Category Archives: community

Social Dancing With Pride

Hooray! It’s Pride Month! The time of year when my city gets decked out in rainbows, and the memes pages of the internet are full of people like me! Woo! Pride weekend always seems to coincide with my being at a dance event, and over the last few years I’ve seen organizers make a wide range of choices about what to do with that information – including ignoring it entirely.

If you are a LGBTQIA social dance organizer, then by all means organize your dance your way with regards to Pride. But if you are a cis, straight organizer and your dance falls over Pride weekend, here are some things to think about before you pull out the rainbows and decide you want to run a pride dance:

First: If you want to have a designated “Pride dance” then you MUST involve diverse LGBTQIA organizers and you MUST pay them for their time and you MUST listen to what they have to say. Otherwise stick to acknowledging Pride within the boundaries of your event, without calling it a Pride event.

Second: don’t assume there’s only one Pride event in your city when you’re scheduling. A LOT of queer and trans people have been frustrated by corporate sponsorship of Pride, by pinkwashing, by how events are policed, by the presentation of only a very narrow vision of queerness, by the appropriation of Pride as a party for straight people. As a result, there are now a large number of alt prides/community prides, or other Pride events that you should be on the look out for too.

Third: “celebrating” Pride at your dance will not fool ANYONE if you’re not already running an inclusive scene already.

  • Do you have LGBTQIA leadership?
  • Do you hire LGBTQIA teachers and DJs?
  • Do you have a gender-neutral bathroom?
  • Do you have an inclusivity statement on your website or facebook page?
  • Do people of all genders regularly ask each other to dance in multiple roles?
  • Do you actively seek to recruit dancers from LGBTQIA populations? Especially LGBTQIA POCs?
  • Do you know what the above acronym means and why it’s important?
  • Do you know about the LGBTQIA history and culture of your dance form?
  • Do you have a transparent and active approach to inclusive space-making?

Or

  • Do your instructors divide the room into “men” and “women”?
  • Do you have separate door prices based on role or gender?
  • Does your advertising literature feature only heterosexual couples?
  • Do men do the majority of asking people to dance?
  • Do you dismiss the concerns of LGBTQIA attendees?
  • Are some LGBTQIA people more welcome in your scene than others?

 

If you have thought about these things already and it’s genuinely important to you to acknowledge Pride… personally, I’m all for it. I really do appreciate when scenes show that they’ve realized their LGBTQIA attendees are spending time with them on a politically and historically important day. I like it when my identity, and queer liberation, is celebrated within my community. With that in mind, here are some suggestions for things you can do to acknowledge Pride as an ally organizer:

  • Frame your intentions in the event description: we know we’re on the same day as Pride, so we’re running a Pride Dance with the leadership of… / and while we’re not running a Pride dance, we do want to welcome and celebrate any members of the LGBTQIA community who want to come out and dance with us.
  • Make a special effort to hire LGBTQIA teachers and DJs. Maybe bring someone in from out of town. Pay them. Invite them to play some songs that reflect that it’s Pride. A well-meaning ally is not an LGBTQIA person.
  • Give money from the event to an LGBTQIA charity or cause.
  • Have a snowball or jam for your LGBTQIA attendees.*
  • Put up articles, songs, or videos about LGBTQIA history within your dance form.
  • Update your information and policies to make sure that they’re sexuality and gender-inclusive. Maybe pay an LGBTQIA person to look things over with you… I can be hired to do just that – get in touch.
  • Model the behavior you want to see at your event: offer your pronouns as you introduce yourself, ask someone of your gender to dance, ask which role someone prefers. Teach your attendees to do the same.
  • DON’T monetize Pride and feed that money back into your own organization if you’re not an actively LGBTQIA-led scene.

You don’t have to do ALL of these things, but if you are looking at all of them and thinking that they all sound like a lot of change and effort, then maybe you don’t care as much about Pride as you want people to think you do. At the end of the day, Pride should be a chance to celebrate the values and community that you already have, not a one-day vacation into rainbow-feel-good-land because you like our colour palette. There are a lot of really lovely, inclusive scenes out there being run by allies with whom I’d be happy to share my Pride day. I hope other scenes use Pride as an invitation to do better now, and in the future.

 

 

 

 

 

* Make sure you’re really clear about the place of allies in any spotlighting activity. I still cringe about the song explicitly “for queer attendees” that was completely DOMINATED by a straight, cis “ally” who wanted to showcase himself. On the other hand, maybe someone identifies as LGBTQIA and hasn’t told you yet. Use your good judgement, or ask someone to make that call if you can’t.

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Unbound, We Howl

It is international women’s day… and I am not one.

I am frequently mistaken for a woman, in fact I have been for most of my life, and I could probably still pass for one if I chose. So what are the political stakes of deliberately choosing to step outside of the identity – in fact the political position – that is being a woman, and say: “no, I am something else?” Feminist and theorist Laurie Penny writes that she is biologically non-binary, but politically a woman because she believes that the experiences of her life in her body make it fundamentally necessary to speak to the position of women in today’s social environment. What is it, then, this political identity that is “woman” that I have never been a part of? Where does it intersect with “feminist” – which I am? How can that identity and politics and weight and necessity be communicated to those who sit outside of that identity and politics in every direction? Well, if you believe Alexandra Stilianos, and I usually do, you start with anger.

Unbound, We Howl is an unashamed polemic on the state of women in humanity. It begins with seventeen dancers – women and not – seated on the floor of the stage, facing away from the audience, watching a collage of found footage and scrolling, distorted headlines on transgender suicide and bathroom bills. Rather than setting up transwomen as the limit break case on the breath of identity, Stilianos places them right away at the center of her community, and then gets on with the serious business of exploring the heart of what being a woman actually means. In this space, what it means is these dancers, captured in life-size portrait on the backcloth of the stage. The seated cast rises to take their place in a two-dimensional pencil outline of themselves, fitting into the shapes that have been left by them in a moment of captured time, filling them out into three-dimensional reality. And then they move.

