So Emotional – Survival Tactics and General Education

I decided to study dance, and I write this blog, in part because I think dance can make the world a better place. Four years into a PhD later I am still just as convinced of that truth, and I am beginning to get a much clearer picture of how.

Part One:

In the UK we narrow our subjects early: by 15 we have around 10, by 17 that’s dropped to three or four. At university I only studied one subject and that subject was dance, which sometimes made it hard to keep track of the rest of the world. At 17 the bane of everyone’s life was “General Studies” – the everything else class. The little bit of ecology, sociology, science, politics, art, and culture that was supposed to make you a well-rounded human being no-matter what three other subjects you happened to specialise in. The class where we learned to dissect a newspaper article and an advert, and covered a whole range of subjects with such appalling superficiality that it often didn’t feel like we were learning anything at all.

It wasn’t until I started to really care about politics that I realised how grateful I was for general studies. For far too long I let my ignorance about politics act as an excuse not to engage at all: “I don’t know very much, so it’s better for everyone if I just don’t take part. Right?” Of course I eventually worked out that people with a lot less knowledge than I had were taking part and making an absolute mess of it, and if I wanted anything to change I’d better get more knowledge quickly, and then I was glad to have been given at least a basic crash course, if not in everything I needed to know, at least a sort of rough outline of what I ought to start teaching myself, and some of the issues at stake. And then I moved to America and just about had to start all over again.

For the last year I have been, essentially, teaching a general studies class. American universities – I still haven’t learned to call them colleges – require their students to take a whole slew of subjects, but General Education is still considered necessary for them to come out as well-rounded human beings, hence my class, Dance in Popular Culture. At first I thought that teaching this class was impossible: there are more dance forms on the syllabus than there are class days in the semester, and each one needs to come with its appropriate cultural background and contextual awareness. How on earth do I give everything a fair hearing without flooding my students with information? How do I teach dance forms that are completely new to me? How do I teach the context and culture of representation across an entire century and actually make it matter?

So I spent a lot of time thinking about the point of general studies.

Part Two:

Earlier this year I was made suddenly and appallingly homeless. I am still very much not ok. I am, however deeply, unendingly thankful for the human who on almost no notice gave me a safe place to stay, and who introduced me, among other things, to RuPaul’s Drag Race, and to the drag queen Sasha Velour.

I had never quite got the hang of drag before, but Sasha’s queer aesthetic, her articulate, cerebral deconstruction of gender through juxtaposition and hyperbole, her…. Her everything…. I was instantly smitten. Her drag, and undeniably, the other queens of the series, had a politics with the potential to slay conservatism in its tracks, a fierce energy that grappled with gender, race, mind and body, and didn’t shy away from deep feeling. In the face of the assaults on human rights of the last year, and on humans, I wanted to be like Sasha Velour: I wanted to tear my hair off, I wanted to cry until rose petals shook from my skin, I wanted to get So Emotional.* And for the last year, and the last months, I have not been doing those things. I did my job, I found a new house, I carried on. I had not, until I saw it, come to terms with my need to have someone else doing those other things for me.

So I had to rethink what I thought about drag.

Part Three:

I’ve come to see general studies as the class where we teach survival. The stuff we think people need to know in order to make their way in the world around their vocations. What are the messages in media, and why should we care about them? In shifts of the law, what are we being taught about power and ownership, and how do those new structures impact us, and the people around us? Dance is an art, but it’s also a lens to look at the control and emancipation of bodies, and how the fight around that is being fought on small screens, on big screens, in clubs and in government chambers. I still can’t teach it all, but I now I hope that I’m delivering the content so that my students will be able to teach themselves the stuff that matters when it matters.

My students are awesome.

Drag is on my syllabus now, at my own insistence – we have collectively decided that gender needs to be general, not just specialist education.** We go from Paris is Burning to Voguing to Sasha Velour. We talk about signs of gender and sexuality and what pop culture tells us we’re supposed to want. We talk about the need for community, behaviours of belonging, and how we have a choice in what messages we take onto our bodies. We talk about these things briefly and lightly and with nowhere near enough time, and I make my peace with that. I will be sad to leave this class behind.

