Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education : Case Studies on Humanizing Dance Pedagogy 2019053927, 9781476667171, 9781476637389

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Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education

Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education Case Studies on Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Edited by Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Jefferson, North Carolina

This book has undergone peer review.

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Names: Risner, Douglas S., editor. | Schupp, Karen, editor. Title: Ethical dilemmas in dance education : case studies on humanizing dance pedagogy / Doug Risner, Karen Schupp. Description: Jefferson, North Carolina : McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2020 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019053927 | ISBN 9781476667171 (paperback : acid free paper) ISBN 9781476637389 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Dance—Study and teaching. | Dance—Study and teaching— Case studies. | Decision making—Moral and ethical aspects. | Decision making—Moral and ethical aspects—Case studies. | Critical pedagogy. | Critical pedagogy—Case studies. Classification: LCC GV1589 .E84 2020 | DDC 792.8076—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019053927 British Library cataloguing data are available

ISBN (print) 978-1-4766-6717-1 ISBN (ebook) 978-1-4766-3738-9 © 2020 Doug Risner and Karen Schupp. All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Front cover images: top from left to right: group of children dancing © 2020 Africa Studio/Shutterstock; Wayne State University’s To Sangana Dance Company in “Afro Cuban Moves” choreographed by Danys “LaMora” Pérez, photograph by Scott Lipiec; bottom: Wayne State University dancers in “Converge” choreographed by Pilobolus, photograph by Scott Lipiec Printed in the United States of America

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640 www.mcfarlandpub.com

♾

Acknowledgments An edited volume such as this one reflects not only the contributions of the authors and editors, but several individuals who offered assistance and support along the way. The editors and section editors wish to thank Diane Amans, Chelsey Budge, Jane Behan, Jill H ­ olcroft-Williams, Sara Houston, Elizabeth Johnson, Marlene Leber, Miguel Lerma, David Levanthal, Lisa Moya, Nancy Ng, Christopher Rutt, Katrina Toews, Teresa Van Denend Sorge, and Marcus White for their assistance at various points in the writing and publication process; Reayanna Erving for her work with formatting the book; Jon Anderson for indexing the book; and Kelly Ferris Lester, Susan Kirchner, Luke Kahlich, Matt Henley, Alison Leonard, Wendy Oliver, Marty Sprague, Frederick Curry, Susan Gingrasso, Evan Tobias, Karen Clemente, Susannah Keita, Jane Bonbright, and Susan Griffin for reading early versions of the essays. Thanks also to the two anonymous peer reviewers for their feedback on an early draft. The section ­coeditors and authors of the Early Childhood and Elementary Dance Education section would like to acknowledge Jenny Braswell, Alyssa Ernst, Helen B ­ uck-Pavlich, and Teresea Lowell for their assistance with the essay “The Ethics of Discussing Religious Beliefs in a Primary Dance Classroom”; and Kim Taylor Knight for her contributions to the essay “Culture and Conflict: Planning a Dance Partnership.” The Middle School and High School Dance Education section editor and author of “The Imperfect Advocate” graciously recognize Mark Rasdorf, Associate Director of for the LGBT Resource Office at East Carolina University for his advice and input. In the Dance Teacher Preparation and Postsecondary Dance Education section, the authors of “Confronting Urban Phobias” extend thanks to Scotta Frye, Caroline Murray, Dr. Carl Paris, and Christian von Howard for providing feedback and suggestions. Lastly, the Community Dance section ­coeditors and authors of “Dancing Within Prison Walls” wish to thank Valerie Ifill. The editors also recognize the support received from the field of dance education research, our academic institutions, and families in developing this book. We acknowledge the depth and breadth of dance education research v

vi  Acknowledgments focused on both theory and practice on which we build our own research. We are thankful to the time and resources provided by Wayne State University (Sabbatical Leave Award to Dr. Risner in 2018) and Arizona State University that permitted us to guide the development of this work over a ­five-year period. Lastly, we are incredibly grateful for our families and communities, who have consistently supported the development of this work in meaningful ways.

Table of Contents Acknowledgments

v

Introduction Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

1

Section One: Early Childhood and Elementary Dance Education Section Editors: Theresa Purcell Cone and Susan W. Stinson Section Introduction Susan W. Stinson and Theresa Purcell Cone

10

Culture and Conflict: Planning a Dance Partnership Marissa Beth Nesbit

16

Activity: What Parents Can Teach Us About Students Karen Schupp and Doug Risner

The Ethics of Discussing Religious Beliefs in a Primary Dance Classroom Becky Dyer and Susan W. Stinson Activity: The Global Village Doug Risner

26

28 37

Challenges and Solutions to Including Students with Disabilities Theresa Purcell Cone, Doug Risner and Karen Schupp Activity: What Body Dances? Karen Schupp and Doug Risner

She Wants to Dance with the Boys Monica J. Cameron Frichtel

Activity: Dancing Your Gender Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

vii

40 49 51 59

viii   Table of Contents

Values Inventory: Installment I Doug Risner

62

Section Two: Middle School and High School Dance Education Section Editor: Pam Musil Section Introduction Pam Musil

64

Dance in the Crossfire Marissa Beth Nesbit with Adeena Lago

71



Activity: Changing Grades Doug Risner

Dancing in Bars Pam Musil

Activity: Uncovering Hidden Messages Karen Schupp and Doug Risner

Waltzing with the Enemy Kori Wakamatsu

Activity: Bystander Intervention: When It Is Your Business Karen Schupp

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media: #overexposed Kori Wakamatsu

Activity: Screens Out! Doug Risner

American Ethnocentrism Pam Musil

Activity: Whose America? Our America, of Course! Karen Schupp and Doug Risner

The Imperfect Advocate: Supporting Transgender Students in the Dance Class Marissa Beth Nesbit

Activity: Speaking Transgender Karen Schupp

Values Inventory: Installment II Doug Risner

80 82 91 93 101 103 112 115 125

127 136 138

Table of Contents   ix



Section Three: Dance Teacher Preparation and Postsecondary Dance Education Section Editor: Elizabeth McPherson Section Introduction Elizabeth McPherson with Donna A. Dragon, Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

140

The Cultural Assumptions We Carry Stephanie Milling

151



Activity: My Education Map Doug Risner

Why Grade Inflation and Teacher Dispositions Don’t Mix Elizabeth McPherson, Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

Activity: Honest Gestures Karen Schupp

Confronting Urban Phobias Elizabeth McPherson with Kathleen Isaac Activity: ­Anti-Racism Boxes Doug Risner

Whistleblowing Adolescent Sexual Abuse Barbara Bashaw and Marissa Beth Nesbit

Activity: Doing the Right Thing or Doing Things Right? Karen Schupp

Where to Draw the Line Karen Schupp and Robin Prichard

Activity: Motivating Growth Karen Schupp

When Department Policy Limits Teaching Tanya Berg and Doug Risner

Activity: Make the Case Doug Risner

Teaching Contact Improvisation: Touching and Being Touched Tanya Berg and Doug Risner

Activity: Touchy Subjects Doug Risner

Values Inventory: Installment III Doug Risner

160 163 173 176 185 188 197 199 208 211 220 223 233 235

x   Table of Contents

Section Four: Community Dance Section Editors: Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere Section Introduction Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere

238

Whose Class Is It Anyway? Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere with Mary Fitzgerald

245



Activity: Social Immersion Project Doug Risner

Dancing Within Prison Walls Sherrie Barr, Miriam Giguere and Susan Bendix

Activity: Critical Field Observations Doug Risner

Intergenerational Moves Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere with Susan Bendix

Activity: What Should Dance Education Look Like? Doug Risner

Why Do I Have to Perform? Miriam Giguere and Sherrie Barr

Activity: Performing Your Values Karen Schupp and Doug Risner

Teaching Artist Advocates: The Difference We Can Make Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

Activity: Heterosexual Questionnaire Doug Risner

254 256 265 267 276 278 286 288 297

Values Inventory: Installment IV Doug Risner

300

Appendix I: Teachers’ Guide

303

Appendix II: Field Observation Notes Template

305

Works Cited

311

About the Contributors

327

Index 

331

Introduction Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education: Case Studies on Humanizing Dance Pedagogy, a collection of fictionalized, r­ esearch-based case studies, comes out of necessity. The critical need for this book arises from a number of educational pressures and complications in dance education and training—ones that prevail when left unexamined, often unwittingly perpetuated by those who want to change, or make change happen, but do not know how to do either. Many of these challenges converge from educational policies and mandates developed over the past two decades—characterized by t­ eacher-proof, “scripted” curriculum, h ­ igh-stakes testing, standardization and m ­ ethods-centric teacher preparation (Risner and Barr, 2015; Neumann, 2010; Swain, 2013). Although “gaining access to and actively creating methods for the classroom is certainly an important step towards effective teaching,” this practical focus “far too often occurs without examining teachers’ [and preservice teachers’] own assumptions, values, and beliefs and how this ideological posture informs, often unconsciously, their perceptions and actions when working with other politically, socially, and economically subordinated students” (Bartolome, 2004, p. 97). Within this approach, widely accepted “best practice” methods remain largely underexamined and unquestioned— best practices for whom, and in what contexts (Barr and Risner, 2014)? Because today’s dance educators must be prepared to effectively teach an increasingly diverse student population, the persistence of these challenges for dance teacher preparation, and dance education more broadly, requires a level of resolve not yet committed by the field. Therefore, this book finds a great deal of its necessity in confronting the educational policy landscape that initially emerged with the enactment of No Child Left Behind (2001) and continues to flourish through educational policies that prioritize school choice and streamlining education (U.S. Department of Education, 2017). Challenges in schools also reverberate throughout formulaic preparation of dance educators in community settings and for 1

2  Introduction teaching artists in dance, whose preparation is largely ignored in the literature (Risner, 2012; Anderson and Risner, 2014). In response to the current environment, significant attention is directed toward “how to” teaching methods and “best practice” lesson plans. Unfortunately, these approaches rarely address the dance educator’s core pedagogical values, at a time when recognizing and examining these are critical for developing a reflective personal pedagogy— one that is meaningful and sustainable throughout the career span. In addition to the policy implications described earlier, prospective dance specialist teachers increasingly encounter undergraduate teacher certification programs focused primarily upon generalist teacher preparation (Risner, 2010a; Risner and Stinson, 2010). In limiting and simplifying teacher preparation programs, methods courses (“how to” technical instruction) have increased substantially, while courses in theory and integrated practice (social foundations, pedagogical praxis, philosophy and history of education) have been either significantly reduced, replaced with substitution courses (e.g., multicultural methods), or eliminated entirely (Risner and Stinson, 2010). To address this void, Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education provides an integrated text of theory and practice developed from real world pedagogical scenarios in the dance classroom, rehearsal studio, and performance venue, which authors analyze from pertinent pedagogical research perspectives and ethical dimensions. At the same time, recognized professional standards and guidelines for dance educator preparation and continued “high quality” status, like those articulated for music and visual arts teachers, support the development of values including expression, empathy, access, collaboration, exploration and experimentation, community and global awareness, recognition of diverse cultural perspectives, as well as authentic encounters, reflection and critical questioning (Risner and Barr, 2015). Cultivating these values, which are not always prevalent in teacher preparation, cannot be accomplished solely in m ­ ethods-based, technical courses—because by design, these courses fail to address larger personal and professional questions about the purpose, meaning, value, and function of a democratic education. Still, d ­ iscipline-specific pedagogy courses focusing on what is to be taught and how it can be most efficiently accomplished remain the emphasis within many teacher preparation programs in the United States (Risner, 2010a). M ­ ethods-based instruction ignores the individual student’s personal meaning in relationship to learning. To remedy such oversight, questions focusing on the how and why of teaching in relation to the broader culture need to be addressed. These are the types of theoretical queries underlying social foundations of education theory in which scholars, theorists, and practitioners explore issues of class, race and ethnicity, sexuality, and gender, and the ways these issues, historically and in society today, impact educational institutions. Within this field of study, “social foundation courses emphasize



Introduction (Risner & Schupp)   3

the why of democratic public education, for what purposes, in whose benefit, to what ends; thus they centralize the aims of freedom, equality, human dignity, and social justice” (Risner, 2010b, p. 206). When dance educators consider how their individual teaching practice relates to these issues, they better assess how their personal values relate to the d ­ ay-to-day d ­ ecision-making in their teaching. Once their values are unearthed, dance educators gain increased agency to develop personal, v­ alue-based pedagogies that move beyond m ­ ethods-based instruction. Bringing attention to the interplay of social foundations issues in one’s own teaching recognizes the evolving nature of all dance education and dance pedagogy. Readers are encouraged to clarify their values with each essay encountered in this book. Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education is based on the pedagogical premise that we will teach as we were taught unless we seriously scrutinize our pedagogical choices and teaching approaches. Reflective practice, the ability to objectively reflect on habits, actions, and choices to create a cycle of constantly learning about oneself in relation to the larger world (Schön, 1983), encourages dance educators to carefully investigate their teaching practice. By stepping back and objectively observing, considering, and assessing experiences, dance educators’ individual values and assumptions are revealed that can then be questioned or used as springboards for further inquiry. In education, effective teaching necessitates a reflective approach (Hatton and Smith, 1995; Risner, 2002a). By reflecting on teaching experiences, educators can learn more about how their pedagogical values underscore the ethical dimensions of the choices embedded in their daily teaching experiences. Teaching dance in particular is complex because what works “best” in the classroom can vary greatly depending on the educational context; social considerations of the classroom, school, and community; and breadth of dance knowledge that can be covered in a dance class. Engaging in reflective practice empowers dance educators to make informed pedagogical choices that stem from a v­ alue-centered locus across a range of diverse dance education contexts and social scenarios. Ethical reflection allows dance educators to unearth the reasoning and motivations of their daily teaching practices. To promote active reflection and informed praxis, this book examines the ethical dimensions of humanizing dance pedagogy in various contexts by utilizing a case study approach. Informed by research, ethical dilemmas contributed by informants, and dance educators’ experiences in the field, each essay investigates an ethical dilemma grounded in daily dance education practice. An ethical dilemma refers to a difficult or perplexing problem for which the possible solutions are equally unappealing; a choice must be made between two equally undesirable alternatives in which selecting one transgresses the other. Ethical decision making cannot be solved through universal “best practice” methods.

4  Introduction Generally, ethical dilemmas can be categorized into four types of guiding principles: (1) truth versus loyalty, (2) individual versus community, (3) s­ hort-term versus l­ ong-term, and (4) justice versus mercy (Kidder, 1995). In each type of ethical d ­ ecision-making, dance educators need to recognize their values to determine the appropriate solution, and for whom that solution most equitably serves. According to Rushworth Kidder (1995), ethical dilemmas can be resolved through utilizing e­ nd-based thinking (the decision serves the greatest good for the largest number of stakeholders), r­ ule-based thinking (the decision infers that the world would be a better place if everyone followed a given principle), or c­ are-based thinking (the decision follows the Golden Rule). Making ethical decisions requires reflection and practice, meaning that it is critical that teachers and preservice teachers develop their ethical acuity within their teaching praxis, defined as r­ eflectively-informed action in practice. The r­ esearch-based, informant approach to writing each case study in this book allows for fictional depth, contextual richness, and r­ eader-centric exploration of ethical quandaries in the d ­ ay-to-day experiences of dance educators; each dilemma provides an opportunity to develop ethical d ­ ecision-making skills. Every essay provides (a) detailed educational context of the case, (b) engaging illustration of the case’s dilemma, (c) straightforward synopsis of what is at stake and the stakeholders, and (d) insightful discussion of pedagogical elements that undergird and inform the case. The authors articulate the links between pedagogical theory and applied teaching practice by focusing on complex questions surrounding the dilemma, which in turn prompt readers to consider “what would I do in this situation?” In this way, dance educators continue to develop and hone their personal dance education praxis as they discover how their pedagogical values infuse their professional lives and teaching practices. As readers assess the values, beliefs, and assumptions behind their pedagogical approaches, their teaching practices will deepen as will the meaning they find in their professional lives. While the case studies presented in this book do not represent any one person or event, they do mirror the daily lived experiences of dance educators in a variety of teaching settings. The case studies comprise informed research and narrative constructions presented heuristically by design. In other words, the ethical dilemmas used in each case study situation are designed to promote personal reflection in relation to myriad social, cultural, and political dimensions encountered when teaching dance. Although the cases are fictionalized, reflecting on the ethical dimensions can lead to a greater understanding of one’s reasoning, actions, and application of pedagogical values in the classroom, studio, and other dance spaces. Each case study is framed within an essay of its own and contains four titled sections: introduction, the case, dilemma and stakeholders, and pedagogical

Introduction (Risner & Schupp)   5 elements. Although case study essays present similarly titled elements, the status of the dilemma or ethical moment varies from case to case. Some case studies are o ­ pen-ended—no decision is made, revealed, intimated, or presented. Without a decision disclosed, the o ­ pen-ended nature of these case studies provides a blank canvas for readers to identify and examine their own values and assumptions as they contemplate the decisions they would make and their own d ­ ecision-making process and ethics. Another set of case studies reveals the decision that has been made; however, a rationale for that decision is withheld, allowing readers an opportunity to imagine, brainstorm, and develop possible rationales for the decision, which they may construct on their own or in groups. A third series of case studies includes the decision, as well as the rationale for the decision. Unlike the previously discussed case studies, these offer a kind of “field observation” for readers. By observing the dance educator’s situation, behavior, and action, readers better understand the teacher’s values, habits, needs, and social relations in their classroom and studio environments. Lastly, the book contains case studies that also provide a l­ ong-term view of the decision made—its implications and educator’s growth over time. Each case study illustrates the dynamic and evolving relationship between a dance educator’s pedagogical values and teaching practice so that readers can begin to assess their own development as teachers. At the conclusion of every essay, an “Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy” assists readers in “zooming out” from the essay to see the larger terrain of the case study—where they can engage their beliefs, reflect on their own practices, connect emergent ideas to their own and others, and consider how their teaching can evolve. Some of the activities link directly to the preceding case study or represented population, focusing on building the reader’s integrative reflection capacities. All of the activities aim to offer a breadth of experiential learning not always available to teachers in a classroom or dance studio setting. At the conclusion of each section of the book is a Values Inventory, which presents a recurring opportunity for readers to proactively connect the main ideas from the case studies to the personal values that guide their pedagogical approaches. These inventories are presented in four installments that build in complexity. Readers are first prompted to assess their own values and practices, and then prompted to connect them to larger thematic concerns. These inventories aim to cultivate an evolving awareness of how familiarity with personal values can provide a solid foundation for making ethical decisions in the classroom. The editors and contributors of this text understand well that cultural values are embedded in the development of dance genres and that education and teaching methods are culturally situated and socially constructed. Therefore,

6  Introduction building and sustaining a career as an engaged dance educator requires a great sensitivity to the sociology of teaching dance. Many of the pedagogical theories that dance educators call upon to teach in humanizing ways, such as constructivism, critical pedagogy, critical feminist pedagogy, culturally relevant pedagogy, connected teaching, engaged teaching, democratic pedagogies, among others, acknowledge that learning is a social process, that students bring diverse perspectives and understandings to their classroom learning, and that what is learned in the classroom needs to be relevant to students’ life situations and prior knowledge for the learning to be valuable and meaningful. In addition to navigating sociological components in the classroom, dance educators also establish and rely upon relationships with school administrators, other teachers, parents, caregivers, guest artists, federal agencies, and state and national organizations. A keen understanding of social, cultural, political, and economic factors is necessary in order to make effective and v­ alue-centered pedagogical decisions. Discussing sociocultural factors related to power and authority, ability, economic considerations, sexuality, gender and gender identity, and race and ethnicity can often be challenging, whether or not one is prepared to do so. However, developing an awareness of how these factors play out in the dance classroom is critical to honing a pedagogical praxis that is both personally relevant, and applicable to 2­ 1st- century dance education. Dance education occurs in a variety of settings throughout the U.S., and although some commonalities exist, each sector maintains its unique characteristics and goals. At the same time, effective dance education relies on dance educators’ awareness of the breadth of spaces and places where dance education occurs and the general aim and scope of each dance education sector. Although similar pedagogical theories and sociocultural issues may be at play, this text examines four related yet unique segments of dance education that provide opportunities for i­ n-depth examinations of how a variety of sociocultural factors intersect with pedagogical theories and teaching practices. The first section of the book, “Early Childhood and Elementary Dance Education,” c­ oedited by Theresa Purcell Cone and Susan W. Stinson, addresses dance education in p ­ re-kindergarten to grade six classrooms. In this sector, dance educators may work as f­ ull-time dance educators in an ­elementary school, as a teaching artist assigned to a district, or as guest ­teachers. Readers are introduced to dilemmas that stem from cultural differences, ability, economic factors, assumptions about gender, and power and authority throughout this section of the book. At the same time, readers will gain insight into ethical d ­ ecision-making within the pedagogical practices commonly used to teach dance to children as part of a comprehensive education.

Introduction (Risner & Schupp)   7 The second section, “Middle School and High School Dance Education,” edited by Pam Musil, examines the complexity and joy of teaching dance to adolescent students. Just as teaching in an elementary setting has distinctive challenges and opportunities, teaching in middle schools and high schools requires significant attention to the multiple sociological relationships and curricular factors that are particular to working with adolescents in school settings. In this section, case studies explore ethical dilemmas related to social expectations, gender and sexual identity, social media use, cultural assumptions, and control and influence of authority. Unpacking s­ ociocultural assumptions requires readers to evaluate the underpinnings of their teaching in order to make v­ alue-centered decisions. The third section, “Dance Teacher Preparation and Postsecondary Dance Education,” edited by Elizabeth McPherson, focuses on higher education dance including essays that address both teacher preparation programs, where dance educators receive their college diploma and teaching certification credentials, as well as dance performance and choreography programs. In this setting, postsecondary dance education faculty hold responsibilities for educating future dance teachers and dance artists who will work in a variety of professional scenarios. In addition to teaching university students, dance educators in these programs work with colleagues and independent dance artists in other professional organizations such as regional dance companies and arts organizations, and university programs such as the college of education, university administrators, and classroom teachers who provide student teaching opportunities to the university students. The case studies in this section confront ethical dimensions of topics including the subjectivity of ability, s­ ociocultural factors, tactile communication, and generalizations about race and ethnicity. “Community Dance,” the final section of the book, c­ oedited by Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere, addresses an area of growing importance in dance education including programs in community centers such as the Boys and Girls Clubs, as part of rehabilitative programs, or as part of a larger artistic project, among many others. Dance educators and teaching artists who teach in community settings or as part of a s­ ocially-engaged project must form and maintain relationships with students from diverse, and sometimes disparate backgrounds, community members, administrators, funders, donors, parents and c­ are-givers. Dilemmas in this section of the book cross a wide spectrum of economic concerns, s­ ociocultural factors, teaching artistry, individual agency, gender assumptions, intersectionality, and race and ethnicity. In all sections of the book, each case study stems from real world situations typical of those faced by dance educators in their daily teaching practice and responsibilities. Because teaching involves understanding, reflecting upon, negotiating, and resolving ethical issues each day, numerous situations

8  Introduction that generate and stimulate discussion and s­ elf-reflection are examined. Although each case study provides an extensive examination of a complex, ethically centered dilemma, for the book to be fully beneficial in honing a personal pedagogy, the editors encourage readers to proactively engage with all aspects of the book.

Section One

Early Childhood and Elementary Dance Education Section Editors: Theresa Purcell Cone and Susan W. Stinson

Section Introduction Susan W. Stinson and Theresa Purcell Cone

“So what will you do after you graduate?” Jeannine, a senior dance major student still struggling with uncertainties, dreads hearing this frequently asked question. Tentatively, she responds, “What I really would love to do is teach dance in an elementary school.” Her interrogator looks confused. “Really? Like, you mean, teaching those square dances we learned in 4th grade?” Jeannine sighs inwardly and patiently explains, “Well, yeah, I could be doing some of that—but no, I mean, actually teaching creative dance and other kinds of dance full time, as a dance specialist in the schools.” The response is not unexpected: “You can really do that? Like, actually make a living?” Jeannine, still feeling uncertain, acknowledges, “I don’t think there are a lot of positions for dance teachers at the elementary level, especially compared to high school. But I’m excited to be a pioneer. And I love the openness of younger students. I didn’t get to take dance at this age, but my 8­ -year-old niece tells me it is the one place at school where she gets to ‘be herself.’ Most children are eager to move and dance as a way to express their experiences, understandings, and feelings. Dance can be an individual experience of s­ elf-awareness and at the same time it is a communal experience where children learn from each other.” Both support and concern come in response: “Well, you certainly sound enthusiastic! But I hope you find out more before you take the plunge.” In a class the following semester, Jeannine has a chance to learn more about the landscape of dance in elementary education, and discovers that, while there are many excellent dance programs in elementary schools in the United States, they are not widespread. The most recent Department of Education data on the availability of dance in public elementary schools reveal that just three percent of schools offer specific dance instruction, down from 10

Section Introduction (Stinson & Cone)   11 20 percent in 1999–2000 (Parsad and Spiegelman, 2012, pp. 40–42). Of that three percent of dance instruction only half was provided by dance specialist teachers. About the same percentage had a district curriculum guide which teachers were expected to follow, and nearly the equivalent number offered dance instruction once a week, though not necessarily for the whole school year. In addition to the three percent of schools offering specialized dance instruction, 61 percent of schools reported that dance was integrated into other curriculum areas, a modest decrease from the 66 percent reported a decade previously. In other words, elementary dance instruction can be delivered by a variety of educators, including certified dance educators in states where certification is available; physical education teachers; music, drama, and art educators; dance teaching artists; and sometimes the classroom teacher. Although each essay in this section involves a specialist dance teacher, this is not the norm nationwide in the U.S. But like Jeannine’s plans for her future, determined dance educators not only find, but also help create such positions. Once hired, elementary dance educators have significant guidance in figuring out what to teach, thanks to standards at the national, state, and local levels; these specify what content children should learn in a developmentally appropriate dance program. The National Coalition for Core Arts Standards, an alliance of national arts and arts education organizations including the National Dance Education Organization (NDEO), published The National Core Arts Standards in 2014; dance standards are available through NDEO. While these and other standards may seem like heady technical reading, most dance educators find that they provide helpful guideposts for designing lesson plans and assessments. Most standards are grounded in educational theory. Multiple texts (such as Charlesworth, 2017 and Mooney, 2013) offer summaries of theories considered most important by their authors. Writings by John Dewey (1938) and Maria Montessori (Gordon and Browne, 2014) have been especially important in dance education because of their advocacy for experiential learning, which is often used as justification for programs integrating movement and dance as a way of learning in other curricular areas. Dewey and Montessori also emphasized the need for careful observation of children as a guideline for what and how educators teach, always useful advice for dance educators. Early developmental theorists, such as Jean Piaget (1929), who emphasized cognitive development—the construction of thought processes, such as remembering, problem solving, and d ­ ecision-making, and Erik Erikson (1950), who emphasized psychosocial development, identified stages of development from infancy to late adulthood to help make sense of differences between individuals at different ages. Developmental theories can help dance educators figure out, for example, when and why performing for an audience

12  Section One is most likely to be a helpful learning experience. Such theories are fundamental when anyone writing learning standards for elementary education attempts to determine what is “developmentally appropriate” at a particular age or stage, even though stage theories have been questioned by those who see child development as more continuous and ongoing. Another important controversy within developmental theory, often referred to as “nature vs. nurture,” occurs between those who see development as guided mainly by genetics and biology and those who see greater significance in one’s social and cultural environment. One similarity between Piaget and Lev Vygotsky (1978), another important theorist often cited in education literature, is their recognition that children construct their understandings of the world, and that parents and educators have opportunities to facilitate children’s development from one stage to the next, based on the kind of environment provided for them. A more recent challenge to strict developmental theory comes from those whose observations of c­ ross-cultural differences between children of similar ages have caused educators to question their expectations and pay greater attention to the impact of culture. Dance educators in culturally diverse classrooms find this approach especially helpful. While written standards appear to assume that all children of the same age are relatively homogeneous, few educators would make this assertion. Within each age group there are differences based not only on culture (in the broadest sense, including language, religious and ethnic identity), but also gender/gender identity, identified learning differences, disability status, s­ ocio-economic status, family structure, and more, all of which have implications for dance curriculum. All kinds of human differences provide complexity and richness to communities and to art, but also are at the root of some of the greatest challenges to educators today, including dance educators, as noted by Karen Bond (1994, 2017), Alfdaniels Mabingo (2018), Doug Risner and Sherrie Barr (2015), and Cynthia S’thembile West (2005). With these differences in mind, some educational theorists have begun to write about approaches to education that are based on concepts of inclusion and universal design. The inclusion concept (UNESCO, 2005) may be traced to requirements for mainstreaming special education students into classrooms. Universal Design for Learning is a r­ esearch-based framework inspired by universal design in architecture, where design features intended for individuals with disabilities have had unexpected benefits for the general population (CAST, 2008). When applied to the dance classroom, such approaches mean that children of all abilities, backgrounds, cultures, and beliefs have the opportunity to learn, create, and perform dance with their peers. Diversity is viewed as an asset where multiple perspectives are embraced and encouraged, where all students are respected and viewed as equal contributors to the lesson. Figuring out just how to do this is a standard pedagogical



Section Introduction (Stinson & Cone)   13

challenge for today’s educators trying to determine what will help all children learn best.

Case Studies The case studies in this section represent a special sort of pedagogical challenge—one that moves dance educators beyond “best practices” and simple right versus wrong decisions. Rather, confronting an ethical dilemma happens in the context of legitimate yet conflicting visions of what is “right,” or better, “which solution is least wrong, or causes the least harm.” As authors share insights into the thinking of dance educators and perspectives of some of the different stakeholders, readers will notice that looking through a single lens ignores the interests of others. The first two essays in this section raise ethical issues arising within the context of cultural diversity. In “Culture and Conflict: Planning a Dance Partnership,” Marissa Beth Nesbit tells the story of a dance educator teaching third grade students, including a majority from a Latino culture. While all students participate in dance during the regular school day, there is little participation in an ­after-school dance program, which is part of a l­ ong-time, e­ xternally-funded collaboration with a local ballet company. Some Latino parents privately reveal this program produces cultural conflicts. Although there are options to collaborate with other groups instead, ones the Latino funder supports, the dance educator realizes that loss of the ballet company contract would have some unexpected and e­ thically-challenging ramifications. In “The Ethics of Discussing Religious Beliefs in a Primary Dance Classroom,” Becky Dyer and Susan W. Stinson focus on the ethical dilemmas that arise when a frightening situation during class leads s­ econd-grade children to spontaneously bring up religious beliefs in their culturally diverse classroom and the dance educator is uncertain about how to respond. As the dance educator raises questions for herself, readers may imagine themselves in a similar situation, one in which there is no solution which meets the needs of children and avoids all risks of upsetting one or more key constituents. In “Challenges and Solutions to Including Students with Disabilities,” Theresa Purcell Cone, Doug Risner, and Karen Schupp raise issues of ability status and who has the right to decide whether a child with a disability should have access to the dance program. In this scenario, a student who uses a wheelchair is denied access, a decision made by the school’s Special Education Team (SET) without knowledge about how a dance educator can make adaptations for full participation. The new dance educator finds himself facing the dilemma of whether to yield to the authority of the SET leader and established precedent for following the already established Individual

14  Section One Education Plan (IEP), or standing up for what he considers right for the student. In “She Wants to Dance with the Boys,” Monica J. Cameron Frichtel shares the story of conflicting interests when a male guest artist is hired to create a piece of choreography for boys in a performing arts school, focused around exploring what it is like to be a boy in dance. One girl’s request to be included conflicts with the desire of the female dance educator to offer something special for boys in order to support them and increase male enrollment, and the vision of the guest artist to support diverse identities among males. This essay offers a clear ethical dilemma in which there is no decision that would satisfy all constituents, providing readers an opportunity to consider how they might respond in a similar situation. While other essays throughout this text also deal with gender, religious and cultural differences, disability status and the ethical dilemmas they raise for dance educators, these issues sometimes play out differently in an elementary classroom, due to the developmental level of children in the PK–6 age group and high levels of parental involvement. The overriding relationship of this section to the rest of the book, however, is that all the players in these essays are compassionate people who want to do “the right thing.” Indeed, there is always a tendency when facing a problem to look for the correct answer, like the solution to a good mystery or the precise word solving a crossword puzzle. But as with all ethical dilemmas, the difficulty comes not in choosing right over wrong, but in deciding between conflicting choices that are neither all right nor all wrong. N.K. Freeman (1998) defines ethical dilemmas in education as ones in which “teachers have to take action that will benefit one party at some expense or inconvenience to another,” and further adds that “resolving dilemmas forces teachers to prioritize among the conflicting wants, needs, or interests of students, parents, colleagues, or the larger society” (p. 32). In other words, making one right choice in an ethical dilemma usually means that an individual cannot make another which is equally right and equally important. Ethical decisions are difficult because no single option clearly dominates the alternatives. Susan W. Stinson (2005) shares three ethical d ­ ecision-making principles from Rushworth Kidder (1995), any one of which can be used as a guide: “Do what’s best for the greatest number of people”; “Follow your highest sense of principle”; and “Do what you want others to do to you” (p. 154). These principles can help dance educators see more choices, but often the choices lead to different outcomes. Such lack of certainty can be uncomfortable, sometimes leading people to decide prematurely and ignore the consequences. This is no more frequent in dance education than in other parts of one’s life, because ethical dilemmas abound everywhere. Perhaps dancers may be better equipped than some others to deal with the discomfort of uncertainty,



Section Introduction (Stinson & Cone)   15

because the creative process is replete with uncertainty. In addition, dance educators who regularly engage in deep reflection on their work, considering multiple possibilities and who gains and who loses from each, may be even better prepared. Ultimately difficult decisions must be made, but hopefully readers will become better equipped to face the inevitable discomfort they will face in the future with courage and with compassion for others and themselves.

Culture and Conflict Planning a Dance Partnership Marissa Beth Nesbit

SYNOPSIS: When tasked with planning for an afterschool program, a dance educator finds herself caught between the needs of families in her predominantly Latino school community and her personal friendship with a guest teaching artist.

Introduction Who gets to study dance? What kind of dance is taught? Who gets to decide? In 2011, the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities issued Reinvesting in Arts Education: Winning America’s Future through Creative Schools, a report on the status of arts education across the country. The authors summarized: While we found a growing body of research to support positive educational outcomes associated with ­arts-rich schools, and many schools and programs engaged in such work, we also found enormous variety in the delivery of arts education, resulting in a complex patchwork with pockets of visionary activity flourishing in some locations and inequities in access to arts education increasing in others [p. v].

The Committee noted that many of the current debates in arts education are concerned with delivery methods—where, when, and by whom the arts education curriculum is deployed. Often, these debates are driven not only by considerations of the quality of curriculum and instruction and the availability of financial resources for school arts programs, but also concerns of employment opportunities for working artists, equity across communities, and fiscal sustainability of arts programs. These issues—employment, equity, and sustainability—gain added com­plexity in practice where they intersect with the concerns of individual teachers, 16



Culture and Conflict (Nesbit)  17

artists, students, and community members working in collaboration. What at first might seem an abstract policy debate becomes a very tangible and pressing question when limited resources, aesthetic and cultural differences, and interpersonal relationships enter the equation and plans have to be made. In the following case study, we meet an elementary school dance educator who must confront these questions h ­ ead-on. Sierra Benson teaches a s­ tandards-based dance curriculum to all students during the school day; her school is also host to a community partnership where a dance teaching artist provides ­after-school lessons for selected students. When the future of the partnership is under discussion, Ms. Benson finds that multiple concerns drive the conversation but not everyone is given the power to voice their needs. On one level, the situation in this case study, dealing with an ­after-school program that Ms. Benson is not directly responsible for teaching, may seem supplemental to the core of her pedagogical practices. However, when looking at curriculum as the totality of lived experience in a school community— far greater than the scope and sequence of objectives set for a particular class or grade level—we can see how a dance educator’s personal pedagogy extends far beyond the space and time of individual lessons. Relationships with students, parents, and community partners form the ground on which transformative teaching and learning experiences can grow, or wither.

The Case “…and exhale….” The circle of third graders calmly rests their hands on their chests, feeling the pounding of their hearts after jumping and turning their way through an energetic dance class. “Ah! Hermosa bailando hoi!” Sierra Benson exclaims, smiling as she looks around at each child. “Thank you! Gracias!” “Ms. Benson? Ms. Benson!” Luis calls. “¿Vamos al centro para ver que jugar con las hadas como los de tercer grado lo hizo el año pasado?” Ms. Benson’s eyes grow wide and a brief panic spreads across her face. While she took several years of Spanish in high school and college, she doesn’t consider herself fluent, especially when listening to the r­ apid-fire speech of excited children. “I’m sorry, Luis, again, a little slower?” she asks. “He means,” interjects Celina, “are we gonna go to see that play? The one with the princess and fairies and candy?” “It is called Nutcracker,” Kaitlin explains with an air of authority. “And it’s a ballet, not a play.” “Ah! Sí, sí” Ms. Benson smiles and gently lowers to eye level with the

18  Section One small group, attempting to diffuse the moment of tension among the children. It is subtle, but it is a situation she finds herself in quite often lately. Located in a hotspot for gentrification, Pine Crest Elementary has seen dramatic shifts in their community demographics over the past decade as the school enrollment zone has incorporated more w ­ orking-class, predominantly Latino neighborhoods. “Luis, you are asking about the t­ hird-grade ballet trip. To answer your question, we are still making plans for our arts programs,” Ms. Benson explains. “I’m so excited to be in ­after-school dance this year!” Kaitlin calls out. “Are you all gonna come to ballet too?” She looks at Celina and Luis expectantly. “I’m going to play soccer!” Luis replies. “I took the form home, but my abuela said no,” Celina says softly. “En realidad, mi mamá dice que tengo que quedarme en casa con mi hermano después de la escuela,” Luis says, walking with her toward the door. As the students line up, the intercom buzzes loudly. “Ms. Benson, you have a visitor in the office!” “Thank you! I’ll be there after carpool duty!” she calls and gathers her folders for the Arts Alive program. Funded through a collective of private banks, it provides support for each partner school to work closely with an arts organization. Since before Ms. Benson was hired, Pine Crest has worked with Metro Ballet, who provided teaching artists for an ­after-school dance class and free tickets to The Nutcracker for every t­ hird-grade student. The ballet curriculum is a p ­ re-professional training program, and the company often uses it to recruit students into their Academy. While the lessons appear to be kinesiologically sound, over the last year Ms. Benson has found herself questioning the utility of ballet in relation to her comprehensive, c­ reative-movement based program. Particularly for children who thrive when the energy level is high and community support is nurtured, ballet’s slow pace, restrained movement, and implied hierarchy of standing in lines seems disconnected from their learning needs. In the past two years, participation in the program has dwindled, and she wonders how she might convince Metro Ballet to shift their curriculum to something more active and creative. Ms. Benson dons her reflective vest and makes her way to the pickup area. “Hola!” she calls out to Teresa Garza, Luis’s mother, who is waiting with Elena, his older sister. “Luis was a leader for his group in Dance today!” Mrs. Benson continues. “Buen trabajo!” Mrs. Garza pulls her son in for a hug. “I’m heading into a meeting with the Arts Alive people, about the ­after-school program. Will Elena be in it again this year? And Luis? Now that he is in third grade, he can join too!” Ms. Benson reminds their mother.



Culture and Conflict (Nesbit)  19

Just then Evely Calderón, Celina’s grandmother, arrives. “Ella pregunta acerca de las lecciones de ballet,” Mrs. Garza explains. Mrs. Calderón frowns. “I told Celina no, we need her at home,” she tells Ms. Benson. “I don’t think Elena will be in the ballet class this year either,” Mrs. Garza replies, noticing disappointment on the dance teacher’s face. “And Luis, you know, we like that they have the arts at school, and even dance. But ballet…” she trails off, not wanting to offend the dance teacher. “…it is for gringas,” Mrs. Calderón finishes. Mrs. Benson tries not to look shocked. “I think, what we mean is, ballet, it is not our culture. And we need our children at home to help,” Mrs. Garza explains, trying to soften the tension. “You know, school is good, they learn English, they learn all the different cultures. But after school, it is time for family, for our culture.” “Sí,” Mrs. Calderón concurs. “We wanted our children at this school for the arts program,” Mrs. Garza continues. “And we know you are trying to make more opportunities for the kids.” “Maybe, if you can have a Mexican artist, or something for the boys too, then maybe we would have them stay after school,” Mrs. Calderón offers. “Yeah, that would be something to think about…” Ms. Benson replies, not wanting to make any promises she can’t fulfill. “I’ll talk to Principal Williams about it.” “Oh, gracias.” Mrs. Garza smiles as she takes her children’s hands to lead them home. *** “Sierra!” Walking into the office, Ms. Benson is greeted warmly by Kelly Watson, the teaching artist from Metro Ballet. Longtime friends, they first met in the dance department at Crestview University. Kelly left in their second year when she was offered a contract with Metro Ballet, while Sierra stayed to finish her dance education degree. The two have remained close; they were in each other’s weddings and regularly spend holidays together. Now retired from performing, Kelly teaches classes through private studios and community projects. “Kelly! Glad to see you!” Sierra Benson gives her friend a quick hug. “This is Gordon Martinez from Arts Alive—he’s coordinating the project this year,” Mrs. Williams, the school principal, explains. Sierra notices a brief worried expression on Kelly’s face at the introduction, but Kelly quickly smiles. After everyone catches up, the group begins discussing plans for this year’s residency. “I’ve been looking at our participation data over the past

20  Section One few years,” Mr. Martinez explains. “As you know, the goal of Arts Alive is to strengthen education by providing quality arts experiences to populations that are historically underserved,” he continues. “Which is why we are so grateful to have your support,” Mrs. Williams comments. “Many of our families cannot afford the time or money to take their kids to performances, but they just love it so much when we go.” “Yes, of course, and we are so glad to have your involvement as an administrator,” Mr. Martinez replies. “I want to share with you some of our program evaluation results. Unfortunately, over the last three years, we’ve seen a steady decline in the number of students participating in the ­after-school arts component, particularly among the Latino population.” Principal Williams frowns. Mr. Martinez continues, “When we look at the data by gender, it is even more skewed, as only about a fifth of the kids still in the program at the end of the year are boys.” “Well, we’re going to have to work on that! I mean, it is such a great program, and that performance you put on last year,” she turns and smiles at Kelly, “it was so cute! I just love seeing the kids have so much fun!” Sierra tries not to make her distaste obvious. Given the intensive work she has done to develop a comprehensive curriculum that integrates dance with areas such as English as a Second Language, she is offended when administrators imply that dance is only “cute” or “fun.” “Well, I am glad to hear you say that,” Mr. Martinez turns to Principal Williams, “and we will need your involvement, especially because things may need to shift this year.” “Well all right, let’s do it!” Mrs. Williams says enthusiastically, as the worried look returns to Kelly’s face. “Arts Alive wants to be sure that all students have access to the arts activities we provide,” Kelly states strongly. Mr. Martinez nods in agreement. “We also want to see that the community’s needs are met and that we are working with art forms that resonate with the cultural interests of our partner schools.” Setting a stack of colorful brochures on the table, he continues, “Now I know you’ve had a great partnership with Metro Ballet for the past several years, and that is wonderful,” he says, nodding in Kelly’s direction. “But schools grow and needs change, and as the school partner, you are able to select the arts organization you want to work with each year. We have an outstanding roster of organizations and teaching artists, and I’m happy to connect you with any of them.” Kelly shifts nervously in her seat as Mrs. Williams reaches toward the brochures. “These all look very interesting,” the principal comments, “but it’s rather late to change gears. It is already the end of September. Why don’t we just

Culture and Conflict (Nesbit)  21 focus on getting more of the parents on board with the program we have, rather than trying to launch something completely new?” “Certainly, that is a concern,” Mr. Martinez replies. “But I do have to warn you, if participation numbers don’t increase, Arts Alive won’t continue funding you past this year.” Kelly frowns. “Sierra, can’t you do something to get the parents to sign their kids up?” “You know,” Mr. Martinez interrupts, “when we are working in community programs like this, it is really helpful to involve the families in the process, especially when it comes to young kids. Perhaps you invite parents and grandparents to the table, and see what artists they would want to have at the school.” Sierra’s mind flashes back to the conversation she had at p ­ ick-up. “I think that could be great! I’ve talked to a couple of family members, and I know they really are interested in their kids having lots of arts experiences, but they want it to reflect their culture.” “Sierra, I see what you are saying, but you know we have a hard time getting families involved in anything here. Our last PTA meeting had dismal turnout,” Mrs. Williams says. “If you wait to get the Latino parents in the room, you’ll never get this project organized. Plus, it sounds like you’d lose funding for the Nutcracker trip as well, and you’re always telling me your kids don’t see enough live dance.” Feeling defeated, Sierra looks to Mr. Martinez. “It can’t hurt to at least ask around. And I’m happy to help,” Mr. Martinez offers. “Well, Ms. Benson, I’ll leave it to you then, but you’ll need to have all this sorted by the grant deadline,” Principal Williams says sternly. *** Later that evening, Kelly, clearly upset, calls Sierra to talk about the program. “I know Gordon is worried about making sure he ups his numbers of minorities because that looks good to funders, but I need you to help him see that what we do is valuable too.” “I hear you,” Sierra replies, “but we really do need to be responsive to the community if we want more families to participate.” “Yeah, but isn’t it stereotyping to assume that Mexican families only want their kids to see Mexican arts? Some of your Latino kids love ballet!” Kelly shoots back. “Well, some parents have told me that this is one reason they don’t send their kids to the ­after-school classes,” Sierra explains. “But shouldn’t school expand kids’ horizons? Haven’t you always told me that it’s the job of the school to educate parents as well as students? Think

22  Section One about how much it means to your poor students that they get to come downtown to the theatre. Besides, the second act of Nutcracker is all dances from around the world, so there is the diversity piece.” “Well that’s not really--” Sierra protests. “Look, Metro Ballet has already lost a major corporate sponsor, and our NEA grant is ending. The director has cut back some of my teaching already, and without the Arts Alive gig at Pine Crest, I won’t be able to cover my health insurance.” “Oh.” A sinking feeling hits Sierra when she remembers that Kelly was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease in college and is still struggling to pay off medical bills. Recalling her students’ enthusiasm for the field trip and after school ballet lessons, she feels even more torn. “Please, Sierra, let’s keep this partnership going. I love working with you, and I need to keep this job.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Sierra replies.

Dilemma and Stakeholders Sierra Benson finds that her efforts to sustain meaningful relationships with families are in conflict with her desire to support the school’s arts partnership that employs a longtime friend. Tasked by her principal to make a decision regarding the future of the partnership, Ms. Benson also has some information about the other stakeholders that is not known to all, yet will impact her choices. Her decision is likely to be viewed differently by each stakeholder and may influence her future relationships with them. To arrive at a decision, Ms. Benson needs to consider the dilemma from the perspectives of her students, their families, her administration, and the Arts Alive program. Celina, Luis, and the other Latino students from w ­ orking-class families have limited access to arts activities outside of school and have expressed enthusiasm for the ballet field trip that has been part of the grant program. Mrs. Calderón, Celina’s grandmother, and Mrs. Garza, Luis’s mother, are dissatisfied with the current ­after-school ballet program and will not have their students participate in it; they would like for their children to access arts programs reflective of their Mexican heritage. Kaitlin and the other predominantly white students from m ­ iddle-class families regularly access arts and other extracurricular activities outside of school, and they are eager to take advantage of the ­after-school lessons provided at the school as well. Kelly Watson, the ballet teaching artist, is dependent on her income from the Arts Alive partnership at Pine Crest and risks losing her m ­ uch-needed health insurance if the school were to choose a different arts partner. Gordon Martinez, the Arts Alive administrator, has to ensure

Culture and Conflict (Nesbit)  23 that the programs his agency funds show full participation. His experience working in s­ chool-community partnerships and past engagement with Latino arts organizations have made him especially aware of the value of seeking family input on programs. Principal Williams wants to maintain her school’s eligibility for the Arts Alive program and the associated resources it brings. Although Principal Williams is a supporter of arts education, she is not deeply discerning about critical dance pedagogy and she does not appear to have a strong relationship with the Latino families in her school community. Ms. Benson deliberates on several questions while thinking through her options. Should Ms. Benson continue with the status quo and renew the ballet partnership for another year? If she does so, what risks does she face? Should she attempt to become more involved in the ballet lessons and encourage the teaching artist to adopt a more culturally inclusive curriculum, or would that require overstepping her bounds by appearing to tell a colleague how to teach? What benefits could such a decision engender? Alternatively, should Ms. Benson attempt to invite families to the school for input on the arts programming? How could she ensure that the Latino families are able to fully participate in such a discussion? What risks does she face in opening up the program to family input, and what benefits might such an approach provide?

Pedagogical Elements Like many programs across the country, Arts Alive and the arts organizations it funds bill themselves as “community partners.” But what does it mean to be a community? Is it defined by a geographic region around the school, language or other cultural attributes, or shared struggles and concerns? In her descriptions of culturally responsive teachers, educational researcher Gloria L ­ adson-Billings (1995) notes that they “saw themselves as members of the community” (p. 478) and demonstrates ways that they engaged their students with local problems and resources. It is unclear how Arts Alive, the Metro Ballet, or their personnel see themselves relative to the Pine Crest Elementary community. Do they live near the school, have offices or studios nearby, or create art in response to local issues? Understanding how the “community” is defined is critical, especially if school district funding for arts programs is reduced and outside agencies step in to address this need. When outside organizations can access private funding to support the “community,” they wield increasing power in the arts education landscape, often without clear accountability. Educational researcher Tasha Perkins (2015) considers the construct of “community” as one with multiple meanings and

24  Section One encourages a critical examination of the way that power is leveraged when a school enters into partnership with a community entity: If school–community partnerships are imbued with a sentiment of salvation, we must question who is being rescued, who the saviors are, and to what end salvation is to take place … is mercy being distributed in disregard to the cultural interests of those under subordination? Simply stated, we might consider whether or not the politics within school–community partnerships are imposing on certain community members a particular way of being in the world [p. 326].

The idea that “politics” is at play when planning for a school arts program may seem foreign to many educators, and yet, questions of power in the ­decision-making process are clearly at the heart of Ms. Benson’s dilemma. When she suggests involving families, her principal expresses doubt that this will be effective and encourages a course of action limiting Latino families’ power and disregarding their cultural interests. However, education experts regularly stress the importance that families hold in children’s education and the valuable role that ­family-school partnerships play in student success (Vega, Lasser and Fernandez, 2017) . To promote effective f­ amily-school partnerships, school personnel must be committed to understanding and dismantling the structures and practices that communicate to families that their participation is neither welcome nor necessary. School psychologist Desireé Vega and colleagues (2017) describe possible barriers to effective f­ amily-school partnerships with Latino families, including differing conceptions about the roles of school and family in a child’s development, language barriers, and fear of school personnel as authorities who will report on immigration status to law enforcement; these are in addition to barriers such as work and family schedules, transportation, and child care that impact many families’ participation in school activities. Educational consultant Elise Trumbull and colleagues (2001) explain that many Latino students’ families may experience conflict between the collectivist values of home and family culture and the individualistic values promoted within American school culture; such differences can affect many interactions between families and school personnel. When educators are aware of the values that students and families hold, they can work toward addressing those values to provide educational experiences that are culturally responsive and promote student success. What does it mean to teach in a way that is responsive to the cultures with which students identify? L ­ adson-Billings (1995), who developed the theory of culturally responsive pedagogy, explains that it “not only addresses student achievement but also helps students to accept and affirm their cultural identity while developing critical perspectives that challenge inequities that schools (and other institutions) perpetuate” (p. 469). Multicultural education scholar Geneva Gay (2000) further explains how the content of the curriculum

Culture and Conflict (Nesbit)  25 is critical for fostering student empowerment and contends, “ethnically diverse students and their cultural heritages must be the sources and centers of educational programs” (p. 111). In the case here, we learn that Ms. Benson has doubts about the relevance of the ballet pedagogy to the children’s learning needs, and we hear family members express concern regarding the art form itself as representative of a cultural value system they do not share. Yet no dance form or curriculum is culturally neutral; while eschewing set “steps,” Ms. Benson’s own creative movement curriculum evokes and embodies a distinct set of cultural values and in particular, prizes individuality and originality. What could be the role of traditional forms such as ballet within an elementary dance program? Gay (2000) invites readers to consider how content from multiple cultural contexts can be chosen and made relevant to all students: … curriculum content should be chosen and delivered in ways that are directly meaningful to the students for whom it is intended. In some instances, this means validating their personal experiences and cultural heritages; in others, it means teaching content entirely new to students but in ways that make it easy for them to comprehend [p. 112].

Applying this process of curriculum inquiry to dance, Nyama M ­ cCarthy-Brown (2009) traces the evolution of her own pedagogy. She explains, Today I work against favoring any one aesthetic over another and am conscientious to promote students’ study of and connection to dances from their own culture. I no longer see it as an accomplishment when my students choose Western dance forms over their own cultural movement genre. The “and, both” philosophy is promoted instead of the “either, or” approach [p. 122].

When attempting to construct a multicultural dance curriculum, many dance educators face the limitations of their own training in western theatrical traditions; they may lack embodied knowledge of dance forms from other cultural traditions. Thus, even when they recognize the value of incorporating multiple forms into their curricula, some dance educators may be unable to do so knowledgeably. Others find that the perspectives of any single educator are not enough to foster a comprehensive dance program—the “and, both” that M ­ cCarthy-Brown advocates—and turn to guest artists and community organizations to supplement their curricula. Doug Risner (2010c) asserts: Within this curricular negotiation, an “either/or” approach to decision making often surfaces in which dance unit priorities are determined in fragmented ways. From this either/or view, departments frequently address particular parts of their programs rather than the interconnected whole of the unit. Unified thinking necessitates a move away from fragmentation to “both/and” thinking about the breadth and depth of our programs [p. 133].

Whereas the institutions—the school and the arts organization—form the partnership, it is the people who are the partners; the working relationships

26  Section One between teachers and the artists and arts administrators provide the foundation of most solid partnerships. Like many interactions in the dance world, these relationships often blur the boundaries of personal and professional as people invest substantial time and effort in their work together over time. Collaboratively planning and teaching is a pedagogical skill; the ability to share ideas, offer feedback, and respectfully question one another’s practices is vital. In this case, Ms. Benson has not yet developed effective strategies for collaborating with her friend, though it is possible that their shared background and mutual concern for students could provide the foundation for a successful professional relationship. The power of a strong alliance between dedicated educators for strengthening one another’s practice—and ultimately, student learning—should not be underestimated. Numerous pedagogical elements intersect in this case; all relate back to the web of relationships that dance educators must navigate throughout their careers. Ultimately the curricular questions driving this case—What kind of dance gets taught? Who gets to decide?—are not ones that educators can tackle alone, for the biggest question—In whose benefit?—has implications that extend far beyond the dance classroom.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy What Parents Can Teach Us About Students Karen Schupp and Doug Risner APPLICATION: This activity encourages you to gain a perspective of how others view dance and how communication between students, families, and dance educators can be effective and productive to student learning.

Activity Read the following passage and then consider the question below: “As a dance educator, I fully believe that a successful education is highly dependent on parental involvement. Because of that, I make numerous

Culture and Conflict (Nesbit)  27 attempts to involve parents in our dance program; however, many parents do not participate. I know many parents are juggling work, multiple children, and other family commitments, so I don’t want to put too much pressure on them to participate in our programs. Plus, some parents don’t realize what their children are learning in our dance program—they just assume it’s a fun exercise class, so they aren’t inclined to find out more. I guess as long as I keep inviting them to be involved, there’s not much more that I can do.”

Task In your opinion, what assumptions might this teacher hold about parents and her responsibility for engaging parents in their children’s education? With this in mind, use the following prompts to reflect on your own thinking about parental, guardian, or caregiver involvement. For each item, identify a way that you can: • promote ­two-way communication, in addition to ­one-way communication, with families or caregivers; vary your current way of communicating (types of language, word choices, as well as differing methods of communication) that are inclusive of the diversity of families, cultural preferences, and ­socio-economic backgrounds of your community. • regularly communicate with caregivers and families about students; encourage and respond to parental questions.

The Ethics of Discussing Religious Beliefs in a Primary Dance Classroom Becky Dyer and Susan W. Stinson

SYNOPSIS: A traumatic incident intensifies tensions between the developmental needs of young children for clarity and security, and the influence of their parents’ religious beliefs and spiritual practices, especially in settings where people might disagree or become offended.

Introduction Katherine Brown, a teaching veteran of 18 years, arrives early at Green Elementary School, in time for a cup of coffee and conversation with her l­ ong-time colleague, music teacher Ebony Washington. Ms. Brown begins, “Am I the only one feeling tired and overwhelmed these days? Today’s students are just so—different.” Raising an eyebrow, Ms. Washington offers a n ­ on-committal, “Tell me what you mean by ‘different.’” Ms. Brown continues, “I remember my first teaching job at a private Christian elementary school where every child was w ­ ell-dressed, bathed and nourished, and each class started with a prayer and the pledge of Allegiance: ‘one nation, under God, indivisible…’” Ms. Washington takes a risk with her response: “So everyone was pretty much like you? Have you considered going back to that kind of school?” “No, I couldn’t do that,” Ms. Brown replies with a twinge of embarrassment. “It’s just harder to establish common ground in my classroom here. I want all students to feel they belong, even those who come from countries under other flags or hold different religious beliefs, and those whose families 28

Discussing Religious Beliefs (Dyer & Stinson)   29 struggle for d ­ ay-to-day survival. Despite all the positive focus on diversity in our school, it’s still a challenge. And yet I love it here—I feel so much more needed, like I can make a real difference in the children’s lives.” In a whisper, she continues, “I have never told anyone else this, but teaching dance at this school feels like my spiritual calling.” Ms. Washington adds conspiratorially, “I understand. I’m a Christian too, and I’m pretty sure most families at Green Elementary are as well. But we aren’t supposed to talk about religion in school,” she chuckles. The thoughts of these two colleagues are not unusual. Although avoiding any mention of religion may seem to be the easiest way to s­ ide-step controversy, l­ ong-time dance educators Pat and Kathie Debenham (2008) have spoken to what is lost when teachers don’t talk about religion in schools. Their reflective inquiry led them to conclude that the spiritual dimension of dance draws many to dance education. They note a reticence among dance educators to openly share the sacred nature of their personal connections to dance or to foster ­teaching-learning environments that explicitly and intentionally address and nurture the spiritual in students. … [T]his phenomenon is not unique to dance education; it reflects a public and private conviction that values the separation of church and state [Debenham and Debenham, 2008, pp. 44–45].

They suggest that teachers are encouraged to “lead fragmented and inauthentic lives, where we act either as if we are not spiritual beings, or as if our spiritual side is irrelevant to our vocation or work,” which divorces work from one’s deepest values (Debenham and Debenham, 2008, pp. 44–45). Likewise, children often experience a divide between spiritual understandings nurtured at home and academic knowledge gained at school. Debenham and Debenham (2008) maintain, When dance educators shut the door on this aspect of human knowing, we turn away from the essential, deep parts of ourselves that give us our humanity…. If, in fact, the sacred is central to and deeply rooted in a dance educator’s own practice, hesitancy to include it in their teaching practice creates a disconnect that has broad implications [pp. 44–45].

While these authors advocate including the spiritual dimension, not discussion of religious beliefs per se, the two are often challenging to separate in practice, as this essay will reveal. The work of Edward Darden (2006), an attorney and consultant specializing in school law and public policy, helps clarify the significance of religion in the development of children. He notes that, while the United States is home to more than 2000 religions, “Public schools are also where youngsters develop values—particularly at young, impressionable ages” (Darden, 2006, n.p.). Children’s values are woven into their identities. Through extensive research, psychoanalyst Maria Rizzuto (2001, 1979) discovered a strong tie

30  Section One between the development of identity in children and religious practices, finding that God images develop at every life stage; she concludes that “each new phase in the identity cycle brings with it a specific religious cycle” (Rizzuto, 1979, p. 52). This raises the question of whether it is in the best interest of children to avoid educational discussion of religious issues. While “separation of church and state” is often thought to be enshrined in the Constitution, Darden (2006) reveals that this is not so clear when he writes that, although U.S. Supreme Court decisions keep shifting the standards and expectations for public schools…. The Constitution ensures that every student who receives public schooling has the opportunity to express his or her sincerely held belief, or to be free from the unwelcome pressure to believe at all [n.p.].

Although freedom of religion is a constitutional right, and legal scholars indicate that this may apply to schools as well, educational policies or practices often lead teachers to assume that any discussion of religious beliefs in the classroom is prohibited. Further, as indicated in the case below, this may mean that teachers do not have the knowledge, skills, or confidence to facilitate such discussion, perhaps especially in a ­post-traumatic situation when it might be especially comforting. These issues, and the conflicting interests of different stakeholders, complicate the ethical dilemma faced by Ms. Brown.

The Case On the morning of Ms. Brown’s conversation with a colleague that opened this essay, her third class of the day is beginning as usual: students are bustling into the dance classroom, chattering as they transition from the playground. Once they are settled, Ms. Brown begins to guide students through the day’s lesson, when suddenly everything changes: the signal for a “lockdown” is transmitted over the intercom. Ms. Brown silently issues a prayer of gratitude that she has practiced the procedures with her students and they all know what to do. She locks her door and closes the blinds, then directs students to gather in the designated “safe corner” of the classroom and turns out the lights. She places two fingers over her lips, the signal for total silence. Ms. Brown consciously begins to slow and deepen her breath, hoping the students will perceive this and echo her since they are in close proximity and have done exercises like this in dance class before. Placing her hand over her heart and lungs, she silently signals her students to do the same as she continues to slow her breath. Seeing the fear in her students’ faces and feeling the same in the pit of

Discussing Religious Beliefs (Dyer & Stinson)   31 her own stomach, she silently recites words she knows from long practice of her own faith: “Though I may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me…” As the minutes drag on, she wonders what prayers might be in the minds of her young students and realizes how little she knows of their faith traditions. After what seems like forever, she finally hears the official signal that the lockdown has been lifted. Crying with relief, she hugs the children and walks them to their anxiously awaiting parents. As she r­ e-enters the building she joins a group of teachers speaking to Vice Principal Robbins. “What happened?” one teacher asks. “A gunman jumped the fence and opened fire on the playground during recess B,” Mr. Robbins replies, his anguish clearly visible. Pausing to collect himself, he continues, “Missy Potter from Mr. Gonzalez’s second grade class was struck by a bullet. She died a few minutes ago in the hospital.” *** Ms. Brown is not sure how she manages to drive home, but once there she breaks down and weeps, then spends the next few days grieving the loss of Missy’s life and feeling deep sorrow about the fear and confusion her students will have to work through. Before the school reopens the next week, there is a meeting for all teachers to share guidelines for how to talk with the children after such a trauma and how to recognize signs of crisis. A counselor advises, “Try your best to provide a safe environment for children to express their feelings. The arts can be an outlet at times like these.” Ms. Brown, troubled about how she might approach this in her dance lessons, asks, “Isn’t there a delicate line between helping students heal and potentially causing emotions to emerge that I’m not qualified to address?” The counselor tries to reassure her, “If a child’s situation seems too much for you, feel free to send them to us. We’ll be on call at the school all week.” On the students’ first day back to class, some have unexpected questions, beginning with “Were you scared, Ms. Brown?” Before she can answer, Shawn says confidently, “I was scared but I prayed to Jesus and he kept me safe. Did you pray too, Ms. Brown?” The counselors had not said what to do if children bring up religious practices; Ms. Brown has been cautioned against talking about religion in a public school, but clearly no one has told the children this. The current situation is unchartered territory. Other children chime in, sharing what they have learned from their parents about the event. Samantha eagerly offers, “Jesus would be sad that mean guy shot Missy.” “Yeah,” asserts Conner, “Jesus wouldn’t shoot someone.” Then Nakiya adds, “My mom said Missy went to heaven to live with Jesus.”

32  Section One Ms. Brown is not surprised that the children who speak first offer a Christian perspective, since majority group members often feel more confident. So she makes a point of noticing several children looking down, their bodies appearing tense with feelings of not belonging. Mindful of the counselors’ direction not to push children to talk if they do not wish to, she gently asks if they want to share what they are thinking about. Some of the replies startle her. Jenna speaks softly: “My grandma says after you die you turn into a ghost.” Bala answers that her mother told her Missy’s soul would get another body. “Missy is in Paradise,” Salma says, “which is the same as Heaven, and it’s filled with toys and candy!” Eric shoots back, “Paradise is where terrorists think they are going. To go to Heaven, you have to believe in Jesus, don’t you, Ms. Brown?” Before Ms. Brown can figure out how to respond, Jacob says his dad told him that “when people die, they are just dead—they don’t go anywhere.” Johnny adds, “If Jesus is so great, why did he let Missy die?” At this moment, Ms. Brown redirects the conversation, essentially cutting off any further discussion that she fears might draw the ire of parents and administrators: “I know we’re all sad that Missy died, and it’s hard to understand why. I’m glad you are talking with your families. If you’re feeling really sad or worried, there are people at school who can help. Let’s talk now about what we knew and liked about Missy, and how we want to remember her. Maybe we can make a dance about Missy and share the video with her family.” Ideas pour forth from the children: “She hugged me when I fell on the playground.” “She had two cookies in her lunchbox one day and shared one with me.” “She was good at kickball.” Ms. Brown feels relieved to have moved from the discussion of religion to the more comfortable activity of dance, and the children seem relieved to be moving and creating as they translate their memories into what becomes a dance honoring their classmate. But that night, and for some time later, Ms. Brown wonders whether she has let her own fears—of what might happen if parents or administrators complained—get in the way of the needs of the children to talk further about the very concrete ideas that had comforted them during a traumatic time. And has she affirmed, through her silence, stereotypes about some faith traditions that could be damaging to children?

Dilemma and Stakeholders The immediate stakeholders, each with differing values and perspectives, in this case are the teacher and the students in her classroom as well as

Discussing Religious Beliefs (Dyer & Stinson)   33 their families. The traumatic event at the school triggers Ms. Brown’s awareness of how much her own religious beliefs comfort her during a fearful time. If this had happened in her own children’s school, she would be reassured to know the teacher shared her spiritual beliefs and would console her children much like she would if she were with them. In today’s classroom, she fears significant criticism for making such a choice, yet she struggles with distancing her spirituality from her work, thus risking the consequences of personal inauthenticity raised at the beginning of this essay (Debenham and Debenham 2008). Ms. Brown takes this risk when she silences her spirituality out of concern for children raised with other beliefs, those who are members of religious minorities at her school. But the questions and comments from children take the classroom discussion into territory that is uncomfortable for her and that might be troubling to parents and administrators, so she changes to a more traditional secular activity. While this seems like the safest choice, the section below on pedagogical elements of the case makes clear that there is potential risk for children when shutting down all conversation about the religious beliefs that have comforted them during a traumatic time. Further, some might argue that the secular activity that Ms. Brown chose, making a dance memorializing the goodness and kindness in someone who has died, has spiritual roots as well, and this could raise issues among some parental stakeholders who might fear this experience could open the gateway to religious persuasion. Other examples of this risk are cited in the following section of this essay. Clearly, all parents do not have the same desires for their children’s education, and there may be conflicting views even within the same faith tradition. For example, at a time when many Muslims are feeling especially threatened, some may be fearful of reprisal if their religious beliefs become any more visible; others may seek opportunities to educate families from other faiths about the value of peace in their religion, hoping such conversation could lead to understanding and empathy. School administrators are also stakeholders in a case like this one, holding responsibility for not only student learning but also their safety. They must abide by district procedures such as those employed during lockdowns, being mindful of laws and liabilities, and are responsible for teachers’ actions as well. Following a traumatic incident, administrators may feel especially vulnerable to criticism and lawsuits, even when they could not have prevented the violence. Families expect and deserve extra sensitivity from administrators at such times. In addition, administrators are held accountable for following guidelines and laws on diversity and inclusivity, while also being mindful of parents who may argue that they know best what their own young children need. Few administrators want angry parents in their offices or want their schools to be the focus of media reports related to controversial issues,

34  Section One even if they wish to emphasize inclusivity and/or attend to the holistic development of children and honor the spiritual dimensions of teachers.

Pedagogical Elements Developmental theory seems especially critical for considering this case, since the students are second graders who, according to stage theories of cognitive development (Lightfoot, Cole and Cole, 2013, p. 22, 395) are concrete thinkers. Abstract discussion of diverse theologies that might be appropriate for older students would not meet these students’ developmental needs. Young children typically adopt the religious beliefs of their parents; usually it is adolescence before young people are “thinking for themselves” about such matters. Going beyond cognitive development, spiritual beliefs may be especially comforting to young children and help them understand frightening events; thus one may question whether Ms. Brown would be adequately attending to the emotional needs of her students if she simply ignored any mention of religion after this trauma. The editors of the Handbook of Spiritual Development describe spiritual development as “a dimension of human life and experience” that is “as significant as cognitive development, emotional development, or social development” (Roehlkepartain et al., 2006, p. 9). They assert, “evidence is growing that spiritual development is a vital process and resource in young people’s journey from birth through adolescence” (Roehlkepartain et al., 2006, p. 11) and therefore, “It is the spiritual dimension that is most involved in a person’s effort to integrate the many aspects of development” (p. 9). Erik Erikson’s stage theory (cited in Roehlkepartain et al., 2006) addresses the role of religion and spirituality in children’s development as well, asserting that growing beyond the first stage of development brings about the virtue of hope. Hopefulness is the seed for a mature faith, and religion acts to confirm and create a source for hope. Might encouraging hope in children through conversations about religion during such a fearful experience benefit them rather than harm them? It appears that children experience processes of relating to an “invisible God” in their course of development (Rizzuto, 2007, p. 26), whether adults choose to address this explicitly or not. Spiritual or religious silencing may have a negative impact on children’s learning and personal growth. Alex Hall (2012), a school counselor education professor who studies children’s rights and development, discusses how disallowing or disavowing the religious expression and sentiment of youth can blunt positive academic, social, and career outcomes. From a multicultural lens, Hall (2012) asserts that religion and spiritual experiences are often central to children generally, and

Discussing Religious Beliefs (Dyer & Stinson)   35 to children of color especially, serving as protective buffers and as positive motivators for a range of prosocial educational and personal outcomes. All these findings raise the question of whether—in our careful attempts to remain religiously neutral, never offending others, and to be inclusive and n ­ on-disparaging—teachers are having the kinds of conversations with students that might lead to moral action, personal development, and a more just and peaceful society. Should ideas expressed in religious language be off limits in the classroom? Or might educators be overlooking important teaching opportunities? Aostre Johnson (1998–99), a curriculum scholar who has explored the spiritual development of young people, has also studied how K–12 educators understand spirituality and the impact these beliefs have on their teaching practices. She finds evidence of diverse perspectives on spirituality, as not just religion but also as m ­ eaning-making, creativity, morality, mystical knowing, and more (Johnson, 1998–99). Johnson (1998–99) further notes that “our differing beliefs and assumptions about spirit—or its absence—are implicitly present as we educate, whether or not we acknowledge them” (n.p.). In other words, one’s spiritual perspectives can be hidden within one’s teaching practices, regardless of whether one is aware of them or critically reflective. But as noted earlier, parents may object not just to discussion of religion but to a variety of n ­ on-sectarian spiritual practices, viewing them as an attempt to guide their young children’s religious development and thus influence their identities. Indeed, there are many classroom practices which are n ­ on-sectarian but can be perceived as having a spiritual basis, and parents have sometimes been vocal in their protests. For example, the currently popular “character development” in schools might be viewed through this lens, since all of the world’s major religions as well as secular humanism emphasize the importance of moral qualities such as compassion, kindness, and respect. While dance educators participate in character development initiatives at their schools, many also use breath awareness, mindfulness, channeled concentration, and/ or mental imagery to enhance or support their movement experiences. Although some researchers are finding that spiritual practices like mindfulness and yoga are helpful in the classroom in reducing stress and improving behavior (Davis, 2015), and need not be connected to a particular religion, some parents have objected to such somatic activities as a kind of religious practice (Schouten, 2016), wanting their young children’s religious instruction limited to what they and their religious institutions provide. Clearly there are boundaries for teachers in terms of bringing up sectarian religion in the classroom. Yet in this scenario, it was students, not the teacher, who interjected their own religious beliefs into a spontaneous discussion, and the teacher did not share her personal beliefs with the children.

36  Section One To have done so within a second grade classroom would have been to prioritize the teacher’s beliefs and risk uprooting children’s familial and/or cultural beliefs about a deity. Curriculum scholar Dwayne Huebner (1996 cited in Campbell 2008) notes that “teachers are often blind to the moral dimension of their practice because educational language tends to call attention only to those problems that can be solved technically” (p. 268). He proposes that teachers do not talk about themselves as moral agents because they do not engage in a language of morality to discuss their practice. Perhaps educators are less likely to discuss them because moral viewpoints are often grounded in spiritual beliefs and tied to religious practices. The question of who decides what should be taught in public schools is not easily resolved. Curriculum specialists, educated in developmental theory and legal issues, make recommendations but these are adapted by school boards who respond to local context. Many parents hope that their children will be exposed to diverse ideas in school, but others want to shield their children from ideas they consider inappropriate or even dangerous; some of the latter choose home schooling or sectarian schools, rather than risk exposing their children to ideologies they do not condone. Like any real ethical dilemma, the one presented in this case study does not offer a clearly right choice, but does raise a number of reflective questions: Should Ms. Brown have redirected the discussion even sooner than she did, perhaps at the first question from a child about whether she had prayed? What are children learning when teachers silence them or change the subject when they bring up matters of religion? What impact might this have on their social, spiritual, and intellectual development and emerging identities? How much should fear of possible parental objection drive the decisions of dance educators about what to include and exclude from classroom activities and discussions? In establishing an inclusive s­ tudent-centered learning community, how can dance teachers communicate that every person’s beliefs are important if they ignore their own? If choosing to state one’s own beliefs, how can this be done without implying that these are the only right ones? What might be the risks in making a space open for a discussion that includes religious beliefs and spiritual perspectives of second graders? And, could Ms. Brown have extended this openness to children from homes of n ­ on-believers altogether? How do the risks of having such a conversation compare to the risks (and missed opportunities) of not doing so? In this case, counselors encouraged use of the arts to help deal with the emotions of young children after a traumatic event. What are the potential benefits and hazards for this kind of therapeutic application of the arts? Is it ethical or prudent for teachers to do so if they lack the knowledge and

Discussing Religious Beliefs (Dyer & Stinson)   37 confidence to handle the thoughts and feelings that might arise in such situations? How might Ms. Brown’s situation echo dilemmas or challenges found in today’s U.S. sociopolitical climate, where opposing sides often seem unable to accept that different individuals have different core beliefs about matters of ultimate concern? Is avoidance of all controversy a way to get along, or a way to keep people from understanding others?

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy The Global Village Doug Risner APPLICATION: This activity provides an opportunity for you to contemplate how your own identity and beliefs relate to the larger world to encourage s­ elf-reflection and increased inclusivity in the classroom.

Activity In looking at the population data presented in this activity, it is apparent that no single religious group holds majority status in the “global village,” a situation easy to ignore if one teaches in a less diverse school or community where one holds majority status in terms of religious beliefs. Even if one recognizes the diversity of religious labels in one’s classroom, one may not understand the content of different beliefs or how to respond to them in the time of crisis.

