Category: Good (Page 1 of 4)

A Problem With Pronouns in Dance Education

In the past, I have often written and spoken about my students and my classes. There’s a big problem with that; these individuals and these spaces were not mine.

This use of possessive pronouns may seem trivial, but it has far deeper reach. It can be harmful in the developing self-perception of students. It leans toward centered whiteness and settler colonialism. It perpetuates a sense of individualism, as the teacher’s persona becomes the defining characteristic of the class. With Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok, this dynamic is intensifying. Dance teachers, myself included, are commodifying the lessons they provide, and relying on their own selves as the brand. The differences between student, follower, and marketing pawn are blurring.

For non-profit organizations, claiming ownership of participants and staff through possessive pronouns can intensify power hoarding in the sector. This is especially true when the organization is white-led and the participants and/or staff are Black, Indigenous, People of Color. Colleagues and I have been trying to start using descriptors without possessives. For example, “the dancers in the program,” “the authors of this dance work,” and “today’s performers.”

One thing I have been doing, aside from monitoring my language in person and in digital communications, is shifting to collectiveness such as using “we” and “our.” That said, collective language is only appropriate when it is authentic and earned. That hasn’t always been the case, I admit. I’ve seen too many instances when dancers are set up for marketing purposes, with language indicating a collective that does not truly exist.

Let us stay on this notion of collectivity. In the era of COVID-19, fighting isolation is nearly as critical as saving lives. By choice, much of my teaching practice and collective-building right now is being conducted on the Zoom platform. An important part of dance teaching/learning experiences is embodied togetherness, so I have been exploring ways to bolster togetherness using the benefits that video conferencing and remote teaching/learning have to offer us. Last week on Zoom, the students and I held a Family Day and it was awesome. Every student had the opportunity to bring a family member on screen with them and/or share the class link with family around the world. They did that work. Family members could participate or observe the class. Even with so many guests on screen, the collectivity was genuine. The space was “ours.”

The dance class participants bring different faith and cultural traditions with them, and one mom was so happy to have mutual respect from home to home. Refugee and immigrant families included. Everyone reported how great it was to move together across age and distance. Zoom has also became a space for students to share personal pronouns without fear of smirks or derogatory comment. This day quickly became a favorite dance experience, made possible by new thinking. Families thanking one another. There is no way that I would call that “my class” or refer to “my students” in that context. We achieved the sought-after “collective we,” if only for one day.

Recently, I came across the fascinating story of ᕿᓐᓄᐊᔪᐊᖅ ᐋᓯᕙᒃ (Kenojuak Ashevak), who was an Inuit community member, person, mother, daughter, wife, and artist. Kenojuak Ashevak did not seek to become an artist, she made art and then students and fame found her, even in her remoteness. As I was online doing some learning about her and her culture, a few words in the Inuktitut language caught my attention. arraagutaaqqaummut ikaarvia means New Year. inutuaq means alone or a person on their own. allu means the hole in the ice where a seal comes up to breath.

As we face a Winter Solstice and New Year of icy isolation, may we also find the allus to come up for breath. May we find ways to build affirming dance experiences together during what may be a contentious vaccine rollout. May we take a moment to question the ways we habitually claim ownership of one another.

I’m a Dance Teacher and I Liked Maïmouna Doucouré’s “Mignonnes (Cuties)”

Her name starts with A. She is a refugee, Muslim, 11 years old, from an African country. I know her.

In Maïmouna Doucouré’s Mignonnes (Cuties), the main role of Amy is payed by Fathia Youssouf, and she is a doppelganger for student of mine. Like Amy, my student’s name also starts with A. She is also a refugee, Muslim, 11 years old, from an African country.

I run a dance program in Chicago for children from refugee families. Mostly, the dancers are pre-adolescent ages 7-11, Muslim, and identify as girls. I know Amy.

Leading up to a World Refugee Day virtual celebration in July 2020, our dance program had been unable to meet for months due to the quarantine and the dancers’ lack of devices/broadband access. Nonetheless, I wanted to give them the opportunity to participate. I asked each girl to record a video of themselves dancing, freestyle, any style, any music. I planned to edit their videos together with a shared track. One girl sent me a video of her dancing to “Atasayugn” by Sancho & Gildo Kassa; along with the song’s signature move with one hand covering the face, she was dancing bent over with her backside in motion and her index finger hooked inside her mouth. She repeated this move a couple times. Rather than having the guts to ask her where she got this move (Was it from her culture? Was it from the music video for the song? Was it from Tik Tok?), I edited it out and never addressed the issue.

It is the charge of today’s dance educators to address age appropriateness, cultural appropriation, while de-centering Whiteness in the field. I’m doing my best. In addition to the initiative with refugee families, I co-teach a dance program in a Section 8 housing complex. All children there happen to be Black. There, the children often have impromptu battles (Bring It! style), with a focus on bucking and a little bit of twerking. I don’t allow bucking and twerking in my class, so the dancers usually stop when I arrive. I’m a White lady with no background in J-Sette or Majorette; I may qualify as one of the world’s worst twerkers and am no Coach D. But I try to connect my students to specialists and I want to help them to achieve their dream of being competitive in a stand battle like Buck or Die Chicago, where bucking and twerking are integrated.

I also try to educate myself online. While trying to find out at what age bucking and twerking become age appropriate during the past few months, I learned quite a lot. I learned that twerking derives from the Mapouka dance of Côte d’Ivoire, near Senegal where Doucouré and her star character Amy are from. More importantly, I learned that — while yes, pulled from their cultural contexts, bucking and twerking can definitely be inappropriate (as I had assumed, hence my ban on them in class) — in the contexts of J-Sette and Majorette and a number of both West and East African dances, it is a different story. These moves are embodied, guttural, inherited head-tail connected and hip dexterity. They are not always sexualized. But when these moves are indeed sexualized, whether by the dancer intentionally or the viewer, it can become dangerous for the dancer. This is where role models and educators have an important role in navigating these complexities. Amy is facing a complexity I can only imagine.

There have been a few times that I’ve seen my students physically “helping” one another with their bucking and twerking when on their own time, and I’ve tried to explain to them that here in the U.S.A. and in “the dance studio,” we value our personal space and keep our hands to ourselves. Even same-gender butt-patting by a friend is wrong in this culture. I have to explain that not only is it taboo, it is unsafe. I know Amy and her friends. And I’m glad this scene is included in the movie. It shows a playfulness gone too far, and a huge question of judgement and cultural relativity. The camera angles make it especially problematic for an audience who do not have this kind of touching (all over the clothes) as culturally accepted. I questioned when and how adults should intervene, especially in cases where the parents are of a different culture or are struggling with their own traumas and need support.