It starts very simply, with a short run and a one-handed appeal to the audience. We begin to hear fragments of text from Sylvia Plath, Jeanann Verlee, given voice by the dancers, or by electronic distortion, or even Siri – reminding us that we have consistently chosen a women’s voice to anthropomorphosise the idea of passive service. (Incidentally, while Siri, Alexa, Microsoft Cortana, Google Home and Facebook M will all tell you they have no gender, they all present as female, and advertising literature refers to them interchangeably as “she” and “it.” Woman or object… why not both?!) The dancers on stage emerge, explore, trace the present materiality of their bodies, crawl towards us, all with a gradual undertone of wary tension – a coming storm.

It is Andie Altchiler who breaks the tension first, with a stumbling, tripping, whirlwind of a solo that flings her legs and arms and hair all across the stage, only brought to a halt by a shout from another dancer. The cast retreat back into their portraits, but only for a second, crawling straight back out to make tornadoes of their own. The portraits become a home-base, a space owned by the dancers inhabiting their bodies, from which they can emerge to speak out amidst the tumult of cascading voices. This play between the general torrent of opinion and the specific kinesthetic appeals of each dancer, belies an easy theorization of the piece’s thesis or driving point. Each dancer becomes a manifestation of her own identity, gathered within the collective umbrella of a shared political identity: woman. At last they run forward and stand shoulder to shoulder at the front of the stage, visible and present, ready to be seen.

But the dancers are not interested in us, yet. Instead their gaze drags ours upwards to where an additional cast of dancers marches above us in silent protest, trapped by the bars of the lighting grid and unnoticed until this moment. The unusual perspective that keeps them from us and us from them shows us the vulnerability of bodies hitting the floor, but also renders their protest partially illegible – we are not used to seeing from below, and we cannot access the complexity and completeness of what it is they are trying to say.

Back down on the stage the tornadoes continue, but now the dancers add their individual voices into the play of sound around them. Stilianos joins her cast onstage to create a live mixing of light, sound, and projection, lending a sense of authenticity and spontaneity to this impassioned moment. Kat Sprudzs cranes her “poor, female head” into the microphone as she writhes across the floor, Laura Deangelis clambers on top of another performer to say… something about sex that she can never really quite get high enough for us to hear. The thwarting of the dancer’s voices and the impossible attitudes they have to enter into in order to amplify themselves explains why some simply try to stand by themselves and shout without the microphone, trying to make their point against the noise and movement all around them. The work begins to expand into the audience, the performers linking hands in a long, anchoring line as Emily Gaffga – finally in control of the microphone but with her voice distorted, walks among the seats asking questions about make-up: “Are you selling your body?” The line breaks down and struggles within itself as dancers fight to be heard, while above us more and more of the marchers collapse to the floor and shout at each other – the text on the back wall reads: “RECKONING.”

Some kind of accommodation: the dancers run and walk around the stage, are picked up, stand above the crowd, fall, roll, return to walking and running again. They return to their portrait line and stride forward together. Chaos. Dissolution. One dancer lays down erratic taped pathways while another dancer flings herself behind to stick them to the floor. Text drops from the ceiling to be read, the back of the stage reads “FEAR.” The dancers appeal to the audience for help but the project remains unclear – we don’t know how to productively intervene. Each dancer shouts, runs, dances, implores us to understand, but most of all we are asked to bear witness to the struggle in front of us: the performance that lacks unification but which is fundamentally about unity; which is as complicated as politics and as difficult as it is to define what it means to be human. Given torches, all the audience can do is shine a wavering light on the movement or image that makes most sense to them in the moment.

Just as I am beginning to understand, the lights cut out and – for a moment – we all breathe together. Exhausted.

Links to the full work can be found at Stilianos’s website.

A Lesson in Fear

I thought that the next post up on the Headtail Connection would be dance-specific one. In fact I have a dance post, all written out, but I’m waiting on feedback from a collaborator. So very soon you’ll get the next installment of “What Is Fusion.” But in the meantime… it’s been a very trans week. The republican government is attempting to redefine protected identity categories in order to create a legally actionable definition of gender that is indistinguishable from sex-as-assigned-at-birth. The UK government has also been pursuing an update to how it offers Gender Recognition Certificates, involving a lengthy public consultation.

I wasn’t going to bring those issues here. Instead I wrote an extended post on my facebook page about actionable ways to support transgender people, which has had an incredible reach and which I will include at the bottom of this post for those interested. As much of the content of this blog is personal, it’s mostly a geek-oriented and non-partisan space.

But then I read this article by the Reynolds School of Journalism and featured on Medium.com. If you don’t want to click out on the link, the summary of the article is that Republican students on campus feel afraid, and outcast, and think their teachers and peers are acting against them for having certain political views. This seems to fall nicely under my remit as a dancer, geek, pedagogue and blogger, so I’m going to talk a little bit about that fear.

I have republican students in my classroom. I know it. I have students who support Trump, I have students who have never met a queer person, who grew up attending all-white schools, who come to school wearing merchandise featuring Native American mascots, who don’t want to have any involvement in politics, who think dance is an easy A, who don’t want to dance with anyone of the same gender, who… you get my drift. It’s a mixed classroom.

I’m a masc-of-center non-binary queer, who takes they pronouns, and advocates for inclusivity, and wears button-downs and a buzz cut, and lectures about race and gender and sexuality and representation in the arts. While the university asks me to keep my political affiliation quiet, there is NO WAY that students do not know something of how I feel about Trump and republicans and conservatism. And since my students have to write essays in my classes about race, gender, sexuality etc etc… that’s a little bit of a problem. Admittedly not all teachers will have their politics made obvious by their identity in the same way that I do, but the way these teachers frame a discussion around issues of identity and politics will usually make their position fairly obvious.