The World as 100 People If we could shrink the earth’s population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look like this: 66 people would be non–Christian: (20 Muslims, 13 Hindus, 13 ­non-religious, 6 Buddhists, 6 Chinese folk religionists, 4 Ethnic Religionists, 2 atheists, 2 New Religionists.)

38  Section One 33 people would be Christian The one remaining person in the village would represent all other religions. 60 Asians 15 people from the Western Hemisphere: (9 South Americans, 5 North Americans [2 are United States citizens], and 1 Oceanian) 12 Europeans 13 Africans 80 people would be ­non-white, 20 would be white 50 people would be female 50 people would be male 89 people would be heterosexual 11 people would be gay or lesbian 25 people would live in substandard housing 25 people would not have clean water 13 people would suffer from malnutrition 17 people would be unable to read 4 people would own a computer 2 people would have a college education 1 person would have Internet access 6 people would earn 89% of the entire world’s wealth ***

Task Locate yourself in relation to the rest of the world’s population. Are you in the minority? Or part of the majority? Describe and then explain. 1. Read the list again, but this time out loud to yourself, reading only those that apply to you. How does this exercise enhance your awareness of your majority and minority status? 2. What does this exercise tell you about a world in which the relatively few have a tremendous amount, while the large majority of people can barely survive? 3. How do your religious and spiritual values make sense of the World as 100 People? In the global society we live, work and teach, what

Discussing Religious Beliefs (Dyer & Stinson)   39 can we as educators extract from this exercise about privilege, power, and religious values? 4. What are your views on dance as a vehicle for religious expression or spirituality? What hidden assumptions might you have about your students’ religious or spiritual backgrounds? 5. Now imagine that you that you are a dance educator in “the global village” of 100 people. What aspects of your teaching practice need to evolve to teach dance in the “global village?” How could you implement some of those changes into your current teaching practice to create a more inclusive classroom? Note: At the time of publication, worldwide data for transgendered, n ­ on-binary, and bisexual persons were unavailable. Statistics are accurate as of 2018 and were provided by Knovva Academy.

Challenges and Solutions to Including Students with Disabilities Theresa Purcell Cone, Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

SYNOPSIS: A dance educator struggles to reconcile his belief that dance classes can significantly enhance the quality of life of a t­ hird-grade student with cerebral palsy and the goals of the student’s Individualized Education Plan, which does not include dance class.

Introduction Dance, as a way of knowing and learning about oneself and others, is an essential component of a student’s comprehensive education. All students should have an opportunity to participate in dance education learning experiences when dance is offered as a content area in their school. This is especially true for students with disabilities who are educated in inclusive or self-contained classrooms. Dance educator Karen Kaufmann (2006) states, “in the inclusive environment all students are part of a learning community and receive a quality education with their peers” (p. 4). Through dance, students with disabilities learn that their experiences and their voices are recognized, accepted, and included. Their dancing presents new aesthetic possibilities and enlightens educators and peers about the significance of valuing multiple perspectives. Dance educators who welcome students with disabilities into their classes believe that every student should have access to a dance class. For students with disabilities, decisions about their individual education programs are made by the school’s Special Education Team (SET). This team along with the student’s parents or guardians, classroom and subject 40

Students with Disabilities (Cone, Risner & Schupp)   41 educators, and the administration, reviews the student’s learning abilities and needs and recommends a program where the student can learn in the Least Restrictive Environment (LRE). According to the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (2004), every child who has a diagnosed disability has a right to learn in an LRE and receive a Free Appropriate Public Education in the public schools. This means that students with disabilities should have the opportunity to be educated alongside students without disabilities to the greatest extent possible within a school. The LRE statute is applicable to any dance program that is offered to all students as a component of their regular academic curriculum. The goal is educational equity and access for all students. This case study takes place in a K–5 public elementary school that espouses a philosophy of inclusion, meaning that all students with disabilities are included in their general grade level classes with their typical peers, receiving support and modifications as needed. All students with disabilities attend physical education, music, and visual arts classes with their peers, taught by certified teachers. Each student has an Individualized Education Program (IEP) that identifies the modifications needed for learning success. Modifications for these students to fully participate are made in consultation with the subject area educators. A new dance program was added to the arts curriculum for all students this year. Mr. David Morgan, a certified dance educator, was recently hired to develop the dance program and is expected to teach dance to all students, including those with disabilities. Mr. Morgan is a strong advocate for access, inclusion, and equity for every child; he has presented workshops on teaching dance to students with disabilities and had experience in his previous position writing dance education goals and objectives in IEPs for students with disabilities. Also new to the school is Traci Shaw, a t­ hird-grade student who has spastic cerebral palsy that limits her range of motion and ability to ambulate, so she uses a power wheelchair. She is welcomed into her new third grade class by her teacher, Ms. Kristy Salim, and easily makes friends with all her classmates. Her paraeducator, Ms. Ryleigh Marshall, assists Traci when she needs help with any tasks. Traci has very limited arm movement and is unable to stand or move her legs. She can move her head, shoulders, and bend forward and backward within a small range of motion. Traci’s cognitive level is equal to that of her t­ hird-grade peers, and she is included in all class activities. A dilemma emerges when the Special Education Team recommends in Traci’s Individualized Education Plan that she attend daily individual physical therapy sessions instead of attending dance class with her peers—a decision that was made without consulting Mr. Morgan or informing Traci’s parents that a dance program is part of the school’s academic program. The

42  Section One situation raises the question, who determines a student’s ability to participate in dance?

The Case “We are very excited that Traci is joining our school!” Ms. Kate Carter, Special Education Team leader greets Jackie and Ron Shaw, Traci’s parents, as she welcomes them to her office to discuss Traci’s IEP goals for the year. Ms. Salim, Traci’s t­ hird-grade teacher enthusiastically explains, “As you know, our school prioritizes inclusivity, so Traci will participate in all classroom activities; eat lunch with her peers; and attend the music, visual art, and physical education classes with her classmates, assisted by her paraeducator Ms. Marshall.” “Yes, that is part of why we moved to this neighborhood. We want Traci with her peers as much as possible,” Ms. Shaw agreeably responds. Ms. Carter continues, “We are confident that our teachers will make the appropriate and respectful content modifications that provide for full inclusion.” Ms. Carter doesn’t mention the school’s new dance program because she is not yet aware of the dance curriculum content or the particulars of Mr. Morgan’s qualifications for teaching students with disabilities. After signing paper work, Traci’s parents leave the meeting. Ms. Carter addresses the SET members, “I heard there is a new dance program but I have scheduled Traci to go to her physical therapy session at the same time as the dance class. How can she dance when she uses a wheelchair?” None of the SET members disagree with Ms. Carter; the meeting con­tinues. *** The following Wednesday, Ms. Salim calls to the class, “Okay everyone, it’s time for dance class, let’s line up.” She crosses to Traci, reminding her, “You have your physical therapy session now, Traci.” “Why can’t I go to dance class? I love dance,” Traci asks. Feeling uncomfortable telling Traci about the decision made by the SET, Ms. Salim answers, “Your physical therapy session is scheduled at this time, so you need to go there today.” When the students return from the dance class, they are enthusiastically talking about the dances they created. Jennie, a classmate, asks Traci, “Why didn’t you come to dance class? We created a dance about falling leaves.” “I’d love to go to dance class, but my physical therapy session is scheduled at the same time.”

Students with Disabilities (Cone, Risner & Schupp)   43 In response, Jennie confidently states, “I’m going to talk to Mr. Morgan and see if you can go with us to dance class next week.” Traci cheers up a bit, “That would be great.” *** At lunch time, Jennie sees Mr. Morgan and announces, “We have a new student, Traci. She uses a wheelchair but loves dance. Well, she’s at physical therapy when we’re at dance class. Can you see if Traci can dance with us next week?” Not wanting to reveal this is the first he’s heard of Traci and her conflict with physical therapy, Mr. Morgan replies, “Sure, Jennie, I’ll talk with Ms. Salim. Thanks for telling me about Traci.” Leaving the lunchroom, Mr. Morgan decides to drop by Ms. Salim’s classroom. “I heard about Traci Shaw, and I’m wondering why she didn’t attend dance class.” Caught off guard by his directness, Ms. Salim explains, “It’s my understanding that Traci is to attend physical therapy during that time. The SET decided this, and that’s what is written in her IEP.” Pausing a moment, “David, the SET didn’t see how a student with limited mobility could dance.” “Well, I’m here so that students like Traci can be in dance class,” Mr. Morgan states. “I’ll set up a meeting with the Special Education Team to discuss how Traci can be included.” Mr. Morgan knows the difficulties inherent in requesting a change to a student’s IEP, which once in place should not be changed for the year. Also, as a new teacher, Mr. Morgan does not want to be viewed as confrontational or to establish adversarial relationships with his colleagues. Yet he feels he must advocate for Traci’s inclusion. *** The next day Mr. Morgan meets with Ms. Carter. He begins, “I heard there is a new student, Traci, in Ms. Salim’s class who uses a wheelchair. It would be great if she were included in the dance class with her t­ hird-grade classmates.” Puzzled, Ms. Carter asks, “How can she dance? She is in a wheelchair and can hardly move. She would feel sad sitting and watching all the other students have fun dancing around. The other students with disabilities are mobile and I can see them dancing but I have no idea how Traci could participate.” “I know how to make the appropriate modifications for her to learn and create dances…” Ms. Carter interrupts, “Anyway, physical therapy is written into her IEP and she is required to have a daily session. It is already scheduled during the

44  Section One dance class time. When the class goes to dance, she can go to her physical therapy session, so she won’t feel left out.” Exasperated, Mr. Morgan pleads, “I have experience teaching students with disabilities, and I can make the class content accessible for Traci.” “Dance is not included in Traci’s IEP for this school year, Mr. Morgan, but maybe next school year the team can consider your request,” Ms. Carter concludes. Mr. Morgan persists: “Isn’t there a procedure for changing the IEP this school year so she doesn’t miss out on a year of the dance curriculum?” Because dance is new to the school this year, Mr. Morgan suspects that Ms. Carter doesn’t understand what is taught in the dance curriculum or how the content can be modified to include student like Traci. *** Meanwhile, when Traci gets home from school she immediately tells her parents, “My classmates went to dance class today. They created a dance about falling leaves, but I had to go to physical therapy instead.” Traci’s parents are surprised to hear of a dance program at the school and are saddened to hear that Traci was unable to attend due to the schedule conflict. Traci’s mom picks up the phone and calls Ms. Carter. “This is Jackie Shaw. Yes, Traci just told me that there’s a dance program at school and she was not allowed to attend because she was at her physical therapy session.” Ms. Carter firmly but nervously responds, “Well, yes, that is true, but the dance program is new this year, and Traci’s IEP has already been established. Plus, I’m unsure how beneficial dance would be due to her limited mobility. I am not in favor of Traci simply watching the other students dance.” Asserting her parental authority, Ms. Shaw states clearly, “We want to submit a formal request to change Traci’s IEP to include dance for this school year, and we request a meeting with the Special Education Team to discuss this issue.” “This is an unusual request,” Ms. Carter answers. “Normally changes are made at the annual IEP review which is scheduled for next fall.” Traci’s parents know they must advocate for their daughter to be included in all the school’s programs. Mrs. Shaw asks directly: “Would it be okay to talk to the dance teacher to see how he can include Traci in the dance class? You do understand the importance of including Traci in all parts of the curriculum, right?” *** Ms. Carter schedules a meeting for Traci’s parents and Mr. Morgan. During that time, Mr. Morgan explains, “Like you, I believe that Traci can fully participate in my dance class. All the content can be modified so she is



Students with Disabilities (Cone, Risner & Schupp)   45

physically, cognitively, and socially included in all parts of the lesson.” Mr. Morgan tells them, “With your permission, I will approach the Special Education Team and ask to include dance in her IEP for this school year.” Mr. and Mrs. Shaw nod affirmatively, “Thank you Mr. Morgan.” He calls Ms. Carter. “Hi, this David Morgan. Traci Shaw’s parents are here in my office; they are happy with the modifications I can make for Traci to be included in dance class and give their full support for changing Traci’s IEP for this year.” Mr. Morgan listens patiently. “Yes, we believe all the members of the Special Education Team will agree. I’m going to put you on speaker so that Mr. and Mrs. Shaw can hear you.” Over speaker phone, Ms. Carter reminds him, “The physical therapist must be willing to change her schedule to make this accommodation, which means the schedule of all the other children will be impacted.” Ms. Carter asks Traci’s parents, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” “We want Traci in the dance class and we want you to make the needed changes to the IEP so it happens this school year,” Traci’s mom emphasizes. “Traci is not waiting a whole year to join the dance class.” *** After hanging up the phone, Ms. Carter approaches Mr. Morgan in the dance studio and asks, “Are you sure you can fully include Traci in all parts of the dance lesson? Her parents are adamant about her participating this year.” “I’m confident I can include Traci by offering appropriate modifications so that she can learn, create, and perform with her peers. Plus, Traci has a right to participate under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act and Traci’s parents support her attendance in the dance classes. When Traci was enrolled I was not included in the conversations about her participation in all programs the school offers, and the Special Education Team made a decision without knowing that my dance program can include a student who has limited movement and uses a wheelchair. I’m disappointed that you didn’t even consider the value of the dance program for Traci.” “I don’t have much experience with dance in special education,” Ms. Carter admits. Mr. Morgan invites her to his class that Traci will attend to demonstrate the adaptations that will include her successfully. *** During the class Mr. Morgan demonstrates a number of different ways that inclusion works with modifications specific to the student’s abilities. He explains that he will write the goals and objectives for Traci’s IEP that promote learning both physically and cognitively.

46  Section One After observing the dance class, Ms. Carter agrees to speak with the SET to change Traci’s IEP for this school year, which she now supports. At the meeting with Traci’s parents and the SET, Traci speaks up, “I love dance and I want to learn to dance with my friends.” The new IEP, including dance goals, is approved and the next week Traci attends the dance class along with Ms. Marshall, her paraeducator, participating in all parts of the lesson.

Dilemma and Stakeholders This case study emphasizes the ways in which access and inclusion in a dance class relate to how ethical decisions are made for students with disabilities and who makes them. The stakeholders have differing assumptions about dance and differing priorities for Traci that influence their perspectives on the central dilemma. Mr. Morgan is an instrumental stakeholder in this case. He was not invited to Traci’s initial IEP meeting and was not informed that Traci had a scheduling conflict that denied her access to his dance classes. As a seasoned dance educator dedicated to inclusion and access, he is fully prepared to make the needed modifications for Traci to be fully involved in the dance class. His ability to create inclusive dance education experiences is critical to growing the newly established dance program. Other significant stakeholders are Traci’s parents, who want her to participate in all curricular programs offered by the school. However, they were not informed about the dance class or that Traci was not able to attend. They are strong advocates for her to be included and are willing to do whatever it takes to make changes to the current IEP. Traci also has a great deal at stake. She loves dance, yet her physical therapy session is initially scheduled at the same time as the t­ hird-grade dance class. As a minor, she lacks the authority to make decisions about what her IEP includes, although every detail in the IEP affects her educational experience. The Special Education Team, as the educational decision makers, have a responsibility to consider each student’s best interests and needs. Well intended but lacking knowledge about the educational benefits of dance and how students with limited mobility can fully participate, the team wrongfully assumes that physical therapy is more valuable than dance for Traci. Ultimately, a way is found for Traci to participate in the dance class because of Mr. Morgan’s advocacy on her behalf and his ability to educate each of the stakeholders about the benefit of dance for all students, including those with disabilities. But, how would the case have gone differently if Mr. Morgan was unable to advocate for dance education and inclusion? Or what if the dilemma occurred in a school program that was not focused on the



Students with Disabilities (Cone, Risner & Schupp)   47

inclusion of students with disabilities? When considering the outcome of this case, it is important to recognize the feelings and assumptions people may have towards students with disabilities and dance. Dance educators need to be prepared to communicate the value of dance education for all students to administrators, students, and parents, and to develop strategies for fully including students with disabilities in dance programs.

Pedagogical Elements Pedagogy is the educational process of teacher decision-making based on experience, knowledge, personal values, and interpersonal skills. When teaching students with disabilities, decisions frequently are made from a dualistic perspective, involving both knowledge and passion. Knowledge of a disability’s characteristics and proven methodologies for working with a disability influences decisions; however, passion and empathy also guide teacher decisions. These two factors intersect when educators decide the most effective and meaningful educational approaches for a student with a disability. Educational researchers and writers Susan H. Gere, Lisa Tsoi Hoshmand, and Rick Reinkraut (2002) note, “empathic engagement involves tacit valuing and an attitude of openness and awe toward the possibilities of human development and experience” (p. 158). Responsible educators raise questions about what is the best and most meaningful learning experience they can provide and how they know they are “doing the right thing” by using a pedagogy of care and commitment (Noddings, 2013; hooks, 1994; van Manen, 1991). Mr. Morgan is passionate about teaching dance and can articulate how dance is a way of knowing self and others. He easily blends his passion and knowledge to advocate for Traci with her parents and the Special Education Team. His advocacy strategy to challenge Traci’s established IEP was not welcomed by Ms. Carter, who withheld information about the dance program from Traci’s parents. The possibility of dance was not even a consideration because of Ms. Carter’s narrow definition of what it means to engage in dance. She used factual knowledge about Traci’s disability, that Traci had limited movement, to influence her decision, and as the authority in the d ­ ecision-making process, she continually disregarded Mr. Morgan’s perspective that dance can be inclusive. Another pedagogical consideration is to view disability from the lived experience of the student and parents. What is life like for them? How have access and inclusion been denied previously by environmental conditions, educational decisions, and most importantly, how they have experienced the attitudes of others about people with disabilities? Traci and her parents experience acceptance and denial daily as they negotiate equality and respect in

48  Section One each situation they encounter. They live in a culture of disability where they view the world through their daughter’s access or lack of access to the world. Disability culture recognizes the uniqueness of each person’s identity and yet also acknowledges the similarities all people share. Although Mr. Morgan espouses this viewpoint, it is not one that Ms. Carter considered in her decision. Mr. Morgan’s willingness to meet with Traci’s parents acknowledged their need for Traci’s access to all the school’s academic programs and her right to be included. He assured Traci’s parents that he could make modifications to all parts of the lesson so she could be fully engaged with her peers. In this way, Mr. Morgan’s passion and knowledge guided him to make a decision that respected Traci and her parents’ lived experiences and their ongoing pursuit of access and inclusion for their daughter. Mara S­ apon-Shevin (2008), inclusive education scholar, writes that “inclusion means we pay careful attention to issues of social justice and inequity whether they appear at the individual, classroom, or school level or extend into the larger community” (p. 52). Mr. Morgan’s pedagogical approach is centered in his philosophy of access and inclusion for students of all abilities. He views difference as the source for creativity and a way to learn about multiple perspectives. Max van Manen (1991), a scholar in phenomenology and pedagogy, offers, Each child gives personal shape to his or her understanding and to the way that he or she comes to understand things. Each child internalizes values, performs skills, forms habits, and practices critical reflection in ways significant and unique for this particular child [p. 77].

There are many ways to dance, and Mr. Morgan believes there is a broad range of possibilities, some yet undiscovered; this philosophy guides his teaching decisions for not only Traci but for all his students. He has also taken the responsibility to be knowledgeable about the IEP process and the laws that provide equity for students with disabilities. He is a strong advocate because of his knowledge base, his passion, and his ability to clearly communicate the learning benefits for Traci from physical, cognitive, social, and affective perspectives. His commitment to collaborate with Traci and to construct modifications demonstrates his respect for her knowledge and experiences as an equal partner in the learning process. Thomas Hehir (2007), whose work examines learning differences, encourages teachers to involve students in making decisions about their own education as a way to gain insights into ways they learn best and assist them in taking responsibility for their own advocacy as learners. Mr. Morgan chooses a pedagogical approach that is constructivist, reciprocal, and exploratory, in which new ways of knowing are welcomed. He believes that each student brings a valued voice to the teaching and learning experience. All children

Students with Disabilities (Cone, Risner & Schupp)   49



want to belong, not be excluded or separated from their peers (Kaufmann, 2006). Mr. Morgan’s beliefs conflict with the decisions of the SET but as a passionate and knowledgeable educator, he is willing to advocate for Traci’s right to access and inclusion. His actions are based on his deep regard for social justice. Kim Dunphy and Jenny Scott (2003), educators who write on dance and disability, affirm Mr. Morgan’s actions, stating It is often difficult to know what a person might like when they have never had the change to try it, when they can’t speak, or when what they might like to do is not available at a level they can manage, or anywhere near where they live [p. 10].

For Traci this was an opportunity to share her life experiences through dance and be a creator, leader, and advocate for access and inclusion for all students. Mr. Morgan was willing to ensure that Traci had access and full inclusion in his dance classes.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy What Body Dances? Karen Schupp and Doug Risner APPLICATION: This i­ mage-gathering activity focuses on identifying appropriate teaching strategies for inclusion, based on investigating the characteristics of different disabilities. The following questions assist readers in creating teaching environments built on respect, acceptance, and inclusion of all students.

Activity Collecting Images and Challenging Assumptions I Find three images of dancers from any genre that epitomize the ideal dancer in that genre. For each image, answer the following questions: 1.  Is the space where you typically teach dance accessible to the person in this image?

50  Section One 2. Does the language you use to describe dance and dance movements include this person? 3. Are the learning experiences you devise for your students accessible for this person? 4. What assumptions do you have about this person’s abilities as a person and as a mover/dancer? 5. What disabilities or abilities do you think this person possesses?

Collecting Images and Challenging Assumptions II Find three images of persons with disabilities that can be recognized or are visible to the eye. Many disabilities are invisible including intellectual and emotional disabilities. For each image, answer the following questions: 1. Is the space where you typically teach dance accessible to the person in this image? 2. Does the language you use to describe dance movements and dance include this person? 3. Are the learning experiences you devise for your students accessible for this person? 4. What assumptions do you have about this person’s abilities as a person and as a mover/dancer? 5. What disabilities or abilities to you think this person possesses?

Reflection to Action Creating inclusive opportunities for all students is a guiding tenet for many dance educators. These include opportunities for students with physical, intellectual, and emotional disabilities, as well as disabilities that are visible and invisible. However, unless dance educators question structural, social, and d ­ iscipline-based assumptions about dance and the body, the idea that “dance is for everyone” remains nothing more than a romantic notion about dance that remains available only to the traditionally “abled.” Using your responses to the earlier questions, identify five assumptions that you have about the body and dance, including those that you hold about persons with disabilities. After identifying your assumptions, outline three changes you can make in your teaching practice to be more inclusive of persons with disabilities; include persons and places where you can find support for making these changes to your practice.

She Wants to Dance with the Boys Monica J. Cameron Frichtel

SYNOPSIS: A fi ­ fth-grade girl’s request to be part of the “boys only” dance challenges the dance director of a performing arts magnet school to question and reflect on her pedagogical values, practices, and choices.

Introduction Even before the invention of the pointe shoe, western concert dance has been stereotyped as a feminine pursuit. An overt h ­ yper-feminization of dance occurs throughout western culture. Dance is often viewed as an activity for heterosexual females who generally fit within cultural expectations of femininity (Risner, 2007a, 2009a, 2009b; Robinson and Whitty, 2013; Schupp, 2017). While distinct dance genres are shaped by gender in unique ways, most dance forms are influenced by culturally dominant views of gender and sexuality as binary opposites. Socially accepted gender norms that suggest men behave in a particular masculine way and women behave in a particular feminine way, for example, are questioned by critical theory. Critical pedagogy calls upon the examination of teaching practices that can reinforce social inequalities. Brazilian education theorist Paulo Freire (1970, 1994) critiques power structures entrenched within social contexts. The social construction of gender exemplifies such a power structure, situating masculinity against femininity (Butler 1993). Building upon Freire’s work, other educational theorists such as Henry Giroux (1988, 2007), Peter McLaren (1989), and bell hooks (1994, 2003) have expanded a body of critical theory that embraces education as a pursuit and practice of freedom with moral, political, and civic responsibility. In a critical vein, dance scholars such as Doug Risner (2007, 2009a, 51

52  Section One 2009b, 2017 with Wendy Oliver), Susan W. Stinson (1998a, 2005) and others (Van Dyke 1996, 2017; Gard 2001; Mozingo 2005; Herbert 2017, Schupp 2017) expose and examine gender inequities within the dance field. Females who dance are seen as embracing traditional notions of femininity, while dancing males are seen as straddling traditional western expectations of masculinity, such as heterosexuality, strength, stoicism, control, and power, within an art form that often values the femininity of grace, lightness, and emotion. It is, therefore, unsurprising that many more females than males engage in dance genres historically associated with values of femininity. For those who do not fit into cultural expectations of ‘who’ dances, their place in dance becomes compromised, likely reinforcing perceptions of inferiority. Males who dance exist in the margins of society yet as a privileged minority in dance studio and on stage. Dance classes and teaching practices may inadvertently convey and reinforce gendered stereotypes, even when the instructor strives to be inclusive. The reinforcement of gender and sexual cultural norms can perpetuate discriminatory beliefs and practices, and may be particularly problematic for participants who identify outside of narrowly defined notions of gender (Stinson 2005; Risner 2007a, 2009a, 2009b; Robinson and Whitty 2013). W ­ ell-intentioned efforts to attract more males to dance by offering generous scholarships, comparing dance to sports activities, underplaying the notable gay male dance population, and presenting movement in traditionally athletic ways, exemplify approaches in dance that reinforce homophobic stereotypes and heterosexist beliefs (Risner 2009b). Such practices may also buttress dancing males’ privileged minority status within the field itself. Rather than perpetually struggling to attract more males to dance, the field may need to reconsider how dominant conventions of gender are being reinforced (Gard 2001) and the need for asking new questions about gender inequities in dance for both boys and girls (Risner 2018). The following case study dance raises issues around identity, inclusivity, and pedagogy in relation to gender. In this particular situation, the dance director at a K–6 performing arts magnet school located in a large city is faced with an ethical decision that effects competing concerns for which there is no clearly “right” answer. Of particular concern to the culturally, racially, and socioeconomically diverse school is maintaining a balanced gender representation that contributes to the dance program’s vitality and continued viability. The director works to encourage male participation in the dance program by hiring male guest artists, offering a boys’ dance class emphasizing strength and athleticism, and setting works that she believes the boys will enjoy. However, the director has not fully considered the unintentional messages that these “privileges” can convey.



She Wants to Dance with the Boys (Frichtel)  53

The Case Sofia Stafford, director of the elementary school’s dance department, is touring the facilities with Daniel Marks, a respected local choreographer she has just hired to create a dance for the boys. The piece will become one part of a larger project that explores male experiences in dance. Stepping into the otherwise empty studio they see Gabriella Weber, an 1­ 1-year-old fifth grade student, stretching. “Hi Gabriella. What are you doing in here?” says Ms. Stafford in a friendly tone. “This is Mr. Marks. He will be our guest choreographer this semester. I am giving him a tour of the school.” Approaching Mr. Marks, “What’s your dance going to be about?” Gabriella asks. “We’re creating a piece about what it’s like to be a boy in dance. We’ll consider our different experiences and work together through a process of creating movement. It will be a ‘safe space’ for boys to share their experiences in dance.” “Oh wow, when’s the audition?” Ms. Stafford interjects, “The piece specifically explores what it is like to be a boy in dance, Gabriella. No auditions needed. All of the boys in our program will be in the piece.” “You mean none of the boys even have to audition to get in the dance? That doesn’t seem fair.” “Grab some sunshine, Gabriella, and then come see me after 9th period,” Ms. Stafford says as she leads Daniel out of the studio. “Sorry about that Daniel, I was afraid this might happen,” Ms. Stafford apologizes. “Gabriella is a bit of an outsider, more inclined to hang out with the boys. I had a hunch she might want to be in your work.” Daniel asks, “Is she questioning her gender identity? She dresses like a boy.” Ms. Stafford interrupts, “No, she’s just a t­ om-boy, Danny. Don’t worry about it.” Just after the ninth period bell, Gabriella bursts into Ms. Stafford’s office, “Why can’t a girl dance about what it is like to be a boy in dance? You are always saying that dance is a way to understand and express our different experiences.” Recognizing validity in Gabriella’s questions, Ms. Stafford pauses momentarily before responding, “It’s really a piece for just the boys, Gabriella.” “But Ms. Stafford, our school never had a choreographer make a piece for just girls. Why should only the boys get to be in Mr. Marks’ piece? Boys get special treatment around here.” “I am sorry you feel this way. I can tell you are very upset and disappointed.” “You’re always telling us that dance is for everyone, that boys and girls

54  Section One dance, but then you don’t treat us the same,” Gabriella continues. “You try so hard to include the boys! Maybe there are not as many boys in the program because you make such a big deal about them dancing…” Taking a breath, “And dancing in Mr. Marks’ piece would be so great for me!” Ms. Stafford tries to respond encouragingly, “You’ve had many opportunities to perform in group dances, and as you grow as a dancer, you’ll continue to have opportunities to perform more technical and challenging roles.” Gabriella grabs her things and leaves. Ms. Stafford sympathizes with Gabriella’s point about the boys receiving special treatment, but she also recognizes that the boys sometimes feel unwanted attention for dancing. Still, Gabriella’s comments about the lack of fairness and special treatment the boys receive begin to trouble her. *** Two weeks later cast lists are posted for the e­ nd-of-semester dance concert. Ms. Stafford catches up with Gabriella in the hallway. “Hey Gabriella. Did you see the audition results? The dance you are in is a great piece of choreography. It is going to take a lot of strength and stamina. I expect you’ll be great in it!” “Thanks, Ms. Stafford. I’ll do my best.” Pausing, Gabriella then continues in a quivering voice, “It’s too bad I couldn’t be in Mr. Marks’ piece. I know I could have done it just as well as the boys.” That Gabriella continues to feel she was treated unfairly worries Ms. Stafford. Acknowledging her discomfort with the decision, the various implications of the a­ ll-boys dance guest residency run through her mind. Although she desires to promote an inclusive environment where all students can explore their potential, she realizes her program does not match some of her strongest commitments, even when the boys’ piece is a hit at the winter concert. Ms. Stafford wonders, “What does this ‘boys only’ intense creative rehearsal process, fostering deeper social bonds for boys, say about the dance program I have built for all students at the school?” When a later opportunity to perform Mr. Marks’ Boys Dancing piece presents itself, Ms. Stafford calls him immediately, “Hi Danny, how are you doing? Working on any new projects?” “Great! Thanks. I just finished a c­ ommunity-based performance with folks down at the rec center.” “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Ms. Stafford gently probes, “Have you thought anymore about eventually including women in this project?” She continues, “The Dance Program has been invited to perform your work in March, but Kevin Smith will be out of town. I was wondering if maybe Gabriella might contribute something to your work.” “Well, that’s funny you ask, Sofia.” Mr. Marks replies, “We also have the

She Wants to Dance with the Boys (Frichtel)  55



opportunity to perform Boys Dancing as part of a children’s dance festival in late February. I was going to call you later today to see if the cast was available. And, I’d be happy to have Gabriella perform in the work.” “Fantastic, Danny! Gabriella was so disappointed to have been excluded. And to tell you the truth, I find myself seriously questioning my pedagogical and artistic values, especially when it comes to students who fall outside of traditional gender roles.” Mr. Marks suggests, “Let’s exchange performance dates and rehearsal times. I’m sure Gabriella will do a fine job.” Gabriella happily accepts and performs the role for both performances. In April, Mr. Marks emails Ms. Stafford. Dear Sofia, Thanks again for helping me realize my project for creating a ‘safe space’ for the boys in your program to discuss and explore masculinity in the creative process. The two additional performances were very special. The boys welcomed Gabriella into the ensemble and worked diligently with her to rehearse the choreography, which she performed with strength and commitment. Please give them my thanks, especially Gabriella for jumping in on short notice. Thanks again, Danny

By the next fall Gabriella decides to stop dancing, leaves the performing arts magnet school, and enters her public neighborhood school. Ms. Stafford can’t help but wonder, did her decision regarding Gabriella’s participation in Boys Dancing have something to do with Gabriella discontinuing her dance studies?

Dilemma and Stakeholders Ms. Stafford is faced with a decision that does not have a clear right answer, which makes it particularly important to understand the stance of each stakeholder. Including Gabriella in the creative process may be seen as a threat to the boys’ opportunity to discuss their experiences as boys in dance. At least this is how Mr. Marks sees it. If Gabriella were to be included in the boys’ dance, Ms. Stafford wonders how other students, staff, and even parents might feel about Gabriella’s inclusion. How would she explain to each of these groups her decision without overstepping boundaries of privacy or making Gabriella the center of unwanted attention? Not including Gabriella presents another set of questions for Ms. Stafford. How does she give Gabriella an honest response that does not conflict with her own teaching philosophy that embraces social justice and equality? However, forcing Mr. Marks to include Gabriella would complicate a professional working relationship between Ms. Stafford and Mr. Marks; maintaining professional relationships with artists is critical to the school’s success as an arts magnet school. Ms.

56  Section One Stafford ultimately privileges Mr. Marks’ vision to include only the boys over her own pedagogy of inclusion. Gabriella is excluded from a unique opportunity to participate in a choreographic and performance experience because of her gender. Beneath this vexing landscape, the root of this case study’s dilemma may be best understood by the idea of aesthetic license. Often at odds with pedagogical values and social justice education, aesthetic license can be used to normalize discrimination. Based on a set of underlying principles guiding a specific dance form or the work of a particular choreographer, aesthetic license grants the ability to claim aesthetic need or necessity for discriminating against a dancer’s race, ethnicity, body type, size or shape, or gender, in this instance. Aesthetic license in dance is utilized frequently in casting roles and hiring practices in dance companies for some dance genres and forms. The power of aesthetic license operates much like D.A. Miller’s concept of the “open secret,” in his words “a secret that everyone hides because everyone holds” (Miller 1988 cited in Risner, 2002b, p. 85). Ms. Stafford’s dilemma takes shape in the liminal space between Mr. Marks’ choreographic vision and her own ethical values as a dance director. Considering all the various stakeholders in this situation, thinking about their values, perspectives, and responsibilities, is worthwhile. Gabriella, an 11 y­ ear-old, fifth grade student, is seeking ways to understand and express what may be fluid gender identity. She desires the opportunity to work with Daniel Marks, to be a part of the choreographic process and performance for reasons that she does not fully articulate or is unable to articulate at this time. Ms. Stafford has a responsibility to Gabriella and the boys, as well as to all other students to ensure a safe environment where they can learn, train, and grow as young dancers. She is also committed to the school and is working towards a more balanced gender representation in order to ensure viability of the dance program. Mr. Marks is an artist focused on exploring and creating meaningful choreographic works. As a male in the dance field, he believes he can be a positive role model and values the opportunity to encourage young boys in dance. His own interests in the artistic work, creating a “safe space” for boys to explore masculinities, would have been challenged had Ms. Stafford insisted that Gabriella be included in the creation of the piece. The boys in the dance program are also significant stakeholders as their experiences are central to this scenario. They are not consulted about their perspectives of Gabriella joining the ensemble, but it appears that they value the opportunity to engage in work around what it means to be a boy in dance. How might Gabriella’s participation in the choreographic process changed the boys’ experiences, if at all?

She Wants to Dance with the Boys (Frichtel)  57 Ms. Stafford makes decisions that convey value whether intentionally or not. Her decisions send messages: first, the initial rejection of Gabriella’s request, and second, the invitation to her to participate in the boys’ dance. How would the scenario be different if the dance were exploring notions of femininity with a cast that was all female? What considerations should be taken into account when developing performance opportunities in dance and making casting decisions?

Pedagogical Elements Ms. Stafford is faced with a pedagogical dilemma in which Gabriella’s desire to participate and potentially reflect upon her own identity in Boys Dancing is seemingly at odds with providing a space for the boys to examine and affirm their own masculinities as participants in dance. Ms. Stafford did not anticipate having the pedagogical choice to cast an a­ ll-male piece questioned, even though the decision excluded girls from the choreographic process and work. As a result of this experience, Ms. Stafford engages in reflective practice by thinking critically about competing perspectives about gender, privilege, and marginalization. Recognizing that she has never seriously considered her own teaching practices in these terms, she begins to ponder how implicit messages conveyed through her pedagogy may unintentionally suggest and affirm narrow notions of gender, inadvertently reinforcing hegemonic social and power structures. Ms. Stafford realizes that despite her efforts, her pedagogy may replicate the status quo. Should she continue to offer male only dance classes? Should female dancers be considered for male roles and males for female roles? Should hiring preference be given to male guest artists who are otherwise not represented in the dance program’s teaching staff? Through reflecting on her actions, Ms. Stafford considers her students’ perspectives in a new light, for example how Gabriella bravely voiced her desire to be part of the boy’s dance and her feelings of rejection when she was not included. She comes to recognize how the roles she assigns to Gabriella, and all of her students, for that matter, may reinforce cultural gender norms that fail to recognize the social construction of gender. Perhaps Ms. Stafford could have engaged Gabriella in a conversation about her reasons for wanting to participate in the boys’ dance. Maybe she could have been more open with Gabriella about her intentions about the boys’ dance, as well. Ms. Stafford also thinks about how Mr. Marks, a positive male role model working in dance, provided an opportunity for the boys to explore meanings of boyhood and masculinity. Young male dancers are at risk of social marginalization as participants of a feminized art form in a homophobic culture, where the ways they move and the relationships they form can

58  Section One challenge their masculinities (Risner, 2007a, 2009a, 2009b). As a result, young male dancers may even avoid forging friendships with other male dancers (Risner, 2007, 2009a). Boys Dancing was an opportunity to not only bond with peers sharing similar experiences in dance, but also to expand notions of gender and masculinity. Christine Skelton’s (2006) research in education suggests ‘­boys-only’ classes are typically seen as an opportunity to “tap into traditionally masculine stereotyped interests and behaviors to promote learning” (p. 142). Dance scholars suggest this may be evident in dance teaching practices directed towards males that may (over)emphasize competition, athleticism, and s­ ports-like similarities of dance, while downplaying stereotypical feminine movements and movement qualities (Crawford, 1994; Risner, 2009b; Herbert, 2017). The idea is that a competitive, sport activity is more appealing to boys, but it may in fact, reinforce prescribed notions of masculinity. Simultaneously, m ­ ale-only practices in dance play into cultural assumptions about gender and reinforce feminine stereotypes built upon western notions of dance, where men perform large and bold movements and women perform smaller and softer movement patterns. Excluding girls from a­ ll-boy dance classes suggests that girls cannot or should not want to dance like the boys and that it is problematic for boys to dance like girls. M ­ ale-particular practices encourage the perception that there are limited ways to express masculinity; men in dance can challenge these restrictive assumptions. Boys in dance represent a unique population in that they are a privileged minority group within dance. As in this case study, classes, performance roles, and other “special” opportunities are sometimes afforded to male dance students. Boys in this scenario are granted a unique educational opportunity to engage in an artistic process that girls are not. Mr. Marks serves as an example of a successful adult male and role model in dance, but he simultaneously represents a privileged male minority that disproportionately fills positions of leadership within the field. These contradictions both privilege male dancers with opportunities to progress and marginalize them by reinforcing limited notions of masculinity. In contrast to literature challenging pedagogical practices that reinforce hegemonic gender notions, Christina Soriano (2010 with Clemente), university dance educator, utilizes clichéd notions of masculinity as an entry point to dance and engages her male college students, who are mostly athletes, in discussion around gender. Sports actions, which are already culturally acceptable as masculine movements, are interrogated and r­ e-imagined. Soriano suggests aligning sports with dance serves as an opportunity to consider and deconstruct notions of gender in discreet movement practices with discreet cultural connotations. The argument that this would encourage continued male participation is questioned by other scholars, some of who question the



She Wants to Dance with the Boys (Frichtel)  59

idea that dance needs to ‘change’ to attract male participants (Crawford, 1994; Risner, 2009a; Gard, 2001). The larger issue concerns unquestioned assumptions around gender, and arguably, the field of dance has a unique role to play in this conversation. In her reflection on this experience, Ms. Stafford opens the door to an engaged pedagogy that seeks to respect each student’s perspective and voice in the creative and learning processes. Engaged pedagogy relates to critical, transformative, democratic, and feminist pedagogies that seek to empower individuals and communities (Freire, 1970, 1994; Giroux, 1988, 2007; McLaren, 1989; Shor, 1992; hooks, 1994, 2003; Banks, 1996; Mayo, 2013). Through an engaged pedagogy, an educator may come to recognize that her assumptions are not necessarily her students’ experiences. There is an opportunity for Ms. Stafford to use an engaged pedagogical approach to create a dialogue about their experiences in dance so that she can more responsively address their needs through curriculum design and pedagogical practices. An engaged pedagogy demands that the educator be an active participant in reflection and critique and seeks to inspire passion by connecting education to real life, freedom, knowledge, hope, and transformation. Engaged pedagogy aligns with Freire and Giroux’s thinking that the educator be able to see and understand things from different perspectives in order to empower individuals (Freire, 1970; Giroux, 1988, 2007, 2010; Janmohamed, 1994). The educator’s greatest concern is in the development and w ­ ell-being of the s­ elf-actualized student and through ongoing dialogue both student and educator learn together.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Dancing Your Gender Doug Risner and Karen Schupp APPLICATION: In this creative activity, gender assumptions and stereotypes are explored through movement and language, which leads you to better understand how gender stereotypes reproduce limited and narrow descriptions of what it means to be female, male, transgender, or transitioning.

60  Section One

Activity Why is a particular movement or movement quality deemed feminine? Masculine? What makes a certain dance move masculine? What role does language play in gendering movement? The activity below explores gender issues in dance performance and pedagogy, ultimately guiding participants in dancing their own gender inventories.

Task Step One: For each of following, indicate the gender of the dancer who you believe is being described by the words or phrases written by dance critics and reviewers in recently published dance reviews in The New York Times. __  effortlessly sensual __  successfully brash __  hands start to trace __  quietly thrashing __  suddenly spun down to the floor __  dropping to the floor __  appealingly vulnerable __  equally mysterious __  whose body seems to hold the air __  soft explosiveness __  wilted with torment __  never diminutive

__  peaceful as a tree __  bounce up from a fall __  a few spins this way __  bending low from the waist __  slow, swirling solo __  propelling __  undulating momentum __  rapid vibrations __  bold and brave __  with daring prances __  rounder softness

Step Two: Select five descriptors from above that you have labeled as the same gender for which you identify; create a movement for each of the five descriptive words or set of words. Then assemble your movements to create a dance movement phrase, emphasizing gender in quality, space, energy, and emotion. Write a short description of your experiences “dancing your gender” in this way. Step Three: Perform your solo for another person, either someone reading this book or a friend. After performing your solo, discuss how the observer experienced gender in the performance of your solo. Step Four: Check your responses in Step One against the gender key below for each dance reviewer’s descriptor; mark those that you identified differently from the key. Compare your results. How well did you identify the gender of the dancer being described by the dance critic? Questions for Inquiry: 1. What does this activity show you about gender, stereotypes, and language in dance?



She Wants to Dance with the Boys (Frichtel)  61 2.  How do societal assumptions about the way different genders move translate to dance and dance performance? 3.  Why is getting one’s gender right so important in many cultures? 4.  Why is performing one’s gender correctly important in many forms of western theatrical dance and dance education? What else might dance educators be “teaching” about gender in their classes, rehearsals and choreography? 5.  To what degree is learning one’s gender another part of the hidden curriculum in dance education?

Gender Key __  effortlessly sensual (m) __  successfully brash (f) __  hands start to trace (f) __  quietly thrashing (f) __  suddenly spun down to the     floor (m) __  dropping to the floor (m) __  appealingly vulnerable (m) __  equally mysterious (f) __  whose body seems to hold      the air (f) __  soft explosiveness (m) __  wilted with torment (f)

__  never diminutive (f) __  peaceful as a tree (m) __  bounce up from a fall (m) __  a few spins this way (f) __  bending low from the waist (f) __ slow, swirling solo (m) __  propelling (m) __  undulating momentum (m) __  rapid vibrations (f) __  bold and brave (f) __  with daring prances (f) __  rounder softness (m)

Values Inventory Installment 1 Doug Risner

Throughout the book, you will regularly inventory your personal and professional values as they relate to dance education. Doing this on a regular basis will guide the informed evolution of your praxis. DESCRIPTION: The ongoing Values Inventory installments are reflective writing statements about your own values—what you think is important and why, as of now. It’s likely that some of your ideas will not yet be fully formed into a satisfying whole. Rather, these value statements comprise a starting place for your work with this book, not an ending place. Use the writing as a process to think about what matters most to you as a dance educator and a person. TASK: Complete each of the following statements below. Describe the associated values briefly (no more than two sentences) and discuss where you think the value system you applied to complete these particular statements originated. Perhaps a course? A mentor? A teacher? An experience? I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator if it meant… I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator if I had to… I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator if I couldn’t… Note: The Values Inventory installments are adapted from an assignment devised by esteemed dance educator, scholar, and curriculum theorist, Dr. Susan W. Stinson.

62

Section Two

Middle School and High School Dance Education Section Editor: Pam Musil

Section Introduction Pam Musil

Teaching dance to adolescents is both demanding and satisfying. Comprising middle, junior, and high schoolers, ranging from t­ hirteen-year-old seventh graders to e­ ighteen-year-old twelfth graders, the population undergoes a range of developmental milestones and rites of passage as students come of age. Teachers who choose to devote their time and energies within this population are often rewarded with the exuberant life force that often radiates from this age group as they experience a host of firsts: first crush, first school dance, and first kiss, among others. Social factors such as dating, driving, school pride, and social connection often become strong motivators that can fuel, or sometimes hinder, adolescents’ focus and engagement in school. Teaching dance within this sector offers opportunities to engage with students across a full spectrum of dance levels as instructors find themselves prepping for a variety of classes including beginners, intermediates, and the advanced dance company. Curricular options within a full spectrum dance program also intensify in specificity and complexity as dance teachers are able to challenge students’ increasing intellectual, social, and artistic development and awareness. One unique factor that often sets the Grade 7–12 sector apart is the breadth of responsibilities and “hats” that many secondary dance educators wear—such as directing c­ ollaboratively-produced dance performances, choreographing school musicals, and supervising students in e­ xtra-curricular activities beyond regular school hours. Opportunities to engage with students beyond the walls of the classroom offer mentoring possibilities which often result in lasting bonds of respect and friendship between teachers and students. The rewards of teaching in the secondary sector may be coupled at times with realities that accompany adolescent students’ increasing desires for autonomy and independence, which sometimes manifest as less compliant behavior. Though most behaviors within this sector are manageable, myriad 64

Section Introduction (Musil)  65 risky behaviors—though not unique to the secondary sector—are magnified in frequency within the 7–12 grade age group (AACP, 2016; NIMH, 2011). Such behaviors are brought to light within the case studies of this section, which describe student antics that range from being disruptive in class to more serious behavioral problems. Beyond developmental and behavioral matters, secondary schools also present a wide array of demographics, with conditions and facilities that may range from u ­ nder-resourced schools where the dance studio is a gymnasium with a concrete floor, to schools with s­ tate-of-the-art dance studios, and neighborhoods that range from inner city to outer suburbia. Student demographics also vary widely, from privileged to underprivileged s­ ocio-economics; from mostly white to mostly brown and black dancing bodies; and from a predominance of English speakers to predominantly English language learners. A broad mix of student demographics often c­ o-exist within the same school. The developmental range of students in middle school and high school adds a unique dimension to schooling and learning. From the “raging hormones” of 7th grade pubescence to the significantly more rational and reasoning high school senior, the developmental milestones that students encounter during the period between grades 7 and 12 is phenomenal. And though middle school students encounter the onset of puberty at fairly predictable ages, variation among individuals may result in student sizes and stages of sexual development ranging from c­ hild-like p ­ re-pubescence to f­ ull-blown sexual maturity in a single classroom. Further, because physical and psychological maturity do not always coincide, a sexually mature student may still have an adolescent brain, exhibiting moodiness, awkwardness, s­ elf-consciousness, c­ hild-like behaviors, and struggles with s­ elf-identity (AACP, 2015a, p. 57). While the range of developmental maturity may seem challenging to some, for many, it is an endearing time of development. Having a sense of humor, an empathetic nature, and the ability to be firm but kind, is critical to teaching in the middle school environment. Toward the end of the secondary age spectrum, high school juniors and seniors in late adolescence present more a­ dult-like behavior, though levels of emotional and psychological maturity may still differ widely as brain development continues into the early to m ­ id-twenties (NIMH, 2011). Students in late adolescence continue along a spectrum of individuation that includes increased emotional stability, s­ elf-reliance and independent functioning, increasingly cohesive identity formation, the ability to examine inner experiences, think ideas through, delay gratification and learn to compromise (AACP, 2015b, p. 58). Developmental milestones like these allow the dance teacher to engage this age group in increasingly complex problem solving, reasoning, critical thinking and collaborative work. Adding to documented stages of adolescent physical growth and devel-

66  Section Two opment, the diverse works of developmental theorists such as Erik Erikson (1963), Jean Piaget (1969), Lawrence Kohlberg (1984), Carol Gilligan (1982), and Abraham Maslow (1968) map various stages of emotional, spiritual, social, and cognitive function and development. Though not within the scope of this essay to unpack these theoretical perspectives, Erikson’s (1963) framework of identity development describes identity formation from early adolescence to adulthood; his framework continues to inspire research surrounding adolescent identity influences. Recent work by human development researcher Randall M. Jones and colleagues (2014) used Erikson’s model as a lens to examine the importance of healthy peer relationships for achieving “levels of trust, autonomy, initiative, and industry” (p. 63). The study presents compelling evidence of how social structures, including family and educational structures, place increasing importance on friendships in the formation of adolescent and young adult identities. Linking identity development to social constructs of the broader community, educator Ibrahim M. Karkouti (2014) asserts that “identity formation embodies a commitment to an ideological worldview, sexual orientation, religious or political stance” (p. 58). Given that individual sexual preferences, as well as social, political, and religious ideologies and beliefs often receive more intense critical examination during adolescence, their importance in identity formation cannot be overestimated. Several of these issues are examined in depth within the following section. Generational Theory, which describes age cohorts that share characteristics and patterns of behavior among historical generations within the United States, offers insights into specific generational attitudes and attributes that may impact both teaching and learning within the dance classroom. Generation Z—whose exact generational reign of years is widely contested, but roughly falls between 1995 and p ­ resent-day (Weidmer, 2015)—is anticipated to be “the most diverse generation in the history of the United States,” given that “multiracial families are the fastest growing population in the United States, and gay and transgender people are more accepted than at any previous time” (Shatto, 2017, p. 24). Having grown up entirely in a digital world, Generation Z students communicate in real time “with individuals who do not occupy the same physical space. This type of communication … can occur across the country or around the world and may include constant updates, texts, and r­ eal-time dialogue with visual connections and interactions” (Weidmer, 2015, p. 51). Digital communication can present problems for teens who may not possess the capacity to make informed decisions about their online activities: Generation Z students do not always know how to evaluate the trustworthiness of online sources and often need guidance from teachers and family members in determining reliability (Weidmer, 2015). Accustomed to r­ eal-time interactions through an electronic device in lieu of face to face conversation, some



Section Introduction (Musil)  67

Generation Z students struggle with appropriate social interactions and cues. Case studies within this section address the m ­ ulti-factored influences on the lives of the current generation students and how these issues play out in classrooms and dance studios. Dance educators who identify with prior generations will inevitably face challenges of their own with these students whose behaviors, attitudes, and values may not jive with their own values and assumptions about teaching and learning. Thus, an awareness of generational influences may help educators better understand and connect with the student populations they teach. While the aforementioned frameworks offer understandings of the adolescent mind and psyche, caution should be exercised when making broad generalizations based on physical, developmental, psychological, or generational norms or stereotypes. Still, these models offer useful reference material for contemporary teaching practice. Effective and engaged teaching practice acknowledges various models and theories, yet also recognizes the individuality of each unique human being. Students within this sector frequently encounter and grapple with adult matters while their brains still function in adolescent modes of operation and reasoning. The vulnerability of adolescence and young adulthood may also be heightened by matters of ability, which become more pronounced as students who begin to specialize in dance start to differentiate with greater disparity among levels and ability. Culture and social class often serve to further separate ability, creating increasingly wide chasms between immigrants, students of color, and their privileged white counterparts. Cultural and ability gaps develop with increasing urgency as schools nationwide negotiate an influx of immigrants and English language learners. Expected to continue a steep growth trajectory over the next 40 to 50 years (Zeigler and Camarota, 2014), this population pattern will significantly produce a new landscape of public education in which dance educators may play a vital role. Another enduring complication of western theatrical dance is the dominant stereotypes that accompany and label those who study and perform dance: dancers are dumb; dance is “gay”; and dance as a discipline is frivolous with no redeeming value for serious study. Particularly at the secondary level, where identities are being solidified and grades in a dance class can impact eligibility for college entrance and scholarship awards, the relevance of dance as a viable subject is often targeted and assailed. Taken together, all of these challenges contribute to an urgent need for r­ esearch-based dance advocacy targeted for educating administrators, fellow teachers, parents, students, and the c­ ommunity-at-large. A variety of sociocultural and sociopolitical issues impact secondary dance teachers’ experiences as well as the adolescent population they teach, as evidenced in the following case studies, which carefully examine issues

68  Section Two particularly relevant to the Grade 7 to 12 sector. Conversations about cultural and religious practice, gender identity, human development and sexuality, and authority and power structures, lead to important discussion about the construction of “other” and how we see and interpret the actions of those who we perceive to be different from us. Each of the r­ esearch-based case studies represents how complex dilemmas present themselves within secondary teaching environments. Emerging from each case study’s narrative dialogue, i­ n-depth discussion examines the numerous implications for pedagogical practice and ethical d ­ ecision-making.

Case Studies “Dance in the Crossfire” presents an a­ ll-too-familiar scenario involving power and authority. The popular notion held by some outside the dance profession that “dance doesn’t require a brain” permeates this essay where authors Marissa Beth Nesbit and Adeena Lago examine societal attitudes about what is valued and esteemed as intellectual content. Further complicated by hierarchical social stations, helicopter parenting, and parental bullying, this essay reinforces both the practicality and ethical nature of establishing clear and fair grading policies and builds an essential argument for the importance of advocating for dance with various stakeholders. “Dancing in Bars,” authored by Pam Musil, illuminates gray areas that require teachers to rely on their own “teacher intuition” to determine how to proceed in situations where they are unsure about appropriate measures for ensuring safe outcomes for their students. Referencing Child Protection laws that govern reporting suspected abuse and the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA) that prevents disclosure of unessential information, this case study inspires discussion about legal requirements within a public school environment and teacher assumptions regarding cultural and social correctness, particularly in relation to sexual objectification and exploitation of the female dancing body. In Kori Wakamatsu’s “Waltzing with the Enemy,” a high school dance teacher finds herself in an impossible situation that requires her to make decisions that are c­ ounter-intuitive to her own teaching practice and pedagogical values. As she attempts to handle the situation without drawing attention to, or singling out the students in question, the teacher increasingly realizes the futility of what she hoped to accomplish. The compelling dialogue, which revolves around moral and legal issues related to harassment and the forms it may take, raises important considerations about exactly how a teacher’s efforts to keep two students apart impact the smooth, seamless flow of dance class.

Section Introduction (Musil)  69 In the gripping case study presented in, “Negotiating Challenges with Social Media: #overexposed,” social media provides an important backdrop for examining the f­ ar-reaching consequences of impulsive choices, their impact on healthy adolescent emotional development, and laws that govern social media access within schools. Author Wakamatsu situates the action within a junior high school, where the dance company itself often becomes a microcosm of cultural practice, provoking philosophical debate regarding the demarcation between school and parent roles in meting out discipline for an adolescent faux pas. The ensuing conversations inspire reflection on the m ­ ulti-layered challenges encountered by a generation of students who has grown up with online technologies and the dance teachers who find themselves unwittingly drawn into parenting roles. In, “American Ethnocentrism,” Musil describes how a teacher at a diverse high school navigates issues surrounding cultural and religious diversity. In a globalized society with diverse schools, teachers encounter cultural practices and beliefs that may differ vastly from their own experiences, particularly if they have been educated in American schools and/or within a privileged, Eurocentric educational system. The need for c­ ulturally-responsive teaching and curriculum is central within this conversation. Rich with opportunities to consider issues of culture, social practice, and status, this engaging essay provides fertile discussion about whose practices and privileges have become generally accepted as “American” and more importantly, how u ­ nquestioned cultural assumptions might tacitly influence one’s own practice and biases as a teacher. Examining challenges of social issues surrounding gender identity, Nesbit’s essay, “The Imperfect Advocate: Supporting Transgender Students in the Dance Class,” presents an absorbing dilemma that involves a transgender student and an a­ ll-male dance class. Within the secondary school sector, sexuality and gender identity become central to a developing adolescent’s awareness. Opportunities to “rehearse masculinity” (Risner, 2007a) hold dual meaning in this essay where a transgender student encounters a barrier that places him at odds with the dance teacher. The conversation in this case intersects issues of “other” addressed in “American Ethnocentrism,” but from a different set of challenges. Transgender and other LGBTQ+ students face ridicule and bullying from peers, intolerance from teachers, and indifference within many institutional settings where lingering attitudes and misconceptions about sexual and gender identities allow discrimination that is either tacitly accepted or altogether ignored. Readers will no doubt feel compelled to engage in f­ ollow-up dialogue that projects and strategizes compassionate alternatives for the many students who experience marginalization or exclusion. In summary, the case studies within this section traverse an array of ethical dilemmas that address developmental, cultural, and social questions.

70  Section Two Further, the authors present valuable discourses about power structures, hierarchies, and legalities that govern interactions within social institutions— such as public secondary schools that may complicate the d ­ ecision-making process. Each case offers thoughtful questions and plentiful opportunities for reflective practice and strategic projection that engenders careful consideration of a variety of options that might exist within an ethically charged or d ­ ilemma-based teaching moment. For the reader, placing oneself psychologically within the context of the actual teaching situation offers an opportunity not only to suspend judgment and act as a witness to the process as it unfolds, but to consider the case from differing vantage points of each stakeholder. The concept of witnessing as an observation tool allows observers to respond to a situation from a visceral level (Malpede, 1996), offering information based on reflection, rather than judgment. In so doing, one begins to transcend the observation of mere teaching mechanics and techniques, which, according to dance educators Musil, Pat Debenham and Becca Norwood (2001), offer “only a partial reflection of the teaching process” (p. 10). The witnessing process, followed by critical reflection, becomes a vehicle for growth and change as the witness considers options and complexities that arise within the teaching moment. From this witnessing process, readers have the opportunity to empathize, strategize, consider divergent options, and ultimately, arrive at new understandings of their teaching that may have been inaccessible without benefit of the witnessing moment. The design of essays within this section invites the reader to witness, reflect, and come away with new pedagogical perspectives for action.

Dance in the Crossfire Marissa Beth Nesbit with Adeena Lago

SYNOPSIS: After a student from a wealthy family fails dance class, the teacher, in a clash with his parents, is pressured by the principal to change his grade or risk the school losing a substantial financial donation.

Introduction When the National Standards for Arts Education was published in 1994 (Consortium of National Arts Education Associations), dance took its rightful place alongside visual arts, theatre, and music as an academic subject area in the United States. In the ensuing decades, neoliberal education policies have led to the increase of standardization and accountability measures; dance education has kept pace (Bonbright, 2001; Bonbright & M ­ cGreevy-Nichols, 2012). State and national content standards have been created, implemented, and revised (National Dance Education Organization, 2005; Rawlings, 2013); graduation requirements have been defined (Oliver and Sprague, 2007); teacher credentials have been established and associated evaluations developed (Bonbright, 2011; Monson, 2015; Schmid, 2015; Shaw, 2014); and numerous curriculum and assessment projects at the national, state, and local level have sought to elucidate and measure learning in the arts (Bonbright and M ­ cGreevy-Nichols, 2012; Schmid, 2001; Schmid, 2003). Efforts exemplified in the development of the National Core Arts Standards (National Coalition for Core Arts Standards, 2014) contribute to a culture of scholarly and artistic rigor in dance. Despite these advances, dance educators frequently find themselves in situations where their academic validity is downplayed and professional qualifications disrespected. From casual comments in the teacher’s lounge that dance educators “get to just dance around all day” to faculty rosters that list the arts teachers as “support staff,” the workweek of many secondary 71

72  Section Two school dance educators is peppered with slights that signify the lesser status that dance holds among school subjects. While student participation in the arts is correlated with positive academic and social outcomes (Catterall, 2012), the arts continue to struggle for validation and inclusion among the many competing voices of the dominant education melee. The dance struggle is evident not only at the program and policy level but is also revealed within societal attitudes about participation in the arts. Despite or perhaps because of the joy and satisfaction that many people experience when painting a canvas, singing in a choir, or watching a live performance—some parents, and consequently their children, do not see the arts as relevant areas of study worthy of academic credit. The influence of parents or caregivers on their teenager’s school life should not be underestimated. Although parental involvement is generally considered a strong asset in K–12 schooling, university counselors and administrators see parents becoming increasing involved in managing their children’s lives, exerting control over academic and personal matters that previous generations of young adults handled themselves. Termed “helicopter parenting,” this style of parenting begins well before the college years and may be “hindering children from learning accountability, responsibility, and s­ elf-sufficiency” (van Ingen et al., 2015, p. 8). As psychologist David van Ingen and colleagues (2015) caution, “children of helicopter parents will not learn to deal with the consequences of their poor decisions if their parents swoop in and fix their problems” (p. 8). Dance educators in both the public and private sector often rely on the support of dance students’ parents for building a strong program. Although the term “stage mother” carries a negative connotation, the volunteer hours that parents spend fundraising, making costumes, and advocating for dance are often essential to the success that many dance teachers enjoy. Problems surface, however, when unwanted parental involvement shields a student dancer from the reasonable consequences of her actions. Furthermore, when parents succumb to a prevailing societal view that dance is not as worthy of their child’s effort as other school subjects, helicopter parents can negatively impact the dance program itself. In the following scenario, Elena Melendez, a w ­ ell-respected veteran dance teacher, finds her grading policies questioned when a male student athlete in her course receives an “F.” When his parents intervene, d ­ eep-seated beliefs and values about dance in the school are revealed.

The Case As Ms. Melendez enters the dance studio, a mocking voice calls out, “Yo, man! Look at me doing my p ­ lee-ay.”



Dance in the Crossfire (Nesbit with Lago)  73

A cluster of students are gathered around t­ enth-grader Tanner Bates, who has his back to Ms. Melendez. Dropping into a deep squat, Tanner makes a loud sputtering sound. “Class! Please take your places for the warm up,” Ms. Melendez directs, hoping to ignore the behavior. The chatter dies down and most students quickly comply, though she observes that Tanner continues to make faces in an attempt to distract the students around him. Despite having several dedicated and talented students, her Dance I class has been a challenge for Ms. Melendez. She has pulled out every classroom management strategy she can think of to keep students on task, but a small group of students, led by Tanner, make it difficult for everyone to work. On the varsity football team since freshman year, Tanner has incredible movement ability and an outgoing personality that charms his classmates. Ms. Melendez often thinks that if he would just focus and actually try to dance, he could become a skilled performer. Later, Ms. Melendez prepares the students to work on their group ballet choreography by reviewing the assignment rubric, but is interrupted. “­C’mon Miss M! Why you gotta keep talking about grades? It’s a dance class!” Tanner interjects. Ms. Melendez chooses to ignore the outburst and continues reviewing the rubric. She later pulls Tanner aside while his classmates are working. “You need to take this class more seriously. Your grade is suffering because you’re often late and not dressed out, and now you’re distracting others, making it hard for them to get their work done! Why did you even sign up for dance?” “I dunno. Coach said I needed an easy class to keep my GPA up.” Tanner shrugs, then walks away. Later, as Ms. Melendez logs in to her gradebook she notices that Tanner’s grade is close to failing. She calls his mother, who receives the news politely and states that she will address this with him. Over the next few weeks, while Tanner continues to engage in distracting behaviors, Ms. Melendez does notice that he consistently attends class, dresses out, and hands in each of the written assignments, albeit sloppy and often incomplete. However, when classes resume after spring break, his earlier patterns reappear. Tanner’s repeated absences from class make it difficult for his peers to complete their final group project, and Ms. Melendez finds it necessary to remove him from the group. Concerned that Tanner will fail the course without this project grade, she grants him an alternative written assignment. A week later, Tanner still has not submitted the paper, despite repeated reminders. Ms. Melendez enters a grade of “zero” for that assignment, which will bring his final course grade to an F. ***

74  Section Two Soon thereafter, Tanner’s parents request a meeting. When they arrive at her office, the conversation quickly turns tense when Tanner’s father asks, “Dance? Really? If he were failing math I might understand. Why was my son in this class anyway?” “Well, the State of Texas has an arts requirement for high school graduation, and apparently, Tanner chose to take dance to fulfill that credit,” Ms. Melendez politely explains. “Hmm, my son in dance. So exactly how do you grade him, anyway? How good he can turn and prance around and whatnot?” Mr. Bates makes a mocking gesture with his hand and looks at Ms. Melendez expectantly. “Well, here is the syllabus for Dance I. You will see that the grading policy is clearly outlined. Students earn ten points each day for being present, dressing out, and participating,” Ms. Melendez begins. “Then they have written journal assignments, three choreographic studies—” “Yeah, yeah” Mr. Bates cuts her off. “Tanner comes to school and does what he is supposed to.” “Well, actually, he has missed several classes and didn’t dress out for others. Here are his daily grades,” Ms. Melendez turns her laptop toward increasingly angry parents. “He didn’t submit his final project, so he received a zero for that assignment, bringing his grade down to failing.” “This is ridiculous! How could a dance class be that hard?” Mr. Bates leans toward Ms. Melendez, while his wife shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Come on,” Tanner’s father continues condescendingly. “Just pass him. You really don’t want me to make a big issue out of this, do you? Tanner needs to maintain his eligibility to participate in sports and a failing grade will put him on probation at the beginning of football season in the fall, not to mention hurting his chances for a college scholarship!” Ms. Melendez feels her face turning red as she maintains her composure. “Now I assure you, I have given Tanner multiple opportunities to earn a passing grade. When he missed class and had to be removed from his group project, I gave him an alternative written assignment and extended the deadline twice so he could earn those points back. Unfortunately, Tanner has failed to take responsibility to complete the requirements of this course.” “Dance isn’t even a real class!” Mr. Bates glares down at her. “Let’s go!” He motions abruptly to his wife, who follows quietly. Ms. Melendez is deeply shaken: she has worked hard to establish fair grading policies and to advocate for her program. Over the five years she has been at Edison High, she has forged relationships with her administrators and counselors to make sure that students aren’t placed in her classes unless they choose to be, and in general, she has a great group of dedicated students. ***



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The next morning when Ms. Melendez arrives at school, she is greeted by Dr. Tim White, the principal. “Elena, I need to speak with you, please,” he states, showing her into his office. “I got a call last night from some very upset parents. You know Mr. and Mrs. Bates are large donors to our athletic booster program. Coach Rawlins and I have been cultivating a relationship with them for some time. So I’m concerned to hear that that you have failed their younger son Tanner.” “Tanner has earned a failing grade,” she replies abruptly. “Yeah. So. About that. On what basis is this grade being made?” Ms. Melendez is furious that she, once again, must explain her syllabus, but she calmly outlines the grades to Dr. White as she had to his parents the day before. “Hmm, okay. So let me see this alternate assignment,” he requests. Ms. Melendez looks surprised. “You know what, just email it to me. I’ll get him to do it so this kid can pass, okay?” “Actually, no, it’s not okay!” Ms. Melendez protests. “It was already an alternative, a very easy one at that, and I gave him two extensions on the deadline. No. He earned a failing grade.” “Look, Mr. and Mrs. Bates are about to make a sizable contribution to our stadium renovation fund, and they will withdraw it if Tanner doesn’t get to play in the fall. Send me the assignment, and I’ll see that he does it.” “But…” “Elena, work with us here. Let’s find a way to pass this boy so we can avoid unnecessary fallout. It is just a dance class, after all.” *** Ms. Melendez leaves the office, defeated and puzzled. A former football coach, Dr. White has become a supporter of the arts, adjusting the budget in recent years so Ms. Melendez would have funds for costumes, guest artists, and dance field trips. She knows she is lucky to have such a strong advocate in the administration, which makes the recent conversation even more disturbing. Ms. Melendez emails the assignment to Dr. White and three days later finds in her mailbox exactly three pages describing Bill T. Jones, much of which she suspects was lifted straight from Wikipedia. Tears of frustration welling in her eyes, she logs in and changes Tanner’s grade to a D-. Later that afternoon, she passes Dr. White in the hall. “Thanks, Elena,” he says apologetically. “We all appreciate it.” Returning to the studio, Ms. Melendez wonders what lessons Tanner has learned in this process and regrets that she did not request that he be present during the discussion about his grade. Though she still believes the

76  Section Two failing grade was warranted, she can’t shake the feeling that it was she who has failed somehow. If she had intervened sooner and motivated him more, would things have turned out differently? As a s­ tudent-athlete, he must be capable of hard work and commitment, so why wasn’t she able to harness that in dance class? His parents clearly want to provide financial support for their son’s interests; why couldn’t she find ways to cultivate that family as both athletics and arts patrons? Her mind shifts to Kendrick and Harrison, two athletes Ms. Melendez taught during her first year at Edison, who came to class disruptive and disengaged. Eager to prove the relevance of dance to her new students, she had created an entire unit on connections between sports and dance and even allowed them to incorporate basketballs into their final project. She realizes that over the years she has shifted toward a more t­ echnique-based dance curriculum and in doing so may have lost her sense of what students find valuable. She vows to return to school next fall ready to get to know her students and shape a curriculum that acknowledges diverse interests.

Dilemma and Stakeholders Throughout her interactions with Tanner, his parents, and Dr. White, Ms. Melendez maintains her composure and reinforces high standards for the work done in her classes, despite being frequently disrespected. When coerced to extend the assignment deadline and change Tanner’s grade, Ms. Melendez feels that her teaching practices and personal integrity have been compromised, particularly regarding her mission to establish dance as a valid academic subject. At the same time, she does not want to fall into disfavor with the principal, cause the school to lose a large source of financial support, or hold Tanner back from playing football; she knows she cannot garner support for the growing dance program if she is not willing to be a team player. At the end of this story, Ms. Melendez feels personally defeated, but she is unsure if a different outcome—Tanner’s failing grade remaining and the possible fallout—would have been better for him or the school community overall. Imagining the dilemma from the stakeholder’s viewpoints provides insight into her frustration with the scenario and how she arrived at her decision. As the story unfolds, Mr. and Mrs. Bates are increasingly at odds with Ms. Melendez. Their wealth has afforded them the attention of coaches and administrators, and they are committed to facilitating their son’s athletic success. Although little is known about the value they place on their children’s academic achievement; it is clear that arts education is not part of their purview. Dr. White is a strong school leader who prides himself on being equally

Dance in the Crossfire (Nesbit with Lago)  77 invested in supporting the arts, athletics, and the traditional academic program. When responding to pressure from Tanner’s parents, he uses his influence to persuade Ms. Melendez to change the grade. Dr. White is ultimately attempting to balance concerns for what is best for the entire school. The new stadium is a rallying point for the community, and he, along with Coach Rawlins, understands what it would mean to the team and the school to have one of their varsity starters ineligible to play. Dr. White values academic integrity, but in his view, having Tanner submit the assignment after grades are posted is sufficient to warrant the grade change. Tanner’s point of view is only minimally addressed in the story, and considering the case from his perspective highlights an important issue that educators encounter many times with students: what the student wants is not necessarily in that student’s best interest. Tanner wants, first and foremost, to play football; the passing grade is necessary for that to happen. He appears to want attention in class and rewards for minimal work; the underlying motivations for his actions in class are unclear. But what is in Tanner’s best interest, over the long term? Continuing to play football is clearly a positive outlet for his energy and one in which he may reap substantial rewards. So, too, is getting a solid education, including education in the arts, along with developing traits such as responsibility, respect, and accountability. None of the other stakeholders are able to put Tanner’s best interests front and center. Imagine, though, how the story may have shifted if each stakeholder was able—from the very beginning—to balance Tanner’s needs with their own. What may have happened if Ms. Melendez had required Tanner to be at the meeting with his parents? What may have transpired if his parents were given more information about the many transferrable skills Tanner should be developing in dance? What if Dr. White and Coach Rawlins had noticed Tanner’s a­ ttention-seeking behaviors and sought additional support for him, or if Ms. Melendez had addressed his unacceptable performance earlier? For a sense a mutual respect, what if Ms. Melendez had demonstrated her passion for dance to Tanner as equivalent to his enthusiasm for football? Despite these actions, the final grade in dance that Tanner earned might still have been an F. In that case, how might each stakeholder, if they were considering his best interests along with their own needs, have responded differently?