When we need to teach too much, and we need to know too much, and we live in a political environment where every aspect of our society is undergoing fundamental policy shift, we have to be able to deal with a flood of information. We have to become generalists as well as specialists. We have to teach, and know, too much, and we have to be able to do so in a way that is survivable, and that matters.

We need general education. We need monsters and freaks and rose petals. We need the tools to survive, and for me that is, unexpectedly drag. And teaching. And dance.

 

 

 

*I cannot find the Grand Final version of this song, which I would dearly love to link in here. If you know where it is (NOT the Nightgowns version), let me know!

 

 

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The Hardest Thing In the World

In 1930 Martha Graham was a young dancer transitioning between the comfortable institution of Denishawn into the risks of a choreoraphic career in New York. Léonide Massine, star choreographer of the Ballet Russe, invited her to take time away from her burgeoning company to dance the role of the “Chosen Maiden” in his version of Sacre Du Printemps [Rite of Spring]. Influences from this piece can be seen in many of Graham’s later works: claw-footed intensity, archetypical femininity, choric ritual, and yet for Graham the main lesson she took away was one she shared almost immediately with her own dancers in rehearsal, which I may be paraphrasing from poor memory and lack of sources: “I have learned the hardest thing in the world, I have learned to stand still. And now I will teach you.

As I write this I am cruising at an altitude of 35,000 ft., travelling somewhere between five and six-hundred miles an hour (thank you Shelly Voegl, United airlines) – I am doing the very opposite of standing still. I am flying between concert and social dance, teaching and conferences. I have moved through Columbus Day to World Mental Health Day to International Coming Out Day, and I am looking forward to a hike in the mountains.

I wonder, sometimes, why dancers have such  a propensity to liberal activism. Many of us have, in pursuing the fine arts as a career, eschewed some of the central tenants of capitalist society, but that doesn’t explain why the trend exists in social dancers too, even among those in the upper echelons of the economic spectrum. Maybe as people whose lives are literally lived in touch with one another we are more attentive to the responsibility and precarity of human care, and the strange shapes that sometimes has to take.

On the other hand, I have been exploring the notion recently that dancers are often activists because we deeply and viscerally understand the idea that stillness is a choice. Standing inert is not a neutral action, and choosing not to act is as inherently politically weighted as any other movement you can make. Standing still indicates a decision, a perspective, an opposition to doing anything other than occupying a position and, perhaps, observing.

In a dance class stillness can be time to attend to and care for one’s self – to listen to breath and heartbeat, to ground and settle, to allow movement to come from a more connected place. In social dancing stillness is a play, a responsiveness to music, a test of partnership and connection. On stage stillness can indicate anything from a benevolent presence, to resolve, to a complete lack of capacity. Each stillness occupied is different, and that difference holds meaning. Stillness never fails to signify, and as dancers we develop our ability to choose our own messages – we are never still by accident.

If you beg a human to help you, and they remain still, a choice has been made.

If you ask people to let you in, and they refuse to move, you have your answer.

If people shout for change, and you remain inert, you have made your refusal.

In the current political climate it is not uncommon to hear that stillness is a position of privilege: that only those who are comfortable, secure, and supported can afford to remain where they are. It is not uncommon to hear in reply that stillness indicates a lack of information, indecision, a place of too many contradicting options, or not enough – being trapped. Is it possible for audiences to distinguish the stillness of “wait,” and “help,” from the stillness of “never?” How could we move to resolve that crisis?

To an audience asking for movement, stillness looks like opposition. To a population demanding answers there is little functional difference between being ignored, the composition of a complex response, and the breath before speech. That is not to say that sometimes stillness is not powerful or needed – to obstruct, to block, to insist upon the reality of your presence, to resist the momentum around you is a powerful choice. It should always be one that you have chosen to make.

Imagine that you are a teenager, who has just come out to your parents. They stand, still, silent. You know from the internet and the experiences of your friends that the responses may run the gamut of loving acceptance, passive aggressive guilt tripping, pathologisation, denial, homelessness, violence, and death. You have moved yourself from a position of safety you occupied through silence into a position of risk facilitated by speech and movement. Your parents stand still and silent. You are afraid. Each moment the stillness stretches out ratchets up the churning in your guts, the tension, the fear. You want to give them the benefit of the doubt, to anticipate their answer, but in the light of all you know might – is likely – to happen, that seems impossible. What will they do?