I hear the French, Wolof, Spanish and Arabic in the film, sliding between religious text and everyday conversation. I hear the music on Amy’s stolen phone of Nigerian Afropop star, Yemi Alade singing in English, Igbo, Yoruba, French, Swahili and Portuguese. I hear worlds crashing and sliding through one another. I hear Reggaeton and wonder about at what age dancehall becomes appropriate. I become confused. I want to be a powerful woman and own my sexuality. I feel Amy’s tragic desperation. I see her making bad decision upon bad decision. I want for her to be safe enough to take risks and be vulnerable, like the kid she is.

I see and acknowledge the Vogue Femme moves these girls do in the film. This is the same Vogue Femme that has been culturally appropriated in the dance world. Taken from its queer activist originators and profited from by many a Hips n’ Heels class, with perpetually younger and younger students, these moves are now accessed via Tik Tok and YouTube. I know Amy’s dedication to dance and am impressed by her. She reminds me so much of another self-taught, self-trained, self-choreographed talented J-Sette dancer who came into the studio, wanting to learn ballet while keeping the authentic moves in her body.

Watching a particularly cringeworthy scene in Mignonnes, I see a security guard who I perceive to be Arab not want to be incriminated as a pervert in a situation with these girls who have no idea how dangerous it could get for all involved. I see this man call for his fellow guard, a White man. I see this White man watch Amy’s twerking for too long without saying anything, just a creepy tilt of the head. In the same frame, I see the Arab guard turned to him (not the dancing girl), watching his colleague in horror, but not knowing what to do or say to stop the situation.

In the film, I see that the consequences of Amy’s many crimes and offenses come not from the adults around her, but from her peers and from her own conscience. I am brought back to that one time that I, myself, was de-pantsed when I was in middle school. That was the pre-Internet era, but the panic of the moment lives with me more than three decades later. Today’s youth are coming of age publicly.

Amy’s crimes remind of the 11-16 year olds I worked with in East London, who started stealing things as a way to explore agency, power, popularity, and advantage. It all came crashing when one of them scaled the building to climb into my apartment to steal from me while I was working. In that case, his own brother caught him and turned him in to the police in order to help save him. I know Amy and her slides from reality to fantasy that relay her internal sense of foreboding. There are trite stereotypes in costuming and portrayals (of bullying, for example), and this seems intentional. Things in the film are real, then too real, then unreal, then a combination of all them simultaneously.

The film is made for caring adults, not for perverts. And it makes adults feel like tweens, tossed around and trying hard to become. We feel like these a pre-adolescent trying to become someone in this messed up world that the adults created.

Amy hits puberty in the movie. It reminds me of the two car rides where I have given the refugee students a ride and they sat in the back seat discussing the details of getting your period. It reminds me of being in the women’s group at the mosque where they had a detailed discussion over how to stay clean during Ramadan where sex is concerned; this conversation was in front of several kids. From what I understand, sex in Islam is sacred and a gift from Allah. It is for married couples only. And like in Senegal, gay people are seen to not exist. I know from experience that adolescents growing up in conservative communities of all faiths can struggle to find and build healthy, safe sexual lives as they become adults. The film touches on all this is both subtle and bold ways.

The film ends with the dance contest. It seems, like the C.U.T.I.E.S., most of the other competing groups are sets of 4-5 girls who are self-taught, self-trained, and self-choreographed. The C.U.T.I.E.S. somehow arrive with costumes that are very Molly Long 2013. Their moves are very Nicole Kirkland 2019 (including a bit where they imitate the action of licking their fingers and touching their genitals over their costumes) but not as explicit as Nicole Kirkland 2020. They are around 11 years old and they are trying to find and exude confidence like the dancers they admire. It is ugly. The camera angles feel sick, showing us what the girls want to show us but we don’t want to see. I wanted to cover my eyes like the mother does to her child. It is all so heartbreaking. I’m left feeling ill, like I’m not sure what I would do exactly if I were there. I just cried along with Amy.

In the film, Amy’s mother is portrayed brilliantly by Maïmouna Gueye. For me, she was everything. The complexity of her own marriage, while raising children in a new culture. Struggling to keep her children in faith, devoted to Allah, yet unworried and free to succeed, able to come of age at the same time and in some of the same traditions as they would in Senegal. She is raising a powerful, creative, Muslim French-Senegalese woman who is a brilliant self-trained dancer. And a baby and a bright Black son.

I want for Amy and her siblings to dance their entire lives, with or without hijab, their choice.

There are some who will say that because I liked this film, I shouldn’t be a dance teacher. I heartily disagree. While it does go quite far, I could tell the young actors were protected and always first consideration. There is no nudity or intimacy. That said, there is one quick shot of a breast by an unnamed character who is said to be a bit older than the main girls; I’m guessing the character is 14-15. The main girls react to seeing this online as both commonplace and shocking, hastily turning off the video they are watching. It was a flash and it reminded me of the young girls I saw flashing boys during Mardi Gras. Made me question the age that society thinks flashing become appropriate? Made me think of all the European topless beaches, and how there is an age for a growing girl when the nipple suddenly becomes inappropriate. This is an important scene that got me thinking about how much nudity slips into social media platforms and how dangerous and confusing that world can be. It got me thinking about adolescents today have to navigate slut shaming, rape culture, and pedophilia.

I watched this film as the rape survivor that I am. I watched the film as a person who tried to take her power back by exploring her sexuality in unhealthy and dangerous ways. I watched this film as the aunt to three Muslim girls and three Muslim boys. I watched this film as a person who saw her 14 year old cousins in shorts that revealed their butt cheeks, but wasn’t sure if it was her place to say anything. I watched this film as a close friend of many refugees and migrants. I watched this as a woman insecure about her figure, looking at the dancing, full bodies of Egyptian women with envy. I watched the film as a person worried about those most likely to be victims of human trafficking (migrants, LGBTQ+, Indigenous women and girls).

And the film moved me to be better, do more, not look away, to ask the right questions. I am a dance educator and I admit that I liked this film.

END NOTE: If people in dance want to learn more, here is a good place to start. Youth Protection Advocates in Dance (YPAD)’s free course on the subject of Sex Abuse in Dance is also good. But this film is far more complex, with ethno-racial and religious cultural relativism at play. It reminds me of a UN summit I attended about when human rights conflict with cultural rights. At the end of the day, we all want to keep kids safe. But the complexity of the issues cannot be ignored.

Warning Signs During the COVID-19 Crisis

In trying times, Mr. Rogers taught us to look for the helpers. I’m seeing much of this online. While I very much appreciate the importance of uplifting goodness in these circumstances, I also believe there is a critical need to look for the underlying problems that are surfacing. The cankers. The substances bubbling up. There are obvious and hidden signs of social disfunction that need to be acknowledged in order to be more fully addressed.

What follows are examples of concerning things I am seeing inside my circle of friends, family, and neighbors. I bring these up because I believe we can self-correct as we go if we are aware of the issues. Just like steering a bike or car, there are always imbalances and we must make consistent micro-corrections along the way. Just like in the body where the quadriceps, hamstrings and gluteus maximus do the majority of the work to move you forward, the stabilizer muscles keep you from collapsing inward or outward.

