July 2007 Archives
Swiped ruthlessly from a post I made on Tribe on this subject. I made some minor edits, and re-post for posterity (or, at least as long as I pay the bills).
Notice how little of what I say has to do with dance itself? Good teaching, the kind that gets you lots of gigs and students, takes far, far more than just sharing moves.
Notes on developing into a Raqs teacher:
- Focus, for now, on becoming the best dancer you can. Practice Practice Practice, and then Drill Some More.
- Prepare to Wait. I tell people that you'll know you're supposed to teach when people who watch you dance are astonished you're not. That's as good a metric as any I've ever heard.
- Network. I know it sounds odd, but really, you want to have a solid cadre of people to pull information and opinions from. Be sure to include people from outside your particular dance interest -- for example, having Egyptian Style dance friends if you do Tribal Fusion ala Rachel Brice.
- Learn how people learn. This is a tough subject -- there's a reason teachers go to school for this stuff! But there's lots of interesting information on the 'Net for this; a blog that's sadly on-hiatus that's GREAT for ideas on teaching is Creating Passionate Users.
- Learn the history of this dance. There's a lot of myth, a lot of pablum, out there. Morocco's site is a good starting point, and I posted a list on Amazon with a bunch of resources that I consider very solid for learning about the form.
- Learn about the human body. At the very least, bone up on some anatomy, and a good book on how dancers move (even if it's ballet-focused). Carolena of Fat Chance has an ACE Physical Trainer certification, and I've heard it's highly regarded in those circles. I'd recommend it over any sort of "belly dancer certification" at this juncture.
- Do deep studies of the form(s) you want to teach. There's a lot to know, from weight-shifting to the variety and (re)combinations of movements to the details of where hands go as you move. You don't need to know it all to start teaching, but you need to know enough to not make severe mistakes. That takes lots of study and practice.
- Develop a good sense of humor, and solid presentation skills (check out Presentation Zen for lots of wisdom in this arena), even when you're exhausted and drained. Too many teachers forget that humor is an amazing teacher in itself, and many of the teachers we recall best are the ones who taught tough, but also allowed for fun!
Notice how little of what I say has to do with dance itself? Good teaching, the kind that gets you lots of gigs and students, takes far, far more than just sharing moves.
This'll be brief. Years ago, I got a wonderful little dance mag out of Florida, that was amazingly full of excellent and well-researched articles on the dance; sort of a thinned-down and refocused ARABESQUE, for those who recall that mag. One article I recall well was on the Mata Hari costume:
Which always sort of impressed me, even though I'm not overmuch a fan of Art Deco, or that style. The book even had patterns for the author's interpretation of the hip wrap Hari wears, which was impressive.
And, of course, I've often hear the idea that the Hari outfit is the primary source for the look of bedlah. I personally don't know how true that is, but it's a thought that, to my angry "History First!" mind, makes some sense. Of course the clothing de jour of "belly dance" is swiped from someone who dealt in lies and secrecy...
But like many a dancer I know, I can't help but admire the style, while declaiming the circumstances and underlying perceptions that live with us to this day. So when I see this latest revision of the Hari outfit by Sarah Skinner:
I'm IMPRESSED. Active exploration of our antecedents, digging into the past of the form, bringing those ideas and styles forward -- that's amazing work, and if you're looking for a way to differentiate yourself from the crowd (and you shoudl be!), that's one ill-traveled path. It's something few are doing, and yet has so many points that can and would appeal to a modern audience.
And there's points where it could even be melded into more modern interpretations. I mean, imagine melding that outfit's structure and glamor with Tribal-style NeoRaqs's* strength and boldness of color!
There are always more ideas. :)
* I'm playing around with a new set of terms for our form, 'cause I have not having a solid, useful umbrella term. I'm leaning towards everything from Casino Opera forward being NeoRaqs, and that makes writing something like "Tribal" much less like a lead weight on my conscious, when it's got it's own context.