Talking with my colleagues across the university, it’s clear that not all teachers inspire the same amount of fear in their students. A teacher with a visibly marginalized identity will be seen as “biased,” and will receive treatment and teaching evaluations to that end, while a white cis-male professor can be far more politically active in his content and will be reviewed as impartial. So for someone like me, it’s really important to try and remove the perception of bias from my classroom.

So how do I do that?

At the beginning of every semester I go through the syllabus with my students, and we discuss what it means to create an environment where it is safe for everyone to learn and grow. I promise that I will grade their research on accuracy, not politics, and that I do not have to agree with everything they write for them to get an A. I hold myself to that, taking advice from my colleagues and my rubrics when I think I’m in danger of not being fair.

I make a point of answering questions and opinions from a place of historical evidence/fact rather than from a place of opinion or feeling. People say things in discussions that I absolutely disagree with – about art as much as about identity – but if there is space in the evidence as far as I know it to validate their opinion then I will. If not, “that’s an interesting interpretation and I can see how you got there but in fact…” or “I’m not seeing how you got that, can you explain some more” are good ways to start dealing with difference.

Where I do draw a line is that if a student says or writes something that is to the best of my knowledge inaccurate, it is my job as an educator to correct or clarify for them. That can be difficult to do well. A while ago a student in my class expressed doubt about the existence of white privilege, arguing that white people exist in states of extreme poverty and deprivation, so white people can’t all be privileged. In that case I clarified that yes, white people definitely do live in extremes of inequality, but that I’m talking about white privilege as a structural system that favours whiteness over other races, not making a statement that all white people enjoy the material and social security because of privilege, or aren’t affected by other forms of inequality. This system has been demonstrably proven to exist, even if its manifestations aren’t always clear. We agreed that that was a reasonable basis for discussion.

I hope that in that instance my student didn’t feel like she was pressured into agreeing with me. Since she continues to speak up in class I’m assuming not. Luckily in that case I had three other adults in the room: my TA and two university staff members, one of whom sent me a very nice email saying how much she admired my fair approach to cultural and political discussions. So I feel validated in saying that I try and treat all my students well, even if they disagree with me.

I also think that stepping outside of the white historical canon is a political act. There would be far less dissent (and less critical thinking) in my classroom if I taught canonical dance history, or used white male authors. That choice would be seen by many as politically neutral, and that by mentioning Tchaikovsky’s homosexuality, or Frederick Ashton’s desire to be female (at least sometimes), I’m dragging politics in where it doesn’t belong. But these are historically demonstrable statements with a profound effect on how we understand the lives of these artists and the works that they make. If we treat all voices as equal then that means all voices, not just the ones that are easy, and don’t challenge us to confront our bias. It would make me a very bad teacher.

So what about these students who are all feeling afraid? Or other people who feel like they are being “bullied” for holding conservative or controversial views. It’s a hard call to make in academia, because so much of our history is about genius pushing through entrenched and dogmatic opposition, so it’s understandable why people want to cast themselves on the side of the oppressed genius, and keep pushing on with their viewpoint against all the evidence and odds. Both sides tend to believe that their opponents are entrenched, dogmatic, and oblivious to both the facts and the humanity of anyone who disagrees with them. They poke holes in any conflicting evidence, demand an exorbitant standard of proof, and resort to ad hominem attacks and traumatized rage in this desperate struggle to… to do what?

This is a point that I’ll try and make clearly and fairly, but my politics are going to show for a bit. It is now the desired policy of the republican government that trans people do not deserve protection against bias. It is the desired policy of the republican government that homosexual people be denied the right to services, up to and including housing and medical care. It is the official policy of the republican government to separate migrants from their children, and to house those children in brutal, inhumane conditions. It is the desired policy of the republican government that women lose their right to abortion, and to birth control. It is the official position of the republican government that climate change does not exist, and should not be discussed. That these goals and desires exist is supportable by evidence as best as I can find it. So even if they only selectively adhere to republican politics, students voting for a republican government are seeking for these things to happen, and to exacerbate. In contrast I have not seen any desired policy of the democratic party that seeks to deny social or civil rights, or services, to straight, white, or cis people. Or republicans.

There are people out there, and in my classrooms, who would argue that these are good things. That they are backed by logic and sound reasoning. I live on the internet, I have had those arguments. What I have not yet found is any good evidence supporting these policies as successful ways of achieving their intended aims. They rely on fundamental misunderstandings of economics, social sciences, biology, human behaviour, etc etc. It’s like UK austerity politics, they don’t work. We know they don’t work. All the evidence shows they don’t work. They do a huge amount of harm. Just because they sound appealing on paper to a certain subset of the population doesn’t mean that at the end of the day they work. Arguing for them is not lone genius pushing against dogma, it’s an old idea proven wrong by new evidence.

So back to these students.

We have to be able to tell students that they are wrong when they are wrong. We have to tell them when their evidence is flawed, or non-existent. We have to do it without calling them horrible people or blaming them for views they have come to through completely understandable routes. As educators we should be aware of the paucity of information available to some of our students and the bias with which much information is presented. The free availability of absolute garbage, and the algorithms by which it appears to us as truth. A big problem is that the “truth” is now an intensely political quality, and students aren’t willing to believe science and facts any more if they contradict a political ideology. And we return to this idea that students are simply trying to say what they know, in dread of the political bias and mindless adherence to false beliefs by their teachers. It’s really, really sad.

In the linked article students said that they wanted to be known as individuals before they were judged for their politics. I don’t think that’s an unreasonable ask. But I can like a student very much as a human and still desperately want to shift them from a belief that will lead to them growing up to do harm, those aren’t conflicting positions for me. I can still teach the evidence as best I know it to be true. I can still teach my required curriculum – which is about race and gender and representation – and ask students to gain competency in that. I can still follow the rules of the university, which reject bias and prejudice against statistically marginalized identities. I can ask students what they are afraid of, and weigh the potential harm against its risk, and set safeguarding measures in place. I can hold myself accountable every single time I answer a question in class, or grade. What I can’t do is let fear – anyone’s fear – rule my classroom and distort my teaching the best that I know to the best of my ability.