As you read these short sharings, think about the micro-corrections we can make or the stabilizing muscles we can activate. I am inspired by the work of Guy and Heidi Burgess of Beyond Intractability, who are focusing their attention on a series of major challenges during the Coronavirus crisis including the need to: 

  • Break down enemy images and rehumanize adversaries;
  • Reframe politics away from us-vs-them and toward we-are-all-in-this-together; 
  • Obtain and sensibly use trustworthy analyses of complex problems and potential solutions;
  • Foster mutual respect, tolerance, and coexistence as the key to living with moral differences; and
  • Expose and delegitimize targeted social-media-based political propaganda. 

Relief efforts have not all been suitable for specific communities.

“We have found that a large population of Rohingya refugees now live in the Devon area [West Ridge, the Chicago neighborhood that is home to our Dance Peace initiative with refugee families] … and are unfortunately unaware of how to protect themselves. Along with other new immigrants, low income families and the Orthodox Jewish communities, all are under prepared and help hasn’t been easily available that’s suitable for them,” Essam Choudhary explains.

To address this, West Ridge residents have organized a number of importance neighbor-to-neighbor response efforts. For example, the Islamic Circle of North America has donated $70,000 in groceries and family aid to area residents, coordinated a large food distribution effort, and set up a free healthcare hotline with an understanding of Muslim practices and available translations. The hotline number is 630-444-7411.

Information is not getting out.

Last week, a student in our program messaged me on WhatsApp to ask why no one has been picking her up for dance class. I was surprised by this, assuming the situation was clear for everyone. This made me realize that basic information and resources are not getting out to some of our most vulnerable neighbors. Her family speaks Afar; if you know a translator, please let me know. Some other refugee families have had their phones turned off and there has been no way of contacting them.

We are crossing our fingers that the case managers have been able to do safe home visits and been able to have basic services restored for every single family. The mutual aid societies and refugee/immigrant advocacy and service organizations are doing incredible work but are also struggling to keep afloat and pay their own staff.

There is much blame and misunderstanding.

Netflix’s “Unorthodox”

West Ridge was reported to have the highest number of COVID-19 cases in the city. When I went online and asked if there is any collective effort to get those residents masks and gloves, someone responded with, “The Orthodox Jewish folks would never be interested in getting masks from outside, IMHO, as they are a pretty closed group.” I am seeing other examples of misunderstanding, contempt, and even blame. Unorthodox on Netflix is not helping.

Perhaps that Purim celebration did contribute to a spread of the disease, but local Orthodox Jewish leaders are doing many right things, including grocery delivery, emergency funds, and this video communicating the importance of distancing during Pesach. My Orthodox Jewish friends, students and colleagues are all taking necessary precautions. For the high school’s Erev Shira performance of “Annie” in Mid-March right before the shelter-in-place order, my collaborators worked directly with the local health officials to make sure it was as safe as possible.

Migrants, left with few options, may be overstaying visas.

An issue that hadn’t occurred to me until a friend reached out to me for help is employment authorizations that are ending during this COVID-19 crisis. My friend reached out to me for help. She is in a panic. She has been in the country working, contributing to society as an artist, and paying taxes for 8.5 years but her employment authorization ends in July and no one is hiring right now, especially arts organizations and employers willing to sponsor migrant workers.

Advocates are urging lawmakers to automatically extend employment authorizations for 6-12 months. Undocumented immigrants and migrant laborers are suffering during this crisis, left out of most relief efforts. If we don’t extend employment authorizations, many migrants like my friend may find themselves in situations where they overstay their visas and break the law, joining the plight of undocumented immigrants.

Divorced families are deepening their wounds.

While some divorced couples such as Demi and Bruce, are living the quarantine together in one household, in matching pajamas, other couples are facing incredibly tense times of disagreement and legal battle. One local mother, a friend of mine, is fighting her ex in an attempt to prevent the kids from having to move from home-to-home on alternating weekends. She could be in contempt of judge’s orders if she keeps the kids at home. It is a painful and currently unresolved story.

Our friends and neighbors residing in shelters and public housing are in danger. And Black citizens are dying.

Last week, I saw a friend of Facebook asking for prayers for her and the other residents of Marshall Field Garden Apartments, just a couple blocks away from my home in Old Town. My heart sank with thoughts to what could have happened. It turned out that three residents had died in one day. It’s unclear if they were COVID-19 related. In any case, it’s devastating, especially for the children and families who live there.

Today on average, a Chicago public housing development is made up of: 70% African-American, 27% Latino, and 3% White and Other. I have been working alongside these neighbors for a few years now, and I believe that at least 90% of the residents identify as Black or African American. In Chicago, it has been reported that 70% of the COVID-19 deaths have been our Black neighbors and friends who have passed. The fear is unimaginable. The inequities are sickening. We at Dance Peace have donated gloves & masks are collaborating with partners at Art on Sedgwick to create a resource of at-home arts experiences for these families and other neighbors. But so much more critical support and social justice work are needed.

Regarding our fellow citizens of all races/ethnicities who are living in other dense circumstances, the reports of Coronavirus outbreaks are heartbreaking: 37 undocumented immigrant children in one of Heartland Alliance’s Chicago facilities, 400 Cook County Jail inmates and 181 Cook County Jail employees, 12 people inside one homeless shelter…. There has been a few Band-Aid measures for our neighbors and friends facing domestic abuse and needing a ride to shelter, and for those needing emergency or transitional housing. And facilities are trying their best with limited resources and public empathy.

Farmers are struggling.

An associate of mine recently shared that, “Food security challenges are starting to crop up, in countries in sub-Saharan Africa, with farmers being unable to refund for planting since lack of buying power from the population of their current produce.” More locally, a friend who works for a certified organic, zero carbon footprint farm in Wisconsin has spoken to the exhaustion and fears they feel alongside the wish that they could provide for families-in-need rather than reacting to market pressures.

Trump supporters’ demands are becoming more flagrantly militant and commonplace.

The images from the anti-Whitmer, anti-Quarantine protest by Trump supporters in Lansing, MI made my stomach churn. Michigan is my homestate and home to my entire family. Most of my family are essential workers as gas station employees, drivers, auxiliary staff in senior living centers, construction workers, healthcare providers, etc.

While some of my friends are posting memes expressing what they see as the inconsistencies and hypocrisies of government, I am sitting here frightened that my family doesn’t have protective gear while their fellow Michiganders are taking risks. For me, self-regulation and freedoms needs to be in careful balance with empathy and shared, common-good goals. Temporary restrictions are sometimes necessary. I’m seeing that several friends disagree on this, and I fear these disagreements will only heighten as the election gets closer.

How this Could Be a COVID Pandemic for the Better

What good is coming out of all this? Here are 21 potential layers of silver lining.

1. Air quality having some time to recover.

2. Evolving education – specifically arts education and learning to integrate technology, focusing on important foundational elements of dance, related studies and conditioning that we often skip over for the sake of wanting to maximize studio time. (contributed by Jenn). For me, this relates to the close-up Zoom perspectives of my ballet pointe students and the opportunity to give them individual care and technical guidance during one-on-one check ins. Thinking of ways to build innovative, similar practices when we are back in the studio.

