A Personal Feminist Theory of Belly Dance
I am a feminist and a belly dancer. I am sure that, for some, that statement is an oxymoron and an impossibility. Some feminists are offended by belly dancing on the grounds that we expose ourselves and reinforce chauvinistic voyeurism. Many belly dancers find it empowering, therapeutic, spiritual. I agree with all of them. Many belly dancers claim it is a dance “by and for women”, and I have to side with Andrea Deagon on that one: “while it can be ‘a dance by and for women’, this description is too simplistic for a dance so concerned with the centers of sex, birth and emotion” (“Feminism and Belly Dance”). There is no denying that.
There is no denying either that belly dance has historically been involved in the objectification (and self-objectification!) of women. There are certainly those students that approach belly dance to allure men – women who maybe feel being sexy is the only way they can earn attention and love. In such a case, practicing belly dance would be a means to the wrong ends. However, most women approach belly dance for other reasons: for the physiological and psychological benefits, for the entertainment, for the women’s-community-ness, etc. In her research interviews, Maira found out that most women claimed that belly dancing offered them the feeling of belonging to a collective, and that sisterhood is a dominant motif in the belly dance subculture (14).
Nevertheless, no matter how feminist our intentions, when it comes to performing, we have little control over our audiences. We have to wonder, does the presence of an audience make the belly dance experience more or less empowering for women? Is there really a difference between claiming belly dance as empowering and stating the same for stripping? I personally believe there is little comparison between bare bellies and open legs. Furthermore, provocative actions such as touching one’s body suggestively have no place in belly dance performances.
But even with that distinction clear, belly dance performances are still controversial. Andrea Deagon phrases it well: “Belly dance exists at a point of conflict between women’s expressions of fundamental truths, and patriarchal interpretations of this expression. It is not an easy place to be” (“Feminism and Belly Dance”). I truly believe that such uneasy points of conflict are the powerful ones, the ones from which we can alter realities, as well as make a point and a difference. They are tricky, though. So, feminist belly dancers, who are located at one such point, must be very careful not to contribute to processes we stand against, such as sexism and colonialism.
In order to be very careful, we must be acutely aware, we must question others and ourselves, we must use what Enloe refers to as “feminist curiosity” when analyzing our own discipline and personal practices (8-9). I have been doing that, and this essay is, more or less, a strand of the many questions and issues I have stumbled upon. Shouldn’t we, for example, ponder about the increasingly expensive consumerism entangled with the belly dance community in the U.S.? Can professional belly dance performers and teachers make a living through their career choice? Why are there so many Western women performing belly dance at Arabic and Greek restaurant instead of dancers from those particular countries? How does performing regularly in a restaurant affect dancers through repetition, commercialization, and the need to adapt to an often inattentive audience? What part does Arab culture have in a belly dancer’s life? What role do professional belly dancers fulfill in Arab society? What consequences are caused by Western women working as professional belly dancers in the East, and vice versa? Who profits from the belly dance industry? I don’t claim to have the answers to these questions, except for my personal stance (and sometimes not even that!) However, I feel it is extremely important to shed light on such issues so that we (sympathizers and critics alike) can take a hard look.
Because belly dance stands at the above mentioned crossroads, deciding to take it up is a subversive act in a number of contexts. As Mary Russo so eloquently put it: “women and their bodies, certain bodies, in certain public framings, in certain public spaces, are always already transgressive—dangerous, and in danger” (qtd. in Keft-Kennedy). For example, in the rural South of the United States, I have often not been welcomed to teach or perform at certain settings because of the controversiality of belly dance. In high school, I started a club for students to teach each other ethnic dances, and everything but belly dance was allowed − even if no bellies were exposed. Suspiciously, even the Women’s Studies program I am currently enrolled in did not take me up on an offer to teach my Women’s Empowerment Belly Dance lessons for free at their women’s summer camp. My own parents were once horrified at the thought of me belly dancing in a restaurant.
As documented by Keft-Kennedy, “practitioners of belly dance in both its traditional and contemporary forms have at different moments throughout history been repudiated and treated with distrust” (1). In 19th century Europe and America, the dances of traditional Middle Eastern and North African women were “condemned as gratuitous sexual display, fetishised into a sign of the ‘Orient’s’ sensuality and abandon, deemed grotesque, and immoral, censored and altogether banned” (Keft-Kennedy 4). For example, The Chicago Tribune reported: “The style of movements practiced by these so-called Algerian and other women is something too objectionable for people of refined taste to countenance. It is a depraved and immoral exhibition. It may well be styled an outrage to allow such an exhibition and rate it under the head of dancing. (“Dancing Masters Enter a Protest” 10, qtd. in Keft-Kennedy)
Perceptions of the dance changed considerably through the 20th Century. However, there is still a dual reaction of both admiration and rejection for the dance and those who practice it. Keft-Kennedy states: “In many accounts, the spectator constantly vacillates between responses of repulsion and desire. This ambivalence, I would argue, is the synthesis of ideological projections of the erotic (…), racial otherness, and the grotesque onto the body of the belly dancer” (7). Once again, because of the power of this ambiguity, belly dance “can be seen as a potent weapon for feminist politics and a potentially transgressive practice for women. Most notably, belly dance is transgressive because it destabilizes social assumptions that women should not (publicly) shake, wobble, or draw attention to their breasts, hips, abdomens, and especially their pelvises” (Keft-Kennedy 2).
In Feminism and Islam, Mai Yamani indicates that in the Arab world there are two separate concepts of belly dance. First, “a social activity, particularly among women in their own segregated social gatherings”.[1] And second, “an artistic activity, performed in public by professional dancers who are considered “disreputable and loose – whorish,” even if their performances are sought after both by the locals for entertainment (especially for weddings), as sell as by tourist. These have traditionally been women from “marginalized groups in society: gypsies, minorities, and the poor” (169-177) Maira also puts it very well, Arabs and Muslim “don’t mind watching it, but they just don’t want their relatives doing it” (21). I would venture to say that for the most part they enjoy it and appreciate it, even if it’s considered haram. As Buonaventura accurately points out: Islam is “a faith in which the sacred and the secular are indissolubly linked.” This has undoubtedly been the main reason why “Islamic society has never quite resolved its ambivalence towards female dancers, who in many respects, defies its laws concerning the conduct of women in society” (16).[2]
Because of the Islamic religious and cultural prohibitions regarding women dancing in public, Western women have, for generations now, filled a gap and fulfilled a demand of Arab society which their own women cannot. However, some belly dancers go as far as justifying the involvement of Western dancers by claiming the dance is disappearing or underappreciated in the East. The fact is there have certainly been many regulations and prohibitions regarding the public performance of belly dance. In Egypt for example, all dancers were expelled from Cairo from the years 1834 to 1866 by Muhammad Ali. Nowadays, they must follow strict regulations, such as covering their midriff (even if just with translucent fabric) (Buonaventura, p. 60, 69, 153, 154)[3]. However, a ‘we are the saviors of the dance’ approach implies that Arabs themselves are too blind to appreciate the dance, enthralled in either a misguided quest for modernity or in the furor of religious fundamentalism. As Maira suggest, “this hints at a missionary imperialism that is akin to the ‘cultural recovery’ of colonial-era Western anthropology” (22).
To belly dance, especially in public, goes against the social norms of propriety, Eastern or Western, which declare women should not be openly sexual or show too much skin. It is not that I spouse the opposite. I just think women should be able to chose how to act and dress on our own. I especially dislike modesty norms that arise from the concept that men cannot control themselves against women’s allure, and put the responsibility on women instead. Are there any other reasons why it would be so intrinsically wrong for women to express their sensuality in public? Buonaventura ventures that Judaism, Christianity, and Islam share: “a profound distrust and fear of women, due largely to what was considered their dangerous sexuality (…) women are seen as a potentially disruptive force, due to the assumption that men are unable to resist their powerful lure. The word for ‘chaos’ in Arabic is the same as that used to describe a beautiful woman, fitna, a word which carries all the connotations of the femme fatale” (83).