Imagine you are a child on the playground and a boy has just hit you. He says you deserve it, and you go to the teacher. What lessons are learned from the teacher supporting one side, or the other? What if they say “well I can’t possibly know the truth,” or “well you’re both mature enough to sort it out for yourselves, stop making a fuss?” Having learned those lessons, what happens if he hits you again?

Martha Graham understood that stillness was hard perhaps because it is much more difficult to preserve integrity in stillness than in action. When we are prevented from moving or speaking by any kind of artistic or social choreography it is incredibly difficult to communicate who we are, what we mean, and why we have made our choices. When we are asked to act, or speak, and do not, we are asking those around us to interpret on the evidence of our non-action. That might be deliberate, and a choice you make for all kinds of reasons – to start off, it is much easier to discus and debate and potentially conflict with the thing someone did, rather than the infinite myriad of things they didn’t do. It is easier to defend an internal movement that no-one can see than the external evidence of that thought process.

If we look at the situation with dancer’s eyes, however, we become aware of stillness as a choice that serves a purpose, and that holds meaning. We are not maidens shocked into immobility by awareness of our immanent sacrificial demise, we are not deaf to the music of the world around us that asks us to respond. Take time to be learn how to be still with integrity, breathe, ground, listen, but be aware that nothing can stop and wait while you do. Your stillness is seen. What does that mean in a world where you have been asked to move?

 

Boys in Dance – Too Much of a Stretch?

A few months ago a colleague sent me a flyer for a dance conference, and I sat with this post and that flyer for a long time before I decided to write about it. The Male Dancer Conference was advertised as:

…a groundbreaking, educational and social event designed exclusively for male dancers. It features education, connection and conversation all designed to improve the present skills and future lives of male dancers. It stands as one of the only large-group, multidimensional events for male dancers to gather, learn, share, and connect. MDC participants leave as better dancers who feel enriched, empowered and connected to a community.”

Focusing on conversation, connection and education, the conference held supervised discussions, panels, classes and workshops for male dancers and the community around them, there were social activities, and a visit to the pop up shop boysdancetoo [sic]. Testimonials speak to how inspirational and empowering the experience was:

This conference filled a void in the dance world. Instead of summer intensives where our boy is the only male dancer or one of a few, this conference was all about them. It spoke to the emotional and physical demands of being a boy dancer. It was a much needed safe space for them to be their authentic selves. It was a community of friendship and support, for the boys as well as their parents. It was a nurturing and empowering four days and they all left stronger dancers (physically and emotionally) when it was over.”

…. The thing is, I’m not sure there IS a void in the dance world. Or at least, I’m not sure this attempt to address the gender imbalance in the dance world was quite the way I’d have wanted to center the conversation. This conference, and others like it, and the literature advertising boys dance classes (of which there are many) focuses on a problem of numbers:

“The male dancer has been present throughout history, but the significant lack of male dancers in the field has been and continues to be a question and a challenge. From early childhood dance and movement classes through secondary education and beyond, the dance world is faced with the question of how to attract more boys and men to the field. This problem is not limited to one genre of dance, age group, or country; the dilemma is global. This symposium seeks pragmatic solutions to address the dearth of male dancers in our studios, schools, and companies as students, professionals, and educators.” – Men In Dance: Bridging the Gap Conference

The common strategy for addressing the problem seems to be to design events for boys only, and for classes to focus on fitness, flexibility, and dance forms outside of feminine stereotypes. A dance created by men, for men, separate from “girl dance,” where (or so it seems) different skills are being learned in a way that will isolate, intimidate, and otherwise alienate the next generation of Baryshnikovs, Poulins, Wheeldons, and McGregors.