3. No school shootings. (contributed by Janet)

4. Stronger international and inter-religious empathies. We see you, Italy, Iran, China and Spain.

5. Family bonding. And a more visceral empathy for those living in households with abuse.

6. Greater appreciation for live performance and shared cultural experiences. Audiences will be packed after this. It will feel so good to be off-screens, sharing these spaces and experiences together again.

7. More time for love. (contributed by Vlatko)

8. More bidets.

9. Deeper understanding of the importance of mind-body connection and self-regulating practices into each of our days.

10. Better awareness of essential (medical, janitorial, transportation infrastructure and services, grocery, education, arts/culture, communication technology and service), our interdependencies, and our vulnerabilities. Better awareness of the 30 articles of human rights.

11. Lots of people fostering animals hopefully leading towards lots of adoptions. Like me and Booie. (contributed by Margot)

12. More non-partisan honesty and collaborations (over competition) in what we need from political leadership, freedoms, and social welfare. “We need a Marshall Plan of visionary intervention.” Rami Nashashibi, Executive Director of Inner-City Muslim Action Network (IMAN)

13. A clear and urgent call for innovative and drastic strategies to addressing racial and socioeconomic equities in our many systems.

14. Kitchen creativity on the rise. (contributed by Carole)

15. For those who have much, an increase in frugality and reuse. An increased mindfulness and appreciation for the objects we come into contact with. (contributed by Carole)

16. Transforming the American public’s view of the value of experts and expertise in sciences, medicine, emergency preparedness, and economics. (theory by Tom Nichols)

17. Greater awareness and support for local, small businesses and the diversity of those businesses being critical to a healthy neighborhood ecology.

18. Saved lives.

19. Getting real. Seeing our bosses, teachers, students, clients, celebrities, influencers, faith leaders, and peers… as humans, with complicated home lives.

20. Revival of mutual aid concepts and practices. Alongside that, the comeback of neighborhood safety and joy inclusive of walks, double dutch, bike rides, and musical jams on porches and stoops.

21. Better hand washing.

Have more ideas? Add them in the comments.

Why I Want to Remember Everything About the 2020 COVID-19 Pandemic

We received this postcard in the mail today and thought that I should keep it.

I want to put this with my other scraps of memories from my life to remember that, in 2020, when I was 41.75 years old, there was a pandemic with deep and expansive impact on individuals and societies. It hit during a year when Ramadan, Pesach, and Easter aligned. That year we had a 90-day extension on paying taxes, stopped being concerned about finding legal street parking, completed the U.S. Census, and worried about friends/families beyond local and international borders, while worrying that our entire industry (our life’s work) may be too fragile to withstand a new world order.

I want to remember that, in 2020, this nation had an administration that perpetuated this president’s extreme narcissism and need for credit. A man satiated only by applause and thanks wherever he can get them: campaign rallies, press conference speakers’ introductions, and Fox News. The point of this postcard was the information on the back, clearly written by CDC officials and not a word by him. I’ve seen propaganda before.

I want to remember not being able to remember the last time I washed my hair or wore a bra. These were days when we shared mighty close quarters with some other humans, but 6ft ridges and virtual valleys from other humans. There were days when my eyes and wrists were pained from extensive and obsessive screen time.

I want to remember this hope that the threat will pass and we will be together again soon. Soon, as in just another week or two of sheltering in place. Respecting a quarantine in the hopes of saved lives, medical advancement, and fundamental societal changes for the good.

I also want to remember honestly the dread that is currently sitting on my chest, forcing me to need to remind myself to breathe. This dread is sitting on my hope. And I’m watching my hope chest rise and fall.

I want to remember that March 24, 2020 is the eight-year anniversary of some local heroes and I shaving our heads for childhood cancer treatment and research. March 24, 2020 was also the day that Ahmed, whom I had the honor of knowing while we was a patient at 57357 Children’s Cancer Hospital of Egypt, passed way. May he rest in a loving peace. I want to remember him.

I want to remember that queasy feeling of an online image search for “hope chests” looking like a scroll of coffins. Just now snapping out of that one.

I want to remember the need to manufacture masks and the TV shows donating the masks they had stored for props. I want to remember the guilt of having a box of masks in my bathroom cabinet from awhile ago, and wearing one mask during a questioningly-essential neighborhood outing to buy ice cream. I want to remember this along with the memory of a friend making sure I had a mask to protect me in Tahrir Square, and me keeping that mask in my tangible memory box from Cairo including wedding cards and 2014 El Sisi propaganda.

Everyone gets a mask, just in case of more tear gas.

My mother had a hope chest (wedding gift). In it, she saved several things including her wedding dress and veil, report cards, marriage certificate, family passports from our 1985 trip to Spain that we thought would be our only international trip, a couple important newspapers from the 1960s, and a flyer for a nuclear disarmament march that we found in my great grandmother’s scrapbook.

Treasures from Bessie Mays Lovingly Unorganized Scrapbook

I remember Mom and I laughing brightly when we found that flyer. It was such an odd thing for my great grandmother to keep, based on her life story. But I am understanding it now. Hope chests can withstand something sitting on them for quite awhile — they are sturdy — but hold memories but need to be aired out on occasion. They hold memories of all different kinds in order to remind us to move hopeward. Or to sit in hope, on our couches.

End note: I feel my Mom like a parachute ever since she passed. And at this moment, I feel her lifting me away from the laptop and towards the shower. Self care, she urges.

What the Egyptian Revolution Taught Me About Planning When Nearly Everything is Uncertain

I was not revolutionary in the way my Egyptian friends were revolutionary. I was not there when the tanks came towards the crowds, when snipers aimed at frontline artists, or when the camel-riding thugs swung machetes. But I was there in the Square, often during 2011-2014, as the world changed around us and planning was no longer possible.

One of my favorite signs in Tahrir Square. Says, “Enough.”

These were years that my calendar was blank and I (a notoriously heavy planner) had to learn to be okay with that.

Quick anecdote: In September 2012, I stepped into my role of guest teacher at the Egyptian High Institute of Ballet, as a U.S. Fulbright Scholar. I came with a detailed curriculum and lesson plans for American jazz and modern dance. The administrators told me to prepare for a 30 minute performance in December, and I carefully thought through a plan to get the students ready for that show. Due to restrictions on me bringing in translators, conflicts in teaching styles, and general lack of focus, we were struggling to pull together even 5 minutes of shareable content, but we continued. I kept asking the administrators when in December the show would be, as I was planning to go back to the U.S. for Christmas and I also needed to know how many weeks of rehearsal we had remaining, in order to plan. No one could give me answer.

On December 10, I was told there would be no show. Instead, the Minister of Culture had ordered them to produce Pinocchio. I was told I had one week to prepare my students for a full one-hour, memorized evaluation that would be adjudicated by women I did not know and would have no communication with.