For those of us conscious about all this and with feminist perspectives to uphold, choosing when, where, and how to perform can be a rather complicated process. I don’t dress in Hollywood-style skimpy costumes, among other reasons, because of my personal sense of ethnic authenticity. I wear harem pants underneath my skirts because I want the audience to appreciate the dance and not be fixed on trying to catch a glimpse of my legs. When I dance with a veil, I don’t walk in draped in it and then remove it, because I want no stripping connotations. I don’t perform for all-male audiences because I would not put myself in a situation in which the audience could assume that arousal is the intention of my dance (not to mention safety!) I have come to a point in my technique in which solo performances allow me to demonstrate what I have accomplished to an appreciating audience, but I still prefer the dynamics of performing with other dancers because it allows us to dance with and for each other. In that case, the audience becomes simple witnesses. I would not perform in a nightclub or any other situation in which I would be perceived as a sex object, and I rarely make eye contact with the male members of my audience to avoid just that. I dance for good causes or for good money – in a business situation, underpayment is unequivocally bound with under appreciation. Finally, I generally do not allow male spectators into my classroom, because the change of dynamics can understandably make students uncomfortable and ruin the safe space atmosphere.
Issues such as these should be considered even by students of belly dance who do not perform. How many of us, for example, feel attracted to the dance as an expression of femininity without giving a second thought to what we mean by that? If we consider it feminine because it conveys emotions, because it awakens our sensuality, or because it is related to the miracle of giving birth, we should also consider what makes (or doesn’t) such attributes ‘feminine’. In this sense, belly dancing can indeed be empowering for women to get in touch with their own concepts of femininity, with their personal sense of womanhood– but it could also be restrictive if their personal concept of femininity does not fit that particular mold. As such, I applaud, enjoy, and scout contemporary versions of belly dance (i.e. the tribal fusion and gothic styles) that allow dancers to explore other aspects of themselves not related to the Western concept of femininity by default − such as dissent, darkness, anger, aggression, and independence. I also have an appreciation for styles that don’t focus on individual attributes, but rather emphasize collectivity and solidarity among women − such as American Tribal Style and its other group improvisational off-shoots.
In the present day belly dance world, with all its diversity of styles and proponents, the authenticity, validity, and even value of each style are often challenged by the followers of another. One of the most polemic issues has been what to call the genre and what falls inside and outside of it. Keft-Kennedy states that “the question of what to call belly dance has, especially since the mid-1970s, been a hotly contested issue for practitioners of the dance not only in the Middle East but also in countries of the West” (2).
Some, and I must cite belly dance scholar Morocco as the most outspoken leader of this camp, prefer to call it Oriental Dance, for the very sound reason that it is the only correct translation of the Arabic raqs sharki. To Morocco, the term “belly dance” with all its negative emphasis is not only incorrect, but as insulting as “calling flamenco cockroach-killing” (Roots).
Because I am also engaged in dance/movement therapy (I completed an undergraduate thesis on working with survivors of sexual assault through belly dance, and continue to teach women’s empowerment belly dance), I identify with the line of thought that treats the term ‘belly dance’ as an opportunity to reclaim the belly. The belly is indeed a central body part in our dance. At the same time it is a body part that so many women are self-conscious about, due to slim Western ideals of beauty.
The term ‘belly dance’ stems primordially to the 1893 World’s Columbian Exhibition in Chicago. The danse du ventre featured at the exhibition was labeled depraved and immoral (Carlton 47). Although years ago I also disliked the connotations of the term, I have now become more lenient with it. I no longer consider it an insult. It can definitely have negative associations, but I like to focus on the positives aspects instead.
Personally, I use the term raqs sharki solely to refer to the theatrical versions of the dance, which originated off folkloric dances as a response to and influenced by the West. Even the term ‘oriental dance’ makes a reference to an East/West relationship. Raqs Sharki is the classical style of quintessential dancers of the golden era of belly dance in films and night clubs of Egypt[4], such as Samia Gamal, and is carried on by present day Egyptian teachers and dancers like Dina, Mahmoud Reda, and Raqia Hassan. I relate this style to graceful ethereal movements and ballet infused turns, to sequined costuming and high heels, and to choreographed performances.
Raqs sharki, as we know it today, is the heir to the modifications the dance went through in the early 20th century, as the West developed its Oriental fantasy, and flooded North African and the Middle East as colonizers and as tourists (Buonaventura 148). Buonaventura describes this commercialization and influence of Western aesthetics thus: “In the past it had been performed more or less on the spot (…) Now performers twirled about the floor, went up on the balls of their feet, even wore ballet pumps and high-heeled shoes in deference to European aesthetics. Their dress gave way to a Hollywood-inspired costume which expressed (…) Western notions of glamour” (21).
Due in part to its evolution in the nightspots of cities like Algiers, Beirut, and Cairo (Buonaventura 148)[5], and later the U.S.[6], this style is, often pejoratively, referred to as ‘cabaret style’. Personally, I draw a line between the style and technique of raqs sharki and the cabaret style performances. The former has now come to be considered and referred to as ‘classical’; while the latter, as Buonaventura points out, appeal to a clichéd parody of female glamour. This stylization, unchecked, can easily further some women’s belief that “only by being thought attractive and sexually alluring” can they “have any worth at all” (158).
I am proud of my ability to dance in diverse styles, and allow myself to adapt teaching and performances to the expectations of particular audiences and situations. However, I consciously try to downplay the influences of the above referenced styles, while remaining more aligned with Raqs Baladi, which literally means “of the countryside” in reference to folkloric dance[7], or what I have come to term Raqs Shaabi, in reference to popular (secular, contemporary, often urban working class) dances.
As I pursue a degree in folkloristics, I have recently come to be more interested in folk dances, which in turn has made me expand the term ‘Middle Eastern dance’, which I previously thought to be all inclusive, to incorporate North African dances too. Labeling these dances by a geographical or ethnic term (such as Arabic dance) is particularly tricky, because belly dance as we know it today, and even as performed by native professionals a century ago in North Africa and the Middle East, has roots in Egypt, as much as in Lebanon, as much as in Turkey. It incorporates movements and rhythms from the Bedouins of the desserts, and the Berbers of the Maghreb, to the Roma from Rajasthan to Andalucía. It blends Persian arms, with Indian head slides, as well as a Western sense of glamour, spatial patterns, and ballet techniques.
It is also easy to justify the use of the term ‘Oriental dance’ because of how widespread the practice of the dance is in the East, not to mention the locality of its origins. However, even for most academic settings, I use the term Middle Eastern dance instead, because ‘Oriental’ seems too broad to me. The term ‘Oriental dance’ could easily be used to include Chinese or Japanese dances too. Because I have also worked with Indian dances, I only use it when I am referring to both Middle Eastern and Indian dance forms.
One particular belly dance style that focuses on the fusion aspects of the dance is American Tribal Belly Dance. In its improvisational styles it draws off folkloric costuming and movements, in some ways bringing it back to the roots of oriental dances, but at the same time taking it further away through the appropriation and mixing of folkloric aspects from many different peoples – which is ultimately not a traditional from anywhere. It is important to note, however, that unlike other styles of the dance which falsely claim to be authentic, the inclusion of the term American is an intentional allusion to the fact that this is no longer the traditional style of dance of the Arab/Muslim world, but our own form with its own grammar and its own set of shared aesthetics.
Some dancers think it unethical to appropriate another culture’s dance and transform it. I can see both sides of the debate, because I have personally felt offended when witnessing deformed version of Latin dances that I regard as culturally my own. However, I am in no position to judge. I personally like fusion work, and I’m well known for it. All world dances are ultimately cultural hybrids, as different cultures have always constantly influenced each other’s music and dance forms. Belly dance, although stemming from the traditional women’s dances of the Mediterranean and the Middle East, is a particularly multicultural dance. As such, it lends itself to fusion very well. I don’t believe that fusing and reshaping world dances is inherently imperialistic and a form of cultural colonialism. However, I do believe that attempting to perform, modify, or teach any ethnic dance form without understanding it thoroughly, in technique as well as in context, is absolutely disrespectful.