At the same time, the professional dance community is speaking out strongly about the lack of female representation all over the dance world, especially in creative and managerial roles. The appalling lack of female choreographers, and the disparate opportunities and funding offered to those who do try and make a name for themselves in contrast to their male counterparts is striking. The narrative of the oppressed, isolated male dancer who needs to be given resources and a chance might be sweet, but rippling up the field it becomes the same old glass ceiling, the same old grandfathering system, the same old privileging of male authority and creativity.

So what’s to be done?

The first question we HAVE to ask is: do boys need safe, isolated spaces, and is that the best way to make dance equally attractive to dancers of all genders?

Consider a world where dance was more about what you do than who does it. Consider classes that focused on skills like dance story telling; dance making; high energy, athletic dance; or fundamental dance technique, so that students could choose the outcomes, rather than the settings that interested them. Consider a dance class in which you weren’t immediately considered to be unique or different because of your gender – it happens in other clubs and classes all the time. While most codified, examined syllabi continue to differentiate students by gendered dress and vocabulary, other forms of dance are leading the way in terms or normalising mixed groups. In what ways could more codified dance forms address the divides in their teaching, rather than doubling down on the separation?

This ideal doesn’t take into account the cultural reality of homophobic attitudes to men in ballet, and the pervasive attitude that certain parts of dance are only for men and women – but isn’t that a belief we’re supposed to be working against? Alexei Ratmansky went on a particularly vicious screed this week along the lines of “men have the strength to lift and women have lines,” which is worth answering despite how beautifully and completely it was deconstructed by other dancers, because it shows some of the quieter, nastier beliefs at play in this logic: I have met a number of female dancers who could quite easily lift me in a full press, but the effects of that training on their bodies gave them a shape outside of the stereotypical ballet aesthetic. Are we ok with bodies outside of the stereotypical ballet aesthetic, and if we are, why can’t we teach them in a way that builds the development of muscle? What about adopting lifts from techniques that aren’t strength dependent, or lifts with more than one base? Why is so important that one man lifts one woman anyway? As to the belief that men don’t have lines… I invite my readers to post their favorite video in the comments that disproves that old chestnut.

Secondly, I’m not flat out opposed to Male Dancer conferences, or Boy’s Dance classes, especially as dance works to change its image in public consciousness. What I find appallingly absent is a discussion of male responsibility in a world where men hold a shockingly high degree of power and privilege, as well as (frequently) control over the physical safety of their partners’ bodies. If we are teaching boys that they hold a different position in the dance world, what are we teaching them to do with that position, and how are we teaching them to view those it’s not offered to?

Here are a few examples of male dancers taking responsibility in my life:

  • Seeing my love of flight, and deliberately going across the floor with me so we could enjoy a mutual challenge of strength and power.
  • Insisting I be allowed into “boys” classes.
  • Offering to teach me “male” repertoire.
  • Creating pieces where the repertoire wasn’t gendered at all.
  • Letting me base them.
  • Showing up to pas de deux classes and learning how to dance both roles.
  • Seeking my advice on how to do both roles better.
  • Inviting me to give my perspective in classes they were teaching.
  • Comparing contracts with me so we could check we were being hired for the same wages.
  • Recognising and speaking openly about their advantages as male dancers.
  • Telling people who reached out to hire them “Actually, Fen has more experience.”

Yes, you read me right, I have had male dancers in my life turn down work because they felt it was being offered to them unfairly over their female colleagues, and in some cases over me. It’s weird, but that behaviour meant that institutions and companies had to take a step back and think about why they were offering that job in the first place. I’m not telling people to turn down jobs they’ve worked hard for, or that they’re bad if they don’t. I’m not saying it’s bad or wrong to have one man lifting one woman. But we do have to think about how dance reflects wider patterns of gender discrimination in the professional world, as much as it holds the potential to subvert those patterns.

The dance communities I’m part of work hard to challenge the notion that gender defines our role as dancers, and the kinds of opportunity that are offered to us. There is a massively long way to go. But if we are going to create isolated spaces for boys and men to learn what it is to be a dancer, we ought to be taking a long, hard think about the kinds of dancers, and people, we’re teaching them to be in those spaces, and how they relate to the rest of the world when they come out.