Pedagological Elements On the surface, this case may appear to be primarily concerned with a dance educator’s grading policies, but upon closer inspection, we see that her decision takes place at the nexus of several issues: the status of dance

78  Section Two in schools, pedagogical practices for motivating and assessing students, and h ­ ome-school collaboration for student success. Dance educator Edward Warburton (2004), applying the work of noted education theorist Nel Noddings (1984), reminds us that we must respond “not only to the moment of encounter but also to our students’ l­ ong-term intellectual, emotional, and physical growth” (p. 93). The contested grade, then, becomes an opportunity to reflect upon, and foster meaningful practices with respect to advocacy, motivation, and t­ eacher-parent relationships for l­ ong-term growth. While the arts are named as a part of a w ­ ell-rounded education in Every Student Succeeds Act (2015) legislation, in reality, dance is infrequently perceived as holding the same value as other subjects. Ms. Melendez takes her work as a dance educator seriously and expects the same from her students. Yet, as unfair as it may be, for dance educators like Ms. Melendez, excellent teaching through traditional means of instruction and assessment is not necessarily enough; they must also continually advocate for the importance of their dance programs. For some teachers, the notion of arts advocacy conjures images of l­ etter-writing campaigns and legislative policies that can feel distant and intimidating. While these activities are certainly important, dance education leaders Susan M ­ cGreevy-Nichols and Lori Provost (2014) remind readers that advocacy at the local level is just as important. They advise: “Teach your students to communicate with their families, friends, classmates, other teachers, government officials, and school leaders on the importance of dance and p ­ rogram-based initiatives” (p. 83). Similarly, dance educator Marty Sprague (2009) stresses the importance of advocacy strategies such as collaborating with other educators, inviting guests into the dance class, and offering performances in varied settings as a means for professional engagement to combat the sense of stress and frustration many dance educators experience when isolated from the larger educational community. However, before the school community can be receptive to such strategies, students must first be motivated enough to engage with the program. Returning to Ms. Melendez’s classroom, we see that Tanner’s motivation to do well, particularly with regard to formal assignments and assessments, is minimal. Many teachers find it unfathomable that someone would not like dancing and not want to do their best trying. Encountering a student who appears unmotivated, or in Tanner’s case, outright disrespectful, goes against the very nature of Ms. Melendez’s experience of dance. In a secondary school setting, however, dance educators are likely to encounter a range of students who bring varying degrees of interest and investment to dance class. Providing support and motivation for all learners, and perhaps especially, those who appear difficult to reach, remains the teacher’s responsibility. In considering how to promote motivation for reluctant teenage boys, dance educator



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Heather Taschuck (2009) suggests attention to positive role models, dynamic movement opportunities, and a focus on s­ elf-expression as features of a dance class that can be particularly motivating to this population. Dance sociologist, Doug Risner (2009a, 2009b, 2014), based on dance elements identified by male adolescents studying dance at the p ­ re-professional level, notes that boys report the physicality of dancing and the creative outlet dance provides them as primary motivating factors. Both recommendations from Taschuck and Risner, born of their own and others’ teaching experiences and research, underscore an even more salient point: in order to foster motivation, dance educators must attend to the needs, interests, and cultural contexts of all of their students. Motivation is closely tied to the goals and reasons students have for dancing, broadly speaking and within a particular lesson. Educators Carey Andrzejewski and colleagues (2013) explain how an orientation towards goals in a dance class can support or diminish motivation and conclude that, in order to sustain motivation, students need to know why they are dancing. The reward (or threat) of grades alone is unlikely to provide a reason why. When further undermined by parental intervention, as in this case, grades become nearly meaningless for engendering student motivation and engagement in dance. Finally, Ms. Melendez is drawn into a particular conflict with Mr. and Mrs. Bates when they arrive at her office angry about Tanner’s grade; she seems unaware of their existing relationship with the principal and coach. For dance educators, especially those more familiar with studio or higher education contexts, the prospect of developing effective relationships with families can be daunting. Middle school educator Scott Mandel (2008) explains that for a partnership with parents to be effective, it must be based on mutual respect. He advises teachers to remember that all parents are motivated by a concern for their child and “have to feel that you have their child’s best interests at heart” (p. 115), especially in situations where a teacher must enforce policies that result in negative consequences. Differing social classes between teachers and families (and caregivers) are a potential source of tension, and Mandel reminds readers that teachers should grant respect to, and expect it from, all parents. Mandel (2008) cautions, however, that “[o]ften highly educated professionals need to be reminded of your qualifications…. They need to realize that you too are a professional” (p. 116). Popular conceptions that dance is only a b ­ ody-based form of entertainment can further prompt parents to dismiss the academic knowledge and professional skill set of a dance educator, making Mandel’s directive all the more critical. To foster productive relationships with families, many educators advocate including students directly in conferences with parents and teachers. Principal Donald Hackmann (1996) points out that “[i]nstead of fostering open communication among the three parties, traditional conferences may discourage hon-

80  Section Two est student dialogue” (n.p.). In encouraging educators to adopt this approach, he explains how it can empower students and hold them accountable. If Ms. Melendez had included Tanner in a meeting focused on specific, actionable issues with the goal of identifying next steps—rather than simply broadcasting his failures to the family—she may have been more successful at promoting his accountability and building a strong relationship with his family. Despite their best efforts at advocacy and proactive communication with families, dance educators may still find themselves sitting across from a belligerent parent like Mr. Bates. Educational psychologists Robert Evans and Michael G. Thompson (2016) explain the rise of bully parents, including those they term “entitled intimidators” who “make no bones about what they want: special treatment for their child. They demand that rules be waived, exceptions made, policies upended” (p. 94). They advise that educators be firm with setting limits for these parents, and acknowledge that in many cases, individual teachers alone may not be able to handle these parental challenges and must involve administrators for success. Even equipped with the most sophisticated, motivating pedagogy, strong advocacy, and effective communication techniques, dance educators will likely, at some point in their careers, encounter parents or guardians whose unreasonable demands and disrespectful behavior are not only offensive, but potentially debilitating. In providing tips for effective p ­ arent-teacher conferences, school administrators Les Potter and Clete Bulach (2001) remind educators, “Do NOT let the rudeness of a child’s parent prevent you from continuing to help the child” (p. 40). In these challenging circumstances, dance educators who honor their commitment to educating all students in the art form by continually reflecting on their practice and seeking support from colleagues and administrators, insure they model professionalism and maintain their integrity.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Changing Grades Doug Risner APPLICATION: In this activity, the ethics of changing final class grades is explored with an emphasis on grading in diverse situations with complicated ethical dimensions.

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Activity A number of situations may require you to consider changing a student’s final grade for a dance course. Dance educators normally establish a change policy for final course grading, though the policy may remain unpublished in the course syllabus in order to retain flexibility for unexpected situations and challenging circumstances. TASK 1: With a partner, consider situations in which a dance teacher would be ethically obligated to change a dance student’s final grade that, by no fault of the student, does not reflect her or his learning and achievement in the class. Identify and describe at least four separate scenarios that would merit a change of final grade. DISCUSS: How did you and your partner determine ethical reasons for changing a dance student’s grade? What type of elements categorized each g­ rade-change situation? Were there common themes or rationales for ethical grade changes? If so, describe. TASK 2: If possible, find a different partner. Ruling out the scenarios above, contemplate situations in which a dance teacher might be asked to change a dance student’s final grade. The scenario of grade change request might come from the student, the student’s parent or guardian, another teacher or administrator. Identify and describe at least four separate final grade change requests that would be unethical for the dance educator to act upon. Report out to other groups. DISCUSS: Compare and contrast your experiences completing Task 1 and Task 2—how were they similar? How were they different? What type of elements categorized each request for a final grade change that you found unethical? Describe, if any, common themes or reasons for unethical grade changes you found? Summary: The role of ethical decision making in grading comprises a significant portion of dance education assessment and evaluation. Grades and testing, in today’s schools more than at any other time, monopolize much of the lives of teachers and students. That final grades reflect as closely as possible what the student has earned and learned is tantamount to engaged teaching and humanizing pedagogy.

Dancing in Bars Pam Musil

SYNOPSIS: When confronted by suspicions that one of her students is being sexually exploited, a fi ­ rst-year teacher struggles to decide whether or not her suspicions warrant reporting to the appropriate authorities.

Introduction Within the p ­ ublic-school setting, dance teachers encounter multiple challenges and opportunities, a large portion of which may not be directly related to teaching dance as a discipline, but are nonetheless intricately interwoven with teaching and d ­ ecision-making. The challenge of student safety impacts all spaces of the school including the dance studio and classroom. Teachers make decisions every day regarding the physical, social, developmental, and emotional safety and w ­ ell-being of their students. Physical and developmental safety within the dance class is often successfully managed through careful lesson planning, and progression and appropriateness of lesson content. Similarly, social and emotional safety can be managed within an inclusive, culturally relevant, and diverse classroom environment with firm policies and preventative practices against bullying. But certain elements of safety, particularly when impacted by factors outside the classroom and therefore beyond the teacher’s locus of control—such as a child’s home environment or social practice—can be more difficult to influence. New teachers may feel especially vulnerable when making decisions about complex problems that confront them, particularly when psychosocial, developmental, or sociocultural concerns arise that the teacher may not feel prepared to address. Sometimes decisions seem straight forward, yet often the complexities of a situation require strategic action that leads to decisions on multiple levels where novice teachers may lack the k­ now-how and experience to navigate effectively and humanely. 82



Dancing in Bars (Musil)  83

A series of decisions involving a student’s w ­ ell-being form the nexus explored in this particular case, located in a large, suburban high school situated in a conservative m ­ iddle-class, predominantly white, community in the western United States. A situation arises for a newly graduated, fi ­ rst-year dance teacher, Ms. Melinda O’Reilly, during the first weeks of class. F ­ ifteen-year-old Renee Salazar is a shy student; her grooming, hygiene and dress standards seem to indicate to her teacher Ms. O’Reilly that Renee may come from a less privileged and shielded background than most students she currently teaches. She also notices that Renee’s dance attire and individual movement choices are more sexually suggestive than most of her dance class peers, and she seems to lack some of the social filters that other students her age exhibit. Ms. O’Reilly’s observations cue implicit questions about whether Renee is conscious of these differences and their impact on her social standing, given her seemingly marginal status in class. Despite these differences, Renee is responsive, engaged, and eager for attention. Responding to an innocent query posed by Renee in her tenth grade beginner dance class, Ms. O’Reilly learns that the student is in a situation that places her at significant risk. Subsequently, she must find ways to engage the student in an appropriate, supportive, and respectful manner, while simultaneously asking critical questions that will allow her to make determinations about the student’s emotional w ­ ell-being and developmental welfare and safety.

The Case “I’m going to enter a beauty pageant, Ms. O. and I wonder if you would help me,” Renee asks as she approaches Ms. O’Reilly’s desk after school. Ms. O’Reilly smiles warmly and responds, “Oh? Tell me more about this pageant and what help I could offer.” “It’s the Miss Celebrity Pageant,” Renee states, handing her a pageant brochure. “Hmm, I’ve never heard of this pageant,” Ms. O’Reilly mutters while looking at the brochure’s images of h ­ yper-sexualized adolescent girls. Masking her concern that Renee’s s­ elf-worth may be attached to the artificial sense of sexuality represented on the pageant brochure, Ms. O’Reilly smiles and asks, “What are your goals for this pageant?” Renee responds uncertainly, “Well, my mom wants me to win the $1,000 prize.” Surprised, Ms. O’Reilly asks, “Is that what Renee wants?” Renee lowers her eyes, “Well, the money would be nice—but my mom will keep the money.”

84  Section Two Worried that she’s not getting through, Ms. O’Reilly asks slowly, “Renee … what do you want to get out of this pageant experience?” Quietly with downcast eyes, “I just want people to think I’m a good dancer.” Encouragingly, Ms. O’Reilly asks, “So, you’re planning to dance for your talent?” Renee’s face brightens as she nods enthusiastically. “Well, if you’d like me to,” Ms. O’Reilly suggests, “I can give you some feedback on your choreography. Is that the type of help you were hoping for?” Renee smiles and nods receptively, “I have my costume with me!” “Okay, go change into your costume,” Ms. O’Reilly nods. Again, Renee’s face brightens, “Thank you, Ms. O!” While Renee is changing, Ms. O’Reilly ponders what she’s about to see. Her mind has trouble integrating disparate visions of sexualized girls presented on the pageant brochure and Renee’s sweet and naïve personality. She also wonders whether dance would be the best talent vehicle for Renee, given that her skills are rudimentary and underdeveloped. Renee shouts to Ms. O’Reilly in the Dance Office, “I’m ready Ms. O!” Turning the corner into the dance studio, Ms. O’Reilly sees her now dressed in a l­ eopard-patterned unitard, Renee plugs her phone into the sound system and for the next three minutes, Renee dances in ways that Ms. O’Reilly considers provocative, sexually explicit, objectifying, and, for her, inappropriate for a fi ­ fteen-year-old. She quickly realizes that her beliefs interfere with her ability to give objective feedback to Renee, asking herself repeatedly, “Who decides what is ‘appropriate’ movement for a fi ­ fteen-year-old?” When Renee finishes her dance, Ms. O’Reilly is quite overwhelmed. “Wow!” she says, seeking where Renee may have formulated her ideas about dancing and performing. She begins, “Renee, I’m curious about why you chose dance as your talent?” Confidently, Renee explains, “I like to dance and I’m good at it. My mom says I’m good at it, too.” Wondering how Renee has developed her confidence, Ms. O’Reilly asks encouragingly, “So, have you danced a lot?” Renee states m ­ atter-of-factly, “I danced in a bar once.” That to Renee this seems like an ordinary place for dancing, Ms. Reilly chooses her words carefully, “Tell me more about that, Renee. Were there other kids performing with you in the bar?” “No, my mom just wanted people to see me dance, so she asked if I could dance there.” “Did the owner of the bar know about this?” Renee, still m ­ atter-of-factly, “Yeah, he said I had to act older, cuz I wasn’t old enough to be there. But he was smiling along with all the other guys

Dancing in Bars (Musil)  85



there—some were whistling and stuff. It was fun!” Renee seems genuinely unaware that the scene she is painting might raise cause for concern. Increasingly more unsettled, Ms. O’Reilly asks, “Was there a stage?” “No, I just danced around the tables.” Masking her concern, Ms. O’Reilly continues, “Does your mom have you do this often?” “She’s had me come to the bar a couple of times.” Maintaining her friendly tone, Ms. O’Reilly asks, “Renee, what you showed me is pretty different from what we do in dance class. Where did you learn to dance that way?” “I just put on music and start to dance. I like YouTube stuff, so I sorta get ideas from that—like, I watch Miley, Beyoncé, Rihanna, whoever—and just dance like them. My mom tells me what looks sexy and stuff. She bought me this unitard for the pageant.” “She did?” Ms. O’Reilly asks. “Yeah,” Renee laughs, “she wishes she still looked sexy in it, like I do.” Ms. O’Reilly is struck by the seeming normalcy with which Renee relates her experience, yet her mind races through courses of action to be taken. Might these experiences have been a gateway to sexual activity with adults at the bar? Has Renee’s mother profited from her dancing at the bar? Reflexively, Ms. O’Reilly wonders if she might be over reacting, reading more into the situation than warranted. “Well, Renee, you certainly seem to enjoy yourself when you dance! Let’s look at some specific movements for you to work on before we meet again.” Even though she does not condone what the pageant seems to stand for, she recognizes that Renee may be at risk and would benefit from a mentor; she hopes that working together provides Renee with the means to view herself and her body positively, especially her worth in the world. Beyond her decision to closely mentor Renee, Ms. O’Reilly has nagging concerns that Renee is being exploited by her mother. She briefly considers calling Renee’s mother to discuss her concerns, but worries how her mother might respond. Ms. O’Reilly also contemplates her responsibilities as a teacher for reporting an u ­ nder-aged, minor adolescent who is being permitted in establishments like bars and clubs. While state and federal laws mandate reporting suspected exploitation and abuse, she is unsure how Renee’s experiences meet legal definitions of abuse. She ruminates about the implications of reporting: will it negatively impact her relationship with Renee? Will Renee suffer backlash if her mother learns she has told others about her bar dancing? How will the school view Ms. O’Reilly’s actions? ***

86  Section Two The following day Ms. O’Reilly seeks out advice from the school counselor, Mr. Josh Nowicki. After briefly relaying her story about Renee, she admits, “I was raised in a pretty sheltered environment where dancing in a bar at 15 would have been morally wrong. I need some guidance, Josh. Do you think my biases are getting in the way here?” Mr. Nowicki seems to be listening, “I mean, I’ve never met Renee’s mother, but I really have no context for understanding why she would want her sweet, innocent daughter to be dancing in a bar.” Ms. O’Reilly shifts, takes an uneasy breath and adds, “If it were just one thing, I could probably let it go, but it’s a lot of little things…” Counting on her fingers, “The bar owner telling her to act older; dancing among the tables; the bar owner leering at her and other men whistling; Renee saying that her mother would keep the pageant prize money; her mother coaching her to be sexy; and Renee’s own choices of overtly sexy movement, which, frankly, is embarrassing!” Composing herself, she finishes, “I just wonder what interventions need to be taken to determine an appropriate course of action, if any? Where does my own sense of social justice and my legal responsibility as a teacher intersect, and what course of action would be in Renee’s best interest?” Mr. Nowicki clears his throat, “Your intuitions are not unfounded, Melinda. We have been concerned about Renee’s home situation for some time.” Ms. O’Reilly exhales audibly. Continuing more formally, Mr. Nowicki squares his shoulders and adds, “As you know, the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act (FERPA) disallows my sharing of details, but does allow me to divulge that Child Protective Services—or CPS as they’re known to us here in the counseling office—has been notified about previous issues involving Renee’s mother and is supposedly working with the family to keep Renee safe.” Sighing apologetically, his shoulders soften; “So unfortunately, this situation with Renee is not entirely new. Based on the history, a report to CPS would be an important next step. Otherwise, the decision would not be as black and white.” “Then I want to file a report today,” Ms. O’Reilly states firmly, relieved that her instincts to report were valid and the school and CPS are now more fully aware of Renee’s situation. *** As she leaves the Counseling Office, she still wonders if enough is being done to protect Renee. Mentoring Renee’s pageant choreography in the coming weeks will provide opportunities to build a relationship of trust and openness, in which discussion about sexual exploitation of the female body can take place—a discussion that Ms. O’Reilly believes may best take place in the classroom along with Renee’s peers. Exploring gender, identity, and sexuality with the dance students allows Renee to encounter ideas that challenge her

Dancing in Bars (Musil)  87 mindset, upbringing, and beliefs. Ms. O’Reilly is excited by the realization that other students with similar assumptions about the body and dance will benefit from this new curriculum, which has the potential for a much broader reach than this one student.

Dilemma and Stakeholders The dilemma of this case study arises when a dance educator becomes deeply concerned that one of her students is being sexual exploited by her mother. The ethical dilemma at the center of this case study, which Ms. O’Reilly confronts, is whether or not to report her student’s exploitative situation to Child Protective Services. Ancillary decisions to mentor the student’s pageant choreography and develop her curriculum are important satellites that provide reflective opportunities to the primary dilemma she confronts. Though each satellite outcome raises opportunities for reflection and discussion, the decision to report to CPS remains central to this case. When viewing the scenario from the perspective of each of the main stakeholders, the ethical dimensions of the Ms. O’Reilly’s dilemma become clear. As a concerned teacher who cares about student welfare, Ms. O’Reilly desires to uphold her responsibilities to the law and to her sense of social justice. But as a fi ­ rst-year teacher, she harbors doubts about her ability to determine whether or not the student’s situation warrants intervention; she worries how a baseless decision to report might be perceived: Does she have enough information to make a judgment of this nature? Will the school counselor think she is reading too much into the situation? Will her decision to report negatively impact Renee’s home situation? Renee, an energetic and caring teenager who lives an underprivileged, seemingly naïve, and socially underdeveloped life, is negotiating the difficult passage from adolescence to adulthood with what Ms. O’Reilly considers inappropriate interference by her mother. While Renee enjoys the attention she gets when she dances provocatively at the bar, she is largely unaware of the impact of her dancing, movement choices, and the sexual identity she projects. At what point should her voice and opinion become relevant in the conversation? What role could Ms. O’Reilly’s mentoring play in this situation? The school counselor assigned to Renee, Mr. Nowicki, plays a vital role on Renee’s education team, especially her personal/social development to ensure she becomes a productive and w ­ ell-adjusted future adult. When Ms. O’Reilly decides to confer with him about Renee’s situation, matters quickly escalate to include the counselor, the school, Child Protective Services, and the student’s mother and family as stakeholders. He also must decide whether the current incident warrants a report to CPS and if so, how best to include

88  Section Two Ms. O’Reilly in the process. At this moment, Mr. Nowicki and the school become legal stakeholders as they fulfill their responsibility to report the suspected exploitation of a student. But would the school’s decision to report have been warranted if CPS were not already involved with Renee and her family? The role of Renee’s mother and family as stakeholders is largely unknown, though the mother’s presence in the background remains central to the case. Concerns about the mother’s d ­ ecision-making skills with regards to the environments she creates for her daughter are strongly implied, given that CPS is already involved. What are her motives for placing Renee in an environment that seems less than appropriate for a fi ­ fteen-year-old? Ultimately, students enrolled in Ms. O’Reilly’s dance classes will become beneficiaries, as she revises and develops her curriculum to address social issues in dance education. Though students are not explicitly aware of the circumstances that have prompted Ms. O’Reilly to revise the dance curriculum, they will certainly be impacted by her decision to cultivate student understanding of dance and gender, identity, along with race, ethnicity, social class, ability, among other social foundations of education.

Pedagogical Elements The pedagogical elements of this case coincide with the challenges and decisions that Ms. O’Reilly and other stakeholders have contemplated. From the start of the case, Ms. O’Reilly recognizes and makes conscious decisions about certain pedagogical elements that are within her power of influence. For example, her first pedagogical decision to pursue a line of questioning allows her to respond compassionately to a student’s simple question with the dialogic, emancipatory, and experiential values of critical feminist pedagogy (English and Irving, 2015). Through additional questioning she becomes increasingly concerned about the presence of what dance educator Dawn Clark (2004) terms sexploitation, which she admits, is complex: Although one may comprehend, for example, when someone is overtly mistreated or taken advantage of, the complexity of sexual exploitation requires looking more closely at social issues. Issues include hegemony and social context, ways in which the body is objectified for pleasure, developmental concerns in children, and appropriate practices in pedagogy and performance [p. 17].

The present case raises questions of hegemony (unquestioned assumptions), social and cultural context, objectification, and developmental concerns. Ms. Reilly’s privileged and conservative upbringing sometimes collide with her students’ less privileged social status, which in turn, informs the teacher’s perceptions. Ultimately though, Ms. O’Reilly’s subsequent decision to revise



Dancing in Bars (Musil)  89

her curriculum offers opportunities for intervention not only with Renee but with all of her students, many of whom may have unrealistic and incomplete views of their own dancing bodies, gender roles and identities. On the surface, Ms. O’Reilly’s decides to engage Renee outside regular class time to help prepare her pageant dance. Beneath this artifice, however, is a critical aim of humanizing pedagogy—a theory and practice of teaching focused on becoming—individually and collectively generating visions of themselves and each other (see “Why Grade Inflation and Teacher Disposition Don’t Mix” by McPherson, Risner, and Schupp). Dance and theater arts educator Kevin Kane (2014) suggests that many adolescents require assistance in interpreting and negotiating life choices and the options they face. Kane (2014) argues that late adolescents in particular often seek out n ­ on-family member mentors for guidance and support “as they attempt to direct (and even redirect) their life trajectories. These engagements and interventions in the arts can be crucial in assisting young people to approach important life milestones and inevitable personal evolutions” (p. 225). The most difficult decision that resides with Ms. O’Reilly’s control is the ultimate decision to formally report. Questions about whether or not the mother’s actions legally constitute sexual exploitation or abuse are at play as this teacher considers her responsibility to the student and to the law. In the U.S., educators in all 50 states are mandated to report suspected abuse or maltreatment of children (Kopels, 2006). Though teachers and other educational personnel are among the largest pool of reporting sources (HHS, 2014), educators John E. Kesner and Margaret Robinson (2002) claim that reporting abuse remains alarmingly low, with only 84 percent of suspected abuse cases in schools reported, making schools “simultaneously the largest source of both over- and underreporting of child abuse” (p. 223). The Children’s Bureau, housed within the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (2014), defines child abuse and neglect as “any recent act or failure to act on the part of a parent or caretaker which results in death, serious physical or emotional harm, sexual abuse or exploitation; or an act or failure to act, which presents an imminent risk of serious harm” (n.p.). Ms. O’Reilly’s interpretation of this definition is subjective, based on partial and sketchy information, which by her own admission, is built on implicit feelings and hunches rather than explicit evidence. Though the decision in this case was influenced by a prior history of exploitation within Renee’s family, had CPS not been previously involved, the path to intervention may have been different. Since dance seems to be a partial vehicle for Renee’s suspected sexual exploitation, Ms. O’Reilly seizes an opportunity to address social content relating to sexual exploitation of the dancing body, a topic addressed by various dance educators (Shapiro, 2004; Musil, 2005; S’­thembile-West,

90  Section Two 2005; Risner, 2004, 2005). Ms. O’Reilly’s plan may include curriculum designed to lead Renee, along with her peers, to challenge societal assumptions about the female dancing body, sexuality, and power structures that reinforce s­ ocio-cultural assumptions. Regardless of whether or not a report had been filed with CPS, this series of pedagogical d ­ ecision-making allows Ms. O’Reilly to challenge Renee’s perceptions about the dancing body in an open, accepting environment where healthy class dialogue can emerge organically without singling out any one student. Dance educator Donna Davenport (2004) encourages dance teachers to “confront culturally reinforced body attitudes about sexuality” and further asserts, “few address issues of healthy sexuality in a proactive way. Instead, the topic floats inside a c­ ulturally-defined bubble of biases, anxiety, and inaction” (p. 37). In a p ­ ublic-school environment, options for addressing issues surrounding sexuality may have certain guidelines and limitations prescribed by district and state policies; however, the opportunities to confront s­ ocio-cultural assumptions about the dancing body are many. Musil’s (2005) examination of high school dance teachers’ efforts to address movement choices with their students suggests that engaging students in discussion about movement meaning and intent correlate with fewer incidents of sexually exploitative content in student choreography. Outcomes such as these further infer that when students understand how movement conveys meaning, they create less sexually suggestive movement. Strategies to introduce and infuse critical social issues into her dance curriculum also intersects with Ms. O’Reilly’s desire to serve as a positive role model and mentor for Renee and all of her students. Doug Risner and Sherrie Barr (2015) assert, Social foundations issues in education rooted in gender look closely at dominant cultural assumptions about femininity, masculinity, sexuality, and sexual orientation. Popular media and advertising send messages to girls and women that emphasize feminine perfection, ­self-doubt in females, and how and what girls should be—most of which emerge from a masculinist perspective. Much of popular culture is focused on sexualized images and content, which are being projected more and more onto children and adolescents. These media images speak forcefully and repeatedly, and schools are not immune to them. Schools and teachers are often unprepared to provide support and meaningful protection to vulnerable students [p. 86].

Further, social foundations in dance education model ­socially-aware teaching practice by aligning class activities and discussions with and about her young students’ lives in real world experiences—what Kane (2014) advocates in connecting “dance practice with life practices,” arguing that dance and movement studies “help students practice managing the trickiest of life situations” and can lead to “a sense of momentum that simultaneously connects them to the past, situates them in the present, and directs them towards the future” (p. 225).

Dancing in Bars (Musil)  91



Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Uncovering Hidden Messages Karen Schupp and Doug Risner APPLICATION: In this activity, you will identify your assumptions about dance in bars to reveal fundamental ideas about age and developmentally appropriate dance content.

Activity Dance exists in many different contexts in our daily lives. In a given week, a dance student may learn creative dance in their high school dance class and participate in social dancing at a family wedding. Because each person has a unique identity shaped by specific communities and culture, people’s ideas about the purpose of dance can vary widely. Students may also watch dance in music videos or on television. Students’ expectations about dance are also shaped by what they see in music videos, television, and social media, which may often be sexually provocative and developmentally inappropriate for youth.

Task You will start by developing ten written descriptive phrases that come to mind when hearing the phrase “dancing in bars.” Some sample prompts to respond include: What type of social setting is it? What does it look like? What types of dancing occurs there? What is the purpose of the dancing? Who performs it? Who is participating as an observer or social participant but is not dancing? From your ten written description phrases, select five phrases as choreographic content to structure a solo. After creating your solo, perform it for at least one other person. After your performance, take some time to reflect on the following questions. What did your dance look like? How did that feel? What descriptive words came to you as you were performing it? Would this be something you feel is appropriate for your students to perform? Explain.

92  Section Two

Reflection Based on this experience, take a reflective inventory of the language used most often in your teaching practice. • Quickly list the top five words or phrases you most often use to describe: °  female student movements °  male student movements °  movements for all students. • For each group of words above, °  Do they emphasize how movement looks from the outside or     how movement feels on the inside? °  How are the words aligned with specific gender expectations, such as “sassy” when working with girls and “­hard-hitting”     when working with boys? °  What does your language communicate to boys and girls about how they should look and behave while dancing? °  How do these behaviors align with what is considered age and    developmentally appropriate? °  What did you learn about your language that may or may not be developmentally appropriate for children? If needed, what shifts in your language could you make to make your movement more developmentally appropriate?

Waltzing with the Enemy Kori Wakamatsu

SYNOPSIS: Responding to a student’s harassment accusation in a ballroom dance course, a dance teacher questions her ability to preserve her pedagogical values while making teaching modifications to accommodate the dispute.

Introduction Complexities surrounding an accusation of harassment form the foundation of this case. Kristi Chen is in her second year of teaching high school dance and recently started offering a ballroom dance course. She believes that ballroom dance is an effective way to teach adolescent students prosocial behavior, described by development psychologist Loes van Rijsewijk and colleagues (2016) as voluntary behavior which helps others or builds amicable relationships. Since high school is a critical time for students to ascertain social constructs and develop relationship skills, Ms. Chen hopes her ballroom dance class can be a safe place for exploration amidst the foibles of teenage social development. When a student is accused of harassment, Ms. Chen grapples with teaching practices that counter her own pedagogical values. She must decide between adhering to her established teaching practices, which benefit the majority of students, or making significant modifications for the students in conflict, even though she has limited information regarding the accusation. Harassment, defined by federal law as “unwelcome conduct based on a protected class (race, national origin, color, sex, age, disability, religion) that is severe, pervasive, or persistent and creates a hostile environment” (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, 2014a, n.p.), and related issues are increasingly important topics in education (Lichty and Campbell, 2012). Further, if a case involves sexual harassment it requires consideration of Title 93

94  Section Two IX of the Education Amendments of 1972 which denies “the use of federal money to support sex discrimination in education programs and to provide … protection against those practices” (U.S. Department of Justice, 2015, n.p.). Title IX regulations require that schools publish and disseminate sexual harassment policies and procedures (Lichty et al., 2008), and assign a Title IX Coordinator who oversees policy compliance, trainings, complaints, investigations, resolutions, and handling of confidential information (U.S. Department of Education, Office for Civil Rights, 2015). According to the law, teachers should be aware of their basic duty in regards to harassment. Nevertheless, a large number of teachers and administrators are unable to identify bullying and sexual harassment behaviors that require their intervention (Charmaraman et al., 2013). Discerning sexual harassment in dance classes may be especially taxing. Ballroom dance, in particular, presents challenges due to close body contact, g­ ender-based traditions, and an interactive environment, which could further obscure delineations indicating harassment.

The Case Ms. Chen takes a deep breath before addressing her large class of 41 students. “Okay, everyone, settle down, please. I’m so happy you enrolled in Ballroom Dance! As some of you know, I’ve done a lot of competitive ballroom dance over the years. The partner work and social aspects of ballroom are really fun, and I think you’ll like them too!” She cheerfully continues the usual fi ­ rst-day business, “In this class, being social is a big part of what we do. That doesn’t mean you simply talk. It means you practice prosocial behavior by being a kind and helpful dance partner to anyone and everyone in the class. You take care of your partner—you lead them, you follow them, you work together.” Elijah puts his hand over his mouth in the shape of a megaphone and asks, “What if they have B.O.?” Laughter erupts. Ms. Chen smiles wryly. “That’s a great reminder to everyone to wear deodorant. But as I was saying, no one should be turned down or insulted. Let’s practice our prosocial behavior by inviting and accepting a dance partner o ­ ld-school style.” Using language common in ballroom dance, she instructs: “Gentlemen, please motion to a lady near you, extend your hand and ask, ‘May I have this dance?’ Ladies, take the gentleman’s hand and answer, ‘Yes.’” Ms. Chen assures some students, “If you haven’t found a partner yet, don’t worry, we will rotate every few minutes.” ***



Waltzing with the Enemy (Wakamatsu)  95

The first term passes quickly and Ms. Chen transitions from the cha cha to the waltz. She identifies two students who are performing a step exceptionally well. “Jordan and Chelsie, will you please do the box twinkle step again for the class?” Chelsie’s eyes widen with embarrassment and she hesitates. Before she can protest, Jordan gestures for her to accompany him to the center of the room. Ms. Chen is impressed by Jordan’s dance skills and confidence. Although Ms. Chen thinks Jordan is a great student, she does notice that he doesn’t always read social cues. She recalls an occasion when Brittany, Martina, Kate, and Chelsie were standing in a small circle reviewing a step. Jordan bounded into the middle and asked, “Do you girls need help? Wanna practice with me?” he grinned, winked exaggeratedly, and held his arms up in dance position. “No, thank you,” Brittany said, rolling her eyes. The other girls giggled and turned their backs to him. Chelsie looked at Jordan with pity, shrugged her shoulders and mouthed, “Sorry.” Ms. Chen, although disappointed to see this exchange, decided not to intervene—thinking the students should figure out some awkward teenage moments on their own. *** Near m ­ id-semester the Vice Principal, Mr. Smith, steps into the dance studio between classes. “Kristi, I need to make you aware of a confidential situation. Chelsie has made a complaint about Jordan in your fifth period. She claims he has been harassing her—in your class.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “There might be some cyberbullying involved as well.” Ms. Chen opens her mouth to respond, but stops when students begin filtering into the space, clearly within earshot. Mr. Smith whispers in a steely tone, “Those two are to be kept away from each other until further notice— and you are to report any misconduct immediately.” He turns and exits before Ms. Chen can respond. Ms. Chen feels blindsided. Her mind races through fragmented details of the two students: Jordan is a good dancer who doesn’t always recognize social cues; Chelsie is quiet and often stands in the corner. Ms. Chen can’t recall any specific incident that would warrant a harassment complaint. She remembers the awkward moment when Jordan invaded the circle of girls, but Chelsie’s response seemed sympathetic toward Jordan. As she reflects on the situation, Ms. Chen begins to second guess herself—maybe she has missed some warning signs. She also keeps wondering about Mr. Smith’s choice of words. When he said ‘harassing,’ did he mean sexual harassment? Consumed with questions, she construes the subtext of

96  Section Two Mr. Smith’s “confidential,” as a clear message to “keep your mouth shut.” As a n ­ on-tenured teacher, she knows not to make waves. Reflecting on the directive to keep the two students separated, Ms. Chen has no idea how she will meet the course learning outcomes. Mr. Smith has limited experience with dance and does not realize the difficulty of his demand. Ms. Chen feels she must comply—to not only protect Chelsie, but also herself as a provisional teacher. *** The next day, Ms. Chen reluctantly changes classroom procedures in order to keep Jordan and Chelsie separated. She announces to the class, “I’ll be assigning partners for the remainder of the semester.” Students protest, “Oh, c’mon!” “No way!” Ms. Chen attempts to pacify students, “Dancers, this is to prepare you for the final. It’ll be extra practice time with your performance partner.” As the words spill out of her mouth, she cringes; she doubts this prescriptive method of instruction will enrich her classroom environment. In fact, she’s sure it will sabotage her efforts to foster prosocial behavior and increase skills by dancing with a variety of partners. Only one week into the new arrangement, students revolt against the partner assignments. Carlos, a usually respectful and engaged student, belligerently blurts, “When are we gonna pick our own partners again? This effin’ sucks!” A look of panic crosses Chelsie’s face. Ms. Chen deflects the question by scolding Carlos sternly, “Hey! Watch your mouth!” Later, Ms. Chen sees that Sofia and Ajay need some extra help. “OK, class, practice on your own for a minute.” After only a moment of s­ ide-coaching, she turns to see Jordan practically n ­ ose-to-nose with Chelsie. Flying across the studio, she shrieks, “Everyone, GO BACK with your partner for the day!” Students gawk at Ms. Chen with surprise. “Take a chill pill,” Brittany mutters. Ms. Chen is keenly aware of how absurd her behavior must seem to the class. She is irrationally upset about two students socializing in a class that promotes prosocial behavior. Ms. Chen realizes that she has not thought through how to keep Jordan and Chelsie separated at all times. When the bell rings, Chelsie darts out before Ms. Chen is able to talk to her. As students exit, she sees Jordan pull out his cell phone and begin typing. She can’t help but wonder, “Is he texting Chelsie?” Frazzled by the incident, Ms. Chen heads directly to Mr. Smith’s office



Waltzing with the Enemy (Wakamatsu)  97

after school. Knocking on his open door, she asks apprehensively, “Mr. Smith, can I give you an update on the two students in my fifth period? I did see them talk for a brief moment today.” Mr. Smith waves her in and pulls out a file to take notes. “Okay, what was their conversation about?” Ms. Chen responds, “Ugh, I don’t know?” Swiftly, she explains, “I was across the room helping some other students…” Mr. Smith interjects, “What did you say to Jordan?” Ms. Chen responds with surprise, “Um, nothing. Was I supposed to?” She proceeds cautiously, knowing Mr. Smith is an influential administrator and crucial ally. Trying hard not to seem insubordinate, she inquires, “I’m wondering if I can talk to Chelsie about it? Or, maybe I can talk to Jordan so he knows my expectations…” “Absolutely not!” Mr. Smith bellows. “Look, I told you this is confidential. There are rules and policies we have to follow. Not to mention all the legal hoops.” Mr. Smith sighs disapprovingly. He points threateningly at her and says, “Just make sure they don’t go near each other, okay?” Feebly, Ms. Chen blurts, “What if I can’t? I mean, I’ve been trying, but what you’re asking is nearly impossible. There have to be other options. Maybe we should transfer Chelsie out of the class.” Mr. Smith puts his hand up, “Okay, okay. I have also thought about rearranging the students’ schedules. But if anyone changes classes, it will be Jordan. Chelsie is the potential victim.” Mr. Smith gives Ms. Chen a moment to consider his alternative and asks, “Are you ready to impact Jordan’s educational experience based on a y­ et-to-be-proven accusation?” Ms. Chen stammers, “I’m um. I’m not sure.” She does not want either student displaced. Yet she has already changed her teaching practices to accommodate the situation—with no success. In fact, she is certain that her modifications have hindered learning for the other students. She responds uncertainly, “I want them both in class, so I’ll try to keep them apart.” Pushing his notebook to the side, Mr. Smith concludes the conversation abrasively: “You can’t just try, Kristi. Figure out how to make it happen!” *** “Figuring it out” keeps Ms. Chen up late that night. She brainstorms ideas about assigning small groups, teaching set choreography, or even having students sit to watch dance videos. Ultimately, however, she moves ahead with her original lesson plans—the other options infringe too much on her course objectives. Later that week, there is a near collision while students practice a new step. “Watch it, ­butt-wipe!” Mike blurts loudly. She turns in time to hear Jordan defending himself, “Hey, it was just an

98  Section Two accident!” Jordan speaks directly to Ms. Chen, “I got confused. We bumped. It’s no biggie.” Checking to make sure Mike and his partner are okay, Ms. Chen freezes in disbelief. Jordan has crashed into Mike—and Chelsie. Meeting Ms. Chen’s gaze, Chelsie quickly averts her eyes, blinking away tears. Though this may have been an innocent mistake, Ms. Chen interprets it as a sign. She sends Mr. Smith an urgent email to transfer Jordan out of her class.

Dilemma and Stakeholders There are numerous elements and viewpoints that Ms. Chen factors into her decision making process. As a critical stakeholder, Ms. Chen feels divided between meeting the needs of two students while simultaneously creating a rich learning environment for the entire class. Her ballroom dance teaching philosophies and methodologies are incompatible with Jordan and Chelsie’s situation. Ms. Chen knows educators should make modifications to ensure safety and eliminate harassment, yet she is unsure how to reasonably meet the needs of each individual student in the class. How should she prioritize the needs of one student versus another, or one versus many? What additional strategies could Ms. Chen have implemented? Ms. Chen is further conflicted by her perceptions of Jordan and Chelsie and worries the complaint could be a simple misunderstanding in which Jordan has clung to Chelsie’s kindness. At the same time, Jordan’s unrefined brashness might be too much for Chelsie’s meek demeanor, causing her anxiety and distress. Ms. Chen would prefer to discuss the situation with Chelsie and Jordan directly, but is forced to consider other options. How can she remain neutral and supportive of both students in this situation? Because she views Jordan as a great student, is she more inclined to believe he is innocent? Or has she positioned herself on Chelsie’s side by transferring Jordan out of the class? Ms. Chen feels particularly inconvenienced by being asked to keep students separated in a ballroom dance class. Is absolute separation a reasonable request in any class, though? Is the idea of keeping students apart to avoid conflict an effective strategy? She believes it’s likely better to teach them appropriate ways to interact, but who is responsible for teaching students those skills when they are in conflict? As an administrator, Mr. Smith’s domineering behaviors may be an outgrowth of stress caused by the harassment allegation. It is reasonable to assume he is acting as the school’s Title IX Coordinator, and thus required to follow national and state laws, as well as district and school policies. His guarded

Waltzing with the Enemy (Wakamatsu)  99 release of information indicates several quandaries he is facing: balancing the rights of both the plaintiff and accused; confidentiality and disclosure issues; and timely, thorough, and fair conflict resolution. To him, the request to keep Jordan and Chelsie separated during class is attainable and temporary. Although it appears he is carefully following procedures, is there more he could do? Could he offer Ms. Chen, a s­ econd-year teacher, more comprehensive support and disclosure of information? Would it be important for Mr. Smith to observe the ballroom dance class, revisit Title IX policies and procedures with Ms. Chen, and request a formal meeting with relevant stakeholders? Little is known about Jordan’s views. At first, he is presented as a skilled dancer and helpful student. Yet his actions become more directly focused toward Chelsie as the story unfolds. Depending on multiple variables, Jordan’s interactions could qualify as harassment, sexual harassment, or poorly executed flirting. His obliviousness to personal space and s­ elf-centered attention seeking indicate a lack of awareness of how others perceive him. Although Mr. Smith maintains that Ms. Chen cannot discuss the case with the students, Jordan may need more explicitly defined boundaries. If Mr. Smith had encouraged Ms. Chen to establish clear parameters with Jordan, would the outcome have changed? How much guidance is appropriate to give students in regards to social, emotional, and romantic interactions with peers? How does the implied but not disclosed sexual harassment element impact this case? Chelsie’s viewpoints as a stakeholder are barely exposed, which is symbolically congruent with many victim’s experiences. Her embarrassment when receiving praise and silent “sorry” to Jordan convey a timid personality. Even if Jordan’s exchanges with Chelsie are not intended to harm her, she may not possess the needed confidence to assert herself against unwanted actions. For a student like Chelsie, having a safe and accessible method to file a grievance against another student is critical. Is Mr. Smith’s strict adherence to confidentiality an attempt to protect Chelsie? Is there more Ms. Chen could do to support the potential victim? Other students enrolled in the ballroom dance class are directly affected by the alterations to content and delivery. Students like Carlos are frustrated by the abrupt changes in instructional strategies and shifts in classroom atmosphere. Just as pertinent, is whether students in the class witnessed the alleged harassment. How are students shaped by the actions, or perceived l­ ack-of-actions, taken by adults when harassment occurs? Will students be more likely to engage in harassment behaviors? Or less likely to report incidents of harassment? How are students impacted by hostile environments? Although not explicitly described in the case study, additional stakeholders include parents, counselors, other teachers and administrators, and law enforcement. The intersections of home life, compulsory education, and legal authority add complexity to this case.

100  Section Two

Pedagogical Elements Educators often struggle with identifying and reacting appropriately to harassment and other related scenarios such as bullying (Bauman et al., 2016; Bradshaw et al., 2007; Mishna, 2005). Research suggests that teachers more readily identify physically aggressive forms of harassment and bullying, but lack clarity in identifying verbal, emotional, and social forms (Bradshaw et al., 2007; Crothers and Kolbert, 2004). This is true for Ms. Chen who cannot recall anything flagrant when she is informed of the allegation. Perhaps more concerning, is important data illuminated by an extensive study by researchers at the Johns Hopkins Center for the Prevention of Youth Violence in which staff felt their responses to harassment and bullying were acceptable, yet 62 percent of middle school students and 57 percent of high school students felt “staff made the situation worse when they intervened” (Bradshaw et al., 2012, p. 375). Psychologists Laura Crothers and Jered Kolbert (2004) suggest that teaching students strategies to assert themselves against offenders may be effective. In regards to sexual harassment, teaching students how to identify elements of sexual harassment may also be helpful. For example, students may be empowered when they know the difference between sexual harassment and flirting—mainly that flirting is wanted, and makes students feel good, whereas sexual harassment is unwanted (Steineger, 2001). Because adolescents’ brains are highly susceptible to social acceptance and rejections (Steinberg, 2014), a ballroom dance class is a promising atmosphere in which positive dispositions and skills can develop. With good intentions, Ms. Chen tells students not to turn down a partner request in order to foster community and trust. In so doing, though, she hinders the ability for a student to say no to unwanted behavior. Preventing and Countering ­School-Based Harassment outlines the need to involve all students in conversations addressing appropriate behavior and harassment (Steineger, 2001). Furthermore, Title IX requires schools to “adopt and publish grievance procedures” (U.S. Department of Education, 2015, n.p.). Discussing and promoting prosocial behavior is only one part of the teacher’s responsibility; helping students identify harassment and outlining grievance procedures are significant factors for social, emotional, and physical safety as well. Some of the most pressing pedagogical elements include ethical stewardship and ensuring equitable access to education. Educational theorist John Goodlad (1994) advocates for “the moral obligation of teachers to ensure equitable access to and engagement in the best possible K–12 education for all children and youths” (p. 87). Ms. Chen’s attempt to r­ e-establish a safe learning environment for one student impedes other students’ equitable access to and engagement in the activities of the course. When implementing modifications for specific student needs, educators should apply sound professional practices that benefit the good of the whole as well as the individual.

Waltzing with the Enemy (Wakamatsu)  101 Further pedagogical questions arise about the conventional norms of ballroom dance. Even though Ms. Chen is committed to the prosocial benefits of a ballroom dance curriculum, she recognizes sexist values inherent in certain ballroom dance traditions. When she playfully uses the term “old school,” she is referring to l­ ong-held practices in which men invite and lead women through the dance. This construct could have contributed to Chelsie’s perceptions of feeling powerless in an already stressful situation. Ms. Chen could make changes in her pedagogical practices to promote a greater cognitive awareness of gender and social issues relevant to the content. For example, she could have students invite others to dance regardless of gender; teach all students both the lead and follow roles; teach n ­ on-partner-based social dances; and moderate r­ esearch-based discussions about ballroom dance. Sociologists James Beggan and Allison Pruitt (2014) expound upon these kinds of practices: “By using the lead-follow terminology rather than man-woman, [this] opens dialogue regarding the possibility that the lead and follow roles may not be decided on biological sex” (p. 517). Beggan and Pruitt (2014) further emphasize the importance of personal preferences based on individual characteristics independent of gender. When dance educators orchestrate rich learning activities and facilitate dialogue about complex issues, greater awareness and acceptance of self and others can be achieved. By analyzing and evaluating issues in ballroom dance, dance educators may empower students through the content and curriculum, rather than restrict them. The details of this case present a mere glimpse of complexities found within cases of harassment in the classroom. While confronting dilemmas of equity, access, and conflict, Ms. Chen questions her instructional delivery, pedagogical theory, personal responses, and intuition. Although it is impossible for teachers to meet all students’ needs at all times, in cases like these, it is imperative that teachers r­ e-examine practices in order to cultivate safe learning environments void of bias, hostility, and harassment.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Bystander Intervention: When It Is Your Business Karen Schupp APPLICATION: The following activity will help you be prepared to respond thoughtfully to and prevent possible sexual harassment in the classroom.

102  Section Two

Activity Imagine the following scenario: You and a group of friends, both male and female, go out for a late dinner to celebrate a friend’s birthday. While waiting for a table, your group waits in the crowded bar lounge of the restaurant. Over time, you and your friends start talking in couples to each other and with other restaurant patrons. You notice that one of your female friends is talking with an unknown man; she seems uncomfortable. You move closer and overhear their conversation, and it becomes clear to you that he is saying sexually inappropriate things; he is sexually harassing her. What do you do? Describe. Bystander intervention is an approach for preventing various types of violence and bullying, including sexual harassment. This proactive approach strongly discourages blaming victims, provides the opportunity to change and question social norms, and places responsibility on men and women to prevent sexual harassment before it occurs (Tabachnick, 2009). Bystander intervention requires people to notice when something doesn’t seem “right,” and to do something, if they can. Researchers suggest that bystander intervention requires five steps: noticing the action, considering whether or not the situation demands attention, deciding if you have a responsibility to do something, choosing what form of assistance to use, and understanding how to implement the choice safely (Tabachnick, 2009). Now, imagine this scenario: You are teaching a high school technique class to adolescent girls and boys. As students are traveling across the floor, you are giving your full attention to the students who are dancing, but out of the corner of your eye, you notice two female students gesturing in a provocative way that suggests they are talking about male students’ bodies. You also notice that the students in the vicinity of the gesturing students s­ elf-consciously cross their arms hiding their bodies and avoid making eye contact with the male students. What do you do?

Reflective Questions 1.  How does your response as a teacher align with the five steps outlined as part of bystander intervention? 2.  How does your response specifically reflect your pedagogical values? 3.  What changes could be made in your teaching approach or classroom management strategies to explicitly prevent sexual harassment from the beginning? And encourage bystander intervention in your students?

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media #overexposed Kori Wakamatsu

SYNOPSIS: After discovering high school Dance Company student leaders “sexting” via social media outside of school, a dance educator must decide if the students can be permitted to continue as members of the company.

Introduction Whether communicating with “gifs” instead of words, sending “snaps” to promptly inform a peer, or regularly updating Instagram with quickly yet carefully filtered selfies, teenagers have readily integrated social media into their daily lives. Teenagers’ presence on social media cannot be understated. In fact, a 2015 study found that over 75 percent of teens regularly use social media (Lenhart, 2015), which contributes new complexity to the adolescent experience. With such widespread use, schools and teachers must help adolescents understand how to responsibly navigate social media in order to maximize the benefits and minimize the risks of developing a digital presence. Benefits of social media use among teens include facilitating identity creation, broadening social groups and connections, and providing safe forums for adolescents to express themselves (Bartsch and Subrahmanyam, 2015; McBride, 2011). Psychologists Minas Michikyan and Carola S­ uàrez-Orozco (2016) further explain that “adolescents and young adults use social media for s­ elf-presentation and s­ elf-disclosure, and these behaviors are linked to their identity and intimacy development and w ­ ell-being” (p. 411). The Consortium for School Networking (2013) also outlines educational gains such as making connections between i­ n-school activities and r­ eal-life. Social media is a 103

104  Section Two means for adolescents to curate their emerging identity and to broaden their sense of community and belonging. Despite the benefits of social media, concerns about negative side effects including poor sleep quality, anxiety, depression, cyberbullying, and sexting have been documented (McBride, 2011; Woods and Scott, 2016; Michikyan and S­ uàrez-Orozco, 2016). Sexting, sending, receiving, and forwarding sexually explicit images via text or social media, presents especially complex issues, which have been associated with other risky behaviors, particularly among girls, including adolescent sexual activity, multiple sexual partners, and drug or alcohol use before sex (Temple et al., 2012; Cooper et al., 2016). Some researchers, however, theorize that sexting may be a part of normal adolescent development and experimentation with sexuality (Lievens, 2014; Temple and Choi, 2014; Woods and Scott, 2015; Walrave, 2015; Cooper et al., 2016). As with other sexual development and sexuality practices, a person’s moral code often determines whether or not sexting is viewed as a risky or normal behavior for teenagers. As minors, adolescents require certain legal protections from harmful or exploitive behaviors and materials. Both the Broadband Data Improvement Act (BDIA), enacted in 2008, and The Children’s Internet Protection Act (CIPA), updated in 2011, focus on protecting minors when they access the Internet in schools and public libraries. In addition to blocking obscene, pornographic, or harmful material, BDIA (2008) and CIPA (2011) require the oversight of minors’ Internet activities and education regarding appropriate online behavior inclusive of social networking websites. Many schools and districts address these requirements in what is commonly titled an Acceptable Use Policy, a set of rules to which all users agree prior to gaining access to a network, website, or Internet service. Regardless of established laws, implementing social media policies in r­ eal-world educational settings can be arduous. The following scenario presents a dilemma involving questionable social media use by two student leaders, affecting their eligibility to participate in an upcoming performance. In this case, Darius Cook, a dance educator in his eleventh year of teaching at a large suburban middle school, negotiates ethical, legal, and curricular implications as he considers an appropriate course of action in response to the students’ personal social media choices.

The Case “Thanks everyone for coming to our t­ op-of-the-year Dance Company parents meeting,” Mr. Cook begins. The audience of Dance Company members, their parents, and school support personnel give Mr. Cook an enthusiastic round of applause and finger

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media (Wakamatsu)  105 snaps. It’s clear that Mr. Cook garners the respect of his students and all those who support Dance Company. “Thank you so much!” he continues proudly, “One of my favorite things about my job is directing Dance Company. These kids,” pointing to the students sitting amongst their parents, “are the ones who really excel at choreography and performance. But all that ability requires responsibility. That’s why we’re here to talk about expectations for all Dance Company members.” Mr. Cook proceeds through the Dance Company policies and contract. He stops to clarify a clause about appropriate behavior. “So, this one’s important. We don’t tolerate ‘middle school soap opera drama’ in Dance Company,” he gestures large air quotes to add emphasis. “You know what I mean, that’s gossiping, disrespecting each other, love triangles, posting nasty rumors on Snapchat.” The students shift in their chairs, uncomfortable with the subject matter in a room full of adults. “Seriously, as Dance Company members, you are ambassadors of our dance program and the school, a duty I expect you to take to heart.” Introducing the newly appointed student leaders, Mr. Cook continues, “Kaitlin, Maya, Naomi, Casey, Riley, and Imani, please stand. These student leaders have important responsibilities like winter concert choreography, costume organization, and group text reminders.” As he looks at these students, he is reminded how Kaitlin Burch and Maya Schwartz are such standouts as student leaders—their dance abilities and natural leadership skills set great examples for the company this year. *** The school year begins smoothly—nearly uneventful as Mr. Cook and Dance Company students prepare for the annual winter concert. The semester has been rich with student choreography development. With less than two weeks to the dance concert, Mr. Cook asks, “Kaitlin and Maya, have you made final decision about costumes for your piece?” Hushed whispers and eye rolls by other students follow. Mr. Cook catches only portions of the whispered backtalk: “…if they even have costumes,” “How about a pink tutu,” “Is skin an option?” Unsure what all the soap opera drama is about, Mr. Cook asks, “What was that?” The students fall silent. Kaitlin finally answers, “We haven’t decided. Could we look in the costume closet again?” “Okay, but you need to make a decision by tomorrow. We start tech rehearsal next week, so it’s crunch time!” ***

106  Section Two After school, Naomi, one of the student leaders, stops by the dance room. She stands in the doorway and looks over her shoulder before approaching Mr. Cook with uncharacteristic timidity. “Hey, Mr. Cook…” “Hi Naomi, what’s up?” “Well, I just have a question. I mean, I don’t know if it’s really a question, you know?” Her nervousness is making Mr. Cook nervous; he glances at the door to make sure it’s open, always careful when a lone student enters the dance space. The last thing he wants is anyone questioning the appropriateness of his t­ eacher-student relationships. “Okay, go ahead,” he prompts, listening attentively. “You know how in Dance Company you’re always talking about being a good example? What if, um, someone wasn’t?” “Well, I’d want to know about it, of course.” He wonders where this is leading. “But, like, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble. I just think they aren’t doing what they are supposed to.” Naomi keeps her eyes on the floor. “Okay, so…” Naomi blurts, “You should just look at this, K? And don’t tell anyone I told you. Please. It’s been going around the whole school.” Naomi makes eye contact for the first time and shoves her phone towards him. He reads: “Check out this hot tweet. #youwantsomeofthis,” followed in bold letters with: “#overexposed.” Before he can question her, Naomi pulls her phone back and dashes out the door. Mr. Cook is confused at first. He has a Twitter account, but the Acceptable Use Policy prohibits following or friending students on social media and he cannot access social networking sites while on school grounds. Reflecting on the cryptic conversation with Naomi, his suspicions escalate. *** Upon arriving home, he opens his Twitter account and first searches “#overexposed.” Tweets of overexposed film and random pictures pop up. He clears that search and enters “#youwantsomeofthis.” Near the top of the search results, Mr. Cook finds a somewhat blurry selfie of Kaitlin and Maya. It appears they are in one of the girl’s bedrooms, where a portion of the Dance Company concert poster can be seen hanging on the wall behind them. They are posed provocatively on the bed, each wearing a pink tutu around their waists. Except for the tutus, they are naked. In stunned disbelief, he scans the accompanying text. “@KaitlinBdancing. Me and my bestie are tutu sexy! #youwantsomeofthis.” His stomach churns when he sees the picture has been retweeted over 100 times. His anxiety building, he questions, “Why would they do this? To impress

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media (Wakamatsu)  107 a boy? To feel sexy? Were they bullied into doing this?” “If they’re doing this, what else are they doing?” Embarrassed about viewing the tweet, Mr. Cook quickly deletes his browser history. As a male middle school dance teacher, his motives and integrity are unfairly scrutinized far more than female teachers. Worriedly, he questions if he should report seeing a naked selfie of two female students. He broods over his own s­ elf-preservation for a moment before returning to the girls’ predicament. This is outside the bounds of appropriate middle school behavior, and thus, consequences are required. He feels a duty to respond. He wants to prevent this from becoming the “new normal” for his students by addressing it swiftly. Now feeling convinced that consequences must be severe enough to have an impact, he wrestles with a final, pervading question: “Should I remove them from Dance Company?” Undoubtedly, the concert will be jeopardized if he removes them. He would have one week to restructure ten dances and deal with details regarding printed programs, costuming, and student leadership assignments. More pressing, though, would the removal of each girls’ choreographic pieces lead to uproar from other students and parents? Deleting the two pieces would disregard other dancers’ rehearsal time, efforts, and performance opportunities—unjustly punishing them for Kaitlin and Maya’s actions. Yet he can’t imagine letting them perform and have their work represented—they have degraded themselves and lost his trust. Kaitlin and Maya have consistently been standout students. After unsettled hours of internal debate, Mr. Cook sends an urgent email to the principal: Dear Mr. Gillespie: I need to talk to you about removing two students from Dance Company. It’s pretty serious, so I’ll stop by your office in the morning. —Darius

*** The next morning Mr. Cook and Mr. Gillespie speak for a few moments. Mr. Gillespie promises to investigate the tweet. He finds Mr. Cook at the end of lunch. “Darius, this situation is definitely egregious. Someone from the district office is coming shortly. I’ve left messages with both sets of parents, and I’m hoping we can all meet after school. Can you be there?” “Yeah, I’ll make arrangements.” After school, Mr. Cook meets with Mr. Gillespie and Ms. Vickie Davis, a district administrator who oversees the school; she is considered one of the district superintendent’s closest advisors. Mr. Gillespie begins the conversation,

108  Section Two “As you know, I have called both sets of parents to let them know about the situation.” He sighs. “Kaitlin’s dad is threatening a lawsuit if you remove her from Dance Company.” Mr. Cook bristles, “What? No! This is a clear violation…” Ms. Davis interjects assertively, “I know this is upsetting, but Kaitlin’s dad wants to handle the situation at home, privately. He argues—and makes a valid point—that this very personal tweet is outside the school’s disciplinary purview.” Mr. Cook furrows his brow in disagreement. Ms. Davis responds, “Honestly, there is a lot of gray area here.” Mr. Cook sustains his disapproving gaze, eliciting further reasoning from Ms. Davis: “For example, this wasn’t done on school property. Also, we have to consider the prevalence of sexting today; we can’t punish every student who has ever sexted. And let’s not forget that we haven’t talked to the girls yet. This could be a joke gone bad, or they might have even been coerced into tweeting the photo. Mr. Cook, the girls may be victims here, we don’t know yet.” Softening, Mr. Cook responds, “I get the points you are making and I definitely want to have a h ­ eart-to-heart with the girls. But I don’t believe they are completely innocent; we can’t just look the other way and pretend this didn’t happen.” He continues forcefully, “They publicly tweeted a nude selfie! I can’t in good conscience allow them to remain part of the company, let alone keep them in student leadership positions.” Mr. Gillespie waits for the severity of the moment to pass, then adds, “One thing we haven’t discussed yet is if any laws were broken. I know some states consider sexting a kind of child pornography, which is illegal. But I think here in Illinois the legislature passed a law making it only a misdemeanor. Either way, we’ll need legal counsel from the district.” The conversation is interrupted by a knock on the door. A school secretary pokes her head in to say, “The parents you have been waiting for just arrived.” “Thanks, please have them wait.” As she closes the door, Mr. Gillespie summarizes, “Okay, there’s a lot to consider. We have to handle this situation carefully.” He looks pointedly at Mr. Cook, and asks, “Before the parents come in, do you still want to remove the girls from Dance Company?” Mr. Cook straightens in his chair and answers firmly, “Yes, absolutely.”

Dilemma and Stakeholders The stakeholders in this case possess varying views of appropriate behavior, and acknowledging each stakeholder’s perspective brings to light the

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media (Wakamatsu)  109 elements Mr. Cook must assess when making his decision. Mr. Cook immediately evaluates the tweet as a wrongful act, and wants Kaitlin, Maya, and other students to understand the grievous nature of their choices. Mr. Cook is also considering his own reputation. As a male dance teacher, he regularly confronts questions ranging from his sexual orientation to his motives for working in a field saturated with young girls. By executing a severe punishment, he reinforces his position and illustrates that he does not support the sexual exploitation of middle school students in any way. Because he is resolute about disciplining the students, Mr. Cook’s most salient dilemma is whether or not to remove Kaitlin and Maya from Dance Company so close to concert. By choosing this consequence, Mr. Cook knows there will be immediate repercussions. Nevertheless, by setting a precedent now, he is projecting the Dance Company’s values as representative of the school mission. Is the chosen punishment proportionate to their act? Would there be any gains by allowing Kaitlin and Maya to remain a part of the company or concert? As an influential stakeholder, Ms. Davis is not convinced about the wrongfulness of the girls’ tweet. From an administrative perspective, both she and Mr. Gillespie are undoubtedly motivated to avoid a lawsuit. Beyond litigation, though, Ms. Davis recognizes that adolescents are experimenting with their sexual development and may not fully comprehend the consequences of risky behaviors. Furthermore, she knows societal pressures surrounding female sexual objectification may have been a contributing factor. By raising the possibility that Kaitlin and Maya were coerced, she opens the conversation for considering them as victims. Whether they were willing participants or coerced victims, Ms. Davis is seeking a judicious and uncomplicated resolution for everyone involved. She is carefully considering how the adult stakeholders should address this case without dismissing developmental norms, disregarding g­ ender-based issues, or inducing unwarranted shame. Having threatened legal action, Kaitlin’s parents raise questions about the school’s disciplinary jurisdiction. Arguably, students’ personal social media activities do not necessarily correlate with their right to access education. Further, the presence of moral issues and varying value systems may validate Kaitlin’s father’s claim that disciplinary action should be handled privately by the parents. Nonetheless, do some school activities and programs warrant a higher behavioral expectation? Consider how the case might be handled if two standout male basketball players had tweeted a nude selfie. Should students’ o ­ ut-of-school social media activities impact their eligibility for s­ chool-based programs? If so, Mr. Cook could rightfully dismiss Kaitlin and Maya from Dance Company. Will district policy, state law, and other regulations overrule or support the Mr. Cook’s stance? Kaitlin and Maya are central stakeholders in this case, yet only their actions, not their motives, are revealed. One speculative motive might involve

110  Section Two sexy s­ elf-presentation and t­ hrill-seeking experimentation. If they willingly engaged in tweeting a nude selfie as middle school students, what is an appropriate consequence? Although disconcerting, another possible motive may involve coercion. If fear, intimidation, or threats were involved, what can stakeholders do to ensure victim support and privacy? Furthermore, if they are not punished for a coerced tweet, how will that be interpreted by other students? Will other students feel it is permissible to post similar photos on social media? Certainly, the impact on other students presents further considerations. Stinging comments in class and rehearsal, and Naomi’s choice to report the tweet, exemplify how Kaitlin and Maya’s actions adversely affect the school community. Unfortunately, student morale will be negatively impacted whether or not the girls are removed from the company. Doing so, compromises preparations for the winter dance concert; yet tensions may prevail if they are permitted to remain. Additionally, if Kaitlin and Maya are permitted to remain members of Dance Company or the concert, other students could perceive standards for student behavior as low, rarely producing negative consequences for students in Dance Company.

Pedagogical Elements The events in this case prompt discussion about appropriate student behavior and disciplinary jurisdiction. By law, schools are charged to instruct students “regarding appropriate online behavior including interacting with other individuals on social networking websites and in chat rooms, and regarding cyberbullying awareness and response” (BDIA, 2008, Sec. 215). With this in mind, Mr. Cook has a responsibility to educate students about social media practices, and his decision to remove the girls from Dance Company may be justified. Defining and guiding “appropriate” sexual and online behavior is a complex task for both educators and parents that is greatly informed by personal values and beliefs. On one hand, there is a “sex positive” approach to sexual education where consensual sexual activities in adolescence are viewed as a normal part of developing and as potentially healthy (Harden, 2014). In this outlook, consensual sexting may be a normal outgrowth of adolescent sexual development. On the other end of the spectrum, is “the predominant ‘risk’ perspective that presumes abstinence from sexual activity is the ideal behavioral outcome for teenagers” (Harden, 2014). Here, sexting is seen as a “bad” or “risky” behavior. Although never fully articulated, it seems that Mr. Cook’s values are more aligned with a “risk perspective” approach to sexual education whereas Kaitlyn’s family perhaps embraces a “sex positive” approach.

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media (Wakamatsu)  111 The appropriateness of sexting might depend partially on motives, and teens have reported a variety of reasons. Some teens report sexting as a consensual form of flirting and romantic connection (Cooper et al., 2016; Walrave et al., 2015); while others report being coerced or bullied (Choi et al., 2016; Drouin et al., 2015; Lievens, 2014). Educational psychologists Hye Jeong Choi and colleagues (2016) elaborate about coercion concerns: Sexting could function as a continuation of offline forms of sexual coercion and function as an additional way for perpetrators to harass their victims. This is particularly alarming because (1) coercion is no longer limited to ­in-person interactions, and (2) perpetrators may use the coerced images to further harm women with blackmail or threats [p. 167].

Furthermore, a double standard has been identified in that girls are often solicited for sexts, but then ridiculed when they comply. Conversely, boys are often the requestors who then gain social status for sexting (Walrave et al., 2015; Wood et al., 2016). In this case, Mr. Cook interprets the tweet as inappropriate, while Ms. Davis suspends judgment. Considering the research, both may be justified in their conclusions. Regardless of personal views of sexting appropriateness, students need meaningful instruction about gender issues and coercion in online interactions. Additionally, the dance classroom may present prime opportunities for “appropriate online behavior” instruction because dance deals with expression through the body and often involves a far larger female population that privileges male participation. Another motivation for the tweet may be linked directly to the students’ developmental stages and processes. Adolescence is a time of increased r­ isk-taking, heightened sensation seeking, and susceptibility to socioemotional influences affecting judgment and decision making (Albert and Steinberg, 2011). Developmental elements are considered in the work of social scientists Johanna M.F. van Oosten and Laura Vandenbosch (2016) who hypothesize that the effects of sexting reach beyond the individuals directly involved and might increase willingness to engage in risky activities. Communication Studies scholar Michel Walrave and research collaborators (2015) surveyed 217 fifteen to nineteen y­ ear-olds and found the most prominent motivation for engagement is perceived social norms: “Believing that peers perform this behavior (i.e., the perceived social norm) could suggest that sexting is acceptable and could inspire others to engage in it” (p. 804). Simply stated, if teens believe “everyone else is doing it,” they are more likely to engage themselves. Thus, Mr. Cook insightfully considers how Kaitlin and Maya’s actions will influence other students in Dance Company when contemplating appropriate disciplinary action. Adding to the dilemma is the unclear delineation of disciplinary jurisdiction. Kaitlin’s father claims the school has no authority to act in this case. Yet, Mr. Cook feels obliged to respond as an educator and dance program

112  Section Two director. Ms. Davis and Mr. Gillespie proceed with caution, knowing district policies may indeed limit their governance and action. Additionally, state and federal laws further complicate jurisdiction distinctions. In some instances, legal mandates may override disciplinary action taken by schools, teachers, and parents. Depending on individual state laws, sexting, posting, or tweeting a nude photo of a minor could be considered dissemination of child pornography—even if that picture is s­ elf-disseminated (Grant, 2008; Herman, 2010; Findlaw, 2015; Wolak, 2012). In this specific case, Illinois Compiled Statutes (2015) mandate that if minors are found guilty of sexting, they may be sentenced to counseling or community service. Law professor Susan Hanley Duncan (2014) advocates for statutes and consequences that “fulfill the goal of keeping children safe while not unduly punishing them for a youthful mistake” (p. 177). Although Kaitlin’s father is fighting to keep the tweet a private family matter, the odds may be in Mr. Cook’s favor. After all, Mr. Cook is federally mandated to educate students about online practices, he includes a clause about “appropriate behavior” in the Dance Company contract, and the girls’ actions violate Illinois state law. Overall, jurisdiction and disciplinary purview may involve a delicate overlay of state, district, school, teacher, and parental authority. As young people continue to interface with social media, incidents of controversial tweets, posts, chats, and sexts are bound to continue, and will likely increase. Within each case, individual perspectives regarding appropriateness may result in varying ethical, moral, and legal interpretations and consequences. Since stakeholder interests may be at odds, sustained conversations are critical to comprehensively address social media issues in K–12 schools.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Screens Out! Doug Risner APPLICATION: In this activity, you will examine your relationship with media and technology so that you may become more mindful of your use social media as a dance artist and educator.

Negotiating Challenges with Social Media (Wakamatsu)  113 Because of social media’s low financial cost and wide reach, dance artists use social media to promote many aspects of their work and livelihood. High school dance companies provide students with numerous p ­ re-professional opportunities that mirror professional experiences allowing teens to experience and aspire to professional standards and practices, especially those who hold or seek leadership positions. For high school dance students, social media can be an important part of both their personal lives and responsibilities as emerging dance artists. The role of social media and technology and their effect on daily lives of teachers and students cannot be ignored. According to the Pew Center for Research, “Teens are sharing more information about themselves on social media sites than they did in the past and do not express a high level of concern about t­ hird-party access to their data,” and with respect to personal pictures, “91% post a photo of themselves” (Madden et al., 2013, 2–3). The same study found that nearly 20 percent of adolescents have posted photos they later regretted sharing. Overall, only a small portion of teens (4%) have participated in online postings that got them in trouble at school and had negative ramifications for them and their family (p. 13).

Purpose and Description For this experiential activity, you will not use any technology device with a screen (computer, laptop, iPad, tablet, Kindle, phone, television) for three consecutive days. The primary goals of this activity are (a) to examine your relationship to technology, and (b) to determine how you might most effectively use social media as a dancer, dance artist, and dance educator. To help accomplish these objectives, you will spend three consecutive days without access to communication and entertainment technologies (defined as e­ lectronically-mediated). This means, no cell phone calls, no texting, no email, no Twitter, no Facebook or Instagram, no electronic gaming, no Internet, no computer use, or anything else that lies within the spirit of this exercise. This means that you must thoroughly plan ahead. Think about how you will spend your time without technology. Temptation will likely be strong; more information about how you will spend your time follows below. By design, this exercise should require some level of sacrifice; it is important that you accomplish this objective.

Journal Assignment In order to get an accurate account of Screens Out, you will document your experience. Compile a handwritten journal of thoughts, ideas and reflections on

114  Section Two paper during the t­ hree-day disconnect period. Beyond the specific assignments below, any time that you are tempted to use technology, stop what you are doing, and make an entry in your journal, noting date, time, device, and the reason you were tempted to use technology, and other details of interest. The journal will contain two sections: The first section of the journal will be written prior to your technology disconnect period. Please respond to and answer the following questions: 1.  What do you think will be the most challenging aspect of disconnecting? The least challenging? Why? Describe. 2.  What do you hope to gain from this experience? What kind of reconnections are you hoping to make for yourself as a dancer or educator while you are disconnected from technology and social media? After your period of technology disconnect/professional reconnect, please answer the following questions. Your responses to these questions and overall reflections on the experience will comprise the second half of your journal. Be certain that your journal honestly addresses what you experienced while being offline, as well as any insights or frustrations that participating in the exercise invoked. 1.  What was ultimately the most challenging aspect of disconnecting and how was this similar or different from your expectations? What part of social media did you miss the most? Did this surprise you? Discuss. 2.  What did you gain from this experience? What kinds of professional reconnecting did you reflect upon and accomplish? 3.  How have your thoughts about social media changed or evolved? As a dance educator now or in the future, how would you address professionalism for your students and ­co-curricular dance ensemble or company? 4.  Do you think you might try something like this again? Why or why not?

American Ethnocentrism Pam Musil

SYNOPSIS: When the religious practices of two newly immigrated Muslim sisters clash with their dance classroom peers who accuse them of being “un–American,” a veteran dance educator struggles to find a just and humane resolution to ethnic prejudice.

Introduction Throughout the better part of the 20th century in the United States, a nationalistic persona emerged and reinforced decades of media images, programs, and advertising campaigns depicting prosperous, c­ lean-cut, and productive Americans. Fostering values held by the conventional, mainstream, white middle class, these images continue to exemplify culture that has been traditionally valued and esteemed as “American,” even as the U.S. becomes more demographically diverse. Though social mores continue to evolve, many of the same values endure, where one’s dress, beliefs, actions, and participation within the community convey unspoken cultural markers that label one as “American”—or not. The idealized image of the American way of life has, for some, been punctuated with ironies: To whom does this way of life actually belong? Even as two world wars galvanized and united the nation in a global fight for human rights and freedoms, fear prompted the American w ­ ar-time internment of G ­ erman-American and J­ apanese-American citizens. Systemic racial segregation has pervaded American life throughout its history, functioning to preserve middle class white privilege, status, and values. The civil rights movement gave way to transformational change in the nation’s identity as many dared to confront socioeconomic and cultural inequities. Over time, a gradual shift in mindsets led the nation to recognize the substantial influence of communities of color within the fabric of American life, electing for the 115

116  Section Two first time, an African American President. Still, institutional racism persists. One need only look at the public education system to see that the U.S. is not yet a p ­ ost-racial society; white supremacist groups have resurfaced publicly and violence against the black community has spawned the “Black Lives Matter” movement (Black Lives Matter, n.d.). Acts of terror have also changed the fabric of diverse American life. The events of 9/11 and subsequent terrorist activities throughout the world have once again turned suspicions toward specific cultural groups within the s­ ocio-political landscape. Notwithstanding concerted efforts by the Muslim community to distance their beliefs from those of a minority of extremists, some Americans’ attitudes toward adherents to the Muslim faith—particularly those who are immigrants—are swayed heavily by world events and political rhetoric. Fear and distrust have inevitably spilled onto school campuses, leading to some Muslim students being ostracized by their peers (Hu et al., 2009, Khuwaja et al., 2013). A burgeoning body of literature explores the unique needs and challenges of immigrant populations, with special attention to adolescents. Teens are particularly vulnerable as they encounter contradictory signals regarding acceptable behaviors, gender roles, and values, just as they are establishing their identities. Young female Muslim immigrants are considered most vulnerable to the stresses posed by differing cultural norms and expectations, particularly as they relate to gender roles and religious values (Aroian, Templin and Hough, 2014). The following case illustrates facets of identity which may not only differentiate immigrant students from their A ­ merican-born peers, but also impact their enculturation and acceptance into “American” society. Sandy Zurcher, am ­ iddle-aged white A ­ merican-born woman, has taught dance in the same i­ nner-city Junior High school for over three decades. “Ms. Z” as her students call her, enjoys her work within the dance classroom, where a welcoming environment naturally includes the diverse and often marginalized populations which comprise her classes. Approaching retirement, she is considered a veteran by her younger teaching peers, who sometimes struggle to maneuver within a school that boasts the largest population of immigrant and refugee students in the state. Such a population, richly diverse, encounters barriers to communication and understanding, yet simultaneously affords opportunities to challenge mainstream societal mores and attitudes.

The Case “Ms. Zurcher, this is Hadeen and Madeha. They’ve just moved here from Iraq, and want to dance,” the school’s counselor states, entering the studio with two siblings, their attire offering evidence of their Muslim faith.