Some believe taking belly dance lessons is a cross-cultural experience. With the right teacher and in the right class, it can certainly be so, but it often isn’t. What we conceive of as belly dance in the West these days is a far cry from Near and Middle Eastern traditional dance forms. In fact, for many Arabs, the fact that their culture is so prominently represented through belly dance is quite disturbing. For example, Susan Muadi Darraj qualifies the question of whether Arab women know how to belly dance as “silly”, equating it to instances in which she has been asked if she knew any women who lived in harems (304).
A dancing experience in the right cultural context – that is in a sex segregated festive social setting – could be an authentic Arabic cultural experience. However, learning it in a classroom setting, or, even worse, performing in public, is not acceptable behavior in most Arabic or Muslim settings – which makes them definitely not culturally representative experiences. In fact, Maira claims that none of the belly dancers she spoke to during her research “said that they became interested in learning the dance because they were interested in the Middle East or in learning more about Arab culture” (12).
Although clearly rooted in Arabic culture (pre-Islam Arabic, I would venture to say), belly dance has now been taken up and adapted throughout the world. I defend its universality, because I believe belly dance can be beneficial for women the world over, while counteracting societies’ pathological rejection of the body. Some authors, however, are displeased with the contemporary adaptations. For example in Imagining Arab Womanhood: The Cultural Mythology of Veils, Harems, and Belly Dancers in the U.S., Jarmakani writes about her shock at a belly dance troupe of white women performing at a South Asian music concert. One of the negatives of such styles of modern tribal belly dance is that they can lump together aspects of numerous Eastern cultures into this completely unreal, exoticized, amorphous “Other.” However, some authors, such as Jarmakani seem to be objecting not to the orientalism[8], but to the disregard for the Arabness of the dance.
Another trend Jarmakani objects to is the widespread myth of the prehistoric matriarchal Goddess worship roots of the dance. This origin theory is defended, for example in Gioseffi’s Earth Dancing. Such explanations of Goddess, nature, fertility, and birthing rituals[9], although very popular in recent decades, have begun to lose credibility in the community as the sole, or even the most prominent, origin story for our dance. Jarmakani refers to it with a poignant irony: “We can just pretend a Goddess invented it all and bypass 'the Arabs'.”
Keft-Kennedy states that belly dance is in continuous tension between being “a symbol of female empowerment on the one hand, and orientalist figurations of ‘Eastern otherness’ linked to colonialist discourse on the other” (3). Those of us who teach and perform must be very carefully not to feed misguided, orientalist stereotypes – for example that of the hyper-sexualized women of the harem. Being clear, for example, about whether a dance or a particular costume is traditional or whether it is what we have come to term ‘Fantasy belly dance’, is obligatory for performers, teachers, and choreographers with any sense of ethics.
Another issue that is sometimes perceived as orientalist is that of taking on Arabic stage names. This tendency can certainly be perceived as an expression of a culturally appropriating personal fetishism. Some may even do it for the undoubtedly unethical reason of fooling the audience into thinking they are Middle Eastern in origin. In that case, dancers assume that having an Arabic name gives authenticity to their performances in the minds of the audience. However, some dancers certainly do it simply as a stage name or even with the intentions of honoring the cultural roots of the dance. In this case the name is worn in the manner of costume and make up, which allow us to enter a different state of consciousness through performing personae. Such names can also be chosen for more practical reasons, such as honoring the lineage of a teacher, or simply because they are inspiring. There is, of course, the exoticizing element too – which is, I suspect, the same reason why many Middle Eastern dancers choose American or Latin names (Fifi, Liz, Lynn, Katy, Tahia Carioca, etc.) I feel it is important to notice that this practice is much less common among Tribal dancers – perhaps because they have claimed an American and not “authentically Middle Eastern” identity for their dance, or perhaps simply because they, also, simply follow their teachers’ examples.
Maira is one to consider belly dance an orientalized masquerade “complete with Arabic names” (18). To her, these orientalized performances “echo the racial impersonation of ‘acting black’ and ‘playing Indian’.” She asks: “What if liberal Americans had adopted Vietnamese dance styles while the United States was bombing Southeast Asia?” (19). I understand the fact that through belly dance Westerners can feel comfortable with a superficial aspect of 'Arabness' without engaging any thoughts regarding the particularly difficult political history between the U.S. and the Arab world. However, I have to point out that belly dance was adopted into U.S. culture many decades ahead of even the first Gulf War.
Not only are there numerous ethical issues to consider when practicing belly dance. There is a notion that as a politicized (or at least politicizable) practice, engagement in the belly dance community fosters political activism. Downey and Zerbib affirm that:
“survey data indicates that length of involvement and level of dance are positively associated with a variety of issues concerning gender identity, including body image (see Downey, Reel, SooHoo, and Walker 2007). Moreover, many participants indicate that they are involved in social activism and that they see belly dance as a means to social change (even if that is not their purpose for involvement). Dancers indicate that there are substantial discussions among themselves about social issues of a variety of sorts” (8).
Choice of leisure activities has an impact on personal and collective identity, which in turn creates an obvious overlap between hobbies (or profession!) and sociopolitical identity and activism. Perhaps because of its precarious mainstream social acceptance, belly dance is perceived as an alternative leisure choice. According to Maira, this has to do with the Orientalist theme of tapping into Eastern spirituality as well as “the notion of becoming part of a collectivity—the belly dancing troupe—that stands in contrast to the presumed individualism and alienation of Western modernity” (15).
When looking at romanticized notions of belly dance, we must also acknowledge another group of people, other than Arabs and Muslims, that often gets orientalized through modern versions of belly dance: the Roma. From dance troupe names to clothing, we create and perpetuate stereotyped notions of ‘Gypsyness.’ Many aspects of the archetypal gypsy woman overlap with that of the belly dancer: creative, independent, a working woman with dubious morals, etc. Maira also points out to the appeal of the ‘nomad’ motif in this era of globalization. But “romanticizing nomadism when homelessness and statelessness is a difficult political reality for immigrants and refugees” is an utterly colonizing act (15).
Besides avoiding colonizing and orientalist practices, some authors suggest we should be expected to be politically involved with Middle East issues because we practice a Middle Eastern dance. Should we then condemn the decimation of families and homes and the destruction of cities and villages in the Middle East, as well as the racial profiling, criminalization, detention, deportation, surveillance, torture, and dehumanization of Muslims and Arabs in the U.S. as implied by Maira? (23) Wouldn’t that also leave the door open for any belly dancers (and there must be some out there although I don’t personally know any) to voice their support of the current war through the arguments of ‘saving’ and ‘liberating’ the Muslim women with whom they feel aligned? Although everyone is, of course, entitled to their personal opinions, I do not believe that the fact that we are belly dancers gives us any inherent authority in regards to the politics of the Middle East. We should never be tempted to speak for them. However, we are bound to be curious about the simultaneous processes of belly dancing on one side, and the political crises on the other. What kind of relationship, if any, is there between the two? I wonder, as Maira does, how come “women in Afghanistan and the Middle East are potentially liberated through U.S. wars that bring ‘freedom’ and ‘American values,’ while middle-class, white American women find liberation through a ‘Middle Eastern’ dance”? (25)
Conclusion
The tenant that belly dance is orientalist because it focuses on the superficial exotic aspects of Arabic culture and Islamic society without giving it any depth, is based on the premise that belly dance is indeed Arabic or Islamic in essence. The many issues brought up in the previous pages make it evident that there is indeed a lot of depth to plunge into behind the surface of belly dance. However that depth is not only, not even mainly, culturally Arabic. The many issues explored above reflect the cultural hybridity of belly dance as we know it today, the universal issues it contains, and the ambivalence of Arabic culture and outright rejection of Islamic society towards it. The only way to get away from exoticizing practices is to stop claiming that we are embodying Middle Eastern culture through our dance, to make it clear that we do not to represent the Middle Eastern women, and to reject the role of ventriloquist.
However, that does not mean that there is no need to continue looking critically at what we do, and asking questions like the ones raised in this essay. It means we need to examine both the aspects of the dance that relate to the relationship between the West and the Arab/Muslim world, as much as those that relate to the particular cultural phenomenon that is contemporary belly dance in the West in its own right and complexity. For example, we should consider the issues relating to a dance that represents Middle Eastern femininity as sensual, assertive, and political, while the public and media-portrayed concept of them is quite the opposite. We must consciously avoid prolonging orientalist ideas of the Arab world through our dance.
