#appropration

A number of months ago, I came across some images on Instagram that left me angry. They were of a famous Russian bellydancer who had visited China, and she had done a whole photo shoot in Chinese clothing, complete with a wig and yellowface makeup. Admittedly, the photos were beautifully done, and her photographer and stylist had created a fantastic scene for the shoot. However, the photos made me so angry, to the point where I wanted to comment in all capital letters to her to stop appropriating my culture. I stopped short though, because despite the anger that I felt about this very white, privileged girl wearing obvious yellowface, it prompted me to think about myself too.

 You see, I am always careful to not be a hypocrite. We all have blind spots and have mistakes in this world of intense racism, and I want to make sure I’m addressing my own issues if I’m going to speak on others’ behavior. Also, I am mixed Chinese and I definitely pass for almost anything besides Chinese. Even though “American-Born Chinese” is part of my own cultural heritage, I never want to be the one accusing someone else who might be mixed that they aren’t actually part of that culture or tradition; I myself have been interviewed by Chinese television about why I love kung fu as their “token white girl,” and the interviews are almost always abandoned when they realize they are talking to a mixed Chinese girl (with direct connections to the first Chinese martial arts school in NYC) instead of the white girl they wanted to interview. I know how it feels to be told that I’m not “____” enough, and it hurts if you have previously felt the pain of racism and discrimination to suddenly be rejected by that identity which had become part of a badge of honor. After suffering and finding identity in oppression, to be suddenly lumped in with the oppressor is shocking and painful. Once I had an ex tell me that now that I’m with a white guy, I’m white now. It was NOT pleasant. As a result, I shy away from angry responses to people when I don’t actually know their story.

 However, another level of this story is that it made me really examine my own relationship with being a bellydancer. I am American, and without a DNA test, I have no idea if I have any Middle Eastern/North African/Turkish (MENAT) background (if that means anything anyway). I have no cultural claim to Middle Eastern dance, nor do I speak the language, understand from a personal perspective the dynamics and sacrifices it takes to be a dancer as an Egyptian woman, or even come close to fully understanding the complexities of navigating the social systems in Egypt. Yes, I live here, but I live as foreigner. I have indeed sacrificed much in my life to become a performer, but these are the same sacrifices I would have made if I had been a jazz dancer or done any other kind of performance art. When I go to Egyptian weddings as a guest, I could absolutely be the center of attention and take the “stage” and dance in a way to make it clear I have extensive professional training and “I know what I’m doing,” but to what end? What message do I send to the Egyptian women in the audience that I’m a guest at their event and performing in a way to take the spotlight? Is is my right because I love the dance and have been trained in it by Egyptians? Will I come off as an asshole? Because of these complex questions, I usually wait until I am invited to dance by someone to get up on the dance floor. I already attract attention by being the only non-Egyptian in the event, so I try to be as respectful as possible to the event organizers. I have many chances to have my own stage during my paid performances, and it feels like these community events are better for observation in most cases.

 This brings up another topic: am I appropriating when I wear a costume and perform in Egypt? Are Egyptian audiences simply so used to seeing foreign dancers at this point, that they don’t think about it anymore? Am I taking jobs from Egyptian women by working here? The generally accepted definition of cultural appropriation is for the majority (in-power) culture to take what they want from a minority (disrespected/oppressed) culture and profit off of while simultaneously disrespecting and oppressing that very same culture. This question brought forth a lot of deep questions for me about how I feel about overarching Egyptian culture. How do I feel about the relationship between culture and religion in the country? How do I feel about ahwah culture, or how people do business, or the kiss-on-the-cheek greeting that is customary? How do I feel about the treatment of women, and do all these dynamics “work” for this country, or am I critical of it because it’s different than what I am used to seeing as “right?” As a social worker, how does my training and understanding of community apply to Egypt? Coming from a strongly-individualist society, how do I feel about Egyptian families and their emphasis on family ties? And, most importantly, if I find Egyptian culture to be abrasive and uncomfortable, where does that put me in terms of a performer of the art from this world? Do I still have a right to be a bellydancer, because I studied and trained from Egyptian teachers, if I truly do not like Egyptian culture? And further, do I have a right to make money as a performer if I find the culture to be in opposition of my own personal schemas and worldviews? As an American living in Egypt as part of an Egyptian family and experiencing culture shock, these are all questions I have grappled with in the last two years. No culture or society is perfect, but where we draw the line in criticism of foreign cultures is an important question. America has a long history of trying to impose its own beliefs and systems on other countries through war or other tactics, and I personally ask myself every day about these questions of balancing constructive criticism in my own circle of control versus coming off as that “know it all” Westerner who wants to tell another country what they are doing wrong. It is one thing to love the celebration aspect of a culture, such as weddings and parties, but to understand the entirety of the country, we have to understand the intense struggle that results in these equally elaborate parties. As dancers, are we willing to be in the struggle? To know how much families work and grind and fight for every bit of their success so that way they have a reason to celebrate? Do we love to watch men from Upper Egypt perform Saidi dance or Tahbib but also feel that Upper Egyptian men are scam artists that cannot be trusted? Are we subconsciously racist against the people from the culture while loving the dance and profiting from it?

