by Caitlyn Berry

Whenever I meet someone who tells me they “can’t dance” or they “have no rhythm,” I usually don’t respond, because I usually don’t believe them. In the rare instances I challenge their claim, I find that it is more of a fear of judgement than lack of any apparent musicality or ability to move. Hundreds, even thousands of years ago, dance was simply a spiritual and social practice where nearly all members of society were participants. It was a meaningful experience just as much for the dancer as it was for the observer.

For the record, I’m not a terribly skilled performer, nor do I intend to be. For me, dance is at most half performance and half personal. In our Western society and culture, people tend to internalize that the purpose of dancing is to perform, displaying skills and techniques to entertain an audience. But that fundamental assumption is what keeps people from dancing in the first place. The performative aspect of dancing is what so often instills fear in people and keeps them from trying in the first place. When dance transcends performance, it can be a cathartic relief from life’s insanity.

Today’s political and social climate calls for such transcendence. Our identities are being pummeled by news stories that attack our gender, race, abilities, and ethnicities. We are told that by nature, we are not good enough, worthy of a fair wage, or healthcare. These attacks on identity quickly become exhausting and can take a deeper psychological toll on our well-being.

Since the election, dance has become one of the most nurturing ways of protecting my sense of self. My relevés lift me above the weight of the world and the negativity of others. My turns float around the daggers of self-doubt and oppressive voices. My movements are a fusion of my background in classical Western and Eastern styles, varying between ballet, hip-hop, and Indian folk dance. To a given audience, they may be strange or even unappealing, but I move anyway. In that moment, it is not my job to explain or justify myself to anyone.

It wasn’t until the election and my subsequent gluttonous consumption of opinion articles and social media activism, that I realized I needed dance in order to survive this mental onslaught. My thoughts were racing, my mind distracted and restless; I began to pick up old habits. I isolated myself from friends and family. I found solidarity in my social media communities, but it wasn’t enough to give me the calm that I desperately needed. So many different issues required my attention: racism, sexism, poverty, lack of healthcare, the environment, government transparency, the list goes on.

My turning point arrived in a community engagement meeting in Austin, Texas in early February. In response to a Trump Administration executive order, a new wave of Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids commenced in my growing city. Austin is considered a “Sanctuary City,” where local police and municipal employees are discouraged from inquiring about an individual’s citizenship status, making it a generally more desirable place to live for those who would otherwise be subject to inquiry. In 2014, it was estimated that over 100,000 of our residents were undocumented or without status.

The local Teacher’s Union hosted an ICE raid preparation strategy meeting for district staff where Telemundo, CBS, the mayor, and two city council members were present. During the meeting, delegates from the union and the city noted that many of those detained were in very vulnerable situations: they were often unclear about their rights, were not able to confidently communicate in English, or were at risk of losing their children (who are often US citizens) to the foster care system. Because teachers interact with them on a regular basis, schools are considered a central contact point for many undocumented families.

The legal delegate at the event noted, “these raids are not new.  Although our city was experiencing a large spike of detentions over the weekend, this was not ICE’s first deployment in our city, and certainly not their last.” She emphasized that across the U.S., the violation of rights of detainees has been longstanding and private prisons have been benefitting for years.  What was new, however, was the executive order’s uptick in raids and subsequent media frenzy. “What we really need are supporters who are going to be here for the long haul,” she said.

She was right. Whatever part of society or the earth you choose to stand up for, big or small, it will need your long-term vigilance. Although temporary and one-off solutions can have some impact, not all of us have a seat in Congress or the White House. But, that does not mean we are powerless. It simply means our actions must be collective, strategic, and ongoing. For me, that means working with refugees and undocumented workers who have come to my city and lobbying to make it a safer place for them. For others, it is a matter of campaigning for gender equality or the environment. Whatever our cause, we need to be ready to support the efforts we hold dearest.

Being ready requires us to process our confusion, sadness, pain, and frustration. Whether we are impacted by sexism, racism, carelessness, poverty, or all of the above, we must all find our own way to persevere and take care of our personal well-being.

For this reason, dance has become so much more than a hobby or entertainment for me, but something necessary to keep me balanced and connected. After fifteen minutes of movement, my mind is clearer. Whether I am superior in technique or perfectly execute my turns, it does not matter. Dancing alone or in a group, I become more connected to myself and those around me.

Fortunately, I am not alone. Many of my peers advocating for social justice and sustainability are active participants in the arts too. In my dance co-op, we integrate introductory choreography classes with permaculture concept groups and the results are a world away from the exasperated social media frenzy that drives us all mad.

So when people tell me that they “can’t dance,” it is usually because they feel inadequate and/or don’t want the attention of others. But I say, do it for yourself. Do it alone in your room. Do it in a gym in the middle of the night.

Caitlyn Berry is a freelance writer and marketing consultant. Her interests include society, culture, and foreign language studies. She has a YouTube channel where she discusses and dances to Bollywood songs. She doesn’t really use Twitter, but if you want to connect, shoot her a DM @Caitlyn30