Nevertheless, we must also remain aware that the issues surrounding belly dance affect belly dancers just as much, or even more, than Arab and Muslims men and women in general. For example, we must also engage in examining how the over-sexualized stereotype of the belly dancer has a negative impact on those who practice it. Additionally, we must remain aware of the processes that promote and demote belly dance. There are countless cultural, political, and social issues worth studying surrounding a dance “whose flame neither commercialism, religious disapproval nor changing times have managed to extinguish” (Buonaventura 22). Finally, I wish to reiterate the usefulness of feminist theory to explore such issues, whether we identify as feminists or not. As evident by the scholarship cited in this essay, there is already a sizeable body of work on the issues mentioned in this essay, and those that escaped me. I can only hope that it continues to grow.
[1] For more information, refer to Najwa Adra’s article “Belly Dance: An Urban Folk Genre,”in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. This article focuses on belly dance as performed by non-professionals. Adra refers to Belly Dance as an indigenous folk genre to Arab and Middle Eastern countries, which is both sensual and restrained, and performed in limited contexts identified as intimate or playful. It embodies the importance of self expression in intimate or gender segregated contexts in Arab society. Adra explains that “class differences in attitudes towards belly dance are related to the relative seriousness with which particular families view the social system”. The article also touches on the changes the dance and its performance engendered by cultural borrowing.
[2] For more information on the complex reasoning process and mechanism through which dancing is banned or regarded with ambiguity in the region, refer to Anthony Shay’s article “Dance and Jurisprudence in the Islamic Middle East” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. In the article, Shay describes and analyzes several issues, such as essentialization, orientalism, gender, and sexuality, in order to deepen the discussion of Islamic society and its legal underpinnings in the Middle East, Central Asia, and North Africa.
[3]For more information on the historical and cultural context of the dance in Egypt, see Nieuwkerk’s A Trade like Any Other: Female Singers andDancers in Egypt.
[4] For more information on Egyptian films containing dance and dancers, refer to Roberta Dougherty’s “Dance and the Dancer in Egyptian Film” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. This article tackles common misconceptions about Egyptian films, and provides a vast number of examples of different characteristics of Egyptian films which include dance scenes, including professional dancers versus actresses, definition of genres, and common plot lines. Among her conclusions, she identifies the period between 1946 and 1957 as the most prolific in terms of films about dancers.
[5] For more information on the Western fantasy and theatrical elements and the process of their introduction, refer to Chapter 7: Cabarets and Clubs (p. 147-158) of Buonaventura’s Serpent of the Nile.
[6] For more information on the absorption of the music, dance, and entertainment of Arab immigrants in the United States, refer to Anne Rasmussen’s “‘An Evening in the Orient’: The Middle Eastern Nightclub in America” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. Topics covered include: music and dance in the Arab immigrants domestic life versus the entertainment industry; the origins of the Middle Eastern Nightclub; the belly dancer as an American reinterpretation of the Orient; and a detailed examination of nightclub music from origins, to music, and sample notations. The article also includes pictures from albums, and an epilogue on post-nightclub era Middle-Eastern dance and music.
[7] For a comparison between raqs sharki and baladi, theater and traditional styles, refer to Chapter 10: New Directions (p. 185-196) in Buonaventura’s Serpent of the Nile.
[8] For more information on this concept, refer to Edward Said’s Orientalism. Buonaventura takes a criticizing position of the concept of orientalism, describing it as the perception that “the West has exploited, misunderstood and even invented the East for its own sinister purposes” (p. 55). Another source is Karayanni’s book Dancing Fear & Desire: Race,Sexuality and Imperial Politics in Middle Eastern Dance, as well as his article “Dismissal Veiling Desire: Kuchuk Hanem and Imperial Masculinity” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy, which explore the cultural implications of the experience of Eastern dance for imperial male body politics, and travelers’ ambivalent responses to “the so-called Oriental body-in-motion” of Middle Eastern dancers. The article focuses specifically on the mid 19th Century encounters of Edward Said, George W. Curtis, and Gustave Flaubert with Kuchuk Hanem, an Egyptian dancer, as well as the analysis other authors have done to date of the writings in which these travelers addressed this particular experience.
[9]For more information on belly dance and birthing rituals, refer to “Belly Dancing and Childbirth” and “Giving to Light- Dancing the Baby into the World” by Morocco.
Works Cited
Adra, Najwa. “Belly Dance: An Urban Folk Genre.”Shay and Sellers-Young. 28-50.
Al-Rawi, Rosina-Fawzia B. Grandmother's Secrets: The Ancient Ritualsand Healing Power of Belly Dancing. Northampton, MA: Interlink Publishing, 2003.
Buonaventura, Wendy. Serpent of the Nile: Women and Dance in the Arab World. London: Saqi Books, 1998 (1989).
Carlton, Donna. Looking for Little Egypt. Bloomington, Indiana: IDD Books, 1994.
Carr, Coeli. "Belly Dance Boom." TIME.March 27, 2005.
“Dancing Masters Enter a Protest.” Chicago Tribune. July 23 (1893): 10.
Deagon, Andrea. “Feminism and Belly Dance.” Habibi. 17.4 (1999). Retrieved May, 2009. <http://people.uncw.edu/deagona/raqs/feminism.htm>
Desmond, Jane ed. Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance. Durham & London: Duke University Press, 1999.
Dougherty, Roberta L. “Dance and the Dancer in Egyptian Film.” Shay and Sellers-Young. 145-171
Downey, Dennis and Zerbib, Sandrine. "Belly Dance, Gender Identity, and Social Activism: Conceptualizing Free and Open Spaces" Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association: Boston, MA, Jul 31, 2008. Retrieved on May 1st, 2009 <http://www.allacademic.com/meta/p241980_index.html>
Downey, Dennis J., Justine Reel, Sonya SooHoo, and Melissa Walker. "Contrasting Body Image Norms across Dance Forms: the Intersection of Leisure and Gender Identities." Paper presented at the meetings of the Pacific Sociological Association: Oakland, CA, 2007
Gioseffi, Daniela. Earth Dancing: Mother Nature’s Oldest Rite.Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books, 1980.
Jarmakani, Amira. Imagining Arab Womanhood: The Cultural Mythology of Veils, Harems, and Belly Dancers in the U.S. NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008.
Karayanni, Stavros Stavrou “Dismissal Veiling Desire: Kuchuk Hanem and Imperial Masculinity.” Shay and Sellers-Young. 114-144.
---.Dancing Fear & Desire: Race,Sexuality and Imperial Politics in Middle Eastern Dance. Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2004.
Keft-Kennedy, Virginia. “‘How does she do that?' Belly Dancing and the Horror of a Flexible Woman.” Women’s Studies. 34: 279-300.
Maira, Sunaina. “Belly Dancing: Arab-Face, Orientalist Feminism, and U.S. Empire”. American Quarterly. 60.2 (2008): 317-345.
Morocco (nee Carolina Varga Dinicu). “Roots.” Habibi. 5(12). Retrieved April 29, 2006 from <http://www.casbahdance.org/ROOTS.htm>
--- “Belly Dancing and Childbirth.” Sexology Magazine, 1964. Retrieved April 29, 2006 from http://www.casbahdance.org/CHILDBIRTH.htm
--- “Giving to Light- Dancing the baby into the world.” Habibi, 15.1 (1996).
Muaddi Darraj, Susan. “It’s not an Oxymoron: The Search for an Arab Feminism” in Colonize This!: Young Women of Color on Today’s Feminism. Eds. Daisy Hernandez and Bushra Rehman. Emeryville, CA: Seal Press, 2002.
Nieuwkerk, Karin van. A Trade like Any Other: Female Singers andDancers in Egypt. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1995.
Rasmussen, Anne. “‘An Evening in the Orient’: The Middle Eastern Nightclub in America.” Shay and Sellers-Young. 172-206.
Russo, Mary. The Female Grotesque: Risk Excess and Modernity. London: Routledge, 1994.