 

 

The Linen Closet – And Other Collections

When I opened my program to write about Susan Petry’s new work: “The Linen Closet – and Other Collections” I found a perfectly preserved rose petal. Lush tactility, an evocative scent, and a little bit of magic… it was a perfect memento of the performance, which I urge you to go and see.

“The Linen Closet” explores fabric; it’s symbolic, cultural and historical warp and weft in the United States. It is a work of metamorphosis: a comforter becomes a play space, a lover, a child; the gestures of pattern cutting become a protest at the deep inequalities of children’s and women’s labour conditions. From the moment we walk into the theatre we are asked to immerse ourselves to the elbows in texture, pattern, repetition, detail, stacking and sorting, and the futility of attempting to categorise the riches draped before us. Petry transforms over the course of the performance to match her subject, flirting with kitsch and camp, simultaneously tongue in cheek and deeply sincere. For me the highlight was the vignette of a needle-eyed, voguing catwalk model, fierce and powerful, who exposes the urgency underpinning the soft surfaces of the work. History with a critical eye; domesticity with a bite; silk and chiffon as agents of change.

In “The Gift Project” Petry embodies the work and person of five different choreographers. As in “The Linen Closet” she makes light of the virtuosity required by her project, showing us the preparation and change from one body to another. The delight of seeing old friends in a new physicality, and five very different works approached with love and commitment is a breath of fresh air in an artistic and political climate where difference and diversion is often so divisive. The sole odd note of the evening occurs as Petry becomes a hip-hop performer for her final gifting: a good portion of the audience sniggers, breaking the generous suspension of disbelief that has been the tone of the work so far. Petry has to work hard to convince them that “no, really, I am genuinely embodying this presence.” She succeeds – totally and completely – but departs the state leaving me with questions in her wake.

The final work of the evening, “O Mortal” is breathtaking. A study in clarity and control, we see Petry as herself, finally, present and essential. Around her lies a ring of donated garments, and she moves through an introspective series of progressions to become the ever-flowing center of her own multiplicity. Together, the three works form a rich investigation into that which we put onto our skin and bodies: clothes, identities, and movement. We are asked to see and to witness, clearly and with love, who we are, and how we can choose to become.

 

Cats, Carrots, and Teaching through Shame

I am trying, and failing, to get my cat to stay off the kitchen counters.

She is a fluffy, spoiled, ginger princess who has never quite got a handle on the whole “no means no” thing, let alone the “no means no now, and also no in every conceivable instance where you might want to do this in the future” thing. She is reluctantly getting better at the distinction between cat food and people food, and polite manners if you want to share someone’s bed, but the counters remain our biggest battleground.

Half the problem is her sweet temper, which seems to shrug of any attempt at discipline. She never bites or claws. But no raised voice, spritz of water, time out in a closet, loud noise nor any other disincentive seems to put the slightest check on her desire to snuggle and love… or her desire to be on the counters.

And yes, part of the problem is me. I am no disciplinarian. From small children to large children to adults to cats, there are some strategies I just don’t want to employ. I don’t want my cat to ever have reason to be afraid of me, and so I won’t teach a lesson through fear.

Which finally brings me to the point of this blog post, which has been germinating for a few weeks know in response to the pronouncement of one of my very smart colleagues. We were looking at an unsuccessful pedagogical instance (which I will not describe), and trying to pin down why it had failed: “It wasn’t the lesson taught that was ever the problem.” My colleague said, “It was the fact that it was taught through shame.”

Teaching through fear. Teaching through shame. In the dance classroom we’re no strangers to these strategies. Stereotypically it’s ramrod ballet mistresses who do the worst damage, particularly around size/food and yes, I met that problem… and I also met the ballet teacher who taught me how to think better than that. But while we can all imagine how shame and fear might be mobilised in that scenario, a more complex problem arises in the tangling of academia and ethics going on in humanities classrooms, and I want to think about how shame and fear are coming into play in the shaping of student’s beliefs about themselves and the world.

For those of you outside of dance in academia, let me back up a little and say that dance is providing the language and techniques for some of the best social scholarship being done at the moment. You’re probably familiar with the term “social justice movement;” what is the choreography of that movement? When a politician makes an ineffective gesture, what shape did they attempt to trace on the world, and why was it interrupted? How has dance been used to represent culture, and how could it challenge the representations that do harm?