I looked around, and I was the only person in the entire school that was frustrated by these huge changes and the inability to plan forward thoughtfully. My Egyptian colleagues and students seemed to all be thriving in the uncertainty.

Year 8 students in Modern Dance class at Egypt’s High Institute of Ballet in Cairo.

During preparation for the exam, I learned that I would not be able to speak or help my students at all during this evaluation that was now looming 7 days away. If a student failed the exam, they may be kicked out of the Institute; there was a lot of pressure inside the school while tensions mounted outside its walls.

Each day that week, I planned intensive practice sessions that made use of what the students already knew. My fellow teachers encouraged me to add additional morning sessions rather than trying to fit everything into the existing schedule. They had to remind me that the class schedule now had to fit our new goals. And in the end, the students did great on the exam.

By January, I was weaned off my dependencies on calendars.

Every morning for the next few years brought something unexpected.

You (the figurative you) called people up to see what they were up to. You decided to do something the day of that thing, then if that was canceled you just went to a different thing. You drove or walked around to see if the thing you saw online was really happening. You taught preschool ballet in the dark when the power went out. You gathered friends and colleagues to create dance programs for the Children’s Cancer Hospital. You documented.

Police wall blocking Tahrir Square from Kasr El Ainy. The revolutionists have given it their touch.

You planned for the following weekend or maybe two-three weeks out. You might distribute a schedule for this month, but it was also clear to all stakeholders where changes would be posted or how updates would be communicated. You never used a single doodle; you just went with it if some people were available. If you heard truthful and impactful news, you shared it.

You held your ground but were flexible in your actions. Every day was a choose your own adventure, choose your own happiness. And you bent the rules maybe for the first time ever while you innovated need ways of working. You watched and alerted. You helped your neighbors. You made neighborhood blockades out of store shelves and organized impromptu community policing systems when needed.

If something needed to happen, you made it happen as immediately as possible. You put on a show where and when you could. You protected one another’s basic needs while making art (song, installation, pop up museum, street dances, murals) along the way. You created enough art that the world mostly remembers your revolution for its spirit rather than its sacrifice.

People sold popcorn and winter scarves in the Square. The McDonald’s stayed open.

McDonald’s Tahrir – April 2013

You took each day at a time, or rather, each third of a day at a time. It’s similar to how you plan for Chicago weather. Ready for anything, even nothing, or nothing you’ve seen before. You learned to love that uncertainty and that presence. Living in the now, only this time you meant it.

Joining my Egyptian colleagues in a protest dance on my birthday.

How to Survive the COVID-19 Crisis With the Lyrics of Martin Charnin

During this Coronavirus and COVID-19 crisis, I’m reminding myself that it is springtime and that when I’m stuck in a day that’s grey and lonely… oh, sorry, I just finished months of rehearsal for a high school Erev Shira production of “Annie,” lyrics by Martin Chanin.

It is indeed springtime while the scenes around us are increasingly apocalyptic. For the Egyptians in my life, the scenes trigger memories of an Arab Spring revolution that brought death and division. For some Americans in my life, the scenes bring up times of riots or depression. For the religious folks in my life, they are seeing signs of prophecies or an urgent need for us to connect to God or God(s). For many others, the general feeling is simply one of ominousness.

At the same time, I remind myself that this all is actually driven by optimism, a belief that our actions will save lives. So there’s that.

Years from now, we will reflect back on the lessons we learned during this time. Perhaps those lessons will be about public health, resilience of sectors and economies, family and community relations, political innovation, social welfare programs, digital workspaces, the right to education, the role of the arts and in-person gatherings, or inter-generational and international empathies. Perhaps the shared experience will transform this brilliant, breaking world for the better.

I can easily stay and work from home for much of what I do for a temporary period of time. I just need to buy a board from the hardware store in order to teach tap dance on video.

With having no children, what is going to be more difficult is finding work/life balance and some joy in this quiet home. So I officially vow to make good use of this time. Here’s what I am promising myself every single day for the foreseeable future.

  1. Check-in with at least one person I care about. This might be a relative, neighbor, coworker, student, associate or close friend. This might be via video, phone call, text, or visit with distance. Connection will be important for both them and me.
  2. Go offline and get fresh air. This one is going to be difficult to reinforce, as I can easily get super comfortable and lack the motivation. But I publicly make the commitment to this daily, for self care. Getting outside also will encourage me to get dressed. But remember, you’re never fully dressed without a smile.
  3. Learn or write something. Ideally something good that’s helpful to others. Because.
  4. Play, like a kid. Dance, like I need. Clean, like I should. Repeat.
  5. Drink and eat healthy. I need that reminder.
  6. Make or conserve money. I am not sure I could bet my bottom dollar. I’m going to have to be smart, hard working, innovative and open during the next few weeks/months.
  7. Ask important questions. Stay vigilant. Challenge myself. Don’t let folks get away with sh*t or shi*tty behaviors. Stay alert to developments. Distill the lessons.

What will you do every day? So far today, I have only done three on my list. Need to get going. I’m here if you want to check-in. See you when the sun comes out. Tomorrow.

The Fascinating Story of Iran’s First Ballet Company

As tensions between Iran and the U.S. build, I started thinking about dance in and between our two countries. I have never been to Iran, but I’ve been to Azerbaijan (which shares a southern border with Iran and a northern border with Russia). And dance was there, strong. I started doing some research and stumbled across a story that has blown my mind and inspired me to rethink how an American can function in the world in 2020 and this new decade.

In 1941, an eccentric 33-year-old American named Nilla Cram Cook started her role as a cultural attaché for the U.S. Embassy in Tehran. This was the year that FDR entered his third term and the U.S. entered WWII. Cook would hold the position in Tehran for the next six years while also serving as Director General of the Arts for Iran’s Ministry of Education. In 1949, she wrote an article for Middle East Journal (Vol. 3, No. 4) titled “The Theater and Ballet Arts of Iran” in which she stated,

“The Iranians are a people so talented in the arts and so uninhibited in self expression that there is every reason for the theater to be one of their greatest creations, no less splendid than their decorative arts. They are prodigiously rich in the life and imagination which form its background.”

Nilla Cram Cook

More on that in a bit.

Prior to her arrival in Iran, Cook had lived an unimaginable life. She had come from an arts family in Iowa; her father was in theater and was said to have launched Eugene O’Neil’s career. Nilla spoke many languages including Arabic, Farsi/Persian and Urdu. In December 1933, Time Magazine ran an article titled “Runaway disciple,” which told the story of Nilla being the first American to study closely under Gandhi in his model colony, and her midnight escape from the ashram when things got too intense. The article said she “converted to Hinduism under the name of Nilla Nagini and Devi, The Blue Serpent Lady.” The article also called her “plump and pleasing” and included this passage:

“Last week toothless little Saint Gandhi writhed in embarrassment at news from New Delhi. A brand new automobile, ordered on approval, had gone roaring down the road 70 m.p.h., hit a bump, overturned. Out rolled Serpent Goddess Nilla, bruised, battered, but bitterly determined to lead her own life. ‘I don’t care what others say,’ cried she. ‘My heart is leaping for thrills. I want speed. I want to fly. I want to attend orchestra dances.'”