Said, Edward W. Orientalism. London: Penguin Books, 1995.
Sayeed, Almas. “Chappals and Gym Shorts: An Indian Muslim Woman in the Land of Oz” in Colonize This!: Young Women of Color on Today’s Feminism. Eds. Daisy Hernandez and Bushra Rehman. Emeryville, CA: Seal Press, 2002.
Shay, Anthony and Sellers-Young, Barbara, eds. Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers, 2005.
Works Consulted
Alloula, Malek. The Colonial Harem. Trans. Myrna Godzich and Wlad Godzich. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1986.
Al-Rawi, Rosina Fawzia. Grandmother’s Secrets: The Ancient Rituals and Healing Power of Belly Dancing. New York: Interlink, 1999.
Buonaventura, Wendy. Something in the Way she Moves: DancingWomen from Salome to Madonna. Cambridge, MA: DaCapo Press, 2004.Deagon, Andrea. “In Search of the Origins of Dance: Real History or Fragments of Ourselves.” Habibi. 17.1 (1998). Retrieved May, 2009. <http://people.uncw.edu/deagona/raqs/origins.htm>
Desmond, Jane ed. Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance. Durham & London: Duke University Press, 1999.
Karayanni, Stavros Stavrou. “Erotic Fantasy or Female Empowerment: Gender Issues in Oriental Dance.” Habibi. 17.4 (2002): 14-17.
Lewis, Reina. “Gendering Orientalism: Race, Femininity and Representation.” Gender, Racism, Ethnicity Series. Ed. Kum-Kum Bhavnani, et al. London & New York:Routledge, 1996.
Lila Abu-Lughad, “Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving?” American Anthropologist104.3 (2002).
Mabro, Judy. Veiled Half-Truths: Western Travelers’’ Perceptions of Middle Eastern Women. London & New York: IB Taurus Publishers, 1996.
Mernissi, Fatima. Scheherazade Goes West: Different Cultures, Different Harems. New York: Washington Square Press, 2001.
Morocco (nee Carolina Varga Dinicu). “Dance as Community Identity in Selected Berber Nations of Morocco: From Ethereal and Sublime to the Erotic and Sexual.” Congress on Research in Dance & Society of Dance History Scholars Conference/ Lincoln Center, New York City, June 1993. Retrieved May, 2009. http://www.casbahdance.org/DANCECOMMUNITY.htm
--- “The Ethics of Ethnic.” <www.casbahdance.org/ETHICSOFETHNIC.htm>
--- “So What Else Is New (or Old)?” Caravan. 9:2-4. <www.casbahdance.org/OLDNEW.htm>
Oatley, Diane. “Staging Unstable Bodies: The Practice of Oriental Dance in the West within the Context of the Postmodern.” Habibi. 17.4 (200).
Sellers-Young, Barbara. “Raks El Sharki: Transculturation of a Folk Form.” Journal of Popular Culture.26 (1992): 141–152.
--- “Body, Image, Identity: American Tribal Belly Dance.” Shay and Sellers-Young. 277-304.
Seller-Young, Barbara and Anthony Shay. Belly Dance: Orientalism-Exoticism-Self-Exoticism. Dance Research Journal. 35 (2003): 13-25.
Shay, Anthony. “Dance and Jurisprudence in the Islamic Middle East.”Shay and Sellers-Young. 51-84.
Siegal, Barbara. “Belly Dance: The Enduring Embarrassment.” Arabesque. 21 (1995): 11–13.
Soffee, Anne Thomas. Snake hips: belly dancing and how I found true love. Chicago, IL: Chicago Review Inc., 2004.
Thomas, Helen and Jamila Ahmed, eds. Cultural Bodies: Ethnography and Theory. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2004.
I am a feminist and a belly dancer. I am sure that, for some, that statement is an oxymoron and an impossibility. Some feminists are offended by belly dancing on the grounds that we expose ourselves and reinforce chauvinistic voyeurism. Many belly dancers find it empowering, therapeutic, spiritual. I agree with all of them. Many belly dancers claim it is a dance “by and for women”, and I have to side with Andrea Deagon on that one: “while it can be ‘a dance by and for women’, this description is too simplistic for a dance so concerned with the centers of sex, birth and emotion” (“Feminism and Belly Dance”). There is no denying that.
There is no denying either that belly dance has historically been involved in the objectification (and self-objectification!) of women. There are certainly those students that approach belly dance to allure men – women who maybe feel being sexy is the only way they can earn attention and love. In such a case, practicing belly dance would be a means to the wrong ends. However, most women approach belly dance for other reasons: for the physiological and psychological benefits, for the entertainment, for the women’s-community-ness, etc. In her research interviews, Maira found out that most women claimed that belly dancing offered them the feeling of belonging to a collective, and that sisterhood is a dominant motif in the belly dance subculture (14).
Nevertheless, no matter how feminist our intentions, when it comes to performing, we have little control over our audiences. We have to wonder, does the presence of an audience make the belly dance experience more or less empowering for women? Is there really a difference between claiming belly dance as empowering and stating the same for stripping? I personally believe there is little comparison between bare bellies and open legs. Furthermore, provocative actions such as touching one’s body suggestively have no place in belly dance performances.
But even with that distinction clear, belly dance performances are still controversial. Andrea Deagon phrases it well: “Belly dance exists at a point of conflict between women’s expressions of fundamental truths, and patriarchal interpretations of this expression. It is not an easy place to be” (“Feminism and Belly Dance”). I truly believe that such uneasy points of conflict are the powerful ones, the ones from which we can alter realities, as well as make a point and a difference. They are tricky, though. So, feminist belly dancers, who are located at one such point, must be very careful not to contribute to processes we stand against, such as sexism and colonialism.
In order to be very careful, we must be acutely aware, we must question others and ourselves, we must use what Enloe refers to as “feminist curiosity” when analyzing our own discipline and personal practices (8-9). I have been doing that, and this essay is, more or less, a strand of the many questions and issues I have stumbled upon. Shouldn’t we, for example, ponder about the increasingly expensive consumerism entangled with the belly dance community in the U.S.? Can professional belly dance performers and teachers make a living through their career choice? Why are there so many Western women performing belly dance at Arabic and Greek restaurant instead of dancers from those particular countries? How does performing regularly in a restaurant affect dancers through repetition, commercialization, and the need to adapt to an often inattentive audience? What part does Arab culture have in a belly dancer’s life? What role do professional belly dancers fulfill in Arab society? What consequences are caused by Western women working as professional belly dancers in the East, and vice versa? Who profits from the belly dance industry? I don’t claim to have the answers to these questions, except for my personal stance (and sometimes not even that!) However, I feel it is extremely important to shed light on such issues so that we (sympathizers and critics alike) can take a hard look.
Because belly dance stands at the above mentioned crossroads, deciding to take it up is a subversive act in a number of contexts. As Mary Russo so eloquently put it: “women and their bodies, certain bodies, in certain public framings, in certain public spaces, are always already transgressive—dangerous, and in danger” (qtd. in Keft-Kennedy). For example, in the rural South of the United States, I have often not been welcomed to teach or perform at certain settings because of the controversiality of belly dance. In high school, I started a club for students to teach each other ethnic dances, and everything but belly dance was allowed − even if no bellies were exposed. Suspiciously, even the Women’s Studies program I am currently enrolled in did not take me up on an offer to teach my Women’s Empowerment Belly Dance lessons for free at their women’s summer camp. My own parents were once horrified at the thought of me belly dancing in a restaurant.