There is a subset or republican and conservative and evangelical and TERF fear that’s about white nationalism and homogeneity. There’s also a subset of republican and conservative fear that’s about social shame and social change. Liberals are not kind to those who they view as actively seeking to take away people’s human rights, and – I speak from experience – believing that someone loathes your very existence, and having them argue that at you like it’s rational, is a powerful disincentive to pleasant conversation. People out there are getting very, very upset about being told they’re factually wrong, because they know that their incorrect opinions are associated with a set of beliefs that are associated with monsters… and also with their parents. And their loved ones. And their churches. And their communities. It can be as dangerous for republican kids to dissent as it can be for gay kids to come out – which is pretty damn dangerous. And if they get that dissent wrong, or not all the way or fast enough, they get a huge amount of hate from both sides. I don’t think I would want to do it.

I’ve talked for a long time, and all my solutions were done a long time ago. When you politicize the truth and you hold up the humanity and life of identity groups as the stakes of that truth there is no easy way to have a debate. I will continue to try and be kind and fair and accurate in my classrooms. I wish the best of luck to anyone trying to do the same.

 

 

As promised, here is my post about supporting trans people:

I see a lot of cis people on facebook urging everyone out there to support the trans community. Thank you. But what does that support look like practically? Here are some ideas!

– Firstly, vote. Vote tactically and get the people who want to make this horrible law the law out of power. Vote.

– Offer to accompany your trans friends to the bathroom if they have to go to the bathroom in public. Don’t assume that a space is safe enough for them, show them that you’ll make spaces safe for them.

– Use the right pronouns and names for people, always and forever. If you can’t get it right, practice on your own time. No excuses any more.

– Introduce yourself with your pronouns. When you assume that everyone knows your pronouns you make non-binary people’s lives incredibly hard. You don’t have to ask people what their pronouns are, but you can offer yours into the space like all pronouns belong there.

– Speak up against sexually essentialist and/or binary language. Stop saying “men and women,” stop conflating genitalia with gender. People of any gender can get pregnant, people of any gender can menstruate. Support this in your conversation.

– Take delight in appropriately gendered language. Find out who among your friends wants to be “one of the boys,” who should be invited on a “girls night out,”who wants to talk to you “man to man.” Affirm people’s gender, even and especially when it creates a discordant image. (caveat: don’t out your friends).

– If you have money, put a little bit of it aside every month and put it towards getting trans people the transitional care they need – especially since it might be taken away soon. (Anyone who wants to give money towards my top surgery, hit me up!)

– Educate yourself, read articles by trans people about their experiences, learn how to make the case that trans people want you to make for their humanity, rather than coming from a medicalised narrative.

– Make sure that any policies you’re in charge of are trans-inclusive. “You are welcome to wear the uniform most concordant with your gender identity”would work WONDERS in the workplace.

– Does your workplace have a gender neutral bathroom? If not, ask why not. Find out where the closest facility is so you can direct people there. Is there a way for folks in the men’s bathroom to dispose of menstrual products? If not, why not? A $5 trashcan in each stall would be an easy blessing. +10 points if you can put some sanitary products in there to use also.

– Do not offer arguments against the humanity, existence, or human rights of trans people the same validation as reasonable debate. “That’s not scientifically true.” “That’s not factually accurate.” “That argument is based in transphobia.” Do not get derailed by folk who would like to pull the level of debate endlessly back to “but are they even real though?” We know the answer to that question and the answer is yes. Move on.

– Vote.

p.s. I’m not a monolith and all the trans people you know will have different ideas about this.

p.p.s. I’d really love it if as well as liking this post my friends would commit to one or more of these things that they’re going to do!

 

 

Deep Waters

The news that came out of New York City Ballet this week was… not news to most of us. Yes, the names were new. The individual circumstances were horrific. But the story and the culture? Hauntingly familiar.

A little while ago I wrote about safety and sexual assault in professional performing environments, now I want to go back and talk about ballet, about institutions, and about how we can respond as peers and colleagues and leaders to individual events, and to the climate of objectification, harassment and assault that forms the deep, dark waters of our profession. How deep do those waters go? Well…

I first learnt Swan Lake – as a teenager – from a man who slept with his students and was eventually fired for it. I found out about a year afterwards, and I remember not even really judging him. It was just one of those things that happened.

I remember my pre-teen students at ballet camp being told by a dorm supervisor that they should never wear hot pants or short shorts, even to bed, because boys might look in through the dorm windows and see them.

I remember some friends discussing how they didn’t like to work with a particular colleague because of the “tiny flowery flip flops always in his hallway” – the euphemism returns to me every time I see freshmen wandering around my own campus, pink sandals flapping underfoot.

I remember.

I remember.

I remember.

A year ago Alexei Ratmansky said there is no equality in ballet, and that he was very comfortable with that. I wonder if that statement has come back to haunt him now that Marcelo Gomes, Peter Martins, and now Chase Finlay have shown the world what it looks like to live and work in an art form without cultural equality. To date the worst backlash I have ever received from a blog post was when I said that male-only ballet classes should teach male responsibility, not just male privilege.