So in dance classrooms, and especially dance theory classrooms, there’s a weight given to certain beliefs and attitudes, and certain conclusions that get implied in scholarship. Those conclusions are not bad. They are often demonstrably true. At other times they are more tenuous, or have holes themselves. But when we encounter students who do not already share those conclusions, there’s a temptation to skip the demonstration of the facts and jump right to the “but why don’t you know this already” teaching that’s extra dangerous now because it involves a value judgement about someone’s ethics.

From the opposite perspective, students face massive obstacles to critical thinking in these areas where scholarship and ethics intertwine, because there are certain question they’re afraid to ask their professors. A challenge to knowledge can all too easily become a challenge to ethics and a challenge to personhood – are we being clear about where we’re drawing the line?

An example from my own career: a few years ago I taught a group of students in their 20s who claimed to have never heard the term “patriarchy.” I really hope that the “Dear Lord, really?” didn’t show on my face as I put my lesson aside for a while to go over that term. Maybe it didn’t, because as I discussed household gender values a student interrupted me to point out that “actually, in my experience of Jamaican households and neighbourhoods the power structure looks very different to that.” I’m glad that I was young enough and unsure enough to admit the incompleteness of my argument then. I also wonder whether my students would point out that additional perspective now.

In a liberal climate, my identity categories mean that I am rarely told to check my privilege, and on a lot of subjects my experiential knowledge is accepted as a kind of truth. But I don’t want my students to accept things because I say so, or because they are afraid of what will happen if they don’t. I want them to have the tools to decide for themselves whether something is valid, and yes, I hope that often our views will align. On a very basic level, I want them to do homework because they believe it will help them with school and the world, not because failing to do it will result in funding, security, or future opportunities being taken away. I want them to speak up in class because the material is interesting, rather than because they don’t want to fail on a participation grade. I’d rather teach with carrot than stick.

In the outside world, where I also teach dance, the same logic applies. Our organisation expects people to dance in ways that make their partners feel uncomfortable, and that is why we have a safety policy: so that teachers and organisers can fix people’s technique and make that happen less. What that policy is not is a statement of what all good, decent people should be doing automatically, and anyone who falls outside it is a terrible human being. In my learning-to-dance trajectory I have accidentally grabbed breasts, dipped myself against my partner’s consent, knocked people flying… and I am in CHARGE of dance safety on my scene, in part because I’m good at judging when someone is still learning, and when someone has learned that it’s fun to cross lines. My ideal is when I can tell someone that the way they’re holding me is hurting, have them change their grip, and still happily ask to dance with me again 20 minutes later.

In the outside outside world, where I happen to live as a human being, my pronoun is often a cause for contention, and other people feeling ashamed. I wish that weren’t the case. Yes, I wish they’d get the pronoun right, but I also think they’d be more likely to get it right, and less defensive about their mistakes, if they could feel calm about what the consequences of a mistake would be. Hugs and high fives and thanks the first few times they get it right are, I’ve found, not a bad way to start the switch from stick to carrot, and I’ve had all sorts of people ask me all kinds of cool gender questions as a result. (I don’t always have time or energy to answer, but that’s another matter).

I am by no means perfect, especially just after I’ve watched the news. A few weeks ago a dear cis friend said something about queerness and I snapped back “well that’s just factually wrong.” Luckily we know each other well enough that after a break to breathe we could come back to the conversation, and listen to the point being made and why it might or might not work in context. I’m glad that my abrupt closure of the discussion – shame is a really quick way to shut down a discussion – wound up not preventing that. I need spaces in my life where I am not playing teacher, and where I can yell and judge and be angry to my heart’s content. I know there will be consequences for that anger if I let if fly at the wrong place and time. I’m glad I have people around me who can forgive me when I do.

Yes, this is all a very idealistic perspective. As John Molyneux says, the argument that there’s always some right on both sides is, in itself, a bias that there are only two sides, and the truth is always split between them. That’s just factually wrong. A lot of things are. Ignorance, however innocent, does not have the same rhetorical validity as truth, and I am not arguing that it does. Nor am I pretending that people don’t go into situations wanting to create shame, fear, and other bad feelings of their own, they do.