Time Magazine, October 1933

Some call Cook strange, irrepressible, bold, unconventional, enthusiastic, brash and a maverick genius; the Des Moines Register described her as a “smart, mystical woman” and pointed out that “Gandhi baptized her in the Ganges River on her 22nd birthday” and then “the Indian government placed her in a padded cell in a hospital for mental patients in Calcutta before making arrangements to deport her.” At age 25, Cook started translating the Qur’an into English; that project took her a dozen years to complete. In that time, she also served as a combat journalist in Armenia. Later she converted to Islam.

She also disappeared a lot.

“On Jan. 31, 1982, The Des Moines Register briefly recapped her life and said: “Little else is known. … Are you out there somewhere, Nilla Cram Cook? Are you still alive?” She didn’t respond. On Oct. 13, 1982, The New York Times reported that Cook had died at a hospital in Austria, after a brief illness. Cook is buried next to her father near the Temple of Apollo in Greece.”

Tom Longden

Now let’s go back to Nilla Cram Cook in Tehran in the 1940s, working for both the American and Iranian governments after spending a year in Afghanistan for cultural research. Writer S. N. Prandita says Cook “directed the foreign services of Radio Tehran and would broadcast her own translations of Persian, Arabic and Turkish poems.”

In addition, Cook dreamed of creating a ballet company that would highlight Persian legends, poetry, music, and dance. She founded what seems to be Iran’s first ballet company, then took them on an international tour of cultural diplomacy to Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Italy, Iraq, Lebanon, and Iranian Azerbaijan. Like a badass, the troupe also toured India (nodding to Cook’s past). She eventually left her positions with both governments and is now attributed to training and inspiring many Iranian dancers. Sandra Mackey describes her work as “remarkable cross-cultural experimentation and dazzling entrepreneurship.”

“But in trying to establish a dance company, Mrs. Cook ran into major obstacles, the principal one being the bias against dancing, especially by ‘good girls,’ for although there are no Qur’anic prohibitions on either dancing or music, there has been a long history of fatwas (religious opinions of senior clergy) and government decrees against both. Never before had a young girl from a good family danced in public. I was only dimly aware of the waves I was making, of the centuries of tradition and entrenched beliefs I was violating. For me, it was a simple matter: dancing filled me with joy. For Tehran society, however, it was scandalous. Good girls did not perform in public, baring their legs for all to see, putting themselves in the limelight.”


Just a few years prior, Iran was being dragged by its hair into the modern era by the shah.

“One of Reza Shah’s most revolutionary modernization efforts was to ban the veil in 1936. His order unleashed a firestorm of anger, resentment and resistance. I was barely four years old when the decree was issued, and I witnessed how brutally it was enforced. I clung to my mother’s hand as we stood riveted to the sidewalk, alarmed at the sight of a woman frantically running down the street, her chador billowing out behind her, a policeman in full chase. Quickly overtaking the woman, the officer grabbed the end of her black covering and yanked it off her head, leaving her with a look of stunned horror on her face.”


In this environment of contradiction, Cook took it upon herself to collaborate with a group of Iranian artists to do something unprecedented. Here are some of her strategies:

  1. She recruited dancers (each with one Iranian parent and one foreign parent) from Mme. Cornelli, a Russian refugee who had ran the first and, at that time, the only ballet studio in Tehran, and then Cook enlisted chaperones, who were parents and academic tutors who “stood guard over the reputations of their daughters.”
  2. As dancer Nesta Ramazani writes, “Our intrepid American director emphasized the purely artistic aspects of our performances, and liquid silver coated her tongue as she sought to persuade.”
  3. Her mission was to “help restore Iranians’ sense of pride in their own culture. In establishing Iran’s first ballet company, she created a repertory that integrated Persian dance forms, poetry (Hafez, Sa’di, and Rumi), literary motifs, legends and music. Cook had tapped into the Persians’ pride in their ancient roots and unique cultural heritage.” She also designed the set in the shape of the Khaju Bridge, considered to be one of the finest examples of Persian architecture.
  4. She accepted a request from the shah for a performance at the palace in honor of the American Ambassador George Allen. “She was counting on the royal stamp of approval to sanctify the endeavor as one that not only was respectable, but would advance the cause of nationalism and be a genuine source of pride for Iranians. Later, adding even greater prestige to the project, the twin sister of the shah, Princess Ashraf, became the company’s sponsor. “
  5. A few months later, she arranged for a performance at the American embassy, where diplomats and their families rose for a standing ovation. There was a large U.S. military and cultural presence in Iran at the time because Allied forces were transporting equipment to the Soviet Union to fight the Nazis.
  6. She welcomed both arts professionals and novices into the project. This included musicians, assistant director, singers and technicians who brought a recognized level of quality to the performances while also serving as a reciprocal training ground. As one critic wrote at the time, “The Persian Ballet, in its distinctive character, is a remarkable formation achieved by the melting together of historic, literary, and folkloric values on the one hand and a sound theatrical knowledge and genuine talent on the other...without losing its own Persian individuality and character. We … have much to learn from the Persian Ballet.”
  7. She steered clear of the Western-Orientalist trends of the time, “of Hollywood-style dances that represented the Orient as a magical land filled with flimsily-clad slave girls. She wanted to make sure that we were not taken for ‘dancing girls,’ but seen for what we were—artists.”
  8. When it came to arranging for public performances, following the private audiences at the palace and embassy, Cook scaffolded the company’s moves. They started with a two-week run at a local theater, then set out an a two month tour which she helped blossom into a six month international tour.

“It was whispered that she was a spy: What none of us knew was that Mrs. Cook was part of a grand design Franklin D. Roosevelt had dreamed up to help shape the postwar world. With the war over, Iran was to be an ‘experiment station’ for his policies, which aimed at stabilizing and developing underdeveloped areas. The idea was that the United States would pursue an ‘unselfish’ policy that would help Iran develop a pattern of self-government and free enterprise that would raise its standard of living and help it resist the machinations of Britain and Russia. What neither of us realized at the time was that in participating in this bold arts project, we were unwittingly being used as instruments of both U.S. and Iranian government policies.”

Nesta Ramazani

The troupe stayed active until 1953, the year that the CIA carried out a successful coup against Mohamed Mosadeq (the popular prime minister who demanded the nationalization of Iran’s oil resources, which were under the control of the British) and returned the shah to his throne. As Nilla Cram Cook disappeared once again, one of the troupe’s lead dancers, Haideh Ahmadzadeh, establish the Iranian National Ballet which flourished until the 1979 revolution and dance became illegal under Sharia law. The company is now Les Ballets Persans, based in Sweden. Iranian dance artists have been inspiring for centuries, and remain so. But through the story of Nilla Cram Cook, I can start to reimagine how an American artist can be of service to the world, on the brink of new war or not.