I could write about this from a technical perspective: talk about the physical elements of ballet itself that are being used to distinguish men and women while they’re still boys and girls, and how that’s harmful. I could talk about the centuries-long history of women in ballet being offered up as sexual compensation for wealthy patrons of the arts. But frankly, it doesn’t matter why the problem is there at this point. What companies and schools and institutions need are some basic guidelines of what on earth to do – and not do – when any professional comes to them and explains that they are being abused by one of their colleagues. If men are going to engage in this kind of behaviour, and men are engaging in this behaviour consistently, then the people who hire, finance and lend their name to those men need to have a plan in place for what to do when someone gets hurt. With that in mind, here are some of my ideas:

First – have a written procedure for what to do if you are offered a disclosure of abuse or improper conduct. How to respond in the moment, who to report to, what resources you can offer, and what the next steps are likely to be. Do not attempt to squash, minimize or silence what is being said. Accept the harm that has been done, rather than the harm you think should have been experienced. You, personally, might be thinking about fallout and press and reputation, but that is the burden of the institution, not the person sat in front of you trying to protect themselves. Likewise it’s not your job to decide what burden of proof is required at this point, it’s your job to find out how deep the problem might go.

Second – lay out the range of options available. That means you’ve got to know what they are. What does your organization define as improper behaviour, harassment, abuse, and assault? What are the consequences specified for each? Which of these things are a crime on your area? Is there a mandatory reporting body? What will they do if they get a report? Who is qualified to address this complaint if you are not? Do not expect the person disclosing to you to know what should happen or what avenues are available to them. If you have to send them away so that you can educate yourself, set a timeline for doing that, and hold yourself responsible for meeting it.

Third – decide what burden of proof you require in order to enact what consequence. The BIGGEST trap I see institutions falling into, and getting sued for, and receiving bad press for, is when they try and make allowances at this point. When women report, the statistical norm is that they will be treated as if they are over exaggerating. A crime becomes a misdemeanor, a misdemeanor becomes a joke, a joke becomes office culture. As a result women are taught to second guess, third guess, fourth guess and fifth guess to make sure that they couldn’t possibly be making it up, or demonizing a “really nice guy going through a rough time.” [Insert your own stereotype here]. As I said before, know how deep the problem MIGHT go, and act to protect yourself and your community from that.

Fourth – enact consequences in line with policy, evidence, the needs of the person exposed to harm, and the law. MAKE SURE THE PERSON WHO MADE THE ACCUSATION IS SAFE AT THIS POINT. If you are going to talk to the person accused of harm, let them know so they can protect themselves. Make it very clear that there will be consequences for retribution, or any continuation of the behaviour. Consider laying out a code of conduct for how they will behave while any kind of investigation or procedure is underway. Realize the hard truth: that failure to act, or placing the burden of safety on the person who came to you for help is condoning any abuse and harm that befell them. Ask yourself if that’s something your institution can risk.

Finally – assume that everyone in your organization knows that something is going on. Collaborate with the person who made the accusation, decide what your public position will be, go through it with the lawyers, and hold to it. Do not name the person who made the accusation unless they give explicit permission. The harm done by abuse in a community does not go away with silence, it goes away with social and communal healing. People should not have to carry on as normal when one member of their community harms another, and asking them to do so perpetuates a culture in which abuse is normalized.

 

Whatever you decide that your policy and its consequences will be, make them available to everyone, all the time. Give people the tools to know what is ok behaviour and what is not. Overwhelmingly men are socialized to believe that criminal behaviour is normal and acceptable. In my experience the best way to change that is to imbue the cultures you shape with new social norms around that behaviour. Men hold a lot of power in ballet, and if those men say “no” to the behaviours of other men it sets up a powerful disincentive to that behaviour. I say this because no-one actually wants to harm men as a collective identity category (they just want them to stop harming other people). No-one wants to get to a point where the police are involved, or where someone loses their job. But if we can’t check each other from the small things then the big things will happen: office culture becomes a joke, becomes a misdemeanor, becomes a crime… and your friends should not be smiling and nodding at you along that way because friends should support and protect each other.

In the arts we often like to think that we’re a slightly better class of human being – more sensitive, more attuned to our feelings, more empathetic to others. That doesn’t mean that the cultural problem of male violence is any less powerful in our spaces. We want to make allowances for difference, for emotion, for the quirks of genius. But all to often we only make those allowances for the people who fit the dancer mold in hegemonic and already privileged ways. I am vividly reminded at this point of Hannah Gadsby’s point about Picasso – we normalize and erase his abuse of a 17 year-old girl because we assume that her worth could never have been equal to his… and so we justify leaving her with the consequences of his actions. In the arts, and especially in ballet, our attitudes to gender lead us to favour men and treat them as worth more than women, or people who are not men. We cannot turn to people who have been harmed and give them all the consequences for that harm, and all the consequences of disclosure.

We cannot bear it any more.

Fusion… What Is It?

This is a post that’s been a long time coming – in fact I first began drafting it while I was living in England and contributing to the Dance X project, which was several years ago now. The topic was brought to light again during Mile High Fusion, particularly at the teacher’s summit, and has been kicking around ever since. Not every thought in here is 100% mine, and some of it flies in the face of some pretty well established social dance conventions. Special thanks to Mark Carpenter and Joe DeMers who helped me hash this out over exhausted Thai food. I’m probably going to get snarky. Here we go.

What is fusion?

The question comes up frequently as our scenes develop, and our communities try and find ways to discuss the work we’re doing. There have been attempts to re-name fusion and define is as a specific dance technique. There have also been a number of umbrellas applied to different approaches: Fusion as Fusion, Fusion as Philosophy, and Fusion as Aesthetic are three of the big ones. I subscribe to none of them… or rather, I do, but for me they’re not the answer to the question of “what is fusion?” and the subsequent question of “…and how do we teach it?”