Which always sort of impressed me, even though I'm not overmuch a fan of Art Deco, or that style. The book even had patterns for the author's interpretation of the hip wrap Hari wears, which was impressive.
And, of course, I've often hear the idea that the Hari outfit is the primary source for the look of bedlah. I personally don't know how true that is, but it's a thought that, to my angry "History First!" mind, makes some sense. Of course the clothing de jour of "belly dance" is swiped from someone who dealt in lies and secrecy...
But like many a dancer I know, I can't help but admire the style, while declaiming the circumstances and underlying perceptions that live with us to this day. So when I see this latest revision of the Hari outfit by Sarah Skinner:
(h/t to The ShanMonster )
I'm IMPRESSED. Active exploration of our antecedents, digging into the past of the form, bringing those ideas and styles forward -- that's amazing work, and if you're looking for a way to differentiate yourself from the crowd (and you shoudl be!), that's one ill-traveled path. It's something few are doing, and yet has so many points that can and would appeal to a modern audience.
And there's points where it could even be melded into more modern interpretations. I mean, imagine melding that outfit's structure and glamor with Tribal-style NeoRaqs's* strength and boldness of color!
There are always more ideas. :)
* I'm playing around with a new set of terms for our form, 'cause I have not having a solid, useful umbrella term. I'm leaning towards everything from Casino Opera forward being NeoRaqs, and that makes writing something like "Tribal" much less like a lead weight on my conscious, when it's got it's own context.
I promise to get back to Bedlah soon, FYI. In the meantime, from recent doings at Bhuz.com, two online services of dubious legality, and one article:
Mazikana : Downloadable MP3s of current Arabic music
Karima.ru : Some of the galleries have WMPs of Arabic dancers. They look like stuff taken from Hollywood Video or Peko DVDs...
"The Tribal Streak" : It's a misleading title from an American POV, 'cause there's little about Tribal there. But what is there is pretty cool, and worthy of discussion on it's own -- al-Ahram has done some kick-ass articles on our dance form.
Mazikana : Downloadable MP3s of current Arabic music
Karima.ru : Some of the galleries have WMPs of Arabic dancers. They look like stuff taken from Hollywood Video or Peko DVDs...
"The Tribal Streak" : It's a misleading title from an American POV, 'cause there's little about Tribal there. But what is there is pretty cool, and worthy of discussion on it's own -- al-Ahram has done some kick-ass articles on our dance form.
Something I think I've not done, is really, deeply, talk about what's going on here. My dreams for this site, if you will. After reading Greenwald, I think I need to explain a bit further what's going on with APOSTATE, deep down.
I mean, right now, I have damn few readers here. Some of that's simply because I don't promote enough...and some of it's because of the content. Politics isn't sexy. Calls to arms aren't really sexy. Dance history is traditionally boring. And I can be downright dialectic.
In short, I bore the shit out of anyone just dropping in.
So why continue? In part, because of the basic remit -- I'm trying to poke into the nooks and crannies of this dance form, to see what we've left behind, or are unwilling to explore. The very things that make the Internet such a perfect medium for talking about the dance -- the extension of the "us vs. them" mentality, the "casual sisterhood" connection that's a mile long and a inch deep, the discussions about music and clothing and gigs and makeup that have gone 'round in circles -- all these are the pits I'm trying to avoid. Sure, some of it's because I don't wear makeup, and I'll never put on bedlah, and I still can't get a hold of Melodia or her team to make me a pair of The Damned Pants --
But in the end? We have to find ways of Doing Better. We have to stop siting in the corners of virtual coffeehouses, bitching about Hillary Duff. I feel, in my bones, that we, as dancers, are the ones responsible for the form, for the presentation of the form. That we are the ones who have to write the stars and the music video people and the journalists, and explain, over and again, why they are wrong. That if they fail, it's in part because we ourselves still cling to too many fantasies, too many myths, and not just because the myth makes what little money we can, and props up egos with promises of ancient ways.