History of Ballet in Iran (with great pictures)

What It’s Like to Dance in Iran

The Oxford Handbook of Dance and Ethnicity (with a section on Cook)

Lessons I Learned This Decade

Please note the following are notes to myself, rather than advice for others. As a writer, I am reflecting back on ten lessons learned in the past ten years, and speaking to myself as the “you” in this case.


Early this decade, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer on both sides. She had a double mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiation. She walked miles for the Survivors Walks for a couple years. She also walked right out of her flip flops in the parking lot without realizing it, because the neuropathy was bad. People gave her many pink things. Then the cancer metastasized; she had tumors on her bones and brain, behind her eye and pressing on the area that controls memory. She forgot our names and then came back to us. One tumor broke her femur when she was standing at the ATM. She got back on her feet, over and over and over again. And then she got in the water; for most of her life she wasn’t a water person, but in her last weeks she defiantly rode on the front of that speedboat and laid back on that floaty. Hearty, healthy humor was one of her greatest gifts; she even had the chaplain who gave her last rites rolling in laughter.

Lesson: A loving passing is as important as a loving birth. Obituaries are difficult to proofread through your tears and the funeral home won’t help with that. Making sure her story is told is now your responsibility — as is Thanksgiving dinner and family mediations. Mom will keep you laughing. She’s now your parachute.


This was the decade of #MeToo. In 2012, I published a blog post telling my story of a sexual assault that I had survived but never reported. I wrote the post without ever telling my family about the incident. Five minutes after posting, my mother called. She opened with, “It happened to me too.” She sounded so disappointed that the world she faced as a girl hadn’t changed for her daughter.

Lesson: We, collectively, need to find sexual assault/harassment unacceptable and address rape culture in all its forms. Maybe the next generation will be free from this societal disease while also pushing past inaccurate and dangerous constructs of gender and sexuality. Love is love. Consent is consent.


During this decade, I had the beautiful honors of working closely with Syrian and Rohingyan refugees, children facing childhood cancers, residents of Section 8 housing, and community members of Flint, MI. One commonality among these incredible people is a desire for agency and de-victimization.

Lesson: Charity can only be a first action step, but must never become a mindset. Power sharing, power shifting, and friendship are often better gifts than a box of your old clothes. Recognize assets and gifts as equal to your own. Realize we all have an important role. Be open to help and advice, don’t just dole it. Outreach and giving back are centered on yourself; rather, try just being there and being yourself.


Halfway through this decade, we found a kitten near death under a parked car in Cairo. She was filthy, in shock, and barely breathing. We scraped her onto a piece of cardboard from an old pizza box. We didn’t want her to die in any pain, so we took her to a vet. Turns out Lamara was stronger than any of knew. Despite her Cerebellar Hypoplasia (a kitty condition similar to Parkinsons meets Cerebral Palsy), she lives, she thrives, she astounds. She climbed a full flight of stairs. She taught herself to drink water sitting up. She is unable to land on her feet, but dives head first off of furniture without fear. She plays up her condition to get what she wants. She officially owns much territory in the house. She is a great yoga partner and knows when it is time for shavasana. Folks can follow her on Instagram.

Lesson: After a lifetime of being a dog person, it could be a cat that could change your life. Like Lamara, demand comfort and joy. Live your life fully and lovingly. P.S. Love might require butt washing.


In this decade, I celebrated entering my 40s by going sky diving, getting my first eye exam and prescription glasses, committing to a Duolingo Plus subscription for Arabic, bonding closer with my family (now both in Michigan and Egypt), and finally succeeding in a New Year’s resolution (365 yoga sessions in 365 days). 

Lesson: Dive belly first with your head and feet out of the way. Know that you might need a little push from behind. Love the free fall but you must then endure the nauseating parachuting, knots in your hair, and the hefty price of documentation. Your aging body and mind are wondrous. Keep a lens cleaner handy.


In this decade, I was supported by fellowships to travel to Qatar, Azerbaijan, Morocco, Kosovo, Belgium, Ireland, Northern Ireland, France, and Egypt. Crowdsourcing and opportunity got me to Bosnia-Herzegovina, Thailand, Kenya, Uganda, Israel, Palestine, Scotland, England, as well as the German Mission to the United Nations, Brigham Young University, New York University, SUNY Purchase, and University of Maryland. I was also sponsored to travel back to my alma mater Millikin University in Decatur, IL as the 2014 Commencement Speaker.

Lesson: See travel as necessary for global citizenship, rather than a luxury only for globetrotters. Share your stories with transparency, spread resources both vastly and directly, and get your ideas out there. It is actually helpful to others and inspires them to take action on their own great work. Keep your eyes and heart open, and invitations will find you. Allow yourself to be surprised and challenged. Absorb new concepts and learnings along the way. Be proactive in reciprocity.


From Tahrir Square and a 33-day artist occupation in Cairo to Trump-era dance demonstrations in Chicago, this is the decade I took action. Inspired by new friends on different continents, I couldn’t sit in my anger like I had during the Bush years. In 2017, Newcity Magazine gave me the Best of Chicago honor: Best Use of Dance as Political Protest. During a Black Lives Matter march, the cops pulled my friend and I (both white) aside and gave us the option of being arrested or not.

Lesson: Having a voice can be spoken, written, or embodied. Revolution requires you to be willing to go to the Square; all you need to bring is your artistry and charged cell phone. When the pizza delivery guy shows up, offer him a mask and treatment for the tear gas. If you can’t be present, get the word out through citizen journalism or petition, or provide comfort or distraction. Know what your post-protest actions will be. Express yourself and activate your citizenship but be aware of your capacity and safety are coming from a place of privilege. Know that the democracy in revolution can be safer than the security in autocracy.


This is the decade that I ran a national US State Department program in Egypt. Then I returned to Chicago and couldn’t find a good fit in a full-time job. I held up to six jobs at one time and decided not follow the path of becoming the executive director of a non-profit. I became a freelance writer, artist in residence, independent contractor and consultant. With this new direction, I both paid off my student loans and went on Obamacare.

Lesson: Surprise yourself professionally. Be gratefully open to people who believe in your potential, no matter how you perceive yourself. Professional development = lifelong learning. At the same time, acknowledge what you suck at and have no honest intention of improving. At the same time, lean into your strengths to pay your bills and get that debt weight off.


This was a decade of me waking up regularly to tragic news, shared by us all. This was a decade of friends and family “checking in safe” on social media. There were so many terrorist attacks, mass shootings, hate crimes, gun violence, state-sponsored violence and incidents of gross misconduct by police that we allowed this all to be normalized. We lost count. Most violence this decade passionately ideological in nature and motivated by political, economic or social intent to cause widespread fear. We lost so many people and we lost so much. But we now seem to be at a loss.

