I doubt you have missed the hullabaloo about cultural appropriation in bellydance.  In case you did, it all started when Salon published the article Why I Can't Stand White Bellydancers by Randa Jarrar.  Her premise is that white women shouldn't bellydance because bellydance derives from a culture that isn't part of their heritage.  There was a rebuttal article in The Atlantic, In Praise of Polyglot Culture --and Multicultural Belly Dancing.  And now even the Washington Post has weighed in in on the story.

What is all of this about?  Simply, cultural appropriation. 

What is that you ask?  When one group takes the traditions, views, trappings, or other elements of another group to use as their own.  Often this is done with little or no regard to the deep meanings and cultural significance of those elements to the originating group.  There are many layers to cultural appropriation, and much of it comes down to power dynamics.  Often racism plays a part as well.  Sometimes it all comes down to ignorance; sometimes innocent ignorance, sometimes uncaring ignorance. 

For example, Katy Perry recently came in for a healthy dose of criticism for an image in her video for "Dark Horse."  In it Perry, in the guise of a pharaonic goddess/sorceress, incinerates a line of suitors, one of whom was wearing a pendant which said "Allah."  Well, needless to say, a pop star setting fire to the name of God could be viewed as insensitive.  Perry had the image of the necklace scrubbed from the video and offered an apology saying she was simply trying to pay homage to a culture she loved. 

I would call that innocent, but ignorant cultural appropriation. She was going for an "Egyptiany" feel and didn't pay much attention to the fact that the cool squiggly Arabic script on the actor's necklace might actually have significant religious meaning to people (belonging to one of the world's largest religions).  Oops, her bad.

On the other end of the spectrum is the fashion industry which has been plundering Native American cultures with impunity for some time.  Whether it was Victoria's Secret slapping war bonnets on underwear models or Urban Outfitters launching an entire "Navajo" line of clothes (and refusing to apologize or pull the products when the company was sued by actual Navajo people), that kind of intentional misuse of a culture's imagery is not so innocent.

Where on the spectrum does that leave bellydance?  Depends on who you ask.  Ms. Jarrar has made her position fairly clear; if you aren't of Arab descent, you shouldn't do it.  And she has a point, under all of her vitriol.  Slinging on some eye-liner and a jingle-scarf can't make you a bellydancer.  Bellydance has a long history and deep roots in Arab (and North African, and Asian, and Middle Eastern) cultures.  But here's the rub, for me.  While bellydance is rooted in all these various cultures, what we know as modern bellydance is not derived from one individual culture.  Dancers have been sharing and copying movements and costume styles from each other's cultures all along. 

The term "danse du ventre" (dance of the belly) was applied to Egyptian dancers by Napoleon's troops.  In the West, the term came to be applied to all such Middle Eastern folk dances.  The dancers who were performing these dances were doing so as a form of public entertainment. As entertainers, they were ready to incorporate anything that enhanced their performance, whether it was culturally questionable costuming or movements from another part of the world.  When we talk about bellydance today, we must be clear about what we are talking about; private expression or public entertainment.  The dances Arab women do together in their living rooms and at parties is not what the sequined dancer at the local Moroccan restaurant is doing.  Even Ms. Jarrar makes a distinction between the dances women do together for fun and the professional dancer hired for the wedding reception.

Clearly I have my own bias.  I am a white bellydancer.  I teach and perform with African-American bellydancers, but I am pretty sure Ms. Jarrar would include them with the dancers she can't stand (how do the dancers who are Black, or Hispanic, or Asian feel about being classed as White in that article I wonder?)  By Ms. Jarrar's standards I suppose the only form of dance I could practice would be Irish step-dancing, or maybe a Polka.  But I am a white bellydancer.  I understand if Ms. Jarrar doesn't want to tip me because I am not  Arab (I once met a man who didn't want a black mechanic to work on his Saab--sounds pretty bad when you put it that way, doesn't it?). Thankfully not everyone feels the way she does. 

I began to study bellydance in 1998.   As I type, that was 16 years ago. 
I studied with one teacher, danced in her troupe after some time, and,
after a couple years, began teaching classes of my own.    I taught what I had been
taught.  I had a few Fat Chance   Belly Dance VHS tapes and pored over back issues of Tribal Talk, a periodical  now long gone.  But my dance world  was narrow.  By the time I was  teaching, my dance world was nourished and informed nearly exclusively by me  alone.  