But in classrooms, where we’re trying to prepare students for the world, I’m trying to be extra careful about the persuasive strategies I employ as models for how people might go out and persuade others. I try not to make it so that the views I value most highly are the ones that make my students feel afraid. I ask myself: if the only way I have to teach this viewpoint is shame or fear, why do I believe in it? If the only way I have to teach this viewpoint is by making my students feel shame and fear, is it really a lesson I want to teach?

How to Be Mad

Friends, it’s almost a month later. How are you doing? Are you safe?

If you’re anything like me, you’re doing a delicate dance* between trying to carry on with your life, activism, and a new phenomenon that I call Trump Fatigue, where you collapse under a blanket absolutely paralysed and despairing because you still can’t believe this is happening. Sound about right?

I see laws coming through the pipeline that massively affect me, that massively affect my friends, that massively affect the country. I’m seeing a lot more violence. I’m seeing division in communities as we desperately fight to protect a life’s worth of causes on limited resources. So here, for our benefit is my guide to the hardest part of post-Trump life: how to be mad.

mad (măd) adj. Angry; resentful. See Synonyms: angry.**

A lot of us have worked very hard not to be mad, it’s kind of a frowned-upon emotion in liberal circles. But we’re not in rational times any more, and trying to pretend you’re not mad at Trump could get you in more trouble than you’re in now, and could literally get people killed. So once again: how to be mad.

  1. Get mad about all the things, and focus on some of them. You do not have the energy to be as mad as Trump’s work deserves. This is why he’s been so successful. Across a broad ranging platform of policies he has wreaked such destruction that we can’t channel our energy enough to fight back. Be mad about that! And then pick the places where you and your anger can do the work of fighting back.
  2. Do not get mad at other people’s mad. Women’s March, I am looking at YOU. Because of step one, you’re going to have a lot of people around you with different mad to you. Some of them will be mad at you. Some of them will be ignoring your mad. These people are your allies – listen to them. You have the same reasons to be mad, why are your expressions of that mad different? Does your mad need changing? Are you aware of the ways your mad might be making extra work for other people? What can you do about that?
  3. Remind yourself why you are mad. You’re probably getting really tired right about now. Maybe you switched off from the news, or facebook, and you wish that the mad around would just be over. Stop! Remember why you are mad, and the worth of that response in the face of what’s going on in the world. If you are prepared to accept what’s going on in order to be comfortable, that is a choice. But others out there can’t, and if you can’t accept Trump, you’re going to feel mad.
  4. Be your own kind of mad. Not everyone is a protestor. Not everyone can call senators. Your mad might be loud, or quiet, or based entirely online. It might cry, and it might scream. Make it work for you. You do not need to be anyone else’s mad.
  5. But be mad in good ways! There are good and bad kinds of mad. There is the mad that allows people to get mad alongside you, and there is the mad that turns you into a threat. If you are smashing tables because you don’t like what someone has to say about your anti-abortion bill? That’s the bad kind of mad. Punching Nazi’s… ok I’m not so sure about the Nazi punching. I absolutely think physical violence is to be avoided, but if that Nazi came for me, I would want someone to punch that Nazi. But those of you saying you’d “bang” Melania Trump just to see the look on her father’s face? You are part of the problem, and I am mad at you too. You are the reason we can’t have nice things…. Like female presidents! Who aren’t Trump! Be the kind of mad that sees the world now, and sees the world better, and gets angry as the distance.
  6. Take breaks from being mad. Hormones and chemicals and tremors oh my! Mad is physically exhausting. Take time out to give yourself a break from being mad. Take care of yourself. But also remember that the people still being mad might need your support more than you need support for taking a break. Take your space to recover. Let them have space to be mad. And when you come back, bring cookies, or something.
  7. Let people see that you are mad. This is a bit contradictory, which is why I left it until after the funny cat video. There’s a lot of pressure on certain groups of people to stop being mad. Or to say they aren’t mad. They’re having to choose between being mad, and serious threat to themselves and their families. So if you can afford to be visibly mad, be mad! Be mad for yourself, and be mad for others. Say “I am so angry about what is being done to you.” Punch holes in the walls that say only some anger is valid.
  8. Make space for other people’s mad. This is the flip side of that advice: your mad might not be the most important mad in the room. You getting mad about something in the abstract might be getting in the way of someone with a quieter mad, who’s actually living it. If you silence your mad, you’re probably silencing theirs as well, but don’t get mad so loudly that they can’t be heard. Practice the balance of being mad together.
  9. Get educated. You are going to be called out and asked to justify your mad. You are going to be asked what you want to be done. You are going to be fed a lot of information about why your mad really doesn’t matter. Resist. Read books, watch documentaries, select carefully from the internet. Seek out sources from people who’ve done the research, especially people who’ve done the research who don’t live like you. If someone tells you to look at something, look at it. Have the discussion. Put a whetstone to the edge of your mad and hone it until it can cut through anything. Know, also, the risks of being mad.
  10. Direct your mad. Mad can only do so much good between four walls. Use your private spaces to grow and nurture your mad into a force, but don’t neglect using that force in the world. Let it drive you to do the things you’d otherwise be too tired, sad or scared to do. Find out, as I have, that mad can make you teach, and mad can make you learn, and often, and the best way I have found of being mad in the world?