Issues that arise in answering the question:

  1. The west coast tends to think it owns fusion, and that what’s happening on the west coast is what’s happening all over the country/world. This is not true. Folks who don’t travel to fusion events where a broad range of local fusion practices are represented make sweeping generalizations about what is “happening” in fusion, and ignore the very present and very valid approaches of other fusion scenes.
  2. Fusion gets a whole lot of shame and dismissal from other dance communities. I remember vividly standing in an airport this year while around me blues dancers performed a hideous parody of “fusion” to general laughter and agreement. The broader dance community is unwilling to recognize fusion as a unique and identifiable form of expertise.
  3. Fusion is FULL of experts… but they’re often experts at specific things that are not fusion. Folks trying to define fusion are often bringing in their own standards of what is neutral, universal, most efficient etc., without acknowledging the cultural weightedness of those assumptions and how they are producing limits and exclusions on the dance floor and in the classroom.
  4. People are coming to fusion wanting to be experts in just fusion, without the investment in other dance techniques. Everyone wants this to be possible, but no one is sure of the best way to go about doing it respectfully, and in a way that produces good dancers.

So where am I coming from?

I’m originally a conservatoire-trained concert dancer. I have a professional career in ballet, contemporary and modern dance that I started concurrently with my entry into the social dance world. I started blues and swing when blues was more like fusion, but I also danced fusion as a separate practice. I’m a contact improviser. I’m a trained movement analyst. I’m getting a PhD in dance, specifically in the construction of discourse. I lecture on dance in university and conference settings and I teach dance technique in the same. I organize my local fusion scene and I teach and DJ at national-level social dance events. I publish academically about blues and fusion. I am a full-time professional dance geek.

To start answering the question “What is Fusion,” I first want to introduce you to a few other terms: dance techniques, dance forms, dance aesthetics, and dance styles. I’m going to use those terms slightly differently than you may have heard before.

Techniques: physical, internally motivated ways of doing things. Techniques cluster together as…

Forms: recognizable collections of culturally connected techniques. Forms are often recognizable through their…

Aesthetics: externally recognizable traits of a dance form. Not the same as technique (see below). Individual practitioners of a form may use a combination of technique and aesthetics to produce…

Style: an individual or communal way of practicing a collection of techniques, or a dance form. Consistent enough to be recognized over a period of time.

The difference between aesthetic and technique… ok, here is where some blues dancers start to raise their hackles and get bitey, but bear with me. When Brenda Dixon Gottschild began writing about Africanist Aesthetics she was identifying features that could and should be recognized from outside the black dance community – visible things. When we teach the blues aesthetic in dance classrooms what (I sincerely hope) we are teaching are the internal, physical techniques required to produce that aesthetic. I know there’s a ton of classist and standardizing baggage around the term “technique,” and it makes sense to use an in-community word, but I am using the word here in a specific context to distinguish two important ways of doing. In other words:

You can recognize this as the aesthetic of ballet….

index

But this is the aesthetic produced by technique…

drama-swan-lake-1-tkhunt

….and this, plus ideology, is why I do not think fusion is an aesthetic.

Ideology?

In an abstract, ideological sense, fusion has no limits as to the kinds of dance it can produce. This is where Fusion as Philosophy comes in. In practice, fusion absolutely does have cultural norms and limits, which take into account the safety, comfort, and assumed background of everyone at the dance. At least 80% of the dancing is done on two feet, for example. So I say that the ideology of fusion – the ideals that shape and guide it – are different from the facts of its practice.

Returning to my point, I’d say that different scenes have different fusion aesthetics, produced by local pools of forms and techniques influencing the dancing. But fusion as a whole does not have/is not an aesthetic.

So what is fusion?

Fusion is not a dance form because of the way we treat techniques. Individual fusion dancers pull in a range of techniques from a huge variety of extant social and concert dance forms. I said that dance forms were clusters of techniques that are culturally connected – to history, to music, to a given population. Fusion does not really meet any of those criteria. Individuals share their techniques and add them to the local or national pool, but there’s no expectation of technical common ground when we go to dance with each other.

Ah hah! You’re talking about fusion as fusion!

Well… kinda. I do believe that for a dance to be fusion there need to be at least two dance forms meeting within the dance, but those two forms could meet in one solo performance. They could have been encountered only as techniques taught in fusion classes. They might be expressed between the partnership and the music, rather than between the partners themselves. I don’t think that it’s impossible to dance fusion as the only dance you do, which sets me out of alignment with the center of the fusion as fusion argument. It becomes clearer when I start talking about teaching fusion.

I believe that there are two strands to teaching fusion, and that both must be present for scenes to be successful: we must teach dance techniques (n.b. NOT forms, although I’m hugely in support of teaching the histories and cultures of those techniques as we share them), and we must teach methods of collaboration and combination. My current favourite analogy is to compare fusion to painting: we have to put colours on our palette, and we have to develop skills in applying them to a canvas in order to make art. A solo dancer with blue and red can still dance purple. A partnership may share green, or may come to it as a collaboration of blue and yellow if they have the skills to do so… or they can dance blue and yellow as distinct and separate colours, together.

The techniques of combination and collaboration across difference are the expertise of fusion. There are no fusion techniques, although there are dance forms that contribute our primary colours: blues, contact improvisation, tango etc. Individuals and local communities develop different fusion aesthetics because of the different colours offered to the palette, and because we by no means agree on how combination and collaboration should best take place – brushes, finger-painting, abstract splatters etc.

Wrapped all together, what does this mean? For me, fusion is a dance style: an individual or communal way of practicing a collection of techniques, or dance forms. Consistent enough to be recognized over a period of time. At its heart fusion is an individual practice that we choose, as a community, to do together. It is a shared exploration of technique, form, and aesthetic wherein we use the physical inspiration of others – dancers, DJs, videos – to develop a style that we can call our own. As we teach fusion, we are offering dancers the tools to continue that exploration for themselves, and to paint new designs and details in their own bright colours.

Fusion as style.

 

Thanks for reading!

Conversational First Aid

My dearest rose,

There are but few places in this heathen field for a man to charge his iPad. Worse, I fear you must imagine the lunch I am having, as the Instagrams is down.

