I opened up my Facebook account today and was greeted by a long discussion focusing on cultural appropriation, vis-a-vis belly dancing. It appeared to be based on a Salon article titled "Why I can't stand white belly dancers."

The first thing that struck me was the confrontational nature of the headline: It wasn't belly dancing performed by white people that the author couldn't stand, it was the belly dancers themselves. If this doesn't put people on the defensive, I don't know what will. Then again, it's part of the inflammatory nature of online "journalism" these days, which uses hot-button language to increase the number of hits. (Full disclosure: I'm white, but I'm no belly dancer, and belly dancing isn't something I go out of my way to watch.)

The author of the article describes an instance in which "a white woman came out in Arab drag — because that’s what that is, when a person who’s not Arab wears genie pants and a bra and heavy eye makeup and Arabic jewelry, or jewelry that is meant to read as 'Arabic' because it’s metallic and shiny and has squiggles of some kind — and began to belly-dance."

Most of us are familiar with the offensive racial parodies used to demean African-Americans in the late 19th and early to mid-20th centuries: The use of blackface in the cinema (Al Jolson having provided an infamous example in "The Jazz Singer") is one, the pickaninny and "happily compliant" servant were others. Some offensive parodies are still with us today. The grinning Chief Wahoo mascot of the Cleveland Indians comes to mind.

But one key question, I think, is whether we're dealing with parody or something else. I don't think most belly dancers are intending to parody the dance that originated in the Middle East. I think, on the contrary, they find it appealing and want to practice it themselves. It is, after all, something that involves artistic expression, discipline and physical exertion. Most belly dancing I've seen  no matter who's doing it  seems to focus on these positive aspects of the activity, not on any sort of parody or intentional lack of sensitivity. 

Another blogger, however, points out that such a lack of sensitivity doesn't have to be intentional. "Maybe your costume revealed a taboo body part," she suggests. "You may have simply picked the wrong music for that audience because you don't know the difference between Egyptian and Turkish."

Such difficulties can be remedied by gathering information about the tradition in question. Saying, "Have you considered this information or tried this technique?" is a lot different from saying, "You can't do this because you don't have the proper ethnic background or you aren't of the proper race." That, to me, smacks of a purist approach that seeks to insulate a culture from "contaminating" outside influences, rather than one that values cultural exchange and education.

Three stark realities about the purist approach:

  • It doesn't work.
  • What you think of as "pure" probably isn't, at all, especially if you're involved in a practice that has been around for a while. Practices evolve as contexts, priorities and technologies change.
  • In fact, to go further, "purity" doesn't exist (the closest you'll probably come is Ivory soap's claim to be 99 44/100% pure).

Cultures are continually evolving and borrowing from one another. Christianity borrowed a host of traditions from various strains of Paganism: the dying-and-rising god, the divine mother, the Father in heaven ... the list is so long it might fill volumes. That doesn't mean I'm going to be offended at Christians conducting rituals based on older Pagan templates. I don't have to participate in them, and Christianity is far from the only example. All spiritual traditions have borrowed and evolved from others, whether it be linguistically, ceremonially or philosophically. Unless you live in an isolation chamber, you can't help but influence others and be influenced by them.

This, I think, is a very good thing, because it gives us an opportunity to learn from one another. I don't think those in Europe are particularly upset that elements soccer/futbol and rugby were used in the creation of U.S. and Australian Rules football. I personally would rather have the opportunity to play or observe three or four different sports than just one or two. That, to me, is what diversity is about and what makes our Earth so beautiful.

If we start saying, "Only Arabs can do this," or "Only Anglo-Saxons can do that," we not only limit ourselves, we create barriers to understanding and artistic expression. When it comes to an art form such as belly dancing, one must learn largely through experience. Imagine if Claude Monet were to walk up to a beginning art student and declare, "You can't possibly attempt impressionism, because only the French properly understand it." Or if Chuck Berry had told the Beatles, "You can't play 'Roll Over, Beethoven,' because you're not African-American don't understand the roots of rhythm and blues." Not only would artists be deprived of expressing themselves, but their potential audience would be deprived of enjoying their work.

In fact, the very nature of artistry is to experiment and create, not to be bound by any cultural status quo.

(This question is, I think, distinct from the issue of economic appropriation - aka stealing - that has taken place in numerous societies. This would include such travesties as the theft of land from Native Americans and the theft of royalties from African-American songwriters and performing artists. The problem in the latter case isn't that their culture was shared, but rather that the individual artists were denied appropriate control of and compensation for their work.)

Our goal should not be to deprive one another of artistic expression and experience, but to share it and, where appropriate, help one another gain the expertise and historical understanding needed to improve our craft  and our ability to connect effectively with our audience. That can't be done by throwing up walls and erecting metaphorical "No Trespassing" signs. It can only be done by taking the risk of allowing others to share your gift.