History is written by the people on the ground. Right now, take a look at the history we dancers have left behind in the media, and shudder at the many origins, few of which are backed by anything like scholarship. How can you demand respect when you pass off myth without a critical eye? Look at the undercutters, at the people eager to sell themselves short for "just another gig". You can retrain some of them, but you have to reach them, first and foremost. And disdainful whispers and screaming posts online send the wrong message.
What if we joined together, like a union, and demanded not just honest wages, but honest treatment? What if we dancers finally, as a group, took responsibility for the next generation, be they raqs sharqi, ATS, Tribal, or the next big thing? What if we organized ourselves to present a strong face to the media, and a strong back for beginning dancers? What if we started to actually write down the collected wisdom, and shared it openly and honestly? What if we made it easier for a dancer to move from student to performer to professional to businesswoman?
Imagine, just for a second, the difference all that would make in your life as a dancer. imagine being part of a truly healthy and vibrant dancer ecosystem. Wouldn't it be nice?
That's the core of APOSTATE, when I talk about raqs. It's not just about me bitching, it's about one man finding a way out of no way. It's about my undying love of this dance form, and trying to stop being catty, and starting to be angry. And then taking that anger, and, like and Old Testament Prophet, spreading the word that the world can be better, must be better. And then trying like mad to have others talk about these issues, to try to bring us together.
It's one day at a time, one post at a time, one fight at a time.
I mean, right now, I have damn few readers here. Some of that's simply because I don't promote enough...and some of it's because of the content. Politics isn't sexy. Calls to arms aren't really sexy. Dance history is traditionally boring. And I can be downright dialectic.
In short, I bore the shit out of anyone just dropping in.
So why continue? In part, because of the basic remit -- I'm trying to poke into the nooks and crannies of this dance form, to see what we've left behind, or are unwilling to explore. The very things that make the Internet such a perfect medium for talking about the dance -- the extension of the "us vs. them" mentality, the "casual sisterhood" connection that's a mile long and a inch deep, the discussions about music and clothing and gigs and makeup that have gone 'round in circles -- all these are the pits I'm trying to avoid. Sure, some of it's because I don't wear makeup, and I'll never put on bedlah, and I still can't get a hold of Melodia or her team to make me a pair of The Damned Pants --
But in the end? We have to find ways of Doing Better. We have to stop siting in the corners of virtual coffeehouses, bitching about Hillary Duff. I feel, in my bones, that we, as dancers, are the ones responsible for the form, for the presentation of the form. That we are the ones who have to write the stars and the music video people and the journalists, and explain, over and again, why they are wrong. That if they fail, it's in part because we ourselves still cling to too many fantasies, too many myths, and not just because the myth makes what little money we can, and props up egos with promises of ancient ways.
History is written by the people on the ground. Right now, take a look at the history we dancers have left behind in the media, and shudder at the many origins, few of which are backed by anything like scholarship. How can you demand respect when you pass off myth without a critical eye? Look at the undercutters, at the people eager to sell themselves short for "just another gig". You can retrain some of them, but you have to reach them, first and foremost. And disdainful whispers and screaming posts online send the wrong message.
What if we joined together, like a union, and demanded not just honest wages, but honest treatment? What if we dancers finally, as a group, took responsibility for the next generation, be they raqs sharqi, ATS, Tribal, or the next big thing? What if we organized ourselves to present a strong face to the media, and a strong back for beginning dancers? What if we started to actually write down the collected wisdom, and shared it openly and honestly? What if we made it easier for a dancer to move from student to performer to professional to businesswoman?
Imagine, just for a second, the difference all that would make in your life as a dancer. imagine being part of a truly healthy and vibrant dancer ecosystem. Wouldn't it be nice?
That's the core of APOSTATE, when I talk about raqs. It's not just about me bitching, it's about one man finding a way out of no way. It's about my undying love of this dance form, and trying to stop being catty, and starting to be angry. And then taking that anger, and, like and Old Testament Prophet, spreading the word that the world can be better, must be better. And then trying like mad to have others talk about these issues, to try to bring us together.