Fabulously, Heath X Buford, 1st Hipster Batallion, The Fighting Kale Wraps

Heath Harper via Twitter

 

Ma & Pa,

I wish you could see the folly of your vote for Emperor Tinyhands. You meant well, but were mistaken. Please stop seeking validation on Fox News and join me at the polls in November to curb this madness.

Always, Tess

– TessDiva via Twittr

 

Dearest Teddison,

Our rations are thin and I am only allowed 1 Frappuccino a day. Our blue stronghold of Atlanta is overrun with red caps. General Issakson is steadily approaching and we must prepare for battle. Our forces are small but heavily caffeinated.

– Michaelanne via Twitter

 

In case you have not been following the second civil war that erupted on July 4th this year, I take the opportunity to share with you some highlights, and to transition into my blog post for today. Witty responses to politics aside, I’ve found my posts recently skewing more and more away from dance and towards a cry for more respectful dialogue in general. A while ago I turned down the opportunity to publish one of my blog posts on a much larger platform because the editors wanted me not just to present an argument but to condemn those on the other side as vile, evil, and abhorrent. I believed strongly then, as I do now, that I want to write a blog that can be read by anyone, in the hope that I at least promote different ways to listen to each other without lashing out. This attitude gets harder and harder to maintain in light of the views being currently shared and discussed in public forums all around me, and especially online.

Far too many of my friends are stumped as to how or even when to engage with opposing views, especially when those views present as extremist or threatening. In the UK we have a wonderful acronym to guide us through first aid interventions, DR ABC: Is there Danger, is there a Response, do they have an Airway, are they Breathing, can they maintain Circulation. I’ve adapted this guide to produce my own acronym for conversational intervention – a hopefully bi-partisan guide to help us all evaluate when and how to step in.

dangerD – Danger – Is there danger to you if you intervene? A number of groups in the US are infamous for targeting dissenters with threats of violence and death, individuals do this too. In other cases there may be a social consequence to your intervention i.e. your friends may stop talking to you, or you may be excluded from certain spaces. You may lose your job. Evaluate the risk of danger to your person as best you can, and decide whether this intervention is a risk you want to take.

ResponseR – Response – Is this a conversation where you can get a response? Is it an old thread? Is it a private conversation? Is it taking place in a community or group to which you do not belong and are not invited? Has a participant requested an end to the conversation? Without conversational consent, either direct or implied, your intervention is likely to do very little. Evaluate your likelihood that people are able to engage with you.

AgendaA – Agenda – Why is the viewpoint you object to being expressed in this conversational context? Very few people express a viewpoint with the intention of having it changed, yourself included, so you will be attempting to change the conversational agenda and that makes it advantageous to know where people are coming from. Are they joking? Problem solving? Looking to do good? Trying to educate people? This is the step that I find furiously difficult because I frequently see views expressed that are so distant from fact and humanity that I assume they are only being expressed to troll people… but those people do, in fact, believe that what they say is a valid contribution to the discussion. Determine your agenda too: do you want to show someone how wrong they are? Do you want to show them the harm they are doing? Do you want to educate them? Do you want to come to a place where you can compromise or do you need them to completely abandon their views? Do you just want to poke someone? Do you want to show the people around you that you will speak up and fight back on this issue? Clear goals will help you stay on topic and evaluate whether your intervention can be fruitful.

BackgroundB – Background – Do all the participants in the conversation have the background knowledge and context to follow what you are saying? One of the biggest obstacles to structured conversation is the availability of wildly conflicting facts around any given situation. A common tactic I see is people constantly moving the goal posts of what needs to be proved and to what standard in order to be accepted as common knowledge in a conversation. Another is saying that individuals from a given identity group cannot contribute to a conversation. If you cannot agree on a reasonable standard of shared background knowledge, context, and experience, conversational intervention is incredibly frustrating. You may have to start from the place your conversational partner is in order to establish a place where you can communicate.

communicationC – Communication style – How are you going to enter into this conversation? What tone do you want to use? Are ad hominem attacks on the table? What is the limit beyond which you cannot agree to disagree? What is the balance of authority between you and the people you are talking to? Do you have the spoons to do the work required? Is there a benefit to interjecting anyway in a limited way? Do the resources you are working with enable you to intervene according to the other factors indicated above? What limits do you need to set for yourself about how you speak, and when you will walk away?
My dearest friends,
I hope this handy guide will stop some of you from burning out in your efforts to bring this country, nay, this world to peace. The path to positive change is slow, but I hope even now that we may avoid a second civil war.
Yours
Fen

My Comfort or Your Culture: Close Embrace and Code Switching

It’s time for a funding drive at the Headtail Connection. If you appreciate my writing, you can give a little back here.

 

This week I have been working in four languages (not including shifts of register), and about six different types of dance. That’s not all that I can work in, and if someone needs a substitute teacher I may well be adding more to the list. But for each of those dances and languages I carry around and switch between a cultural bubble that informs how those dances and languages are learned, or practiced, and what those practices mean.

At the moment, one of those bubbles in particular feels fractured. I try very hard on this blog not to write two articles back to back about any one element of what I do, and especially not blues because I have a dedicated blues blog anyway. But I got told by a lot of people last time that the breakdown of language around blues and re-doing was helpful, so I’m going to put my nerd hat back on for a moment and talk about close embrace, and consent, and appropriation, and try and at least work out my thoughts on the matter.

Ok.

Close embrace is a soft torso connection used in blues idiom dances. The question at large is whether consenting to a blues dance, at a blues venue, should imply consent to close embrace or not? Is it a connection you ask for and opt into, or a connection you assume will happen unless you opt out?

One of the main contentions around this question is that the majority of people currently practicing blues dance under that name are white Americans, for whom a torso-to-torso connection looks like a sexualised kind of intimacy. Or it is more contact than they would comfortably give the majority of folks they’re not sexually involved with.