American Ethnocentrism (Musil)  117 Kindly, Ms. Zurcher welcomes the sisters, “It’s great to meet you both. We’re just about to start class, so let’s have you sit here to observe today, okay? We can talk afterwards about class rules, etc.” Haneen and Madhea smooth their skirts and adjust their head scarfs as they take a seat on the floor. After class, Ms. Zurcher stresses, “The most important things you can do to earn a good grade in this class are to show up on time,” handing them a course syllabus, “dress for class, and participate! If you do those three things, you’ll do just fine!” Looking at their attire, she asks, “Do you have pants and tops that you can bring to school to change into?” Their halting speech indicates that English is not their primary language, but they both nod affirmatively. However, the next day they arrive in their street clothes and fail to participate in class. Ms. Zurcher, assuming that perhaps they need time to obtain appropriate clothing, says nothing. On the third day, nothing has changed, and the sisters again sit passively. Ms. Zurcher approaches them before class. “Girls, you understand the expectation to dress and participate, right?” When both nod solemnly, Ms. Zurcher finds herself probing to determine the cause of their noncompliance. In a friendly tone she asks, “Haneen, Madhea, don’t you want to dance?” Madhea’s eyes light up as she assures emphatically, “Oh, yes, Missus Zurcher! We r­ ea-lly want to take this class!” Growing even more puzzled, Ms. Zurcher gently prods, “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Haneen and Madhea lower their eyes. Ms. Zurcher reassures them, “Whatever the problem is, I’m sure can be solved—but I need to know what it is so I can help.” Without looking up, Haneen quietly divulges, “we are not allowed to change our clothes in front of others.” Relieved, Ms. Zurcher begins to respond, but Madhea tearfully adds, “Our father says that we are not allowed to dance because there are boys in the class. It violates our faith.” Ms. Zurcher probes further. “You know, I have other Muslim students in my classes and they all participate. I know there are differences in how you interpret and practice your faith, but it seems impractical for you to be in class if you can’t dance. Does your father understand that you need to participate in order to earn a grade?” Madhea whispers hopefully, “Perhaps you could call him? Maybe he will listen to you.” Ms. Zurcher agrees and is given a phone number. ***

118  Section Two Later that evening, she dials the Abdi residence. Mr. Abdi answers with a thick accent. Ms. Zurcher explains the situation as simply as possible, hoping that the language barrier does not prevent him from understanding. The father listens politely and then r­ e-affirms: “My daughters are not allowed to dance.” Hoping to advocate for the two sisters, Ms. Zurcher says, “There are two other Muslim students in Haneen and Madhea’s class, and several in other dance classes as well. We’ve found ways to accommodate. We can offer a separate changing place for your daughters, and there is no need for them to ever come in direct contact with the three boys in class.” Mr. Abdi seems to be listening and thinking. Ms. Zurcher adds, “and they may wear whatever clothing you feel is appropriate for dancing.” Mr. Abdi sighs audibly, but slowly relents, “If you can guarantee this, perhaps we can agree to try it out. But they must never come in physical contact with the boys; they must wear skirts over their dance pants, and their hijabs must always be worn in class and performance.” Ms. Zurcher is elated as she hangs up the phone, knowing that these accommodations can be made. *** In class the following day, the problem seems solved as both Haneen and Madhea appear in class, smiling and participating fully in class activities. However, Ms. Zurcher observes three students—Becca, Rachel, and Matisse—in the back of class whispering. She noticed these students’ cold stares directed toward Haneen and Madhea almost from the moment they entered class the previous week, but had assumed their attitudes would soften as they came to know the two girls. Over the course of several days, however, the hostility escalates. First Rachel chooses a different pathway in class choreography to avoid crossing paths with the two sisters. Then, Becca blatantly ignores a request to partner with Haneen. O ­ ff-handed comments, whispered among themselves, but loudly enough to be heard by others come next: “Hey! Becca! Better make a wide path around those two. We wouldn’t want their men coming after us. They can’t even scratch their behinds without permission!” Ms. Zurcher has heard and seen enough to know that she must intervene. Baffled by their attitudes, Ms. Zurcher wonders where the hostility originates. Rachel’s Muslim family immigrated to the U.S. less than a decade ago, and Matisse’s family emigrated from Mexico. Both girls should understand how difficult the transition must be for Haneen and Madhea. Why are they so hostile?

American Ethnocentrism (Musil)  119 During group work when she feels the conversation won’t be overheard by others, Ms. Zurcher approaches the three girls and asks quietly, “Something is brewing with you three. How about you spill the beans so that we can solve it together?” Rachel and Becca glance toward Matisse, the apparent ringleader, and roll their eyes. Matisse, whose animosity is almost palpable, seems fortified by her friends’ show of solidarity and glares at the two sisters. Blurting loudly enough that the whole class stops what they are doing, she rails, “Do they really have to wear those hideous skirts and head scarves?” Bolstered by the platform she has garnered, she bellows, “You’re in America now, Chicas!” Sarcastically punctuating these terms with her fingers, she continues her rant: “Get with the new culture already! Or are you some sort of ­TERR-OR-ISTS?!” Awkward silence unsettles the space. Other students, outraged, jump to defend the sisters. Physical posturing and brief shouting ensue as battle lines begin forming. Ms. Zurcher rushes to diffuse the tension, inserting herself between the battling students. Quietly, she continues: “Becca, Rachel, Matisse, I need you to stay here with me.” To the class, she asks, “class, what is our school motto? Will you repeat it with me?” With varying degrees of enthusiasm, students repeat, “For a better world for you and me, let’s c­ el-e-brate d ­ i-ver-si-ty.” Ms. Zurcher continues, “­Thank-you class. Let’s also remember that being an American means many different things; just as being Muslim does not make someone a terrorist.” The sisters’ embarrassed and downcast faces punctuate the silence. Ms. Zurcher, relieved that the bell is about to ring, excuses students to go get dressed. She turns, less patiently this time, to the three offending students: “What is this all about?” Becca has already teared up, Rachel is fighting back tears, and Matisse remains defiant and angry; all remain silent as Ms. Zurcher attempts to draw them into conversation. Feeling unsuccessful, she admonishes, “You know how important tolerance and acceptance are in this school! I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language again! You know there will be consequences, right?” Without waiting for a response, she barks, “Now head to class!” *** Almost immediately, Ms. Zurcher worries that her failure to engage school administrators in disciplinary action may have been a mistake. By the time she enters the locker room for her assigned monitor watch, Haneen and

120  Section Two Madhea have already left for their next class. She decides to wait until the next day, hoping to afford them some dignity. The following day, however, the two sisters do not return to class and Ms. Zurcher must decide how to pursue a resolution that will welcome them back into the community. She fears she has lost an important battle. Ultimately, Ms. Zurcher seeks out the advice of her Vice Principal, Mrs. Nielsen, a trusted mentor and friend. Together, they devise a plan to meet with the three girls and their parents before meting out consequences or pursuing a meeting with the Abdi family. *** As each individual meeting of the girls and their parents ensues the next day, Ms. Zurcher and the Vice Principal are relieved to find that two of the girls’ parents are appalled by their daughters’ behavior. When questioned individually and privately about her motives, Becca again tears up and confesses genuine sorrow for her actions. “I guess I sort of just got caught up with the group. I never meant for it to go this far.” Rachel, a Muslim immigrant whose family’s more liberal practice does not require her to wear signifying clothing, tearfully confesses that she doesn’t want her friends to think she is one of “them.” “I am an American! I don’t want my friends to judge me for my beliefs. I’m sorry for hurting Haneen and Madhea, but I am not like them!” Both Becca and Rachel offer to apologize to their new classmates. Matisse, however, continues to present a defiant front. When her parents join the conversation, they seem impassive. Ms. Zurcher gently asks, “Matisse, I have to admit, I’m really surprised at your actions toward Haneen and Madhea. What has prompted such hostility toward these girls?” A tearful Matisse clams up. Consolingly, Ms. Zurcher prompts, “Matisse, I can tell that you and your family are hurting. Can we talk about this?” Matisse’s tears flow freely as she angrily blurts, “My brother died because of those stupid extremist soldiers in Iraq! I hate them! I really, really, hate them! When I look at those stupid girls, they remind me of my brother, who died because of their stupid beliefs!” The entire family sits in stony, teary silence. Now privy to new information about the family’s tragic loss, Ms. Zurcher and Mrs. Nielsen, must decide their next course of action: Should they suspend Matisse from school or remove her from class for refusing to apologize or show remorse? Or, given the mitigating circumstances that contributed to her misguided outburst, should they offer Matisse a more compassionate route to resolution that would allow her to remain in class? The dilemma is further complicated by Haneen’s and

American Ethnocentrism (Musil)  121 Madhea’s continued absence from dance class: If Matisse is allowed to stay, will Haneen and Madhea ever return to class?

Dilemma and Stakeholders Ms. Zurcher faces a complex dilemma: Her decision to engage administrators and parents in seeking a resolution recognizes the need for sensitivity to all stakeholders and the ability to view the dilemma from various perspectives. Though the three girls are clearly in the wrong, Ms. Zurcher’s intuitions focus on determining if underlying factors may have triggered their intense actions. The way she addresses the situation could magnify the conflict, alienating and shaming those involved. In truth, each of the three offending girls have different motives behind their behaviors: Becca is caught up in the mob mentality that interferes with her ability to see the sisters as human beings; Rachel is motivated by her own insecurities about being judged by her friends to be different; and although misguided, Matisse’s animosity toward the sisters, fueled by her parents’ impassive attitude about resolving the conflict, signals the depth of the family’s pain in coping with a senseless loss. All of these stakeholders need nurturing and deserve healing if any resolution is to be realized. Haneen and Madhea find themselves tenuously suspended between their religious beliefs, a new culture, their desire to learn how to dance, their father’s demands, and what they likely perceive to be a lack of tolerance, understanding, and acceptance by their peers. Should they return to class, will they ever regain a sense of belonging and security? Mr. and Mrs. Abdi, also trying to negotiate life within a new country and culture, care deeply for their daughters’ safety, w ­ ell-being, and happiness, which they believe may be accessed through faithful adherence to their religious practice. Mr. Abdi likely feels betrayed by Ms. Zurcher’s inability to ensure his daughter’s emotional safety as well. Mrs. Nielsen, the Vice Principal, though marginal within the story itself, desires to foster a school environment that is welcoming to all of the diverse students who attend. The school’s policies on hate speech and bullying are clear: Students found guilty of these infractions are to be disciplined. In this case, where other students witnessed the incident, there is urgency surrounding the need to act according to school policy. However, the mitigating circumstances that have led to Matisse’s outburst complicate the decision: How does disciplinary action of one student signify safety to another? Ms. Zurcher, faced with decisions about how to entice Haneen and Madhea to r­ e-engage with class, feels that she has betrayed her promise to their father, who has entrusted his two daughters to the safety of her dance

122  Section Two classroom in spite of his reservations. Ms. Zurcher’s joint decision with Mrs. Nielsen for moving forward with Matisse and her parents, especially how to engage the Abdis in conversation about their failure to keep the Abdi girls safe, will shape the outcome of this case—and all of its stakeholders, either positively or negatively. What will be the most humanizing way to proceed? Ms. Zurcher also wonders how she will mend the divide that has impacted the entire class community, who witnessed and became partially embroiled in the confrontation as unwitting stakeholders. Because students may have witnessed both the tacit and overt bullying that has taken place, they have choices about whether to respond or intervene and how they will interact with Haneen and Madhea in the future.

Pedagogical Elements Though this case centers around one particular cultural group, larger issues surrounding what constitutes identity within “American” culture emerge, particularly in comparison to cultural beliefs and practices held by those who come to the U.S. as immigrants. Larger issues raise opportunities for discussion about what is considered normative social behavior, dress, and practice. The concept of “other” stimulates conversation about how one may interpret—or misinterpret—the actions of those whose customs and beliefs seem at odds with mainstream societal values. Further, the case reveals how the cultural environment of the classroom may positively or negatively impact immigrants and other ethnically or religiously diverse students. Complex issues like these, further magnified by popular American attitudes regarding gender equality, often seem at odds with practices within Islamic faith. Young Muslim women who wear the hijab encounter particular scrutiny due to popular assumptions that the hijab represents a form of male oppression (Hoot, Sczecsi and Moosa, 2003). Sociologist Chin Hu and associates (2009) elaborate: “hijab is criticized by Western feminists as a practice that subordinates women in a patriarchal society” (p. 51). Further, this assumption “reinforces stereotypes of Muslim women who wear hijab as submissive and backward…. In the post–9/11 America, the hijab is perceived as a symbol of threat against American liberalism” (Hoot, Sczecsi and Moosa, 2003, p. 51). These claims, supported by various scholars, underscore the prejudices that Muslim immigrants face within western societies. Beyond dress, many Muslim adherents are bound by other conventions that separate them from their American peers. For example, not being allowed to dance with or have physical contact with members of the opposite sex can make it difficult to coexist with American mainstream teenagers (Brown, 2003). In a dance classroom specifically, where physical contact is

American Ethnocentrism (Musil)  123 often a part of movement experience, this Muslim cultural norm may seem outdated and excessive; yet it is not the teacher’s role to mete out judgment, but instead to be responsive to unique needs of young immigrant students as they explore what membership within American society entails, while simultaneously keeping their cultural identities intact. Ms. Zurcher demonstrates the ability to suspend whatever personal biases she may have as she promises Mr. Abdi that his daughters will not need to have any contact with the three boys enrolled in her class. Social researcher Danielle Zimmerman (2014) describes identity as “an individual process that takes place at the intersection of race, ethnicity, religion, and gender” (p. 300). She raises unique identity challenges with “­in-group/­out-group relationships and the notion of ‘otherness’ that leads to the positioning of minority groups in Western societies” (Zimmerman, 2014, pp. 299–300). Ms. Zurcher’s awareness of the Abdi sisters’ “­out-group” status prompts her to seek ways to ensure their success within her classroom, while providing shelter to their developing identities as well. A culturally responsive pedagogy framework also proves useful to this conversation as it helps inform how diverse populations might better be served. Founded upon the belief that both teaching and learning are culturally influenced, culturally responsive teaching espouses strategic use of cultural frames of reference in efforts to make curricular content and classroom experiences more personally meaningful and relevant for all students (Gay, 2010). Given that the immigrant population topped 42 million in 2014 and is projected to more than double by 2060 (Zeigler and Camarota, 2015), the increasingly diverse school environment demands that teachers have the skills to engage populations whose cultural values and practices may counter that of their own experience. American pedagogical theorist Gloria L ­ adson-Billings (1995) recommends that teachers learn how to engage diverse students through sustained classroom experiences that acknowledge diversity. Such teaching strategies welcome multiple cultural backgrounds and require the teacher to first understand the students within his or her classroom (Dallavis, 2011; Hoot, Szecsi and Moosa, 2003; Melchior, 2011). Further, teachers must recognize, understand, and question their own cultural identities, biases, and assumptions, including beliefs about propriety, behavior, and s­ ocio-political correctness (Mabingo, 2018). Ms. Zurcher demonstrates these skills as she shows compassion, care, and responsiveness toward two Muslim immigrants’ needs, making accommodations that will afford them full participation in class. When sensitive to individual needs, a dance classroom can provide a safe space to explore one’s cultural identity: the exploration and unpacking of one’s own experiences through guided improvisation and compositional work can have powerful and f­ ar-reaching impact on students’ ability to understand

124  Section Two themselves, their identities, and their place within larger society. This knowledge is not fully available through reasoning alone; the body itself becomes an important vehicle for knowledge. New Zealand educator Adrienne Sansom (2009) asserts, “Dance, as an embodied understanding of ourselves, can connect to a moral and ethical pedagogy that not only honours the life of the child but also makes possible a new way to envisage being human” (p. 161). Within a junior high setting where peers can be thoughtless, even cruel, in their interactions with one another, dance curriculum that explores ideas surrounding identity and culture can create lasting impact in the adolescent’s psychosocial development. Employing a critical race feminist perspective that allows for the intersections of gender, race, ethnicity and cultural or religious belief without pressure to conform to societal opinions and mores is important for teachers who have stewardship over a diverse student population (Zimmerman, 2014). Taken together, these ideas interconnect with culturally responsive teaching, which acknowledges the role of multiple factors—including religious belief—in shaping identity and learning. In this case study, Ms. Zurcher demonstrates her willingness to make what traditionalist dance teachers might regard as unreasonable accommodations for two students. Haneen and Madhea participate without the need to conform to traditional dance dress standards and thereby gain access to subject matter with which they are eager to engage. At the juncture of critical race feminism and culturally responsive teaching, Ms. Zurcher’s flexible accommodations create a safe space for students to navigate ideas surrounding identity and culture without coercion to conform to s­ o-called norms. Reflecting back on the case’s unresolved ending, the reader is invited to consider alternate endings that would either create further conflict or find a peaceful resolution. Questions to consider: 1.  How can Ms. Zurcher and her Vice Principal help Matisse and her family recognize their misplaced aggression toward Haneen and Madhea while remaining sensitive to their deep sense of loss? 2.  How might Ms. Zurcher engage the Abdi family to help the girls feel safe to ­re-enter class? Likewise, how will she reassure Mr. Abdi that dance class is a safe place for his daughters? 3.  What kind of conversations should take place with the entire class to ­re-establish a healthy and respectful class culture? A teacher practicing culturally responsive pedagogy would consider the above questions in the d ­ ecision-making process, particularly where some stakeholders differ so widely in belief and attitudes. While it would be inappropriate to allow Matisse’s outburst to escape consequence, considering a solution that would lead her to adopt a respectful perspective about Muslim and Iraqi students in particular, and to help her family arrive at a place of

American Ethnocentrism (Musil)  125 forgiveness are critical. Conversely, it will be important to look for ways to create an environment where all parties—including Haneen and Madhea in their hijabs—feel safe, nurtured, and valued for who they are as individuals.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Whose America? Our America, of Course! Karen Schupp and Doug Risner APPLICATION: This reflective activity prompts you to consider the cultural expectations embedded, and perhaps hidden, in your assumptions about dance and dance teaching that often remain unspoken.

Activity People in the United States identify themselves as Americans. We fly the American flag in front of our schools. From an early age, our children and students sing songs about our America’s beauty and majesty, as well as our pride “to be an American.” But students also learn in elementary geography that there are many Americas: South America, North America, Latin America, and Central America. So how is it that people of the United States of America get to call themselves Americans? To claim they are the people who live in the real America? While dance education values cultural diversity, western dance forms and western cultural values tend to dominate the dance classroom (­McCarthyBrown, 2009). For example, students are more likely to learn about artists who contributed to modern dance and ballet than they are to learn about artists who contributed to other dance forms such as Folkloric dance. In dance class, students are more likely to wear solid colored leotards and tights or other form fitting clothes, a practice that stems from ballet, than to wear loose fitting and vibrantly patterned clothing, such as what is worn by b ­ -boys and b ­ -girls. As the demographics of the U.S. become more diverse, insuring that all

126  Section Two students feel respected in the dance class requires dance educators to take stock of their habitual ways of working and their unstated assumptions about dance. Doing so can create a learning environment that respects different experiences of being “American.” With this in mind, use the following prompts to reflect on your own hidden cultural assumptions. 1. Reflect on the readings, videos, and music you use to teach. What dance forms dominate your selections? Who are the authors, choreographers, or artists, and what are their cultural backgrounds? 2. What dance forms influence the dress code and classroom management strategies you use? What is the cultural background of these dance forms? 3. How can you readily identify and then inform students about where your ideas come from so that cultural values are explicit? Consider the language, content, and ­student-teacher relationships you use while teaching. 4. What taken for granted assumptions about dance and culture guide your teaching? Consider where these often unquestioned ideas come from. 5. Why is a culturally inclusive classroom important? How can you readily create one? Consider your curricular goals, teaching resources, dress code, and classroom management strategies.

The Imperfect Advocate Supporting Transgender Students in the Dance Class Marissa Beth Nesbit

SYNOPSIS: After a dance educator initially denies a transgender male student’s request to enroll in a Men’s Dance class, he is confronted by a colleague who questions his credentials as an ally and asks that he reverse his decision.

Introduction As society at large in the United States appears to have made increasing strides in acceptance of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning and other (LGBTQ+) individuals, it is sometimes easy to overlook the challenges that many LGBTQ+ students still face in their communities, families, and schools. While the Supreme Court established the right for s­ ame-sex couples to marry across the U.S. in 2015 (Obergefell et al. v. Hodges, Director, Ohio Department of Health, et al., 2015), protections for LGBTQ+ individuals against educational and workplace discrimination remain uneven across states (Human Rights Campaign, 2016). Although a­ nti-discrimination policies are active in some states and institutions, in others LGBTQ+ individuals may be fired without recourse or may experience discrimination or hostilities from business owners who wish to deny services to s­ ame-sex couples. Protections for LGBTQ+ identified students are similarly uneven. Title IX, the law that bars discrimination on the basis of sex in any educational program that receives federal funds, protects students from g­ ender-based harassment. In 2014, the Office of Civil Rights in the U.S. Department of Education issued a statement that gender identity falls within the provisions of Title IX, officially clarifying that federal protections apply to transgender and g­ ender-nonconforming students (Lhamon, 2014). While such policies shift with the prevailing political winds, these protections are clearly needed: ac127

128  Section Two cording to the National Transgender Discrimination Survey (Grant, Mottet, Tanis, Herman, & Keisling 2011) a study of 6,450 transgender and g­ endernonconforming individuals: Those who expressed a transgender identity or gender ­non-conformity while in grades K–12 reported alarming rates of harassment (78%), physical assault (35%) and sexual violence (12%); harassment was so severe that it led almost ­one-sixth (15%) to leave a school in K–12 settings or in higher education [p. 3].

Even within schools where policies prohibiting overt harassment are clearly enforced, LGBTQ+ students may nonetheless find themselves experiencing alienation and frustration. Transgender and g­ ender-nonconforming students, in particular, may continue to experience a school culture that is unwelcoming even amidst a relatively safe climate of acceptance for lesbian and gay students. As some trans activists have noted, the “T” part of the acronym sometimes is overshadowed (Allen, 2015; Curry, 2014); indeed, while transgender individuals have found solidarity as part of the larger LGBTQ+ rights movement, they also face unique concerns related to coming out, medical needs, and legal status related to their gender identity. Compounding these challenges is the reality that many educators, even those who consider themselves allies, are not fully aware of the issues facing transgender youth and consequently lack the knowledge, insight, and personal experience to create the inclusive and welcoming classroom communities they aim to achieve. In this case study, we meet Samson Roberts, a heterosexual cisgender (the term cisgender refers to individuals whose gender identity matches the sex they were assigned at birth) male dance educator at Richardson High School. Located in an affluent, generally liberal community, Richardson High offers a rich array of academic, arts, and extracurricular options to its students. The comprehensive dance curriculum is based on a philosophy of inclusivity and inquiry, embracing engaged pedagogy (hooks, 1994) where teachers and students are empowered to learn from one another and take risks together. Not only are Mr. Roberts and his colleagues able to offer a full sequence of dance courses, they are also in the unique position to offer a Men’s Dance course. When a student who is transitioning to a male identity requests to enroll in the course, Mr. Roberts finds that his decision to uphold his “male only” policy puts him at odds with his desire to support all students, including those who are part of the LGBTQ+ community.

The Case “Hey, Mr. Roberts, Smithfield said we could put these in your room!” Anna and Quinn, two students he recognizes from the G ­ ay-Straight Alliance (GSA), approach Mr. Roberts carrying some large posters.

The Imperfect Advocate (Nesbit)  129 “What are we advertising today?” he calls after them. “This is our ‘No N ­ ame-Calling Week’ campaign—you know, like reminding people that words can hurt, and what you say matters,” explains Quinn (No N ­ ame-Calling Week is a national advocacy campaign spearheaded by the Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network [GLSEN] [2016]). “And this one,” Anna continues, “is for our fundraiser for Richardson Pride.” “It looks like you all have a lot going on this year,” replies Mr. Roberts. In the five years he has been at Richardson High, Mr. Roberts has seen a huge shift in the way that students who identify as lesbian, gay, and bisexual have been treated at the school, due in part to the increasing advocacy efforts of the GSA. In his first year, a few students—assuming he was gay by virtue of being a male dance teacher—came out to him and shared their struggles in what they felt was an unwelcoming school community. His eyes were opened to the many ways that LGBTQ+ students experienced discrimination, and he is now pleased to see many positive signs of inclusivity across campus. Mr. Roberts turns his attention to planning a center combination for his fourth period class, Men’s Dance, developed and taught three years ago in response to requests from some of his male students who were hesitant to sign up for dance again. Some felt that it was an overwhelmingly female space and did not see themselves doing the kind of choreography that many of the upper level students—all girls, many with significant ballet backgrounds— liked to create and perform. As Mr. Roberts developed the curriculum for Men’s Dance, he found unique ways to address the national standards for dance (National Coalition for Core Arts Standards, 2014) while challenging community and societal expectations around boys’ and men’s involvement in dance. Occasionally, female dancers have requested to take the class too, and while he at first considered their requests, he has adopted a firm policy that only male students can enroll. Serving a group that is generally on the margins of dance participation, he feels this space needs to be kept m ­ ale-only to preserve his ability to meet students’ needs. Furthermore, many of the male students protested vehemently when they heard that girls were trying to enroll. While he knows this decision is not always popular, he feels it is justified, especially because it has increased enrollment of males throughout the entire dance program. As Mr. Roberts finishes preparing for class, he realizes he’s late for advising appointments. He looks up to see his first appointment, Jay, a beginning dance student who transferred into Richardson High a month earlier. With c­ lose-cropped hair, a muscular build, smooth skin and a soft, high voice, Jay’s gender seems hard to read. Jay typically wears a black T ­ -shirt and loose black pants to dance class, and dresses for school in baggy jeans, button up shirts,

130  Section Two and work boots. The first day in class introduced only as “Jay,” Mr. Roberts found himself awkwardly avoiding using any pronouns until he could log in and access his updated roster: “Jaylynn Edwards—DOB 02/28/2004—Female.” From then on, he mentally thought of Jay as “her,” but in class noticed an awkward pause every time he used a feminine pronoun. “Welcome, Jay!” says Mr. Roberts as he greets her. “Have a seat—let’s get you set up for another semester of dance! How are you liking class so far this semester?” “Oh, it’s cool I guess. I like it when we do improv. And that partnering you taught us the other day was fun.” Mr. Roberts mentally recalls his lesson on w ­ eight-sharing. “Excellent! I’m glad you enjoyed it!” Jay gives a slight smile. “All right, spring semester.” Mr. Roberts turns to his computer and pulls up the registration screen and speaks to himself: “Jaylynn Edwards. Sophomore.” “Actually it’s Jayson.” “Excuse me?” “It’s wrong. I mean, it’s right from my birth certificate, but it’s wrong. It should be Jayson.” “Jayson, okay.” “Yeah, I’m trying to get it changed. But my parents have to go downtown and sign some stuff, and they don’t want to.” “Oh.” Mr. Roberts isn’t sure how to respond. “Right, Jayson, okay. Since you’ve only had part of the semester in Dance I, I think it will be best if we can have you in that class again in the Spring. It will meet during third period— how does that work with your other courses?” “Well right now I’ve got Honors English planned for third period. But Smithfield said I should talk to you about Men’s Dance. He said you do some cool stuff in that class and I would fit right in—and fourth period I don’t have any conflicts.” Mr. Roberts is pleased to hear that Jay is working with his colleague Emerson Smithfield, a l­ awyer-turned-English teacher who advises the G ­ ay-Straight Alliance. Mr. Smithfield has a gift for reaching students on the margins, built from spending years as a gay man in corporate culture. “Well, Jay, I’m glad you’re interested in continuing in dance. But I have a policy that only males are allowed in Men’s Dance, after they finish at least a semester in Dance I. Third period is mixed gender, and I’ve already got three guys signed up there so it’s a great option for anyone.” Jayson bites his lower lip. “I really want to be in Men’s Dance.” “Well, as I said—” Mr. Roberts gets cut off. “‘Only males are allowed in Men’s Dance,’” Jayson echoes his teacher

The Imperfect Advocate (Nesbit)  131 softly. “And I’m not enough of a guy for your class.” He looks at Mr. Roberts accusingly. “I didn’t mean…” “Smithfield said you were cool and would get it. I guess he was wrong.” “Well, Jay, I do want to support all my students in learning dance and expressing who they are. You should know that. But I’ve had several other girls asking to get into Men’s Dance, and I can’t just start making exceptions.” “Several other girls?” Jay shoots back. A knock on the door interrupts the conversation, and Anna peeks in, “Time for my advising?” “Just a moment,” Mr. Roberts says. “It’s okay,” Jay grabs his bag. “I’m done,” angrily pushing past Anna out the door. “What’s his problem?” asks Anna. “Um, she—he’s not happy with me right now. Let’s get your schedule…” *** After school, Mr. Smithfield approaches Mr. Roberts in the parking lot. “Hey! Wait up! I need to talk to you about Jayson Edwards. He says you’re not letting him into Men’s Dance. What’s going on?” “Well, Men’s Dance is for, you know, actual young men. I mean, I’m all for students expressing who they are and stuff, but I’ve got a pretty strict ‘no girls’ policy for that class.” “Oh come on!” Mr. Smithfield looks annoyed. “You can’t honestly say you don’t think a trans guy belongs in the men’s class.” “Well, I mean, Jay isn’t really ready…” “Ok, wait. You’re our number one straight ally on campus. You do get what the ‘T’ in LGBT stands for, right?” “Well yeah, of course I’m an ally. But this transgender thing just came up. I mean, Jay goes in the girl’s locker room to change.” “Oh man. You don’t get it. He’s fighting that battle too, but the school requires his parents to come in and sign papers before they’ll let him in the guy’s bathroom. You don’t know this? He told me he wears his dance clothes under his school clothes because he doesn’t feel comfortable in the girls’ room. His parents aren’t exactly supportive—so in the meantime he’s holding it the entire s­ chool-day rather than go to the wrong bathroom.” “Oh, uh, well…” Mr. Roberts isn’t sure how to respond. “You’ve got to let him in that class, man.” “You know I can’t do that. Jay hasn’t even had a full semester of dance yet. I’ve already got three girls begging to get in—if I start making exceptions now it will open the floodgates.”

132  Section Two “This isn’t like that, and you know it.” Mr. Smithfield looks annoyed at his colleague. “OK, look, if Jay’s parents want her—sorry, him—in the class, I’ll talk to the counselors about it,” Mr. Roberts offers. “Sam. Hello? I already told you—Jay’s parents aren’t exactly supportive. They feel like they are losing their little girl. His mother is still holding out hope that he’ll wear a dress to the prom. She is not going to come sign a restroom plan and push for her kid to be in a Men’s Dance class. This is all on you, friend.” Mr. Roberts sighs and fumbles for his car key. “I’ll think about it.” “Please do, Sam. This means a lot—to Jay and all of us.”

Dilemma and Stakeholders In this case, Mr. Roberts finds his desire to build a strong dance program and enforce his policies consistently at odds with his identity as an ally to the LGBTQ+ community. To fully grasp the ethical dimensions of the dilemma, Mr. Roberts must consider the viewpoints of the various stakeholders. How would each of the following stakeholders frame this ethical situation? Mr. Roberts, a heterosexual cisgender male dance educator who is in the position to make the decision, will potentially have to answer to the other stakeholders to defend his choices. Jay, the student who was assigned female at birth but now identifies as male, is in the process of transitioning to this identity and desires to participate fully in the life of the school community as a young man, including enrolling in the m ­ ale-only dance class. Mr. Smithfield, a s­ elf-identified gay male English teacher and GSA sponsor, positions himself as a strong advocate for all students and is, among those introduced in the narrative, likely to be the most knowledgeable person regarding issues affecting LGBTQ+ youth. Jay’s parents, to whom we have not been fully introduced, appear to not yet support their son’s identification as male. The male students in Men’s Dance who have expressed a strong desire for this m ­ ale-only space; the female dance students, some of whom have also petitioned to enroll in Men’s Dance for various reasons; and Jay’s friends in the G ­ ay-Straight Alliance will all have opinions about the decision. School administrators, not explicitly introduced in this narrative, may be called upon to respond and intervene in this situation. Should Mr. Roberts reconsider his decision and allow Jay into his Men’s Dance course, or should he continue to follow the school’s practice of identifying Jay as female based on his sex assigned at birth and maintain his adherence to the stated policy barring female students from the course?

The Imperfect Advocate (Nesbit)  133 What factors should Mr. Roberts take into consideration when making his decision? What additional information might he need, and how can he go about getting that information? What are the potential consequences of either decision? What other options may be available to Mr. Roberts and to Jay?

Pedagogical Elements When teachers position themselves as strong advocates for all students, including LGBTQ+ students, they have tremendous potential to positively impact students’ personal and educational journeys. Teachers can have a significant influence on the school experience of LGBTQ+ students by developing and implementing curriculum that acknowledges the contributions and history of LGBTQ+ individuals. Through the use of g­ ender-inclusive language, pedagogical approaches based on c­ ommunity-building and affirmation of diverse identities, and positive interpersonal relationships with students, teachers can cultivate inclusive classroom cultures. However, when teachers’ actions don’t fulfill others’ expectations of them as allies and advocates, there exists the potential for significant disappointment and disillusionment on the part of students, parents, and colleagues. In this case, both Jay, the transgender male student, and Mr. Smithfield, the gay colleague, expect Mr. Roberts to affirm Jay’s male identity and welcome him into the Men’s Dance class. For Jay, the disappointment of not being granted a place in his desired course is compounded by fact that it is coming from a teacher he was certain would “get it.” “Getting it,” is sometimes tough, and Mr. Roberts’ hesitancy may be understood in light of the context of transgender students in schools. While Mr. Roberts considers himself an ally, he, not unlike many teachers, has had little personal interaction with openly transgender individuals. As awareness and support for LGBTQ+ rights in general advances, transgender people have also garnered increased visibility. Nevertheless, the d ­ ay-to-day process of transitioning and living as a transgender person is not something that most teachers—even those who consider themselves to be informed advocates— remain unaware. Several points where “business as usual” in the hallways and classrooms of public schools can be hostile to transgender students, even absent overt bullying and harassment, are revealed in this case study. Among these are issues of names and gender markers in school records, the use of appropriate pronouns by peers and teachers, dress codes, use of restroom and locker room facilities, and participation in activities defined by gender such as sports teams or in this case, segregated dance class. On the surface, each of these seemingly mundane aspects of school life, when handled with care and

134  Section Two respect for the student, has the potential to affirm a transgender student’s identity. Yet these are often contested areas of school and public policy in which administrators’ and teachers’ denial of students’ gender identity is publicly reenacted on a daily basis. In Schools in Transition: A Guide for Supporting Transgender Students in K–12 Schools by Asaf Orr and Joel Baum (2015), legal and policy experts offer helpful guidance surrounding all aspects of school for transgender students. The authors stress the importance of working together with the student, family, and administrators to create plans for gender support and transition and emphasize the need for privacy and respect. The legal framework impacting these decisions varies from state to state, but regardless of the larger policies in place, educators have tremendous power to create welcoming environments that affirm students’ gender identities. However, without an understanding of transgender identity and information about the many considerations and decisions that impact transgender students’ school experiences, even w ­ ell-meaning teachers such as Mr. Roberts may act in ways that reject students’ identity, negatively impact the quality of their education, and violate their civil rights. Orr and Baum (2015) emphasize the need to involve students and families in planning for gender transition support within the school environment and, as with many issues impacting students, parent advocacy is often necessary to secure the appropriate accommodations for their children. Yet some families are not affirming of their child’s gender identity, and the authors importantly caution against requiring parental involvement as a condition for supporting a transgender student at school. Learning of a child’s transgender identity can be difficult for many parents, who may need support themselves in understanding gender identity and the harmful effects that familial rejection can have on children. Orr and Baum (2015) emphasize to teachers that “a parent’s negative reaction to a child’s gender often comes from a place of love and protection, and is not intended to harm the child—rejection can be a misguided attempt at protection” (p. 32). For some transgender students, inclusive school policies and activities such as G ­ ay-Straight Alliances, student government associations, and arts and literary programs can provide critical venues for affirming students’ identities while also enabling them to access political knowledge and develop skills in s­ elf-expression that are vital for their survival outside of school. Dance class participation provides a unique context for addressing the needs of transgender students in a school setting. In arts curricula, personal and cultural identities are integral parts of the content, and the p ­ rocess-oriented nature of many teachers’ pedagogies provides a safe space for exploring questions of identity, community, and meaning. Relationships that unfold in this space can be particularly strong when teachers commit to working alongside



The Imperfect Advocate (Nesbit)  135

students as they explore these questions; while teachers also become vulnerable as their own complex identities are intertwined with the work. Scholar bell hooks (1994) explains: Progressive, holistic education, “engaged pedagogy,” is more demanding than conventional critical or feminist pedagogy. For, unlike those two teaching practices, it emphasizes ­well-being. That means that teachers must be actively committed to a process of ­self-actualization that promotes their own ­well-being if they are to teach in a manner that empowers students [p. 15].

Yet dance education researchers Doug Risner and Sherrie Barr (2015) note conversely, “­discipline-specific pedagogy courses focusing on what is to be taught and how it can be most efficiently accomplished still remain the emphasis within many teacher preparation programs in the United States” (p. 136). To reiterate, while the demands of engaged pedagogy are indeed great, when dance educators embrace the challenge and opportunity to open up discussions of gender, their own identities and vulnerabilities are revealed. Although many dance educators have considered, and sometimes struggled with, issues of gender in their own lives and careers, cisgender educators also carry the privilege of aligning with many of the gendered expectations that surround them. Unlike other classes in the school day, dance is a place where gendered bodies of teachers and students are continually on display and where, depending on the forms, values, and customs studied, traditional gender roles can be reinforced—sometimes to a painful effect for transgender students. Noted choreographer Sean Dorsey explains his experience, “I started my dance training prior to my physical transition, but I was trans and queer identified. Changing rooms and gendered movement in dance were very challenging, painful. … It was hard. I didn’t know a single trans dancer in the world…” (as cited in Kailey, 2013, n.p.). Yet for other dancers—cis- and transgender alike—participating in gendered movement patterns could be an expansive opportunity to both reassert their gender identities and also to work with ways of moving that would not be consistent with expectations for their genders outside of dance class. A dance class that continually establishes values of safety, creativity, community, and respect has the potential to be a positive and nurturing environment for all students, but especially for those whose identities are repeatedly marginalized in educational institutions. Sports teams and physical education are perhaps the closest educational situations to dance addressed in the literature on support for transgender students. Experts advise following a student’s lead regarding where they feel most comfortable and allowing students to participate on sports teams and in classes with peers of their gender (Biegel, 2010; Griffin and Carroll, 2010). However, in this case, sports provide an imperfect guide for dance, where an

136  Section Two option that is officially g­ ender-neutral, yet in practice is often predominantly female, is available. Dance class policies and teachers’ interactions with individual students are interwoven and communicate valuable lessons about who and what is valued. The c­ lose-knit community in many dance programs means that teachers’ decisions are often both highly visible and frequently discussed among students, who may ascribe their own explanations and motivations for their teachers’ behaviors. Despite the legal and ethical need for privacy surrounding decisions about an individual student’s enrollment, participation in dance is a highly visible public activity. When Mr. Roberts makes a decision about Jay’s enrollment, it will be obvious to other students when Jay is, or is not in the class, and Mr. Roberts’ actions will most likely be read as a powerful statement about gender identity, acceptance, or rejection. Regarding any contested issue where students’ emotions run high, educators should consider not only their actions and decisions but also the ways their actions are communicated to the entire community of students. However, doing so becomes even more critical when addressing support for transgender students, where the climate of the school community can make significant differences in students’ experience of schooling.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Speaking Transgender Karen Schupp APPLICATION: In this activity, you will reflect upon your beliefs and assumptions about transgender students. This reflection provides a starting point for you to then assess how you can support transgender students in the dance class.

Activity The transgender community includes individuals with diverse racial and ethnic identities, from varying s­ ocial-economic classes, and who range in age from children to senior citizens. Yet despite the fact that transgendered

The Imperfect Advocate (Nesbit)  137 people come “from all walks of life” and the “increased visibility of transgendered celebrities,” many people in the United States say they do not know any transgendered people (Human Rights Campaign, 2018). For many people, lack of knowledge about a community or culture outside of one’s own can lead to incorrect assumptions and feelings of discomfort. Unless this discomfort is acknowledged, assumptions about a given group of people, such as transgendered people, are left unquestioned. For this action point, identify someone you know well but outside of dance that you will initiate a conversation about transgender issues in dance education. Choose a social setting for your conversation, such as going for coffee or meeting at the park. Start by saying something like, “I just read this chapter about transgender issues in dance education, and it was very interesting.” Then, wait for your friend or family member to respond before offering more information. • From there, and using the case study as a starting point, have a conversation about transgender issues inside of the dance education field and in U.S. society. As the conversation proceeds, take note of how you and your friend or family member talks about transgender people and issues. Does the comfort level of your conversation change? If it does, is it your comfort level or your partner’s? Are there any changes in volume or tone as you both say “transgender people?” Do you notice any changes in your partner’s or your own body attitude? Do you notice any changes in the people around you who may have overheard the conversations? • After your conversation is complete, write down what was said by both you and your family member or friend as well as how it was said, how you felt during the conversation, and what was uncomfortable and or comfortable about the conversation. Then view Becoming Me (Films Media Group, 2012): https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=IxzKlPVceWg After these experiences and activities, consider the following questions: 1. What did your conversation reveal about your comfort level with and assumptions about students who are transgender or transitioning? 2. Has your thinking or understanding shifted about the daily issues transgender students encounter? If so, how? 3. How has this essay and case study affected your practice as a dance educator? Explain and discuss.

Values Inventory Installment II Doug Risner

This Values Inventory offers a second opportunity to assess your personal and professional values as they relate to dance education. Comparing these statements to those you completed in the first installment may also demonstrate that values can change or evolve. Taking inventory of your values on a regular basis will guide the informed evolution of your dance pedagogy praxis. DESCRIPTION: Again, these installments are succinct reflective writings about your own values and beliefs—what you think is important and why, as of this moment. These prompts can help define and clarify your values in relationship to the dilemmas explored in this book and guide your decision making as an educator. TASK: Complete each of the following statements below. Describe your guiding values briefly (no more than two sentences), and then consider where you first learned to embrace those values. Perhaps a friendship? An encounter with a stranger? Reading a piece of literature? Witnessing an event? I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator in a school that… I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator in a school that didn’t… I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator in an arts program that… I wouldn’t want to be a dance educator in an arts program that didn’t…

138

Section Three

Dance Teacher Preparation and Postsecondary Dance Education Section Editor: Elizabeth McPherson

Section Introduction Elizabeth McPherson with Donna A. Dragon, Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

Pursuing a dance or dance education major in postsecondary dance education affords students the opportunity to academically and artistically engage in dance as a part of their college education. In many ways, studying dance on campus is a means for students to build a bridge from their dance experiences in studios, high school, and community centers to their professional aspirations (Schupp, 2015). College dance programs offer a comprehensive approach to studying dance that embraces the advancement of students’ artistic inquiry, physical practice, creative thinking, and theoretical understanding. The balance of breadth and depth of expertise required of faculty and cultivated in students will vary from program to program; however, in general, postsecondary dance education aspires to provide students with the skills and competencies needed to succeed in dance, dance education, and d ­ ance-related careers upon graduation. Two popular options in postsecondary dance education are degree programs geared toward developing certified dance educators and degree programs focused on cultivating dance artists. Although the l­ ong-standing “teacher versus artist” divide in dance has evolved (Risner, 2010b), separating out the degree programs allows a focus on dance teaching or dance performance and choreography. Although required course content overlaps between dance and dance education degree programs, dance faculty responsibilities include important distinctions that warrant recognition and careful consideration. A career in postsecondary dance varies significantly based on the dance educator’s academic credentials, professional experience, position description, tenure status, rank, and percent time (full time, h ­ alf-time, fractional). Some dance units (schools, departments, programs) maintain mixed faculty rosters like those described above, while other dance units comprise 140

 Section Introduction (McPherson with Dragon, Risner & Schupp)   141 only fulltime tenured and t­ enure-track faculty. The essays that follow provide an array of the experiences of postsecondary dance faculty whose professional lives figure prominently in each of the case studies.

Introduction to Dance Teacher Preparation What issues and challenges arise in dance teacher education today? How do social, cultural, and political landscapes affect dance educators’ d ­ ecision-making? The authors of the ensuing essays provide insight into how readers might answer these questions, while leaving ample space for reflection and discussion. By design, the case studies provoke thought about issues, challenges and d ­ ecision-making in dance teacher education, but they do not provide definitive solutions. Although some cases may be similar to readers’ experiences, others may be quite different. However, each relates to larger themes and issues in society today, specifically as they apply to ethical dimensions of dance teacher preparation. Dance teacher education involves many groups that work together to prepare students to teach: national accrediting organizations, state departments of education, teacher education faculty, general education faculty, dance faculty, and fellow students. With student teaching experiences in K–12 schools, added to that list are: school superintendents, school principals, K–12 teachers including the cooperating or mentor teacher, and the children and adolescent students themselves. From such, a web of intersections, negotiations, and power dynamics support a successful p ­ re-professional dance teacher who possesses the knowledge, skills, and dispositions necessary to move forward successfully in a dance teaching career in K–12 education. What issues will dance teachers face? How can they be prepared for whatever comes their way? Keeping abreast of current issues, theories, trends, as well as with what is happening on practical levels in the fields of dance and education requires constant attention, critical reflection, connection, and flexibility. Of particular importance, to sustain a successful p ­ re-service teacher program in dance, university personnel must develop and maintain relationships with quality cooperating teachers for meaningful student teaching placements. All teacher preparation programs rely on nurturing effective partnerships with schools, especially when the number of dance programs in many regions remains low. In essence, university dance education faculty need to be key investigators in building communities of practice in their surrounding areas by offering events, serving on school arts committees, and inviting cooperating teachers and dance specialist teachers to campus to model teach. Therefore, the case studies presented in this section involve navigating the complex web of teacher education and preparation, which necessitates

142  Section Three negotiating power conflicts and bureaucracy. Issues of child abuse, segregation, grade inflation, as well as challenges surrounding diversity and developing essential teacher dispositions provide ample opportunity for engaging ethical dimensions of teacher education. Sending strong teachers into the workforce is essential to the advancement of society. Teacher education candidates are generally assessed on their subject matter knowledge, teaching skills, and teaching dispositions, all of which are at least partially determined through course grades. In general, universities across the United States have experienced grade inflation for decades (Rojstaczer and Healy, 2016). Recent research finds that grade inflation continues to increase, with the most prevalent grade awarded currently at all types of colleges and universities being an “A” (Rojstaczer and Healy, 2016). While it might seem positive that students are earning higher grades, grade inflation misrepresents student mastery of course content. An inflated grade can mask a deficiency, perhaps in teaching dispositions, which in teacher education could be critical to a student being recommended, or not, for state licensure. Identifying and nurturing sound teacher dispositions, including respect for, and understanding of diversity, is vitally important for future teachers who will be responsible for educating increasingly diverse citizens of tomorrow. Teacher dispositions, or “the personal qualities or characteristics that are possessed by individuals, including attitudes, beliefs, interests, appreciations, values, and modes of adjustment” (Taylor and Wasicsko, 2002, p. 2) are continually assessed as students move through the licensure process. Teacher dispositions comprise habits of thinking and doing; “professional attitudes, values, and beliefs demonstrated through both verbal and n ­ on-verbal behaviors as educators interact with students, families, colleagues, and communities” (NCATE, 2010–2014). Examples of dispositions may include: a belief that all children can learn; respect for self and others; curiosity; ability and willingness to s­ elf-reflect; integrity; dedication; and a strong sense of personal identity that leads to a distinct presence in the classroom. Dispositions are generally tied to state teacher licensure as well as the national accrediting bodies for teacher education programs in colleges and universities, such as the National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE), because dispositions are seen as essential to successful teaching. Upon a student’s entrance to the teacher education program, faculty work to assess teacher dispositions aiming to admit students most likely to complete successful university degree programs as dance education majors as well as success in their chosen fields p ­ ost-graduation. However, it is sometimes difficult to anticipate how much students will grow and mature as they move through a course of study. Undergraduate students come to higher education still in the process of figuring out who they are as individuals:

 Section Introduction (McPherson with Dragon, Risner & Schupp)   143 experiencing the independence and accompanying responsibilities that come with being an adult—living away from home for the first time; balancing work and school; discovering how to relate to a diverse range of people; and navigating the bureaucracy of a college or university largely independently. University education and dance education programs benefit by continually assessing their admissions procedures to refine and improve their methods of assessing students. Identifying problematic dispositions at program entrance to allows for informed admissions decisions and identifying accepted students in need of additional development in teacher disposition. Two important teacher dispositions—the belief that all children can learn, and the respect for self and others—go hand in hand with embracing diversity. If we do not understand and respect each other as people of our nation and the world, how can we socialize, solve problems, govern, and go about our daily interactions successfully? One concern is how diversity is taught. Even with a teacher’s good intention, sometimes ideas about diversity collapse into stereotyping or essentialism—the belief that people, or a group of people, have an underlying and unchanging nature or essence. For instance, essentialism might occur in a dance class when making assumptions about what a recent immigrant knows or does not know about the dances from their originating culture. Essentialism can often be a product of teaching dance history or dance studies with an emphasis on western theatrical dance rather than including other forms and traditions, leading students to have a skewed view of history and their place as dancers in world culture. Indeed, it is true of many history and social studies courses that the dominant culture is easily prioritized because of p ­ re-existing texts and ideologies. Dance educators must make conscious efforts to teach from a broad base and perspective to situate content historically and culturally. As educational researcher Bryan Smith (2014) explains: “Social studies, burdened with the responsibility of elucidating the complexity of the cultural and social world of the student, inherits from its disciplines (history, geography, civics) a legacy of racialization and exclusion” (p. 64). Therefore, dance faculty must endeavor to expand their conceptual basis in teaching dance courses that are inclusive rather than exclusive. New dance educators should be able to respond to the distinct needs of their students, while avoiding stereotypes and making assumptions that essentialize rather than humanize every student in their classroom. An additional major issue is that as race and ethnicity in the U.S. become increasingly more diverse, schools are becoming more segregated (Tatum, 2017). Although Brown vs. the Board of Education ended legal segregation in public schools in 1954 (U.S. Supreme Court 1954), most communities are not fully integrated in terms of housing, which means that school zoning often causes segregation in schools. Zoning becomes a political issue fraught with

144  Section Three serious consequences for students. Segregated schools lead to significant variances in student test scores, college and career readiness differences between races, school funding, and quality of teachers. Negative outcomes like these can be tied back to segregated zoning and the unequal schools produced. As educator James E. Ryan (2010) notes: “Educational opportunities are far from equal in this country and too often depend on where students live, on how much money their parents earn, or on the color of their skin” (p. 1). When a society’s housing and schools remain largely segregated, its youth are segregated, not interacting/playing with each other, or getting to know each other through building friendships and the foundation of community as children. This segregation can contribute to fear of other races. Beverly Daniel Tatum (2017), President of Spelman College, explains: “Racial isolation means that experience of ‘the other’ is too often rooted in ­well-worn stereotypes, rather than in knowledge nuanced by ongoing engagement. Fear and anxiety about the unfamiliar are the common result” (n.p.). Knowledge of each other builds trust, but without it, what is left can be uncertainty and fear. Another prevalent issue throughout the U.S. is abuse, a serious concern for children and teens. Schools are a prominent location where students have close contact with adults outside their families or caregivers. In this regard, adults in schools hold dual possible roles: they may be people who spot abuse or they may be people who abuse. An estimated 3.6 million cases of abuse were reported in 2014 (Children’s Bureau, 2014, ix). Because abuse often happens in private with two people, it becomes one person’s “word” against another’s, and the abuse victim is generally the one with less empowerment (i.e. a child vs. an adult). As a requirement for graduation or certification, many university programs and some state departments of education require p ­ re-professional teachers to complete a course in identifying child abuse. Courses generally prepare a p ­ re-professional student for observing abuse but not for the fallout that may happen when they report it; whistle blowers are not always welcomed. A challenge for each protagonist in the following case studies is to develop relationships with various stakeholders that allow space for each partner to exert and negotiate power in their own way and within the specific circumstances and needs, while upholding their ethical educational beliefs and complying with laws, policies and procedures. The case studies offer opportunities for reflecting on that delicate balancing act. Readers will observe that those who hold the power greatly influence, if not determine, the outcomes of the case. Whether a university or K–12 school, both are designed with a clear chain of command, with students frequently at the end of the chain. However, philosopher Paulo Freire (2000) puts forth the idea that students should be empowered with their own decision making to develop

 Section Introduction (McPherson with Dragon, Risner & Schupp)   145 autonomy and independent thinking (pp. 72–73). Likewise, educational researcher Eleni Loizou (2011) advocates for student teachers to critically reflect on their own and others’ practices, and to be agents of their teaching identity. Reading these case studies, one might ask: Are students being given the opportunity for empowerment in these cases? Who holds the power? What motivates them? Are stakeholders acting ethically? Power relationships as well as teacher dispositions, grade inflation, and personal fears can all be explored as continually evolving processes through embracing the philosophy of humanizing pedagogy which centers on the premise that students, student teachers and teachers in the field, live in a continuing state of becoming—a theoretical perspective that views contradiction and complexity as normal parts of life and education, embracing the idea that the lives we lead involve many more “gray” areas than “black” and “white.”

Case Studies In “The Cultural Assumptions We Carry” by Stephanie Milling, a cooperating teacher in a middle school works with a dance student teacher to develop a unit that they both see focused on diversity. In looking at the proposed unit, the student teacher’s university professor sees a lesson plan that delivers information through an authoritative teaching style based upon making cultural assumptions about the middle school students. The university professor grapples with how to supervise and positively influence the student teacher’s development at the school, while at the same time navigating power relationships with the cooperating teacher whose judgment runs counter to basic tenets of the dance education program. “Why Grade Inflation and Teacher Disposition Don’t Mix” by Elizabeth McPherson, Doug Risner, and Karen Schupp, exposes the ways in which grade inflation can hide a student teacher’s serious deficiency in teacher dispositions. In this case, a university dance professor inflates a student’s grade so that the student can be accepted to the dance education program. Too late in the student’s degree program, the university dance professor realizes that the student lacks the professional dispositions to be an effective dance educator. The university dance professor must then contemplate the ethical dilemmas that arise from inflation of grades that lead to certification of i­ ll-prepared dance teachers. In McPherson and Kathleen Isaac’s “Confronting Urban Phobias,” a white p ­ re-service teacher has grave concerns about her student teaching placement in an urban school that is 80 percent n ­ on-white (60% Black, 20% Latino); she formally requests a change of placement. The university strongly promotes student teacher placements in this nearby school district, believing that the relationship supports the community in vital ways, while university students

146  Section Three experience meaningful growth from these placements. In deciding the student’s request for reassignment, the university faculty supervisor and Dean of Education must weigh the advantages and disadvantage for the student teacher’s growth and development as well as ramifications for other constituents. “Whistleblowing Adolescent Sexual Abuse,” c­ o-authored by Barbara Bashaw and Marissa Beth Nesbit, addresses sexual abuse, how suspected abuse should be reported, as well as the potential ramifications of reporting abuse. In this case study, a university dance professor becomes aware of an instance of suspected sexual abuse at a high school where one of his students is placed for student teaching. Attempting to work ethically through appropriate reporting channels, he quickly becomes embroiled in a web of power relationships between the university, the host school, and student teacher. Written to spark lively debates and promote discussion leading to pedagogical innovation, these cases seek to move the field of dance teacher preparation forward in a positive, thoughtful, and reflective manner. In pondering courses of action that occur in the cases, readers will have opportunities to enhance p ­ roblem-solving skills, develop ways of thinking through problems, debate educational policies, and interact successfully with colleagues and students—practices that ideally will expand throughout a vibrant and meaningful dance teaching career.

Introduction to Postsecondary Dance Education Dance in postsecondary education encompasses a variety of purposes and therefore can look quite different from campus to campus. From ­non-major courses for dance enthusiasts to degree programs for dance majors, postsecondary dance education provides an opportunity for students to pursue dance as an academic discipline. Dance educators in postsecondary programs can be situated as generalists or specialists and have a wide range of professional, research, and teaching interests. Depending on the program, faculty members may be engaged as artists and researchers outside of the classroom or may be intensively focused on teaching. Students studying dance in postsecondary education bring a range of experiences and goals to campus. Some students may be focused on performance and choreography, while others are interested in community engagement, arts entrepreneurship, and commercial dance while still others study dance as part of an interdisciplinary pursuit. The diversity of interests, both on the part of students and faculty, makes teaching dance in postsecondary settings both rewarding and challenging, and thereby requires postsecondary dance educators to develop sophisticated and agile approaches to teaching dance. The expectations of dance educators and students in postsecondary

 Section Introduction (McPherson with Dragon, Risner & Schupp)   147 dance education vary depending on the college program. Dance education researcher Karen Schupp (2015) outlines the different types of campuses and degree types for studying dance on campus. Dance programs exist in liberal arts colleges where the primary purpose is educating undergraduate students. Here, faculty are primarily engaged as teachers. At universities, faculty may also engage in creative and scholarly research in addition to teaching students. Universities enroll both graduate and undergraduate students, and most have a commitment to advancing research and practice in the professional realm. ­Two-year colleges, both community colleges and private ­two-year schools, also include dance programs and courses. Curricularly, dance programs can either be designed to offer generalist degrees such as a bachelor of arts or bachelor of sciences, or specialist degrees such as bachelor of fine arts degrees. Generalist degree programs encourage a broad understanding of dance as part of the liberal arts, and specialist degree programs promote more depth of study within dance. Dance educators need to be aware of the goals of their programs to successfully guide students’ learning in the classroom and prepare them to flourish upon graduation. The professionalization of postsecondary dance over the past four decades has been critical for aligning dance with other performing arts in academe, while also increasing relationships with professional dance artists, choreographers, and for some dance units, partnering opportunities with professional dance companies (Hagood, 2000; Risner, 2010b). Dance curriculum theorist, Doug Risner (2009) cautioned nearly a decade ago, “Those of us in p ­ ost-secondary dance must realize that an emphasis on professional training in our curriculum and programming neither reduces nor negates our obligation to the mission and values of the academic enterprise” (p. 173). Risner (2009) added, “In fact, this is precisely what distinguishes academic dance from professional training” (p.173). A decade prior to Risner, postsecondary dance historian, Thomas Hagood (2000) gave observant directives for professionalized dance programs with this charge: We must help the faculty of each program bring to the fore that which makes their cooperative effort substantial. We must also help the field expand its notion of the merit and worth of dance related pedagogy, developed multicultural appreciation, and theoretical inquiry. Excellence in dance education must be referenced not only to professional art standards, but also to individual creativity, to cultural understanding, to theoretical appreciation, and to intellectual and kinesthetic development. But, ultimately, and perhaps most importantly, dance in higher education must attend to the charge of the academy: to push back the boundaries of knowledge, to forward the cultural legacy, and to contribute to society [p. 41].

Sponsored by the National Dance Education Organization since 2011, the think tank, “Dance 2050: What Is the Future of Dance in Higher Education?” was created to examine the roots and status of postsecondary dance and to

148  Section Three project the future of dance in academia. Of the eight primary themes developed within the group’s Vision Statement, the theme “Preparing Students for the Future” comprises some of the most salient issues of the following postsecondary dance education case studies in this volume: Dance educators advise and prepare students for a lifelong commitment to the field of dance or movement in its many manifestations, whether as work, advocacy, or extracurricular pursuit. Dance curricula in higher education imagine a wide range of possible career paths and goals for their graduates and provide the resources to buttress these possibilities [­McGreevy-Nichols, et al., 2015, p. 84].

Tensions between the worlds of dance in academe and the professional dance scene emerge when their missions and aims become conflated. On one hand, dance programs continue to aspire to prepare students for performance in professional concert dance and dance companies, while on the other, some postsecondary dance programs today prepare their graduates for careers beyond professional dancers and choreographers. What does this tell us is happening to dance in academe? How does this impact dance education? Dance in higher education is at its most nimble since the dance boom of the 1970s, redesigning curricula and degree programs to address student interest and demand, all of which is targeted for successful c­ ollege-to-career paths. Emerging dance artists graduate being able to find ways to create, produce, and share their work, guided by a broad range of experiences and skills unheard of two decades ago. In addition, bachelor of arts and bachelor of science degree programs now comprise numerous interdisciplinary concentrations, including p ­ re-dance therapy, community dance, dance studio/ school management, dance s­ cience-related careers, dance and arts management and administration, marketing and promotion, among others. At the same time, the postsecondary dance professoriate is reconfiguring itself, as senior dance faculty (associate and full professors), who were tenured in the mid–1970s to mid–1980s, retire from positions they have held for many years—some for over four decades. Retirements mean new hires, and a good deal of these senior positions will be filled at the rank of t­ enure-track assistant professor, bringing highly skilled and trained dance artists with new ideas, expertise, and visions for dance in the mid–21st century. What kind of skills and expertise will these new dance faculty bring with them? What notions of professionalizing student dancers will these new faculty members require in their teaching and classes? How important is it that university and college students be expected to learn dance at a professional level?

Case Studies The case studies in this section offer insight into the complexities of teaching s­ tudio-based dance courses in postsecondary settings. Issues related

 Section Introduction (McPherson with Dragon, Risner & Schupp)   149 to teaching dance technique and improvisational forms and developing repertory for a student dance company are addressed in the following case studies. “Where to Draw the Line,” authored by Schupp and Robin Prichard, looks at what happens when differing pedagogical and choreographic approaches collide during a professional guest artist residency. The university professor in the case is confronted with difficult questions about how to prioritize the values and needs of her students, of the professional guest artist, and herself. Assumptions about the divide between the purposes of dance inside and outside of postsecondary education underscore the tensions in the case, especially professionalism and professional expectations. Tanya Berg and Risner’s “When Department Policy Limits Teaching” takes place in a university that bans t­ eacher-to-student physical contact in arts disciplines, meaning tactile communication and t­ ouch-based correction cannot be used in technique classes. The dance educator, also the director of a professional dance company in the city, is dedicated to the use of tactile communication when teaching her company class and choreographing for her company. Now as a p ­ art-time faculty member at the university with no job security, she must decide whether or not to follow the n ­ o-touch policy in her university technique course or suffer the consequences of breaking the rules. The complexity of sharing the weight of one’s physical body and engaging in touch is problematized in “Teaching Contact Improvisation: Touching and Being Touched.” Authored by Berg and Risner, this case study raises questions regarding the ethics of touch between students in a contact improvisation class. After learning about a student’s previous harmful experiences with touch, a university professor wrestles with elements of consent—if consent is necessary, and how consent is granted within the teaching of contact improvisation, a dance form reliant upon the studied use of spontaneous touch and w ­ eight-sharing between two people. The case studies in this section illustrate only a handful of interpersonal equations that need to be carefully addressed when working with student dancers in college and university programs. Teaching dance in postsecondary education necessitates great sensitivity to the needs of students and goals of the academic institution, as well as a keen awareness of current trends, issues, and problems in the professional dance field. Rarely is there one, fi ­ xed-solution that will work for every course, class, or student; however, this has not deterred many w ­ ell-intentioned postsecondary efforts to find the singular “magic bullet” policy for each and every problem encountered. Yet policies cannot make ethical decisions or determine when the humanizing solution to a policy violation is to defy the policy itself. As higher education in the U.S. continues to evolve, dance educators must remain agile in

150  Section Three approaches to situating dance as an academic discipline filled with students’ diverse expectations, needs, and challenges. Effective and meaningful facilitation of dance learning is both satisfying and challenging—requiring continual reflection and thoughtful ethical decision making.

The Cultural Assumptions We Carry Stephanie Milling

SYNOPSIS: A capable and creative student teacher finds herself torn between the guidance of a d ­ irected-style cooperating teacher and the critical pedagogical approach of her university supervisor. Ultimately, the university supervisor must critique her own assumptions and biases in order to maintain her professional relationship with the cooperating teacher, while supporting her student’s successful completion of student teaching.

Introduction An undergraduate student teacher in dance education finds herself in the middle of competing pedagogical approaches between her university faculty supervisor and her assigned cooperating teacher in a middle school. The cooperating teacher employs a direct instructional approach for his middle school students, which differs substantially from the student teacher’s guided discovery and p ­ roblem-solving approaches. At the same time, the university supervisor of student teaching, presses the student teacher to design a unit that employs an exploratory, critical pedagogy. When the university supervisor learns that the cooperating teacher has significantly influenced the student teacher’s unit design and pedagogical approach, she realizes that the guidance of both mentors are in direct conflict with one another, ignoring the student teacher’s beliefs, values, and voice. Western theatrical concert dance training often reinforces the banking concept of education (a term used by educational philosopher Paulo Freire), in which the teacher is viewed as the authority of knowledge and content, while students are viewed as empty vessels—lacking agency, empowerment, and voice in the dance classroom (Stinson, 1998b; Freire, 2001). The banking 151

152  Section Three method, or direct instruction, in traditional dance training, privileges imitation, replication, and docile bodies (Green, 2002–2003). Although inquiry and creative exploration have persisted for centuries, the banking concept of education negates constructivist and critical pedagogical models that contributed to the development of dance education and the acknowledgment of its value in the larger framework of education. The prevalence of disempowering practices that many students in postsecondary dance training programs endure prior to, or simultaneously with their dance education studies, may continue to shape their practice, even when presented with more empowering educational models. Teacher preparation scholarship in dance has revealed that curricular design in postsecondary dance education programs should extend beyond typical methods, content, and pedagogy. Some scholars have argued that pedagogical models in teacher training in dance should include a focus on perspective and agency to confront the realities and challenges in the field (Stinson, 1993; Stinson, 2010; Risner, 2010a; Risner and Barr, 2015). Furthermore, dance education scholars contend that teacher training must prepare future teachers to work with diverse populations and to develop relevant and empowering teaching practices that disrupt traditional dance pedagogical models often perpetuated in the field (Stinson, 1993; Stinson, 2010; Risner, 2010a; Risner and Barr 2015). By teaching future dance educators to question asymmetrical power structures and dynamics in education and dance education, their informed worldviews on race, ethnicity, and culture will expand teacher candidates’ understanding of others, themselves, their practices, and the experiences that inform their practices. The following case study aims to provoke thinking and discussion of how to teach culture and history in inclusive ways, mediate philosophical disagreements, and negotiate power relationships inherent in collaborations between K–12 faculty and postsecondary dance educators involved in mentoring student teachers in dance. The case study begins as Rachel Wagner, a senior dance education major, is about to learn where she will be placed for her upcoming student teaching assignment. As she approaches the office of Associate Professor, Dr. Sally Peck, her university supervisor, Rachel is both excited and anxious to learn her school placement.

The Case Walking toward Dr. Peck’s office, Rachel sees her friend Carrie, “Did you get your placement?” Rachel asks. “Yes, I’ll be at City Arts Middle School” Carrie beams, “I am so excited! How about you?”



The Cultural Assumptions We Carry (Milling)  153

Pointing toward Dr. Peck’s office, “I’ll find out soon.” “Good luck!” Carrie smiles. Knocking on the door, “Hi Dr. Peck, are you ready for me?” Dr. Peck smiles, “Rachel, come in. I’m thrilled that your placement has been approved! I know you attended predominantly white suburban schools, so I searched for a school that would give you a chance to expand your experience and develop new strengths. Your placement is going to be Emory Park Middle School, where about 85% of the students and their families recently immigrated to the USA from Mexico.” Dr. Peck also grew up attending largely white suburban schools then taught in two culturally diverse high schools before she took her present position. Her experiences shaped her perspective enormously, and she hopes that Rachel’s placement will provide her with a similar growth experience. Rachel is unsettled; she works hard to keep smiling. “Teaching in a school that is culturally different from your own,” Dr. Peck continues, “will provide you with unique learning opportunities that you might not experience in a more homogeneous classroom. Because many of the students come from ­non-native educational environments, you’ll have a wonderful opportunity to make the dance education curriculum relevant for them.” Noticing Rachel’s uncertainty, Dr. Peck comforts, “Mr. Rivera, your cooperating teacher, will support you. He emigrated from Guatemala as a teenager and understands his students’ experiences. Since he speaks Spanish, he assists students with communication barriers that sometimes arise with English Language Learners.” Trying to match Dr. Peck’s enthusiasm, Rachel answers, “I wish I spoke Spanish. But thanks for your confidence in me—I’ll do my best!” *** A couple weeks into her internship, Rachel has bonded well with Mr. Rivera and begins preliminary planning for a world folk dance unit that they will teach collaboratively during the semester. During their first meeting about this project, Mr. Rivera begins, “I’m glad you’ll be here for the annual global learning celebration—it gives students a wonderful opportunity to celebrate their cultural heritage.” “I look forward to it,” Rachel adds. “You get to choose a culture to represent through dance and song, along with a verbal presentation,” Mr. Rivera continues. “I suggest choosing Mexico since so many of the students come from there. This project could also help you learn more about the country where these students were born and where many of them grew up.” Rachel responds, “I learned a few dances from Mexico in a world folk dance class, so I know a little.”

154  Section Three “Which dances do you know?” Mr. Rivera asks. “Let’s see, I remember learning El Jarabe Tapatío, La Cucaracha, and Las Chiapaneca. Would those work, Mr. Rivera?” “Perfect,” he says. “Should I assign the students some research so they can learn about the background of the dances?” Rachel asks. She knows that guided discovery helps students think for themselves and develop positive s­ elf-concept. “No, I recommend you just give them the information—to be sure that they get what is most important.” With such short time to the Global Celebration event, Mr. Rivera believes direct instruction makes the most sense. Attempting to give students some active participation in the unit, “Shouldn’t I ask the students about their own backgrounds and the folk dances they know?” Rachel inquires. Mr. Rivera answers, “Look, I know these students well, and in this situation, they’ll respond best to direction much more than exploration.” Knowing that guided discovery requires an established working relationship with a class, Mr. Rivera worries that his students are unprepared for the level of o ­ pen-ended, independent learning that Rachel suggests. Rachel replies (a little downcast), “I understand Mr. Rivera—I feel more secure when I know exactly what is expected of me, I guess.” “Well, here is the structure I recommend. Start each lesson with an informational PowerPoint, teach the dance, and finish by reflecting on the concepts learned during the lesson.” “Okay,” Rachel nods tentatively. “I know my university supervisor likes reflection a lot, but for the PowerPoint, maybe the students and I could create it together?” “Let’s see if you have time. Here is another suggestion: During the PowerPoint presentation, give students this guide [handing her a folder], which I developed for taking notes about dances and their cultural relevance. You can use the notes to create the narrative to introduce the dances during the performance,” Mr. Rivera concludes. Thinking to herself, Rachel has serious concerns now about using Mr. Rivera’s materials and ideas instead of her own. “Mr. Rivera, so this project will satisfy my student teaching requirements to design and teach a unit?” “Yes, absolutely,” Mr. Rivera affirms. “I’m proud of you, Rachel. You’re my first student teacher, and this is working out so well!” *** Although Rachel finds nothing about Mr. Rivera’s unit plans to be s­ tudent-centered or culturally relevant for students, which is her preference, she completes the plan as he suggested. After Rachel develops her l­ ong-range plan, she emails it to Dr. Peck. Now, they meet to discuss it.



The Cultural Assumptions We Carry (Milling)  155

Dr. Peck begins, “Rachel, why don’t you tell me about the thinking that shaped your l­ ong-range plan.” “Well, I want to honor the students’ cultural background by focusing on teaching Mexican dances, which they will perform and talk about in the global celebration performance” Rachel states. Hesitantly, Dr. Peck continues, “Talk a little more about the student involvement during your instruction and the global celebration.” “Well,” Rachel describes, “the lessons also prepare the students for the performance. I will teach them about where the dance comes from, why people do the dance, and then teach them the dance. Students take notes and then read them before they perform each dance onstage to inform the audience about the dances.” After reading and discussing Rachel’s unit plan with her, Dr. Peck worries that this directed style of teaching disempowers the students and reveals several assumptions about cultural identity. Dr. Peck ponders how much of this unit plan is actually Rachel’s design. Becoming more critical, “Rachel, talk to me about the contributions students might make during your lessons,” Dr. Peck pauses. Answering carefully, “Well, they use the information we teach them, and then they perform it in the assembly,” Rachel replies. “So,” Dr. Peck leans forward, “you’re not asking the students to contribute to the teaching or learning about their own culture or the cultural dances from their native country, but you are asking them to present information you have given them?” Trying to find the words, Rachel stammers “Uh, well, I mean … that’s the point of the unit—their Mexican culture, right?” Taking a deep breath, “Well Rachel, don’t you want the students to contribute to your lessons on culture and dance in Mexico?” “Yes, I do,” Rachel says softly. Becoming more incredulous, Dr. Peck continues, “In your choice to focus on dances in Mexico as a means for making the content relevant to students, how do you know Mexican culture truly represents the students’ cultural backgrounds? They might have emigrated from Mexico but could have many different ethnic backgrounds.” Wanting to tell her that the whole plan is Mr. Rivera’s, but also wanting to protect him, Rachel says, “I guess I thought this would work since they are from Mexico.” Frustrated, Dr. Peck asks, “Don’t you see this as problematic?” Rachel stares at the floor, her cheeks become flushed, and her eyes tear up. She doesn’t want to cause problems for Mr. Rivera. He’s her cooperating teacher, and she has to work with him. Recognizing that she may have been too harsh, Dr. Peck responds more

156  Section Three encouragingly: “I think your intention is sincere, but some revision is necessary to provide students with a more meaningful learning experience.” In her head, Rachel knows exactly what needs to be revised with her plan. She feigns ignorance as Dr. Peck goes into detail. “As I see it, there are two aspects of your unit that require revision: first, you have identified the country that most students emigrated from, but many different ethnicities may or may not align with each student’s country of origin.” While Dr. Peck continues speaking, Rachel runs through the changes she’s going to make in her head. Students will: research one of the assigned dances from Mexico, insert their experiences of folk dance and music into their presentations, build a collaborative PowerPoint presentation that showcases their research, and create short video introductions of the dances they perform for the event. Dr. Peck is still talking, “and second, it is a little Eurocentric to be teaching the students about their—she pauses and uses air quotes—‘assumed culture’ without asking for their input.” “Yes, Dr. Peck, I see my plan needs alterations.” “I propose that you make these adjustments and talk to Mr. Rivera about delaying the implementation of your unit.” Dr. Peck concludes. Rachel agrees and quickly leaves so that she can revise her l­ ong-range plan by 7:45 a.m. bell. *** The next morning, Dr. Peck receives two emails: first, an intense email from Mr. Rivera reacting to Rachel’s revised plan, and second, an unexpected email from Rachel, including the revised plan. Dear Dr. Peck, While I understand that you supervise and grade Rachel’s student teaching, the realities of my classroom must be respected. Rachel emailed me her revised plan this morning. She said you required the revision in order for her to receive a passing grade. Rachel said you thought students should contribute more to the lessons, but we only have eight classes to prepare for the performance, and my students have short attention spans that require direct instruction. My students also like it when they learn about their heritage in dance class. This connection between dance and their culture keeps them engaged. Plus, they have obligations and chores at home which frequently impact their ability to complete outside work and homework assignments. These familial responsibilities must be respected. As an immigrant myself, I understand how my students feel and the difficulties that they face in a new country. While I respect your authority, I doubt you know what it’s like to be an immigrant and with respect, this is not your classroom. Rachel does not have time to accomplish the lessons she has revised and proposed for her unit. The students need structure and my directed style works for them. Guided discovery lessons can only happen when Rachel has developed strong and trustful relationships



The Cultural Assumptions We Carry (Milling)  157 with the class. Allowing students too much freedom in my classroom leads to classroom management problems. Plus, we are already behind. She will not have enough time to integrate her revised plan. Sincerely, Mr. Rivera

After reading Mr. Rivera’s email, Dr. Peck sees that Rachel’s email contains an attachment titled, REVISED World Folk Dance Plan. She opens it to see a fully revised plan with eight lessons. Out loud she says, “How did she have time to do a complete revision?” Rachel’s revised plan skillfully illustrates excellent examples of problem solving methods and guided discovery approaches, which Rachel could have written at any time, but she didn’t because she was sensitive to Mr. Rivera’s wishes. Out loud again, “Rachel didn’t originally write the plan she knew I would want, because…. Mr. Rivera made sure she didn’t because it was not an approach he thought would work.” Dr. Peck realizes that she was not actively listening to Rachel, or she might have recognized her discomfort during the discussion of revising her unit. In reflecting, Dr. Peck realized that she was so certain she was right that she failed to consider the perspective of others who are far more deeply involved and knowledgeable of the students and situation. Dr. Peck knows that she cannot allow Rachel to attempt to deliver her revised plan. Although it is an exemplary plan, it’s too challenging within the short time period. Additionally, she does not want to displace the authority of Mr. Rivera and discredit his practices. At the same time, Mr. Rivera’s previous plan design does not meet requirements for awarding Rachel a passing grade, which include minimum requirements for s­ tudent-centered, culturally responsive, and student voice instruction. Even more importantly, Dr. Peck does not want Rachel to remain in the center of this conflict, but she must make a decision soon.

