Tap Dance is my trade. It gives me great joy, a sense of purpose and belonging as a Black woman in North America. It has brought me to the jazz bandstand, the Cotton Club and even to Broadway, all while extending me the privilege of accessing depths of a culture’s history. It is an African-American art form, born through the oppression of slavery, yet miraculously thrives worldwide today. Let’s be clear, I started recreationally in the suburbs of Calgary, like most do here, and Tap Dance is often still a punch line for those who ask, “So, what is it that you do for living?” I’ve learned, now, that the best way to respond is to ask the following, “When you think of Tap Dance, what is it that you think about?”
Upon my recent return to Alberta, an oversight of mine was having to face a reverse culture shock. Within the 14 years of living in America, I lived a spectrum of “the Black experience”. First, there was performing in front of an all-Black audience. Later, I remember a Black woman saying to me, “Oh, you’re Canadian! That’s why you talk so white.” Over time, I learned how to secure my walk, my talk, and my dancing with a greater sense of identity and cultural pride. Yet, it came with warnings which were exemplified by an overt racism that eventually became unshakeable. One specific story comes to mind, while on tour in Virginia when I ventured out of my hotel to get a bite to eat. After crossing a large parking lot, I noticed a cluster of pick-up trucks waving large confederate flags. Too far to turn back, I just focused on getting to the restaurant, grabbing my food and heading straight back. There was no alternate path, so this time, upon my return, those same flag waving trucks were circling around me. I knew not to make eye-contact and I will never forget the indescribable fear wrenched in the pit of my stomach. They let me cross, but made it known to me that I was on their turf. From then on, I never left my hotel room again. Fast forward, back in my local, “voted as best” neighborhood here in Calgary, I’ve seen vehicles showing-off that same flag on two separate occasions. This time, the horror is not the memory it drudges up, it’s the deep knowing that I’m likely one of few who may recognize that flag and it’s significance, coupled with the fact that the owners know exactly what they are parading, and doing it with pride.
We don’t talk about it a lot here in Canada. I’ve had to dig to find the truth about the first known African captive brought here around 1605, and about the existence of the slave trade on these territories. It is my lens as a tap dancer that drives me to resist the avoidance of knowing, and see the Black resilience and truth that surrounds me. I recently learned about the Alberta-born Crump Twins, who descended from the Black migration from Oklahoma of 1910 and tap danced with Louis Armstrong and Sammy Davis Jr. Our ancestors were heroic! What would it be like if we could all see our cultures woven into the fabric of our dwelling places?
Cultural isolation is real. Here I am back in my hometown and once again, usually the only person of colour in a room. Furthermore, I am one of the only persons of colour in this country practicing an African-American art form. Raising consciousness is becoming urgent and I know someone’s life will depend on it. We all want experience the feeling of freedom. Personally, I want to walk in the freedom of expression, inclusion and of no fear.
Photo Credit: Lisa La Touche, photo by Jeremy Fokkens