The dance world has always been a place of passion, creativity, and expression. Yet, as recent events have shown, it is also a space where issues of privilege, access, and representation come to the forefront. The recent viral attention around Ray Gun, the Australian Olympian in the Breaking category, has sparked a deep reflection within me—one that resonates with my own experiences in the Latin dance community.
As a white woman who has achieved the title of World Latin/Salsa Champion multiple times, I am proud of my accomplishments. However, I must acknowledge that my success was not solely the result of hard work and talent. It was also influenced by the privileges I had, including access to resources and opportunities that many of my fellow dancers did not. The reality is that most of the top Latin dancers are from Latin America, yet many could not afford to travel to Asia, where the competitions were held. This financial barrier meant that I had an advantage simply because I had the means to participate.
I often observed Latin American dancers overcome with emotion when they were able to compete. At the time, I didn’t fully understand their tears and deep feelings. But now, I realize that these moments represented far more than just dance; they were about breaking through significant barriers and seizing opportunities that were not easily accessible to them. In contrast, I approached competitions with a sense of entitlement, an expectation that my hard work would naturally lead to success—an attitude rooted in my white privilege.
This journey of self-awareness led me to create "Salsa - The Show" two years ago, a production that I am incredibly proud of. It was a sold-out event, something unprecedented in the industry. But again, I must recognize that its success was partly due to my ability to self-fund the project. I had the financial resources to make it happen, and I worked with a predominantly minority group, conscious of the power imbalances that exist. I strived to be open, transparent, and inclusive in the process.
However, this awareness has also created a dilemma for me. Continuing the show without cutting costs would mean excluding people—something that goes against my commitment to inclusivity. The question of how to move forward without compromising these values has been a significant challenge. It’s a complex issue, and it has made me more attuned to the broader struggles faced by minority groups in the dance world and beyond.
This brings me back to the Olympic breaking situation. Introducing a minority dance style like Breaking into the Olympics may seem like a positive step towards inclusivity. However, when viewed through the lens of access and privilege, it becomes clear that it’s an oxymoron. The Olympic system is designed for those with financial resources and support, limiting true representation of minority groups. My husband, who is Colombian, and my son, who wanted to support Colombia in this year's Olympics, were disappointed to see the lack of representation for their country. This absence speaks volumes about the systemic barriers that persist.
In conclusion, the intersection of dance, privilege, and representation is a conversation that needs to continue. As a dancer and creator, I am committed to finding ways to support minority groups and challenge the structures that maintain inequality. It’s a journey that requires reflection, honesty, and a willingness to make changes—even when it’s uncomfortable. The dance community, and the world at large, can only truly thrive when everyone has the opportunity to succeed, regardless of their background or resources.
Comments