Dilemma and Stakeholders The complex dilemma that Dr. Sally Peck confronts emerges from the differing values each stakeholder brings to the classroom. These divergent viewpoints place Rachel Wagner, a student teacher, in a compromising position and calls into question the dance program’s professional relationship with cooperating teacher, Mr. Mateo Rivera. Dr. Peck believes the l­ ong-range plan and lessons that Mr. Rivera has largely devised and given to Rachel to teach essentializes the identities and disempowers the voices of the middle school students. Mr. Rivera, on the other hand, believes he knows his students and better understands them, especially their needs to be successful in the global celebration performance. If the university supervisor allows Rachel to teach

158  Section Three her revised i­ nquiry-based, culturally relevant unit, she risks putting Rachel in the uncomfortable position of undermining Mr. Rivera’s authority. If Dr. Peck doesn’t allow her to teach the exemplary s­ tudent-centered Mexican folk dance unit, Rachel will fail the course. Therefore, the university supervisor must weigh her concerns: stick to her pedagogical values and inadvertently place Rachel at the center of an uncomfortable experience or modulate her concerns in order to maintain a positive professional relationship with Mr. Rivera to ensure the possibility of future student teaching placements in his classroom. Finally, the middle school students deserve a quality learning experience, which should respect their families’ cultural identities and explore their traditions and values from native and n ­ on-native cultures. At times, mentors in higher education and the K–12 sector may disagree about methods and perspectives that inform instruction. While a consistent focus on students’ access to quality dance education instruction remains an important focus for all individuals involved in the student teaching enterprise, questioning professional authority can cause bruised egos and incomplete visions of ourselves and others. Dr. Peck will need to reflect upon her willingness to embrace the values of cooperating teachers and what they may or may not offer the dance education teacher preparation program.

Pedagogical Elements Issues of power circulate throughout this essay and prompt larger questions about asymmetrical power structures, authority, and student teacher rights in dance education. That Rachel, the student teacher, ultimately becomes suspended at the center of the dilemma, speaks to Dr. Peck’s leadership challenges and her lack of understanding of how the cooperating schools and teachers play essential roles in the dance education program’s success. Considerations of hierarchy in this case study reveal larger concerns about culturally responsive pedagogy, professional relationships between teachers and students, and the philosophies that underpin teacher preparation in dance, which led to Dr. Peck undermining Mr. Rivera’s authority as a mentor and cooperating teacher. Initial exposure to diversity of dance throughout different cultures can lead emerging dance educators to essentialize that all members of a group are the same. Essentializing group members fails to recognize that culture does not define individuals. Rather, the various aspects of individuals’ identities intersect to form a complex web, sometimes without recognition from the individuals themselves. Educators are encouraged to consider the concept of “individual diversity” in their attempts to make content relevant and

The Cultural Assumptions We Carry (Milling)  159 pedagogical methods effective in the learning environment (Sinagatullin, 2003, p. 196). “Individual diversity” honors the various facets of one’s identity and how they intersect with one another to form an individual’s “personal interests, inclinations, and other tangible and intangible characteristics” (Sinagatullin, 2003, p. 196). Rachel tried repeatedly to contribute to Mr. Rivera’s l­ ong-term plan, suggesting numerous ways to make the content relevant for the students. Rachel’s revised plan used her knowledge of the students’ cultural identities and demonstrated a commitment to make diversity content meaningful. Dance education scholars Doug Risner and Susan Stinson (cited in Ashley, 2014) point out that the dearth of research on “teaching and learning about diversity and social issues in teacher preparation” can hamper emerging educators’ abilities to comprehend the complexities of implementing multicultural perspectives into their teaching (p. 255). “Teaching about culturally diverse dances from contextual and multicultural perspectives, and not just teaching the dancing, is, therefore timely in view of increasing migrant diasporas and growing awareness of indigenous worldviews internationally” (Ashley, 2014, p. 254). A critical approach to teaching and discussing history and culture should include engaging students in examining how the cultural underpinnings and historical development of all dance forms shape their evolution, encouraging them to make connections among values and movement practices across cultural traditions without stereotyping groups of people. Multiculturalism and diversity have greatly informed scholarship and curricular development in dance education at the turn of the millennium (Risner, 2007b), however, despite such advancements, the enduring presence of a western concert dance aesthetic and the pedagogical models through which they are taught in many collegiate dance programs often undermine inclusive approaches to dance education. For example, a student who has grown up in a studio where the majority of the teaching is direct instruction, in which the teacher demonstrates and the students copy, can set up an ingrained pattern of “the banking method,” devaluing the personal agency of the students. Comprehensive postsecondary training cannot prepare emerging educators for every situation they will encounter; however, future dance educators who can critically interrogate the philosophies that shape their teaching and how they perpetuate notions about dance, humanity, and education, can create inclusive, relevant, and meaningful dance experiences for multiple populations (Risner and Barr, 2015). Future teachers like Rachel might also feel more empowered to confront dilemmas like the one in this case with confidence and autonomy, if they have explored navigating conflict more fully in pedagogy and methods courses. The untenable situation that lead to Rachel getting caught in the center

160  Section Three of this dilemma may have been avoided, if Dr. Peck fulfilled her responsibilities as the university supervisor in more proactive ways. For example, by working directly with Mr. Rivera at each phase of Rachel’s student teaching internship, they could have worked collaboratively and in coordination to develop ­mutually-agreeable solutions to problems that arose. Furthermore, Dr. Peck and Rachel could have approached Mr. Rivera together, avoiding the conflict that caused Rachel, the person with the least amount of authority in the story, great discomfort. It is critical to realize that the positioning and repositioning of power in the triad among the university supervisor, cooperating teacher, and student teacher evolves during student teaching, especially during conflict (Bullough and Draper, 2004).

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy My Education Map Doug Risner APPLICATION: In this activity, you have the opportunity to discover how your own experiences of privilege and/or marginalization have shaped your assumptions about dance education. Mapping one’s own education can provide an important first step in avoiding the dangers of normalizing your education and essentializing communities.

Activity Each person’s educational experience is unique and valuable, yet, in terms of generalization, highly limited. No two people have the exact same educational paths, content, challenges, privileges, or successes. Assuming that your students have had similar experiences in school and how they learn, can have dangerous consequences.

Materials Needed (1) Large pad of drawing paper or a­ ll-purpose newsprint (available at any art supply store or online vendor); (2) Various crayons and markers.

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Description The Education Map activity is done in a “pair and share situation.” Before beginning, determine who will be “Partner A” and “Partner B.” Each partner draws his educational journey, inside and outside of dance, from kindergarten through the present. The map should resemble an actual roadmap with a clearly defined route, noting significant landmarks to make visible a social geography and terrain of school. Indicate f­ orks-in-the road, where choices or decisions were made, navigational turns, detours, and when the student was s­ ide-tracked or turned around. Note any closed roads or places in the student’s education or training that were not accessible. Key persons should be featured on the map and may include teachers, parents, family, peers, school staff, dance teachers, guidance counselors, and coaches, among others. Additionally, important events and people who shaped the student’s journey should be included—the battles one may have fought, the victories (large or small) along the trip. Overall, the finished map should provide a strong sense of the history, social aspects, and actual experience of each partner’s education, or “what school was like for me,” “what was most powerful and meaningful,” “who I remember most.” Because it’s human nature to romanticize many of our early memories, students should be encouraged and supported to critique their experiences.

Sharing the Education Map When maps are completed, each partner shares the map with the other, one at a time. Each partner carefully retraces her education journey, using the map to give details and to recollect her school story. To begin sharing, stand up, with Partner B directly behind Partner A with hands on Partner A’s waist or shoulders. Partner A will then “drive” his education map as a connected couple with Partner A holding the map in front of himself explaining the journey aloud to Partner B. Partners act as driver and passenger in a car, witnessing the trip, reflecting back (to the partner) what each sees in the map. Both partners should present their maps in entirety before asking questions about each other’s maps. Each partner then can ask questions and give comments to help flesh out more of the journey for themselves. Because life journeys are often extremely personal, sharing means sharing what is “shareable,” holding onto what is not readily available nor easily shared (or example, something that is overly embarrassing, too painful or personal). However, what isn’t shared with the partner can still inform and enlighten the student in private reflection or in a reflective paper later in the semester.

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Partner Discussion When someone’s Education Map is listened to in a personal way, it reminds her that her story matters. Storytelling helps us understand the world differently because it is the act of listening that holds the power that enables us to connect with and honor the humanity in one another. In this spirit, discuss the following questions with your partner. 1.  How is the journey of your map related to who and where you are today? 2.  How does the uniqueness of your map guide the way you lead your life today as a person and as a teacher? 3.  Can you imagine waking up in the morning living with someone else’s map instead of your own? What would that be like for you? 4.  Think about the Education Maps of your parents or guardians. How similar is your map to theirs? What role did your parents or guardians play in your map? Discuss. Now think about your responses in terms of your current or future students and their Education Maps. When you contemplate your future students, how do you imagine them? What do you believe your students will be like? To answer this question, make a list of 10 descriptive words, and write a ­150-word paragraph using those 10 words about the imagined student you will have in your class. Then draw a picture of the student described in your paragraph. 1.  Does the student you imagined reflect your own Education Map? If so, in what ways? Why might you think this is? If not, what might this be? 2.  How can your personal pedagogy take into account the Education Maps of your current and future students? Should it? Discuss.

Why Grade Inflation and Teacher Dispositions Don’t Mix Elizabeth McPherson, Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

SYNOPSIS: When a benevolent dance professor admits a student to a dance education program by inflating some of her course grades while ignoring the student’s struggle in leading a classroom, the professor confronts ethical dilemmas embedded in inflating grades and certifying w ­ ell-intentioned but ­ill-equipped dance educators.

Introduction “You’re a natural teacher!” is commonly meant as a compliment to those who inspire rigorous exploration of a subject, present information in cogent and exciting ways, and encourage deep curiosity and learning. The praise implicit in this compliment speaks to the importance of interpersonal intelligence, presence, and classroom management skills that are requisite to creating quality educational experiences. Yet the word “natural” makes it seem as if the possession of these skills is innate, not something that can be cultivated or evaluated as a person develops as a dance educator. Dispositions can be defined as the essential personal qualities or attributes that shape how a person moves through the world, interacts with others, and carries himself or herself. Professional dispositions in teaching refers to the ethos a teacher models through her or his teaching, including the verbal and n ­ on-verbal interactions with students, colleagues, and administrators (NCATE, 2010–2014). A teacher who radiates confidence, respect for all students’ capabilities as learners, and both knowledge and curiosity about 163

164  Section Three a subject will likely create a very positive and engaging learning environment for students. On the other hand, a teacher who is unsure, not invested in students, and apathetic about a subject will likely unintentionally create an uninspiring classroom where students engage less as people and learners. A teacher’s dispositions greatly influence the classroom environment and how learning occurs. As such, the demonstration of strong teacher dispositions is included among the Interstate Teacher Assessment and Support Consortium (InTASC) model core standards for licensing teachers (Council of Chief State School Officers, 2011). Dr. Kezia Steinberg, the dance educator and professor in this essay, has positive and confident dispositions. Dr. Steinberg is a perpetual optimist, seeing the good in everyone and every student. She is an inspiring teacher and caring leader, believing that dance education is a way to uplift young adults as future dancers and dance educators, and more generally as considerate and creative people. Dr. Steinberg works at a small, public college in a rural area. The Dance Department offers a BA in Dance and a BA in Dance Education. To pursue the BA in Dance Education, students enter as BA in Dance majors, take requisite coursework (achieving B or better grades in each) and then apply for teacher education in the spring of their sophomore year. If they are accepted, they are formally transferred to the BA in Dance Education major. Currently, the Dance Education program is under pressure to keep enrollment levels steady. Dr. Steinberg is keenly aware that many university dance education programs in the United States have been dissolved in recent years. In an effort to promote dance education, during auditions and admission discussions she often advocates for students who show enthusiasm for teaching dance, sometimes overlooking deficiencies that may impair their success in the dance education program. Because Dr. Steinberg’s teacher dispositions developed somewhat inherently, she does not immediately realize the importance of directly cultivating and evaluating them on a regular basis. Until now, she has believed that professional dispositions will develop as students become more experienced teachers. As well, evaluating dispositions presents challenges due to the intangible nature of discerning personal thoughts and beliefs. Although the university maintains clear admissions standards, at best faculty can only assess inclination towards particular dispositions since students are only beginning their education coursework. Pressures to grow enrollment combined with Dr. Steinberg’s belief that all students can learn, leads her to inflate a student’s grade even though the student, Clara, demonstrates weakness in her authority and presence in the classroom.

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Case Study Leaving the year’s final dance faculty meeting, department chair Professor Green, approaches Dr. Steinberg. “How’s Clara doing in your dance education course?” “Well, she turns in her assignments and is always present but struggles with the teaching portions of the course. I mean … she hasn’t quite clicked with the students. Clara should really receive a C in the course, but I am considering giving her a B.” Opening her office door, Chair Green intensifies her voice, “Kezia, giving students grades they earn is our top priority here.” “I know. I am torn,” walking through the doorway Dr. Steinberg confides, “If I give her the C, she won’t be able to apply for Teacher Ed. She really loves teaching, but she gets overwhelmed by students.” Almost thinking to herself, “Plus, I apply for tenure next year, and the dance ed enrollment numbers are going to be under intense scrutiny.” Sensing Dr. Steinberg’s apprehension, Chair Green reminds her, “We aren’t just handing out degrees here. Students must meet certain standards in their work. Sounds like she’s missing significant teaching skills.” Slower she asks, “Seriously Kezia, do you think Clara would make a good teacher?” “Well … it’s hard to say,” gaining more confidence Dr. Steinberg asserts “I mean, I can mentor her to have a stronger presence in the classroom, to be more confident…” Chair Green interrupts, “But what if she doesn’t show progress, Kezia? Will you still recommend her for certification?” Nearly pleading, Dr. Steinberg responds “I just want to give her a fair chance.” Chair Green’s phone rings, “Kezia, I have to take this … Kezia?” Motioning her out the door, “Think about it!” Dr. Steinberg puts off submitting Clara’s final grade as long as possible. She knows in her heart that students need faculty who believe in them, especially students who are struggling. Flashes of her own challenging student teaching experience many years ago, come back to her: “I did this Clara. You can too!” she whispers. *** Fast forward two years: Clara is a senior, doing her student teaching in Merrywood Middle School with ­highly-qualified dance educator, Cindy Glenn. After two weeks of observing Clara’s teaching, Ms. Glenn has serious concerns about Clara’s inability to hold her students’ attention. She emails Dr. Steinberg: Dear Kezia, I know you’ll be coming to observe Clara soon, but I think you should know in advance that there are some issues with her teaching. She is trying hard, but she lacks

166  Section Three “presence” in the classroom. I fear the students would pay no attention to her whatsoever, if I were not continually asserting my role. Her lesson planning is fine, however her delivery of the lessons is lacking. Any suggestions? —Cindy Glenn

Upon reading this, Dr. Steinberg’s stomach drops. She responds: Dear Cindy: I’m so sorry to hear this, but frankly I’m not surprised. Clara exhibited some issues with holding the attention of the students in her Dance Pedagogy courses. Let me consider some specific strategies and share them with both of you when I observe. Thanks for letting me know, and please keep me updated on her next few classes. —Kezia

Although Dr. Steinberg recognizes that the situation requires her immediate attention, she waits three weeks until her first scheduled observation to see Clara teaching. *** “Hello, Clara. I look forward to seeing you teach today. How’s it going?” Glancing down, “Fine” Clara mumbles, shrugging her shoulders, “I guess.” Dr. Steinberg senses that Clara’s command of the classroom has not improved since her correspondence with Ms. Glenn. She takes a seat in front with Ms. Glenn as the students enter the studio. After taking off their shoes, students find their assigned spots on the dance floor and Clara begins, “So last week we learned about Limón and Graham techniques. Can anyone tell me what they remember?” No one responds. Instead, a whistling sound emerges in the classroom. The students appear to be passing this whistling “leadership” role around. Clara does not address the inappropriate behavior. “Okay, so, anyway, today you’ll learn about Horton technique,” Clara mutters as she distributes a worksheet on Lester Horton. As she walks away from the students to dim the lights and start the video, she explains, “Please write down three facts about Lester Horton after watching this short video.” As she turns around, paper airplanes, made from her worksheet, sail through the studio. Visibly shaken, Clara fails to acknowledge or manage the misbehavior and proceeds showing the video. Dr. Steinberg’s mind spins as the video plays, recalling how she gave Clara a B two years ago, instead of the C she earned, hoping Clara would develop a stronger presence and confidence. Questions run through her head: What was I thinking two years ago? Can I ethically recommend her for certification? If I do, what does that mean for Clara’s future students? If I don’t recommend her, what does that mean for my career and for Clara?



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Startled back to reality, Dr. Steinberg sees the last student exit. Clara, crying, exclaims, “These students hate me!” Dr. Steinberg hugs her, saying “Take some deep breaths.” Clara wipes her face and drinks some water. She is ready to talk. Ms. Glenn first says, “The students’ behavior was completely unacceptable. But do you know how you could have influenced the class to stay on task?” Clara sighs, “Well the video was boring. I actually was rushing last night to find a video on Horton, because I stayed late at the dance studio working with a student on her solo. This video was the first one that popped up on YouTube. I didn’t look further.” Dr. Steinberg says, “I’m disappointed Clara. Planning for your teaching here is really important. However, my primary concern is your sense of leadership.” Clara looks confused. Dr. Steinberg continues, “You must address inappropriate student behavior. If you let them get away with whistling for instance, they’re going to escalate to something else, like paper airplanes. They know they aren’t supposed to do these things, but if you don’t address them, they’ll keep pushing to see just how far they can go.” Clara says, “But I don’t want to be the mean teacher and have them hate me. I love dance, and I want them to love dance and me too. One of the reasons I love teaching at my dance studio is because I have such a strong connection with the kids.” Ms. Glenn jumps in, “One of the big differences between teaching in a studio and teaching in a school is class size. With bigger class size, you need to take a stronger stance, not unfriendly, but with a sense of leadership.” Leaning into Clara, she continues, “Instilling respect between teacher and students and expecting students to follow basic rules of courtesy isn’t being mean, Clara. It’s part of your job as a teacher. Your students must see you as their trusted leader.” Dr. Steinberg gently asks, “Clara, do you think you can move forward with this kind of responsibility for leading a respectful classroom environment? It’s an essential element of teacher dispositions. You have many strong qualities—you are kind, caring, and good at planning lessons, but you need the students’ attention to deliver your lesson well.” *** Two weeks later, Dr. Steinberg observes Clara’s class again and finds she still lacks a strong presence as a leader and remains unable to maintain standards of respect in the classroom. Now realizing she cannot recommend Clara for state certification, Dr. Steinberg knows she must tell her this gut wrenching decision.

168  Section Three After class, Dr. Steinberg and Clara meet. “Clara, it’s always been clear to me that you love to dance and love teaching in your dance studio. However, your strengths do not align with teaching in a public school, and I cannot support your application for certification. You actually have the required credits to graduate with a BA in Dance, which will support your dance studio teaching.” Shocked, Clara exclaims, “That is not fair! I have always earned B’s and higher in your classes. How can you say I won’t be certified? That’s so unfair!” Voice shaking, Dr. Steinberg says, “You’re correct. I’ve given you B’s in your coursework, but I’m truly concerned about recommending you for teacher certification in a public school. Would you feel comfortable with a class like Ms. Glenn’s on your own? Have you noticed that when the class gets rowdy, it’s Ms. Glenn who effectively refocuses the students’ attention?” Clara mumbles looking away “Yes, I realize that, but” more forcefully, “I support myself financially, and I need this certification to teach in public schools. Honestly, I actually like teaching in a studio better, but it’s not as a secure and doesn’t pay as much as teaching in a public school—I have student loans to pay back.” Dr. Steinberg says calmly, “We need to meet with Chair Green tomorrow. Overnight, please think long and hard about where—and why—you really want to teach.” *** Before the meeting, Dr. Steinberg explains the situation to Chair Green, who responds, “I can see from what you say that we really shouldn’t recommend her for teacher certification; however, you’ve given her mixed signals throughout her progress here, Kezia. Best scenario is that Clara decides she does not want to teach in a public school and would be okay graduating with the BA in Dance.” “I know,” Dr. Steinberg replies, “I got too concerned about the Dance Ed numbers. I plan on being much more careful about grade inflation in the future. I just kept thinking that she would improve.” Clara appears in the doorway, “Are you ready for me?” Dr. Steinberg motions her into the office. As they sit down, Clara begins slowly, “Well, I am definitely disappointed about all of this, but I have really thought about what I want to do, and I can’t imagine myself leading classes on my own in a public school. Through student teaching, I’ve realized that I don’t really want to teach students who haven’t even chosen to take dance. I also don’t like teaching such large classes. I love teaching in my studio so much more. The kids are enthusiastic, and they’re so much fun to teach. My dance studio is going to increase my hours this summer and next year I’ll get two more classes.” Chair Green says, “You’ve made a very wise decision, Clara. You have many wonderful qualities and strengths.”



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“And you’re still growing and learning as we all are,” Dr. Steinberg adds. Clara hugs them and leaves the office. *** At the departmental faculty meeting the next day, Clara’s case and its resolution are on the top of the agenda. “We dodged a bullet last week with a student who could have raised a big stink but chose instead to follow our advice to change degree programs,” Chair Green begins. She goes on to emphasize the importance of grading transparently, accurately, and according to the grade a student earns legitimately without exceptions. She reiterates that it’s not, in the long run, in a student’s best interest to receive any grade other than what they’ve earned. The faculty discuss initiatives for increasing Dance Education enrollment through active recruitment of w ­ ell-qualified candidates for public school teaching, strong retention efforts, and supporting current majors with meaningful advising and counseling.

Dilemma and Stakeholders Dr. Steinberg’s dilemma revolves around ethical d ­ ecision-making about maintaining respectable enrollment in the dance education major and inflating Clara’s grades in order to allow her to continue in the program, and ultimately, be admitted to Teacher Education. Taken together, Dr. Steinberg’s decisions mask her ability to clearly see Clara’s recurring struggles with leadership and teaching presence—qualities during student teaching for which she is consistently deficient. Although we see Dr. Steinberg and Ms. Glenn try to help Clara develop her presence in the classroom, it is no surprise that she is unable to satisfy proficiency levels for state licensure recommendation. The primary players in the case, Clara, Dr. Steinberg, Professor and Department Chair Green, and Ms. Glenn, have much at stake; contemplating the dilemma from each person’s viewpoint demonstrates the intricacy of Dr. Steinberg’s decision. Clara received good grades in her dance education courses, giving her the impression she was competent as a teacher. As she begins student teaching, Clara sees that she does not have control of the classroom. Although she recognizes that she prefers teaching dance in a studio to teaching in a public school, she feels misled when she is told she will not be recommended for state licensure. Dr. Steinberg feels significant pressure to keep dance education enrollment numbers up as she moves toward her tenure application where she knows these numbers will be under close scrutiny, in terms of growth, retention, and teacher placement during her tenure track period. With optimistic

170  Section Three dispositions and the desire to be w ­ ell-liked by her students, she also tends to give students higher grades than they may deserve. Professor Green, Chair of the Dance Department, has advocated strongly that teachers give students the grade they earn in an effort to decrease grade inflation. Although she learns early on that Dr. Steinberg plans to give Clara a higher grade than she deserves and cautions against it, university professors ultimately have autonomy in assigning grades, so her hands are tied. The cooperating teacher, Ms. Glenn, works diligently to nurture a respectful classroom community. Clara’s lack of leadership in the classroom leads her students to act in inappropriate ways that disrespect the classroom environment that Ms. Glenn works conscientiously to maintain. The situation makes more work for Ms. Glenn in redirecting her students and trying to help Clara improve her confidence in leading the classroom. Furthermore, Ms. Glenn’s students receive mixed messages about what is expected of them and consequently react by testing the boundaries of acceptable behavior, decreasing the amount of time spent productively on dance activities.

Pedagogical Elements Dr. Steinberg believes all students can learn, and even more importantly, that they can improve. When she contemplates underperforming students at grade time, she takes into consideration their ability to improve over time; more simply, she believes in them as human beings and what they can become. Sometimes for her, this means giving a higher grade than the student has earned. Dr. Steinberg’s deepest pedagogical principles find their roots in an ethic of care (Noddings, 1992, 2002; Warburton, 2004), as heard in other cases of this volume (see “Dance in the Crossfire” by Nesbit with Lago); however, when allowed to go unchecked against the reality of Clara’s unchanging teacher dispositions development, Kezia’s beliefs and actions produce two e­ thically-situated dilemmas: habitual grade inflation and certification of w ­ ell-intentioned yet ­ill-equipped dance educators. As a measure of the quality of student work, assigning grades also may include teacher perceptions of student ability, improvement, effort, rule adherence, attitude, personality, and classroom participation (Brackett et al., 2013). Past research has found that over three quarters of teachers reported that they inflated grades of low ability learners, 82 percent deemed their students’ growth or improvement an important part in their grading, and half of the teachers reported that student participation in class affected their grading (Cross and Frary, 1999). Thus, various factors may influence teachers’ grading decisions beyond what is recorded in the grade book. Educational research investigates a connection between teacher emotion



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and educational outcomes (Jennings and Greenberg, 2009; Schutz and Zembylas, 2009). Teachers report experiencing a range of positive and negative emotions throughout the school day, including joy, pride, and amusement (Sutton and Wheatley, 2003) as well as frustration, anger, and anxiety, often triggered by the emotional labor of teaching (Kyriacou, 2001). Repeated experiences of negative emotions contribute to teacher stress (Johnson et al., 2005). These findings are especially relevant to teacher evaluation and grading decisions when a third of teachers report high levels of occupational stress (Brackett et al., 2013). As the only dance education faculty member in the department, Dr. Steinberg’s associated stress encompasses reams of paperwork, hours and hours of student teacher observations including drive time, and senior portfolio reviews. Dr. Steinberg’s emotional investment in Clara, coupled with the negative occupational stress she experiences in “keeping the dance education major numbers up,” and her impending tenure review, may place her at particular risk for emotional judgments in teacher grading decisions. Evaluating dance is difficult in general, which, among other ethical chal­ lenges, contributes to grade inflation and inconsistency from teacher to teacher. However, combining humanizing pedagogical approaches with meaningful dance education curriculum that investigates the pedagogy of ethical grading, and sociocultural aspects of evaluation, can provide myriad opportunities for reducing grader stress, inconsistency, and inflation, while positioning ethical d ­ ecision-making as a pragmatic instrument for grader accuracy. Grade inflation is often associated with the use of standardized student evaluations of teaching to assess faculty teaching for annual review, competitive salary increases, and tenure and promotion decisions. Faculty worried about low student evaluation scores may give inflated grades throughout the course in order to receive higher student ratings on student evaluations of teaching (Zangenehzadeh, 2014). Dr. Steinberg experienced some of these pressures in grading Clara’s classwork and student teaching. To help teacher education supervisors resist grade inflation pressures and urges, dance education faculty can develop curriculum grounded in an ethical framework for teacher grading. By learning how to identify and resist inflation of grades sooner rather than later in their teacher education programs, dance teacher candidates can confront their own long histories of grades and years of being graded themselves. When examined closely, grades carry strong emotional attachments and visual indicators. Think of the positive emotional attachments a person who relays, I always got A’s holds about schooling. Picture in your head a girl who people describe as she is a straight A student. What would she look like? Continuing these visualizations, what does a mostly C’s and D’s student look like? What gender is that student? Students may also internalize grades in ways that they become the grade they repeatedly receive.

172  Section Three Understanding these ideas about grades and grading, can elevate awareness and sensitivity to grade inflation in humanizing ways. How can dance educators make grading more humane? Examining teacher authority is one way to address the centrality of fairness in grading. Even educators who continually create the most progressive and s­ tudentcentered classrooms must deal with inherently asymmetrical power relationships between teacher and students, especially in the authority of grading. In Kezia’s case, her initial urge to support Clara’s desire to teach overrode her responsibility as a teacher to fairly assign Clara the course grade she earned. Understanding that assigning a final course grade is part of a larger educational initiative and a longer ethical process that asks educators to provide their most ethical d ­ ecision-making about student learning, may be important sources of support for dance teacher candidates. Much of the content of this case study can be understood through humanizing pedagogy, a process in becoming for all stakeholders in the context of teacher education that acknowledges strong connections to the liberatory pedagogy of Paulo Freire (1989/70). F ­ reirean-influenced dance education scholars often interpret his pedagogical vision as a way of living in the world rather than a set of technical best practices (Shapiro, 1998; Ottey, 1996) or teaching methods (Smith, 1998; Barr and Risner, 2015). Humanizing dance pedagogy, as a vehicle for, or instrument of becoming, springs from experiences and simultaneously provokes experiences through often “contradictory and complex processes as we individually and collectively generate our visions for ourselves and each other” (Price and Osborne, 2000, p. 31). Becoming more human requires actively examining the tensions inherent in asymmetrical power differentials in dance classrooms as teacher candidates develop their cultural, social, creative, and intellectual selves alongside their students. Dance educators’ aim here is not to disguise or mask t­ eacher-student or s­ tudent-teacher power differences, but instead to first, critically deconstruct these power structures in order to transform relations of power, and second, “to transform the selves that we become with our students in our teaching contexts” (Price and Osborne, 2000, p. 34). Humanizing pedagogy, then, serves not to mask these power differentials but to critically work with them through pedagogy in efforts not only to transform relations of power, but to transform the selves that we become with our students in our teaching contexts. And a dance classroom that is constantly becoming in the Freirean sense, models humanizing pedagogy, balances relations of power, openly examines tensions, and welcomes complex problems to solve communally. For emerging dance educators, these elements of humanizing pedagogy may seem a bit too abstract for developing the ability to hold a classroom’s attention or to maintain a safe and organized teaching environment. However, when we think of developing the teacher



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candidate’s humanness as a whole person, like Clara—including her teacher dispositions—we understand the significance of embracing tensions, reimagining authority and power, accepting complexity, and sometimes living in contradiction. As curriculum theorists Jeremy Price and Margery Osborne (2010) assert, [H]umanizing pedagogy helps us understand teaching as a process and a vision for life in schools and beyond—not only for our students, but also for ourselves. Hence to consider what it would mean to provide opportunities for prospective and practicing teachers to critically understand the world we also need to critically examine who we are and who we are becoming as teacher educators in such contexts [p. 3].

Dr. Steinberg’s attempt to model humanizing pedagogy permitted her to perceive Clara’s potential for becoming a gifted teacher; however, without also allowing herself to witness and embrace the contradictory actions and experiences she was seeing of Clara in the classroom, she was sacrificing Clara’s humanness as well as her own. In the end with Chair Green’s help, both Dr. Steinberg and Clara openly embraced her strong desire to teach dance in a studio context with students who want to take dance lessons, rather than seeing Clara as a failure because she couldn’t manage large classes with students who “didn’t want to be there.” In doing so, according to education theorists John Dale and Emery H ­ yslop-Margison (2010), both became “more fully human as … persons who participate in and with the world” (p. 73) and who generate liberated visions of themselves. Becoming human and teaching in humanizing ways can remind dance educators, and those who prepare them, that teaching dance may play a number of different roles in people’s lives that may or may not require dance teacher certification or teaching dance in K–12 schools.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Honest Gestures Karen Schupp APPLICATION: This partner activity encourages you to evaluate your own feelings and values about providing critical and constructive feedback and honest assessments of your students’ learning.

174  Section Three

Activity As a dance educator, you will need to provide your honest assessment of a student’s abilities and handling of situations. Providing an honest assessment of learning and progress is critical to all students’ educations, yet at times, the fear of hurting someone’s feelings or the hope that a person will eventually do better prevents people from sharing truthful constructive feedback. Issues that are personal in nature, such as someone’s disposition, can be especially challenging. For this activity, initiate a conversation with someone you know well who is not reading this book. Ask this person to describe two different events in his or her life (see below). As s/he talks, you will use Dance Exchange’s (n.d.) Spontaneous Gesture to observe the gestures from the storytelling and then construct two different movement sequences. It is important that you do not interrupt the story or let your partner know you are observing his or her movements.

Spontaneous Gesture Activity Start by letting your partner know that you are learning about the importance of honesty in education. As your partner talks, observe her whole body with special focus on gestures of the hands. Then ask your partner to describe: • A time when she delivered a “hard truth” to someone, even though she knew this information might hurt his feelings but he needed to know. How did it feel to confront someone about a difficult topic? • A situation where someone misled her as to not to hurt her feelings or believed a situation would eventually improve on its own. How did she eventually find out about being misled? How did that feel? When your partner is done talking, take an inventory of the gestures or movements that seemed most meaningful. Then, combine the gestures you remember in sequential order. Perform the movement sequence for your partner.

Reflection: The Importance of Honesty • Keeping in mind that gestures and movement can provide insight into what is meaningful to a person, what emotions were present



Inflation and Dispositions (McPherson, Risner & Schupp)   175 as your partner told her stories? What emotions were present as you created and performed your movement sequences? •  What obligations do dance educators hold for speaking honestly with their students? When is it in the students’ best interest to hear the truth about their ability and progress? In what situations would the students not knowing the truth be valid? •  How do your responses to these prompts appear in your daily teaching practices?

Confronting Urban Phobias Elizabeth McPherson with Kathleen Isaac

SYNOPSIS: When a student objects to her student teaching placement due to fears about the school’s location, crime rates, racial profile, and socioeconomic makeup of its students, the university dance supervisor and the Dean of Education face complicated ethical questions about whether or not to change the student’s placement.

Introduction Trish Richardson is pursuing a Bachelor of Arts (BA) in Dance Education at a public university located in the suburb of a city that is predominantly n ­ on-white. The university holds a strong commitment to urban education, believing that cooperation between the university and the urban school district serves multiple constituencies with particular benefits for K–12 and university students. “We’re supposed to get our student teaching placements any day now,” Trish reminds her housemate and friend Biba Chase, whose is also dance education student. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about it,” Biba responds. “I’ve been so busy completing my social immersion project for the dance pedagogy seminar.” Themes of diversity, democracy, and social justice infuse all teacher education coursework, which includes observations and service learning in an urban school prior to student teaching. “It’s all I can think about,” Trish confides to Biba. “I’m really, really hoping for placement at either University Prep High or High School for Creative Studies.” “I don’t have a preference really,” Biba responds. “I feel I’ve been prepared for any school placement I’m assigned.” “No, I can’t handle a placement in any of those black schools, Biba. 176

Confronting Urban Phobias (McPherson with Isaac)  177 I’ve already suffered through that. Seriously, hip hop is not a valid dance technique.” Nearly 75 percent of student teachers are placed in the nearby urban school district. Although crime rates in the district are higher than the national average, there have been no recorded violent crimes against student teachers in placement locations. Biba, stunned by Trish’s remarks, struggles to respond immediately. Finally, Biba asks, “You’re serious about this aren’t you?” Trish nods affirmatively. “Trish, you and I both know that when we stereotype people based on race, we don’t take into account individual differences. That’s exactly what you’re doing when you say you can’t be assigned a teaching placement in a black school. That’s racist.” “No, that’s not what I’m saying, Biba. You know I am not racist,” Trish tells her. “I have black friends, but I’ve also been bullied by black girls. How am I supposed to feel safe in a black high school when I’m student teaching?” Students who apply to teacher education learn during the application process that they may be placed in an urban school. Placements are identified, assigned, and processed centrally through the College of Education; students are expected to accept the placements they receive. When a student wishes to appeal their placement, they must write a letter to the Dean of the College of Education, Yolanda Cordero, explaining in detail why they would like to change their placement. The Dean makes final decisions on changes. Dean Cordero is committed to increasing support systems and opportunities for students of color to help them achieve on par with their white peers. With this in mind, she is deeply invested in working with urban schools (which have significant populations of color) in the surrounding areas of the university. Dean Cordero has only once changed a student teaching placement. On average, the placement pool allows for 25 percent of placements to be made in a suburban rather than an urban school. The university’s prioritization on urban student teaching placements hinges on the belief that diverse experiences increase student understanding of others and the larger world. When students spend their lives primarily in homogenous cultures, their experiences of “other” remain limited. Getting to know people of varying races and cultures generally leads to increased tolerance and greater understanding (Tatum, 2017). With many K–12 schools largely segregated by race in the United States (Orfield et al., 2012), insufficient knowledge of other racial groups continues to be the norm (Tatum, 2017). As bell hooks (2003) has expressed, “Teachers are often among that group most reluctant to acknowledge the extent to which w ­ hite-supremacist thinking informs every aspect of our culture including the way we learn, the content of what we learn, and the manner in which we are taught” (p. 25). T ­ wenty-first century education students need to understand how the history

178  Section Three of race relations impacts culture in the U.S. in pervasive and often unspoken ways. The university faculty, in the case here, are committed to these ends.

The Case When Trish learns that her student teaching placement is at City High, she immediately feels sick. City High is an urban school where 60 percent of students identify as black, 20 percent as Latino, 15 percent as white, and 5 percent as Asian. The school serves l­ ower-achieving students and students have lower graduation rates than other district schools; ninety percent of students qualify for free lunch. Although Trish grew up in a diverse suburban town, many white families sent their children to independent or parochial schools. Unlike many of her neighborhood friends, Trish attended the local public high school, with similar student demographics as City High. Although she knew it was a possibility, Trish is shocked about her student teaching placement and immediately emails her advisor, Dr. Chris Thompson, to schedule an appointment. At the appointment, Dr. Thompson greets Trish with a supportive smile. They sit down in the office and Dr. Thompson says: “Many of our students have had great experiences at City High. Tell me about your concerns.” “Last year I did observations at this school as part of one course,” Trish says, “and I was really uncomfortable.” Keeping her head down, she nervously continues, “I know there’s a lot of crime in that neighborhood. I was worried the whole time about my car being broken into, and I was scared walking to and from my car.” Dr. Thompson tries to reassure her, “Student teachers are allowed to park in the faculty parking lot, so there’ll be a space designated for you.” Trish tears up and responds: “I’ve heard stories about the students at City High being violent, and I even witnessed a fight between students. I’m afraid because I look young, that the high school students will think I’m their age and will treat me like another student—maybe even hurt me. I just know I would learn so much more in another placement. I don’t even know hip hop and that’s the only kind of dance I saw them doing, probably the only kind the City High kids like.” Dr. Thompson takes a moment to think about what Trish has said, then offers: “Several dance education students, both white and black, have been placed at this school before and have had successful and safe experiences. They really liked student teaching there. The cooperating teacher is fantastic, and she’ll always be with you when you’re teaching. Although you may have only seen hip hop, she has an expansive curriculum with many styles of dance.”



Confronting Urban Phobias (McPherson with Isaac)  179

“I was one of only very few white students in my high school, and I was harassed for four years,” Trish cries. Dr. Thompson hands her a tissue, “Take your time.” Trish attempts to collect herself but then blurts out, “I just cannot go through that again!” “What do you mean Trish?” Dr. Thompson asks, “Can’t go through what?” Catching her breath, Trish describes, “There was this group of black girls who would sit on my car. When I would try to leave school, they’d ignore me and just keep sitting there. I’d go get a security guard, but by the time the guard would come out, the girls would be gone. The guard got tired of it, and started accusing me of making it up, and then wouldn’t help at all.” “Oh Trish, that must have been so frustrating for you,” Dr. Thompson affirms. Trish continues, “My dad even looked into sending me to a private high school, but he just didn’t have enough money to do that and pay for college.” Dr. Thompson takes a minute to think, “Maybe the girls sitting on your car had little to do with you. Maybe they just needed to exert some power over someone—prove something to each other and you got caught up it.” Dr. Thompson continues, “Remember, as a student teacher, you will be able to park in the faculty lot and will be entering and exiting the school with other faculty who arrive or leave when you do.” Trish nods, looking a little less stressed. Dr. Thompson describes the value of student teaching in urban schools, “As a student teacher, you’ll have opportunities to build community at City High, maybe even work with students on choreographing a piece that promotes community. You could help other students feel less isolated and keep your high school situation from happening to someone else.” Trish, looking visibly calmer, says she will think about it, takes another tissue, and leaves the office. *** When Trish calls her parents to tell them about her placement and her meeting with Dr. Thompson, her parents are upset. Her father shouts: “Dr. Thompson needs to remember that we pay good money for you to be at that university, and you should have a placement where you’ll be safe. That school’s in a terrible neighborhood. The money I’m paying in tuition gives me the right to ensure your safety.” He tells Trish in no uncertain terms that she must email the Dean of the College of Education immediately and request a meeting that her parents will also attend. Dear Dean Cordero: I really want to be in a different school for my student teaching. I had some awful bullying experiences in my high school. I need to be in a school where I feel comfortable

180  Section Three that nothing like that will happen to me again. Please let me know if I could meet with you on Tuesday morning with my parents. And, I did speak to Dr. Thompson already. Sincerely, Trish Richardson

A meeting is set up with Trish, her parents, Dr. Thompson, Dean Cordero, and Ms. Josie Freedman, who orchestrates student teaching placements. Before the meeting, Dean Cordero asks Trish to provide a written statement requesting that her placement be changed with her reasons for the request. Trish provides the following letter: Dear Dean Cordero: I am formally asking that my student teaching placement be changed. I have been placed in a school that is 60% black and 20% Latino. I attended a high school with a similar demographic where I was bullied ­non-stop for 4 years. Nobody ever really helped me, and I had to deal with it on my own. I was under extreme emotional distress. I don’t believe I can have a successful student teaching experience at City High because I won’t be able to relax enough to teach well. Sincerely, Trish Richardson

Dr. Thompson and Ms. Freedman are each given a copy of Trish’s letter. At the meeting, Dean Cordero begins: “Greetings to everyone. FERPA [Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act of 1974, which requires that an adult student give consent before college personnel speak to that adult’s parents] regulations require Trish to give her consent for us to discuss the case with her parents Mr. and Mrs. Richardson.” Trish gives consent. Dean Cordero continues, “Trish, please tell us why you would like your placement to be changed.” Trish hesitates and looks like she might start crying. Her father jumps in, “I have researched crime rates in the area of the school and the school’s suspension rates, and City High is clearly not a safe school. Trish also wants to teach ballet and modern, not hip hop, which is all those kids like.” Dean Cordero responds, “I hear your concerns. I’m aware of the statistics related to the neighborhood and the school, but please know we are focused on Trish’s best interests. We have secured parking for student teachers in the faculty parking lot, and student teacher reviews of City High, which they fill out after student teaching, indicate that the placement was a great learning experience. The dance reports are overwhelmingly positive with particular mention of how wonderful a mentor the dance teacher is and what an expansive and creative curriculum she teaches.” Still not satisfied, Mr. Richardson declares, “I don’t believe it! It is an accident waiting to happen, and Trish cannot be that accident. If anything happens to her in this placement, her mother and I will sue the university.” Trish begins crying. Her mother comforts her, “You have to understand

Confronting Urban Phobias (McPherson with Isaac)  181 that Trish was bullied in her high school that has a similar student composition to City High. She’s so distraught about this, as are we.” Dean Cordero reiterates how prior students in the placement have had positive experiences. Trish’s father responds, even more forcefully, “We are paying tuition, and should have the right to get Trish into a safe school.” He shoves his chair back and storms out. Trish and her mother follow. Dr. Thompson relays the specific story Trish told him about the group of black girls on the hood of Trish’s car after school. Dean Cordero responds: “It does sound like this was a traumatic experience for Trish, but it’s been several years now. She’ll need to move past this if she is going to teach teenage students successfully.” Dr. Thompson suggests: “Wouldn’t it be great if she could use her high school experience as a catalyst for creating a dance experience for the City High students that deals with building community and trust?” “That could go a long way towards helping Trish move past it, but I’m not sure she can face that yet,” Dean Cordero admits. “She seems a little too cowed by her father. I sense that her feelings of being disempowered are deeply rooted.” “Just as a reminder, we need to decide quickly because the spring semester is ending,” Ms. Freedman informs them. “So if we are looking for a new fall placement, I need to file the paperwork soon.” Dean Cordero states, “Well, as I see it, we have two choices to consider: (1) change Trish’s placement to a school we think she and her parents will consider safer; or (2) tell Trish that if she refuses the placement given, she may graduate in dance education but without certification.” “I have grave concerns that changing Trish’s placement will deprive her of vitally important learning experiences in diversity,” Dr. Thompson responds. “She’s older now and has the opportunity to work through some of her fears, which could allow her to become much more empowered as an adult and a better teacher.” Ms. Freedman, thinking ahead says: “Changing Trish’s placement opens the door for other dance education students to see placements as changeable.” “Yes, I hear you both,” the Dean says, “but the university does not want to face a lawsuit should anything happen to Trish. And, it’s not fair to the students at City High to have an emotionally distressed student teacher who’s afraid of them.” On the other hand, the Dean suggests, “if we allow student teachers to avoid l­ ow-performing urban schools, we’re failing as a university in our responsibility to our community. Let’s think about this overnight and meet again tomorrow afternoon. Bring your recommendations, and I’ll make a decision.”

182  Section Three

The Dilemma and Stakeholders The dilemma at the center of this case is whether or not to change Trish Richardson’s student teaching placement. Based on the College of Education’s rules, teacher candidates should accept their assigned placements, which have been carefully matched with the candidate’s strengths and needs in order to become an effective dance educator. However, according to Trish, she has encountered previous traumatic experiences as a student herself in a similar urban school setting that turns this dilemma into an ethical one. Trish and her parents believe her placement should be changed, while university stakeholders weigh the potential outcomes of different student teaching experiences. Numerous questions that bring attention to the various stakeholder’s beliefs and values must be considered to fully understand the dilemma: What assumptions are Trish and her parents making about changing placements? If the Dean changes Trish’s placement, would it benefit Trish in the long run? If Trish stays at her assigned placement school, will her students suffer from having a dance educator who is fearful and thinks they are only interested in hip hop? How might changing her placement affect future student teacher placements? Trish, a primary stakeholder in this case, is fearful of student teaching at City High but does want to complete her certification. Although university stakeholders believe that she will have invaluable experiences at this school, Trish’s traumatic bullying incident seems to have left her blocked in processing her negative experience and moving past it. She is convinced she would learn more at a school in a “safer” area that has a lower black student population where she could focus more on her teaching and not be distracted by her fears. She also believes that students at this school will only want to learn hip hop, not ballet and modern, which are what she wants to teach. Trish’s parents, as secondary stakeholders, believe their daughter’s student teaching experience, if unchanged, will be unsafe; they worry about her safety and w ­ ell-being. Is Trish racially biased? Are her parents? As the story unfolds, this is a high probability even if they might not admit it. Nicholas Kristof (2016), O ­ p-Ed columnist for The New York Times states his opinion that “The big factor isn’t overt racism. Rather, it seems to be unconscious bias among whites who believe in equality but act in ways that perpetuate inequality” (n.p.). The challenge, Kristof (2016) concludes: “is to recognize that unconscious bias afflicts us all—but that we just may be able overcome it if we face it” (n.p.). In this case, the university stakeholders are asking Trish to face her fears and ultimately her probable bias. If they change Trish’s placement, they enable her to bypass significant opportunities to increase her understanding of diversity and overcome fears that could lead her to greater s­ elf-actualization

Confronting Urban Phobias (McPherson with Isaac)  183 as a dance educator (hooks, 2003). Dean Cordero and Dr. Thompson may see themselves as shirking responsibility to their community’s urban schools if they allow Trish to be r­ e-assigned. Changing Trish’s placement may also precipitate other student teacher candidates requesting alternate placements. Contemplating the situation, Dr. Thompson asks himself if Trish should be recommended for state certification, considering her unwillingness to overcome her fears and fulfill her commitment to teach (and learn from) all students. He questions whether the university’s dance and education curriculum need revision, since Trish believes City High students will only want hip hop classes, not ballet and modern—which she only wants to teach. What has she learned, and not learned, about dance, culture, and diversity? Finally, students, parents, faculty, and staff, at the high school are stakeholders too. Although they are not part of the d ­ ecision-making process about Trish’s placement, City High benefits from hosting student teachers. However, if Trish cannot overcome her fears, would students be better off with a different student teacher?

Pedagogical Elements A number of pedagogical elements undergird the foundation of the University’s commitment to social justice, educational equity, and education renewal, which include partnerships with the nearby urban school district. In this case study, the university seeks to honor its obligation to nurture democratic ideals and equal rights through student teacher placements in urban public schools. Within these partnerships, dance student teachers benefit from teaching and learning in diverse populations thereby expanding their life experiences, worldviews, and pedagogical perspectives. Ultimately, student teachers of the Dance Program, in collaboration with the College of Education, should graduate prepared to address and anticipate the needs of their future students. Education theorist Paul Carr (2016) notes, “The democratic character of critical pedagogy is defined largely through a set of basic assumptions which hold that power, values, and institutions must be made available to critical scrutiny and evaluated in terms of how they might open up or close down democratic practices and experiences” (p. 106). Questions of power and authority, abundant in this case study, reveal the need for teacher preparation programs to encourage students “to learn to register dissent as well as take risks in creating the conditions for forms of individual and social agency that are conducive to a substantive democracy” (Giroux and Giroux, 2006, p. 28). Because efforts to advance democracy through education in the U.S. have fallen short, often ignoring social justice concerns, Carr (2016) proposes:

184  Section Three All subject areas of the curriculum should explicitly diagnose how power works as well as the meaning of social justice. This should include a critical pedagogical analysis of whiteness, racial, gender, and class inequities; and other forms of marginalization, discrimination, and disenfranchisement. It may be considered impolite to discuss such matters, but to avoid them is only to further entrench and ingratiate harm, damage, and the antithesis of democracy [p. 108].

In addition, asymmetrical power relationships and questions of authority complicate decision making, which remains an integral aspect of this case. Based on her previous experiences in high school, Trish has strong ideas about the kind of school placement that will provide her the best (or maybe safest) learning experience; she has made her choice clear. However, Trish has no authority to change her placement, though she has made an appeal. Should student teachers have any input or control over where and how they are placed for student teaching? Is Trish’s rationale for changing her placement a viable one? Has the dance and education curriculum been negligent somehow in addressing Trish’s inability to cope with her fears? Reality pedagogy theorist Christopher Emdin (2016) points to the significance of bringing reality to the center of the urban classroom experience: In urban schools, and especially for those who haven’t had previous experience in urban contexts or with youth of color, educators learn “best practices” from experts in the field, deemed as such because they have degrees, write articles, and meet other criteria that do not have anything to do with work within urban communities [p. 19].

Dance education researchers Doug Risner and Sherrie Barr assert (2015), “Within this kind of environment, the perception of widely accepted ‘best practice’ methods remain largely unquestioned and ­under-examined—best practices for whom, and in what contexts?” (p. 78). The nature of how we view urban education expertise has created a context that dismisses students’ lives and experiences while concurrently speaking about, and advocating for, equity and improving schools. As education researchers Mary Cain Fehr and Mary Frances Agnelo (2012) point out: “Unfortunately, classroom teachers often have life experiences that are dissimilar to those of many of the students they are teaching” (p. 34). Statistics from 2012 show that 71 percent of master of education degree students and 73 percent of bachelor of education students were white (King et al 2016). While this number may have changed slightly over time, individual evidence from select universities suggests that the numbers remain similar. In addition, according to the Civil Rights Project, “Though whites make up just over half of the nation’s enrollment, the typical white student attends a school where t­ hree-quarters of their peers are white” (Orfield et al., 2012, n.p.). This evidence shows that white teacher education students are likely to have experienced minimal diversity in schools prior to student teaching. However, the U.S. is more diverse than ever before, including multiple forms of diver-

Confronting Urban Phobias (McPherson with Isaac)  185 sity: race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, English language proficiency, religion, economic status, disabilities, and family structure, among others. In terms of race alone, the American Association of Colleges for Teacher Education reports that “By 2023, about half of all children will be minorities; by 2050, minority children are expected to make up about 62% of the population of U.S. children” (Ludwig et al., 2010, p. 8). Taken in sum, to prepare teacher education students for increasingly diverse classrooms, those creating and revising curriculum should consider including the provision for immersive experiences in schools with diverse populations, ideally before and during the student teaching experience. To be prepared to teach all students and open doors of opportunity in an equitable manner, future teachers should build understanding of the vastly varying lives of students they teach and will teach. Teacher education students should explore their beliefs about multiple forms of diversity and schooling; their coursework and immersive experiences should support that exploration. Teacher education students who receive learning opportunities that provide space for exploring their own beliefs, where their beliefs come from, and how learning through diversity immersion changes their personal pedagogies, will have benefited from coursework, activities, and field experiences that explicitly support candid explorations about race, ethnicity, social class, identity, ability, and schooling.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy ­Anti-Racism Boxes Doug Risner APPLICATION: This a­ nti-racism activity aims to reveal and examine the ways that dance educators may engage in active and passive racism, and active and passive a­ nti-racism in our dance teaching and the assumptions we hold about race and dance.

Activity Some of the most damaging side effects of racism produce essentializing stereotypes that stigmatize groups of people, their behaviors, and places they

186  Section Three live and go to school. Negative stereotypes and pejorative assumptions often develop and hold powerful sway without one shred of personal experience or fi ­ rst-hand evidence. Left ignored and unchallenged, racist stereotypes frequently fester internally until they become palpable fears of persons, locations, and situations, which in actuality, have absolutely no basis in reality. This passive racism relies heavily on an overly simplistic view of humanity, one that disregards the value of human complexity and diversity. Once dehumanized, these people, we learn from an early age, “are bad people, who do bad things, and live in bad places.” The following a­ nti-racism activity is designed to help readers explore how acts of passive racism are in fact contributing to the problem rather than part of addressing a solution. As dance educators, we cannot solve all of the world’s problems, nor are we free from making a better world for our students and ourselves. Without romanticizing the outcomes of dance education, what is the world we want students to create? How can dance education help students ask questions about fear, resistance, bias, and unquestioned beliefs?

Task Brainstorm and investigate how dance educators are actively and passively racist, and actively and passively a­ nti-racist. Think of times in which you have and have not participated, and then determine which racism box each belongs.

Examples of Passive and Active Racism and Passive and Active ­Anti-Racism Active racism: Participating with the KKK or other hate group, signing a­ nti-immigration petitions, using racial slurs, ignoring a hate crime you witnessed, using entrance audition standards and procedures that disadvantage minority groups, making casting decisions that privilege one racial group over another. Passive racism: Not actively working against a­ nti-immigration petitions and laws, ignoring or passing over people of color, participating in cultural appropriation, espousing c­ olor-blindness (“I just don’t see color”), using ballet terminology in other technique courses, associating a dancer’s skin color with dance genre preference or skill set. Active ­anti-racism: Educating yourself about the social construction of race and the history of racism; challenging or interrupting racist behavior in your circle of friends and family; incorporating n ­ on-white E ­ urocentric-based dance into curricular content; making casting, concert, and program decisions

Whistleblowing Adolescent Sexual Abuse Barbara Bashaw and Marissa Beth Nesbit

SYNOPSIS: When a student teacher suspects child abuse, but her cooperating teacher and principal do not choose to address the situation, a university dance professor feels compelled to take action.

Introduction Like all teachers, PK–12 dance educators hold a position of trust: students, parents, and the community count on them to treat children with care and respect. The close relationships that children develop with a dance educator over long hours in class, rehearsal, and performances often lead them to share details of their lives, including disclosures of health issues such as pregnancy, depression, and maltreatment, that they might not reveal to other adults. Furthermore, as dance student teachers prepare to enter the PK–12 profession, they may find themselves for the first time to be recipients of this deep trust and subsequent disclosure as they similarly place their own trust in their dance professors. For professors responsible for guiding student teachers, this includes modeling and providing strategies for handling the interpersonal aspects of dance education such as victim advocacy surrounding child abuse. Nationally there are an estimated 679,000 victims of abuse verified each year (U.S. Department of Health, 2013, p. 20). PK–12 teachers are considered to be in an ideal position to serve this national issue because they not only work with children on a daily basis, but also because of the inherent ethical locus of teachers to protect and advocate for students (Kenny, 2004; Kesner and Robinson, 2002, p. 222; Sinanan, 2011, p. 59). As a result of the Child Abuse 188



Whistleblowing Adolescent Sexual Abuse (Bashaw & Nesbit)   189

Prevention Treatment Act (CAPTA) passed by the United States Congress in 1974, all U.S. States and Territories have laws that mandate certain professionals and institutions such as school personnel, to report suspected child maltreatment to a child protective services agency (Sinanan, 2011, p. 62). PK–12 school cultures are complex, and university professors have an i­ nsider-outsider relationship with the educators and administrators who host their student teachers. As education professionals, university professors may be broadly familiar with curriculum, pedagogy, and educational policy, yet they are often outsiders to the specific policies and culture within the PK–12 schools where their students teach. Furthermore, the expectations professors hold for their student teachers, based on current best practices, educational research, and university program outcomes, may differ from what is enacted daily in the classrooms of the cooperating teachers. Respectfully navigating the PK–12 school and university partnership is a challenge that can become compounded when the disclosure of child abuse enters the equation. In the following case study, assistant professor Evan Parsons faces a significant professional challenge when one of his students, Abby Johnson, shares a possible child abuse incident during the s­ tudent-teaching seminar. As Professor Parsons attempts to navigate the reporting chain of command, he finds himself negotiating power and authority and is caught between the moral imperative to protect children from abuse and the conflicting expectations placed on him as an outsider in the host school.

The Case It is 4:30 p.m. Professor Parsons casually listens as the student teachers arrive for their weekly seminar recounting anecdotes from the past week of teaching. Capturing this energy, he invites students to share, “Let’s go around the room to hear what happened during your student teaching this week. Who would like to begin?” Immediately Abby blurts: “So, I don’t know how to handle this. I was sorting costumes with a couple of students on Friday, and they started talking about this chemistry teacher—Mr. Mershon. A junior, Maria, came up to me later and asked if I could help her get out of Mr. Mershon’s class. I said she could try asking the guidance counselors.” “Oh! I know where this is going!” exclaims Miquel Hernandez, a classmate. “Remember, I told you my cousin goes to that school? He’s in one of Mr. Mershon’s classes and wants out too.” “But it’s more than that,” Abby continues. “Maria began shaking and said, ‘no, the counselors won’t understand and I’ll probably get in trouble for not going to class.’ I was like, ‘But you were here yesterday Maria. You came in

190  Section Three and helped me fold programs during lunch.’ She then basically admitted that she skipped chemistry to come to the dance studio. Maria told me, ‘I don’t want to go to chemistry anymore!’” Miquel chuckles. “I’m telling you, Mr. Mershon is whack. My aunt was complaining last week about how he told my cousin he’d never get an A in his class. And he’s an honors student!” “I wish it was only that Miquel. It got really weird, and I didn’t know what to do.” Abby’s voice cracks and she blushes. The class hushes. Miquel flashes a quizzical look at Professor Parsons sensing that Abby has something serious left unsaid. “What else, Abby?” Professor Parsons urges softly. “This chem teacher seems creepy. I tried to ask Maria why she didn’t want to go. She got upset and looked like she would cry. From what I was able to tell, it sounds like--” Abby draws in a deep breath. “Ok, so, this teacher wears a lab coat to class—you know, with the big pockets on the side. And last week he told Maria she needed to stay after class for tutoring because she has a low grade.” “This guy’s a tough grader,” Miquel repeats. “Go on Abby,” Professor Parsons encourages, giving Miquel a stern look. “He told Maria to come stand by his desk with her books, which she thought was weird, but she did. He told her that when he was passing by the auditorium he had seen her rehearsing for the performance and she looked very pretty. He asked if she gets excited to wear her costume. She thought he was just being friendly, you know, so she talked about the costume.” Abby shifts uncomfortably. “It got really strange. Maria said he took her books out of her arms and set them on the desk and said he’d help her with a few of the homework problems. When she got one of the problems right, he said he had a treat for her, but she had to get it out of his pocket.” Abby stops for a moment. The class exchanges scandalized glances with each other. Professor Parsons continues, “Then what happened, Abby?” “She said she needed to leave,” Abby goes on, “but he said she had to stay in his classroom or she would fail,” tears began to run down Abby’s face. “And he made her reach into his pocket. And it’s right there! And he has her stroking his genitals, through the lab coat…” Stunned, Miquel blurts out appalled, “Oh my gosh what did you do?!” conveying the thoughts of everyone in the room. “I didn’t know what to say.” Tears flowed from Abby’s eyes. “I told Maria, ‘that’s awful.’ And then she cried and was also mixing in some Spanish that I couldn’t understand, but she said something like, she can’t tell the counselor, because then the police will come and her father and brother don’t have their papers. She just kept saying, ‘I am sorry, Miss Johnson. I’m sorry.’ I told her, ‘this is not your fault.’”



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Professor Parsons nods. “Good. It was important to assure her.” “Oh, no, no, no. This is messed up,” Miquel murmurs as classmates rustle in their seats. “Ever since, Maria avoids me. So this morning I tried to talk to Ms. Emerson, my cooperating teacher. I told her about the conversation with Maria, but she blew me off. She said, ‘The students don’t like Mr. Mershon, because he grades hard. But he’s really a nice guy.’” “That’s what I was thinking this was about Abby. I’m so sorry,” Miquel apologizes. “What did you do?” “I told her this is serious. I mean this teacher is molesting students!” Abby exclaims. “Yeah, and teachers are required to report this kind of thing, right?” asks Rebecca Tate, another classmate. Abby frowns. “So then, Ms. Emerson said, ‘Well, did Maria actually say that? Did she actually say he molested her?’ I said, ‘Well no, because she started speaking in Spanish when she was upset, and she showed me, she gestured, it’s obvious this happened.’ But Ms. Emerson was like, ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about this. It’s just the students complaining because his class is hard. If they don’t actually say they were molested, you shouldn’t report it. You’ll just get in the middle of something that doesn’t concern you. And it sounds like Maria doesn’t want any authorities involved.’ Ms. Emerson basically told me to drop it.” Later, Abby, still visibly distraught, stays after class to speak with Professor Parsons. She reveals how she is questioning the “truth” of the encounter, wondering if she has jumped to conclusions too quickly about Maria’s story. Professor Parsons swallows hard and looks directly at Abby. “Children must be heard and believed.” *** The next morning, Professor Parsons calls Ms. Janet Emerson, the cooperating teacher, to share his concerns over Abby’s report of suspected abuse of a student. “You know, I explained to Abby that adolescents’ attitudes can just flare at any moment. Being a teenager is all about experimenting with honesty,” Ms. Emerson responds. “I think I’ve got a good sense about my colleagues. I’m used to hearing teenagers’ complaints about other teachers, but trust me, this building is a safe place for kids. Abby needs to learn how to sort through the facts.” Professor Parsons is alarmed by Ms. Emerson’s apparent dismissal of the sexual abuse claim. Despite some pedagogical differences, he holds Ms. Emerson in high regard as a veteran cooperating teacher. During conferences with student teachers, Ms. Emerson has often been very perceptive about their teaching performance and extremely sensitive to their needs.

192  Section Three Unsatisfied, Professor Parsons proceeds to contact the school principal to report the situation and learns that she is away for the week. He then receives an email from Abby with a written account of Maria’s disclosure; reading it, his anger and anxiety flare. He is overwhelmed by concern for Maria whom he has never met. Although he realizes there could be ramifications for Maria’s family, his urge to step in and protect Maria and the other students at the school becomes his mission. Unsure of the reporting procedures, he calls a national hotline and speaks with an attentive and knowledgeable counselor. The situation is now out of his hands, and while he still worries about Maria, he feels he has done the most responsible thing he could. Two weeks later, Abby states that she wants to quit student teaching, claiming that Ms. Emerson has become cold and critical. Abby shares that she was called in to the office to speak with a social worker about Maria, whose family has since transferred her to another high school. Since then, she has not heard anything more about the case. With four weeks remaining in the semester, Professor Parsons advises Abby to stick it out, though he is concerned about the viability of what was once a reliable placement site for student teachers. *** When Professor Parsons arrives at Davis High for his final observation with Abby, the principal intercepts him in the main office. “May I have a word with you? We are concerned that having university students here disrupts our learning environment,” Dr. Elena Castillo informs him. Professor Parsons is taken aback. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Abby, the dance intern, seems to be doing well from what I’ve seen.” Dr. Castillo frowns. “Well, it appears that Miss Johnson overstepped her bounds and initiated an abuse report to the state, going over our heads. We now have a teacher on administrative leave and additional scrutiny directed at us. Miss Johnson did not follow protocol in reporting this to me first and has leveled some very serious accusations against a valuable faculty member.” Stunned, Professor Parsons takes a moment to compose himself, then tries to explain the situation from his point of view, including Abby’s initial explanation in seminar, his attempt to bring the concerns to Ms. Emerson, and his attempt to contact Dr. Castillo. “I filed the report with child protective services out of concern for that child!” he exclaims. Dr. Castillo looks angry and speaks in clipped sentences. “Well. Thank you for being concerned. The well-being of our students is a priority. Please understand that we have procedures here in our district that we must follow, with a chain of command that’s different from your university. I expect you will inform your seminar students of the confidentiality of this issue.” As Professor Parsons leaves the office, he feels shaken. He has always strived for positive, collegial relationships between cooperating teachers and



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administrators and has considered himself an advocate for students, particularly those whose voices might not be heard. He never considered that these commitments might be at odds with one another. During the walk to the dance studio, he finds himself questioning every decision he has made since the surprising seminar class a few weeks ago.

Dilemma and Stakeholders The dilemma that Professor Parsons faces is a multi-pronged ethical issue at the intersection of three different power structures: the university, the host school, and governmental child protection mandates. When responding to Abby’s story, what at first appeared to be a straightforward question—to report or not to report—becomes fraught with chances for moral and professional missteps. As they each navigate the question of who has the responsibility to report abuse and the authority to do so, the stakeholders in this case will be invariably changed by its outcome. Consider the case from the perspective of each of the following stakeholders. Professor Evan Parsons is both an insider (to the student-teaching process) and outsider (to the school and district). In taking action to file a report of suspected child abuse, he could be perceived as a whistleblower, crossing a social, professional, or ethical boundary. As a student teacher, Miss Abby Johnson has professional responsibilities but limited authority. She is dependent on the guidance of both her professor and her cooperating teacher. In whistle-blowing to them, she is left to negotiate their differing views. As a professional high school dance educator, Ms. Janet Emerson is accustomed to autonomy in her decision-making process, though she is also responsible for protecting students, following procedures, and maintaining collegial relationships. Mr. Garret Mershon, the chemistry teacher, is also responsible for protecting students and maintaining professional boundaries. Similar to many high school teachers, he may be obligated to stay after school to tutor students. As a principal, Dr. Elena Castillo is responsible for monitoring and implementing a wide range of administrative codes, while balancing the sometimes conflicting needs of a professional faculty and diverse student body. To work effectively, she depends upon accurate and transparent information flowing through established channels. Maria, the student at the center of the case, holds less power in the school environment than the adults around her. Moreover, compared to her white, male, and English-speaking peers, she is statistically more vulnerable to maltreatment by educators (Shakeshaft, 2003, 11).

194  Section Three By the time Professor Parsons calls the national hotline, several of the stakeholders know about the allegation of abuse—and are aware that others know—yet it is Professor Parsons who steps up to address the concern. In the abstract, these stakeholders would agree that sexual abuse is wrong and must be stopped, but within the reality of the situation, boundaries formed through professional codes become an obstacle to reporting (Shakeshaft, 2013, p. 10). In crossing those boundaries, Professor Parsons and Abby are “whistleblowers,” calling out wrongdoing to restore a safe school environment, but with far-reaching and unpredictable outcomes. What expectations do each of the stakeholders have for their own role and responsibility in this case? What ethical and professional beliefs motivate their actions? How were each impacted by the decisions Professor Parsons made, and what impact might they feel in the future? Finally, what other outcomes could this case study have produced?

Pedagogical Elements While only a single incident, this case is representative of a broader pedagogical orientation situated among multiple professional demands. Working closely as a mentor to student teachers, Professor Parsons’ pedagogical action is not limited to a classroom or studio but instead cuts across interactions and relationships, lessons, and policies. Therefore, it is important to consider several issues that influence his work as a professor when unpacking the factors that led to his decision to report, as well as the resulting fallout. First is the challenge of building and maintaining effective partnerships with host schools, and second, the demand for dance education faculty to maintain current professional knowledge of procedures and expectations in the PK–12 system, such as familiarity with child abuse reporting. Professor Parsons ascribes to a pedagogy of care, striving to foster learning in a supportive environment—an environment potentially upended when he blows the whistle. We can see how whistleblowing is at the crossroads of two ethical landscapes: compliance with legal mandates and the ethics of care that is fundamental to being an educator. To effectively guide student teachers, a faculty member is expected to nurture the development of many areas simultaneously. For professors whose day-to-day work is primarily in the realm of university education, the ever-shifting landscape of PK–12 policy and school culture can feel remote. Yet, to adequately prepare their students, faculty must stay abreast of the protocols and policy challenges impacting PK–12 settings, especially if their own training did not immerse them in these environments. In the case presented here, Professor Parsons, an expert in many areas of dance pedagogy, is con-

Whistleblowing Adolescent Sexual Abuse (Bashaw & Nesbit)   195 fronted with an area of PK–12 education policy that he is unfamiliar with: the appropriate response to a suspicion of child sexual abuse. Child abuse comprises verbal and emotional abuse, physical abuse, neglect, and sexual abuse. For context, the prevalence of abuse, bullying, and harassment in the lives of adolescent boys pursuing pre-professional dance study was self-reported in research by dance sociologist Doug Risner (2014) as verbal or physical harassment (68%), verbal threats or threatening behavior (39%), and physical harm or injury (11%). While all forms of abuse are distressing, sexual abuse can be the most uncomfortable to talk about (Randolph and Gold, 1994, p. 3). This is a problem because conservative estimates are that “one in four girls and one in six boys” experience “some form of sexual abuse before the age of 18” (Rheingold et al., 2015, p. 374). However, much of the research data is based on adult reports and in the few studies where children are the primary informants, results show that the incidence of sexual abuse may actually be higher. For example, one study found that 9.6 percent of children in grades 8 to 11 reported sexual abuse specifically perpetrated by an educator (Shakeshaft, 2003, p. 11). Whistleblowing is “normally understood as a calling of attention to malfeasance” of a system “for which one has a relationship of trust,” however, research on child abuse reporting shows that whistleblowing can “unleash a process of unknown but potentially significant effect” (Gallagher-Mackay, 2014, p. 276). In most states, mandated protocol requires PK–12 teachers to report suspected abuse directly to a Child Protective Services (CPS) hotline, yet research finds that educators largely underreport abuse (Kesner and Robinson, 2002; Gallagher-Mackay, 2014; Sinanan, 2011). By some estimates, “84% of cases identified in schools are not reported,” (Kesner and Robinson, 2002, p. 222). Why would educators who ostensibly care for children decide not to report suspected abuse? While there are various nuanced issues affecting underreporting cited in the research literature, it is in part the result of school culture. For example, school principals may require teachers to report suspicions of child abuse directly to them as a first report—as Dr. Castillo did in the case here—although this type of policy may be in opposition to the reporting laws of a given state (Kesner and Robinson, 2002; Kenny, 2004). Research also suggests that, paradoxically, it is because educators care about the welfare of their students that they are reluctant to “whistleblow” or report abuse, although they may be legally mandated to do so. Apprehension that reporting will cause the student additional harm, such as escalating abuse or cause removal of children from home or school, has been found to be a common deterrent to reporting abuse (Gallagher-Mackay, 2014): … [A] report of neglect or abuse has the power to define both a child and a family in ways that are beyond the control of the reporter. A report has the potential to activate

196  Section Three needed support or to unleash powerful machinery that can (sometimes necessarily) result in huge consequences for children and parents. It is very likely to result in stigma that may affect both parents and children…. Thus, while the mechanics of compliance with the duty to report are simple enough, teachers’ decisions about compliance are significantly shaped by their organizational environment [GallagherMackay, 2014, p. 267].

When called into Dr. Castillo’s office and reprimanded, Professor Parsons is taken aback—how could anyone find fault with his or Abby’s conduct? His work with school partners places Professor Parsons in a relationship of trust. Not only is he trusted to know and work within the official policies and curriculum of the school system as he prepares teacher candidates, but he is also trusted to maintain the unofficial status quo of pedagogical practices and school culture within the building. Unspoken but profound boundaries exist around the professional jurisdiction of school personnel and the relationships they build with students and families; when granted access to a school, student teachers and university faculty are trusted to respect these boundaries. When Abby discloses her concerns in seminar and Professor Parsons makes the call to report abuse, they unknowingly cross these established yet invisible boundaries. In cases of child abuse reporting, boundary crossing involves the overpassing of the privacy and liberties of children and their families, of suspected perpetrators, or of school communities (Sinanan, 2011). As such, blowing the whistle—often motivated by the desire to protect children—can paradoxically be perceived as an uncaring act because it may be perceived as belying the trust of others. As a field that relies on expression through the body and interpersonal, collaborative processes, the ways in which concerns, such as abuse, may be handled are closely linked to how we teach dance. The modeling of physical and cultural bodily practices in dance—including nutrition, safe movement, dress, and use of personal space—teaches far-reaching lessons about well-being in ways that other subject areas may not. Children may come to see their dance teachers as experts on matters of the body as they work closely together making dances and building relationships of trust. As a result, dance educators are in a prime position to enact a positive pedagogy of care where physical and emotional well-being are clearly linked. Theatre educator Lisa Jackson-Schebetta (2016) describes a pedagogy of care as one informed by “embodied practices of inclusivity” (p. 296) such as being with one another, especially through challenging moments. Encountering a crisis, such as reporting suspected child abuse, can induce increased anxiety and stress. As illustrated in this case, examining a range of social issues that impact children and learning is vital for student teacher preparation. Student teachers and their supervisors would benefit from training to identify child abuse prior to, or co-requisite with, the stu-



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dent teaching internship. Equally essential, is developing student teachers who have considerate, respectful, and caring approaches to challenging situations and fostering agency in negotiating these concerns. Fundamentally, a caring pedagogy is that which ensures learning happens. Renowned arts education scholar Elliot Eisner (2002) reminds us that “In reflecting on the effects of teaching it must be acknowledged, yet again, that students learn both more and less than what we intend to teach” (p. 51). An astute dance educator, whether in university or PK–12, will critically examine practice to consider the lessons students take away regarding both the content of dance as an art form and their place as valued, cared-for individuals in the world. More than simply an orientation toward concern, caring is a complex relational process that involves significant emotional and cognitive investment. Sadly, it is not unrealistic to expect that today’s dance education graduates will, at some point in their careers, encounter a situation involving child maltreatment of some kind. Distinguished education theorist, Nel Noddings (2005) explains: Care theorists insist that we must, indeed, accept such responsibility. Without imposing my values on another, I must realize that my treatment of him may deeply affect the way he behaves in the world. Although no individual can escape responsibility for his own actions, neither can the community that produced him escape its part in making him what he has become [n.p.].

