W e're coming up on one year since COVID-19 restrictions have been in place. Since I hav- en't been able to dance regularly, my feet have lost their cal- luses. Those layers of skin made tough and thick through wear and tear have protected me from floor burns and splits while allowing me to turn, glide, and brush the floor with- out pain. Losing calluses also means a loss of felt sense, being out of shape, and general tightness. We haven't had our rigorous movement practices and communal exchanges in shared spaces and that lack of human con- tact has also produced sustained emo- tional distress. Callousness can also be used as a metaphor for emotional hardening —protection from constant oppres- sion or harm. As a dance artist of color, I know how to deploy this emotional armor when I need it to survive microaggressions/invalida- tions/assaults—like that time in ballet class when a white woman physically forced me to move because I was blocking her view of herself in the mirror. Violence like this often comes quick, leaving me frozen and burn- ing with anger, but the scars last for a long time. This incident reminded me how "white body supremacy," a term used by somatic abolitionist Resmaa Menakem, allows white peo- ple to take up space and claim own- ership over shared or public spaces. I take care not to be too hardened by these jabs and seek balance when navigating the unpredictable weather of white supremacy. In her book, In the Wake, On Blackness and Being , Christina Sharpe describes the possi- ble metaphors and materiality of "the weather" that creates a climate where anti-Blackness and white supremacy are pervasive. Sharpe writes, "The weather necessitates changeability
and improvisation; it is the atmo- spheric condition of time and place; it produces new ecologies." We can apply this metaphor to challenge the structures of whiteness that create conditions of exclusion by restor- ing a felt sense of safety through an embodied preparedness that can weather white supremacist culture. By doing so, we can alter the atmosphere and generate new ecosystems that minimize harm while acknowledging the harm when it arises. Last summer, instigated by Jill Homan Randall and as part of a series of writing that featured the Dancing Around Race cohort, I wrote a piece called “Regranting as a Per- formance of Benevolent Colonialism.” I have been thinking about how this needs to be revisited, especially now at the year-long mark of COVID-19 and after the many pronouncements of diversity, equity, and inclusion that white-led organizations have pre- sented on websites, social media, and in many online interactions where I have witnessed emotional perfor- mances of solidarity. In addition to having annual seasons, many white dance art- ists with companies or orga- nizations have benefited from receiving large grants only to disperse funds through a festi- val or through a shared evening of dance that promotes emerg- ing artists of color. This is possi- ble, in part, because these white choreographers have lived and worked in the Bay Area for some time but also because they have solid support from funders who also (through general operating support grants) cover the costs of administrative staff, marketing, and development and grant writ- ing support. What if white art- ists who are able to receive these
funds refrain from doing so, so that artists of color can receive the funds directly? What if we got rid of the 'middle man,' or the part that feels the most in need of intervention – this sense that People of Color know all-too- well as imperial benevolence? In other words, changing the narra- tive that says white people will fix your community, save you from being irrelevant, and pre- scribe educational and enrich- ment programs so that they look charitable and have no hidden ulterior motives. U nfortunately, even after the overdue racial reck- oning that inspired so many people to protest in the streets with power- ful calls to action following the mur- ders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and Ahmaud Arbery, things have not changed much in terms of racial pol- itics and power dynamics in the Bay Area dance ecology. White-led dance organizations resume operations as if nothing has changed – not acknowl- edging how they benefit from their social position through the insti- tutional structures of whiteness. Informed by scholars Eve Tuck and K. Wayne Yang, who remind us that decolonization is not a metaphor, this “evasion” or failure by white people to enact sustained and systemic change gives rise to plati- tudes that are nothing more than performative gestures. Because of historical, legal, and institutional barriers such as redlin- ing, racial quotas, restrictive voting and immigration laws, and other set- tler-colonial logics that are baked into systems that regulate who owns what, generational wealth gaps between white people and their
As we navigate through the unpre- dictable climate of racial inequity and as we imagine a future that values the cultural wealth of BIPOC com- munities, we must weather storms of white supremacy and plant seeds that will grow and transform burn scars into new growth. Refusing colonial structures that reinforce separation, competition, and exploitation, we will find ways to rewild the spaces that have not been available to us. Tend- ing to our bodies and each other, we can learn to heal from generational trauma, and like calluses, we can regenerate tougher skin that will pro- tect us from the elements. My writing and thinking have been influenced by conversations with the Dancing Around Race collec- tive (David Herrera, Yayoi Kambara, Kimani Fowlin, Bhumi B. Patel, and Raissa Simpson). I have also been inspired by the writings of Maile Arvin, Resmaa Menakem, Claudia Rankine, Christina Sharpe, and Edgar Villanueva. GERALD CASEL (he/they) is the artistic direc- tor of GERALDCASELDANCE. His choreographic research complicates and provokes questions surrounding colonialism, collective cultural amne- sia, whiteness and privilege, and the tensions between the invisible/perceived/obvious struc- tures of power. Casel is an Associate Professor of Dance in the Department of Theater Arts and is the Provost of Porter College at UC Santa Cruz. A graduate of The Juilliard School, with an MFA from UW Milwaukee, Casel received a Bessie award for sustained achievement for dancing in the compa- nies of Stephen Petronio, Lar Lubovitch, Stanley Love, among others. His newest work, Not About Race Dance , has been awarded a National Dance Project grant and will be in residence at the Mag- gie Allesee National Center for Choreography and will premiere at CounterPulse with a forthcoming national tour. Dancing Around Race, a commu- nity-engaged participatory practice he founded that examines racial inequity in the Bay Area and beyond, continues to grow. geraldcasel.com
BIPOC counterparts endure. This atmosphere of inequity is true here in San Francisco, where most of the major dance companies, performance spaces, and organizations are owned and run by white people. The system is set up such that BIPOC artists must rely on “renting” from established white artists, which perpetuates white saviorism, white ownership, and Black and brown tenancy. Racialized climates can be seen and felt by artists of color but thanks to the privileges afforded to them by whiteness, white people do not have to acknowledge how they benefit from such systemic forces; it is simply the norm. As an example, many white- led organizations continue to produce well-meaning programs that support (emerging) artists of color as well as mentorship platforms that imply a boost to those artists' careers. Such white savior mentality is complicated by the notion of white ownership, and together, they drive market forces that contribute to racial capitalism by pro- moting a logic of possession. This cre- ates specific turbulence for those of us whose families have never owned any property or who have had to move frequently because of our tenancy sta- tus. It is a struggle to feel a sense of belonging even when these gestures of support from white-led organizations seem benevolent. What would happen if founda- tions gave resources directly to artists of color rather than brokering them through systematic white gatekeep- ing? Would BIPOC artists feel more of a sense of ownership rather than being owned by these organizations who parade their institutional ethos of racial equity and inclusion? On the other hand, what if BIPOC artists refuse these offers and instead collec- tively generate their own systems of support that foster communal care and mutual aid?
RACIALIZEDCLIMATES CANBE SEENAND FELT BY ARTISTSOF COLORBUTTHANKS TOTHE PRIVILEGES AFFORDEDTOTHEMBY WHITENESS, WHITE PEOPLE DONOTHAVE TOACKNOWLEDGE HOWTHEYBENEFIT FROMSUCHSYSTEMIC FORCES; IT ISSIMPLY THENORM.
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In Dance | May 2014 | dancersgroup.org
u n i f y s t r e n g t h e n amp l i f y u n i f y s t r e n g t h e n a p l i f y
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