Is kindness.

* Yes I shoehorned that in to justify publishing this on my dance blog.
** Colloquially, mad can also be a derogatory term related to mental illness. I’m also finding it really useful as a term right now. I absolutely and only mean it according to the definition, but that’s why I’ve been careful not to say “madness” anywhere in this post.

A Holiday Guide To Dancers – Part 2

Hello friends, it’s been a tumultuous year, which can only mean that it’s time for the second installment of my holiday dancers guide! This year we’re focusing on modern and contemporary dancers, for the specialist spotter. If you haven’t seen the original guide, you can read it here. Enjoy!

Screen Shot 2016-12-11 at 10.56.42.pngDuncan Dancer

Look out for: Unexpected skipping, knocking things down with scarves

Favourite tipple: White wine

Wearing: Grecian drapery

Ideal Gift: Flowers

Political Stance: I see America weeping

Conversation Starters

Bad: Have you tried my new motorcar?

Better: How do myths relate to us now?

Best: What invigorates your soul motor?

 

 

Screen Shot 2016-12-11 at 10.57.09.png

Graham Dancer

Look out for: Standing perfectly still, wild-eyed, as the room swirls around in chaos

Favourite tipple: THE BLOOD OF MY ENEMIES

Wearing: THE BLOOD OF MY ENE … Black.

Ideal Gift: Eye makeup

Political Stance: Movement never lies, but Trump…..

Conversation Starters

Bad: Aren’t you getting a bit old for this kind of thing?

Better: How do you think Jung would interpret this party if it were a dream?

Best: Can you tell me something about yourself?

 

 

Cunningham Dancerscreen-shot-2016-12-11-at-10-57-40

Look out for: Turning the christmas tree into modern art

Favourite tipple: Guinness

Wearing: Brightly coloured leggings

Ideal Gift: A blank canvas

Political Stance: Come away with me to Black Mountain…

Conversation Starters

Bad: Can you count this music?

Better: How could we stage an Event in here?

Best: What is the alignment of democracy and chaos?

 

 

Judson Dancer

screen-shot-2016-12-11-at-10-58-23Look out for: Unexplained durational activity, accompanied by blank staring

Favourite tipple: Vodka

Wearing: Beads, feathers, and a small ornamental birdcage

Ideal Gift: You really can’t go wrong here

Political Stance: NO Manifesto

Conversation Starters

Bad: Is this art?

Better: What is art?

Best: Does art matter?

 

 

Release Dancer

Look out for: Sitting on anything except a chairScreen Shot 2016-12-11 at 10.58.41.png

Favourite tipple: Wheat beer

Wearing: Hemp and bamboo

Ideal Gift: Tennis balls

Political Stance: Semi-supine

Conversation Starters

Bad: Is there any technique to what you do?

Better: Why is ballet evil?

Best: How are your fascia doing?

 

Got another kind of dancer you want added to the guide? Comment below!