By knowing how to confidently handle moments of crisis with a caring ethics perspective, in a similarly cultivated studio-classroom environment bound by knowledgeable of state mandatory requirements, future dance educators will be prepared to empower children in making meaning of dance as they enact authority over their own bodies, self-identities, and life stories.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Doing the Right Thing or Doing Things Right? Karen Schupp APPLICATION: In this activity, you will consider how your ethical values shape your ideas about how and when to follow stated rules and procedures as a dance educator.

198  Section Three

Activity Doing things right, or following the rules, going by the book, doing things like they are always done, is one approach for dance educators’ decision making. Doing the right thing is different. What makes it different is that it draws dance educators into ethical decision making—often contextual, sometimes requiring a rule to be broken, and other times choosing the least harmful solution to persons involved. To determine if a situation requires a decision engaging one’s ethics, at least two feasibly “right” choices must be available. Simply stated, “doing the right thing” means making a decision in a way that reflects a person’s ethical beliefs and obligation to a larger society, even if that choice is outside of the rules. “Doing things right” points to making choices and behaving in ways that are aligned with recognized standard procedures and rules. Although they need not be exclusive, “doing the right thing” and “doing things right” can often times conflict. In small groups or partners, recall a dance-related situation where doing the right thing and doing things right were in conflict and then discuss the following: • How did you determine what to do? What beliefs or contextual pressures influenced your decision to either do the right thing or to do things right? What were the consequences of your decision for yourself and possibly others? • Would you make the same decision today? Why or why not? • How do the ideas of “doing things right” and “doing the right thing” relate to your own dance teaching practice? What can understanding ethical decision making in more informed ways bring to your dance teaching practice?

Where to Draw the Line Karen Schupp and Robin Prichard

SYNOPSIS: The faculty director of a university dance company must decide whether to dismiss a guest choreographer in residence for unacceptable teaching methods and rehearsal practices or allow the troubled residency to continue under close supervision so that students can learn and perform the dance.

Introduction A goal of many dance programs in postsecondary education fosters the development of students as multifaceted dance artists. Dance programs may have an established guest artist program to help students hone their craft on stage as performers. In this model, emerging or established choreographers hold short and long-term residencies making dances, re-staging choreography, and teaching classes. Viewed as an opportunity to enhance the artistic and cultural offerings of a dance program, the guest artist model is frequently used to connect students to professional practice and provide exposure to a wider range of dance techniques and choreographic practices. The symbiotic relationship between developing dance artists and providing a working laboratory for professional choreographers is woven well into the history of college dance programs. The earliest example is perhaps the program at Bennington College, where mid-twentieth century modern dance choreographers were provided a place to formalize their teaching, a space to develop new choreography, and exposure to students from around the country (McPherson, 2013). Guest artist residencies continue to be a significant way for emerging dance artists to refine their choreographic approaches and to build a national reputation. Both inside and outside college dance studios, there is a broad range of ways to create work. Dance education researcher Jo Butterworth (2004) argues that college students need exposure to a wide variety of approaches 199

200  Section Three in which choreographers and dancers interact to make work within different choreographic strategies. With each type of choreographic approach, whether authored solely by the choreographer or collaboratively created by the dancers, comes a differing set of social and artistic relationships between choreographers and dancers (Butterworth, 2004; Risner, 2000). Engaging students in the full range of choreographic approaches prepares them for a broad range of professional experiences upon graduation. The ethical dilemma in this essay stems from Professor Lulu Bluth’s desire to expose students to new ways of dance making without understanding the significantly different values held by the dance program and the guest artist. Engels College, a liberal arts institution in the Upper Midwest of the United States, houses a small, well-established dance program whose dance faculty are dedicated to creating opportunities for students to learn about dance outside of their regional area. The dance faculty have developed a guest artist series that brings three dance artists to campus annually to work with the college dance company, a select group of twelve upper-division students. Two guest artists are selected by faculty members; the third is determined with student input. When selecting guest artists, faculty members normally review choreographers’ national reputation, choreographic works, and the potential to broaden students’ exposure to dance. Lulu Bluth is an associate professor who is excited to serve as the dance company’s artistic director for the next three years. Professor Bluth is dedicated to collaboration, which is reflected in her use of humanistic pedagogical practices in her choreography and technique classes. As the artistic director of the dance company, Professor Bluth selects guest artists, oversees guest artist residencies, and coordinates the year end performance. Dane Williams, an emerging choreographer, is the student-selected guest artist. The dance company members are beside themselves with excitement that Mr. Williams will choreograph a new work for their Spring Dance Concert. While the students may daydream of one-day dancing with Mr. Williams, they have little awareness of his choreographic process.

The Case “Welcome!” Professor Bluth says exiting the car to open the trunk. “The students are thrilled to be able to work with you. They have been asking me to bring you in for a while, and they really admire your choreography.” Lifting his suitcase into the trunk, Mr. Williams responds, “That’s great to hear. I hope they are ready to work. Ten days isn’t very long to make a dance, and as you know, my style is very demanding.” “Oh, I am sure the students are up to it! They are a very dedicated bunch,



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some of the best students I’ve had here. I’m sure you will enjoy working with them,” Professor Bluth tells him. As they drive back to campus, Professor Bluth outlines the schedule and logistics of the residency. She drops off Mr. Williams at his hotel where a dance company member assists him. “I’ll see you at rehearsal later this afternoon.” She leaves feeling that the residency will be a great success—one the dance company students have wanted for a number of years. *** Entering midway through the first rehearsal, Professor Bluth proudly observes the dancers intensely focused on capturing one of Mr. Williams’ movement phrases. “All right. Let’s take a break,” Mr. Williams says briskly. “Lulu, can I talk with you?” Professor Bluth nods, and walks toward Mr. Williams. Before she can greet him, Mr. Williams starts in, “Look, I’ll get right to the point. Only six students are capable of doing this work, the other six cannot handle this movement. Is it okay if I just work with six dancers?” Surprised, but realizing she needs to maintain a neutral and respectful tone for the sake of the residency, Professor Bluth explains, “It’s only been a few hours of rehearsal, and I am confident that all of the students will rise to the occasion. They all have such unique strengths as movers and performers. I’m sure that they all have something valuable to contribute to the work.” “I can see that they are each ‘unique,’” Mr. Williams responds. “But my concern is having them move like me, so…” Interrupting him, Professor Bluth continues, “Well, the reality is they all need to perform to receive class credit, and the casting for the concert is already set. We cannot recast the work for six dancers at this point. Maybe there’s an opportunity to think flexibly about how you can include all twelve of them?” Mr. Williams shrugs his shoulders and calls the dancers back from break. Professor Bluth leaves rehearsal for a meeting, making a mental note to check-in on tomorrow’s rehearsal. *** In the second day of rehearsal, Professor Bluth watches to see how the project is going. She notices that Mr. Williams does not instruct much. Instead, after demonstrating, he chooses a student he thinks is doing well and asks her to perform the movement for others to watch. “Do it like that,” he motions, without giving further information. Professor Bluth sees that students are often confused about the image he is pursuing.

202  Section Three Ali raises her hand, “Mr. Williams, could you demonstrate that turn with the jump, please?” “I need to see that again, too” Hakim speaks up. Clearly frustrated, Mr. Williams’ voice deepens, “Jessie, Ali, Hakim— dance in the back so that you can watch the others who have the movement down.” He looks to the other students and continues, “Let’s move on, I can’t wait for the slow ones to get this.” Demonstrating a new phrase, Mr. Williams watches as some dancers struggle, “If you don’t know how to do the turns, then go figure it out!” Trevor moves to the side to figure out the turns. Marika crosses to help him. “Wait! Stop, stop,” Mr. Williams yells. “Marika, what are you doing?” “I’m helping Trev get the turns,” Marika says. “Get back in your place, Marika. He needs to learn this by himself. If Trevor can’t learn it, then he can’t be in the dance,” Mr. Williams announces. “Do it again everyone!” As the music finishes, Mr. Williams motions the dancers to come forward. “I guess that’s enough for now. Let’s just call it a day.” *** On the third day of rehearsal, Mr. Williams saunters into the studio and announces, “It is clear to me that you need more work on the material I have already taught you,” Mr. Williams begins. “I can’t move forward with the dance until you all are able to do this material well and in unison. Therefore, I am going to leave you to work on this. Work on it until every single one of you has it down pat. I expect it to be perfect for tomorrow’s rehearsal.” With this, Mr. Williams walks out of the studio. Stunned, the students look at each other. “How are we supposed to know what we are doing wrong if he doesn’t tell us?” Roberta asks. “Seriously?” Quinn asks. “He’s going to leave us on our own without giving us any feedback or guidance?” “Look, we can do this,” Miranda states. “Let’s review the material and see where there are differences.” Though low in morale, they work together to clarify the phrase material and finish rehearsal. *** The next morning Mr. Williams is teaching the intermediate/advanced technique class, which includes his cast in addition to ten other students registered for the course. At one point, Mr. Williams says, “your generation of dancers is known for being lazy. You don’t work hard. Last night at dinner I was talking to a friend, and we agreed—you are all lazy. Only a few of you should really be in the dance I’m making.” The tension in the room is palpable.

Where to Draw the Line (Schupp & Prichard)   203 The cast members stand with their eyes lowered, shoulders curved protectively, arms long and crossed in front. A few are trying hard not to cry. At end of class, Mr. Williams points to three students. “you three: you are the only ones who should be dancers. The rest of you should become math majors.” With this, he strides confidently out of the studio. As the students filter out of the studio, a number of the cast members gather in the Dance Theatre lobby. “I’m so glad he could have dinner instead of working with us yesterday—and then he called us lazy!” Johanna remarks. “He was busy talking smack about us while we were working on our own.” “But Johanna, he’s just treating us like professionals,” remarks Miranda. “This is what it’s like in the real world, so we might as well get used to it now.” Professor Bluth walks into the lobby, where the students stop her to explain their experiences in Mr. Williams’ rehearsals. “We feel like he’s not helping us,” states Johanna. “He has certain expectations that we might not be living up to, but he is not helping us achieve them.” Jessie explains, “We don’t even know what his expectations are, because he doesn’t articulate them. Obviously, he believes that the best way to motivate us is with negativity, but that’s leading to the opposite. Instead we feel demoralized.” “And he treats cast members differently,” Hakim explains, “so it’s causing a rift among us. It’s as if he is trying to play us against each other in order to get us to compete—but instead, it’s making us not want to do the piece.” “I would rather not do the piece,” Quinn chimes in. “This is not what I signed up for.” “Me too,” Roberta adds. “Performing in this dance isn’t worth it.” “Well, I’m enjoying it, and I’m learning a lot,” Miranda remarks. “I know he isn’t treating us all equally, but I still really want to do this piece. And I think some of the students are just being babies.” “Give me a chance to talk to Mr. Williams before any of you make decisions,” Professor Bluth offers. “Take some time to cool down—physically and emotionally—and let me share some of your concerns with him.” *** Later that day, Professor Bluth and Mr. Williams meet for coffee. “First of all, how do you think rehearsals are going?” she asks. “They are going pretty well,” he responds. “It’s going to be better after today’s technique class. I think the dancers understand what I am after now. They need to rise to my level quickly.” Realizing how Mr. Williams’ perceptions differ greatly from hers and the students’, she states, “Your ways of working are quite different from what we usually do here. Many of the students are not reacting well to your methods. We have a strong community of dancers here, and they are used to helping

204  Section Three each other out, learning from each other, and actively contributing to work. Many of the students learn better when a variety of teaching methods are used. Faculty work hard to motivate our students in positive ways: we instill communal work values and we discourage competition as a motivator.” “Well Lulu, with me they are seeing how the real world of dance works,” Mr. Williams responds. “If your dancers want to be professionals, they should get used to this now. This is how I work and how I always make dance. It’s important for the students to fear me; otherwise, I won’t get the best work out of them.” “Nevertheless,” Professor Bluth replies, “treating students equally and respectfully is a critical part of the mission of this program and college. For our students, the process of learning and creating the dance are as important as the art work itself and its performance. Would you be amenable to finding ways to change some of the ways you engage with the students here?” “I can’t see changing my artistic process because it might make some students feel bad,” Mr. Williams snaps. “I mean, I’m the professional here. Don’t you believe they should be taught to respect the dance artist’s aesthetic and practices, not the other way around?” Clearly angered, “I’m the one here who deserves respect. I have rehearsal now,” he says and leaves. Professor Bluth sinks back in her chair, as the reality of her dilemma becomes clear. She could decide to end the residency and send a clear message to the students that Mr. Williams’ methods are unacceptable in their dance program. Or, she could allow the residency to continue and then engage in discussions with students about different pedagogical frameworks and artistic approaches. She recognizes that both decisions are equally unappealing.

Dilemma and Stakeholders The complexity of the dilemma in this case arises from differing values and expectations about how dance choreography occurs and the role of guest artists in educational contexts. Imagining the situation from the viewpoint of each stakeholders sheds light on Professor’s Bluth predicament. Professor Bluth, in her role as tenured professor and director of the dance company, can be viewed as an ambassador of the dance program’s core values and practices, which include humanistic, student-centered approaches to teaching dance, and democratic dance making practices. At the same time, Professor Bluth feels a responsibility to expose her students to a wide range of dance making and professional practices as part of the dance curriculum. Guest artist residencies are critical for offering students a breadth of performance and cultural experiences. The students are also key stakeholders; inviting Dane Williams to create

Where to Draw the Line (Schupp & Prichard)   205 a work for the dance company was the students’ choice. Although they are eager to learn his movement style, they also feel defeated by his choreographic approaches and pedagogical frameworks. Additionally, the students embody conflicting ideas about how dance is made in academia versus, in their words, “the real world.” As young dancers with limited exposure to dance beyond their college campus, they are highly impressionable to ideas and practices presented as the standard by visiting guest artists. Mr. Williams’ reputation as a choreographer is also at stake. As an emerging choreographer, he is under pressure to constantly produce work of the highest caliber. Based on his behavior during the residency, Mr. Williams seems underprepared to work with college students. His expectations are not aligned with the values of the college and the students, and students’ unfavorable impressions of him could spread beyond campus, potentially affecting his professional trajectory. The dilemma Professor Bluth faces, either immediately ending the problematic residency in order to send a strong message that Mr. Williams’ methods are unacceptable, or allowing the troubled residency to continue but to engage in discussions about his approach once he is gone, can be framed as a short-term versus long-term dilemma as described by Rushworth Kidder (1995). In the short-term dilemma, ending the residency would immediately resolve the issue of the mistreatment of the students but would result in students being unable to perform the work—a work by a choreographer they selected. Allowing the residency to continue would allow the long-term goal—the performance of the work, to go forward without rectifying the disconnect in pedagogical and artistic values. Professor Bluth cannot choose both. Using the case study as context, consider the following: When do the ends (the outcomes) justify the means (processes) in choreographic and educational contexts? What rationales support different outcomes, and how do these reflect assumptions about the realm of professional Western theatrical dance?

Pedagogical Elements The tensions between authoritarian or teacher-centered pedagogy and humanistic or student-centered pedagogy underscore the dilemma in this case. Assumptions about the professional practice of dance beyond the university amplify the friction between these approaches. Professor Bluth and Mr. Williams each express the values underlying these contrasting philosophies as artists and teachers. Embedded in Mr. Williams’ methodologies are elements of an authori-

206  Section Three tarian, teacher-centered paradigm. In the authoritarian model, the teacher is the source of all knowledge—one who owns the material and whose authority is beyond reproach. The students are the recipient of the teacher’s knowledge; students’ previous knowledge and life experiences are irrelevant as are their feelings, reactions, and responses to the educational process (Elias and Merriam, 2005). When used to teach dance, the teacher-centered paradigm situates the dancer’s body as a tool for choreographers and artists to use in their artistic expression (Dragon, 2015). The purpose of students’ bodies is to be molded by an expert artist; therefore, class or rehearsal content is derived from the artist’s or teacher’s body and personal artistic needs. The primary mode for teaching and learning in this model is mimicry (Dragon, 2015; Smith, 1998) and, as seen in this case, a quick, exact, and relatively silent replication of the teacher’s movement is the ultimate learning goal. Authoritarian approaches, like Mr. Williams’, also manifest in deliberately creating doubt (Belenky et al, 2008) and fear in the students, making disparaging and hurtful remarks, leading to outright physical abuse (Smith, 1998). A key characteristic of an oppressive, authoritarian environment is to demand students’ complete compliance, requiring students to relinquish control of their physical and emotional safety to the teacher (Friere, 1970/1993). To create fear and control in the rehearsal studio, Mr. Williams utilizes an authoritarian teaching tool called the “premeditated pedagogical outburst” (White, 2009 quoted in Zeller, 2017, p. 100), in which a teacher denigrates an entire group of students in a theatrical outburst that maintains the teacher’s power and superiority, while creating benign fear in the students. Mr. Williams’ utilizes this tool when he walks out and leaves the students to rehearse on their own without direction, and again in the master class when he disparages and demeans the vast majority of the class. Although not directly witnessed in the case, Professor Bluth’s approach mirrors a humanistic, student-centered pedagogy, in which students’ individual experiences, interests, and aptitudes form the basis for meaningful learning and the overriding purposes of education are to encourage self-learning, actualize potentialities, and achieve full autonomy (Rogers and Frieberg, 1994). Mutual esteem figures prominently in student-centered pedagogy: teachers must work to earn trust and respect, which are reciprocal, traveling both to and from the teacher and student. Rather than regarding students as passive recipients, student-centered pedagogy regards learners as active participants who dynamically work to construct knowledge rather than mechanically ingest information from teacher, all with the aim of increasing human knowledge and freedom (Ross, 2016). When this ideology is applied to dance, students are not just bodies but whole beings, and education must address minds, bodies, emotions, and their social and cultural meanings (Risner and Barr, 2015). A humanist pedagogical approach in technique,



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choreography, and performance courses may include improvisation, reflective practices, use of anatomy and imagery, somatic practices, and discussion as a way to teach movement. The use of a humanistic, critical pedagogy in technique, performance, and choreography courses potentially brings awareness to the implicit aspects of dance education and cultivates skills vital to success as a dance artist. Carefully thought-out group project assignments, where students contribute content and determine the process, can help students gain proficiency in collaboration (Schupp, 2015). Providing a method for students to respond to peers’ work in the classroom not only decenters the expertise of the teacher and recognizes the students as co-constructors of knowledge, but also develops critical observation skills in students (Schupp, 2010). Using well-articulated participation assessments in technique class encourages meta-cognition and leads students to actively invest in their learning (Prichard and Horrigan, 2018). Using nonlinguistic ways of responding and giving feedback to dance deepens creativity and allows students a wider palette of expression and meaning-making (Prichard, 2019). In each of these examples, dance educators have found ways to incorporate student voices and experiences into dance learning. In doing so, students’ choices, movements, and voices are validated. An implicit assumption held by Mr. Williams and some dance students is that “the real world” and college differ in their methods and approaches to dance. The notion is no longer viable that college education can afford to be more democratic, progressive, and nurturing but that the real world must be authoritarian, competitive, and harsh. The authoritarian view is problematized by investigating the range of choreographic methods that are used in both higher education and in professional realms. Butterworth’s (2004) Didactic-Democratic Spectrum presents a continuum of five distinct approaches to the choreographer-dancer relationship. The Didactic-Democratic Spectrum describes the types of choreographer and dancer relationships as: choreographer as expert, dancer as instrument; choreographer as author, dancer as interpreter; choreographer as pilot, dancer as contributor; choreographer as facilitator, dancer as collaborator; and co-ownership of the work by all dancers. Importantly, all five approaches can be found throughout postsecondary dance programs and professional practice. In this case study, Mr. Williams uses the expert approach and regards the students as instruments. Professor Bluth is an example of an artist who embraces the more democratic approaches in her teaching and choreography. However, it is possible and likely for these ideologies to be reversed; a guest artist may inhabit democratic approaches and a dance program could use more didactic approaches. Therefore, the assumption that the “real world” prioritizes the use of didactic methods for which the students must be prepared is problematized, as a range of choreographic approaches exist in both settings.

208  Section Three Differing perspectives on the role of postsecondary dance education and dance in the professional world of concert dance collide in this case. While Mr. Williams sees his primary role as a guest artist in a postsecondary setting as solely preparing students to be his potential next auditionees, Professor Bluth is dedicated to teaching students how and what an artist can be, including the values that are expressed through the process of creation. As seen in this case, the pedagogical approaches used in a postsecondary dance education can strongly shape students’ beliefs about the professional practice of dance. Because one important goal of college dance programs is to foster the growth of future dance artists, dance educators need to be cognizant of how their methods reflect, reinforce, or evolve the practice of dance beyond campus borders.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Motivating Growth Karen Schupp APPLICATION: In this activity, you will reflect on how you perceive the connections between feedback, motivation, and student growth in your teaching.

Activity Dance educators are responsible for guiding the growth of their students. Growth is reflected in the scaffolding of dance content from class to class as well as the motivational approach used in teaching. In any given classroom, a range of abilities, learning styles, and learning expectations will be present. To promote effective dance learning, dance educators need to find ways to encourage all students to reach their individual potential. How a dance educator motivates students, through comments, feedback, and class procedures exists on a relational spectrum. Coercive feedback and negative comments situate the teacher as the sole expert and students as blank slates or empty vessels to be filled. In this approach, students learn through one directional feedback from the teacher-expert focused on their deficits as learners. Constructive comments situate the teacher as an expert

Where to Draw the Line (Schupp & Prichard)   209 facilitator and the students as active agents who contribute to their dance learning. Here, the teacher helps students build on their working knowledge for continued growth in dance.

Task The following teacher comments come from a variety of dance classes. After reading each one, you will assess the teacher’s language approach. Don’t stick your butt out and pull your stomach in! This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive If you can’t do it right, then you can’t be in this class. This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive Dance to the tips of your fingers and toes. Really fulfill the movement. This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive Marco, why can’t you get your leg up like Connor? This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive I can see that you are really working on using your plié. Now, start to sense how the plié connects the movements. This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive Good job, everyone! This statement is: Coercive

Neutral

Constructive

Margie, shift your weight a little more quickly onto the supporting leg to help with your pirouette. This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive Notice how your arm makes a shelf. Can you use that to create a shoulder freeze or inversion? This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive Look around the room and observe your classmates as they dance. What are they doing well that you can apply to your own improvement? This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive The inversion takes place on 7-2-3. This statement is: Coercive Neutral

Constructive

Remember, class starts at 1:30, and part of being a professional is arriving early, ready to go. This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive

210  Section Three Drop and give me ten push-ups. Maybe that will give you some energy. This statement is: Coercive Neutral Constructive

Reflection Motivating for Positive Growth • What are your experiences of coercive and constructive feedback in the dance class? Which type of comment are you more comfortable with as a dancer? As a teacher? Why do you think this is? • What assumptions about motivation might your students bring to the dance class? What assumptions may students hold regarding the type of feedback teachers will provide? • How might you better match your motivational approach with your pedagogical values? • For your students who have a history of dance teacher motivation rooted in coercive feedback, what particular pedagogical challenges will you confront as their dance teacher?

When Department Policy Limits Teaching Tanya Berg and Doug Risner

SYNOPSIS: A dance company director working as an adjunct professor struggles to comply with a no-touch university policy that compromises her pedagogical values. Simultaneously, the dance department chair finds himself caught between his responsibility to support the new faculty member and his duty to report her non-compliance to the university.

Introduction Effective dance pedagogy relies on multiple modes of communication including teacher demonstration, verbal cues, and tactile communication. As practitioners and scholars strive to create more efficient and holistic communication for dancers, traditional methods are being supplemented and revised when necessary (Berg, 2017; Quin et al., 2015). When teachers are interested in changing the pedagogical status quo, they often temper traditional student expectations by implementing progressive teaching philosophies (Zeller, 2017), which frequently result from teachers’ desire to break the cycle of “teaching as they were taught.” Although some traditional dance pedagogy is known to include verbal and tactile feedback that is ineffective or detrimental to dancers, the positive use of “hands-on” feedback has been researched and documented (Krasnow and Wilmerding, 2015). In their essay regarding dancers’ psychological well-being, Edel Quin and colleagues (2015) state, “although this approach is more time consuming for the dance leader, it will produce much more rapid and effective outcomes than simply shouting” (p. 165). While dancers will respond individually to various teaching strategies, it is the responsibility of the dance educator to present the material as effectively as possible in ways that foster the dancers’ feelings of competency, 211

212  Section Three which subsequently increases their confidence. The active use of touch, in which students are encouraged to analyze and individually adapt the tactile feedback, can facilitate these types of positive outcomes and foster student autonomy by increasing their personal understanding and knowledge of their own bodies (Berg, 2017). However, in other instances touch can be a catalyst for unhealthy contact including sexual abuse (Risner, 2002c). On a daily basis, dance teachers decide whether or not to touch students and how to approach physical contact. The ethical dilemmas in this case stem from the university taking an uncompromising stance regarding the use of touch. Communications professor Wendy Wyatt (2016), discussing mandated trigger warnings in university course outlines, states it is an “ethically straightforward” decision for her to offer a warning before she shows students a barrage of graphic images (p. 18). Wyatt (2016) explains that “when the trigger warning debate entered the public sphere, those weighing in were quick to pronounce trigger warnings as either unnecessary coddling and an affront to free speech, or as responsible practice that minimizes harm” (p. 19). When employing the positive use of touch in dance class, teachers might consider asking students’ permission prior to receiving tactile communication, as a means of facilitating student agency to refuse the contact. In this case study, the university is attempting to create a safe space by mandating a no-touch policy, similar to the purpose of trigger warnings in an academic setting. Jenny Carmichael has spent years honing her personal pedagogy through creativity, trial and error, and self-reflection. In her own student-centered pedagogy, she specifically avoids certain verbal cues used by her previous teachers that personally diminished her self-esteem. However, Ms. Carmichael consciously decides not to follow the policy, nor does she warn the students each time that she makes physical contact with them. The material she teaches contains her own unique stylistic nuances, which are also found in the choreography that her professional company performs. Tactile communication is a teaching strategy that she has spent time exploring with her company for a number of years; she feels strongly that it is the most effective form of communication. Ms. Carmichael’s practiced and specific tactile cues have been well-received by first-year students that she is teaching for the first time at Northwest State University. The university has implemented the policy banning student-teacher tactile communication in an effort to avoid uncomfortable situations, miscommunication, and potential legal action by those who might find the experience invasive. The policy, aimed at creating a safe space for the dancers to learn, follows an incident at a local performing arts high school in which a dance student accused a teacher of ongoing sexual harassment. A female student claimed that a male dance teacher had been inappropriately touching her during technique classes. After investigation, the charges were dropped



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when it was revealed that other students in the class all experienced the same tactile communication, which they all deemed appropriate hands-on correction for dance. Despite the outcome of the investigation, the teacher was transferred to a different school; Northwest State instituted a policy driven by a fear of potential, similar litigation. At Northwest State, the policy has been exclusively applied to the performing arts departments for a one-year trial period. After such time, the faculty and students will complete questionnaires, which will be analyzed by the university. Dependent upon the information gathered, the university will choose how to amend the current policy and whether to expand the policy to include other faculties that use tactile communication such as sport, nursing, fashion design, among others. Ms. Carmichael knew about this policy when she was hired, but she consciously chose to proceed with her usual class with no changes to—or omission of—her tactile communication. She assumed that the dancers would feel comfortable with her careful, strategic, and research-based use of touch due to their previous dance experience, in which they were likely taught by dance teachers who used tactile communication. The Dance Department Chair, Professor Jim Grant, agreed with the faculty’s recommendation to hire Ms. Carmichael as an adjunct professor for two consecutive terms, during which they will gauge student interest and response to her classes. Ms. Carmichael approached the department in hopes of collaboration because the future of her company is in question. Ms. Carmichael has been unable to hire enough qualified dancers to perform her most popular and valuable repertoire. Therefore, she cannot present pieces that draw the large audiences that generate box office revenue required to keep the company running. Consistent performances by a professional company of dancers trained in her style is her ultimate goal. To these ends, Ms. Carmichael and Professor Grant have aspirations for establishing an ongoing professional relationship between the university and the dance company. However, after discovering Ms. Carmichael’s non-compliance with the policy, Professor Grant is left seriously conflicted.

The Case “Yes! That’s it, now you have it! Remember how that contraction feels. Apply that feeling in your other classes this week.” Ms. Carmichael beams at Jacqui, the student she is working with in the freshmen contemporary technique class for dance majors. All the students applaud this “aha moment.” They are celebrating weeks of working with this renowned teacher from the established local contempo-

214  Section Three rary dance company, and that they have illustrated the aesthetic that she has been encouraging with her words, actions, and tactile communication. Jacqui is elated by the compliment. Leslie, one of the last students to leave, approaches Ms. Carmichael, “I just wanted to tell you that at first I really struggled in your class. I just wasn’t familiar with your style. Like, the ‘adapting tactile corrections to your own body’ part,” she giggles a little, “I had no idea what I was supposed to do.” “Oh, that’s okay, Leslie. You are responding so well!” Ms. Carmichael continues, “My teaching methods might be different than students here are accustomed to in university technique classes.” Relieved, Leslie adds, “I’m so glad to hear that, Professor Carmichael. I really didn’t like the touching part at first, but I’m learning a lot by reflecting on how I can safely adapt the contractions for my personal range of motion.” “Excellent, Leslie.” Ms. Carmichael affirms, “See you on Monday.” Leaving for a company rehearsal downtown, Ms. Carmichael feels confident that the students continue to steadily acclimate to her pedagogical approach, including her use of tactile communication, although touching the dancers is against current policy. Walking down the hall she notices two of her female students speaking quietly to one another. Ms. Carmichael hears her student Sasha whisper, “The other teachers are making changes, why isn’t she?” Sasha abruptly stops speaking as Ms. Carmichael comes within earshot. “Hello Professor Carmichael, great class!” Sasha says with forced cheerfulness. Ms. Carmichael replies, “Glad you enjoyed it, Sasha.” Ms. Carmichael feels less buoyant exiting the building with the fragment of the conversation ringing in her ears. Is she being paranoid or were the students upset about her use of touch? *** Arriving early for his first-year Dance History seminar class, Jabari, a male dance major, approaches the instructor, “Professor Grant, you won’t believe how great Professor Carmichael is!” Jabari explains enthusiastically, “She knows exactly how to move my pelvis into position while I’m dancing, and then the next time I try it, I can really do it!” “I am very glad that you are enjoying Professor Carmichael’s classes, Jabari.” Explaining to Professor Grant, Jabari says, “Her class has really helped me in other technique classes this semester. I am learning how to make corrections on my own! She helps us find the position, then makes us adapt the movement to our own bodies.” “Yes, that’s good, Jabari.” Checking to see that no other students have come into the classroom, Professor Grant asks, “Jabari, when you say, ‘she



When Department Policy Limits Teaching (Berg & Risner)   215

knows how to move your pelvis,’ do you mean she’s actually physically manipulating you (he pantomimes) into the positions?” “Yes, she is very good at helping us feel where our bodies should be in the movements. Everyone is getting so much better at her style. I know some dancers don’t really like being corrected that way, maybe because everyone looks at them when she is making the correction? But I really like it!” Jabari takes his seat for the lecture with a contented expression. “Thank you for sharing your experiences Jabari, I’m sure Professor Carmichael will be pleased to hear how much you value her classes.” Professor Grant returns to preparing his presentation contemplating what he has just heard. Not only is Ms. Carmichael using tactile communications, some of the students don’t “like it.” Professor Grant’s interaction with Jabari makes him realize that he needs to have a conversation with Ms. Carmichael regarding the department’s policy as soon as possible. As Chair, he discussed the department’s teaching philosophy, including the newly instated no-touch policy, with Ms. Carmichael prior to her signing the adjunct contract. Although he is highly in favor of the idea of a partnership between Ms. Carmichael’s company and the department, he must address her behavior before other teachers find out she is ignoring the policy. He’s conflicted about how to approach her, while respecting her expertise as a master teaching artist, her renowned teaching style, and effective tactile strategies. *** After the lecture concludes, Professor Grant heads to his office to email Ms. Carmichael about a meeting and he hears “Jim!” Sara Wright, a longtime adjunct faculty member in the dance department follows him into his office. “Jim, I wanted to follow up on our conversation about removing touch from my classes.” Sara looks sheepish. “I admit that despite my anger, I’ve learned a lot from the situation. I now have to verbally and efficiently articulate my suggestions, and I’ve incorporated more imagery and anatomy.” “I’m pleased to hear that Sara,” Professor Grant nods as he reaches for his iPad. While Professor Grant types his message to Ms. Carmichael, Ms. Wright asks, “How is the new teacher working out?” Professor Grant hits send and looks up, “I haven’t seen her classes, but my impression is that the students are pleased with their experiences so far.” Ms. Wright resumes, “So I guess she will be staying long-term then? I mean some of the adjunct faculty are wondering about how we will all fit into the program next year?” Professor Grant replies, “Everyone was informed that Ms. Carmichael has a contract for two terms. It was nice to see you, Sara, I am very glad your classes are going well.”

216  Section Three Professor Grant senses that Ms. Wright’s comments are indicative of what other faculty are thinking: part-time faculty are worried that Ms. Carmichael will replace one or two of them because there are only so many technique classes available within the program. Although faculty members have yet to hear about Ms. Carmichael’s use of tactile communication, when they do, Professor Grant suspects their complaints will escalate. *** Later that afternoon, Ms. Carmichael appears in Professor Grant’s office doorway, “Hi Jenny, have a seat.” He says calmly. “Thanks, Jim.” As Ms. Carmichael sits down, she feels his demeanor is not as jovial as usual. Professor Grant begins, “This meeting is regarding some unsolicited student feedback that I received about your classes. The students are very enthusiastic about the progress they have made in your class this term.” Removing his glasses, “However Jenny, one student divulged that you are using touch to achieve these results.” Ms. Carmichael remains silent, so he continues, “You and I talked about the need to modify communication to exclude touching the students.” Waiting for a reply, Professor Grant believes that a policy, is a policy to be followed. All staff who wish to remain in the dance department will need to conform to current university guidelines. Ms. Carmichael’s heart sinks, she replies, “Jim, I know that this is the best and quickest way for me to communicate certain aspects of my style and I have developed these tactics over years of practice. Students simply progress faster if I touch them.” Ms. Carmichael feels defensive. But the truth is that in her enthusiasm to make a connection with the students and facilitate their understanding of technique, she ignored his instructions to discontinue tactile communication because when she tried to explain concepts to them, she lacked sufficient vocabulary and imagery to communicate. Frustrated with herself, she reverted to touch. “Jenny, I understand your feelings, many of the faculty feel the same way. However, I have to tell you that if you do not choose to modify your communication strategies, I will be forced to terminate your contract for the second term,” Professor Grant states resolutely. Ms. Carmichael considers her reaction carefully; she realizes that she must not jeopardize their tentative arrangement because she needs this job and the potential connection with the department for the survival of her life’s work. Ms. Carmichael also feels a heavy responsibility for the livelihood of the dancers in her company. Swallowing her defensiveness and pride, Ms. Carmichael says, “I apologize Jim, and I will not let it happen again. Next term I will modify my classes

When Department Policy Limits Teaching (Berg & Risner)   217 to fit with the policy. I appreciate the opportunity to be here and work with the students.” As Ms. Carmichael leaves the office, Professor Grant remains troubled at the situation. Should he report this incident to the university and then perhaps share Ms. Carmichael’s misstep with the dance faculty as a teachable moment? She is new to the academic environment and surely deserves some empathy and support as she learns about her new role as an adjunct dance professor. Perhaps having Ms. Carmichael’s non-compliance out in the open could generate faculty support for abolishing the no-touch policy entirely. As he leaves the office feeling conflicted, he wonders if the dance program will suffer without tactile communication.

Dilemma and Stakeholders Two dilemmas animate this case study. Ms. Carmichael faces the dilemma of choosing between keeping her new position at the university by teaching in ways that diminish who she is as a dance educator, or staying true to her pedagogy and potentially disbanding her company and its legacy. Relatedly, Professor Grant’s ethical dilemma positions him caught between reporting Ms. Carmichael for non-compliance with the university’s no-touch policy and his responsibility to support her and a potential partnership between the dance department and her professional dance company. This dilemma has multiple stakeholders with diverse perspectives, each which need to be carefully examined. Jenny Carmichael finds that her desire to keep her adjunct position and establish a connection between the dance department and her professional company conflicts with her personal pedagogy. She has been training professional dancers for 20 years through a proven hands-on approach that is central to her pedagogical practice. Although Ms. Carmichael is unhappy about allowing the institution to alter her effective teaching method, she is willing to make the necessary changes to continue working in the dance department at Northwest State University. Professor Jim Grant, as department chair, has a duty to uphold all university policies, including the one regarding tactile communication, regardless of his feelings that Ms. Carmichael’s classes are more effective with the touch-based communication included. Professor Grant has a responsibility to the faculty members who are complying with the policy to be sure that it is enforced with all teachers. He is an advocate for the connection between the university and the dance company, as it has the potential to employ graduates from the dance program and attract new students. Professor Grant debates the effects of escalating the situation to the Office of the Dean, because he does

218  Section Three not want to jeopardize this opportunity and wants to support Ms. Carmichael as she transitions into his department. The adjunct dance faculty members are concerned that if Ms. Carmichael stays in the department, she will be assigned their classes. Adjunct faculty often hold tenuous positions with little or no job security, and Ms. Carmichael’s deep ties to the community make her an asset to the department. The university students, who have been flourishing under Ms. Carmichael’s pedagogy, will have to adapt to a new type of pedagogical communication with uncertain results. However, some students will be pleased to have new modes of communication because, as Ms. Carmichael over-heard, some students are aware that she is breaking with policy. Additionally, Jabari mentioned to Professor Grant that some students were uncomfortable with some aspects of being touched. The administration of the university needs all dance department faculty to adhere to the no-touch policy in order for the results of the post-trial questionnaires to be valid. The administration will analyze both teacher and student responses; therefore, everyone must experience the policy in practice. Considering the various viewpoints of the stakeholders in this case, reflect on the complexity of this situation from your own perspective: Is institutional policy interfering with sound pedagogy, or is this policy a reasonable step at creating a safe learning environment? Do the benefits of successful tactile student-teacher communication outweigh the risks of physical contact? What are the risks both personally and professionally that Ms. Carmichael is taking by adapting her teaching in this way? By adapting her personal pedagogy, what less-effective modes of communication may Ms. Carmichael be adopting? What pedagogical issues might Ms. Carmichael encounter while developing new uncertain modes of communicating her style in a university environment with pre-professional dancers? Should Ms. Carmichael have confronted the policy and perhaps attempted to become exempt as a guest adjunct professor for the year? Consider Professor Grant’s position as Chair of the department. What repercussions might he face if he does not report his conversations with Jabari, Ms. Wright, and Ms. Carmichael to the Dean’s office? What negative outcomes could result for the dance department if he doesn’t report Ms. Carmichael’s behavior to the Dean? How might consulting the fulltime dance faculty inform his decision? How might a required informational tactile feedback tutorial educate students before they enroll in the course?

Pedagogical Elements In various dance settings, such as commercial studios, higher education, and professional companies, effective student-teacher communication supports



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dancer progress (Ambrosio, 2015; Berg, 2017; Wilmerding and Krasnow, 2017). The use of touch to communicate in dance is a “key feedback tool with a clear rationale if used correctly” (Quin et al., 2015, p. 15). In technique classes, touch can be a quick and efficient mode of communication used to transfer knowledge regarding safe alignment and desired aesthetics (Krasnow and Wilmerding, 2015). In this case, Ms. Carmichael is asked to remove touch from her pedagogy despite her years developing this teaching strategy as a successful mode of communication. Ms. Carmichael is reluctant to alter her use of touch in response to the institution’s proactive stance on potential harassment and abuse issues. In a recent study, which focused on student-teacher communication in ballet class, the teacher complied with a similar university dance department policy regarding tactile contact by modifying her use of touch to include very light, specific contact (Berg, 2107). The classes included student tactile self-correction, in which the students cued their own alignment by touching themselves in the manner the teacher instructed (Berg, 2017). The use of touch can be considered from various perspectives. Some types of physical correction might be considered a traditional authoritarian teaching strategy in which the teacher deposits information while the student passively receives it as her body is manipulated. The outcome of the dancer mimicking the movement or alignment, which the teacher creates with her physical manipulation of the student, underscores the one-way communication that touch can produce. Considering touch as an authoritarian method removes the option for critical engagement of the student and can be dehumanizing. For example, if touch is interpreted as traditional correction, it resonates negatively with the students, “as it implies that the teacher holds the knowledge and that this transmission of information is one-way” (Akinleye and Payne, 2016, p. 145). Alternately, touch can be a vehicle for critical thinking. In the previously mentioned study, a student describes her experience with authoritarian touch and then she explains how this teacher’s touch is a cue for her own development as a dancer (Berg, 2017). The student states: I have had other teachers in the past approach hands-on in a more aggressive way, which I often find leaves me feeling more confused and reliant on their touch to find the muscles and co-ordination again. [The teacher’s] “magic touch” forces me to concentrate internally and leads me to discover more about my body [Berg, 2017, p. 157].

The student’s experience illustrates the role tactile communication can play in critical thinking. However, do such benefits outweigh the potential risks and negative experiences of touch in dance training and education? Dance sociologist Doug Risner (2002b) describes in detail how a physical correction from a male dance teacher can masquerade as opportunity for sexual abuse in the professional dance technique class:

220  Section Three Physical corrections, usually directed at male dancers, were opportunities for instructors to “feel up” their young male students. Getting a correction meant being felt, prodded, sized up by these gay male teachers in power. Tightly pressed behind me, pulling my pelvis back toward him, the disguised correction was given. He might ask, “Did you feel that?” or “Isn’t that better?” In front of the entire studio, [I was] terribly uncomfortable and embarrassed [p. 70].

Research has reported that while there are far fewer males in dance overall, “male students are three times as likely as females to experience sexual harassment in dance, and that perpetrators of sexual harassment are more than seven times as likely to be male than female” (Risner, 2002b, p. 71). To ensure that the benefits actually do outweigh the possible negative effects of touching students, dance researcher David Outevsky (2013) suggests the time has come for a comprehensive guideline for the use of touch in all forms of western concert dance. Recognizing the prominent role that touch plays in dance education, Outevsky (2013) states: Touch and hands on feedback in particular have occupied an important position in dance education for a long time; however, their use has been questioned over the last few decades, perhaps owing to continual social and cultural changes within western society as a whole [p. 1].

Social and cultural developments will continue to alter tactile forms of feedback in dance pedagogy, forcing dance educators to evaluate the utility, usefulness, and ethical groundings of tactile forms. Finding alternative means of instructor communication to achieve personal pedagogical goals, as well as meeting expectations set for dance educators by institutions, will require continued study and research.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Make the Case Doug Risner APPLICATION: This ownership activity will help you discern your own beliefs about the benefits and challenges of providing tactile communication to students so that you can proactively and ethically communicate the values of tactile communication to students and administrators.

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Activity The University ban on tactile student-teacher communication disproportionately singled out the Performing Arts, and the Dance Department faculty and students more specifically with a policy created out of avoidance and fear of future uncomfortable situations and potential legal action, none of which has occurred at the University or in the Dance Department. At the same time, tactile student-teacher communication is widely utilized in dance technique and choreography rehearsals around the world; its beneficial use in teaching and learning is well documented in the research literature.

Inquiry Why wouldn’t the Performing Arts faculty and students’ views have been surveyed prior to the University enacting the tactile communication ban? What kept performing arts faculty from challenging the need for the ban before it was instituted? How could dance faculty allow themselves and their dance students to be infantilized by the University ban, treated like small children unable to make responsible decisions about their bodies on their own? What other department would allow the use of a common, discipline-based pedagogical method be banned from campus by the University?

Task Take Responsibility/Make the Case Soon the dance faculty and students will complete questionnaires about the one-year ban on tactile communication. The University will analyze the information gathered and will choose whether or not to amend the current policy. The University may expand the policy to include other faculties that use tactile communication such as sport, nursing, fashion design, among others.

Action Points •  How could dance faculty and students take responsibility for themselves and decisions about what happens in the Dance Department on campus? •  What arguments would you make rooted in the educational and training needs of dance students?

222  Section Three • What professional pedagogical aims and goals could dance faculty and guest adjuncts elaborate for ownership of, and responsibility for tactile communication use in their dance departments or programs? • Where can other University advocates outside the performing arts be identified and deployed in supporting the needs of dance and performing arts?

Teaching Contact Improvisation Touching and Being Touched Tanya Berg and Doug Risner

SYNOPSIS: A postsecondary dance educator must decide how to address a student’s adverse experiences of touch during contact improvisation without impinging upon other students’ experiences.

Introduction Contact improvisation (CI) is a dance form in which the participants and teachers must consciously attend to the use of touch (Dymoke, 2014). In the 1970s, CI developed out of Steve Paxton’s body research involving the effects of gravity on human movement (Dymoke, 2014) and “the effects of two bodies sharing their weight” (Albright, 2013, p. 78). In her eminent “ethnohistorical” work, Sharing the Dance: Contact Improvisation and American Culture, dance scholar Cynthia Novack (1990) refers to CI as both a way of life and “a way of dancing as a part of culture” (p. 16), seeing CI as non-verbal communication in which contact improvisers carry on “sincere and intimate dialogue of two people through the interaction of their bodies” (p. 141). CI is viewed as a shared language or dialogue between the participants, which involves the enthusiastic consent of all parties (Dymoke, 2014; Rae, 2018). Enthusiastic consent goes beyond simple verbal consent to involve the whole body and both parties are in agreement with one another’s physical intentions. In CI practice, dancers improvise and experiment with movement and touch, often sharing weight, rolling over one another, lifting each other, jumping and traveling through space together. Currently, CI consent-culture involves new practitioners learning to deal with the various facets of the form such as negotiating how to consent to, direct, or end a dance (Rae, 2018). Dancers new to CI must also cope with the strong emotions and personal physical reactions that occur as a result of the touch they experience, espe223

224  Section Three cially if touch in their adult lives has often been associated with romance (Rae, 2018). In the CI community, the culture is often passed on corporeally through lived experience rather than pedantic explanatory introductions for new dancers. For example, weekly CI jams create a community of practitioners regularly run by volunteers with little budget for resources such as handouts for newcomers who may not have the skills necessary to navigate their first experience with CI (Rae, 2018). The resulting experiential transference of knowledge can lead to new dancers misunderstanding the practice. Longtime CI practitioner Katy Dymoke (2014) explains: The guiding principles and unwritten rules mean that, for example, an individual may take advantage of the assumed mutuality of the experience. For some the objectification of the touch aspect within a functional context may trigger a sense of discomfort; having aroused a sense of sensuality and desire this may then not be fulfilled, or it may become imposed upon a partner who is unable or unwilling to be receptive or to reciprocate [p. 210].

Unlike the above situation found in community settings, student dancers in higher education environments are not necessarily participating in contact improvisation voluntarily, especially in required dance classes that comprise their degree program. Therefore, the dance educator has a responsibility to explain unwritten principles and rules. The dance professor should inform, supervise, and support students through the CI process to create an effective, engaging, and safe learning environment. In this case, Philip Fraser is a full-time faculty member whose contemporary classes are required beginning in the second year of study in a university dance department. Professor Fraser begins training students with CI techniques based on the belief that dancers create deeper connections to their art when they reflect on emotions that contact improvisation’s touch and weight sharing bring to the surface. For instance, Professor Fraser has seen many successful choreographic works begin with CI when dancers and choreographers are open to, and trusting of, the resulting movement and emotion. In improvisation, when dancers trust one another and feel they are in a “safe” environment, the resulting choreographic process will involve risks that subsequently yield rewards for the dancers (Schwartz, 2000, p. 45). When Professor Fraser introduces CI, he is open about issues that are prevalent in its practice including feelings that might arise in the dancers. He explains that CI is a physical conversation that includes careful attention to one’s partner and an appropriate response to their level of engagement in order to develop trust and create a reflexive relationship.

The Case “Good morning everyone, come and have a seat.” Professor Fraser looks at the students’ upturned faces and smiles reassuringly. “Today we will begin

Teaching Contact Improvisation (Berg & Risner)   225 contact improvisation.” An immediate nervous murmur rolls among the students but Professor Fraser continues, “Before we begin, I would like to talk about the role of touch. Touch can be a powerful teaching tool and it can also bring up feelings that we don’t always expect. Can anyone suggest how we might associate touch with certain feelings or perhaps expect an outcome from being touched a certain way?” Jenna inhales quickly, and the attention of the class turns toward her as she sits up to explain, “I think it’s like the dog we just got from the shelter, when we move too quickly to pet him, he ducks his head and cowers.” “Yes that’s right Jenna, your dog associates that movement and the impending touch with fear. Can you think of positive examples of human interaction that might create an emotional reaction?” Andrew looks sheepish, blushing slightly, he says quietly, “Hugging someone?” “Exactly Andrew, we often associate touch with love and comfort.” Marquis adds quickly, “And even sexual contact?” There is a reaction of general discomfort from the students, some look down and some shift awkwardly. Professor Fraser is ready for this response. “Yes, even sexual contact.” He continues in a confident tone, “Dancers, in this situation, you will be touching your colleagues and there will be feelings that will come up in relation to this experience.” Jenna asks, “What if we don’t have any experience with Contact Improvi­sation?” “Journaling will help you work through your reactions to CI, so everyone should be open to both positive and possibly negative feelings.” Professor Fraser confides, “I am always here to talk about anything that is bothering you.” Once the students are warmed up, Professor Fraser asks them to find a partner for the first exercise. “Dancers, we will begin moving across the floor to the music. Travel beside a partner and use various levels. By the time you get to the end of the room, I would like you to have touched your partner three to four times with different parts of your body. The contact can be brief or sustained.” Slower, he emphasizes, “Remember, this is a physical dialogue, a conversation, so be sensitive to whether your partner wants to end the contact or continue touching.” The dancers seem receptive to the structured movement exploration. Watching the dancers’ movement conversations across the floor, Professor Fraser sees them execute the task quite successfully. “Let’s go again everyone.” He says. The dancers repeat from the other side. “Dancers, that was wonderful! You treated one another with respect. CI also requires an element of trust, which the next exercise will allow you to

226  Section Three experience. Please break into groups of three or four dancers. One dancer will close their eyes and fall backwards keeping their body straight. The other group members will catch and support the dancer, then gently maneuver the dancer to the ground.” Michael asks, “How can three of us catch the person falling?” “Good question Michael, this Trust Circle exercise is flexible, once someone falls, the dancers around him will likely react, moving quickly to catch him—supporting in whatever way keeps him from falling. Let’s begin with the falling dancer’s arms crossed over the chest. Who wants to demonstrate?” “I’ll try falling.” Michael says with a smile. “Great!” Three dancers surround Michael, who closes his eyes and falls backward. The dancers quickly respond by taking his weight and easily support him gently to the floor. “That was cool!” Michael smiles triumphantly. Professor Fraser is pleased with the reaction, “Great, break into groups and everyone give it a try.” *** Now in the fourth week of classes, Professor Fraser plans to teach lifts. He will also collect the students’ journals to learn how each student’s experience of CI and touch are evolving and progressing. After the warm up, Professor Fraser explains, “One partner is going to stand with a wide base of support and curve forward.” He demonstrates by standing in a wide second position with his knees bent as he curves forward. “The other person will stand behind and you may choose to make contact by facing the partner’s back or turn so that you are back to back, yes?” Seeing the students nod, Professor Fraser continues, “Ok, I need a partner—Valarie, please join me.” Joining Professor Fraser in the center of the studio, Valarie takes her place standing back to back with him. “Now as Valerie curves forward,” Professor Fraser says. “I will remain in contact and eventually my feet will come off the floor.” “Cool!” Samson remarks, “Look how small Val is, but she can lift him right off the floor.” As Professor Fraser continues to guide the dancers while they try the weight sharing exercise, Rachel, a sophomore, crosses quickly to him, “I need to use the restroom, Professor.” “Hurry back, you may miss some key information,” he tells her. Professor Fraser continues, “Feel free to move slowly,” he instructs. “Hook an arm or a leg to secure yourself? Only lift your feet as much as makes you comfortable. That’s lovely everyone! Now change partners so the other dancer is in the supporting roll.”



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As the dancers change roles, they burst into spontaneous conversation stemming from the exhilaration of working with a partner in this new way. At the same time, Rachel returns from the restroom, moving quickly, “Professor, I cannot do this again.” Professor Fraser addresses Rachel’s partner, “Jonny, join another group for a moment please while I speak to Rachel?” Turning to Rachel, he asks, “What do you mean, are you light-headed?” Professor Fraser watches as couples repeat the weight sharing exercise. On the verge of tears, Rachel musters, “I don’t think I can take this class. I have to get out of here.” Clapping his hands, “Everyone, let’s switch roles now. But first take a few minutes to debrief with your partner, okay?” Turning back to Rachel, “Okay Rachel, take care of yourself, but we will have to discuss your continued participation in the course.” “Thank you,” Rachel lowers her voice, “I just need to go. I need to get away from Jonny.” She picks up her belongings to exit the studio. As she leaves, Professor Fraser tells her, “Please come by my office this afternoon at 4 o’clock, Rachel!” *** Later that day, Professor Fraser waits in his office with Susan Gilmore, Rachel’s first year contemporary dance professor, for Rachel to arrive. Professor Fraser explains, “Susan, thanks for coming to meet with Rachel. I feel she may need a familiar face if she is upset. I think she might be having a reaction that I have seen many times. It’s difficult for students to sort out feelings that arise when they are making physical contact with classmates, particularly if they feel an unexpected attraction to that person.” Susan looks skeptical, “I understand that you feel strongly about teaching CI, I do too! But Philip, because Rachel specifically named a male student who she’s clearly averse to touching, we need to explore the reason without projecting your opinion onto her.” “Ok Susan, I’ll let you lead. She is more likely to talk to you because you know each other well.” Just then Rachel appears in the doorway. “Hi Rachel,” Professor Gilmore smiles. Rachel, looking surprised, immediately moves to her for a hug, “I’m so glad to see you.” As they sit down, Professor Gilmore begins in a gentle tone, “Rachel, please share whatever makes you feel comfortable. Ultimately, we would like to solve the problem you are having so that you can complete your course work.” “I just can’t get away from Jonny. I was his partner for the first contact exercise and he has been following me ever since. I don’t feel comfortable with him touching me.” Rachel dabs her eyes with shaking hands.

228  Section Three “Go on.” Professor Gilmore urges gently. “Today, when I left the class, I knew I couldn’t possibly touch him with my whole body, like lie on him or have him lie on top of me?” Rachel shakes her head, looking more resolute. “That’s too much! I don’t want him touching me at all, let alone with his whole body.” “Yes, Rachel. We understand you are uncomfortable, but it might help us to know if there is a background between you and Jonny?” Professor Gilmore looks encouraging. “No, no background, I only know him from dance classes.” Rachel turns to Professor Fraser, “Please, can’t you just ask him not to dance with me?” “Rachel, I am not sure that is the solution, I think…” Rachel cuts off Professor Fraser. “But he is so creepy when he touches me! It feels like the situation I went through in high school when my friend’s brother was touching me, I was so glad when his family moved out of State.” Rachel begins to cry. Professor Gilmore hands her a tissue, “Rachel, I am sorry that you went through that. Do you want to give us any details about what you feel the problem is with Jonny, what exactly is he doing to you?” “I told you the problem, I don’t want him to touch me!” Rachel pleads, “Please, can’t you do something about this?” Professor Gilmore responds, “Rachel, if that is all you feel comfortable sharing, then Professor Fraser and I will discuss possible solutions and get back to you tomorrow.” Standing to leave, Rachel asks, “Shouldn’t I have a right not to be touched by someone who makes me feel this uncomfortable?” She turns and leaves the office. *** Soon after Rachel leaves the office, Jonny knocks on the office door, “Hi Professor, you wanted to see me?” “Hi Jonny, come on in. You know Professor Gilmore, have a seat,” Professor Fraser says. Jonny sits down nodding, but looks nervous. “Hi Professor Gilmore, great to see you, is everything okay?” “Yes,” she answers, “you aren’t in any trouble, we just wanted to ask you about your experiences with contact improvisation in Professor Fraser’s class.” Jonny looks relieved, “Oh, it’s been great! I’ve been having a blast.” Professor Gilmore prods gently, “Have you been dancing with specific partners?” “Yeah, I really like Rachel, I think we are really starting to work well together.” Jonny smiles.

Teaching Contact Improvisation (Berg & Risner)   229 “Well Jonny, we are wondering how you feel about the type of interaction that is occurring between you two?” Professor Gilmore asks gently. Jonny looks puzzled, “Type of interaction?” His face changes quickly, “Does she think … I’m hitting on her?” Jonny grins. Professor Fraser frowning, “Not exactly Jonny.” “Oh, I’m sorry Professor,” Jonny blushes. “I didn’t mean anything by smiling. It’s just that … well, I … I have a boyfriend.” He pauses, “I mean … I love dancing with Rachel because I don’t feel any tension that comes with people attaching romance to contact. Actually, it makes me sad she thought that of me,” Jonny looks down shaking his head. “I feel really bad she is uncomfortable.” “It’s all right Jonny, it’s important that all students communicate clearly during CI to avoid this kind of situation,” Professor Gilmore consoles him. Professor Fraser feels relieved that the situation is not the result of harassment from Jonny despite Rachel’s legitimate discomfort. After Jonny leaves, Professor Gilmore asks Professor Fraser, “How will you handle this?” “Well, despite Rachel’s aversion to the current situation with Jonny, she has a promising future, and she will likely have to deal with situations like this during her career.” Professor Gilmore nods as Professor Fraser turns pensive and wonders to himself: How do I help her through this difficult situation without compromising the other students’ CI experiences? Perhaps asking Jonny to avoid dancing with Rachel will alleviate her discomfort, but is that punishing Jonny for his enthusiasm? Does this option negatively single out Jonny? Is it appropriate for me to ask Jonny to tell Rachel he is gay? “Susan, I don’t want to punish Jonny or call unfair attention to him, I mean all he was doing was being enthusiastic.” Susan sighs, “Can you recommend counseling for Rachel?” “I can, but it would be voluntary, and I still feel a responsibility to get her through the course … not only because it’s required, but CI is preparation for her career.” Professor Fraser looks down thinking to himself. If I limit the use of CI, the students may lose out on valuable information. How do I make Rachel comfortable with touch in a professional setting? She doesn’t seem to have a problem with me touching her. Perhaps it was just the repetition from the same male student that triggered her discomfort and memories? Professor Fraser looks up, “Susan, you said Rachel had no problem with your hands-on corrections or dancing the choreography that involved a lot of physical contact right?” Professor Gilmore confirms, “She was fine, no hint of a problem at all last year.”

230  Section Three “So, I think I’m going to recommend counseling to Rachel, but in class I will modify by beginning with the CI fundamentals as well as adding structure to the partner selection.” “You mean limiting time spent with the same partner?” Professor Gilmore asks. “Yes,” Professor Fraser replies, “Like beginning with the small dance, they can do this solo meditation, really getting a grasp on their physical listening skills. Then I’ll move to falling and rolling, and a rolling point of contact. I will create a structure for changing partners; perhaps they form small groups themselves and move within those groups. I’ll change partners frequently.” Professor Fraser is feeling optimistic despite the change in his pedagogical approach. “I think those strategies, in conjunction with individual conversations with Rachel and Jonny, may ease some of the tension.” Professor Gilmore continues, “I hope Rachel takes your advice and seeks counseling.”

Dilemma and Stakeholders The decision that Professor Fraser has made to modify his pedagogy impacts multiple people. He must consider the impact of his decision on all parties, meaning he must visualize the dilemma from the varying perspectives of each stakeholder. Professor Philip Fraser firmly believes in the benefits of CI, including both physical skills developed by moving with a partner and the self-reflection that comes from analyzing the emotions that touch can bring to the surface. He has been supervising the dancers, and he feels that nothing inappropriate has occurred on his watch. Rachel needs to complete this class in order to complete her degree. She feels entitled to an effective learning environment, which is non-threatening and safe. However, she is seeking accommodations from Professor Fraser that will likely impact the other students and possibly the curriculum. Jonny did not know that Rachel was uncomfortable with him choosing to partner her time after time; however, he is significantly impacted by her negative reaction to his partnering, including the marginalization he suffered having to out himself to the professor as non-heterosexual in order to prove he was not touching Rachel inappropriately. While he may have to learn how to better communicate with his CI partners, Jonny’s larger concerns may now center on being out as gay and the attendant fallout with family members, friends, co-workers, among others. The dance students will gain a heightened awareness of their own use of touch in CI practice if the professor explains the situation to the class. Students



Teaching Contact Improvisation (Berg & Risner)   231

will be affected by accommodations made for Rachel, as the required dance curriculum will be impacted by the changes resulting from accommodations. Has Professor Fraser put Rachel’s needs over the rest of the group by modifying the approach that he has used successfully for years? Is this situation inducing self-reflection as the professor by forcing him to reconsider his approach to CI? Is Professor Fraser’s idea of asking Jonny to share his identity with Rachel appropriate? Would Jonny have the ability to refuse the professor’s request (even if posed as a question) considering the power dynamics of a professor-student relationship?

Pedagogical Elements When incorporating improvisational techniques in educational settings, there are numerous developmental benefits for students and pedagogical challenges for educators to balance. Dance researcher Michele Biasutti (2013) explains, “there has been increased literature on the use of improvisation in teaching and learning, and improvisation could be considered an established technique in dance education” (p. 120). CI is considered an advanced improvisation technique with success dependent on skills associated with improvisation as “technique in its own right,” which subsequently “depends on the mastery of a particular set of skills that imply and reveal a particular aesthetic” (Schwartz, 2000, p. 42). When recording and analyzing patterns in the motor creativity present in improvisational duets, researcher Carlota Torrents and colleagues (2010) find egalitarian dance relations in which “CI is based on a social interaction founded in reciprocity” (p. 47). Common cultural rules are not followed in CI as “social distance and organisational rules are restructured,” which creates communication based on contact/touch (Torrents et al., 2010, p. 47). Touch in contact improvisation is often described as something dancers move through, something unresolved, an aspect of contact improvisation that exists in the third space, or the space between the dancers (Dey and Sacro-Thomas, 2014; Torrents et al., 2010; Williams 1996). Specifically, touch in contact improvisation can be defined as “a reaching towards,” which “denotes intentionality, a process rather than a final destination; touch does not end when contact is made and is never static” (Pethybridge, 2014, p. 177). Incorporating improvisation and contact improvisation in dance education benefits dancers in numerous ways: honing non-verbal communication, increasing self-awareness; developing motor, cognitive and emotive abilities; and fostering learning through self-discovery (Biasutti, 2013: Schwartz, 2000). In this case study, Professor Fraser has experienced these benefits first hand; teaching contact improvisation has become part of his dance pedagogy.

232  Section Three Biasutti (2013) reports that dance educators in a qualitative study (n = 11) considered group work during improvisation valuable. She explains: It is a more sophisticated and deeper form of communication than verbal communication because the product is intangible, not real. The communication process is non-verbal and the relationships to others are developed with the ability to draw information from the context [p. 129].

The intangible product referred to in this excerpt is a result of motor creativity present in contact improvisation (Torrents et.al., 2010). Dancers need to have an understanding of the logistics and objective of the form before it is safe for them to participate fully and safely. As demonstrated in this case study, teaching CI to classes of students who are new to it creates challenges for postsecondary dance educators. The ethics of relating through touch in CI as an ethical practice are topics practitioners experience as central to the CI practice (Dey and Sacro-Thomas, 2014), in which the notion, “I couldn’t do this without you” takes on new meaning (Pethybridge, 2014, p. 13). CI, at its most basic ontology, is relational, requiring trusting relationships to achieve its ethical framework. Dance educators must be aware of their responsibility to create accountability within their classes. A concern for practitioners’ safety “inscribes ethical practices into the work, a negotiation where people’s physical well-being is, literally, ‘on the line’” (Dey and Sacro-Thomas, 2014, p. 122). CI has been a daring style of movement and performance since its inception. Daniel Lepkoff (2011) explains that CI puts dancers “into unusual, disorienting, and often emergency situations” (p. 39). By its demanding physical interaction between participants, CI results in vulnerability, which leads to awareness of difference and respect for such. Therefore, dance educators introducing contact improvisation in an institutional setting must prepare dancers for the technique to avoid physical and psychological discomfort. Students’ health and safety depend on responsible communication that creates accountability (Rae, 2018). Taking full responsibility to orient students to the logistics of CI practice may include informational handouts and readings, tutorials, videos and films, step-by-step physical orientation, and accident and injury action plans. In this case, Professor Fraser is made aware of possible shortcomings in his approach to teaching this advanced technique as he considers how to create a safe environment for Rachel. Lepkoff (2011) suggests that underlying the contact improvisation duet is a technique of questioning that resides in the physical body: The underlying technique needed to prepare for and survive the surprises of a contact improvisation duet is to pose and maintain a question: What is going on when I move? Where is my center? Where is down? What surfaces of my skin are being touched or touching? Which of these surfaces offers support? Where do I think I am going? Where am I able to go? What am I not aware of? [p. 39].

Teaching Contact Improvisation (Berg & Risner)   233 Dance educators must develop pedagogical strategies to guide students from novice to experienced contactors in order to understand the explicit questioning nature of CI in their minds and bodies, which ultimately allows them the freedom to participate fully.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Touchy Subjects Doug Risner APPLICATION: By reflecting upon your experiences with touch and weight sharing, both as a student and as an educator, you will learn more about the assumptions of your students regarding identity and discrimination, as well as your own.

Activity Engaged teachers skillfully confront myriad student assumptions and points of intersectionality every day in their classrooms and schools. An assumption, or something that is accepted as true without proof or evidence, often emerges as a stereotype or bias. Intersectionality refers to the complex manner in which different forms of discrimination—like racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, among others—overlap, blend, and fuse in cumulative ways. Investigating intersectional bias allows teachers to comprehend more fully the accruing discrimination experienced by students with multiple forms of marginalization, for example, gay, black females. For dance educators working with touch, physical correction, and tactile communication, the scope and quantity of student assumptions and intersections are vast, requiring close attention and patient guidance, especially when teaching the minds and bodies of growing adolescents and young adults. Being corrected physically by a dance teacher is experienced differently by each student based on his or her gender, sexuality, race, class, religion, and other identity and sociocultural experiences.

234  Section Three

Task As a student or teacher of dance, respond to the following prompts based on your experiences of tactile communication, being touched, being asked to touch another person, or weight sharing with others. Please note, if any of the prompts below elicit painful memories of touch-related experiences, move on to a different situation that you feel comfortable sharing. 1. Think about your own experience of being touched in dance class as part of the dance educator’s teaching and rehearsing. How would you characterize your overall experience with tactile communication? What worked? What didn’t work for you? 2. When, if ever, were you uncomfortable with a dance teacher’s tactile communication with you? Describe the situation. Did you address your concern with the teacher, another student, a school or department director? If so, what was the outcome? 3. If you teach dance utilizing tactile communication, how would you characterize your students’ feelings and assessment of your physical corrections and use of tactile communication? Describe. What is your level of satisfaction with the outcomes of your tactile communication in dance class? Discuss.

Short Survey Based on your knowledge of tactile communication and your experiences derived above, compose a short 10-item survey for your dance students to complete regarding their experiences and attitudes about physical correction and tactile communication. Develop straightforward survey questions that can be answered briefly yet succinctly. After the survey results are compiled, reconcile the students’ experiences with your intentions as a teacher. Outline strategies for verbally communicating what it is you hope to convey explicitly with your communication through purely tactile means. Determine or revise, if necessary, your trigger warnings regarding tactile communication for your courses to include choices such as “opt out” or “opt in” at the beginning of the term, daily check-ins (privately with instructor), and other options.

Values Inventory Installment III Doug Risner

This installment offers a third opportunity to inventory your personal and professional values as they relate to dance education and a second opportunity to consider how your values are changing based on comparison with previous installments. Engaging with your values and their origin on a regular basis will guide the informed evolution of your praxis. DESCRIPTION: These reflective writings about your values and beliefs reveal what you think is important and why, in this very moment. This process is an ongoing and evolving exploration of what matters most to you as a dance educator and a person. TASK: Complete each of the following statements below applying what you’ve discovered from reading this book to date. As before, ask yourself where you believe these values and beliefs are coming from, and then describe their relevance to your teaching methods. As an educator, I believe that curriculum should… As an arts educator, I believe that arts curriculum should… As a dance educator, I believe that dance curriculum should…

235

Section Four

Community Dance Section Editors: Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere

Section Introduction Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere

Community dance is a broad term referring to dance practices, which involve “an emphasis on working with people in the community who may not see dance as a professional goal” (Green 2000, 54). Frequently this means working with disenfranchised populations such as the elderly, those with physical disabilities or special needs, “at-risk” youth or any number of populations, outside the K–12, private studio or university settings. Community dance practitioners often strive to empower their participants through selfexpression and by providing a means for social advocacy (Butterworth, 1989). The fact that community dance encompasses so many possibilities creates a range of challenges in uniting the many terms that define the practice. Educator and scholar Sara Houston (2008) uses the alternative phrase “participatory dance,” although she expresses concern that this seems to categorize the practice as being amateurish (p. 11). Diane Amans (2008), a community dance practitioner and scholar, adds to this conundrum when speaking to how the diversity within the practice inevitably brings forward “differences in philosophy and approach” amongst participants, artists, and employers (p. 3). For the purposes of this section, community dance is used to denote dance that is relevant and evolving from the common concerns of a community. The connection may be based on geography, age grouping, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, or other factors such as neighborhood advocacy interests or medical diagnosis. A key commonality underscoring all possibilities is that community dance is meaningful for everyone involved. All participants— students and teachers alike—experience the ways dance is inherent to their community at that moment in time. As a result, traditional teaching-learning paradigms become blurred as dance classrooms become terrains for inclusion and collaboration. Because of such challenges, examining pedagogical issues surrounding community dance offers dance educators an opportunity to come to a fuller understanding of teaching dance and dance itself as cultural constructs. 238



Section Introduction (Barr & Giguere)   239

The uniqueness of teaching within community dance brings to light a number of educational practices, also applicable beyond this context. The most common of these include a student or participant-centered, constructivist approach, navigating areas of power and authority between teachers and participants to support development of a democratic process. Often these approaches manifest in constructing movement vocabulary, creating an environment for the ability of dance to be cathartic, or empowering the disenfranchised. In this way community dance honors each individual while fostering a sense of the collaborative whole. The participant-centered approach to teaching develops from an educational philosophy known as constructivism. First articulated by Soviet social psychologist Lev Vygotsky (Kozulin, 1990), constructivism is based on the idea that learners construct meaning and knowledge for themselves. That is, an individual’s experiences shape her or his understanding of the world and each person needs to experience concepts in order for them to hold meaning for the individual. Since everyone, however, has had different experiences in the world, it follows that everyone will have different starting places in understanding new concepts. Two key implications emerge for teaching dance: teachers need to focus on the person learning instead of the subject of the lesson, and to structure learning situations that support experience. The second focus is known as scaffolding. Rather than asking participants to imitate what the teacher is doing, an activity is structured so that dancers explore an idea at the level of their experience. This participant-centered approach holds particular value in community dance where class members might well be older than the instructor, have vastly different cultural experiences from the teacher, or are each distinctly differently abled, and thus imitation may not be possible, and more importantly, appropriate. Another concern that often arises in community dance revolves around issues of power and authority (Houston, 2008; Lee, 2008). Although this manifests itself in the dynamics between teachers and students in all educational settings, the paradigm is more relevant in situations where diversity is a prominent characteristic. When teachers establish an authoritarian stance in their pedagogy, an already existing cultural imbalance can too easily be reinforced (Green, 2000). An upper-middle-class white college student, for example, working with underserved African American youth in a community center, who takes an overly controlling attitude with her students may inadvertently be reinforcing her position of socio-economic privilege and implicit racism. Or, a teaching artist in a youth correctional facilities using the binary of good and bad choices, could unknowingly be adding to these teenagers’ questions about self-worth. In community dance practices these issues are more likely to arise when any of the participants have differing expectations around performances or lack a shared movement vocabulary. Such instances

240  Section Four generate a situation that Brazilian philosopher and educator Paulo Freire (1998) termed the “banking method,” which can create an environment in which students do not feel ownership or connection to the dances they are creating and learning. Curiously such outcomes may very well contradict the reasons for holding the class to begin with. Dance educator Susan W. Stinson (1998b) explores these matters of power and authority in relation to a more feminist and egalitarian pedagogical model where the teacher serves as facilitator of exploration, leaving power in the hands of the students. In community dance practices where participants, no matter what their age, social status, or reasons for dancing, may already feel a disenfranchisement or devaluation in society, this pedagogical model offers participants tools to value their own opinions without relying on an authority figure for validation. The great rewards of teaching community dance practices may come with a set of challenges. One of the most common situations class leaders encounter is navigating the differing, and at times competing, values and priorities of the large range of stakeholders involved in each setting. It is a delicate balance that calls for ongoing communication. For instance, staff at a community center may want to hold a dance class in response to community demand. Funding from a local company supports the project because it has committed support for local youth education. A local teaching artist is hired and a number of young teens from the community sign up for the class. While on the surface this scenario is mutually advantageous to all, each project supporter has a different expectation. The community center wants to make sure that the class fulfills its mission to empower these teens who are disenfranchised. Politically, the funder wants to make sure that enough youth participate in order for people to see the generosity of the company. The teaching artist is concerned with developing students’ artistry to help them find their creative voices. The participants may prioritize the social aspect of the class with their peers. Each of the stakeholders sees dance as fulfilling a different function, one that can readily stem from each group’s understanding of what dance is. Because the premise of community dance emerges from the concerns of the community, dance teachers need to develop a particular sensitivity to socio-cultural differences. Frequently teachers are of differing cultural or economic backgrounds from their students. This requires a certain respect and understanding of the circumstances of the students. Demanding perfect attendance and adherence to a dress code, for example, may be exceptionally difficult for community members who lack the resources for class fees, transportation to class, or dancewear. The differences may not only be financial. Gender role expectations can have a strong presence in some genres of dance or in certain community groupings, such as classical ballet partnering or as



Section Introduction (Barr & Giguere)   241

found in certain Middle Eastern or religious communities. All genres of dance have a place in community teaching. Considering the preponderance of western dance forms in the training of dance teachers, there is a good possibility that the movement experiences of the class leader might be mismatched from those of the participant. Honoring these differences—a student wanting to do a favorite step from hip hop, or a student wishing to share a sequence of a dance reflecting their family’s ethnic heritage—becomes a way of creating an inclusive classroom. To honor difference also blurs the hierarchy of authority that can dominate traditional dance classes. In community dance, the inclusion of differing movement that emerges from the community, situates the teacher as a facilitator and collaborator, rather than an authoritative figure. As community dance artists embrace the idea that dance is for all, it is not unusual for dancers engaged in this practice to have physical or intellectual difficulties. Community classes for adults with Parkinson’s, cognitive challenges, or dementia are available in many places. Scenarios such as these may bring up issues of vulnerability, as well as issues of authority, especially between younger teachers and older students or concerning public performance.