Lesson: Whether it is a case of us digging in our heels or us dragging on heels, we are moving backwards on building a peaceful world. In the next decade, we have no choice but to collaborate on every possible solution, on all levels, in all sectors, with all we have. I must do something.


This was a decade of discovering dance’s importance in certain moments in people’s lives.

Lesson: If dance is what you bring to world, bring it.

8 Things to Do About the Islamophobia in the Dance World

On September 6, 2019, Pointe magazine published a feature article about Stephanie Kurlow, who is an Australian teenager pursuing a professional ballet career. She happens to also wear a hijab, and claims she would be the first hijabi dancer in the professional ballet world.

My only surprise in Courtney Henry’s article was that it was written so recently. Because I have known of Ms. Kurlow for years, before clicking through to the article, I started with the comments on Pointe magazine’s Facebook post.

“Sorry, but for me this is a no.”

“Surely this oppressive head gear has no place in the arts!”

Vomiting emoji


“If she auditions for the ABT, they’ll make her principal just to show how magnificently diverse ABT is. Kinda like the principal who was elevated due to skin color rather than skill.”

“Sure, why not? After the ‘gender-fluid ballerina’ the ballet world couldn’t possibly get more ridiculous anyway.”

“Just tiring…”

“How dumb”

Facebook comments

The comments got worse, but I have decided to refuse to spread such vitriol. The language was disheartening, especially after the dance world came to such strong and swift defense of boys and men in ballet after the Good Morning America controversy. We thought the bullies were external, but the dance world may have to admit that the bullying is also coming from inside the house.

We say in the field that everyone should dance, and that should and does include those from religious communities and families. Brigham Young University (99% Mormon student body) has a stellar dance department that I was honored to visit last year, and Mormon/LDS dancers dominate in competitive ballroom dance. In addition, Christian praise dance is highly popular in the US and conservative dancewear for liturgical dancers is available in almost all costume catalogues without question.

Being not the only dancer from a religiously or culturally conservative community, nor the only hijabi ballerina, Ms. Kurlow should neither be considered an anomaly nor a token. Hijabi dancers rock our world in beautiful ways. My friend Amirah Sackett, stellar Chicago-based hip hop dance artist and educator who has performed internationally and in music videos, started the We’re Muslim, Don’t Panic dance project and often collaborates with other hijabi dancers. Here is Amirah out and about improvising in Europe last week.

Kurlow and Sackett are among a wide world of active hijabi women. There are hijabi pole dancers in Malaysia. There are hijabi women who are boxing like Safiyyah Syeed, ice skating like Zahra Lari, running like Rahaf Khatib, DJing like Dj Safir, rock and rolling like this Indonesian rock band, sabre fencing like Ibtihaj Muhammad, and swimsuit modeling like Halima Aden. There is the Hijabi Ballers organization in Toronto. And we can check out the #hijabdancecover craze on YouTube and see a production of The Hijabi Monologues. Then on February 1, we can all celebrate World Hijab Day.

In 2012-2015, I taught ballet, modern and jazz dance at five different venues in Cairo, Egypt. Most of the girls and ladies were unveiled at that time, but now some dance schools in Egypt and elsewhere also offer classes especially for hijabi girls and women. When the Muslim Brotherhood-led government tried to ban ballet in Egypt in 2012-2013, the Egyptian people rallied around their arts and culture, including dance, and I had the honor of joining them in those demonstrations. The following year, So You Think You Can Dance Arabia was a popular show in the region and a contemporary dance group from Syria won Arab’s Got Talent.

Wearing a hijab is a personal and spiritual choice. In the dance world, Muslim dancers who are unveiled — such as Hala Shah, Khadija Anderson, along with countless Muslim men — have been expressing themselves through dance for centuries. Dance in Azerbaijan (a country that is statistically 100% Muslim and sits between Iran and Russia), has a long lineage of phenomenal ballet skill by unveiled and devout Muslim women and men, as I witnessed when I visited in 2013.

Dance in Islam may be split on the official decision of whether dance is forbidden/haram in contemporary society, but there is no denying dance’s role in Muslim cultures with and without the head coverings. According to a 2012 article by Omar Sacirbey in Religion News Service,

“Dance has long been integral to many Muslim societies, including the Filipino Muslim dances of Singkil and Pangalay; belly dancing in the Middle East; and the long dance parties that precede Muslim weddings in South Asia.”

Both observant and less observant Muslims have been dancing for exercise, expression, social and cultural activity, spiritual reasons, and public performance (some for co-ed audiences and some for gender-split audiences). In conservative Muslim culture, like conservative Jewish culture, men and women dance. But they mostly do so separately. In northwest Chicago, I teach at all-girls high school and help with their all-girls musicals. The audiences and crew are all female as well, and the women cover their hair with wigs rather than scarves. The women of the community are currently in rehearsals for their all-female production of Les Miserables.

As I read the comments on the Pointe magazine’s post, I felt more and more disappointed in the fact that this type of talk was in the dance world at all. They spoke as if there is no place for Muslims in dance. According to the Pew Research Center, there are approximately 3.45 million Muslims in the US; Muslims of all races and ethnicities are definitely in the dance world. If the responders on Pointe magazine’s post are dance educators, I can only hope they don’t treat their Muslim students and colleagues with such ignorance and judgement. For those colleagues in dance wanting to make positive changes to make their studios more welcoming, here are a few suggestions.

  1. In your marketing and décor, include dancers of different gender expressions, abilities, race and ethnicities, nationalities, socio-economic backgrounds and religious expressions. Collaborate with mutual aid societies and community groups to let them know that your studio is a welcoming place. Also ask what you can do for them.
  2. Offer sport hijabs as an option for class uniforms or studio dress code. You can get them for $10-35 several places online. Nike’s Pro Hijab is a bit more expensive and comes with a large swish.
  3. Listen. Consult with community leaders and parents regarding dancewear and costuming. Consider options for costume modifications to integrate a hijab or wig, and to cover the knees, elbows, cleavage and midriff. Also, consider covering your own knees, elbows, cleavage and midriff in certain circumstances.
  4. Take into account major Jewish, Hindu, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, and other religious holidays when creating your studio calendar. If your recital, rehearsal, performance or competition lands on a holiday and you cannot make a change in order to accommodate, simply let your families know of the situation.
  5. During Ramadan, hold rehearsals at night or acknowledge students who are fasting and may need to sit down. Do not offer them water.
  6. Hire talented hijabi and unveiled Muslim women and men in your diverse faculty. Role models are important. Also, look for ways to work toward equity by promoting and paying artists.
  7. Connect hijabi students to one another, like this girl-to-girl blog regarding being a hijabi girl in gym class.
  8. Offer all-female and all-male classes and performance opportunities, while simultaneously making efforts to make dance a less gendered experience as well as a safe place for LGBTQ+ dancers, including Muslim LGBTQ+ dancers. It is possible for us to do both.

To all dancers coming to the arts from a place of faith, please keep dancing. We welcome you. We appreciate you. We will learn from you. We will follow your lead.

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