Then I discovered workshops.  The first workshop I attended was put on by Madame Onca of Baraka Mundi   in Asheville, NC.  The teachers  were Jill Parker and Heather Stants.   It was the first time I had reserved my own room in a hotel. 
I ate a complimentary bagel (and pocketed another for lunch) and went to
  class where I knew no one.  I  spoke to no one and no one spoke to me. 
I attended then show that night.   Returned, exhausted to my hotel and went home the next morning.  


It sounds lonely, doesn’t it?   It sounds like a rather unfriendly atmosphere. 
In reality, it was revelatory.   I had spent the day in a room packed with dancers who loved doing exactly  what I loved doing.  And they were  so talented.   Not just the  instructors, the other students…they were phenomenal.   And they all seemed to know other. 
I knew there was something here that I wanted. 
I wanted the skills, yes, but I wanted that community. 


  In  my little world, I was the most accomplished dancer I knew.  What
I had glimpsed was a world full of dancers with varied strengths and skills who
nurtured each other.  More  importantly, they challenged each other well.  Not in a competitive manner, well  perhaps a little, but internally. 
They were developing the skills they held as a community.   They watched one another dance and were inspired, or instructed, or were  simply appreciative.  


From that weekend I took home a coal burning in  my gut, a need for companionship, a craving for community.   From that weekend I took home the seed that would become Lynchburg  Tribal.


 

There is a section in "Slow & Chifti" when we are in a circle facing one another. The steps aren't particularly complex, but the pattern can be tricky. Inevitably there are dancers from all levels dancing, with varying familiarity with the piece. When we first get into the circle, I can tell from their faces who is struggling to remember the dance, who has switched on auto-pilot, and who is just delighted to be there. And I can't help but smile, and smile, and smile. There in the circle, we are each other's audience and support group. If you forget which way to step, everyone is moving to help you along. By the end of the first set of spins most every dancer is smiling. We all step in toward each other, arms across each others shoulders and then we're just having fun. That is why I dance.

I grew up with a single mom who made sure I was involved in Girl Scouts and later with a girls-only masonic group. I went to a single-sex college. Grad school was really the first time in my life I wasn't immersed in a female-dominated environment, and I made some interesting observations. The female students were rarely in the front row in class. In the auditorium, I noticed that the men used both armrests, while the women frequently used neither. In discussions the women rarely pushed their right to speak when they started talking at the same time as a male student. Small things all, most of which I only put my finger on later, but there really was a difference between female community and mixed gender community.

Around that time the director of my performance arts troupe brought a belly dancer to give a workshop. I discovered a dance that made sense to my body, that wasn't a complete struggle. I began bellydance classes I tagged along with my teacher's Tribal troupe as their resident henna artist (and groupie). One of the first gigs I went on was a revelation. Preparing for performance was bedlam; a riot of coins and fringe and safety pins; a jumble of shared mascara, bindis, bangles, and practice beats. It was glorious! Then a horde of painted and bedecked belly dancers took to the street to walk the few blocks to the performance venue. Passersby gawked; jaws dropped; a few eyes flashed in envy. Walking alone, any one of us would have felt awkward, exposed, abashed. Together, we were proud and sassy. For the first time in my life I understood what empowerment feels like. A trained feminist since adolescence the E-word was an entrenched part of my vocabulary, but now I had the taste of it in my mouth, not just the word. It made my step a little saucier, lifted my chin a little higher, did wonders for my posture.

The world may tell us to strive to be strong, accomplished women who are at home in our skins and lives, yet for many of us the reality is a bit less robust. Television fashion programming teaches us how to find clothes to hide our flaws; studies show we still only claim one armrest. In dance class, I see some women find it difficult to extend their arms fully for Snake Arms, baffled by how to move their hips off center; ashamed of jiggles in their thighs. I see that bellydance can transform them into women who show their bellies (stretch marks and all), who not only extend their arms but toss in shoulder shimmies. It delights me to see women develop a new standard of beauty—one based on fitness and strength as opposed to slimness—and to find themselves a part of a tribe, a female community. This is the real gift Bellydance gives us, the incomparable taste of empowerment.