Case Studies The case studies in this section illuminate distinct situations evolving from the concerns of specific communities. Yet, although each case is distinct, commonalities do exist. Inclusivity, reciprocity, and collaboration—underpinnings of community dance—emerge as shared attributes within each unfolding dilemma. In addition, tensions about performing within community dance are also shared. And as a result, questions, like who gets to perform and why are they performing, afford opportunities to consider fundamental values of community dance, as community building butts up against expectations of performing. In reflecting on this tension, practitioner Heidi Wilson (2008) notes, “This does not diminish the expectations of high-quality performance but embraces it within a relative and inclusive framework…” (p. 75). By embracing the give-and-take that is uniquely inherent to community dance, options for a praxis that simultaneously showcases an orientation for action as well as critical reflection become increasingly possible. In “Whose Class Is It Anyway?” written by Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere with Mary Fitzgerald, disparate stakeholders, knowingly or not, become part of a troubling teaching scenario. Most of the students attending the community youth center’s dance classes (divided by genre and age group) are socio-economically disadvantaged. As the adults prioritize work responsibilities to best secure their family’s wellbeing, older students regularly become caretakers of their younger siblings—a reality that leads to competing

242  Section Four perceptions about the purpose of the community center and its classes. Pedagogical principles of teaching come into conflict, as the student teachers struggle to meet their teaching objectives for the older students while trying not to be dismissive of the younger sibling in attendance. As the student teachers, along with their supervising college professor, grapple with the chaos, larger questions emerge. Ethically, where does a teacher’s first line of responsibility lie; how does such a responsibility align with the values of community dance? Examining the ethics of one’s pedagogical responsibility is always challenging, especially within the parameters of institutional structures. Such reflection becomes unusually poignant when done through the prism of the hierarchical penal system, as evidenced in “Dancing Within Prison Walls” written by Sherrie Barr, Miriam Giguere, and Susan Bendix. Multiple issues concerning power and authority are embedded throughout the case as a teaching artist, and youth who are incarcerated, confront discrepancies between the values inherent to dancing and the many rules, spoken and unspoken, of living within prison walls. Surveillance is constant and ubiquitous, an ongoing reminder of who is in charge. The threat of not being permitted to participate in the creative movement classes is quite real, even as these young women are being encouraged to find agency through their dancing. In an environment that is defined by such paradoxes, the teaching artist and dancers find themselves in a situation in which certain contradictions must be confronted. Recognizing the limits of the institution, can a meaningful transformative pedagogy take place? As “Dancing Within Prison Walls” suggests, building a sense of community underscores all community dance endeavors, no matter the setting or population. However, this mandate can sometimes feel at odds with the dance making process often associated with community dance. The discrepancy begs the question if the function of community dance must remain distinct from its dance making endeavors. Such tension is at the root of “Intergenerational Moves,” written by Barr and Giguere with Bendix, which unfolds in a residential home for senior citizens. The facility’s program director is delighted with a dance professor’s request to offer creative workshops in tandem with a choreographic project involving her students. As the dance students and a small cohort of elders forge attachments, an unexpected dilemma begins to surface. Some elders are feeling excluded and the plausibility of the project is questioned. Can a resolution be found that supports the larger community while also meeting the expectations of the smaller intergenerational group? Like other essays in this section, “Why Do I Have to Perform?” written by Miriam Giguere and Sherrie Barr, illuminates the necessity for educators to keep in sight the purpose of community dance. In this scenario occurring



Section Introduction (Barr & Giguere)   243

at a school for students with physical disabilities, fundamental values undergirding the purpose of community dance collide with the idea of performing within a community, which includes a vulnerable population. Dancers from the local dance studio collaborate to create choreography with the students for a school performance. Conflicting agendas reach a boiling point as the needs of different stakeholders clash: a parent’s concern for her child, a program director meeting a donor’s request, a volunteer believing in her partner’s wheelchair dancing, as well as the feelings of the student dancer. Even though each perspective holds much merit, the schism between the needs of each individual and the larger community is vast. Can a pedagogical decision be made that respects each individual’s beliefs while also honoring the collective needs of the community? “Teaching Artist Advocates: The Difference We Can Make,” co-authored by Doug Risner and Karen Schupp, demonstrates how community dance can serve as a vehicle to promote social change. Due to recent community disturbances, city leaders decide to partner with the Arts Center to hire a social justice advocate arts educator. Everyone soon realizes that expectations surrounding this new position are wide-ranging, perhaps even in opposition to one another. The teaching artist, a self-identified lesbian of color, questions if she can be true to her personal beliefs, while also meeting the pedagogical expectations of the stakeholders. Underscoring the multi-dimensional character of a community, the scenario demonstrates how each individual’s identity plays a role in forging the collective community. The unfolding dilemma becomes a reminder of how pedagogy is as much an expression of personal belief as a reflection of a praxis. With this in mind, can there be a resolution that honors the differences of each stakeholder while also allowing the community to come together? Meaning making through community dance is a conceptual framework that has been embraced beyond the pedagogical as well. The rich processes for developing meaningful movement vocabulary with community dancers comprise a growing sector of dance performance and choreography, driving changes in dance teacher preparation and the embrace of dance in a multitude of contexts. For example, community dance has become part of the creative dance making process for many well-established professional choreographers, including such acclaimed choreographers as Liz Lerman, Jowale Willa Jo Zollar, David Dorfman, and Bill T. Jones. In advocating for community dance, artist and advocate Rosemary Lee (2008) affirms that she is the fortunate one, that she is the one who reaps the numerous benefits, with the following: When I see a disparate group of people, brought together for a project, have their trepidation and anxiety melt away within an hour of dancing together, when I see an adult performer, whose daily life does not include children, begin to dance and engage with their nine-year old partner with care and interest, when I see a child, who has rarely

244  Section Four been in a setting of equal status with an adult, begin to value their own contribution with new-found pride—then I feel privileged to have been a facilitator and to have witnessed those moments [p. 77].

Lee’s affirmation serves as a reminder of the benefits community dance offers to educators. Indeed, the significance of community dance, regardless of population or setting, or whether in the context of teaching or creative dance making, holds important lessons for all.

Whose Class Is It Anyway? Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere with Mary Fitzgerald

SYNOPSIS: Student teachers and their university supervisor grapple with the diverse needs of students taking a community dance class and the expectations of their families to determine pedagogically-sound solutions that respect and humanize each person’s engagement in the community center.

Introduction A community center often provides an uplifting presence to a neighborhood by offering a place for individuals and families to go and a space to bring people together. Community centers are not simply physical sites, but are locations for opportunities. They frequently offer classes, group activities, social services, and workshops. Community centers can serve a broad population, such as a neighborhood community center, or serve a specific population, such as a youth club. A commonality among community centers is meeting the differing needs of individuals. In this case study, a community center run by a local university has a professional mission to connect academic programs to the local community, both to contribute to the well-being of the community and to provide students with “real life” opportunities beyond campus borders. To fulfill this goal, the university operates a community center that offers afterschool arts programs including dance classes in a variety of genres. This program does not prioritize technical training but rather strives to build confidence by developing each student’s personal voice. The classes are free for those living in the community, one in which the population is unlikely to be able to afford private studio fees. In this case, Grace and Austin, undergraduate dance students, are responsible for teaching a 60-minute modern dance class to 7 to 12 year old 245

246  Section Four neighborhood children. As young adults excited about sharing their love of dance with youth, they are eager about this pre-professional teaching opportunity. Professor Nancy Jones, Grace and Austin’s teacher, supervises the class but does not assist with instruction. All students are new to modern dance, and that commonality allows them to work well as a group despite the wide range of ages in the class. Some students come on their own, some come with a family caretaker. Many students are caretakers themselves, and for some families, the adult caretakers have multiple children to look after. Due to the complicated nature of families’ lives, younger children may show-up for a class designed for older students because that is what works best for the family’s schedule. The presence of younger siblings presents teachers with the difficult choice of teaching who is in the room or focusing on the intended age group for the class. Community dance teaching involves acknowledging that some stakeholders may prioritize something more than the dance lesson itself. Families who frequent the community center may value keeping their children positively engaged during their afterschool hours as much as they value studying dance. These families may be less concerned with the content or level of the lesson than inclusion of all their family members in a given activity. If an ethical tenet of community dance is about establishing reciprocal relationships with communities, then accommodating all students in a class, even if they fall outside of the designated age-range, needs to be addressed. It might seem that teachers could accommodate the students taking class on any given day regardless if they are in the age appropriate class. However, when younger children attend a class designed for older children, students at the appropriate age and developmental level for whom the class is created can experience frustration. They find the younger children distracting and become annoyed that they take a disproportionate amount of the teachers’ attention. Significant differences in abilities require teachers to be more present, responsive, and interactive in the class. Literature on children’s invented dance and theatre indicates that for a child to truly develop a voice, they need autonomy in their process so that they can create an indigenous culture (Thompson, 2007) among themselves. The need for direct teacher involvement can interfere with free creative time structured into the lesson. Free creative time is critical because it helps empower children to find their voices. It is also a time in which children define their identities through meaning making. This is to say that the presence of multiple ages and developmental levels in a classroom requires more teacher direction that, in turn, can inhibit the autonomy necessary for children’s self-expression and confidence to develop, which is the primary goal of the dance classes at the community center As with the student teachers in this case, it is not uncommon for undergraduate students to be inexperienced at facilitating mixed-age or inclusive



Whose Class Is It Anyway? (Barr & Giguere with Fitzgerald)  247

classes. Teaching a wide range of ages and developmental levels calls for an ability to recognize individual learning styles, provide open-ended activities, and problem solve in the moment. Teaching in this way requires a sophisticated understanding of collaborative learning methods and flexible curriculum design that supports individual as well as group exploration (Cone and Cone, 2011). Effectively incorporating these strategies can be overwhelming for new teachers who are still learning about inclusive dance education within the context of community dance. Although educators are increasingly recognizing the importance of teacher training in mixed-ability dance (Zitomer, 2013; Cone and Cone, 2011), such practices have yet to become a standard component of teacher training. It is this limitation that becomes central to the dilemma of this case.

The Case “Hey there, Alicia and Kenya!” Grace says opening the door for the nine-year old twins. “And hello to you too, Destiny,” says Austin while greeting the twins’ four-year old sister with a high-five. Accompanying the sisters is their Aunt Dee, their primary care taker. Clearly in a hurry, Dee says, “Ms. Jones, I need Destiny to be part of class today. I don’t have childcare, and I have work.” Before Professor Jones can respond, Alicia interjects, “Don’t worry, I will watch Destiny.” And with that, Dee departs as Alicia darts off with her sisters to join the classmates sitting on the floor, ready to begin the usual seated exercises; Destiny quickly wiggles in next to Alicia. Destiny follows as best she can, but by the third exercise she is uninterested and goes to the ballet barres to climb them as if they are playground equipment. “Destiny, come and sit next to me and watch,” Grace quietly implores. “No, I want to dance!” Destiny loudly responds. But after a few more exercises, Destiny returns to Alicia, “I need to go potty!” And with that, they both leave. Upon their return, Austin is leading the students in a quick moving combination. Alicia happily joins in while Destiny, attempting to participate, is getting underfoot. “Get out of my way,” Kenya sharply rebukes. Many of the student dancers begin to glare at Destiny. As a result, she stomps to the room’s edge and begins to cry. “Destiny, let’s go into the hallway to color,” Professor Jones calls out, believing that this will help restore order. ***

248  Section Four The following week Dee once again drops off all three girls and says to Professor Jones, “Sorry, I don’t have a choice.” Not waiting for a response, Dee quickly rushes out. The twins dash off to join their friends on the dance floor. Destiny looks up at Professor Jones and says, “I want to color again.” Professor Jones hesitates. Her responsibility is to support Austin and Grace, and she is reluctant to leave the classroom for a second session. She decides to comply, however, with Destiny’s request as this remedy helped alleviate the erupting tensions of last week, making a mental note that she will need to work a different solution for succeeding classes. Thirty minutes into the class Professor Jones is called away. “Grace, Austin: I need to leave. Be mindful of Destiny.” The dancers are working on turns and Destiny is captivated by the possibilities. “Look at me, look at me; watch me twirl!” Destiny calls out as she joyously spins in place laughing at her own dizziness. Grace and Austin are absorbed in giving feedback to the dancers and initially do not address Destiny’s behavior. Eventually, Grace moves towards Destiny saying, “Nice job, Destiny! You dance with wonderful energy.” Destiny grins and tries to join the class doing their turning sequence. But as the class moves on to the traveling component of class, Destiny’s attention wanes. Finding Alicia, Destiny demands: “Play with me.” “Not now,” Alicia retorts and pushes her little sister aside. Destiny’s frustration visibly increases. She again calls out, “Play with me!” Alicia and Kenya both respond curtly, “No!” And at that, Destiny plops down on the floor in exasperation causing everyone else to avoid bumping into her. Austin gently asks, “Destiny, could you please help me with the music?” as he sees what is unfolding. For the remainder of the class, Destiny’s attention stays with helping Austin run the sound system. *** Walking back to their dorm from the community center, Austin and Grace unravel their teaching experiences. “I can’t believe how disruptive it is to have Destiny in our class!” Austin confides, “She is so cute, but she makes it so hard to focus on everyone else. I wish her aunt would stop leaving her.” A few steps behind them, Professor Jones releases a big sigh. She didn’t intend to overhear her students talking, but she is not surprised by their responses. Their obvious frustration, and apparent lack of empathy for the aunt’s situation, spurs her on to action. She needs to do her best to make sure the student teachers have the appropriate-age students in the class they are



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prepared for teaching, but she must also find a fair and empathetic solution for Destiny and her family. *** In the fourth week, Dee is about to drop off all three children at the door of the community center, but Professor Jones is ready. “I realize that you have childcare issues but this is not working out. Destiny is not the right age for the class; she truly would be better if she attended the pre-school dance class on Saturday mornings.” Dee’s response is quick: “If Destiny cannot be here, then Alicia and Kenya can no longer attend. And that would make the twins really sad as they are enjoying the class tremendously. Look, maybe we can talk more next week, but I need to run now.” And with that, Dee leaves before Professor Jones can explain further. Grace and Austin begin the class and Destiny joins in by spinning and jumping. It is clear to these student teachers that Destiny’s behavior will be similar to the previous two weeks. They decide to simplify some exercises in an effort to reach a median level that is only a little bit challenging for Destiny and will keep her from disrupting the class, yet are still interesting to the dancers for whom the class is intended. Ten minutes into the session the enrolled students begin to complain, “This is too easy. Let’s do what we did last week.” Others speak their minds, “Can Alicia and Kenya play with Destiny in the hall like Professor Jones did?” Rumblings to “get out of my way” directed at Destiny, can be heard. The situation becomes even more volatile once the students in groups of three move into the creative portion of class to create their own dances. This unstructured time is theirs, a chance to put together all the movement elements they are learning in unique ways. Destiny proclaims, “I want to dance with Alicia and Kenya.” “No!” Jemal, the dancer working in the twins’ trio, responds quickly and loudly. “Destiny, why don’t you color with me in the hallway,” Professor Jones says before the situation ignites any further. Destiny reluctantly accompanies her into the hallway. *** In their post-class discussion, Professor Jones, Grace, and Austin address the issue of Destiny’s attendance, since it appears that she will be a permanent member of the class, unless they decide to lose Alicia and Kenya. All agree that the twins should not be penalized for the situation. They also agree that having the supervising faculty member babysit younger siblings is not a long-term solution.

250  Section Four “I just don’t feel like I can give the other students my full attention when I am constantly worrying about Destiny,” Grace confesses. Austin agrees, “I’m not sure we can say we are really even focused on our teaching and class objectives.” “Yes, I know, classroom management has become your primary focus rather than teaching the actual content of the class,” Professor Jones agrees. “Maybe we can brainstorm a solution to this together.” *** The next week, Grace approaches Destiny as soon as she comes into the class, “Destiny, come look at this sunshine spot we made just for you!” She brings Destiny to a place in the room near the door to the hallway that has a paper sign with a sun on it taped to the wall. “This is only for you, and anytime you don’t want to dance, or maybe the dance is too hard, or if I or Austin say: ‘sunshine time,’ this is the place you go to.” They walk together to this spot, “Are these crayons and paper for me; can I color?” Destiny asks in astonishment. “Yes,” Grace replies and continues, “And I hope you will share with everyone what you have drawn at the end of each class.” It takes Destiny awhile to get the idea down, but within two classes she is able to self-monitor when she needs to go to the sunshine spot. A gallery of Destiny’s drawings made throughout the session hangs in the room. At the end of the eight weeks, Grace and Austin take down the sunshine drawings, staple them together with a cover sheet that says “Destiny’s Dance Journal” and give it to Destiny to take home. *** Walking back to their dorm after the last class of the session, Austin and Grace reflect on how much they have gained from this experience. “It was so amazing to give Destiny that journal today, wasn’t it?” Grace says proudly. “Totally. I mean, I don’t think I will ever write a lesson plan again without making sure I know how to adapt it—even for people who I’m not expecting in the class!” Austin nods vigorously, “Professor Jones told us that we needed to take context in consideration when we plan a lesson, but I thought she was talking about the school environment mostly. It didn’t occur to me until this experience that she meant the whole community around the school, including their relatives!”

Dilemma and Stakeholders As the dilemma unfolds, the varying perspectives of the stakeholders becomes evident, and Professor Jones must maintain an awareness of the



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needs of each stakeholder while making her decision. The students of the class, including Alicia and Kenya, are primary stakeholders of this case. They have an interest in the class running smoothly so that they can take full advantage of the instruction being offered. It is a time when they can interact with their peers, learn new things, develop their own artistic voices, and create something that is truly theirs without adult intervention. The initial solutions, like taking Destiny out of the room, were an effort to address the needs of these stakeholders. As a stakeholder in this case, and surrogate for the university, Professor Nancy Jones must be mindful to honor the goals of the community center, supporting the organization’s broader social agenda to offer the local community accessible and inclusive programming. Professor Jones is also responsible for ensuring that a safe and productive environment for all students is provided. The community center itself can be seen as a stakeholder, since the university dance program relies on its collaboration with the center to provide teaching opportunities for the student teachers. Providing Grace and Austin with tools for teaching dance to youth along with her supervision and mentoring, Professor Jones’ roles as teacher, supervisor, and collaborator are complex; fulfilling all of these roles has proved challenging. Grace and Austin are also important stakeholders. The community center experience is designed to provide university students with dance education field experiences in the community; experiences university students are prepared to handle competently. The addition of Destiny to the class was not a teaching element Grace, Austin, or Professor Jones had anticipated. At the start of the case, Grace and Austin do not have the pedagogical expertise to fully integrate Destiny’s needs into the class. However, whether or not Destiny was an intended student, she is a participant that needs the attention of the teachers. The sunshine spot solution addresses Destiny’s right to be in the class and recognizes Austin and Grace’s pedagogical growth. Dee, the aunt of Alicia, Kenya, and Destiny, is a stakeholder with the competing need to have all three sisters occupied productively during after school hours while she is at work. As this issue underscores a primary function of the community center, any solution to the dilemma must address this issue. And what about Destiny herself? She has been placed into a situation not intended for her age level, where she has no choice but to attend. She needs suitable activities that are not delivered as a punishment for behavior that is age appropriate. The competing needs of these stakeholders reveal important questions for dance educators to consider. For example, Destiny’s interference with the class is most acute during the creative portion of class. Why does the conflict escalate at this point? Would it be appropriate for Austin and Grace to omit this component? The solution that Professor Jones, Grace, and Austin devise

252  Section Four gives Destiny a lot of personal attention. Is this too much for a student who is not originally a part of the class? What responsibility do the teachers have to accommodate her? The context of where the class occurs also warrants careful deliberation. How should the fact that this case takes place in a community center impact the teachers’ decision-making? What other solutions would have been feasible? If this case took place in a private studio in an affluent area would the dilemma be different? Would the stakeholders carry different import and value in the development of a solution?

Pedagogical Elements In this case, three pedagogical principles warrant further consideration. The first is the idea that a teacher should accommodate the needs of the specific participants that are present in the class and provide them with age appropriate material that promotes physical and cognitive engagement. As dance educator Theresa Purcell Cone (2005) summarizes, dance teachers should provide an initial experience or idea worthy of investigation, activities to begin the investigation, and resources for student questions and reinforcement. Grace and Austin provide this for the expected students in the class but not for Destiny, which in some ways marks the beginnings of the competing demands of the different stakeholders. When Grace and Austin attempt to simplify the class for Destiny, they fail to provide engaging activities for the other students. One reason this strategy was not successful may have been that the session began with learning complex movement. Had the teachers known that a younger sibling would be attending, the class could have been structured with more open-ended activities that would allow students with diverse abilities to participate. For example, following a concept-based lesson plan model (Gilbert, 1992) where the movement concept, rather than dance steps, is the organizing factor of a class allows students to investigate the principle or idea at their own level. In this way, younger students are able to follow and older students feel encouraged that they can handle the more difficult alternatives. Simply allowing Destiny to participate in the class, which would likely lead to more disruptive behaviors, interferes with the second pedagogical principle at play in this scenario. That is, ensuring that the students in the class have enough time together to improvise and create their own choreographic material, which helps to develop their personal artistic voices. For this to happen, students need the space to create an “indigenous youth culture” (Thompson, 2007) through unstructured class time to form a cohesive group and to create something that is truly of their own making. Child advocate Margaret Ronnberg (2007) suggests this indigenous culture is a form

Whose Class Is It Anyway? (Barr & Giguere with Fitzgerald)  253 of rebellion and a critical part of young people being able to build a sense of empowerment. Destiny’s presence in the class initially requires more direct teacher assistance, thereby reducing the amount of time children have to create an indigenous culture and to find their creative voices. If promoting student confidence is a main goal of the community center, then Grace and Austin need to cultivate a class atmosphere were students can work with limited teacher interference to develop individual voices. A third pedagogical principle embedded in this case study is that teachers need to be aware and responsive to the context of the class. Because this particular class takes place in a community center in a low-income neighborhood, the needs of the participants’ families may extend beyond the desire for their children to learn dance. For some families, the need to keep youth of many ages productively engaged during the afterschool hours may be of equal or greater importance than having their children learn dance. As dance scholar Jill Green (2000) explains: we often see ourselves at the centre of the world with a special task or gift, that everyone should be honoured to receive, without realising that dance may not be what everyone needs or wants. It may be a tool to help some people find meaning in their lives. However … there may be other interests or needs that supersede dance [p. 63].

The “sunshine spot” solution is effective in part because it acknowledges this pedagogical principle of responsiveness. That is, it accommodates Destiny and her caretaker, who are both stakeholders in this scenario. The sunshine spot solution makes Destiny feel welcomed, while providing her with a developmentally appropriate way of participating in the class, and gives her a chance to color, which is an age-appropriate creative activity. Having a name for the spot and giving Destiny ownership over the locale empowers her and the student teachers. They can suggest that Destiny opt out as necessary without making it a punishment. Such a solution is resonant with a feminist and egalitarian pedagogical model where the teacher serves as facilitator of exploration, more than being an authority on the subject matter. As feminist dance educator and researcher Susan W. Stinson (1998b) writes “I encourage even very young children not to look to me as their only source of knowledge but to find their own inner teacher and inner dancer…. I suggest that each student listen to his or her own body” (p. 39). This gives each student the respect and responsibility for their own learning, which may, in turn, teach him or her to value their own opinion and not need to rely on an authority figure for validation. By the end of the case, Grace and Austin have become more aware of the broader mission and culture of the community center itself. They have realized that the center has established a long-term partnership with members of the local community that addresses specific interests related to quality of

254  Section Four life and access to resources. In addition to fulfilling their responsibilities as teachers, Grace and Austin have discovered, and as Professor Jones was reminded, that they are involved in a larger partnership that includes the whole community. Their teaching practice evolves to honor the differing needs of all individuals involved. The transparent discussions between Professor Jones, Grace, and Austin teach that the navigation of ethical dilemmas and competing pedagogical principles contributes to the evolution of personal teaching practices, allowing those involved to see that these exchanges are an ongoing part of being a teacher. As Stinson (1998b) affirms, “Even if our pedagogy does not lead to changes in the world, reflecting does change those doing the reflecting” (p. 43). The reflective nature of Grace, Austin, and Professor Jones’ discussions to find a suitable solution provided them the critical space to focus on the unique challenges involved in community dance. As they came to understand, being inclusive of all stakeholders goes hand-in-hand with being respectful of each other’s distinct concerns.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Social Immersion Project Doug Risner APPLICATION: This activity provides a means to understand other people’s lives, even if only for a short while; the ability to empathize with others is key to expanding one’s development as a reflective and effective teacher in any setting, environment, or location.

Activity Central to this assignment is to briefly experience the range of other people’s existence, which you have learned about in this text and maybe in other situations in which you study critical pedagogies and social foundations of dance pedagogy. The project that you choose needs to be something you have never done before. Below is a list of suggested immersion projects

Whose Class Is It Anyway? (Barr & Giguere with Fitzgerald)  255 that include a number of options; however, none of them is easy. This project will require your commitment. If you are a university or college student, you might carry out your project at home to be in more familiar territory or to understand the issues your home community faces. Additionally, if you would like to propose something different from the suggested projects, please speak with your instructor. Here are some options from which you can choose: 1. $1.24 meals: For one week live on $1.24 per meal. (Based on Michigan TANF food assistance for family of three at/or below the poverty line of $20,784) 2. Same clothes: Wear exactly the same clothes for one week. You may wash them once. 3. Volunteerism: Volunteer for at least ten (10) hours at a soup kitchen, homeless shelter, Meals on Wheels, hospice, or other social service agency. 4. Public transportation: Use only public transportation for one week. Note: In order to maximize your immersion experience, you may not divulge to anyone the nature of the assignment, why you’re doing it, or any details during the time of the project. Social Immersion Project Paper: Using what you learned in your immersion project, this reflective paper ties together important aspects from the case studies in this book, other class readings, films, and discussions in which you have participated that correlate with your experience doing this project. This paper allows you to go more in-depth in issues, questions, and concerns about teaching, education, and dance in relationship to race, ethnicity, social class, gender, privilege, among other social issues. Papers should be a minimum of 1000–1500 words; when appropriate, cite readings from this book as well as research you have read on your own in a reference section at the end of your paper.

Dancing Within Prison Walls Sherrie Barr, Miriam Giguere and Susan Bendix

SYNOPSIS: When an independent teaching artist designs a dance program for teenagers who are incarcerated, the penal system’s demands for particular behavior of the participating youth are a constant source of tension.

Introduction Dance can be an empowering practice, one that people who are incarcerated deserve and need to experience (Houston, 2005). The potential sense of ownership attained through dance’s creative process can become a precious commodity for youth in penal facilities that forbid any personal belongings (Ross, 2008). Yet, to imagine incarcerated youth finding their voice by dancing seems to contradict perceptions of tightly controlled structures that determine the daily routine of a person who is incarcerated (Houston, 2005; Ross, 2008). This case study reveals such a possibility through a creative dance program for female teenagers who are incarcerated co-sponsored by a local arts organization and the prison’s education department. The facility where the case takes place, Sweet Meadows, is the only correctional facility for female youthful offenders in the state. Sweet Meadows provides educational programs so that the teenagers can receive their General Education Diplomas. Additional programs help these girls develop a sense of pride, a belief in themselves, and promote thinking about options outside the prison walls. The case study begins when Brigetta Vilardo, Sweet Meadow’s educational director, and Cheryl Thomas, the outreach director of Arts for Change, discuss the merits of dance classes. Ms. Vilardo envisions dance classes as an outlet for the girls to physically express feelings within a safe structure. Ms. Thomas, though more knowledgeable about visual arts than dance, always appreciates stories of dance artists and the fun young children experience 256

Dancing Within Prison Walls (Barr, Giguere & Bendix)   257 when attending creative movement dance workshops. Together, they agree that a community partnership at Sweet Meadows is worth pursuing. Natalie Sellers, a teaching artist who has experience working with diverse populations from a spectrum of socioeconomic factors, people of different ages and physical abilities, and in urban and rural settings, is contacted. Although Ms. Seller’s dance training was primarily in modern dance and ballet and less in hip hop, the dance style best known to the youth at Sweet Meadows, Ms. Seller’s teaching experiences are extensive. When approached about facilitating the 12-week pilot program, Ms. Sellers discussed with Ms. Thomas and Ms. Vilardo the importance of a culminating public showing. According to Ms. Sellers, the performance would help the teenagers develop a sense of pride in their work and inspire them to commit to regular participation. The showing also could demonstrate how creative dance’s emphasis on problem solving and self-expression carries value that goes far beyond the physical activity of dancing. Ms. Thomas and Ms. Vilardo agreed to pursue Ms. Seller’s ideas, so Ms. Sellers designed a program believing that the public showing would offer ample evidence of the values of dance for incarcerated youth. Social theorist and historical philosopher Michel Foucault (1979) writes of “the body of the condemned,” as being “caught up in a system of constraints and privations, obligations and prohibitions” (p. 11). For Foucault (1979), a docile body, a body “that may be subjugated, used, transformed and improved” (p. 136), soon evolves when people are constantly under surveillance. The development of a docile body can occur for incarcerated individuals as a means of survival in a system that observes and regulates nearly all of their actions (Mortimer, 2017). In dance, an analogous behavior can occur as student dancers work to conform to their teachers’ demands in order to become “perfect” dancers (Smith, 1998; Green, 2001). This conformity is underscored by the privileging of modern dance and ballet over other dance styles where students are urged to negate cultural roots of identity (McCarthy-Brown, 2009). In addition, other unspoken demands for conformity also percolate when teaching dance in a prison. In this case, one blatant example is the regular presence of prison staff observing the classes; a constant reminder of the constraints in these teenaged girls’ daily lives. Yet, as these teenagers engaged in their developing abilities to problem-solve and trust one another, Ms. Sellers came to better understand her commitment to deeply-felt values within her own teaching praxis.

The Case “No cell phones, keys, or identification with addresses allowed inside,” states a burly looking man in uniform looking through every inch of Ms. Seller’s purse. “Your belongings will be returned upon your departure, keep moving

258  Section Four ma’am,” the corrections officer nods to Ms. Sellers to pass through an electric security door. Her iPod is allowed in. Another officer walks Ms. Sellers across the grounds in silence. The tension she experiences in her body lessens as she takes in Sweet Meadows’s surprisingly pleasant grounds. This is the first time she has been inside a prison and her first time teaching incarcerated youth. Dana Regan, a staff member assigned to Ms. Sellers, is waiting at the building’s entrance, “Welcome to Sweet Meadows.” Nodding to an elevated room with huge windows, Ms. Regan states, “This is the central location for this unit’s staff. These windows overlook the room you will be teaching in. We keep a close eye on all the girls, all the time.” As Ms. Regan talks, Rosalie Peters, another staff member, stands in the interior doorway looking down the hallway. “Come on girls, get in here. It’s time to begin your dance class,” she shouts. Twelve girls whose ages range from 15 to 18, slowly spill into the space, wearing ill-fitting sweatpants and t-shirts, mostly too big, and sneakers. Some look at Natalie; others completely ignore her. Several mutter, “This better not be too hard; we better do some cool moves.” Ms. Regan takes a seat in the back of the room, always watching. “Let’s get started,” Ms. Sellers declares. “We are going to make shapes with our bodies to pass around. I’ll start.” At that, Ms. Sellers forges an arms open wide shape. Some half-heartedly mimic Ms. Sellers, as if mocking her, while others stay on the room’s edge snickering. The snickering catches Ms. Regan’s attention. She stands to glare at everyone and sharply warns, “Either join or leave… Now!” The teens understand the implied threat, and all, though reluctantly, become part of the circle. Ms. Sellers takes advantage of everyone’s presence in the formation. “Keira, your turn, make a shape for everyone to learn.” Keira’s response is a series of hip hop moves. Shauna quickly snaps, “That’s not a shape.” Keira snaps back, “Yes it is! and it’s what I wanna do!” Mutterings of response ripple through the group. Ms. Sellers, not surprised by the retorts, carefully re-enters the conversation. “Create something of your own; let it be your shape; give it a try.” At that, Marina pushes her hips to one side and places interlaced hands on her head. Multiple variations accompanied by differing degrees of attitude appear. Ms. Sellers offers encouragement. “That’s awesome, can you go lower; what would happen if you looked the other way?” This comes to an abrupt halt when Marina proclaims, “This stuff is dumb; it isn’t dance!” Others, although careful not to get so loud that Ms. Regan’s attention is caught, also question why they are doing this “stupid activity.” Assessing the situation, Ms. Sellers responds with a degree of authority while hoping she doesn’t come off as being authoritarian.



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“Actually, any movement can be dance; it doesn’t matter if you are on one or two legs, moving your arms or hips. Try stuff that makes you feel good; moves you always wanted to try. Don’t worry what you look like.” Ms. Sellers’s response momentarily satisfies the girls and they resume their shape making, although hesitancy about being judged persists. *** By the third class, Ms. Sellers senses a degree of trust developing between herself and those in attendance. This is especially true with Shauna, Marina, Nadine, and Keira, who are always ready to talk. Questions now greet Natalie’s arrival. “What’s today’s music; let’s do those turning leaps; do you know how to pop and lock?” Ms. Sellers uses their questions to explain what will be occurring in today’s class; she wants them to know she listens. “Let’s travel through the room in zigzag fashion; keep changing direction—this will give you needed momentum for those turn leaps.” The girls take off going forward, backward, side-to-side; everyone is moving at a different tempo. “Freeze!” Ms. Sellers calls out. Startled by this loud exclamation, Ms. Peters, today’s staff member on duty, abruptly stands up and the girls hold their breath. Ms. Peters, once knowing there are no behavioral infractions, sits back down and the girls collectively exhale. Ms. Sellers overhears Marina whisper to Shauna, “Do you think she was watching; wonder what she thinks?” Ms. Sellers waits for everyone’s attention to offer additional prompts. Some use the prompts to elaborate on their existing favorite moves; all seem to be having fun. Ms. Sellers smiles while watching them problem-solve. *** By the fifth week, the girls are ready to construct scores, the first step in preparing for their performance. Ms. Sellers explains, “It’s a frame to order the ideas we have been exploring. It’s our way of making the dance for our performance.” Momentary silence is followed by lots of clipped statements thrown at Ms. Sellers. “You’re the hotshot; you tell us what to do; no way am I performing; no more people staring at me!” Ms. Sellers waits for the torrent to end before resuming, “It will be like class—just sharing with others; we’re still exploring, like the ways we played with slides last week.” The silence that now fills the room is because they are attentively listening. “Plus, we have seven more classes to keep practicing; think how far you have come in five weeks. Let’s see what happens; just try.” Not surprisingly, Marina is the first to respond, “Ok, I’m in but pathways first. Traveling makes me feel like I’m outside!”

260  Section Four Keira follows, “Shapes next!” Nadine adds, “Let’s lean together to make a large sculpture.” Ms. Sellers re-joins the conversation, “Fabulous ideas. Now find ways to go from your solos to the sculpture.” Shauna interjects, “No, partners first! Come on, everyone go like this to your partner” and moves in a tight ball toward Marina. Keira chimes in, “too slow, boring … hip jumping moves!” and starts shifting her hips side to side while jumping towards Nadine. “It’s like ping-pong!” Nadine pronounces as she jumps towards Shauna. Youthful giggles break out amongst all. Natalie is excited about the strong opinions being expressed as the girls stitch together the many possibilities about order, transitions, and pairings. Their increasing sense of empowerment is apparent. “Move bigger so you go around me when we travel,” Marina tells Keira who then responds, “I wanna stay put. Then, in my solo I bust out.” An eerie quiet takes over. The silence grabs Ms. Regan’s attention who offers an admonishing glare. Ms. Sellers attempts to break the tension, “Include all these possibilities; remember, this dance belongs to you.” The girls resume constructing their score, taking agency over perhaps the one thing in their lives they could actually control: this dance. Ms. Sellers’ feeling of pride for what they are accomplishing continues to grow. She watches them incorporate movement that remains foreign to her and inwardly jokes to herself, “Not what I expected, but doesn’t matter. This will be great.” *** The last class before the performance is finally here. Ms. Sellers, normalized to the searches and clanking of closing security doors, is taken aback when seeing Ms. Regan waiting for her at the final checkpoint. In a matter of fact tone, Ms. Regan states, “Marina will not be in class today and will not be participating in your performance.” Startled, Ms. Sellers asks, “Why? Is she okay? What can I do? This has huge implications for all the girls.” Ms. Regan brusquely responds, “Nothing you can do. Brigetta asked me to meet you; this is simply a courtesy.” And at that, Dana walks away saying, “Let’s go; time to get to your class.” Ms. Sellers wants to do something but understands she can’t. She, like her students, can only follow orders. Several thoughts fight for attention in Ms. Sellers’ mind as she walks down the hall. Ms. Sellers realizes how much the girls have come to trust her, themselves, each other, through building this dance together. But with Marina gone, the dance will need restructuring, which presents a dilemma. She



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starts to ask herself several questions: Should I make the necessary changes to the dance on my own? Would that devalue what the girls have created and the ownership of their work? What would it do to the girls’ sense of ownership if I alter their contributions to the dance? Can the girls restructure the dance to keep it impressive to the audience, especially the administrators in the audience? Will a less than polished showing lead to the end of the partnership between the arts organization and the prison system and the potential for other dance programs? Will the remaining girls still want to do the showing? Ms. Sellers spontaneously decides she will introduce the performance as a work in progress to focus on process and shift the audience attention away from the polish of the final product and onto the girls’ process as a way to assess the success of the project. But the girls’ unspoken concerns of being watched and judged are gnawing at her. The girls enter the classroom and their stances speak volumes to Ms. Sellers. Shauna lashes out first, “I don’t want to look stupid just because Marina did something dumb. I quit!” Nadine blurts out, “You fix it! You’re the hotshot professional.” Keira snaps back, “No way, she’ll make us do those stupid moves. Everyone will laugh at us!” This statement prompts Nadine to proclaim, “No one better laugh at my moves!” Trying to respond with a calmness that she does not actually feel, Ms. Sellers replies, “Please listen. This dance belongs to all of you and I have confidence that, even with today’s changes, you will be great and will look great.” Ms. Sellers pauses, “This is your dance and your creativity deserves to be seen; if anyone does not want to perform, I will understand. But sharing this dance with others is a good reason to be observed. This is a good reason to be watched. It’s like giving people a gift.” Although Ms. Sellers strongly believes in the educational value of this public showing, she realizes that something more fundamental is embedded in this teaching context. At its core, the true purpose of this program and making the dance was to facilitate agency for these girls. The collaborative creation of the dance provided an opportunity for the girls to make informed, autonomous decisions while working towards a shared goal; the dance-making rather than the dance-performing is where agency and embodiment, fundamental goals of the program, emerged for the girls. It is with this awareness that Ms. Sellers made her decision: that the girls’ collaboratively-created dance would be presented in the performance and that she would explain the importance of the dance-making process to the audience. Collaboration is typically messy, but it is the only way to sustain the autonomy and integrity of these teenagers. This dance really did belong to them, and Ms. Sellers’ decision honors this.

262  Section Four

The Dilemma and Stakeholders The dilemma in this case stems from the tension between a highly structured environment that values conformity and the capability of a community dance program to develop each participant’s sense of ownership and personal expression. This tension is deeply felt by Natalie Sellers, the dance educator and a key stakeholder. Each of the stakeholders, including the youth in the program, have distinct expectations about the goals of the dance program that must be assessed as Ms. Sellers makes her decision. She wanted to bring the teens a feeling of freedom through the structured discipline of an inclusive dance making process. Cheryl Thomas, the Arts for Change outreach director, and Brigetta Vilardo, Sweet Meadows’s director of educational programming, are also stakeholders. Each bought into Ms. Sellers’ belief that participating in dance could offer physical, social, and affective benefits to these youth, even though not fully understanding the implications of such a teaching philosophy. The youth in the dance class, individually and collectively, are also stakeholders. They were being encouraged to become empowered and express themselves even though they intuitively recognized that this invitation had limitations due to the rules and expectations of the correctional facility. Ms. Sellers did not immediately understand the power she had over these teenagers, trying to exercise her authority by re-defining dance for them. For Ms. Sellers, the hip hop dance moves that these girls valued did not necessarily need to be included; she could have required the girls to learn and perform modern dance and ballet, dance forms that Ms. Sellers values. Yet, as the teens were given autonomy to develop the dance and encouraged to include their favorite moves, they began experiencing a sense of agency and ownership of something that they had created. Unfortunately, the viability of the performance came into question. The presence of power can be so ubiquitous as to be difficult to recognize. When Marina was taken out of the project, Ms. Sellers experienced a visceral understanding of power. She had to decide whether to restructure the dance herself, encourage the girls to take charge and do it, or to give them the power to decide what should occur. She was torn between her strong desire to present a polished work and the equally strong desire to honor her pedagogical commitment to the collaborative values of community dance. If she did not take charge, would she jeopardize the program? If she were to take the reins, she would be stripping the girls of their sense of ownership and thereby reiterating what was frequently communicated to them: they were not capable of contributing to a community and thus every action needed to be under continual surveillance. By embracing the pedagogical values she repeatedly articulated—the process of making the dance, and the dance belonging to its

Dancing Within Prison Walls (Barr, Giguere & Bendix)   263 makers—Ms. Sellers was able to demonstrate to these girls that their creative contributions, ideas, and even their dance moves were honored, respected, and certainly worthy of being viewed by an audience. Recognizing and examining the unspoken tension that can arise between creative freedom and disciplined structure can reveal how pedagogical values inform decision making in community dance settings. For example, given that last minute changes are not uncommon in community dance, what alternatives to a polished performance could Ms. Sellers have as options for ending a residency or program? What responsibility does Ms. Sellers hold for explaining her pedagogy and dance values to prison staff, to the participants? Would knowing Ms. Sellers’ pedagogical goals altered behavioral expectations and outcomes? How were Ms. Vilardo and Ms. Peters’ original goals addressed by Ms. Sellers’ class structure emphasizing empowerment through creative movement and the requirement of a final performance? Ms. Sellers needed to consider each of these questions not only to arrive at a decision about the performance but also to continue evolving as a dance educator.

Pedagogical Elements The pedagogical elements of this case cannot be separated from the realities of living in an incarcerated environment. As dance and social justice scholar Janice Ross (2008) aptly states, “Prison is commonly assumed to be a place where one loses oneself and corporeal control is forcibly relinquished, whereas dance is often regarded as a practice that hones tools of autonomy and the gaining of physical and emotional control over oneself ” (p. 270). Yet, it is precisely because of this paradox that dance can carry such value in this setting. For when we provide meaningful opportunities for people who are incarcerated to dance, we create a platform for them to experience a sense of human dignity (Houston, 2005; Ross, 2008). Although Ms. Sellers had no illusions that she would be solving the problems that led these girls to being incarcerated, she hoped their experience would lead to a glimmer of embodiment; that the body could be a site of connecting with expression and thought, and that learning could be an act of community (Bresler, 2004). However, in a setting under constant surveillance, where personal agency is essentially absent, lives a palpable sense of loss and pain (Smith, 1998; Mortimer, 2017). For Ms. Sellers, facilitating students’ personal agency is grounded in the aims of critical pedagogy, an orientation that seeks to address issues arising from the power inequities within our institutions. Critical pedagogues do not ignore personal, social, or political concerns that exist in a classroom whether articulated or not (Anttila, 2008; Stinson, 2016). Rather, such issues become, as feminist dance educator

264  Section Four Sherry Shapiro (1998a) notes, a vehicle for “self- and social understanding” (p. 11). Through her experiences as a teaching artist, Ms. Sellers understands the importance of contextualizing learning, getting to know the people with whom she works, and encouraging their active input. She believes, like many dance teaching artists, that “dance could be resourced as a meaningful tool of critical and imaginative thinking, expression and reflection for all people” (Miller, 2014, p. 32). As many dance educators and teaching artists note, developing these tools becomes a springboard for students and participants, whether learning in a private studio, a summer program in the park, or a correctional facility, to re-envision the world in which they live (Shapiro, 1998). From this landscape of pedagogical values, Ms. Sellers plans her classes, choosing movement elements like space and dynamics to be focal points for explorations because they provide a springboard for discovering and listening to one’s inner self. She also believes that using the conceptual frame of creative dance diminishes the possibility of the girls judging themselves for being right or wrong, good or bad, and dissipating some of their anxieties about being watched by others. Creating a safe learning environment and removing a sense of competition goes a long way in supporting and encouraging the girls to explore the idea that there are always choices that can be made—whether they are deciding about the ordered sequence within the dance or their response to a troubling and potentially confrontational situation. From the outset of this project, Ms. Sellers knew that learning life skills would hold more importance than acquiring new dance skills. Indeed, she envisions her role to be a facilitator, guiding students to develop movement material as a way to shape their own dance. In this case, Ms. Sellers developed curricular experiences to resonate with the girls’ lives, since she understood that choreographic prompts could hold meaning that went beyond the dance. For example, the overt reason to explore spatial traveling patterns was to create ways of getting from one place to another in the performance space, including imagining pathways outside of the prison. In another instance, the weight sharing that occurred when making group sculptures, albeit limited due to prison rules pertaining to physical contact, evolved into conversations about community and trust. Discussions of how people come together to share responsibilities while working towards a common goal eventually became a regular component of these dance workshops. As these open spaces for dialogue unfolded, ideas of equality and respect, integral to critical pedagogy, emerged. Ms. Sellers could sense the beginnings of self-confidence and teamwork. Also worth noting is that a dialogical classroom contains a nonverbal component. Yet as much as Ms. Sellers felt these tenets guided her teaching, contra-

Dancing Within Prison Walls (Barr, Giguere & Bendix)   265 dictions arose beneath the surface. Asking the girls to ignore their preferred hip hop moves when creating their movement studies, Ms. Sellers was ignoring the importance of personal identity in learning (McCarthy-Brown, 2009; Mabingo, 2018). That such inclusion seemed to spontaneously appear in constructing their scores was empowering for the girls and provided a significant teaching moment as Ms. Sellers came to terms with the relationship between self-identity and empowerment. In acknowledging the challenges of this community setting, Ms. Sellers came to learn more about being a dance teaching artist and the power of the creative process. Like Janice Ross (2008) asserts in her critical essay about dancing in prisons, community dance practitioners, artists, and teachers should always remember: It’s not just who can dance and where dance can happen that is being investigated and extended through the presence of dance-in-prison programs. More importantly, the tacit driving question is, what kind of human rights agenda can dance have for the incarcerated? A first step toward attending to human rights for the incarcerated is to humanize them [p. 283].

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Critical Field Observations Doug Risner APPLICATION: In this activity, you will have the opportunity to observe dance education in multiple settings to better understand the opportunities and challenges inherent in each teaching location.

Activity Observing other teachers’ classes is an important learning tool for understanding pedagogical theory and practice. Observing dancers and dance teachers interact is a useful practice not only for dance educators, but also for stakeholders in community dance settings. In addition, it is important that you observe and analyze dance classes taught in diverse settings. Completing critical field observations will give you these enrichment experiences and requires your own self-initiative, direction, and planning. You are

266  Section Four responsible for identifying and scheduling where your critical field observations will occur.

Instructions A minimum of four dance class field observations, chosen from the following settings, is required. Please observe in at least three different settings. The fourth field observation setting is at your discretion based upon your career goals and teaching interests. •  K12 Settings •  Community Settings •  Private Studios •  Higher Education •  Professional Company or School Note: You are not permitted to participate in the class you are observing. Field Observation Notes Template is provided in Appendix II.

Required Documents 1.  Four (4) separate Field Observation Notes documents using the template provided. The template’s design gives equal space for observation notes of both teacher and students, including their actions, behaviors and participation. 2.  Field Observation Report: Summarize and critically synthesize your field observations into a comprehensive report that compares and contrasts your observations. The Report should address the pedagogical issues discussed throughout this text. Suggested count: 1000–1500 words.

Intergenerational Moves Sherrie Barr and Miriam Giguere with Susan Bendix

SYNOPSIS: A facilitator of creative dance for elders leads her project toward a community-based intergenerational performance, while the facility outreach director prioritizes the immediate benefits that elders gain through their participation in individual sessions. Negotiating these differing expectations reveals how losing key fundamentals of community dance significantly diminishes space for community values, which can generate an active and vibrant presence in the elder care facility.

Introduction Gerontologists, as well as numerous dance educators, continue to embrace the value of elders dancing (Keyani et al., 2005; Amans, 2008). The opportunity for elders to experience a sense of place and worth when engaging physical, affective, and cognitive domains inherent to dancing is empowering (Kivnick and Pruchno, 2011). Liz Lerman (2011), community dance artisteducator, speaks to the sense of pride older people reveal when accomplishing the challenges of dancing bigger, longer, or better. She proudly notes that her senior citizen students would dance “harder, with more investment” once understanding the impetus for a given movement (p. 46). Feelings of dedication and accomplishment, regardless of a dancer’s abilities or age, give way to the joys of discovery in dancing and can become a platform for diverse populations to dance together as equals. Teaching creative dance workshops to elders at a residential care facility serves as a grounding for this case study. The unfolding scenario brings into focus the challenges of forging intergenerational communities and fundamental values inherent to community dance. Professor Andrea Rosen, dance professor and project facilitator, is excited about teaching and creating at Bailey 267

268  Section Four House, a local, residential facility for elders. The prospect of a closing performance for the facility’s Holiday Showcase is as exciting to Professor Rosen as it is for her four students. Professor Rosen is keen to collaboratively create a piece of choreography with movement generated from these workshops as a choreographic lesson for her students. Involving her students in a democratic approach to dance making will broaden their ideas of dance and choreography. Having her students perform with elders will broaden their expectations of who can dance. Professor Rosen also knows the promise of creating and performing choreography will encourage student participation in the project. Todd Livingston, Bailey House outreach director, is equally excited about the project, although mainly about the weekly workshops. For him, the workshops offer more options for the residents to meaningfully interact with each other and, equally important, a different demographic. Mr. Livingston’s primary goals for the workshop are to provide elders an opportunity be social with each other and the college students and to recreationally engage with dance. In many ways, the ensuing dilemma can be linked to Professor Rosen’s and Mr. Livingston’s differing expectations for the workshops. Although a variety of objectives exist, Mr. Livingston and Professor Rosen both envision the upcoming workshops to be a time for elders and students to dance together, listening and learning from and about one another. Examining this case study through the collective prism of teaching and dance making shines a light on the many commingling threads within a community dance practice.

The Case Mr. Livingston, outreach program director at Bailey House residential elder home, and Professor Rosen, dance project director, are finishing a phone conversation. After hearing the basics of the proposal, he gleefully tells Professor Rosen, “This is great! I will encourage all to attend. Is it okay if I talk to the elders about the students? They will love this, many miss seeing their grandchildren on a regular basis.” “Absolutely,” Professor Rosen affirms. “Yes, tell them about the students coming to dance with them, as well as the opportunity to create a dance everyone will perform at the Holiday Showcase. The students and I are eager to hear about their memories and places where they have lived.” She continues, “Their memories are going to help us make the dance.” Mr. Livingston responds, “All sounds wonderful. But, to be honest, I’m not sure I fully understand the choreography part. Yet since the Holiday Showcase is typically informal, I’m sure it’ll all work out.” Professor Rosen going right on, “Be sure to encourage the residents to



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come to all the workshops; their regular attendance is a linchpin to the success of creating a piece of choreography.” Mr. Livingston apprehensively now, “Let’s keep talking about this.” With that, the meeting ends. Neither one thinks to ask when they should talk again. *** Arriving at the Bailey House for the first workshop, the university dance students feel a bit nervous. Undergraduate dancers Alex and Olivia move tables and overstuffed chairs to the side. “Hello, hello!” Professor Rosen says to the approaching elders. Some arrive on their own volition; several arrive using a walker with caregivers walking by their side. “Leave space for walkers and wheelchairs,” Professor Rosen calls out as she waits by the door for the elders to arrive. Students Antonio and Abby arrange folding chairs in a semi-circle. A few more residents are being guided in wheelchairs by their caregivers. Professor Rosen greets each one: “So glad you could come, welcome,” while also warmly shaking their hands. “Abby, Antonio, Alex, Olivia, please come join me,” she yells once realizing she needs additional hands if each participating elder is to be individually welcomed. The students quickly join Professor Rosen, hearing the residents’ excitement and curiosity: “What are you young people studying at the university?” “I bet you’re my grandson Andy’s age. He’s at State College.” “Let’s begin,” Professor Rosen enthusiastically calls out. With that, the students intersperse amongst the elders settling into the folding chairs. “We’ll start by swaying forward and back, side to side.” The elders’ initial delight when seeing the students heightens as they now begin moving together. After several minutes, Professor Rosen continues, “Now add your arms as if drawing a house.” Alex, a junior dance major, situates himself to face Mason, an elder in a wheelchair, and says, “Hey, can I dance with you? Maybe we can touch hands when moving towards one another as if making a roof?” Abby, a senior dance education major, sitting next to June, an elder she greeted at the doorway, gently touches June’s shoulders as they sway. Abby whispers, “This way we can make a very long hallway wall.” Marie, another elder who was greeted by Abby, carefully moves closer to the duo in order to join in. Professor Rosen offers one more movement suggestion, as she senses the elders’ trepidations about this thing called “creative dance” begins to dissipate. Smiles beam throughout the space. ***

270  Section Four By the third workshop, the dance students, and Marie, Mason, Clarice, and June—a group of elders who have attended every session—know each other better and better. Metaphors of “home” are a constant in their activities. “Let’s build some rooms of the house today from the bottom up. What body parts should we use to mark off the size of your room?” Professor Rosen asks. “Knees!” Marie exclaims, knowing quite well that this will be a challenge for her. Clarice follows with her own challenge, “I’m going to shake one foot at a time to make a moveable wall!” Her chuckle brings Olivia to join in and before long both of their bodies are vibrating to match their shaking legs. Their laughter attracts June and Antonio as well as several late arriving elders to join them. Although these new participants do not fully understand what this improvisation is about, they too find themselves smiling and shaking various body parts. Delighted with what is unfolding, Professor Rosen observes that the verbal exchanges occurring between the student dance majors and the residents regularly participating is as sincere as their intense physical explorations. Professor Rosen notes, however, that this is not the case at all with the trio who continue to arrive late. Professor Rosen, although delighted about the growing rapport between the cohort of four elders and the students, wants to be sure all the elders feel included. Ready to invite everyone to make a final circle to close today’s workshop, she calls to Margaret, Tom, and Lily, catching the three who had arrived late and were just about to leave early. “Hey, we are about to make some music, join us. Antonio, can you make room for Tom? Margaret and Lily, stand by me.” Margaret, Tom, and Lily slowly join the circle but make no eye contact with anyone. With the circle complete, the students begin clapping and slapping a range of different body parts in order to create a raucous percussion score. And as has occurred in previous workshops, Mason plays his imaginary trombone. After an improvisational “round robin,” Professor Rosen finishes, “Thank you so much for dancing with us. Lots of beautiful movement was created today.” As the student dancers nod in agreement, Margaret, Tom, and Lily depart quickly with murmurings of dissatisfaction: “This is not what I expected.” “Me either, what kind of dance is this?” Driving home, Professor Rosen worries about the community being forged. Is she being inclusive? Or are the workshops only serving Mason, Marie, June, and Clarice? She needs to speak with Mr. Livingston and the dance students about what is and is not happening. ***



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Gathering in the dance studio on campus for rehearsal with the student dancers, Professor Rosen reviews the movement generated from the previous week to craft choreographic phrases. “Let’s tap into the metaphors we’ve developed. What do you have so far?” “Okay,” Olivia responds, alternating between circling her hands and a pushing motion, “We should call this ‘baking bread’ in honor of June’s story about her mom.” “Great, that’s a keeper,” Professor Rosen motions thumbs up. “Teach that to everyone, Olivia. Who’s next?” “This one can be ‘gardening,’” Antonio chimes in, as he bends down to touch the ground only to spring upward to capture Clarice’s tales about the toils of gardening. Professor Rosen smiles, “Clarice will love that one, Antonio. Anything from Tom, Margaret, or Lily? Anybody?” “Not really,” Abby responds. “They attend so irregularly, it’s hard to capture their movement or even what they are communicating.” While the dancers continue their phrase work, Mr. Livingston and Professor Rosen meet in the latter’s office adjacent to the studio. Closing the door, Mr. Livingston says with excitement, “The four residents who attend regularly are really engaged, but I wonder if it’s possible to be a bit more inclusive of all of the residents.” Professor Rosen feels herself bristle at the criticism, even though his remark has a ring of truth. She too wants more elders to participate, but struggles creating choreography with those who don’t attend regularly. Professor Rosen carefully responds, “I’ve been hoping to get more residents to participate and to make everyone who comes feel welcomed. However, it would help if people attend consistently.” Mr. Livingston emphatically responds, “Andrea, you already know that regular attendance is difficult for our elders.” Professor Rosen punctuates, “But attending regularly gives them important consistency for performing, Todd!” “Andrea, our residents aren’t your university dance students.” Mr. Livingston is almost pleading now, “And you have to consider scheduling that’s out of the residents’ control—like their doctor appointments, family visits, and other obligations, like their community work.” Tensions over differing assumptions and conflicted expectations fill Professor Rosen’s office. Mr. Livingston closes his eyes for a moment, and then says calmly, “Let’s not worry about the performance.” Professor Rosen doesn’t a say word. Mr. Livingston goes further, “Since the announcement for the Holiday Showcase has not gone out yet, we could easily cancel.” Professor Rosen hesitantly answers, “If we were to cancel, I think the

272  Section Four four that always attend would be very disappointed. Dancing with the students seems so important to them.” “Yes, you’ve got a point,” Mr. Livingston nods in agreement. “Is there a way to meet the needs of those four while also being mindful of those choosing to participate irregularly? I guess I am still grappling with the value of making a piece of choreography in these workshops.” Professor Rosen, knowing that a primary tenet of community dance is responsiveness to a community’s needs and collective values, tells Mr. Livingston, “For the resident elders, it’s the value of the choreography that shows the worth of their lives that’s still important to me. But I will think seriously about your recommendation.” Leaving Professor Rosen’s office, Mr. Livingston shares, “It may be helpful for you to recognize that each resident participates at a level that is commensurate with what they are actually getting out of the particular workshop. The residents aren’t a captive audience, like your dance students in this project.” “I guess I hadn’t thought about the residents that way,” Professor Rosen responds. In her office alone, she feels the full weight of responsibility of this project and the decision she needs to make: does she push forward emphasizing the performance and thereby prioritizing the interests of the participants who attend regularly, or does she forego the performance and focus more on individual class sessions to accommodate more participants in resonant ways? *** Professor Rosen returns to the dance studio where the students continue to rehearse. As she watches the students dancing, she hears Mr. Livingston’s voice again and asks herself, “could I be more inclusive?” Seeing the students dance the project material in the studio for the first time, Professor Rosen feels an intense motivation, asking herself, “Why couldn’t I design a session that will further inspire the cohort of elders while also being welcoming to the drop-ins?” More ideas come, “The students’ summary improvisations could be performed at the conclusion of each workshop, rather than a final performance to provide a structure that residents could join in, at their will, whenever they wanted. It is an invitation to join in; no expectations.” She also decides to ask the elders if she could video the workshops. This plan would let the elders know that their created material is valued, support the students’ learning about choreographic development, and provide a choreographic source for future community dance endeavors. Although the project to formally perform was tabled, Professor Rosen found herself smiling. The shift in structure and inclusion of participant



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authority will support a stronger sense of community and collaboration for all participants—something which Professor Rosen had lost sight when performance dominated her vision.

The Dilemma and Stakeholders Beginning with two people in positions of authority forging a partnership for a creative dance, this case study endeavors to hold value for each of the respective constituents. As a result, the unfolding dilemma created an impact on the two constituencies as much as the two people in authority. Seeing the dilemma from the stakeholder’s unique positions uncovers the numerous factors Professor Rosen is obliged to consider. Every component of this endeavor needed Professor Andrea Rosen’s careful attention. There were decisions about each workshop’s content: what movement elements would be introduced and how improvisations should be framed to best connect to ‘home.’ In addition, students needed guidance to be effective co-facilitators and to craft generated movement material as a first step in their dance making. Although Mr. Todd Livingston did not attend workshops, his presence was felt. Elders spoke of him as the initial reason for attending: “Todd said it would be good for me.” He wanted to provide the elders with opportunities that would engage them in meaningful ways and he believed this project could do just that. Getting elders to attend the workshops, even if only once, was his top priority. As the students and four elders invested in the project and with each other, they too became stakeholders. Choreographing was certainly important to the students, but they were beginning to recognize that something unique was occurring, even amidst the random struggles of working with the drop-ins. They did not want the pressures of dance making to void the spontaneity they were discovering. A similar tug of interests was unfolding for the elders. They enjoyed the freedom they were experiencing in moving while also wanting to perfect the moves for the upcoming performance and have their movement creations included in choreography. They were thrilled that their stories of home were so integral to the project. Reflecting upon the dilemma involved in this case, and ways the dilemma took shape within this community partnership, provides an opportunity for Professor Rosen to proactively shape her continued growth as a dance educator who is invested in community dance practices. Professor Rosen may ask herself how communication between Mr. Livingston and herself could have been more effective in making sure the goals of community development were met in ways that both stakeholders found effective and

274  Section Four meaningful. For the future, she may create or seek out strategies to encourage the drop-ins to be more engaged in the workshops and consider models beyond a choreographic project that is still appealing to university students. These points of reflection point to the importance of communication and recognizing diverse expectations about dance, which are critical elements for all dance educators to consider.

Pedagogical Elements Professor Rosen’s commitment to create a caring environment, an underpinning of community-based teaching (Lomas, 1998; Amans, 2008), set the stage for the resident elders to feel safe as they ventured into an unfamiliar world. Especially in the first few workshops, the elders needed assurance that improvising to descriptive prompts, no matter whether moving big or small, sitting or standing, gestural or full-bodied, was meaningful to the dance being made. The pedagogical concepts of inclusivity, dialogue, and collaboration in this case informed Professor Rosen’s vision of the overall project while also guiding the content and format of each workshop. Her pedagogical approach evolved through a conjunction of community dance principles and feminist dance pedagogy, which have served her well at the university and with other community projects. To be an effective teacher in a community dance context, she and the students cultivated their abilities to lead and guide, as well as their skills in observing and following. Honoring each elder for what he or she would bring to their movement journeys and the give-and-take inherent to this kind of exploration was necessary for meaningful dialogue. In preparing her students, Professor Rosen regularly spoke about the values of community dance, including the premise that everyone can dance. According to the values statement of the Foundation of Community Dance (2009), community dance professionals believe that: • All people have the right to have creative and expressive lives through the medium of dance: to choose dance and to choose why, how and with whom they dance. • Everybody has the capacity to dance, express themselves and make meaning through dance and that by engaging with it, every individual has a creative and powerful contribution to make to their communities in a safe, supportive environment. • To operate as artists do—with an artist’s questions, perspectives, intuitions, feelings and responses; to make sense of and create meaning in the world—is of itself a positive, empowering and humanizing activity for people to engage in.



Intergenerational Moves (Barr & Giguere with Bendix)  275 •  Connecting people to dance experiences over which they have ownership, and through which [they] achieve a sense of belonging, individual’s lives and their experiences of being in a community can be changed for the better. •  Dance can contribute to the personal and social development, and the health and well-being of individuals in society. •  When it actively engages people as creative participants, dance can help build stronger communities and enhanced engagement with wider social agendas. (n.p.)

Because students would be working and partnering one-on-one with elders, they needed to be aware of community dance values, which can have myriad dissimilarities from professional dance values in teaching and performance. She wanted the students to consider the relevance of inclusive pedagogy in community dance practice where every elder could indeed participate, regardless of physical or cognitive limitations. However, Professor Rosen did not anticipate that some of the residents would find the workshops alienating and less than engaging. Community dance practitioner and consultant, Diane Amans (2008) notes that recruiting older participants to community programs is often difficult, especially during the initial stages when unfamiliarity with dance content and methods deter seniors’ interest. A community dance project study conducted by dance researcher Sara Houston (2005) showed that while dance sessions did “produce a heightened awareness of self-identity,” an older female participant, “felt a frustrating alteration in her self-image because dancing highlighted the deterioration of her physical health. There was a realization that her body could no longer cope with the movement she could have executed earlier in life” (p. 173). Instructive for dance educators and teaching artists working with older participants, the findings of Amans and Houston also shape how we see Professor Rosen’s choices and values in this case. For example, placing higher value on the performance than on “connecting people to dance experiences over which they have ownership, and through which [they] achieve a sense of belonging” (Foundation of Community Dance, 2009, n.p.). The tension revolving around differing expectations often surfaces within community dance choreographic projects (Butterworth, 2009; Rank, 2009). The conflict for students can stem from their strong desire to perform and choreograph; it is their currency. Yet as the workshops progressed, some students talked less about the upcoming performance and more about their spontaneous interactions with the elders. For the residents who attended regularly, feelings of attachment to the students gave them a renewed sense of self-worth as the students demonstrated genuine interest in their lives. At

276  Section Four the same time, it is important to realize that some residents simply did not prioritize attendance at the workshops. Unfortunately, we are forced to only imagine the feelings of detachment and exclusion felt by those elders who attended irregularly; there is no indication that Professor Rosen or Mr. Livingston attempted to contact those residents. Even as a security and safety measure, a call or an in-person check would seem important. During her office meeting with Mr. Livingston, Professor Rosen was reminded how some critical values of community dance within her pedagogy were being ignored: inclusion, reciprocity, and collaboration are key community dance characteristics in her teaching philosophy; these components must be present within each session for their own sake, not just as a means to get to the performance (Kuppers, 2007a). Only then could such values be building blocks to support whatever was to emerge from each workshop and the project as a whole. Professor Rosen’s end goal of creating a piece of choreography got in the way of such a pedagogy and dimmed her responsiveness to what was going on in the workshop rehearsals. Community dance practitioner Rosemary Lee (2008) recognizes the importance for educators to be present and responsive in their teaching, “This state of being present is one of openness and receptivity in both body and mind, open to the host of possibilities and hyper attentive and sensitive to the present” (p. 85). Remediating the project’s priorities provided space for community values to become an active and strategic presence. Curiously, Professor Rosen discovered that she was not giving up entirely on her choreographic idea, but rather, coming to understand how ideas of dance making, teaching, learning, and community are all parts of her personal pedagogy including her new commitment to learning from others.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy What Should Dance Education Look Like? Doug Risner APPLICATION: This activity provides a reflective opportunity for you to appraise how individual values and experiences shape expectations about dance education.



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Activity Because dance education occurs in a variety of settings and reaches a wide range of students and participants, recognizing the breadth of purposes, populations, and content is crucial for dance educators. At the same time, reflective dance educators can also identify and consider how their individual values shape their unique perspectives, goals, and aims of dance education.

Inquiry What is your vision of education? Is it necessary as educators to have a vision? Do you need one of your own? Or can you use someone else’s? Are you using someone else’s vision now? In the schools, studios, community centers, among other teaching spaces you are in, what vision of education is going on? In order to have a meaningful vision of dance education, one in which you can ground your daily practices and actions, the realities of race, ethnicity, social class, economics, gender, age, ability, and politics must be taken into consideration as part of the whole picture.

Task Using construction paper, modeling clay, crayons and markers, found objects, stapler, scissors, etc., create a three-dimensional response to the questions: What is the current state of my vision for dance education? What beliefs, ideas, and assumptions form my vision? What is crucial, non-negotiable in my vision? What can’t be left out? Of course, one’s vision is always incomplete; more questions remain, but at this point in your learning from this text, what is your vision now? Use these materials to create a visual model of your vision of dance education in three dimensions.

Why Do I Have to Perform? Miriam Giguere and Sherrie Barr

SYNOPSIS: When a year-long community dance program pairs commercial dance studio students with students from a school for children with special needs, the program’s dance educator struggles to accommodate a student who objects to participating in the final performance.

Introduction Eager anticipation for an end of the school year performance seems to be a dance tradition of sorts for students, teachers, parents, and school administrators. Events like these provide a chance to showcase new skills, express an idea, expand dance students’ sense of community, and share a story through movement to a supportive audience. Yet, when looking below the surface, some do not always envision a performance opportunity so positively. Some dancers may not be interested because performing for others is not why they take dance class. Others may feel vulnerable, self-conscious or worry about receiving criticism often associated with performing. In addition, a performance can highlight what the dancer can or cannot do, rather than what the individual dancer has accomplished over the course of the year. The latter experience tends to be particularly poignant for those who do not conform to a dancer’s stereotypical ideals of physicality and ability. Confronting these ideals from the perspectives of dancers with special needs who perform from wheelchairs is the focus of this case study. The function of a dance class specifically designed for people with special needs is “not necessarily to work through individual issues or focus on the self in a therapeutic context but rather to learn about dance as a creative, social, and artistic practice that may also help alleviate symptoms and improve quality of life” (McGill, Houston, and Lee, 2014, p. 427). From this understanding, opportunities to participate in dance are as much about 278



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socializing with others in the class as they are about dancing. Michelle Zito­ mer (2016), a dance educator whose scholarship focuses on inclusivity in dance education, speaks to how relationships that emerge through class participation can “enable acceptance of individuals as they are…” (p. 228). It is noteworthy that acceptance arises from direct participation in dance class, rather than through preparing for a performance. Empowering students is a primary function of community dance, no matter their abilities or challenges. As scholar-educator Sara Houston (2005) remarks, “community dance can help socially excluded participants to empower themselves and set themselves on a road to a ‘better’ life” (p. 166). The key purposes of community dance support participants in becoming emotionally stronger and developing a community between all who are participating. Dance educator and somatic practitioner Jill Green (2000) further contextualizes this point when noting: because the community dance movement emphasizes the idea that anyone can dance, it has been linked to groups that have been termed “socially excluded,” and the movement has been instrumental in delivering dance to disenfranchised communities and individuals for several decades [p. 53].

Embracing these ideas allows performance to become an option, not a necessity or requirement. While some might find performing empowering, others may find it unappealing and disenfranchising. Therefore, participants’ discomfort with performance requires thoughtful consideration in community dance contexts. In the following case, dance educator Mr. Jesse Washington attempts to reconcile sharply disparate views about the traditional, year-end performance at the Smith School for Children with Special Needs, a private institution that takes pride in the arts program for all students. All art activities are free for students, funded through one very generous local donor, Mr. Jack Sandberg, owner of Sandberg Department Stores. One of Mr. Washington’s favorite programs is a weekly, year-long dance class that brings Smith School students together with students from All That Dance, a private-sector dance studio in the city. The program, sponsored by Sandberg Department Stores, partners a student from the school with a student from the studio with whom they dance each week. Mr. Washington takes his responsibility to create and mentor these emerging partnership relationships quite seriously. He is especially pleased with the growing connection between Mary, a student from All That Dance studio, and Tamar, a student from the Smith School, who is unable to verbalize her thoughts directly. Tamar’s wheelchair, however, has an electronic device allowing her to point to simple graphics and to press buttons that emit a recorded response. Mary and Tamar have developed their friendship mainly

280  Section Four through non-verbal communication, including touch and eye contact as they move and create choreography collaboratively each week.