Folks hung up on this might first do well to read Deidre Sklar’s “Five Premises for a Culturally Sensitive approach to Dance,” and then Brenda Farnell’s “It Goes Without Saying But Not Always.” These two articles lay out with great clarity that movement is a kind of cultural knowledge, and that for someone attempting to learn the movement – or culture – looking at the dance is not enough, and following along with the dancing is not enough to tell you what the movement means: you have to invest deeply in cultural learning to fully understand what is going on.

Secondly, the idea that blues is “sexy” is a 100 year old marketing campaign that just won’t die. Blues is sexy because we don’t want to think about why blues music might have been written, or have other meanings. Blues is sexy because it’s sold as the pop culture soundtrack to white sexual liberation. Black dancers are labeled as sexy because it lets white dancers dismiss them as untutored and uncontrolled, and justify taking the dances for themselves. In newspapers, in studies, in dance textbooks: white dancers teach, black dancers infect. White dancers (and I’m looking at you Vernon and Irene Castle) make sexy black dances safe for other white dancers, while still keeping that tang of sexy, sexy rebellion. Historically, we have been encouraged to think of blues music and blues-influenced music as sexy over and above everything else, even when the lyrics and/or context clearly emphasise other meanings.

Close embrace and blues CAN be, but aren’t necessarily, sexy things. Blues is not always danced in Juke Joints, even if that’s where we’re consistently encouraged to picture it. Blues was/is played in bright sunshine, among friends and families and children. Blues is so much more than the dance you do to get close to the person you’re attracted to.

Conclusion: white dancers doing blues have to step back from the idea that their discomfort about close embrace is because it is “sexual.” To borrow a thought from Faye Adnak – a reason that we think close embrace should require verbal consent is because we’re applying a white standard of sexualised consent, rather than the standard we apply to other kinds of dance contact, like holding hands.* That’s a problem.

And.

Another side of this debate is that many people in the blues scene find more-than-a-certain-level-of-touch or certain kinds of touch distinctly uncomfortable. There are enough folks out there who are not comfortable with close embrace because it is just too much touch for them. Or they want to be asked about it. Or they only want to do it with certain people.

Separate but tangentially related are the dancers who have been creeped on, or held too close, or too tight, or just been put through incorrect close embrace one too many times to assume that the person they’re dancing with is going to do it right.

For these folks, verbal, opt in consent seems like a really great compromise to ensure that they can keep dancing blues, but know that they’ll be able to keep themselves safe within that framework. As much as we teach listening and respect for the bodies of everyone on the dance floor, people know from bitter experience that in the community as it is now, opt out consent Does. Not. Work. Or does not work enough of the time that it makes advocating for opt in consent seem like the most respectful or safest option. That does not mean that it is the right option, especially since it brings the dancer of implying that close embrace is implicitly creepy or uncomfortable.

So.

We have already changed the culture of blues dance. The idea of blues dance classes, for example is a cultural shift. We are now haggling over the parameters of acceptable change. What degree of time, investment, knowledge, cultural participation, etc. allows a dancer or scene leader to decide that they are entitled to advocate for a cultural shift? Typically the reply to that, on all sides, is “I have just enough, but you do not.” Our recognition of who has the right to advocate on this issue frequently varies depending on whether or not we like what they have to say.

When I approach languages and dances where I am a cultural outsider, I assume that I am going to adjust to cultural norms and behaviours that are alien to my day-to-day practice. I will take on actions and ways of relating to others that I would refuse if they were requested of me within a cultural activity that I considered my own. In ASL, for example, I try to keep a lot more eye contact than I would usually make while speaking. In my West African dance class I will give formal thanks to the musicians and instructor – which I have deliberately stopped doing in ballet classes.

I also assume that if I try to converse in ASL with a fluent signer they will code switch to a slightly more English version of grammar if they want to help me participate in the conversation. Similarly In West African dance classes (which are killing me, by the way!), the steps are broken down in a way that the dancers in the class, the majority of whom are trained in white American concert dance – can understand.

BUT

I understand these shifts in practice as a means of moving me towards fluency. If I am not learning the grammar, I am not speaking ASL. If I am not learning felt-time, I am not dancing West African dance. At the end of the day I have to hold onto the fact that blues dance is not my own. I can – and have – invest a huge amount of time and effort and learning, enough to hold a respected opinion, and to write about the community. But part of that learning is accepting that I don’t get to say what is right or wrong for blues, only to make the best decision I can based on my research, and by listening to the voices around me.

Part of the reason I am writing this blog post is to work through my own conflict and confusion around these ideas, which have caused a muddle and a mess among some of my deeply held values. I believe we should aspire to fluency, and teach others as if they wish to do the same. I think we should also make space for those who are not fluent yet, and for those for whom certain kinds of fluency are out of reach. How that looks in my classroom and in my own practice I do not know.

 

 

 

* Faye’s quote in full, which she was kind enough to give me is here:
“A reason we believe that close embrace requires verbal content that the initiator has to establish is that we are committed to maintaining the idea that close embrace is a form of sexual contact. That idea is erroneous and is a product of white culture norms, compounded by white beliefs that close embrace isn’t “really” a part of blues dancing, so projecting an affirmative consent model that is used to regulate sexual contact onto blues dancing in close embrace is flawed. We don’t ask everyone at a folk dance if they consent to holding hands because that is what is a reasonable expectation in that space until someone indicates they are not doing that. We don’t ask every person at a waltz if they consent to do line of dance or waltz footwork before dancing because it’s a waltz and those are reasonable expectations until someone indicates otherwise (verbally or non verbally). Same thing for closer and open embrace in blues. (Same for close embrace in tango and bal, I think). I think there is a double standard/higher level of scrutiny on blues because white people see blues dancing and black bodies as sexy, exotic, other. And white people’s misconceptions about black dances and black culture doesn’t give them permission to dictate what the dance is or should be.