It's one day at a time, one post at a time, one fight at a time.
When I think about how to solve intractable, deep problems that are based upon prejudices and cultural biases, I'm always drawn to Martin Luther King's Letter from Birmingham Jail. A brilliant work, he breaks down his approach to 4 steps:
Now, he, of course, speaks on dealing with specific problems in specific cities, not dealing with all of racism in one gulp. He knew that these acts could, and did, lead to positive media attention, as well as the attraction of allies from outside the oppressed group.
That's part of why I linked to the story of the WisCon costume. The simple fact is that wearing bedlah should not lead to any kind of harassment. PERIOD.
To this end, I have these 3 points to make on general, wide-spectrum solutions. I'll talk about person-specific solutions next:
1) Acknowledge The Problem
To my wise commentors, I agree that bedlah is costly, and should be protected. And that it's a costume, not clothing, and likely should not be worn off-stage. And yet, to restate a comment -- who's going to get more crap walking down the street, a woman in a tutu or a woman in bedlah? If the costume is decent, and worth standing up for, what I'm saying is that we start acknowledging that decency, while also acknowledging that many in the mainstream don't see it that way.
Why? Because I want to see a vibrant, thriving, and alive Raqs Sharqi community. And as long as the mainstream code for "bedlah" is "street walker", we're fighting an uphill battle.
When we tell each other about the mainstream opinion of bedlah, when we regularly acknowledge that we cover up to protect ourselves from roving eyes and improper comments as much as to protect the beauty and mystery of the costume, then, perhaps, we can start to actually work on solutions, instead of shoving it under the (Oriental) rug we all dance on.
2) The Best Defense is a Strong Offense
Why do we accept that harassment is "just the cost of doing business"? Why not post in our forums and blogs every time someone treats us like crap.
Perhaps the point starts with bedlah, starts with me reading about that costume at that Science Fiction convention. But it really does grow in my brain, it grows to ponder sites like HollabackNYC, which uses camera phones to take snaps of sexual harassment on the street.
Imagine a HollabackRaqs. Imagine finding ways of taking the power back from those who harass. Imagine joining with other feminists in saying that bedlah, that raqs sharqi, that all the stuff we call "belly dance" is now off limits to harassment. Imagine having mainstream attention finally paid to bedlah being historical, and honest, and as worthy of being seen as an artists costume as anything does in ballet.
Imagine the change, when people finally understand what bedlah is truly about.
3) Semper Fi
You have to keep at it. The change will take time, and patience. We have to keep educating, and agitating, both internally -- to avoid slipping into ignorance and avoidance once again -- and externally, to keep the mainstream aware of the issue, and on our side.
When you're harassed, we have to help each other stand up to it. When that restaurant owner leers at your sequined, pushed-up boobs every time you dance, we all have to stand against his place, until he learns his place. When a new dancer is uncomfortable in bedlah, there needs to be solutions other than "jump to Tribal", and those solutions start with the sisterhood of dance acting like a sisterhood, and actually standing for her right to wear whatever in comfort.
This is all rooted in the reality of how you stand up to harassment, to sexism, to power. This is not utopian, yet it is about a group. And the fact that a group starts with leaders, with individuals acting like Rosa Parks, making a stand and moving people.
It can start with you. I'll write up more on that, soon.
- Collect information to determine if problems exist
- Negotiation
- Self-Purification
- Direct, Non-Violent Action
Now, he, of course, speaks on dealing with specific problems in specific cities, not dealing with all of racism in one gulp. He knew that these acts could, and did, lead to positive media attention, as well as the attraction of allies from outside the oppressed group.
That's part of why I linked to the story of the WisCon costume. The simple fact is that wearing bedlah should not lead to any kind of harassment. PERIOD.
