist state in my own reflections, because I refuse to play word games while civilians are buried and starved. But even if someone disagrees with my framing, the budget question still stands:
Why is the default setting “fund war,” while “fund art” is treated like a luxury debate?
• U.S. security assistance commitment to Israel: $3.8 billion/year (FY2019–FY2028)[8]
• NEA federal funding level for FY2026: $207 million[9]
• 10% of the annual Israel commitment: $380 million — nearly double the NEA’s budget
“But won’t people abuse it?”
This is where American political culture does its little ritual dance.
Any time we propose investing in ordinary people—teachers, students, artists, parents—the immediate response is: “What if someone cheats?”
Meanwhile, we live inside an economy where corporate welfare, tax loopholes, and billionaire-friendly policy are treated as normal weather.
Belgium’s framework shows what adult governance looks like: set rules, require documentation, define eligibility, and build an actual system for a sector whose labor doesn’t fit the 9-to-5 mold.[3][4][5]
The bigger truth is simpler:
Every system can be abused.
That’s not an argument against having a system. That’s an argument for building one that’s competent.
And let’s be honest: the “abuse” fear is often selective. We don’t ask whether weapons shipments will be “abused” when they fall on children. We don’t ask whether corporate subsidies will be “abused” when CEOs cash out.
But we panic at the idea of a dancer getting paid while rehearsing.
That’s not fiscal responsibility. That’s moral confusion.
Dearborn: what happens when a community can’t afford its own voice?
This matters here at home.
Dearborn is a city full of stories—Arab American stories, working-class stories, immigrant stories, faith stories, union stories, refugee stories, youth stories. We don’t lack creativity. We lack infrastructure for creativity.
When art is only possible as a side hustle, the community loses:
- We lose the filmmakers who could document our elders while they’re still alive.
- We lose the playwrights who could translate our contradictions into something healing.
- We lose the musicians who could build bridges across language and identity.
- We lose the designers, photographers, podcasters, and theater kids who could turn our everyday truth into cultural memory.
And what do we gain instead?
We gain a society with more billionaires—and fewer mirrors.
We gain a culture where the loudest voices are funded by advertising dollars, algorithms, and political donors—while authentic local voices fight for scraps.
That’s not “free market creativity.” That’s creativity under siege.
A practical vision: artist support as local development
Here’s the forward-thinking part:
An artist support program isn’t just “arts funding.” It’s community development.
Imagine if Michigan—starting with cities like Dearborn, Detroit, and Ann Arbor—treated artists the way we treat entrepreneurs:
- Time-limited stipends for project development
- Accountable deliverables (performances, exhibits, workshops, community archives)
- Partnerships with schools and community centers
- Youth apprenticeships tied to real productions
- Residencies focused on documenting local history and civic life
That’s not fantasy. That’s policy.
And it aligns naturally with Green Party values: investing in human flourishing, building local resilience, and rejecting the logic that endless militarism is the highest use of public money.
If we can organize public dollars to destroy, we can organize public dollars to create.
The simplest takeaway
That night in Ann Arbor reminded me of something I don’t want us to forget:
Innovation is not just an individual virtue. It is a social product.
It requires a society that protects the time and space where imagination grows.
So yes, I left inspired.
But I also left angry—because we’ve normalized a system that squeezes artists until they quit, while rewarding the accumulation of wealth and the expansion of war.
We have lost so much art and gained so many billionaires by the current system that we live in.
And that is not progress. That’s a slow cultural eviction.
Sources (for footnotes)
- University Musical Society (UMS), “Dimanche” (Belgian companies; puppetry/video/mime/clowning).
- University Musical Society (UMS), “Are we not drawn onward to new erA” (Belgian theater collective Ontroerend Goed; post-performance Q&A noted).
- Working in the Arts (Belgian official portal), overview of the 2024 reform and arts worker attestation access to social advantages.
- Working in the Arts (Belgian federal site), “Commission du travail des arts / Arts Work Commission” description and role.
- Office national de l’emploi (ONEM/RVA), rules for arts workers (attestation requirements; 36-month application period; renewal conditions).
- Amplo (Belgium), FAQ on Art Work Allowance amounts and duration (practical explainer used widely in the sector).
- TED / YouTube, Hadi Eldebek, “Why must artists be poor?” (talk proposing structural support for artists).
- U.S. Government sources on U.S.–Israel security assistance framework and annual levels under the 10-year MOU (FY2019–FY2028).
- National Assembly of State Arts Agencies (NASAA), update noting NEA funded at $207M for FY2026.
- Brown University, Costs of War project, reporting on total U.S. military support connected to Israel’s operations since Oct. 7, 2023.
- American Psychological Association, overview on the science of creativity.
- Peer-reviewed research/meta-analysis on stress and creativity (overall negative effect and mechanisms like reduced cognitive flexibility).
Disclaimer
This article is commentary and analysis intended for informational purposes and community discussion. It does not constitute legal, financial, or professional advice. While every effort was made to rely on credible public information and accurately represent cited sources, details may evolve, and interpretations may differ. For any corrections, clarifications, or comments you would like inserted in the article, please email info@dearbornblog.com.
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