Inequality in the Chicago Dance Community

Kennedy Ward: Hey there, this is Ken. Your resident dancer and dance administrator. Remaining one of the most segregated cities in the US, Chicago is no stranger to disenfranchisement and divestment. With almost three centuries of inequality under its belt, the symptoms of this long standing marginalization bear fruit in all aspects of life.

The weight of this intersectionality can be seen within the field of dance as development resources such as access to grant writers, administration staff, reliable networks, and reliable funders are behind the translucent wall of institutional customs, geographic racism, and the most insidious of all, time. These barriers persist because commodification does not honor context, because exploitation cannot empower, because, for most dancers the system does not work.

From Mad Dog and Silvita, we’ll hear about the invisible barriers they face in aspiring to institutionalize their form -a viable process to give non-european dance forms increased credibility- and gain access to resources that will mature their career.

As we listen in; I want you to challenge the idea that these stories could not happen, would never happen, are not currently happening to someone you know.

Mad Dog: There are invisible barriers that are not invisible, if that makes sense. The only times that we really get an opportunity is when you become a Chicago dancemaker or you get a residency at a location or a space where you have an opportunity to showcase it. But we not going to be at Crown Palace for six months because we don't necessarily have the credentials. What we do isn't in a class at Columbia or DePaul or the university. There's no real representation on the academical platforms. It's perceived that it doesn't have the same level capacity that the traditional spaces have.

Because we dont have the financial power, we dont receive anything back. We'll probably never receive anything back. But if we're given a chance, if you allow us to make a rubric or allow us to show you our unit plans or our lesson plans, and that's where I'm working towards. This is how we merge in hip hop arts and education. And my faith and my belief is that schools and mostly schools and colleges will eventually see the academical component and give us the stage to try, even if it's just a minor class, right? A minor class in college, but it could be a day-to-day class in high school. It could be a day-to-day program in elementary school. So that will be the way that that happens.

Silvita Diaz Brown: Writing grants is super hard. It takes me so much time. I had to, like, prepare myself. And I probably will say that's the most stressful thing about being a creative artist. I feel like I love dancing for other people, but I feel like my calling is a choreographer, really. That's where my heart is. And sometimes I feel like it is exhausting to have to do that. I've been able to different times, have the support of people who trust in my work, care about my work; "Check this, does it make sense?" It doesn't make sense. I feel the grammar in English and Spanish is slightly different. English is kind of short phrases, a little bit more straightforward but in Spanish you can embellish. And it just takes a very different form. I think in writing terms, maybe, you know? And I've been improving myself, more and more each time. I do know that and people tell me that, but I feel like somehow, I still feel like the weight of having to write this thing in my head, this idea, and explain it to people so they can see it the way I see it and why it this important to make it happen.

If I have more funding, then I can pay someone without the stress of having to get that extra money so that the person can write it or edit it because I had to write it. I have it already. It's already written. But with each grant, they ask different things that might mean the same thing but you had to always modify it to what they are asking you to. And so that takes time. So if I have someone that can help me on the side, that's really helpful. And last year I did it because I got the Chicago Cultural Center Studio residency. So I had funding to do that. It was super helpful because I was in the process of creating, and my time was focused on creating the piece, on being with the dancers, on all the artists involved, and the custom designer.

But even that way, you never know what is going to happen. So I'm just saying finding a way to have a more sustainable practice as an artist. I just feel like for the many hours that we work, including training and practicing, because you had to keep practicing, you know teaching, writing, going to the studio, choreographing, thinking about this, organizing schedules, and all of that. It's your time. And if someone were paying me for that, I probably would be a millionaire. But that's unfortunately not true. How can we make an artist career more sustainable, especially dancing, I feel like there is other arts that have more opportunities or get paid more. I have done a few gigs as an actress and that pays way more, but that's not where my heart fully is.

Kennedy Ward: The struggle to institutionalize or secure consistent funding exposes a disparity of not only who receives funding but who has the ability to pursue funding opportunities.This disparity illuminates the idea that despite expertise and wisdom, there is glaring scarcity within the community.

In our 2022 Study, we found 84% of participants made less than $20,000 from dance and dance related work. This means that 84% of participants could not sustain themselves from dance and dance-related work alone; galvanizing a community of artists to seek other means of employment to sustain themselves.

This, in turn, allots full time commitment to dance and the pursuit of its resources to those with often once-a-decade career placements, trusts, or third party monetary support.

Let’s continue with Devika and Lyn, and hear their accounts of social and institutional racism.

Devika Dhir: I have definitely witnessed and experienced inequality in the dance world and in classical Indian dance specifically, this is a huge issue. Today in the South Indian dance form that I do, which is Bharatnatym, it's primarily stewarded by a specific group of people within India, a specific caste background, a specific religious background. But this demographic is not the original demographic that developed the dance form. It's kind of an upper caste group that has taken it and sort of turned it into something else that has now become the mainstream. And for a long time when I was very young, this was not a conversation that I knew about. It was not a history that I knew about. It wasn't until a few years ago that I became aware and started educating myself more about it. And it is unsurprising because these things happen all the time.

Kennedy Ward: Not dissimilar to Western but non-Eurocentric forms of dance; such as house, breaking, vogue/ballroom, jazz and so on; the oral histories, and the context within them, that are passed down aligns respect with representation.This awareness does not bar people outside of that community from participating, but instead ensures that the form can continue with integrity. We can see this in the various ways breaking and ballroom, house and jazz, or footwork and house have influenced each other.

Let’s hear from Lyn, as she recounts an instance of inequity that impacted her career.

Lyn Cole: As a 9, 10, 11, and 12-year-old, I went to a dance school on the south side — Agnes Gleason School of Dance. So everybody was white there and all these little black kids were there taking dance down the street from Mayfair, which was black-owned, black-run with black mentorship. And so Agnes Gleason was a great teacher, but she didn't have recitals. She was wonderful and her studio was wonderful, but she was very old and she was not into recitals. So my mom takes me to Evergreen Park, Ideal School of Dance, white-owned, white-run.

I endured three years of prejudice being at that school because I love to dance. At the beginning, she didn't want me to be in the class with kids my own age because I was black, they were white, and they were having issues. And finally after she saw what was happening to me at one of the recitals, she stopped everything. She said, if anybody in here calls that child the N word, we are not having a show. And so for the rest of the dress rehearsal, everybody left me alone, but they would give me the side eye. And then that next season I went into class with kids my own age and some of the kids stopped coming to the studio, but she gained a whole bunch of other people that were happy to have me there. And so I didn't feel that I'm the only black kid here.

Kennedy Ward: The anecdotes we’ve heard today support the reality that we already know; racism, systematic financial marginalization, social inequality, and everything in between are barriers that are pervasive, constant, and unfortunately compounding. These barriers protect the center, in other words the status quo. They ensure disparity for every single person outside of that center, and multiplying the further out you go.

What we don't know is when these barriers will cease to exist. And that’s not going to bother us. Let me tell you why. We will not lay awake at night, scared, upset, or anxious of the inequality around us, of the global scale that racism and systematic oppression operates on, of the threat that we are not enough and will not thrive.

In spite of nothing we will go to that audition, submit that grant application, and create new works, lean on each other, speak up when wrong occurs. We will tell our stories because we all feel that it is what we are meant to do. We will live, and be dancers because it is what we are meant to do. And that is successful. Every success achieved by you, or me, is a success to our community. Nothing can take that away from us.

Follow me into the next episode, and we’ll learn more about what success can look and feel like.