To this end, I have these 3 points to make on general, wide-spectrum solutions. I'll talk about person-specific solutions next:
1) Acknowledge The Problem
To my wise commentors, I agree that bedlah is costly, and should be protected. And that it's a costume, not clothing, and likely should not be worn off-stage. And yet, to restate a comment -- who's going to get more crap walking down the street, a woman in a tutu or a woman in bedlah? If the costume is decent, and worth standing up for, what I'm saying is that we start acknowledging that decency, while also acknowledging that many in the mainstream don't see it that way.
Why? Because I want to see a vibrant, thriving, and alive Raqs Sharqi community. And as long as the mainstream code for "bedlah" is "street walker", we're fighting an uphill battle.
When we tell each other about the mainstream opinion of bedlah, when we regularly acknowledge that we cover up to protect ourselves from roving eyes and improper comments as much as to protect the beauty and mystery of the costume, then, perhaps, we can start to actually work on solutions, instead of shoving it under the (Oriental) rug we all dance on.
2) The Best Defense is a Strong Offense
Why do we accept that harassment is "just the cost of doing business"? Why not post in our forums and blogs every time someone treats us like crap.
Perhaps the point starts with bedlah, starts with me reading about that costume at that Science Fiction convention. But it really does grow in my brain, it grows to ponder sites like HollabackNYC, which uses camera phones to take snaps of sexual harassment on the street.
Imagine a HollabackRaqs. Imagine finding ways of taking the power back from those who harass. Imagine joining with other feminists in saying that bedlah, that raqs sharqi, that all the stuff we call "belly dance" is now off limits to harassment. Imagine having mainstream attention finally paid to bedlah being historical, and honest, and as worthy of being seen as an artists costume as anything does in ballet.
Imagine the change, when people finally understand what bedlah is truly about.
3) Semper Fi
You have to keep at it. The change will take time, and patience. We have to keep educating, and agitating, both internally -- to avoid slipping into ignorance and avoidance once again -- and externally, to keep the mainstream aware of the issue, and on our side.
When you're harassed, we have to help each other stand up to it. When that restaurant owner leers at your sequined, pushed-up boobs every time you dance, we all have to stand against his place, until he learns his place. When a new dancer is uncomfortable in bedlah, there needs to be solutions other than "jump to Tribal", and those solutions start with the sisterhood of dance acting like a sisterhood, and actually standing for her right to wear whatever in comfort.
This is all rooted in the reality of how you stand up to harassment, to sexism, to power. This is not utopian, yet it is about a group. And the fact that a group starts with leaders, with individuals acting like Rosa Parks, making a stand and moving people.
It can start with you. I'll write up more on that, soon.
A short pause on the Bedlah series, as I want to digest some of the commentary first. So, instead, how about a little music?
In my continuing search for kick-ass music, I've been trying to trace down certain artists. DJ Mutamassik was an enigma -- I only had a couple of mashups of her work on DJ Rupture's music to go by, along with some very positive online press. But what I was reading belied what I grasped from the mash-ups, and what I was grasping was a talent that was perfect for the post-modern raqs scene.
And now that I've got a chance to lay hands on her music in detail, she's the Perfect Storm of high-energy dance. And it is dance-able, unlike some other music that lies on the edge between "here" and "over there" that I love. Indeed, it's on the opposite edge from works like Dead Can Dance; it's hip-hop, bass-thumping, raw and powerful.
There's a power in the organic (for lack of a better term) nature of groups like Musicians of the Nile, something I sometimes feel is lost in the transition to the 20th Century Arabic Orchestra. Mutamassik, though, gives me the same chills that those groups do, even as the beat is thumpin' like it flowed outta Eric B's dark dreams.
You can hear some of her music on the Rough Americana site (scroll down for her pieces). I've also uploaded one of my favorite pieces, Gulf Rock Mix, for your listening pleasure.
In my continuing search for kick-ass music, I've been trying to trace down certain artists. DJ Mutamassik was an enigma -- I only had a couple of mashups of her work on DJ Rupture's music to go by, along with some very positive online press. But what I was reading belied what I grasped from the mash-ups, and what I was grasping was a talent that was perfect for the post-modern raqs scene.