As documented by Keft-Kennedy, “practitioners of belly dance in both its traditional and contemporary forms have at different moments throughout history been repudiated and treated with distrust” (1). In 19th century Europe and America, the dances of traditional Middle Eastern and North African women were “condemned as gratuitous sexual display, fetishised into a sign of the ‘Orient’s’ sensuality and abandon, deemed grotesque, and immoral, censored and altogether banned” (Keft-Kennedy 4). For example, The Chicago Tribune reported: “The style of movements practiced by these so-called Algerian and other women is something too objectionable for people of refined taste to countenance. It is a depraved and immoral exhibition. It may well be styled an outrage to allow such an exhibition and rate it under the head of dancing. (“Dancing Masters Enter a Protest” 10, qtd. in Keft-Kennedy)
Perceptions of the dance changed considerably through the 20th Century. However, there is still a dual reaction of both admiration and rejection for the dance and those who practice it. Keft-Kennedy states: “In many accounts, the spectator constantly vacillates between responses of repulsion and desire. This ambivalence, I would argue, is the synthesis of ideological projections of the erotic (…), racial otherness, and the grotesque onto the body of the belly dancer” (7). Once again, because of the power of this ambiguity, belly dance “can be seen as a potent weapon for feminist politics and a potentially transgressive practice for women. Most notably, belly dance is transgressive because it destabilizes social assumptions that women should not (publicly) shake, wobble, or draw attention to their breasts, hips, abdomens, and especially their pelvises” (Keft-Kennedy 2).
In Feminism and Islam, Mai Yamani indicates that in the Arab world there are two separate concepts of belly dance. First, “a social activity, particularly among women in their own segregated social gatherings”.[1] And second, “an artistic activity, performed in public by professional dancers who are considered “disreputable and loose – whorish,” even if their performances are sought after both by the locals for entertainment (especially for weddings), as sell as by tourist. These have traditionally been women from “marginalized groups in society: gypsies, minorities, and the poor” (169-177) Maira also puts it very well, Arabs and Muslim “don’t mind watching it, but they just don’t want their relatives doing it” (21). I would venture to say that for the most part they enjoy it and appreciate it, even if it’s considered haram. As Buonaventura accurately points out: Islam is “a faith in which the sacred and the secular are indissolubly linked.” This has undoubtedly been the main reason why “Islamic society has never quite resolved its ambivalence towards female dancers, who in many respects, defies its laws concerning the conduct of women in society” (16).[2]
Because of the Islamic religious and cultural prohibitions regarding women dancing in public, Western women have, for generations now, filled a gap and fulfilled a demand of Arab society which their own women cannot. However, some belly dancers go as far as justifying the involvement of Western dancers by claiming the dance is disappearing or underappreciated in the East. The fact is there have certainly been many regulations and prohibitions regarding the public performance of belly dance. In Egypt for example, all dancers were expelled from Cairo from the years 1834 to 1866 by Muhammad Ali. Nowadays, they must follow strict regulations, such as covering their midriff (even if just with translucent fabric) (Buonaventura, p. 60, 69, 153, 154)[3]. However, a ‘we are the saviors of the dance’ approach implies that Arabs themselves are too blind to appreciate the dance, enthralled in either a misguided quest for modernity or in the furor of religious fundamentalism. As Maira suggest, “this hints at a missionary imperialism that is akin to the ‘cultural recovery’ of colonial-era Western anthropology” (22).
To belly dance, especially in public, goes against the social norms of propriety, Eastern or Western, which declare women should not be openly sexual or show too much skin. It is not that I spouse the opposite. I just think women should be able to chose how to act and dress on our own. I especially dislike modesty norms that arise from the concept that men cannot control themselves against women’s allure, and put the responsibility on women instead. Are there any other reasons why it would be so intrinsically wrong for women to express their sensuality in public? Buonaventura ventures that Judaism, Christianity, and Islam share: “a profound distrust and fear of women, due largely to what was considered their dangerous sexuality (…) women are seen as a potentially disruptive force, due to the assumption that men are unable to resist their powerful lure. The word for ‘chaos’ in Arabic is the same as that used to describe a beautiful woman, fitna, a word which carries all the connotations of the femme fatale” (83).
For those of us conscious about all this and with feminist perspectives to uphold, choosing when, where, and how to perform can be a rather complicated process. I don’t dress in Hollywood-style skimpy costumes, among other reasons, because of my personal sense of ethnic authenticity. I wear harem pants underneath my skirts because I want the audience to appreciate the dance and not be fixed on trying to catch a glimpse of my legs. When I dance with a veil, I don’t walk in draped in it and then remove it, because I want no stripping connotations. I don’t perform for all-male audiences because I would not put myself in a situation in which the audience could assume that arousal is the intention of my dance (not to mention safety!) I have come to a point in my technique in which solo performances allow me to demonstrate what I have accomplished to an appreciating audience, but I still prefer the dynamics of performing with other dancers because it allows us to dance with and for each other. In that case, the audience becomes simple witnesses. I would not perform in a nightclub or any other situation in which I would be perceived as a sex object, and I rarely make eye contact with the male members of my audience to avoid just that. I dance for good causes or for good money – in a business situation, underpayment is unequivocally bound with under appreciation. Finally, I generally do not allow male spectators into my classroom, because the change of dynamics can understandably make students uncomfortable and ruin the safe space atmosphere.
Issues such as these should be considered even by students of belly dance who do not perform. How many of us, for example, feel attracted to the dance as an expression of femininity without giving a second thought to what we mean by that? If we consider it feminine because it conveys emotions, because it awakens our sensuality, or because it is related to the miracle of giving birth, we should also consider what makes (or doesn’t) such attributes ‘feminine’. In this sense, belly dancing can indeed be empowering for women to get in touch with their own concepts of femininity, with their personal sense of womanhood– but it could also be restrictive if their personal concept of femininity does not fit that particular mold. As such, I applaud, enjoy, and scout contemporary versions of belly dance (i.e. the tribal fusion and gothic styles) that allow dancers to explore other aspects of themselves not related to the Western concept of femininity by default − such as dissent, darkness, anger, aggression, and independence. I also have an appreciation for styles that don’t focus on individual attributes, but rather emphasize collectivity and solidarity among women − such as American Tribal Style and its other group improvisational off-shoots.
In the present day belly dance world, with all its diversity of styles and proponents, the authenticity, validity, and even value of each style are often challenged by the followers of another. One of the most polemic issues has been what to call the genre and what falls inside and outside of it. Keft-Kennedy states that “the question of what to call belly dance has, especially since the mid-1970s, been a hotly contested issue for practitioners of the dance not only in the Middle East but also in countries of the West” (2).
Some, and I must cite belly dance scholar Morocco as the most outspoken leader of this camp, prefer to call it Oriental Dance, for the very sound reason that it is the only correct translation of the Arabic raqs sharki. To Morocco, the term “belly dance” with all its negative emphasis is not only incorrect, but as insulting as “calling flamenco cockroach-killing” (Roots).
Because I am also engaged in dance/movement therapy (I completed an undergraduate thesis on working with survivors of sexual assault through belly dance, and continue to teach women’s empowerment belly dance), I identify with the line of thought that treats the term ‘belly dance’ as an opportunity to reclaim the belly. The belly is indeed a central body part in our dance. At the same time it is a body part that so many women are self-conscious about, due to slim Western ideals of beauty.
The term ‘belly dance’ stems primordially to the 1893 World’s Columbian Exhibition in Chicago. The danse du ventre featured at the exhibition was labeled depraved and immoral (Carlton 47). Although years ago I also disliked the connotations of the term, I have now become more lenient with it. I no longer consider it an insult. It can definitely have negative associations, but I like to focus on the positives aspects instead.
Personally, I use the term raqs sharki solely to refer to the theatrical versions of the dance, which originated off folkloric dances as a response to and influenced by the West. Even the term ‘oriental dance’ makes a reference to an East/West relationship. Raqs Sharki is the classical style of quintessential dancers of the golden era of belly dance in films and night clubs of Egypt[4], such as Samia Gamal, and is carried on by present day Egyptian teachers and dancers like Dina, Mahmoud Reda, and Raqia Hassan. I relate this style to graceful ethereal movements and ballet infused turns, to sequined costuming and high heels, and to choreographed performances.
Raqs sharki, as we know it today, is the heir to the modifications the dance went through in the early 20th century, as the West developed its Oriental fantasy, and flooded North African and the Middle East as colonizers and as tourists (Buonaventura 148). Buonaventura describes this commercialization and influence of Western aesthetics thus: “In the past it had been performed more or less on the spot (…) Now performers twirled about the floor, went up on the balls of their feet, even wore ballet pumps and high-heeled shoes in deference to European aesthetics. Their dress gave way to a Hollywood-inspired costume which expressed (…) Western notions of glamour” (21).
