We’ve all seen it: Someone posts an unsuspecting dancer’s performance on a bellydance discussion forum and other dancers jump right in to badmouth the performance as if the dancer in question has no access to the forum, and as if she or he would never hear that other dancers are trash talking about her.

The internet, with its convenient anonymity and inherent distance between users, is no excuse for demeaning or insulting language.

Under the guise of “protecting traditional bellydance” or “starting meaningful discussion”, I’ve seen conversations turn into bash-fests.  Just because you don’t know a dancer and you think her performance was not good, lacking taste, or otherwise offensive, that does not mean that you should insult her on the internet in a forum in which she can read the comments.  In my mind, this behavior is akin to schoolyard drama between pre-teen girls.

What are you doing when you bash a dancer on the internet? You’re probably trying to validate your own dance by putting down someone else’s performance.  Instead of spending your time on the internet looking for what’s wrong with someone else’s dance, I say go work on your own.  If there’s something about another’s performance that bothers you, and that person hasn’t solicited feedback directly from you or the internet forum in question, please don’t talk about that dancer as though they’ll never read it.  And if it bothers you, don’t do it yourself.  If you’re an instructor, you can teach your own students to avoid dancing like the dancer in question… but please don’t mention the dancer by name.

This sort of behavior does nothing to lift up this dance form.  It isn’t professional. It just isn’t nice.  I believe it does more damage to the reputation of the dancer doing the badmouthing than the one being badmouthed.  But maybe that’s just because I don’t like bullies.  And I know we’re not all nice all the time, but at least try when you’re speaking in public, especially in a forum that is searchable, archived, and available for anyone to read.

As a child, I was always interested in anything Middle Eastern, mostly in a fantasy context.  The Arabian Dance in The Nutcracker was always my favorite part of that ballet.  I constantly asked my mother to play her worn out copy of Scheherezade on the record player in the living room.  I would pretend that the oriental rugs in our house were magic flying carpets.  The Tales of 1001 Nights were my favorite fairy tales.

In 5th grade, I learned very basic elements of Middle Eastern geography.  Our teacher told us about Iraq and the basics about the Gulf War.  I never quite understood why the border between Yemen and Saudi Arabia was always a dotted line on maps, but I figured I would learn someday.  I didn’t understand much about Israel and the Palestinian territories, but I had an idea that it was contested.

It wasn’t until 7th grade that I really had any idea about the Middle East, its people, arts, music, or history.  And I stumbled into my future through something quite unexpected.

In 1991 I saw a trailer for Disney’s newest movie, Aladdin. I remember being so excited.  The art captured my imagination, and I got my hands on anything I could about the film.  I read up on the making of the movie, on the research the artists did on Islamic art to give the movie its look.  When I learned about Islamic art, I started to look further into the culture.  I remember dragging my parents to the Freer and Sackler Museums in Washington, DC, during our annual summer visit to the East Coast, because I wanted to see an exhibit there of illuminated Qur’ans.  I still have the poster I bought in the gift shop that day.  What started as a childhood fancy started becoming something near and dear to my heart.

My obsession with the Middle East carried on through high school.  I bought Passion: Sources during my Freshman year of high school, which first exposed me to the music of the Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia.  I listened to that CD over and over and over again, letting the melodies and rhythms feed my imagination.  It’s still one of my favorite recordings.  I continued researching what I could about Islamic art and other aspects of the Middle East.  During my senior year, I took beginner Arabic classes through the local parks and recreation department.

When I entered college, I discovered that my university had one of the oldest and established Near Eastern Studies departments in the United States.  With the department’s small student numbers and reputable professors, I was hooked.  Early on, I decided to major in Near Eastern Studies (before 9/11, i.e. before it was popular).  I took Arabic language classes every semester (but my brain has a hard time with languages, and I don’t remember as much as wish I did!). Even my University’s Arab Society considered me a bit of an honorary member, even though I am not at all Arab (and if I am Semitic at all, I’m part Sephardic Jew). When my friend (who also majored in Near Eastern Studies – we were the only ones in our graduating class who did) and I saw that the university gym offered belly dance classes, we decided to sign up.  Hey, it’s Middle Eastern and related to our studies!  Why not?  I took my first belly dance classes (with the amazing Kim Leary) in January 2000… and I was completely hooked.  I loved the music, the movements, the expression, and it was one more thing to bring me closer to this culture to which I have always been so drawn.  For my next four years or so of studying belly dance, I stuck very much to being a Middle Eastern dancer, dabbling in everything I could: Saaidi, Turkish Oryantal, Turkish Romany, Egyptian Oriental, Khaliji, Modern Egyptian, and American Cabaret.

So… you might be wondering what happened after that… well.  That’s a tale for the next blog entry.

So, what’s this year’s theme, you ask?  Frankly, I’m not sure.  Maybe it’s forgiveness, compassion, gratitude, growth…  Well, all of those things are important, but one idea prevails: Trusting my gut and my intuition.  Because my innards seem to know what’s better for me than my frontal lobe does.  Trusting my gut also means trusting myself.  Why is trusting your own self so damn hard, and why is it when we do, we feel so free and liberated, but we were so scared to take the leap?

2009 helped me realize the strength in myself and my abilities… In 2010 I aim to continue my journey.

How will this year help you?

Here are a few thoughts to get you started:

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