Letter from Ramallah

Rather than writing about the factors affecting the development of dance in Palestine, I shall present a few anecdotes that might help paint a representative picture of the challenges we encounter and the horizons we aspire to reach …

Death & Dance

After a recent dance rehearsal of our all-volunteer dance group, El-Funoun, a BBC journalist asked me a familiar question: “How do you dance despite all the destruction and death around you?” My answer seemed rhetorical, but in fact was quite sincere: “We never ask ourselves that question. We simply continue dancing.” I later thought to myself: Even at this most testing period of military occupation, do we question whether to cry, laugh, or otherwise express ourselves? Do we think twice about reading, or listening to music? No. Thus, we dance.

Tel Aviv Studio

On a trip to Amsterdam to speak about art and oppression, we were asked by our Dutch host -- who watched a video of our rehearsal and was amazed how “modern” our studio looked -- “Is this studio in Tel Aviv?” My colleague and I were speechless for a minute, but out of courtesy and with ample benefit-of-the-doubt, she lamented: “If you just knew what it takes for a Palestinian dancer to get to Tel Aviv, you would laugh at the question! Consecutive army checkpoints, military permits are only aperitifs …” We all laughed.

New York Steak

In 1986, at a restaurant in Manhattan, our lead dancer was asked by an uncharacteristically pleasant waitress: “How would you like your steak, sir?” Not expecting that bizarre question, he hesitated for a moment, then said: “Extra large.” The dancers at his table and the waitress almost collapsed in laughter. He later explained to them that this was his very first time abroad, after many years of a travel ban by the Israeli authorities. He had a “record,” after all: he was held under administrative detention once due to his “membership in a subversive dance company.”

French Christ

In the course of our tour of France in 1999, we were the only group that was not invited to participate in the festival’s Sunday Mass musical program. I respectfully asked the priest for an explanation, and he courteously replied: “We did not want to offend you, knowing that you are Muslims.” I could not resist the temptation to correct both assumptions: “But father, Jesus was not exactly French!” Offering a sincere apology, the priest giggled: “Bethlehem, Nazareth, Jerusalem … oh! of course he was Palestinian!” Our singers ended up singing an Eastern Christian hymn during mass, to the pleasant surprise of all those attending prayers.

Father, Son & Unholy Spirit

In the spring of 2002, during one “illegal” rehearsal -- when we collectively decide to challenge the cruel curfew and go to the studio -- a dancer’s phone rang. A ringing mobile during rehearsals in that period was more often than not a bad omen. [Incidentally, mobiles are strictly forbidden during rehearsals, except at times of turmoil and insecurity. That is, almost throughout the year!]

He picked up the mobile with trembling hands; we instinctively froze, with our eyes glued to his face, trying to interpret every sign betrayed by his gestures. His wife was in early labour, he was told, and all the roads from their village home to the city hospital were blocked by daunting military barricades. He was stuck in Ramallah due to the curfew while his wife was about to miscarry a few kilometers away. Feeling totally helpless, he cried. So did most of us.

His relatives tried to drive his distraught wife to a hospital, hoping that her obvious emergency might help convince the Israeli soldiers to let them through. At two different checkpoints, they were humiliated, even threatened and turned back. She was forced to deliver at home, with no medical supervision. Against all odds, she gave birth to a premature, perilously stressed yet charming boy. After a few hours of his birth, the baby started turning blue. His respiratory system was not functioning well, cautioned the local midwife, who although untrained had a long experience. A relative finally succeeded in driving the mother and child to a hospital in Nablus, after taking the “scenic route,” a treacherous dirt road in the hills, that detours around the military barriers littering the landscape. After weeks in an incubator, followed by months in a critical condition, the baby is now recovering, and his father is smiling again during dance rehearsals.

Gender Insensitivity

In a meeting with a visiting European delegation in El-Funoun’s office, a guest asked: “What are you doing as a group to promote gender sensitivity?” I promptly replied: “But we are gender insensitive!” Anticipating the open mouths and perplexed looks that would follow, I added: “Since El-Funoun’s establishment in 1979 we’ve always had women at every level of decision-making; they are dancers, choreographers and they are a majority in our Administrative Board. They assume their positions, just like their male counterparts, not because of gender, but simply on the basis of merit. From the onset, our men and women danced literally hand-in-hand, challenging some traditional norms. Our performances were perhaps more effective than any of the currently fashionable ‘gender training’ workshops in actually changing attitudes and perceptions in this regard. We are truly insensitive to gender, and we’re proud of it!” The anxiety that filled the air a moment earlier was swiftly replaced by sighs of relief!

Folklore & Stockholm

After a vivid performance in a Stockholm park, our Swedish host quipped: “You’re not really doing folklore. Are you?” I answered: “No. But how did you know?” “I loved your entire show,” she said, “and I could not take my eyes off stage. In any real folk show, an outsider gets bored after the first ten minutes!” With a clear sense of gratification, I remarked: “We call it contemporary Palestinian dance. It is inspired by our folk tradition, but not imprisoned in its limited realm.”

By: Omar Barghouti, trainer and choreographer in El-Funoun Dance Troupe
Date: June 23, 2003
Published in the July 2003 issue of Ballettanz.

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