Due in part to its evolution in the nightspots of cities like Algiers, Beirut, and Cairo (Buonaventura 148)[5], and later the U.S.[6], this style is, often pejoratively, referred to as ‘cabaret style’. Personally, I draw a line between the style and technique of raqs sharki and the cabaret style performances. The former has now come to be considered and referred to as ‘classical’; while the latter, as Buonaventura points out, appeal to a clichéd parody of female glamour. This stylization, unchecked, can easily further some women’s belief that “only by being thought attractive and sexually alluring” can they “have any worth at all” (158).
I am proud of my ability to dance in diverse styles, and allow myself to adapt teaching and performances to the expectations of particular audiences and situations. However, I consciously try to downplay the influences of the above referenced styles, while remaining more aligned with Raqs Baladi, which literally means “of the countryside” in reference to folkloric dance[7], or what I have come to term Raqs Shaabi, in reference to popular (secular, contemporary, often urban working class) dances.
As I pursue a degree in folkloristics, I have recently come to be more interested in folk dances, which in turn has made me expand the term ‘Middle Eastern dance’, which I previously thought to be all inclusive, to incorporate North African dances too. Labeling these dances by a geographical or ethnic term (such as Arabic dance) is particularly tricky, because belly dance as we know it today, and even as performed by native professionals a century ago in North Africa and the Middle East, has roots in Egypt, as much as in Lebanon, as much as in Turkey. It incorporates movements and rhythms from the Bedouins of the desserts, and the Berbers of the Maghreb, to the Roma from Rajasthan to Andalucía. It blends Persian arms, with Indian head slides, as well as a Western sense of glamour, spatial patterns, and ballet techniques.
It is also easy to justify the use of the term ‘Oriental dance’ because of how widespread the practice of the dance is in the East, not to mention the locality of its origins. However, even for most academic settings, I use the term Middle Eastern dance instead, because ‘Oriental’ seems too broad to me. The term ‘Oriental dance’ could easily be used to include Chinese or Japanese dances too. Because I have also worked with Indian dances, I only use it when I am referring to both Middle Eastern and Indian dance forms.
One particular belly dance style that focuses on the fusion aspects of the dance is American Tribal Belly Dance. In its improvisational styles it draws off folkloric costuming and movements, in some ways bringing it back to the roots of oriental dances, but at the same time taking it further away through the appropriation and mixing of folkloric aspects from many different peoples – which is ultimately not a traditional from anywhere. It is important to note, however, that unlike other styles of the dance which falsely claim to be authentic, the inclusion of the term American is an intentional allusion to the fact that this is no longer the traditional style of dance of the Arab/Muslim world, but our own form with its own grammar and its own set of shared aesthetics.
Some dancers think it unethical to appropriate another culture’s dance and transform it. I can see both sides of the debate, because I have personally felt offended when witnessing deformed version of Latin dances that I regard as culturally my own. However, I am in no position to judge. I personally like fusion work, and I’m well known for it. All world dances are ultimately cultural hybrids, as different cultures have always constantly influenced each other’s music and dance forms. Belly dance, although stemming from the traditional women’s dances of the Mediterranean and the Middle East, is a particularly multicultural dance. As such, it lends itself to fusion very well. I don’t believe that fusing and reshaping world dances is inherently imperialistic and a form of cultural colonialism. However, I do believe that attempting to perform, modify, or teach any ethnic dance form without understanding it thoroughly, in technique as well as in context, is absolutely disrespectful.
Some believe taking belly dance lessons is a cross-cultural experience. With the right teacher and in the right class, it can certainly be so, but it often isn’t. What we conceive of as belly dance in the West these days is a far cry from Near and Middle Eastern traditional dance forms. In fact, for many Arabs, the fact that their culture is so prominently represented through belly dance is quite disturbing. For example, Susan Muadi Darraj qualifies the question of whether Arab women know how to belly dance as “silly”, equating it to instances in which she has been asked if she knew any women who lived in harems (304).
A dancing experience in the right cultural context – that is in a sex segregated festive social setting – could be an authentic Arabic cultural experience. However, learning it in a classroom setting, or, even worse, performing in public, is not acceptable behavior in most Arabic or Muslim settings – which makes them definitely not culturally representative experiences. In fact, Maira claims that none of the belly dancers she spoke to during her research “said that they became interested in learning the dance because they were interested in the Middle East or in learning more about Arab culture” (12).
Although clearly rooted in Arabic culture (pre-Islam Arabic, I would venture to say), belly dance has now been taken up and adapted throughout the world. I defend its universality, because I believe belly dance can be beneficial for women the world over, while counteracting societies’ pathological rejection of the body. Some authors, however, are displeased with the contemporary adaptations. For example in Imagining Arab Womanhood: The Cultural Mythology of Veils, Harems, and Belly Dancers in the U.S., Jarmakani writes about her shock at a belly dance troupe of white women performing at a South Asian music concert. One of the negatives of such styles of modern tribal belly dance is that they can lump together aspects of numerous Eastern cultures into this completely unreal, exoticized, amorphous “Other.” However, some authors, such as Jarmakani seem to be objecting not to the orientalism[8], but to the disregard for the Arabness of the dance.
Another trend Jarmakani objects to is the widespread myth of the prehistoric matriarchal Goddess worship roots of the dance. This origin theory is defended, for example in Gioseffi’s Earth Dancing. Such explanations of Goddess, nature, fertility, and birthing rituals[9], although very popular in recent decades, have begun to lose credibility in the community as the sole, or even the most prominent, origin story for our dance. Jarmakani refers to it with a poignant irony: “We can just pretend a Goddess invented it all and bypass 'the Arabs'.”
Keft-Kennedy states that belly dance is in continuous tension between being “a symbol of female empowerment on the one hand, and orientalist figurations of ‘Eastern otherness’ linked to colonialist discourse on the other” (3). Those of us who teach and perform must be very carefully not to feed misguided, orientalist stereotypes – for example that of the hyper-sexualized women of the harem. Being clear, for example, about whether a dance or a particular costume is traditional or whether it is what we have come to term ‘Fantasy belly dance’, is obligatory for performers, teachers, and choreographers with any sense of ethics.
Another issue that is sometimes perceived as orientalist is that of taking on Arabic stage names. This tendency can certainly be perceived as an expression of a culturally appropriating personal fetishism. Some may even do it for the undoubtedly unethical reason of fooling the audience into thinking they are Middle Eastern in origin. In that case, dancers assume that having an Arabic name gives authenticity to their performances in the minds of the audience. However, some dancers certainly do it simply as a stage name or even with the intentions of honoring the cultural roots of the dance. In this case the name is worn in the manner of costume and make up, which allow us to enter a different state of consciousness through performing personae. Such names can also be chosen for more practical reasons, such as honoring the lineage of a teacher, or simply because they are inspiring. There is, of course, the exoticizing element too – which is, I suspect, the same reason why many Middle Eastern dancers choose American or Latin names (Fifi, Liz, Lynn, Katy, Tahia Carioca, etc.) I feel it is important to notice that this practice is much less common among Tribal dancers – perhaps because they have claimed an American and not “authentically Middle Eastern” identity for their dance, or perhaps simply because they, also, simply follow their teachers’ examples.
Maira is one to consider belly dance an orientalized masquerade “complete with Arabic names” (18). To her, these orientalized performances “echo the racial impersonation of ‘acting black’ and ‘playing Indian’.” She asks: “What if liberal Americans had adopted Vietnamese dance styles while the United States was bombing Southeast Asia?” (19). I understand the fact that through belly dance Westerners can feel comfortable with a superficial aspect of 'Arabness' without engaging any thoughts regarding the particularly difficult political history between the U.S. and the Arab world. However, I have to point out that belly dance was adopted into U.S. culture many decades ahead of even the first Gulf War.
Not only are there numerous ethical issues to consider when practicing belly dance. There is a notion that as a politicized (or at least politicizable) practice, engagement in the belly dance community fosters political activism. Downey and Zerbib affirm that:
“survey data indicates that length of involvement and level of dance are positively associated with a variety of issues concerning gender identity, including body image (see Downey, Reel, SooHoo, and Walker 2007). Moreover, many participants indicate that they are involved in social activism and that they see belly dance as a means to social change (even if that is not their purpose for involvement). Dancers indicate that there are substantial discussions among themselves about social issues of a variety of sorts” (8).