And now that I've got a chance to lay hands on her music in detail, she's the Perfect Storm of high-energy dance. And it is dance-able, unlike some other music that lies on the edge between "here" and "over there" that I love. Indeed, it's on the opposite edge from works like Dead Can Dance; it's hip-hop, bass-thumping, raw and powerful.
There's a power in the organic (for lack of a better term) nature of groups like Musicians of the Nile, something I sometimes feel is lost in the transition to the 20th Century Arabic Orchestra. Mutamassik, though, gives me the same chills that those groups do, even as the beat is thumpin' like it flowed outta Eric B's dark dreams.
You can hear some of her music on the Rough Americana site (scroll down for her pieces). I've also uploaded one of my favorite pieces, Gulf Rock Mix, for your listening pleasure.
Oh, if I thought my last discussion on this was going to get me in trouble...sigh. I read this article from the excellent Girls Read Comics site, all about a costume worn at a Sci-Fi Con. The Con itself is what's called "safe space", a feminist-oriented con. It's what happened when the costume was worn in front of people unaware of it's nature, people from outside the community, that trigged this article:
The first thought when a mainstream person sees that costume? It's not "wow, lovely", it's not "what gorgeous fabric", and it's not exactly "that bra fits her well". It's about how much skin is shown, and how transgressive the clothing is. And that transgression is all-too-often not about skill, but about the appearance of sexual availability, even aggression, on the part of the person wearing it.
No matter how skilled you are. No matter how well-spoken you are. And, all too often, no matter how chaste you are, and act. Dancers in bedlah are like African-Americans, judged first and foremost on surface impressions, and having to struggle for recognition for their skills and wisdom.
Worse, my fear is that we, in the dance community, hide from this reaction. I rarely hear talk about bedlah, and what the reaction might be. But, we do talk often about wearing "cover-ups", and not wearing bedlah anywhere but on-stage. And yet...am I just missing that conversation, because I'm a guy? Or is it just that we, as a dance community, don't want to talk about the transgression of bedlah?
Either way, there's a fight about how people react to bedlah. There's a truth that needs to come out, and needs to be addressed. This is the truth of how it should be seen, and the truth I wish to fight for:
And the sad answer is, I don't have an easy clue. But I'll talk about solutions tomorrow...
They didn't say anything foul, they certainly didn't touch me, and it wasn't even close to harassment by the standards of our society. So why was I shaky and scared and angry afterwards?This is everyday life for many "belly" dancers. And doubly so for artists wearing bedlah, esp. the bra and belt version that's most famous in America today:
Two things:
1) At the costume ball, my clothing -- fishnets, black leotard, blonde wig -- was coded "superhero". In the elevator, it was coded "stripper".
2) Everyone is conditioned to assess women primarily by how sexually attractive and/or available they appear to be. Making that assessment clear is normal. Vocalizing that assessment is normal. Blaming women for others harassing or abusing them based on how attractive they are or what they were wearing at the time is normal.
The first thought when a mainstream person sees that costume? It's not "wow, lovely", it's not "what gorgeous fabric", and it's not exactly "that bra fits her well". It's about how much skin is shown, and how transgressive the clothing is. And that transgression is all-too-often not about skill, but about the appearance of sexual availability, even aggression, on the part of the person wearing it.
No matter how skilled you are. No matter how well-spoken you are. And, all too often, no matter how chaste you are, and act. Dancers in bedlah are like African-Americans, judged first and foremost on surface impressions, and having to struggle for recognition for their skills and wisdom.
Worse, my fear is that we, in the dance community, hide from this reaction. I rarely hear talk about bedlah, and what the reaction might be. But, we do talk often about wearing "cover-ups", and not wearing bedlah anywhere but on-stage. And yet...am I just missing that conversation, because I'm a guy? Or is it just that we, as a dance community, don't want to talk about the transgression of bedlah?
