From Orientalism to Activism: Belly Dance, Cultural Appropriation, and the Palestinian Struggle
by Katya Faris, MA, MA
www.katyafaris.com
A Dancer’s Awakening: My Journey Through Raqs Sharqi
I first fell in love with this dance in 1989, fresh off a month-long Classical Mythology course in Greece. My sister, who had lived in Iran for 15 years, gifted me jewelry that seemed to whisper stories of another world—intricate, shimmering, alive with history. Little did I know then that my own blood carried traces of Romany, Turkish, Italian, Greek, and Lebanese ancestry (Melungeon), a revelation that came decades later through DNA testing. Perhaps that’s why this art form gripped me so deeply; it wasn’t just fascination—it was a kind of remembering.
I entered the dance world during the golden age of Egyptian-style raqs sharqi in the West, a time when respect for cultural roots still anchored the art form. My first teacher was an Arab musician and singer, so I learned not just steps, but the soul behind them: how a saidi rhythm should feel, why a certain taqsim demanded stillness, the stories behind the songs. I was so enthralled that I pursued a master’s in ethnomusicology at Indiana University, graduating in 2012 with a thesis dedicated to this art form.
But the dance I loved began to shift. The 1990s brought American Tribal Style (ATS), which started as creative fusion but devolved into cultural confusion—sacred symbols and movements mashed together without context. Then came 9/11. I was in my Arabic class when the first tower was hit. Overnight, Arab communities faced horrific backlash, and I lost my gig dancing at a Camel Cigarettes tent—they couldn’t guarantee my safety. The message was clear: We weren’t just entertainers; we were ambassadors, tasked with countering racism through our art.
Now, in 2025, after a pandemic that shattered live performance and a genocide in Gaza that has left the Arab world reeling, we stand at a crossroads.
Who Needs to Read This? A Clarification for Western Dancers
This article is not for Arab women—they don’t need an outsider to explain their dance or their struggles. This is for you: the American, European, or Western dancer who loves raqs sharqi but may not have fully grappled with its cultural weight.
In Egypt, Lebanon, and beyond, many professional dancers exist in a complicated social space. Some are celebrated artists; others, particularly in certain venues, are marginalized women—even sex workers—who dance out of necessity, not passion. They may not have the luxury of publicly condemning genocide or debating cultural appropriation; survival comes first.
We do. Western dancers, especially white ones, have the freedom (and safety) to speak up, boycott, and demand ethical representation. With that freedom comes responsibility.
The Ghost of Orientalism in Raqs Sharqi
Western belly dance has always been tangled in Orientalist fantasy—think veiled harem girls, exoticized mysticism, and the erasure of the dance’s working-class roots. Edward Said’s Orientalism (1978) exposed how the West reduces Arab cultures to decorative, apolitical aesthetics. Many dancers today still perform in costumes dripping with colonial nostalgia (bedlahs styled after 1920s Hollywood harems, “tribal” fusion borrowing Indigenous symbols without context) while claiming their art is “just for fun.”
But dance is never neutral. When we detach raqs sharqi from its roots—especially now, as the people who created it are being slaughtered in Gaza—we become complicit in their erasure.
Solidarity Beyond Borders: Why Raqs Sharqi Dancers Must Stand with Palestine
While raqs sharqi is rooted in Egyptian, Lebanese, Syrian, and Turkish traditions—not Palestinian folk dance—that doesn’t absolve us from standing with Palestine. Arab identity is interconnected; oppression against one is an affront to all.
Why This Matters for Dancers
- Cultural Kinship: The same rhythms that fuel Egyptian baladi echo in Palestinian dabke. The emotional phrasing in Umm Kulthum’s music resonates in the voices of Palestinian singers like Reem Kelani.
- Hypocrisy of Selective Advocacy: Many dancers celebrate Lebanese resilience during civil war or Syrian creativity amid displacement—but fall silent on Palestine. True respect means standing with all Arab people.
- Dance as Resistance: From Algerian dancers preserving traditions under French occupation to Palestinian artists using dabke as defiance, Arab dance has always been intertwined with survival.
What Solidarity Looks Like
- Amplify Palestinian Artists: Share their work, cite their contributions, reject their erasure.
- Don’t “Both-Sides” Genocide: Neutrality isn’t an option when one side has tanks and the other has rubble.
- Follow Arab Leaders: If Palestinian, Syrian, and Egyptian dancers call for boycotts, join them—don’t speak over them.
Cultural Appropriation vs. Ethical Exchange
The split in the dance community mirrors a larger ethical question: Are we engaging in cultural exchange or cultural theft?