Choice of leisure activities has an impact on personal and collective identity, which in turn creates an obvious overlap between hobbies (or profession!) and sociopolitical identity and activism. Perhaps because of its precarious mainstream social acceptance, belly dance is perceived as an alternative leisure choice. According to Maira, this has to do with the Orientalist theme of tapping into Eastern spirituality as well as “the notion of becoming part of a collectivity—the belly dancing troupe—that stands in contrast to the presumed individualism and alienation of Western modernity” (15).
When looking at romanticized notions of belly dance, we must also acknowledge another group of people, other than Arabs and Muslims, that often gets orientalized through modern versions of belly dance: the Roma. From dance troupe names to clothing, we create and perpetuate stereotyped notions of ‘Gypsyness.’ Many aspects of the archetypal gypsy woman overlap with that of the belly dancer: creative, independent, a working woman with dubious morals, etc. Maira also points out to the appeal of the ‘nomad’ motif in this era of globalization. But “romanticizing nomadism when homelessness and statelessness is a difficult political reality for immigrants and refugees” is an utterly colonizing act (15).
Besides avoiding colonizing and orientalist practices, some authors suggest we should be expected to be politically involved with Middle East issues because we practice a Middle Eastern dance. Should we then condemn the decimation of families and homes and the destruction of cities and villages in the Middle East, as well as the racial profiling, criminalization, detention, deportation, surveillance, torture, and dehumanization of Muslims and Arabs in the U.S. as implied by Maira? (23) Wouldn’t that also leave the door open for any belly dancers (and there must be some out there although I don’t personally know any) to voice their support of the current war through the arguments of ‘saving’ and ‘liberating’ the Muslim women with whom they feel aligned? Although everyone is, of course, entitled to their personal opinions, I do not believe that the fact that we are belly dancers gives us any inherent authority in regards to the politics of the Middle East. We should never be tempted to speak for them. However, we are bound to be curious about the simultaneous processes of belly dancing on one side, and the political crises on the other. What kind of relationship, if any, is there between the two? I wonder, as Maira does, how come “women in Afghanistan and the Middle East are potentially liberated through U.S. wars that bring ‘freedom’ and ‘American values,’ while middle-class, white American women find liberation through a ‘Middle Eastern’ dance”? (25)
Conclusion
The tenant that belly dance is orientalist because it focuses on the superficial exotic aspects of Arabic culture and Islamic society without giving it any depth, is based on the premise that belly dance is indeed Arabic or Islamic in essence. The many issues brought up in the previous pages make it evident that there is indeed a lot of depth to plunge into behind the surface of belly dance. However that depth is not only, not even mainly, culturally Arabic. The many issues explored above reflect the cultural hybridity of belly dance as we know it today, the universal issues it contains, and the ambivalence of Arabic culture and outright rejection of Islamic society towards it. The only way to get away from exoticizing practices is to stop claiming that we are embodying Middle Eastern culture through our dance, to make it clear that we do not to represent the Middle Eastern women, and to reject the role of ventriloquist.
However, that does not mean that there is no need to continue looking critically at what we do, and asking questions like the ones raised in this essay. It means we need to examine both the aspects of the dance that relate to the relationship between the West and the Arab/Muslim world, as much as those that relate to the particular cultural phenomenon that is contemporary belly dance in the West in its own right and complexity. For example, we should consider the issues relating to a dance that represents Middle Eastern femininity as sensual, assertive, and political, while the public and media-portrayed concept of them is quite the opposite. We must consciously avoid prolonging orientalist ideas of the Arab world through our dance.
Nevertheless, we must also remain aware that the issues surrounding belly dance affect belly dancers just as much, or even more, than Arab and Muslims men and women in general. For example, we must also engage in examining how the over-sexualized stereotype of the belly dancer has a negative impact on those who practice it. Additionally, we must remain aware of the processes that promote and demote belly dance. There are countless cultural, political, and social issues worth studying surrounding a dance “whose flame neither commercialism, religious disapproval nor changing times have managed to extinguish” (Buonaventura 22). Finally, I wish to reiterate the usefulness of feminist theory to explore such issues, whether we identify as feminists or not. As evident by the scholarship cited in this essay, there is already a sizeable body of work on the issues mentioned in this essay, and those that escaped me. I can only hope that it continues to grow.
[1] For more information, refer to Najwa Adra’s article “Belly Dance: An Urban Folk Genre,”in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. This article focuses on belly dance as performed by non-professionals. Adra refers to Belly Dance as an indigenous folk genre to Arab and Middle Eastern countries, which is both sensual and restrained, and performed in limited contexts identified as intimate or playful. It embodies the importance of self expression in intimate or gender segregated contexts in Arab society. Adra explains that “class differences in attitudes towards belly dance are related to the relative seriousness with which particular families view the social system”. The article also touches on the changes the dance and its performance engendered by cultural borrowing.
[2] For more information on the complex reasoning process and mechanism through which dancing is banned or regarded with ambiguity in the region, refer to Anthony Shay’s article “Dance and Jurisprudence in the Islamic Middle East” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. In the article, Shay describes and analyzes several issues, such as essentialization, orientalism, gender, and sexuality, in order to deepen the discussion of Islamic society and its legal underpinnings in the Middle East, Central Asia, and North Africa.
[3]For more information on the historical and cultural context of the dance in Egypt, see Nieuwkerk’s A Trade like Any Other: Female Singers andDancers in Egypt.
[4] For more information on Egyptian films containing dance and dancers, refer to Roberta Dougherty’s “Dance and the Dancer in Egyptian Film” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. This article tackles common misconceptions about Egyptian films, and provides a vast number of examples of different characteristics of Egyptian films which include dance scenes, including professional dancers versus actresses, definition of genres, and common plot lines. Among her conclusions, she identifies the period between 1946 and 1957 as the most prolific in terms of films about dancers.
[5] For more information on the Western fantasy and theatrical elements and the process of their introduction, refer to Chapter 7: Cabarets and Clubs (p. 147-158) of Buonaventura’s Serpent of the Nile.
[6] For more information on the absorption of the music, dance, and entertainment of Arab immigrants in the United States, refer to Anne Rasmussen’s “‘An Evening in the Orient’: The Middle Eastern Nightclub in America” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy. Topics covered include: music and dance in the Arab immigrants domestic life versus the entertainment industry; the origins of the Middle Eastern Nightclub; the belly dancer as an American reinterpretation of the Orient; and a detailed examination of nightclub music from origins, to music, and sample notations. The article also includes pictures from albums, and an epilogue on post-nightclub era Middle-Eastern dance and music.
[7] For a comparison between raqs sharki and baladi, theater and traditional styles, refer to Chapter 10: New Directions (p. 185-196) in Buonaventura’s Serpent of the Nile.
[8] For more information on this concept, refer to Edward Said’s Orientalism. Buonaventura takes a criticizing position of the concept of orientalism, describing it as the perception that “the West has exploited, misunderstood and even invented the East for its own sinister purposes” (p. 55). Another source is Karayanni’s book Dancing Fear & Desire: Race,Sexuality and Imperial Politics in Middle Eastern Dance, as well as his article “Dismissal Veiling Desire: Kuchuk Hanem and Imperial Masculinity” in Belly Dance: Orientalism, Transnationalism, & Harem Fantasy, which explore the cultural implications of the experience of Eastern dance for imperial male body politics, and travelers’ ambivalent responses to “the so-called Oriental body-in-motion” of Middle Eastern dancers. The article focuses specifically on the mid 19th Century encounters of Edward Said, George W. Curtis, and Gustave Flaubert with Kuchuk Hanem, an Egyptian dancer, as well as the analysis other authors have done to date of the writings in which these travelers addressed this particular experience.
[9]For more information on belly dance and birthing rituals, refer to “Belly Dancing and Childbirth” and “Giving to Light- Dancing the Baby into the World” by Morocco.
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