Either way, there's a fight about how people react to bedlah. There's a truth that needs to come out, and needs to be addressed. This is the truth of how it should be seen, and the truth I wish to fight for:
I wore that costume because Black Canary is badass, and the Birds of Prey are heroes. I wanted to join a group of strong women, who, like the Birds, are striving to change their world for the better. It's sad that I would never wear that costume outside of WisCon -- not at any other geek con, and certainly not on the street. I'm already female in public; being a scantily-dressed woman in public compounds my crimes and my punishment.
The security I experienced at WisCon, bar those thirty seconds in an elevator, should be a universal privilege. That's how the world should be.
How can we make it so?
And the sad answer is, I don't have an easy clue. But I'll talk about solutions tomorrow...
...how many dancers name themselves "Princess so-and-so"...
...and how almost no one names themselves "Queen such-and-such."
Interesting, yes?
...and how almost no one names themselves "Queen such-and-such."
Interesting, yes?
So I've been writing elsewhere about the kick-started fight about the depiction of women in comic books. And in a couple of those writings, I've commented on how, for me, there are obvious parallels to how female dancers are seen and dealt with, both internally and in the mainstream. Very obvious parallels, as raqs sharqi artists aren't "really" people to many, well, people, all too often reduced to glittering objects of art, gliding across a stage.
So tackling that issue, in all it's complexity, is something that preys on my mind. I fear that untangling the beauty of dance, and dancers, from the rampant sexism of modern society, and the embedded sexism that drives some aspects of the "belly dance" world, is nearly impossible.
But then, I read something like the below, from Pretty, Fizzy Paradise, and kalinara's post gives me...well, perhaps not "hope", but maybe a thought as to how to frame the debate. How to raise the issue. I mean, I look at the page of comic she links to, a page that is all about how demeaning the act of simply putting on makeup can be, and I'm reminded of too many days spent hanging out with dancers, waiting. Makeup can be empowering, yet it can also, and easily, be a way to marginalize yourself as a person.
I'm just a guy, looking from the outside in, in some ways. So it's hard to suss out how to speak on it, but this -- this is a start:
Does that resonate with you?
So tackling that issue, in all it's complexity, is something that preys on my mind. I fear that untangling the beauty of dance, and dancers, from the rampant sexism of modern society, and the embedded sexism that drives some aspects of the "belly dance" world, is nearly impossible.
But then, I read something like the below, from Pretty, Fizzy Paradise, and kalinara's post gives me...well, perhaps not "hope", but maybe a thought as to how to frame the debate. How to raise the issue. I mean, I look at the page of comic she links to, a page that is all about how demeaning the act of simply putting on makeup can be, and I'm reminded of too many days spent hanging out with dancers, waiting. Makeup can be empowering, yet it can also, and easily, be a way to marginalize yourself as a person.
I'm just a guy, looking from the outside in, in some ways. So it's hard to suss out how to speak on it, but this -- this is a start:
We get angry when a wonderful, complex character like Power Girl's worth is reduced to her breasts.
We get angry when female characters of equivalent experiences are written as making rookie mistakes to make the men look better.
We get angry when rape and violence against women are sensationalized to the point of being the lead draw for the fucking story.
We get angry when we see strong women reduced to mere T&A, presenting every orifice to the (straight male) audience's eye.
We get angry when female characters are belittled and disrespected and treated as disposable.
We get angry at costumes that cross the line from cheesy and fun to outright ridiculous obstacles to crime-fighting.
We get angry.
And sometimes it's justified. Sometimes we may be overreacting. But you know what?
It's worth it.
It is FUCKING worth it. Because we may not be able to do a whole lot about the belittling and the objectification, that ever-present possibility of violence that we see every day in our lives. But this?
This is fixable. This is something that we can fight. Women in television, books, movies, music, video games, comics...every little triumph we make here goes a little way toward fixing the bigger picture.
[...]This is society. This is something built by generations of traditions and ideas that are indoctrinated into us from birth and passed down to our children. It's something that we're all a part of, even when we don't realize it. This is something that we do to ourselves as much as each other.
But I'm an optimist. I believe with all my heart and soul that this can change.
Does that resonate with you?