 Not surprisingly, there are even more levels to this discussion that cannot be covered in one long, overly-thought-out essay. I think the biggest challenge I have faced as a dancer is examining what I have given back to this art form and this country, which includes respect and understanding for viewpoints that are different than what I am used to seeing in the USA. As a social worker, I try to employ Egyptians for all the work that I do here. I attempt to build better communication between tourists and tour guides whenever possible, because I want to be sure that miscommunications do not result in reinforced stereotypes of the “Arab merchant” trope (more on that later). Surely, it’s not enough, and I am positive that I will continue to struggle with these questions as time goes on and the dance world in Egypt becomes even more saturated with foreign dancers. I don’t want to sound like I am giving myself a big congratulations for attempting to contribute to the community; I often question if I even have a right to be here at all. In fact, this whole paragraph could be very problematic in lots of ways without even meaning to be: yay for the hero foreign woman who has come to “save” Egyptians (insert facepalm).

 Am I justified in my anger at the yellowface photos? Absolutely. But I am also grateful that seeing it prompted me to do a deep self-examination of my own actions and my own portrayal of Middle Eastern dance, and to always proceed with caution. As artists, I fully believe it is important to always revisit these questions and check in to see how we are doing in our beliefs and representation of the cultural dances we are representing. I also believe that if an artist finds themself hating the cultures of the MENAT region, voting in ways to exclude people from these countries, and otherwise participating in racist behaviors, they have no place participating in this art form any longer.

 In closing, I hope that anyone who reads this also does a deep personal examination of themselves and why they love this dance, why they are interested in the MENAT region of the world, and in what ways they may be harming or benefiting the real people of the culture. We do not live in a bubble, and orientalism is real and painful to these parts of the world. How can we approach this art form with humility and respect? As long as I continue to live here and oscillate between feeling like I’m home versus an outsider, I am positive I will continue to grapple with the questions raised here, and I fully expect to have to “check in” with my feelings in the future.

Talking to my boyfriend before bed, he posed a question. He asked, “If the rap group Migos are from the suburbs of GA, are they participating in cultural appropriation?” This sparked my inquisitive nature and caused me to really try to dissect that notion.

I wanna start by saying that I do not know the Migos personally, but I am familiar with the area that they grew up in. Having lived in that same area for 2 years, I never seen, experienced, or heard of any “thuggery.” The streets were not infiltrated with gangs, drugs, violence, or heavy crime.

With that being said, is the lifestyle that they rap about really who they are and the things they’ve done, OR are they just saying these things to gain street cred and seem relevant to the rap/trap culture.

If they are rapping about situations that they never participated in, is that appropriation of the rap/trap culture, “hard knock” life culture, drug/gang culture? Should we hold them accountable to be real and authentic just like we rise up against people of a different race appropriating black culture or is it okay for them because they are black?

I think it’s not really okay because trap life transcends race. It is a culture that is participated in by Hispanics, Blacks, Asians, and sometimes Whites. So to talk about experiences without ever having really gone through them would definitely be appropriating that culture...no matter what race you are.

Cultural Appropriation is defined as: the act of taking or using things from a culture that is not your own

Culture and Race are not necessarily intertwined. Talking to someone else I found that within Mexican culture, different customs are followed by indigenous Mexicans, White Mexicans, and so on.

Why are people appropriating? Why do artist such as Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift have such a tendency to appropriate from other cultures? They have a tendency to do this because its more profitable to put on a costume for a day, then to be themselves. It is like Halloween, all the damn time evidently, people dress up in costumes for a day and walk around neighborhoods to get drowse of candy. All the while you wake up the next day and people aren’t just throwing candy in your face anymore. Culture appropriation grasps a negative light because people are doing just that, profiting on others cultures. While in all reality appropriating from other cultures is not inherently bad; it allows us to experience another culture, respectfully, while giving them credit like any other art collaborations.

What about appropriating Black Culture in America?

This is such a touchy subject because Black people are scrutinized for their culture and their culture is of no value to anyone, until people like Ms. Cyrus makes it cool to twerk. Just like how “Bantu knots” become “mini buns” because a white person says so. The problem with the appropriation of Black Culture, isn’t the appropriating part it’s the “a-profit” part and the “a-no-credit” part that’s hidden between the letters. Artist are appropriating Black Culture and giving no credit to the people or the culture they are stealing the ideas and traditions from. Oh, yes, I said stealing! Its theft if no credit is given to the people, its theft when the people that created it are not profiting off of it, and its certainly theft when the people didn’t allow you to use their culture for capitalistic purposes. Black people have been practicing things like Hip-Hop Culture since, the first block party on Sedgwick Ave hosted by DJ Koolherc, 1973. Black Culture been cool to black folks regardless of the public's views on it; cornrows where cool before they ever hit the run way, that featured little to no black folk.