Epsom bellydance

I was attending a dance fitness class recently where the instructor encouraged us participants to let go: to move our arms, hips, and feet without restriction. It was an exhilarating session. At the end, while we were cooling down, the instructor asked how everyone felt. One participant, still smiling and clearly buzzing from the endorphins, piped up:

“It felt so… primitive.”

She meant it as though she felt tapped into something raw and good and the instructor smiled back to her. But to me, the word “primitive” lit a spark of ire within that I couldn’t quite shake.

The weight of a word

Why is it that when women move with freedom, the word “primitive” is the first one off the shelf? Why not wild? Why not liberated or organic?

By definition, “primitive” refers to an early, undeveloped stage of evolution, or a “preliterate, non-industrial” society. It implies something naive, simple, and crucially – lacking in sophistication. When we use it to describe dance, we aren’t just describing a feeling. We are inadvertently echoing a history that views women-led dances as lesser than.

This isn’t the first time the word has triggered me. Perhaps that’s because my training is rooted in women-led styles that the Western gaze has often labeled “exotic” or “alluring” rather than highly skilled or technical. Women work as bellydancers in restaurants and at weddings in many parts of the world, to mark celebrations and get the party started. Men too, but the majority are women and as one myself, I focus on on this.

My dance journey includes traditional Algerian Kabyle (Amazigh) dance, Raqs Sharqi, Turkish Roman Havasi, and Fusion Bellydance. I’ve even dipped my toes into the rigorous structures of Indian Classical dance: Kathak and Odissi; to provide a sculptural frame for the more fluid styles I love. Essentially, I’m studying any form that doesn’t require me to be led by another person. I choose which dum and tek to emphasise. Some days, I’ll choose the different dum and tek as the mood and energy changes. I just follow my teachers and learn enough rules to know which I can break. Freedom in other words.

As that participant spoke, I wondered: would she ever use “primitive” to describe ballet or a ballroom waltz? Probably not. Yet those styles have only existed for about 500 years. Meanwhile, Kathak traces back over 2,500 years, and murals in Ancient Egypt depict women dancing to musical instruments over 5,000 years ago. If age equals “primitive,” then ballet and ballroom styles are the infants. Why not call it “Mother” instead?

Meeting the goddess within

Perhaps the issue isn’t the age of the dance, but the sight of a woman dancing solo and uninhibited. It’s a sight that can be deeply uncomfortable for a society used to seeing women’s bodies “tamed” by choreography.

When I see a woman dancing fully, the image of Kali flashed through my mind. The Hindu goddess represents the fierce, transformative power of the feminine. She is often depicted with a sword and a severed head; an image that can be terrifying to those who don’t understand her. But Kali isn’t a villain. She is a vital force who destroys the ego and negative attachments to allow for growth and rebirth.

To some, a woman moving freely looks scary or uncivilized. She looks like a powerful force of nature that doesn’t need a partner or a choreography to be framed.

So, the next time you feel that surge of energy in a dance class, call it what it is: power. Don’t be afraid to meet the Kali within you. Just please don’t call her primitive.