Fall 2024 In Dance

modern/contemporary dance compa- nies. Like if Wim Vandekeybus’ Ultima Vez comes to the US, I don’t receive them as Belgian. Or Anna Teresa De Keersmaeker’s Rosas, I don’t receive them as Dutch because of the way modern dance operates transnation- ally with a rhetoric of universality, eluding national attachments when it tours. I think Batsheva is received that way. Its attachments to the state of Israel are invisibilized. Those outraged by the idea of boycotting Batsheva in the US want the company both to be Israeli and universal, both associated with the state and apolitical. Leila: And that’s tied to privilege and relation to Empire. Universality still falls under “First World” or “Third World” baggage as affiliated polit- ical projects. If a company is from Cuba, it’s Cuban. If it’s from Rus- sia (or another country we’re afraid of), it’s tied to national origin. Other times it’s tokenized to advance state interests (e.g. Shen Yun criticizing China or Ukrainian allyship with the US). Modern dance is ideal because you can argue both subjectivity and abstraction. It can mean nothing and everything so the state can use it. Sima: Yeah, a lot of the anti-BDS rhetoric centers on the individual artist and how unjust it is that they should suffer just because their state is committing war crimes. Even hearing myself say that, it’s bonkers. However, this response sug- gests a complete misunderstanding of what BDS is. This is about oppos- ing state-sponsored violence, an illegal occupation—ask the Inter- national Court of Justice. So even though Batsheva and Naharin become collateral damage, it’s not personal. Plus, it’s minor in compari- son to what’s happening in Palestine. I can’t help but feel that the anti-BDS folks are spitting in the face of actual material suffering of Jews, Arabs, Israelis, Palestinians, historically and today.

And, I’m certain this will be an unpopular opinion, but I’m not moved by arguments like, “Oh no, this artwork will never be seen!” As you said earlier, who knows how many of the children murdered by state violence would have become artists with amazing work to share? Leila: Exactly. Dance is resistance. It can be liberatory. But that doesn’t mean it always is. It can be co-opted, and it’s on us to maintain its integ- rity and to criticize it to ensure that it goes where we need it to. It isn’t devoid of politics. It is politics. We’re watching a genocide. As artists, we cannot fall under some naive assump- tion that the arts are above the real- ities of that or that seeing a dance piece is more important than the lives of Gazans. We have a responsi- bility to this movement. Disappoint- ment over missing a hypothetical new work shouldn’t be something we’re willing to think much less voice. These are lives we’re talking about. We need to get some perspective here. We must do everything in our power to reckon with our past and be criti- cal of our work. Dance is potent and it’s about time we act like it. SIMA BELMAR, PHD, is a Lecturer in the Depart- ment of Theater, Dance, & Performance Stud- ies at UC Berkeley. She has been a member of the Bay Area dance community since the early 1990s as a dance critic, columnist, podcaster, educator, choreographer, and dancer. From 2019-2022, Sima was writer-in-residence at ODC where she created and hosted the ODC pod- cast Dance Cast. Her writing has been featured in a variety of local, national, and international newspapers, magazines, and academic journals. She currently dances for Andrew Merrell’s Slack Dance and works as an editor and writing coach for students and artists. LEILA MIRE (she/her) is a researcher, perform- er, choreographer, community organizer, and educator. She is a current PhD candidate at UC Berkeley in the Theatre, Dance, Performance Studies Program and is an alumni of New York University and George Mason University. Her research looks at how dance is co-opted, appropriated, and performed for state and an- ti-imperial interests, particularly as it pertains to Palestine and its occupation.

Beyond combatting the threat of communism, dance was used for national state-building projects and normalization.

Sima: How does BDS subvert that imperial soft power?

Leila: In 2020, I wrote two pieces in Thinking Dance , where I touched on what we could do to progress BDS forward in dance. BDS has already named certain organizations and companies like Batsheva, and Ohad Naharin opposes BDS, saying it won’t accomplish anything. But BDS has proven quite successful. It’s a nonviolent method to cease interna- tional support for Israel’s oppression of Palestinians and to pressure Israel to comply with international law. The arts may not have the same profit margins as corporations, but its influence serves the state. But when I say that, people are offended. They think it’s suppressing the arts. They fear the work of great artists won’t be seen. But if they want to use that argument, they should think about all the Palestinians whose lives were prematurely stolen from them. They could have been artists, scholars, etc. An artist like Naharin is called a “genius.” But what conditions allowed him to get where he is? I’m at Berkeley, a school with some of the “best and brightest.” But as I sit through classes I have to wonder if we’re the best and brightest or if we’re just the ones given the chance, the ones willing to sit squarely in the confines of respectability politics. BDS simply says that we won’t sup- port artists who accept money from Israel. In response, people often say, ‘well, then, why don’t you boycott the US?’ But this argument doesn’t hold because the US doesn’t fund its arts like Israel does. The vast major- ity of us are not getting state money, and if we are, it’s usually symbolic. SIMA: It’s also interesting the way nationality does and doesn’t attach to

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FALL 2024 in dance 27

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