- Ethical Dancers: Learn histories, collaborate with Arab artists, boycott Israeli-linked events, fundraise for Gaza.
- “Neutral” Dancers: Perform to Israeli-label music, teach without crediting Arab sources, dismiss solidarity as “divisive.” This isn’t neutrality—it’s privilege.
Music Matters: The Soundtrack to Complicity
Every time a dancer uses a song by an artist who supports Israel, they’re sending a message. Palestinian and Lebanese resistance music (Fairuz, Mohammad Assaf) is pushed aside for “exotic” beats stripped of meaning. If we respect this art form, we must be intentional about whose voices we amplify.
Who Gets to Dance? Respect, Responsibility, and the Right to Engage
Should non-Arabs perform these dances? Some argue these art forms belong exclusively to Arab people—a justified frustration given colonialism’s legacy. But I believe the solution lies in ethical engagement, not exclusion.
How Non-Arabs Can Dance—While Earning the Right
- Do the Homework: Learn the history. Know which rhythms come from marginalized communities (like Romani influences in Ghawazee styles).
- Center Arab Voices: Invite Arab artists as guests. Credit your sources. Donate to causes supporting the cultures you borrow from.
- Use Privilege Wisely: Challenge stereotypes—don’t reinforce them.
The Hard Truth: Some Arabs will never accept you—and that’s their right. Your job isn’t to demand approval but to show up with humility.
Orientalism from Within: When Cultural Betrayal Comes from the Source
Here’s an uncomfortable truth: Some of the worst offenders of Orientalism in raqs sharqi are Arab dancers themselves.
- The Opportunistic Teacher: Some Arab instructors sell bastardized versions of regional dances to Westerners—exaggerated “ancient” rituals, fabricated folklore—because it pays.
- The Nightclub Effect: In tourist hubs like Dubai, Arab and foreign performers hypersexualize the dance for foreign audiences, reinforcing the very tropes we claim to reject.
The Irony: Some of the most culturally respectful practitioners today are Western women—studying archives, refusing exploitative gigs—while certain Arab entertainers reduce their heritage to a cash grab.
A Call for Accountability:
- To Arab dancers: Are you honoring your ancestors or exploiting them?
- To Western students: Just because someone is Arab doesn’t mean they’re teaching truth.
The Gendered Lens: Raqs Sharqi as Resistance
Unlike partnered Latin dances, raqs sharqi centers the female body—not as an object of desire, but as an expression of resilience. Orientalist fantasies distort Arab women into two extremes: the eroticized “harem girl” or the oppressed “veiled victim.” Both erase her humanity.
Now, as we witness Palestinian mothers mourning their children on camera—women dehumanized as “terrorists” or statistics—we must reject these stereotypes. When we perform raqs sharqi, we invoke the same women Western media paints as exotic or threatening.
What Ethical Performance Looks Like Now
- Costuming: Ditch the “harem fantasy.” Work with designers from Cairo or Beirut.
- Choreography as Testimony: Dedicate performances to Gaza’s martyred artists.
- Amplify Arab Voices: Before teaching a “classic Egyptian” combo, ask: Would an Egyptian dancer recognize this? Why, or why not?
A Call to Action for the Dance Community
- Boycott Complicity: Avoid festivals/events tied to Israeli normalization. Support BDS.
- Credit and Compensate: Name the origins of what you teach. Pay Arab artists.
- Use Your Platform: Fundraise for Gaza. Challenge Islamophobia in dance spaces.
Silence is not an option. The belly dance world has a choice: keep playing dress-up with someone else’s culture or stand in solidarity with the people who gave us this art.
We are storytellers. What story will we tell now?
Sources:
- Communication Theory. http://communicationtheory.org/ (accessed, 12-19-12).
- Hanna, Judith. To Dance Is Human: A Theory of Nonverbal Communication. Revised 1979 edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1987.
- Said, Edward. Orientalism. 1978.
- Silay, Kemal.
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- – “Nedim and the Poetics of the Ottoman Court: Medieval Inheritance and the Need for Change.” Indiana University Turkish Studies Series: XIII. Bloomington: Indiana University, 1994.
- Shay, Anthony. Choreophobia. Mazda Publishers. Costa Mesa, CA. 1999.
- Dancing Across Borders. 2005.
- Shannon, Jonathan Holt, Among the Jasmine Trees: Music and Modernity in Contemporary Syria. Wesleyan University Press, Middletown, Conn. 2006.
- Stone, Ruth. Theory for Ethnomusicology. Pearson Prentice Hall Publishing. New Jersey. 2008.