One of the things I have always loved about Rebec Vineyard's Annual Garlic Festival is the sense of community.  Each year brings a chance to meet new people, sure; but there are some folks you meet at the Festival year after year.  People have certain Garlic Fest traditions.  For my friends and I it has been closing out the days at the Stage in the Woods enjoying the entertainment of Robin Rich and the various friends and guest artists he has brought in over the years. 
I know folks who look forward to the Garlic King and Queen competitions all year and others who are true wine lovers and can taste the difference in vintage years at their favorite wineries.
This year Lynchburg Tribal became an authentic part of the Festival experience.  The dancers worked hard for weeks on end preparing new material and working the kinks out of other piece.  Some of our newest members worked overtime learning core repertoire pieces.  I was really impressed with work and dedication the ladies put in.  At the festival they danced beautifully and dealt with last minute set changes with race and humor.
For me it was a dual honor: an honor to contribute to an event I have loved for years and an honor to dance in the company of such talented, intelligent, and professional dancers.

Lynchburg Tribal is busy packing for the Garlic Festival--a Central Virginia tradition hosted by Rebec Winery.  Actually the history of belly dance at the Garlic Festival goes back many years and is tightly woven with my love of Irish drinking songs.  Years ago my friends and I made a habit of closing out each day of the Garlic Festival be heading to the Woods to listen to that bearded fella who sang the good, bawdy songs.  It wasn't entirely uncommon for Tina and I to get up a dance (many of you know Tina as the one for whose wedding the Wedding Dance was created).  After that bearded guy's wife started taking belly dance lessons, it was all over and herds of bedecked belly dancers began showing up at his stage and shimmying whenever he took a break.
After many years, Lynchburg Tribal is dancing, officially!  We hope you'll come visit us in the Woods at Noon and 3pm,

What an great time Lynchburg Tribal has at Lynchburg's first Get!Downtown street festival.  We were joined by the exceptional drummers of Nataraja, the Hill City's own all-women drum circle.  The energy of live drummers really is incomparable!
So there we were, all dressed up, watching people mill and meander up and down Main Street.  The Randolph College Radio station DJ's played the Wedding Dance for us and we started dancing, right in the middle of the street!  Crowds gathered.  When the recording stopped, Nataraja started a killer rhythm and we started an improv set.  It felt like we could have ridden that energy all night.  We finished to a startling  amount of applause.  After three different sets (and what was with the cars that kept trying to come through?  Thought the street was closed) we were exhausted, but energized at the same time.

The Blackwater Rollers roller derby team was zooming in and out of the crowd and the incredible Ember*Ellas were graceful beyond belief on their stilts, swirling their Isis-wings. As the sun went down, Nancy and Amy and Chris brought out their fire toys as did the Ellas (including a flaming hula hoop; WOW!!!) Some of LT whipped their veils to and fro to the drumming.  And it seemed like the whole town was there.

It was one of those evenings that just *feels* special.  And we were truly honored that Lynchburg Tribal got to be part of it.

Huzzah! to Lynch's Landing and keep up the good work!

Well, we're doing it again.  Our 3rd Annual Kaleidoscope Hafla is fast approaching.  I can't believe we're in the third year; it really seems like we just got started.  But nevertheless, here we are.

This year will see some changes to the Hafla.  Most notably, a bigger theater!!!  Even our first year we were too big for our venue, Renaissance Theatre on Commerce St.  We actually turned people away at the door because we were over the building's capacity.  Much of the audience had to watch the show on closed circuit TVs from the lobby!  Well, no more!  Our new home is the auditorium at RS Payne school.  We should fit quite comfortably there.  And we're looking forward to the comfort of dancing on a traditional stage.

The Hafla is catching the attention of dancers and troupes across the state and 2009 will see some new faces on our stage.  It just keeps growing, almost independent of the organizers.

Much of our art consists of dancing for dancers.  The audiences of many regional haflas are made up primarily of other dancers and our families.  The Kaleidoscope Hafla is different.  While naturally the audience is full of Bellydance supporters, it also draws from the general public, thanks to the stupendous publicity from being a part of the Kaleidoscope Festival, Lynchburg City's month-long arts festival.  It is quite an honor to be able to bring Bellydance to folks who might otherwise have never been exposed to it.  The Hafla is the perfect platform for combating some of the ridiculous misconceptions about bellydance.  And, let's be honest, the energy of a theater full of dancers who passionately love their art is indescribable.

We hope lots of you will join us on Sept.12th--either in the audience or on stage (and there's still room to dance, send us an email if you're interested).