The Case “Mary, the work you and Tamar are doing is wonderful. Please keep going.” Mr. Washington shares this feedback with Mary early in the school year after observing her work with Tamar. Forging new relationships between dancers is critical to building a sense of community. Mr. Washington wants to encourage Mary to keep going. Mary nods in agreement but adds, “Truthfully, I’m not sure if I am helping Tamar. Sometimes she seems so uncomfortable with what we are doing. Sometimes I can’t even tell what she needs.” Mr. Washington smiles. “Do you remember the first time you took a dance class?” Mary laughingly responds, “I was so terrible; couldn’t do anything right!” “I sincerely doubt you were terrible,” Mr. Washington continues, “the point is that it took several years and many classes for you to be at the level you are now. Tamar also needs time to learn and practice.” “I just need to be patient.” Mary replies. Mr. Washington nods in agreement, “This is easier said than done, but trust the friendship building between you and Tamar. I have a sense that both of you are learning a great deal from this collaboration.” *** The truth of Mr. Washington’s statement becomes readily apparent as Mary, eight months later, walks into the room ready to rehearse the choreography that she and Tamar have developed through the school year. “Hi Tamar, how are you today?” Mary asks while also touching Tamar’s arm as an additional greeting. Tamar’s response is a smile as she makes eye contact with Mary and, although this might not seem much to some, Mary knows the trust behind this warm greeting took months. Mr. Washington, observing from the side of the room, also smiles at the sight of the friendship. “Hey, I have some new music that could help our dance.” As Mary plays the music, Tamar offers another smile. They then begin to review the movements. The performance is now only two weeks away and so there is lots of excitement for Mary, Tamar, and all the students. Taking a break, Mary sits close to Tamar, “You are looking so good in our dance. I love how you smile when we do that one sway. That smile is such a part of our dance! Can’t wait until we perform; your family is going to be so



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proud of you.” When Mary specifically mentions the actual performance, she notices that Tamar breaks eye contact with her. Mr. Washington, comes over, “Your movement together is so responsive, especially with the change in music.” Although Mary smiles her thanks, Tamar gives no acknowledgment. *** One week later Mary senses a substantive change in Tamar’s attitude. She hardly smiles anymore. “Tamar, I would like to work on this one part where we both lean forward; I’m not sure if we should change timing or something.” Tamar seems irritable; she does not even try to look at Mary and clearly does not want to dance anymore. “Okay, Tamar, we can leave it as it was. But let’s try doing the dance from the beginning to the end one more time.” As Mary says this, she notes that Tamar’s mother, Ms. Emmons, is speaking with Mr. Washington. This surprises Mary, because Tamar’s mother rarely comes to the school. “Thanks for a great rehearsal,” Mary says to Tamar once they finish the run through. “We are so ready for the performance; I can’t wait.” Tamar offers no acknowledgment. As Mary begins to exit, Mr. Washington catches up with her. “Mary, let’s talk for a few minutes. We might have a bit of a problem.” Cautiously, Mr. Washington begins. “I’m afraid Tamar won’t be in the performance.” Mary quickly interjects, “No, she has to; we both have worked so hard and Tamar has made such great strides. Her mom will be so proud of her.” “Well, that is what you and I see,” Mr. Washington responds. “But Ms. Emmons sees a daughter that she believes is becoming increasingly stressed with the approaching performance. She does not want this type of pressure on Tamar.” Mary, feeling crushed, “I know that lately Tamar doesn’t seem happy when I talk about the performance. But look at how much she has grown since we started in September! She is so happy when she dances now, and not at all timid like when we first began. We actually have a real relationship now. These positives have to be worth something, don’t they?” “I agree that you and Tamar have both made great strides,” Mr. Washington says, his demeanor indicating that he too is dismayed. “It is Tamar’s mom’s responsibility to make decisions that she believes are right for her.” “Everyone gets nervous before performing. Maybe Tamar’s just nervous? I know Tamar can do this,” Mary defiantly responds. Trying to calm Mary down, Mr. Washington says, “Mary, whether or not you and Tamar participate in the performance, we both know how much Tamar and you have learned by being in these dance classes.” ***

282  Section Four As he returns to his office, Ms. Emmons waits for him in the hallway. “If you insist on Tamar’s participation in the performance, I will go to the principal and demand that the entire performance be stopped,” Ms. Emmons states matter-of-factly. Trying to remain calm, he responds, “Shouldn’t we let Tamar decide? I see her confidence growing with each class.” Opening his office door, “Come in.” “I don’t have much time, Mr. Washington,” perturbed now, Ms. Emmons enters and sits down on the edge of a chair. “It is unfair to threaten stopping the performance,” Mr. Washington continues, “Consider the long-range implications of such an action.” “Mr. Washington, my only concern is Tamar.” Ms. Emmons stands her ground, “I can argue with the school’s administrators as well as you can.” Taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry Ms. Emmons, I didn’t mean to turn this into an argument. How would you feel if we resolve this by asking Tamar how she feels about participating? I could simply ask her if she wants to perform or not.” Ms. Emmons lowers her voice, but not her intensity, “I’m afraid that is not appropriate, Mr. Washington. It would put additional stress on Tamar to have to make this decision. I’m her mother and I think I know what’s best.” At this moment, Mr. Washington is no longer sure what his primary concerns should be. Ms. Emmons continues talking about Tamar, but Mr. Washington only hears the thoughts that are racing through his head. He does not want to openly contradict the parent of one of his students, but he does want to give some agency to Tamar, for whom he is also responsible. Doesn’t he have a responsibility to advocate for her to make her own decisions and respect them? And what if she says she does want to do the performance? He believes that he understands the values of dancing for Tamar much better than Ms. Emmons, or even the Smith School administrators. But he is unsure how much to argue against Tamar’s mother’s wishes. Additionally, he does not want to appear uncooperative with what he initially believed were simple requests from Mr. Sandberg to have a culminating performance, in part to document his charitable giving to the school. The documentation means so much to Mr. Sandburg; its shows his community involvement, which can be used to get others in the business community to become involved in arts programming activities. Plus, Smith School agreed to this arrangement. If the school loses Mr. Sandberg’s financial support, they will be unable to offer these vitally important dance classes in the future. “Mr. Washington, I have to go…” Ms. Emmons tells him. “Oh yes,” finally hearing her voice. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he tells Ms. Emmons who is already out the door.



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Sinking back into his thoughts, he remembers the implications for the school’s partnership with All That Dance. If the performance gets cancelled, would students from the studio be willing to commit to a partnership for such an extended period of time? Putting an end to the entire performance would produce emotional turmoil for the other Smith School student dancers, as they have been working toward this performance for the last eight months. As Mr. Washington reflects upon his dilemma, he also considers his commitment to the Smith School students and their learning. He strongly believes in the benefits that the dance program provides all its students.

Dilemma and Stakeholders The dilemma in this case not only revolves around the competing concerns of the stakeholders, but also their interpretations of how best to support the Smith School students, which is a shared concern. Recognizing the personal interests of each stakeholder is a critical aspect of making ethical decisions, such as the one Mr. Jesse Washington faces. The stakeholders include Mary, Tamar, the other students, Mr. Washington, Ms. Emmons, the Smith School administration and Mr. Sandburg. Mary has a particular emotional investment in wanting Tamar to perform because she is proud of her partner and the relationship they have fostered. She believes that performance is a way to garner praise for what one has learned. Unfortunately, these assumptions make it difficult for her to see Tamar’s increasing level of anxiety. According to Ms. Emmons, Tamar does not see this as an opportunity for support and praise, but rather a situation in which she will be judged. Mr. Washington has a different set of concerns. He, among all the stakeholders, can see both the positive and negative aspects of using a public performance—particularly one that is filmed and photographed—as the concluding activity of his class. He, like Mary, wants to showcase the progress that each of the dancers have made. Beyond an opportunity for public support, the performance makes for a satisfying personal experience with which to culminate the session. Mr. Washington also understands that a public performance is an opportunity for those outside the class, especially school administrators and program funders, to have demonstrable proof that their support is of value. The administration of Smith School and Mr. Sandberg agree that visibility is an important element in making their administrative and philanthropic efforts sustainable. On the other side, Ms. Emmons believes that a public performance will cause undue stress and attention on her daughter. She is uncomfortable with everyone watching Tamar as part of what she perceives to be an advertisement for a local store. She does not want to make Tamar an object of pity

284  Section Four or charity and believes taking her out of the performance will protect her integrity. As the dilemma unfolds, Mr. Washington asks himself some difficult questions. Regarding Tamar’s agency, he wonders if Tamar wants to be in the performance even though her mother has forbidden it. If she says she does want to perform, should Mr. Washington allow it? He must also recognize the expectations of others involved in the class. Should the needs of each group of stakeholders be considered equally or should the needs of one group be prioritized? What options exist that are potentially beneficial to all stakeholders? Lastly, as an employee and therefore an ambassador of the Smith School, Mr. Washington is obligated to consider the responsibilities and values of the school. What responsibility does the Smith School have in negotiating a solution? Should the school insist on Tamar’s performance? Should the school ask Mr. Sandberg to reconsider the performance?

Pedagogical Elements Mr. Washington, as the facilitator of the program, holds the ability to require all dancers in his class to participate in the final performance, but is this an appropriate use of his authority in this situation? Mr. Washington’s authority in the classroom raises an important pedagogical issue to consider. For him to require Tamar to participate in the performance, he would need to believe that the value of the performance overrides all other competing concerns, including the collaborative aspect of community. As the facilitator between the Smith School students and the All That Dance studio students, Mr. Washington supports the values of collaboration including consideration and respect for one’s partner. Requiring students to participate in the performance could be seen as breaching the cooperative and democratic atmosphere created in this project. When a minor is involved, the parent also has authority over the child’s participation in class. The parents gave permission for the instructor to teach their child, but this does not mean parents are no longer responsible for the welfare of their child in class settings. The parent or guardian is usually seen as having the ultimate authority over the child, but there is a shared responsibility for decision making during class activities that extends beyond parents. Tamar is able to indicate whether or not she wants to participate, but as a minor she does not have final say regarding her participation. Assumptions regarding the necessity of performance as the culmination of dance classes are held by many inside and outside of dance. Many dance teachers and students, like Mary and her All That Dance peers, assume that the end goal of each dance class session is a public performance. Dance is,



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after all, a performing art. However, as noted by dance education scholar Elizabeth M. Lazaroff (2001), assumptions surrounding performance in dance education contexts can be problematic. Lazaroff notes the complexity of offering a performance when “dance serves educational goals or takes place in public schools or other educational settings” where “performance has other meanings that may at times be in conflict with the meanings of performance in the arts domain” (2001, p. 23). Here, Lazaroff is contrasting performance as an educational measure used to assess what has been learned and experienced versus performance as an artistic, aesthetic experience. Contrasting ideas about performance are central to the dilemma. Indeed, a great deal of value and tradition supports offering a performance as a culminating experience, if done as a reflection of the curriculum taught (Gilbert, 1992). One way of developing genuine involvement and ownership of a project is to present it to others (Lerman, 1984). As Houston (2005) explains: “active participation—doing, making, sharing, watching, reflecting—is fundamental to the personal, social and artistic development of young people. Importantly, empowerment comes from the feeling of ownership of the process and product” (p. 170). Notions of sharing and watching are important elements of the process. Sharing, however, doesn’t have to be in a formal performance setting. Although the positive outcomes of a formal or public performance may be empowering for some students, others may be overwhelmed by the ideas of performing for an audience, particularly the most vulnerable participants, who may be unable to speak for themselves. Dance and disabilities authors Kim Dunphy and Jenny Scott (2003) make the point that: It is often difficult to know what a person might like when they have never had the chance to try it, when they can’t speak or when what they might like to do is not available at a level they can manage or anywhere near where they live [p. 10].

Clearly Mr. Washington believes that the project and the performance hold the potential to be a transformational experience for all; however, he cannot be certain that everyone else feels this way. Houston (2005) confirms this possibility when noting, there is a: potential problem in listening to the views of the project facilitators, who are affirmative about proceeding towards a transformation, while not taking into account the thoughts of the participants themselves, who might not feel that any change is important or desired [p. 173].

Dance students and teachers who see differently abled populations only in the context of dance class may not have a full picture of participants’ lives and pressures. Dance teachers’ love of performing and their desire to help others through dance may keep them from seeing performance as a potentially

286  Section Four anxiety-producing or even traumatic event, especially for vulnerable populations who cannot speak for themselves. The necessity for a culminating performance must also be questioned in terms of its spectators. When persons from special populations are performers, heightened concerns arise. Their performances may offer the viewer a more expansive experience of what it means to use the body by seeing others unlike oneself fully engaged in the performing moment. For another viewer, however, the performance may highlight the inability of the performers. As dance educators Jane Elin and Boni Boswell (2004) state, “dance is not based on normalizing the movements of people with disabilities to mirror traditional dance images, rather it is based on perceiving such movements as potential sources for artistic expression” (p. 3). Disability culture activist and community artist Petra Kuppers (2007) asserts, “performances of disability culture expand our understanding of the individual and collective possibilities of embodiment” (p. 270). A teacher has the responsibility to weigh the experiences of the audience in knowing the population that will be performing and the value that the audience may or may not gain through their experience. If an audience is not familiar with the particular participants, or their context, there is always the risk that these performers will be reduced to potential stereotypes in the eyes of the spectators. Where a commercial business uses the performance for philanthropic advertising, as in this case, the potential for exploitation of the performers always exists. It is the responsibility of the teacher to ensure that the context of the performance does not stigmatize the participants, but rather the justifications for performing must mutually benefit all stakeholders.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Performing Your Values Karen Schupp and Doug Risner APPLICATION: Through movement and written reflection, this activity provides a space to critically assess how you view performance within dance education.



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Activity Many dancers consider the performance at the end of a session or semester of dance classes to be the highlight of their experience. Most love the excitement and nervous energy that surrounds a dance concert, show, or recital and look forward to the added attention they will receive as a result. But what if the idea of performance causes anxiety and fear? The verbal movement activity below will help you clarify your feelings about performing from your perspective of a dance educator. TASK I: In a group of three to five participants, take turns completing the following sentences with movement in round robin fashion. Start by saying the sentence and instead of finishing it in words, finish it in movement. As a dancer, I would not want to perform dance if it meant… As a dancer, I would not want to perform dance if I had to… As a dancer, I would not want to dance in a performance that… Repeat the above, but this time with everyone at the same time. Then continue completing the next series of statements in round robin fashion as before. As a dance educator, I believe performance should… As a dance educator, I believe performance should not… As a dance educator, I believe students can… Repeat the above, but this time with everyone at the same time. TASK II: Individually, return to the sentences above and complete each one in writing. Identify your performance values and concerns by reading your responses and reflecting on your experience of dancing the completed sentences. Using your choreographic skills and the previous two steps as a starting point, (a) compose a one to two-minute solo and (b) write one rich sentence that illustrates your values and concerns about performance in dance education. Next, perform your solo and rich sentence in a “pair and share” with another person. Ask your partner to reflect back to you in both a supportive and critical voice: (1) general thoughts on where he or she believes your value commitments reside or emerge from; and (2) constructive comments and questions about your performance values in conversation with your goals as a dance educator. Ask your partner to draw upon perceived disconnections as well as connections. Record the comments that your partner shares. Change roles and repeat. TASK III: Either through discussion or written reflection, describe what you learned in this narrative choreographic inquiry as a dance educator and performer. Note: This practice of saying a phrase aloud and completing it as a movement improvisation is influenced by an improvisational exercise in David Dorfman’s creative practice.

Teaching Artist Advocates The Difference We Can Make Doug Risner and Karen Schupp

SYNOPSIS: A highly successful teaching artist, hired by a nationally-recognized community arts center for her focus on social justice programs in dance, struggles with the dilemmas posed between the Center’s expectations based on her race and her own commitments to social justice as a self-identified lesbian of color.

Introduction As a member of the teaching artist profession, which “comprises diverse individuals who see their work in varied and complex ways,” Delia Taylor, an African American and self-identified lesbian, sees herself like other cultural workers “who employ the arts for positive social change” (Anderson and Risner, 2014). Her story takes place in a non-profit, city arts center led by an active Board of Directors that maintains the organization’s fiscal health and well-being. The City Center for the Arts (CCA) founded in 1959, plays a critical role in bringing art-makers and master teaching artists in dance, theatre, and visual arts to the community in order to provide experiential and socially conscious projects. The crux of this essay is an interesting mix of seemingly contrary issues: race relations and LGBTQ+ rights. The city mayor, Richard Bensen, sees the need to improve race relations, summarized by the development of the Black Lives Matter movement in his community, demanding that race relations in the nation be exposed for what’s at stake—the killing of defenseless, young Black males at the hands of police and armed state and national guards. The city mayor seeks to use the CCA to improve the city’s increasingly poor race relations. Ms. Taylor’s passion lays with advocating for issues and rights of 288

Teaching Artist Advocates (Risner & Schupp)   289 LGBTQ+ persons including marriage equality, recently ordered by the Supreme Court of the United States (Obergefell et al., 2015). Ms. Taylor’s pursuit of full LGBTQ+ equity grounds and animates her teaching artistry. That these distinct forces may have interdependent elements and intersectional energies appear lost on both Mayor Bensen’s and Ms. Taylor’s well-intentioned efforts to leave the world better than they found it. Intersectionality, a term coined by legal and critical race theory scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw (1989), recognizes how a person’s overlapping identities (race, gender expression, sexuality, class, ability) affect her or his experiences with discrimination and oppression. As a framework, intersectionality is used to examine the intersecting identities of people and power relationships within social groups (Mitchell, 2014). Intersectionality acknowledges that many social justice problems, such as racism and LGBTQ+ discrimination, intersect, creating different types of or levels of injustice. It requires people to move away from strict “identity politics” focused only on one type of social category, such as racism or sexism, and to examine how social oppression is multi-layered. Ms. Taylor’s work confronts LGBTQ+ harassment ranging from harmful slurs, such as “that’s so gay” to bullying and physical violence perpetrated on LGBTQ+ people. Her engagement with communities seeks to help participants understand that gender is a learned performance (Butler, 1990), in which socially appropriate performance of gender—only when matched exactly with dominant social and cultural norms—is both affirmed and rewarded. As gender philosopher Judith Butler (1988) notes, “those who fail to do their gender right are regularly punished” (p. 522). Using GLSEN’s (2017) educational toolkit as a starting point, Ms. Taylor devises creative movement activities in which participants reflect on their assumptions about and habitual actions toward the LGBTQ+ community. For example, her community dance projects are successful because participants and audiences laugh at how they judge people daily, but then with serious reflection throughout the performance, realize how another person’s difference consumes us as a society, to what purposes and whose benefit. As a socially engaged artist, Ms. Taylor is deeply invested in using the arts and arts education to promote social change, the process to favorably reshape societal conditions. She believes, as do many socially engaged artists, that embodying socially relevant content through dance can be healing, increase awareness around issues, and lead to attitudinal changes and greater civic participation (Americans for the Arts, 2015). While the mayor and the CCA are excited about Ms. Taylor’s dedication to promoting social change through dance, they are not aware of her deep commitment to LGBTQ+ issues.

290  Section Four

The Case Jerald Markou, an Australian-born teaching artist at CCA, pulls up behind a parked U-Haul truck on Sycamore Street. Walking up the front steps he hears through the open porch door “Where do you want me to put your hand weights, Delia?” Emerging from behind a stack of boxes, Ms. Taylor shouts back “Just keep them in…” “Delia!” Mr. Markou interrupts, “Delia, how are you?” Now holding a stack of books between them, the friends hug one another tightly. “I said, where do you want me to put…” Yvette Mathews (a petite white women), Ms. Taylor’s partner, bursts onto the porch, “Oh, I’m sorry.” She smiles, “You must be Jerald!” Ms. Taylor and Mr. Markou first met when they were undergraduate students at the American Dance Festival. They have kept in contact since the early 1990s. Mr. Markou went on to perform with Bill T. Jones, Ms. Taylor with Mark Morris. After 9/11 each began to increasingly shift their work away from performing to take on more independent work as choreographers and teaching artists. All three maneuver their way through boxes to the dining room table. Pulling out a chair for Ms. Mathews, Mr. Markou can’t help but notice her healthy-size baby bump on an otherwise slender body shape. “When are you due?” he asks. “December!” Ms. Taylor and Ms. Mathews chime in unison. Ms. Taylor adds, “This full time position at the CCA also appealed to us for job security and health insurance.” “And the CCA is quite invested in having you join us,” Mr. Markou says, “You’re the first full time teaching artist hire in five years.” Ms. Taylor nods, “Yes, Liza and Pam have assured me that my work in community dance and social justice is where the Board wants the CCA to go.” *** Two weeks later, classes are progressing well. Ms. Taylor’s confident yet inviting voice says, “Really solid work, everyone. Now, let’s try something a bit more personal. Tell your partner about a time when someone said something hurtful to you, and then brushed it off by saying ‘oh, that’s not what I meant.’” As the adult workshop participants share stories, Ms. Taylor catches her wife peering into the studio, and waves her in to observe. “Okay, now write out one sentence about how it felt when your feelings were brushed aside.”

Teaching Artist Advocates (Risner & Schupp)   291 “Now, select three words or images that seem most significant to you, and make a shape that represents each word. We will share these with our partners.” Ms. Taylor explains while demonstrating with Maria, a student, how they will share their shapes: “Partner A makes their first shape. Partner B notices the shape, pause, notices their first response, pause, waits for the second response to come up, and then makes a shape in reaction to your partner’s shape. For example, let’s see Maria’s first shape.” Maria crouches low to the floor, holding her shoulders, and tucking her head. “Okay, so my first thought is to respond like this,” Ms. Taylor says as she leans towards Maria with her arms spread wide embracing the space above her. “But I’m going to wait, I’m going to wait for my second thought.” More slowly Ms. Taylor continues, “See I’m ‘thinking before speaking,’ so now I’ll go like this,” as she crouches facing Maria and curves her arms in a diagonal shape towards her. The participants eagerly get to work. Ms. Taylor’s next class that day is an afterschool dance workshop, which is part of “Curriculum as Window & Mirror” inclusive movement activities. Based on this conceptual framework transformed into movement, adolescent participants (ages 13–17) have been reflecting on their lives and experiences through mirror experiences. Beginning today, participants will switch to using window experiences to better understand the experiences and perspectives of others who possess different identities and experiences. Juliet Stone, a 15-year-old African American girl in the workshop, bursts into the dance studio at 3:15pm, “I know I’m early Ms. Delia, can I come in?” Startled but not showing it, Ms. Taylor laughs, “of course, come in!” “Good, I need … I mean … it’s about my mirror dances and journal entries about who I am.” “Ok, we have some time before the others arrive,” Ms. Taylor smiles, “do you want to dance what you have to say, or tell me what you have to say?” Slowing down, Juliet thinks about it, “I think … well I want to dance it because last time you said our ‘mirrors show us who we really are’ and I’ve never talked about this to anyone before.” Juliet grabs three empty wooden frames Ms. Taylor has provided and places them carefully on her head, over her ankles and up her arms to her shoulders. The visual is strikingly restricted. Juliet begins to dance but struggles to move freely, much less to perform the movement she has choreographed. Finally, she wiggles free from the small frame around her ankles. Legs now free, she runs freely and expressively through the space; however, Juliet remains uncomfortably restricted at the shoulders and head. She stops in the center of the studio and says, “I can’t go any further Ms. Delia.” “Do you mean this is the end of your solo?” Ms. Taylor asks.

292  Section Four “No, I mean I’m afraid to go any further,” Juliet with tears down her face now, “if I do, my family will disown me. And my dad has said I’ll have to move out.” Ms. Taylor quickly crosses to her, “Oh Juliet,” helping her out of the wooden frames, she continues, “do you want to tell me in your own words what the mirrors showed you?” Still crying, Juliet says “Well, see I finally admitted to myself in our workshop that I like girls. You know, like you like Yvette.” “Yes, I do understand, and that is a very powerful dance you made. Juliet, you are a strong young woman,” Ms. Taylor comforts her. As other workshop students begin entering the studio, Juliet gains her composure and asks Ms. Taylor, “Should I present my dance to everyone today?” “Do you feel ready for others to see it and understand what it means to you?” Ms. Taylor asks. Waiting a moment, Juliet whispers, “I think I can now, Ms. Delia.” *** One month later, the CCA opens its gallery exhibition with a reception for donors, the Board of Directors, city officials and Center teaching artists and staff. The event is Ms. Taylor’s first formal function as a CCA teaching artist; she wants to make a good first impression. As Ms. Taylor and Ms. Mathews make their way to the gallery, they see Liza Cohen, the Executive Director, and Pamela Morgan, Board President, slowly greeting each guest in a receiving line at the entrance. As they reach the front of the line, Ms. Cohen pulls Ms. Morgan toward Ms. Taylor, “Delia, you remember Pamela Morgan, our Board President? I have been telling her so much about you.” Ms. Taylor, trying to reach back for Ms. Mathews, “Yes, hello…. Pamela, I would like you to meet my wife, Yvette.” Ms. Morgan looks at Ms. Cohen as if she hasn’t heard correctly, “I’m sorry, she’s your wha…” Interrupting, Ms. Cohen says to Ms. Morgan slowly “This is Delia’s wife Yvette,” and without missing a beat, “they’re having a baby.” As it finally registers, though still flustered, Ms. Morgan manages a smile, “Well congratulations to you … (a bit more composed) I mean congratulations to you both!” Just as the program is about to begin, Mayor Benson finds Ms. Taylor at the makeshift wine bar. “Delia Taylor?” he asks, “I’m Richard Benson, the mayor. The city is very happy to have you here at the CCA.” Ms. Taylor smiles, “Well, thank you Mr. Mayor. Are you a fan of dance?” Smiling back at her, “I guess you could say that I am now because we’ve got a lot of money on your…”

Teaching Artist Advocates (Risner & Schupp)   293 “Delia!” Ms. Cohen calls while quickly approaching Ms. Taylor and mayor. “Let me introduce you some of our board members.” As Ms. Cohen and CCA board members Julia Ritter and Dr. Avery Stone get closer, Mayor Benson continues, “my office is extremely excited about your community programs for racial inclusion and how you can help us reduce racial tensions in the city.” Trying to respond, “Well, Mr. Mayor, that isn’t really what I…” Cutting her off, Mayor Benson continues “Now, don’t be modest, we’ve heard great things about your work on diversity.” Confused, Ms. Taylor shakes Ms. Ritter’s hand. Ms. Ritter shares, “We have worked closely with Mayor Benson to get you here.” Ms. Taylor searches, “Yes, the Mayor said that he was excited that my work addresses racial inclusion and that it will improve the city’s race relations. Do you know what that’s about?” Dr. Stone interjects, “As an African American, I believe there’s nothing more important the CCA should be doing right now than helping our community face its racial tensions,” leaning in closer to her, “don’t you Ms. Taylor?” Ms. Taylor connects the dots and realizes that Dr. Stone is Jenny’s father, who has threatened to disown her if she comes out as a lesbian. Excusing herself quickly, “Uh, nice to meet you Dr. Stone.” She begins crossing toward Ms. Mathews in a far corner of the gallery and overhears some adult participants from her community workshop project discussing how the workshop is influencing their understanding of gay and lesbian issues. The group’s praise overwhelms Ms. Taylor with mixed emotions. She has come to CCA to continue her work focused on social justice issues, to use dance and dance education to foster human dignity for persons of all sexual orientations and gender identities. And in her personal life, she has come to the city and state to freely raise a family as a married couple—just like anyone else. But at the same time, Ms. Taylor sees that the Center and the city desperately need a transformational teaching artist to address the dire situation the city finds itself: unacceptable racial exclusion, escalating tensions, and poor race relations. Regaining her strength, Ms. Taylor motions to Ms. Mathews that they need to leave. As they both move toward the doors, Mr. Markou is just coming in, “Delia, are you leaving already?” She stops and pushes him to the side, “Why didn’t you tell me that CCA expects me to be the black female artist who fixes racial tensions in this town?” Mr. Markou clasps Ms. Taylor by the arm, “Listen, let me explain … to get the Mayor’s funding for your position!” Catching his breath and slower, “CCA had to agree that your position would develop community-based, inclusive race projects that would improve racial relations in the city.” Ms. Taylor looks perplexed, he continues “now it sounds stupid, but honestly, the search committee didn’t even think this would be a problem for you.”

294  Section Four Ms. Mathews interrupts, looking Mr. Markou in the face, “Well, don’t you think Delia could do a mix of her own projects and ones that the Mayor wants for building positive race relations?” Mr. Markou slowly looks away, shakes his head and then sighs, “No … the Mayor is not going to budge on this. It’s city funding, Delia.” All three are quiet long enough for it to sink in.

Dilemma and Stakeholders Numerous stakeholders influence Ms. Delia Taylor’s future and the dilemma she confronts; as a dance educator dedicated to socially engaged arts practices, she must recognize the responsibilities of the individuals within the community and navigate the emergent tensions between their varying stances on the goals of the program. Mayor Richard Bensen must find ways to improve race relations if he has any chance for re-election; he is counting on Ms. Taylor’s work at the CCA to produce improved racial relationships and to boost goodwill toward his administration. Ms. Taylor’s position was the first hire on Ms. Liza Cohen’s watch as Executive Director; Ms. Taylor’s success plays a critical role in Ms. Cohen’s annual review and continued employment at the CCA. Mr. Jerald Markou’s friendship with Ms. Taylor is now particularly strained—he brought her to the attention of the search committee initially and then championed her candidacy to Ms. Cohen and the Board throughout the national review of candidates. Participants in Ms. Taylor’s community workshop and dance classes have repeatedly expressed how positive her teaching artistry has been for them as stakeholders. Ms. Yvette Mathews has invested so much emotionally and financially in the move to a new city, to Ms. Taylor’s position, to the community, and to their new life as a married same-sex couple with child. The dilemma Ms. Taylor confronts is an amalgam of “right-right” ethical decision making. She feels strongly that the work she is doing at CCA is critically important to the participants and their families and others who will be affected; she believes it is the best, most authentic community work she has ever done. On the other hand, she knows in her heart that the CCA, Ms. Cohen, Ms. Morgan and others made difficult bargains with Mayor Bensen to create the permanent Artist-in-Residence position. Ms. Taylor also feels respect for Mayor Bensen’s goals but those objectives are not hers or her life’s purpose as a LGBTQ+ cultural worker in the arts. Now facing whether to resign or change her workshop, Ms. Taylor is tortured by her own workshop title, Dance for the Difference You Make. Based on ethics scholar Rushworth Kidder’s (1995) approaches to moral decision making, Ms. Taylor could make her decision based on: (1) What is most aligned with what she sees as her highest purpose as a teaching artist

Teaching Artist Advocates (Risner & Schupp)   295 and her personal code of ethics; (2) What is best for, and would cause the least harm to, the community and CCA; or (3) What she herself would want the teaching artist to do, if she was the mayor, Ms. Cohen, Ms. Morgan, or workshop participants. For discussion, which approach from Kidder’s approaches do you believe is the most effective decision-making for this case study? What is that decision? And what is the rationale?

Pedagogical Elements Many dance teaching artists are self-employed, responsible for securing several one time or short term “gigs” with various arts, educational, and community organizations (Anderson and Risner, 2014). Like much of Ms. Taylor’s professional life prior to her position at the CCA, full-time, permanent employment is not the norm. According to Doug Risner’s (2012) study of dance teaching artists, less than a third of participants were employed fulltime. Another socioeconomic element of itinerant teaching artists is “guest-hood,” a term coined by applied theatre scholar James Thompson (2005) which requires quick and accurate assessment of the needs, values, and power dynamics of teaching contexts (Snyder-Young, 2014). As “guests in sites that are home to other teachers and program managers who are embedded in local webs of power in ways that guests are not” (Snyder-Young, 2014, p. 264), teaching artists must negotiate multiple responsibilities while respecting the expectations of the hosting organization, the needs they perceive among participants, and their own artistic interests and personal values. Internationally recognized as a guest teaching artist, Ms. Taylor has literally written that book. The permanence of the position at CCA excites Ms. Taylor immensely, allowing her to move forward from highly rewarding “guest-hood” years working in various national and international projects. Yet, she knows there will be substantial challenges: she will need to increase her understanding of the issues that are critical to her community; acknowledge her role in the “local webs of power” at the CCA, in her local community, and city; and pace her expectations for change over extended periods of time. Ms. Taylor will develop sustainable pedagogical approaches which will support her own and the community’s receptiveness to social justice content that will best serve and liberate the community as well as the needs of the CCA for the long term. Ms. Taylor has long viewed herself as a cultural worker, more specifically a teaching artist “who employs dance for constructive social change” in a particular community; as she contemplates the potential outcomes of her future work at CCA, she anticipates her work may also be one of activism, using “dance arts to improve people’s lives and circumstances” (Risner, 2012, p. 175).

296  Section Four As a self-identified Black lesbian and critical feminist, she believes that dominant cultural practices and assumptions dehumanize non-heterosexual and transgendered persons and therefore, require re-humanizing pedagogies in a series of “counterpractices” (Salazar, 2013, p. 124) that produce vital counterstories. Voices that tell these counterstories hold the capacity to powerfully make and re-make people’s lives (Huber et al., 2013) one project at a time. As a lesbian, Ms. Taylor has encountered LGBTQ+ discrimination on a regular basis. Federal law provides protection against discrimination due a person’s race, gender, ethnicity, age, or religion, but sexual orientation is not a protected non-discrimination class (Phillips and Patten, 2016). A study by the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force’s Policy Institute found that “as many as 44% of respondents … reported employment discrimination as a result of their sexual orientation,” and “32% reported discrimination in renting a housing unit” (The Leadership Conference, 2017, n.p.). LGBTQ+ individuals also reported discrimination while dining in restaurants, securing health services, and obtaining education, and hate crimes towards gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgendered individuals make up nearly one-third of all hate crimes reported to the FBI (The Leadership Conference, 2017). Although the passage of marriage equality points to the potential for decreased discrimination and greater guarantee of civil rights for LGBTQ+ individuals, numerous inequities remain to be addressed. Ms. Taylor’s strong desire to educate her community pours out of her spirit to improve peoples’ lives through dance; the potential of her workshop to bring awareness of LGBTQ+ issues to the community is significant and timely. What Ms. Taylor may not yet comprehend about the community is in fact exactly what brought the Mayor to the CCA two years ago asking how the city and CCA, if working together, could improve race relationships. While some argue that the U.S. is now a “post-racial” society evidenced by Barack Obama’s two-time election as president, institutionalized racism remains endemic throughout the U.S. According to the American Sociological Society, institutional racism in U.S. schools continues to segregate students through subtle practices and assumptions that privilege whiteness and disadvantage Black and other minority students (Saporito and Sohoni, 2006). What’s more, “persistent racial segregation has a detrimental effect on the academic performance of students of color, but integration has no significant effect on the academic work of White students” (Condron et al., 2013, p. 148). Mayor Benson’s concerns about rising racial tensions leads him to believe that proactive, anti-racist programming and dialogue through Ms. Taylor’s work is critical for her success at the CCA. His financial commitment from the city buttresses that belief. Ms. Taylor finds herself at a crossroads: although she has suffered multiple forms of discrimination, her calling summons her to follow her instincts as an LGBTQ+ teaching artist and community worker, one divergent from

Teaching Artist Advocates (Risner & Schupp)   297 Mayor Benson’s and the CCA’s Board. Mayor Bensen, with his long history serving the city, knows the community would benefit from addressing racial relationships through dance. Both critical social issues deserve attention. Ms. Taylor must now balance the needs of her employer and community with her professional calling and participant needs. A third option would consider the dilemma from an intersectional perspective, considering how each person’s overlapping identities contribute to both advantages and inequities. Ms. Taylor could maintain a focus on LGBTQ+ issues while also addressing aspects of the mayor’s commitment to improving racial relationships. For example, as a Black lesbian, Ms. Taylor has likely encountered discrimination specific to her intersecting identities: Black, cisgendered woman, and lesbian. As Crenshaw (1989) explained, it is often impossible to parse out if a Black woman is discriminated for her race or her gender, as these exist as lived experiences that cannot be separated in a person. Framing dance workshops around issues of intersectionality would permit participants to discover an understanding of their own social locations within the community while better comprehending the inequities others face, which is where many of Ms. Taylor’s and the mayor’s ultimate goals overlap. To these ends, an intersectional pedagogical approach using narrative inquiry (Huber et al., 2013) can open participants to the possibilities of knowing “others” (gays, lesbians, Blacks, Whites) through stories, narratives, and experiences in dance and movement. Knowing others in these ways allows for shifting stories and therefore, lives, connecting people more profoundly as narrative inquirers. In this way too, “narrative inquirer as pedagogy” draws readers toward the voices of people who share a vision of the centrality of attending to lives, and the making and remaking of lives, as vitally important work in classrooms, schools, and communities.

Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy Heterosexual Questionnaire Adapted from Rochlin (1985) Doug Risner APPLICATION: Personal assumptions about sexual identity are revealed and questioned through this activity.

298  Section Four

Activity In addition to understanding the social construction of race and gender and the ways in which both produce racism and sexism within society and in dance education, dance educators must also comprehend the dominance of heterosexuality in dominant culture and the heterosexism it produces within society-at-large and in dance and dance education. Assessing one’s own assumptions about sexual identity provides insight not only about one’s thinking about sexuality but also reveals how anti-gay prejudice, heterosexual bias, and heteronormative beliefs and customs are socially developed and maintained. Evaluating bias in this manner prepares teachers and students to actively address language and actions in dance education practice. Answer the following survey questions as best you are able: 1. When and how did you first decide you were heterosexual? 2. What do you think caused your heterosexuality? 3. Is it possible that your heterosexuality is just a phase you may grow out of? 4. Is it possible that your heterosexuality stems from a neurotic fear of members of the same sex? 5. To whom have you disclosed your heterosexuality? How did they react? 6. The great majority of child molesters are heterosexuals (95%). Do you really consider it safe to expose your children to heterosexual teachers? 7. Why do heterosexuals place so much emphasis on sex? 8. If you’ve never slept with a person of the same sex, how do you know you wouldn’t prefer that? 9. Does your employer know you are heterosexual? Are you openly heterosexual when with your family members? Roommates? Co-workers? Church members? 10. With 50% of first-time heterosexual marriages ending in divorce, and over 60% of second heterosexual marriages also ending in divorce, there seem to be very few happy heterosexuals. Techniques have been developed to change your sexual orientation; have you considered aversion therapy to treat your heterosexuality? After completing the survey, carefully review your responses, list any questions that arose, and describe your feelings while completing the survey: How did you feel about answering the questionnaire? What questions were most challenging? Did any of the questions sound familiar? Why? Where have you heard them before? What do you think the point of the questionnaire was?



Teaching Artist Advocates (Risner & Schupp)   299

Then write a short summary describing what you learned about heterosexual bias, how that might unintentionally shape your dance education practice, and what changes you can make in your own teaching to challenge anti-gay prejudice and heterosexual bias, while creating safe and supportive classrooms, dance studios, and schools for non-heterosexual students and teachers.

Values Inventory Installment IV Doug Risner

Here is the final Values Inventory installment in the book. Throughout the text you have regularly inventoried your personal and professional values in dance education and learned how they have changed. Sometimes values evolve in light of new information, or experience, and sometimes they stay static or resist external influence. As you’ve discovered, taking inventory of your values on a regular and systematic basis can guide the evolution of your teaching praxis and it can also assist you in making intentional decisions aligned with your values, inside and outside the dance studio. TASK: Pair and Share To begin, identify a trusted colleague or friend with whom you are comfortable sharing your completed Value Inventory statements from the book. Ask your partner to reflect back to you in a supportive and critical voice: first, ask your partner for general thoughts on where she believes your value commitments reside or come from; and then second, ask your partner for constructive comments and questions aimed at moving your ideas forward. Ask your partner to provide meaningful comments that are substantive and move beyond trite affirmations (e.g., “I liked it when you said…” or “I totally agree with you that…”). Record the comments your trusted colleague or friend provides. Change roles and repeat. REVIEW & TASK: Values Inventories Your final Values Inventory highlights the values and beliefs you have identified, questioned, developed, and grappled with while reading this book. Write one substantial paragraph that presents what you believe matters most as an educator, arts educator, dance educator, and as a human being. Pull from your previous installments and your partner’s comments from above. 300

Values Inventory (Risner)  301 Although this writing will be based on your personal values, you may also think of this as an introductory paragraph to the “big picture” of a longer statement about what matters most to your personal pedagogy. Thinking of it in this way allows you to outline what you will write in greater detail in your Teaching Belief Statement. WRITING ASSIGNMENT: Teaching Belief Statement Starting with your Values Inventory summary paragraph, your work and learning from previous Activities for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy, and the ideas that have stood out to you while reading this text, craft a two-page Teaching Belief Statement document that captures the connections between your current values and teaching practices. Describe pedagogies that are central to your beliefs. Cite, quote, and reference important readings from this text as needed.

Appendix I: Teachers’ Guide As readers make their way through the essays and their case studies of this book, their personal values will be revealed and more readily articulated. Once these values become apparent, informed decisions about teaching emerge more thoughtfully, allowing for deeper engagement as a dance educator. Guiding students through this discovery process is a both a privilege and responsibility for those who educate future teachers, community workers, and teaching artists in dance and dance education. Ethical Dilemmas in Dance Education requires readers to honestly assess their values and practices; to be open to thinking through difficult decisions; and to consider multiple viewpoints in relation to social, cultural, economic, ethnic, racial and political issues. For students to critically question their assumptions about dance education and learning, teachers cultivate supportive and trustful spaces and insure the continuance of such for the duration of the class. Teachers may find it helpful to identify for themselves any potentially disruptive or controversial topics that may arise in relation to the readings before facilitating class discussion. Doing so prepares teachers to navigate tensions with, and between, students holding conflicting viewpoints or beliefs. Alerting students at the beginning of the term that examining controversial issues, such as those addressed in this book, is a significant opportunity to cultivate empathy, critical thinking skills, and reflection—aptitudes that are essential for dance educators and responsible citizens—may make students more receptive to engaging with this work. Creating an atmosphere where students feel secure investigating their own discomfort with social, cultural, and political issues is requisite to understanding their personal ethics. Teachers can work with students to establish classroom protocols for engaging in discussion and group projects. Collectively outlining ground rules promotes shared responsibility between teachers and students for respecting diverse viewpoints in the classroom. The text is designed to be approached in a manner based on your particular needs. When the essays are read in order Ethical Dilemmas in Dance 303

304  Appendix I Education provides a broad view of real-life dance education scenarios from ethical perspectives across the lifespan and follows the developmental journey of dancers from early childhood through old age. The Activities for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy, when practiced sequentially from cover to cover, also build upon each other. When assigned as a course text for dance pedagogy, student teaching, fieldwork, ethics of dance education, or teaching practicum, both the essays and the exercises enable readers to understand how social, cultural, and political issues affect dance education across sectors and teaching contexts. Because each essay provides both a full examination of how theory and practice are connected, and an examination of ethical decision-making in the daily lives of dance educators, essays can also be read selectively or independently of the order presented. Therefore, teachers may wish to require specific sections or essays suited to their syllabus needs. Throughout the book, an Activity for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy is paired with each essay. These exercises can be used in the order they are presented, or as the course instructor determines; some are interchangeable. Prior to assigning an activity to students, consider completing the activity yourself, and invite a colleague to do so as well. Given the nature of these activities and projects, some heated in-class discussions can be anticipated. Students may find it helpful to keep a journal, in which where they record their responses to the Activities for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy and track personally relevant information from the essays. Or, students may form a reading group to talk through ideas, challenging issues, and emergent questions. Outside of class, online discussion boards and working groups provide numerous ways for students to share, contemplate, and absorb how their values guide their emerging teaching practice. Teachers may also unearth questions about their own deeply held pedagogical values as they facilitate students’ experience reading the book. Because critical reflection is an ongoing process within a teaching praxis, students can benefit from hearing how dance educators they respect thoughtfully navigate their own ethical dilemmas and choices. Disclosing to students how a teaching praxis matures and transforms throughout a career in dance education can inspire and support students as they establish the foundations of their own pedagogical practices. Finally, the authors encourage dance educators to adapt the sections, essays, and Activities for Humanizing Dance Pedagogy to fit their pedagogical needs and the expectations of their syllabus and curriculum. The book means little, if it is not adjusted to the teacher’s aims and goals, as well as the students’ unique social and cultural location and racial, ethnic, gender, and sexual identities. Take this text as if it was your own and remake it, when doing so is necessary or more humanizing.

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About the Contributors Sherrie Barr received her MFA in dance from the University of Wisconsin, Madison. She has been on the dance faculty at numerous universities, including State University of New York–Potsdam, University of Oregon, and Michigan State University. Her research has been published in the Journal of Dance Education, Journal of Movement Arts Literacy, and Research in Dance Education. She is an associate editor of the Journal of Dance Education. Barbara Bashaw, Ed.D., is a teacher educator who has served in multiple leadership roles pioneering graduate dance education programs at New York University, Rutgers University, and Teachers College, Columbia University. Her prior experience as a PK–12 certified dance educator in the NYC public schools informs her work and research. Susan Bendix, Ph.D., is an independent dance artist specializing in improvisation and dance and healing. She works with a broad range of populations from inner city youth, incarcerated youth, gifted youth, university students, public health entities, and those in the corporate sector (www.think-motion.org). Tanya Berg has a Ph.D. in dance studies from York University in Toronto and is a graduate of Canada’s National Ballet School Teacher Training Program. In addition to teaching in private studios, she’s been teaching at the University of Toronto in the Faculty of Kinesiology and Physical Education since 2003. ​Theresa Purcell Cone was a professor emerita at Rowan University. She received her Ph.D. from Temple University, taught and choreographed for the American Repertory Ballet Company Children’s Program, and was an elementary physical education and dance teacher. She published over 100 articles and eight books, delivered over 200 presentations internationally, and served as president of the National Dance Association. She was a dance advocate for individuals with disabilities. Donna A. Dragon, Ph.D., is an associate professor and dance education specialist at Bridgewater State University. She is the recipient of the BSU Presidential Award for Distinguished Teaching (2018); the Massachusetts Arts/Learning Distinguished Arts Educator Advocate Award (2017); and, the National Dance Education Organization, Outstanding Dance Educator Award (post-secondary) (2014). Becky Dyer, Ph.D., MFA, MS, is an associate dance professor and director of undergraduate and graduate dance certification at Arizona State University where she

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328   About the Contributors teaches dance pedagogy, somatics, creative practice, Laban/Bartenieff Praxis and movement analysis. She holds a secondary dance education certification and is a Laban-Bartenieff Movement Analyst (CLMA). Mary Fitzgerald is an associate professor at Arizona State University. Her research and teaching focuses on dance and art making, community engagement, and dance film. Her creative work has been presented regionally, nationally and internationally with support from several funding organizations, including the National Endowment for the Arts. Monica J. Cameron Frichtel, Ph.D., is interested in transformative pedagogies that pursue equality, empower marginalized communities, and strive to right the injustices of our world. Her research addresses teaching and learning in dance across ages and environments. She teaches at Rutgers University and Temple University. Miriam Giguere holds a BA in psychology and an MS in education from the University of Pennsylvania and a Ph.D. in dance from Temple University. She is the department head for performing arts at Drexel University in Philadelphia where she has taught in numerous community settings. Her research on dance has been published in Arts Education Policy Review, Journal of Dance Education, Research in Dance Education, Arts & Learning Journal, among others. She is associate editor of Dance Education in Practice and is the author of Beginning Modern Dance. Kathleen Isaac is the director of the Arnhold Graduate Dance Education Programs at CUNY Hunter College. She is on the editorial board of the journal Dance Education in Practice and is a member of the inaugural cohort of the Doctoral in Dance Education Program at Teachers College, Columbia University. Adeena Lago has dedicated her life to teaching dance. She received a BS in dance from Brigham Young University and an MFA from the University of Utah. She was awarded the UAPHERD Outstanding Dance Educator in 1997, the UHSAA Drill Team Coach of the Year three times, the Granite District Excel Outstanding Educator in 2005, and the 2018 Sorensen Legacy Award for excellence as the Outstanding Dance Educator for the State of Utah. Elizabeth McPherson, Ph.D., is an associate professor at Montclair State University and coordinator of the BA and MFA programs in dance. She is executive editor of Dance Education in Practice and has written articles for Ballet Review, Dance Teacher Magazine, and Journal of Dance Education. She is the author of The Bennington School of the Dance and The Contributions of Martha Hill to American Dance and Dance Education. Stephanie Milling is the associate chair and undergraduate director of the department of theatre and dance at the University of South Carolina, as well as the head of dance education. She holds a Ph.D. in dance and an MA in women’s studies from Texas Woman’s University, and an MA in dance education from New York University. Pam Musil, MA, is a professor of dance and associate chair in the department of dance at Brigham Young University. Her scholarship spans secondary and post-secondary dance education settings and addresses dance literacy, education, gender, and age. Her publications include essays for Arts Education and Literacies (2015) and Dance and Gender (2017). She served as book review editor for the Journal of Dance



About the Contributors329

Education from 2005 to 2010, and is an editorial board member for the Journal of Dance Education and Arts Education Policy Review. Marissa Beth Nesbit, received her Ph.D. from Ohio State University and MFA from Texas Woman’s University. She is an assistant professor of dance education at the University of North Carolina–Charlotte. She is dedicated to supporting current and future dance educators in North Carolina to work with all students as they investigate the creative process and transformative potential of dance. Robin Prichard is a choreographer and associate professor of dance at the University of Akron, where she specializes in turning classically trained dancers into inscrutable, unruly dancing bodies. Her choreographic and research interests include indigenous dance, increasing diversity in dance, and advancing subjectivity of dancers on stage. She has published in the Journal of Dance Education and Dance Education in Practice. Doug Risner, Ph.D., MFA, is a distinguished faculty fellow and professor of dance, the director of the MA in Dance (Teaching Artistry) program at Wayne State University, where he conducts research in the sociology of dance training and education. His books include Stigma and Perseverance in the Lives of Boys Who Dance (2009); Gender, Sexuality and Identity (2015), Hybrid Lives of Teaching Artists in Dance and Theatre Arts (2014), and Dance & Gender (2017). He is editor-in-chief emeritus of the Journal of Dance Education and associate editor of Research in Dance Education. Karen Schupp, MFA, is an associate professor of dance in and associate director of the Herberger Institute School of Film, Dance and Theatre at Arizona State University and the author of Studying Dance. Her research has been published in the Journal of Dance Education, Research in Dance Education, Arts Education Policy Review, among others. In 2018, she was honored with the Zodiaque Dance Company Distinguished Alumni Award from the State University of New York at Buffalo. She is the associate editor of the Journal of Dance Education. Susan W. Stinson is a professor emerita of dance at the University of North Carolina Greensboro, where she taught courses in dance education and research for 34 years. She has published and presented her scholarly work nationally and internationally, culminating with Embodied Curriculum Theory and Research in Arts Education (2016). Awards include National Dance Association Scholar (1994), National Dance Education Organization Lifetime Achievement Award (2012), and Congress on Research in Dance Award for Outstanding Scholarly Research in Dance (2012). Kori Wakamatsu is an associate professor of dance at Brigham Young University and coordinates the Dance Education K–12 BA program. Before teaching at the university level, she taught junior high and high school in Utah public schools. She has worked on many collaborative projects such as the Thought of You animation, The Nightingale play, ON SITE mobile dance series, and Theatre Engine/Dance Engine.

Index ability 185 abstinence 110 abuse 144 academic dance  147 academic integrity  77 Acceptable Use Policy  104, 106 acceptance  47, 49, 100–101, 116, 119, 121, 127, 128, 136, 279 access  1–2, 13, 16, 20, 22–23, 38, 40–41, 46–49, 100–101, 104, 106, 109, 113, 124, 134, 158, 196, 254 accommodation  45, 118, 123–124, 134, 230–231 accountability  23, 71–72, 77, 80, 232 adjunct  211, 213, 215, 217–218 administration  7, 20, 22, 26, 32–33, 41, 47, 67, 72, 74–76, 80–81, 94, 97–99, 107, 121, 132, 134, 148, 163, 189, 193, 218, 261, 282–283, 294 admissions  143, 164 adolescence  7, 64, 66, 79, 89–90, 103–104, 109, 111, 113, 116, 191, 233 advertising campaigns  115 advising  129, 131, 169 advocacy  11, 25, 29, 41, 43–44, 46, 47–49, 67–69, 72, 74–75, 78–80, 90, 100, 118, 129, 132–134, 145, 148, 164, 184, 188, 217, 238, 243, 282, 288 aesthetic license  56 after-school ballet program  22 after-school lessons  17, 22 after-school program  16–18 agency  3, 23, 151–152, 159, 183, 189, 197, 212, 242, 255, 260–263, 282, 284 Agnelo, Mary Frances  184 Akinleye, Adesola  219 Albright, Ann Cooper  223 alcohol use  104 alienation 128 Allen, Samantha  128 allies  97, 127–128, 131–133 Amans, Diane  238, 267, 274–275 Ambrosio, Nora  219 American Association of Colleges for Teacher Education 185 American Association of Colleges of Pharmacy 65

American culture  122 American flag  125 American school culture  24 American society  116, 123 Americans for the Arts  289 Anderson, Mary  288, 295 Andrzejewski, Carey  79 anti-discrimination policies  127 anti-gay 298 anti-racism 185–187 Anttila, Eeva  263 anxiety  90, 98, 104, 106, 144, 171, 192, 196, 243, 283, 286–287 applied teaching practice  4 appropriate clothing  117 Aroian, Karen  116 art educators  11 arts administrators  26 arts entrepreneurship  146 arts organizations  18, 20, 25, 256, 261 arts programming  23, 282 arts-rich schools  16 Ashley, Linda  159 assessment  3, 11, 49, 71, 78, 81, 143, 173–174, 207, 234, 295 assumed culture  156 assumptions  1, 3–7, 27, 35, 39, 46–47, 50, 58–59, 61, 67–68, 87–88, 90–91, 122–123, 125–126, 136–137, 143, 151, 155, 160, 182–183, 185–187, 205, 207, 210, 233, 271, 277, 283, 285, 289, 296–298, 303 asymmetrical power relationships  172, 184 asymmetrical power structures  152, 158 at-risk youth  238 atheists 37 athleticism  52, 58 authoritarian  205–207, 219, 239, 258 authority  6–7, 13, 17, 44, 46–47, 68, 111–112, 151, 156–158, 160, 172–173, 183–184, 189, 193, 197, 206, 239, 240–242, 253, 258, 262, 273, 284 avoidance of controversy  37 b-boys 125 b-girls 125 bachelor of arts  147, 148

331

332  Index bachelor of arts in dance  164 bachelor of arts in dance education  164, 176 bachelor of education  184 bachelor of fine arts  147 bachelor of science  147–148 ballet company  13 ballet curriculum  18 ballet pedagogy  25 ballroom dance  93–94, 98–101 banking method  151–152, 159, 240 Banks, James  59 Barr, Sherrie  1–2, 7, 12, 90, 135, 152, 159, 172, 184, 206, 241–242 Bartolome, Lilia  1 Bartsch, Miriam  103 Bashaw, Barbara  146 Baum, Baum  134 Bauman, Sheri  100 Becoming Me 137 Beggan, James  101 behavioral problems  65 Belenky, Mary Field  206 Bendix, Susan  242 benefits of dance  46 Bennington College  199 Benson, Peter  17–19, 21–26, 34 Berg, Tanya  149, 211–212, 219 best practices  1–3, 13, 172, 184, 189 bias  69, 86, 90, 101, 123, 151, 182, 186–187, 233, 298–299 Biasutti, Michelle  231, 232 Biegel, Stuart  135 bisexual  39, 127, 129 Black community  116 Black Lives Matter  116, 288 blackmail 111 body image  56 body of the condemned  257 Bonbright, Jane  71 Bond, Karen  12 Boswell, Boni  286 Boys and Girls Clubs  7 boys’ dance class  52 Brackett, Marc  170–171 Bradshaw, Catherine  100 breath awareness  35 Bresler, Liora  263 Broadband Data Improvement Act  104 Brown vs. Board of Education 143 Browne, Kathryn  11 Buddhists 37 Bulach, Clete  80 bullying  68–69, 80, 82, 94, 100, 102, 107, 111, 121–122, 133, 177, 179–182, 195, 289 bureaucracy 142–143 Butler, Judith  51, 289 Butterworth, Jo  199–200, 207, 238, 275 bystander intervention  102 Camarota, Steven  67, 123 Campbell, Rebecca  93

caregivers  6–7, 27, 72, 79, 144, 269 caretakers  241, 246 Carr, Paul  183 Carroll, Helen  135 Catterall, James  72 Center for Applied Special Technology  12 Central America  125 cerebral palsy  40–41 certified dance educators  11, 140 channeled concentration  35 character development  35 Charlesworth, Rosalind  11 Charmaraman, Linda  94 chat rooms  110 child abuse  89, 142, 144, 188–189, 193–196 Child Abuse Prevention Treatment Act 189 child care  24 child maltreatment  189, 197 child pornography  108, 112 child protection laws  68 Child Protective Services  86–87, 195 childhood development  12, 24, 29, 34, 65 children of color  35 Children’s Bureau  89, 144 Children’s Internet Protection Act  104 Chinese folk religionists  37 Choi, HyeJeong  104, 111 Christian  28–29, 32, 37–38 cisgender  128, 132, 135 cisgender privilege  135 city mayor  288 civic responsibility  51 civil rights  115, 134, 296 Civil Rights Project  184 Clark, Dawn  88 class community  122 classroom management skills  163 Clemente, Karen  58 coaches  76, 161 coersion  76, 108, 109, 110, 111, 124 cognitive development  11, 34 Cole, Michael  34 Cole, Sheila  34 collaboration  2, 13, 17, 26, 64, 78, 153, 160, 183, 200, 207, 213, 238, 241, 251, 261, 268, 273–274, 276, 280, 284 College of Education  7, 177, 179, 182–183 coming out  128 commercial dance  146, 278 communities of color  115 communities of practice  141 community  1–4, 16–21, 23–25, 27, 36–37, 54, 66–67, 77–78, 104, 110, 115, 129, 134–135, 145, 179, 181, 188, 218, 238, 240, 242, 257, 263–267, 270, 273, 275, 278, 282, 284, 286, 288, 293–295, 303 community arts center  288 community-based teaching  274 community-building 133 community centers  7, 140, 239–240, 242, 245–246, 248–249, 251–253, 277, 288

 community colleges  147 community dance  7, 148, 238, 239, 240–247, 254, 262–263, 265, 267–268, 272–276, 278– 279, 285, 289–290 community engagement  146 community partners  17, 23 community programs  21, 275, 293 community service  112 competition 58 competing pedagogical approaches  151 concept-based lesson plan model  252 Condron, Dennis  296 Cone, Theresa Purcell  6, 13, 247, 252 confidence 212 confrontation  43, 264 connected teaching  6 consent  149, 180, 223 consent culture  223 Consortium for School Networking  103 Consortium of National Arts Education Associations 71 constructivism  6, 239 contact improvisation  149, 218, 223–225, 231–232 Cooper, Karen  104, 111 corporate culture  130 Council of Chief State School Officers  164 counseling  86, 112, 169, 229–230 counselors  31, 32, 36, 72, 74, 86–87, 99, 132, 161, 189 counterpractices 296 counterstories 296 Crawford, John  58–59 creative-movement based program  18 creative movement curriculum  25 creative process  15, 55, 256, 265 Crenshaw, Kimberlé  289 crime  176–178, 180 critical dance pedagogy  23 critical feminist pedagogy  6, 88 critical pedagogy  6, 51, 151, 183–184, 207, 263–264 critical questioning  2 critical race feminism  124 critical social issues  90, 297 critical theory  51 Cross, Lawrence  170 Crothers, Laura  100 cultivating dance artists  140 cultural assumptions  7, 58, 69, 90, 126, 145 cultural conflicts  13 cultural contexts  25, 79 cultural differences  6, 12, 14, 17, 240 cultural diversity  125 cultural frames of reference  123 cultural heritage  25 cultural identity  24, 123, 134, 155, 158–159 cultural norms  52, 116, 289 cultural value system  25 culturally diverse classrooms  12 culturally inclusive curriculum  23

Index  333 culturally relevant pedagogy  6 culturally responsive pedagogy  24, 123–124, 158 culturally responsive teaching  23, 123, 124 culture  2, 12, 13, 19, 21, 24, 25, 69, 90–91, 115, 121, 124, 126, 128, 152–153, 155–156, 158–159, 177, 183, 189, 194–195, 223, 246, 286 culture of disability  48 curricular negotiation  25 curriculum  7, 11, 18, 20, 25–26, 46, 64, 104, 114, 123, 126, 129, 133, 148, 152, 159, 171, 183–187, 264 curriculum development  87 curriculum inquiry  25 Curry, Tyler  128 cyberbullying  95, 104, 110 Dale, John  173 Dallavis, Christian  123 dance and arts management  148 dance and the body  50 Dance Exchange  174 dance in public elementary schools  10 dance pedagogy praxis  4, 138 dance science-related careers  148 dance standards  11 dance studios  5, 45, 52, 65, 72, 82, 84, 95, 148, 167, 243, 278–279, 300 Darden, Edward  29–30 Davenport, Donna  90 Davis, Lauren  35 Dean of Education  146, 176 death  31, 120–121 Debenham, Kathie  29, 33 Debenham, Pat  29, 33, 70 decision making  3, 25, 81, 98, 111, 138, 144, 150, 184, 198, 263, 284, 294 deficiencies  142, 145, 169 dehumanization 186 dementia 241 democracy  176, 183 democratic pedagogies  2, 6 demographics  18, 65, 125 Department of Education  10 depression  104, 188 developmental theory  11–12, 34, 36 developmentally appropriate  11, 91–92, 253 Dewey, John  11 Dey, Mirsi  231–232 Didactic-Democratic Spectrum  207 differently abled populations  285 digital communication  66 digital presence  103 direct instruction  152, 154, 156, 159 disabilities  12–14, 40–41, 46–47, 49, 50, 185, 238, 243, 285, 286 disciplinary jurisdiction  109–111 discipline  108–112, 119, 121, 263 discipline-specific pedagogy courses  2, 135 discrimination  52, 56, 69, 94, 127, 129, 184, 233, 289, 296–297

334  Index disempowering practices  152, 155, 157 dispositions 142 disrespect 105 district curriculum guide  11 district procedures  33 diverse populations  123, 152, 183, 185, 257, 267 diverse student population  124 diversity  12–13, 22, 27, 29, 33, 69, 115, 123, 142–143, 145, 158–159, 176, 181–182, 184–187, 238–239, 293 docile body  257 dominant cultural practices  296 dominant culture  143, 298 donors  243, 279 Dorfman, David  243, 287 Dorsey, Sean  135 double standard  111 Dragon, Donna  140, 206 drama educators  11 Drouin, Michelle  111 drug use  104 Duncan, Susan Hanley  112 Dunphy, Kim  49, 285 Dyer, Becky  13, 28 Dymoke, Katy  223–224 economic status  185 education map  160–162 education renewal  183 education theory  2 educational policy  1, 189 educational research  189 educational theory  11 Eisner, Elliot  197 elder care facility  267 elderly  238, 242, 267–275 elementary dance educators  11 Elias, John  206 Elin, Jane  286 embarrassment 220 embodied understanding  124 Emdin, Christopher  184 emotional abuse  195 emotional development  34, 69 emotional disabilities  50 empathy  2, 33, 47, 217, 248, 303 employment  16, 294–296 employment opportunities  16 enculturation 116 engaged pedagogy  59, 128, 135 engaged teaching  6, 67, 81 English, Leona  88 English as a Second Language  20, 117 English Language Learners  153 English language proficiency  185 enrollment levels  21, 164–165, 169, 171 entitled intimidators  80 equal rights  183 equity  16, 41, 48, 101, 183–184, 186–187, 289 Erikson, Erik  11, 34, 66 essentialism  143, 158

ethic of care  170 ethical decision-making  4, 14, 68, 169, 171, 172, 304 ethical grading  171 ethical stewardship  100 ethics of care  194 ethnic identity  12 ethnically diverse students  25 ethnicity  2, 6–7, 56, 88, 123–124, 143, 152, 185, 255, 277, 296 ethnohistorical 223 evaluating dispositions  164 evaluation  20, 171 Evans, Robert  80 Every Student Succeeds Act  78 exclusion  69, 143, 276, 293 experiential learning  5, 11 exploitation 89 expression  2, 19, 34, 79, 111, 196, 206–207, 243, 263–264, 286 extra-curricular activities  64 Facebook 113 faith  31–34, 117 familial rejection  134 families  16, 20–24, 26–29, 32–33, 78–80, 134, 142, 144, 153, 158, 178, 196, 245–246, 253, 294 Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act  68, 86, 180 family input  23 family-school partnerships  24 family structure  12, 185 fear  24, 30–31, 33, 36, 110, 115, 144, 174, 186, 204, 206, 213, 221, 225, 287, 298 federal agencies  6 Federal Bureau of Investigation  296 federal funding  127 federal protections  127 feedback  26, 84, 173–174, 202, 207–208, 210– 211, 216, 219–220, 248, 280, 307 Fehr, Mary Cain  184 femininity  51–52, 57, 90 feminism 124 finance 240 FindLaw 112 fiscal sustainability of arts programs  16 Fitzgerald, Mary  241 flirting  99–100, 111 folkloric dance  125 Foucault, Michel  257 Foundation of Community Dance  274–275 Frary, Robert  170 free lunch  178 freedom of religion  30 Freeman, Nancy  14 Freire, Paulo  51, 59, 144, 151, 172, 206, 240 Frichtel, Monica  14 Frieberg, H. Jerome  206 friending students  106 funding  7, 21, 23, 144, 283, 293–294

Index  335

 Gallagher-Mackay, Kelly  195 Gard, Michael  52, 59 gay  38, 52, 66, 127–130, 132, 133, 220, 229–230, 233, 293; see also LGBTQ+ gay (pejorative)  67, 289 Gay, Geneva  24–25, 123 Gay, Lesbian & Straight Education Network  129, 289 Gay-Straight Alliance  128, 130, 132 gender  2, 6, 7, 12, 14, 20, 51–53, 55–61, 69, 86, 88, 90, 92, 94, 109, 111, 123–124, 128–129, 134–135, 171, 184–185, 233, 255, 277, 289, 296–298, 304 gender and sexuality  51 gender equality  122 gender expression  289 gender identity  6, 12, 52–53, 56, 68–69, 127–128, 134, 136 gender inequities  52 gender-neutral 136 gender-nonconformity 127–128 gender norms  51, 57 gender pronouns  130, 133 gender roles  55, 89, 116, 135 gender stereotypes  59 gender transition support  134 gender-based harassment  127 gendered movement  60, 135 general education faculty  141 Generation Z  66–67 generational theory  66 Gere, Susan  47 German-American 115 gerontology 267 gifs 103 Giguere, Miriam  7, 241–242 Gilbert, Ann Green  252, 285 Gilligan, Carol  66 Giroux, Henry  51, 59, 183 global awareness  2 global village  37 Gold, C.A.  195 Goodlad, John  100 Gordon, Ann  11, 19, 21–22 governmental child protection mandates  193 grade inflation  142, 145, 163, 168, 170–172 grading inconsistency  171 Graham, Martha  166 grandparents 21 Grant, Jaime  128 Grant, Justin  112 Green, Jill  28–29, 152, 238–239, 253, 257, 279 Greenberg, Mark  171 Griffin, Pat  135 guest artist residency  149 guest artists  6, 14, 25, 52, 57, 75, 149, 199–200, 204–205, 207–208, 218 guest teaching artist  16, 295 guided discovery  151, 154, 157 gunman 31

Hackmann, Donald  79 Hagood, Thomas  147 Hall, Alex  34 harassment  68, 93, 95, 98–102, 111, 128, 133, 195, 219–220, 289 Harden, K. Paige  110 hate crime  186 hate speech  121 Hatton, Neville  3 head scarf  117 health insurance  22, 290 Healy, Christopher  142 hegemony  57–58, 88 Hehir, Thomas  48 helicopter parenting  68, 72 Herbert, Carolyn  52 Herman, Jody  128 Herman, Joshua  112 heteronormativity 298 heterosexism  52, 298 heterosexual  38, 51–52 128, 132, 296, 298–299 heterosexual bias  298 high school  7, 63, 69, 93, 128 high school dance company  103, 113 high-stakes testing  1 hijab  118, 122, 125 Hindus 37 hip hop  177–178, 180, 182–183, 241, 258, 262, 265 history of education  2 Hodges, Richard  127 holistic education  135 homophobia  52, 57 hooks, bell  47, 51, 59, 128, 135, 177, 183 Hoot, James  122–123 Horrigan, Kristin  207 Horton, Lester  166 Hoshmand, Lisa Tsoi  47 hostile environment  93, 99 hostility  93, 99, 101, 118, 120, 133 Hough, Edythe  116 Houston, Sara  238–239, 256, 263, 275, 278– 279, 285 Hu, Chin  116, 122 Huber, Janice  296–297 Huebner, Dwayne  36 human rights  115, 265 Human Rights Campaign  127, 137 humanistic pedagogy  205 humanizing dance pedagogy  1, 3, 5, 26, 37, 49, 80, 101, 112, 172, 301, 304 humanizing pedagogy  89, 145, 171–173, 200, 206 hyper-feminization 51 hyper-sexualization 83 Hyslop-Margison, Emery  173 identity 185 identity creation  103 identity development  66 identity formation  65, 66

336  Index ill-equipped dance educators  163, 170 immigrant students  116, 123 immigrants  67, 116, 120, 122–123, 143, 156 immigration  115, 118, 153 immigration status  24 inappropriate behavior  166 incarceration  242, 256–258, 263, 265 inclusion concept  12 inclusivity  12, 23, 27, 35–36, 39–40, 46–48, 50, 52, 54, 82, 104, 126, 128, 133–134, 143, 152, 159, 241, 246–247, 251, 254, 262, 270–272, 275, 291, 293 income 22 independence  64, 143 individual agency  7 individual diversity  158–159 Individualized Education Plan  14, 40–41 individuals with disabilities  12 Individuals with Disabilities Education Act  41, 45 inequity 184 Instagram  103, 113 institutional policy  218 institutional racism  116, 296 integrated practice  2 integration 296 interdisciplinary concentrations  148 intergenerational  242, 267 intersectionality  7, 233, 289–297 Interstate Teacher Assessment and Support Consortium 164 intimidation 110 Iraq  116, 120 Iraqi students  124 Irving, Catherine  88 Isaac, Kathleen  145 Islamic faith  122 Jackson-Schebetta, Lisa  196 Janmohamed, Abdul  59 Japanese-American 115 Jennings, Patricia  171 job security  149, 218, 290 Johns Hopkins Center for the Prevention of Youth Violence  100 Johnson, Aostre  35 Johnson, Sheena  171 Jones, Bill T.  243, 290 Jones, Randall  66 junior high school  69, 116 jurisdiction  112, 196 Kane, Kevin  89, 90 Karkouti, Ibrahim  66 Kaufmann, Karen  40, 49 Keisling, Mara  128 Kenny, Maureen  188, 195 Kesner, John  89, 188, 195 Keyani, Pedram  267 Khuwaja, Salma  116 Kidder, Rushworth  4, 14, 205, 294–295

King, Pamela  34 Kivnick, Helen  267 Kohlberg, Lawrence  66 Kolbert, Jered  100 Kopels, Sandra  89 Kozulin, Alex  239 Krasnow, Donna  211, 219 Ku Klux Klan  186 Kuppers, Petra  276, 286 Kyriacou, Chris  171 Ladson-Billings, Gloria  23–24, 123 Lago, Adeena  68, 170 language barrier  24, 118 Latin America  125 Latino arts organizations  23 law enforcement  24, 99 lawsuit  108–109, 180–181 Lazaroff, Elizabeth  285 leadership  58, 105, 107–108, 113, 158, 166–170 The Leadership Conference  296 learning community  40 learning standards for elementary education 12 Least Restrictive Environment  41 Lee, Raymond  278 Lee, Rosemary  239, 243, 276 legal counsel  108 legal issues  36, 68, 85, 88–89, 97, 99, 108–109, 112, 134, 136, 144, 212 Lenhart, Amanda  103 Lepkoff, Daniel  232 Lerman, Liz  243, 267, 285 lesbian  38, 127–129, 243, 288, 293, 296–297; see also LGBTQ+ lesson plans  2, 11 LGBTQ+  69, 127, 128, 132, 288–289, 294, 296, 297 LGBTQ+ rights  128, 133, 288 LGBTQ+ students  69, 127, 128–129, 133 Lhamon, Catherine  127 liabilities 33 liberal arts colleges  147 Lichty, Lauren  93–94 Lievens, Eva  104, 111 Lightfoot, Cynthia  34 limited resources  17 Limón, Jose  166 local standards  11 lockdown  30–31, 33 Loizou, Eleni  145 low-income 253 Ludwig, M  185 Mabingo, Alfdaniels  12, 123, 265 Madden, Mary  113 magnet school  51, 52, 55 mainstreaming special education students  12 male dance teacher  109, 129, 212, 219 male oppression  122 male participation in dance  52, 58, 111, 129

 male privilege  52, 58 malnutrition 38 Malpede, Karen  70 Mandel, Scott  79 marginalization  57, 69, 160, 184, 230, 233 marginalized populations  116 marketing and promotion  148 marriage equality  289, 296 masculinity  51–52, 55, 57–58, 69, 90 Maslow, Abraham  66 master of education  184 Mayo, Peter  59 McBride, Deborah  103–104 McCarthy-Brown, Nyama  25, 125, 257, 265 McGill, Ashley  278 McGreevy-Nichols, Sue  71, 78, 148 McLaren, Peter  51, 59 McPherson, Elizabeth  7, 89, 145, 199 media reports  33 medical bills  22 Melchior, Elizabeth  123 men's dance class  128 mental imagery  35 mentoring student teachers  152 Merriam, Sharan  206 meta-cognition 207 methods-centric teacher preparation  1 methods courses  2, 159 Mexican arts  21 Mexican culture  155 Mexican families  21 Mexican heritage  22 Michikyan, Minas  103–104 Middle Eastern community  241 middle school  7, 63, 65, 100, 104–105, 107, 109–110, 145, 151–153, 157–158, 165 middle school dance company  104 Miller, D.A.  56, 264 Milling, Stephanie  145 mimicry 206 mindfulness 35 minority children  185 minors  104, 112 mirror experiences  291 misdemeanor 108 Mishna, Faye  100 Monson, Lynn  71 Montessori, Maria  11 Mooney, Carol  11 Moosa, Samira  122, 123 moral action  35 morality 35–36 Morris, Mark  290 Mortimer, Kristie  257, 263 Mottet, Lisa  128 Mozingo, Karen  52 multicultural dance curriculum  25 multicultural methods  2 multicultural perspectives  159 multiculturalism 159 multiracial families  66

Index  337 music educators  11 Musil, Pam  7, 63, 68–70, 89–90 Muslim  33, 37, 115, 117–120, 122–123 Muslim community  116 Muslim faith  116 Muslim immigrants  116, 122 Muslim students  124 mystical knowing  35 narrative inquiry  297 national accrediting bodies  141–142 National Coalition for Core Arts Standards  11, 71, 129 The National Core Arts Standards 11 National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education 142 National Dance Education Organization  11, 71, 147 National Institute of Mental Health  65 national standards  11 National Standards for Arts Education 71 National Transgender Discrimination Survey 128 nationalism 115 nature vs. nurture  12 neglect  89, 195 Nesbit, Marissa  13, 16, 68–69, 146, 170 Neumann, R  1 New Religionists  37 9/11 (September 11, 2001)  116, 290 No Child Left Behind  1 No Name-Calling Week  129 no-touch policy  149, 211–212, 215, 217–218 Noddings, Nel  47, 78, 170, 197 North America  125 Norwood, Becca  70 Novack, Cynthia  223 nutrition 196 Obergefell, James  127, 289 objectification  68, 88, 109, 224 occupational stress  171 Office of Civil Rights  127 Ohio Department of Health  127 Oliver, Wendy  52, 71 online behavior  66, 104, 110–111 open secret  56 oppression 289 Orfield, Gary  177, 184 Orr, Asaf  134 Osborne, Margery  173 “other” 122–123, 144, 177, 297 Ottey, Sherilyn  172 Outevsky, David  220 overlooking deficiencies  164 paraeducator  41–42, 46 parent-teacher conferences  80 parental involvement  14, 26, 72, 134 parental objection  36 parents  6–7, 12–14, 17, 21, 26–28, 31–36,

338  Index 40–42, 44–48, 55, 67, 71–72, 74–77, 79, 99, 104–105, 107–110, 112, 120–122, 130–134, 144, 161–162, 179–183, 188, 196, 278, 284 Parkinson’s Disease  241 Parsad, Basmat  11 participatory dance  238 partnering  96, 100 passive racism  186–187 patriarchy 122 Patten, Paul  296 Paxton, Steve  223 Payne, Rose  219 pedagogical praxis  2, 6 pedagogical theory  4, 101, 265 pedagogical values  2–5, 51, 56, 68, 93, 102, 158, 210, 211, 262–264, 304 pedagogy  2–6, 8, 12–13, 17, 25–26, 33, 47–48, 52, 55–58, 60, 68, 70, 78, 80–81, 88, 90, 101–102, 124, 133–135, 147, 151–152, 158–159, 162, 170, 172–173, 176, 183, 189, 194, 197, 205, 210–212, 217, 230–231, 238–240, 242–243, 251–254, 262–263, 274–276, 295, 297, 301, 304, 307 pedagogy courses  159, 166 pedagogy of care  196 penal system  242, 256 performing arts school  14 Perkins, Tasha  23 personal development  35 personal experiences  25 personal reflection  4 personal space  99, 196 Pethybridge, Ruth  231, 232 Pew Center for Research  113 phenomenology 48 Phillips, Michelle  296 philosophical disagreements  152 philosophy  2, 25, 41, 48, 128, 145, 238–239, 276 physical abuse  195, 206 physical assault  128 physical education  11, 41–42, 135 physical education teachers  11 physical therapy session  42, 44, 46 Piaget, Jean  11–12, 66 pledge of allegiance  28 policy  1, 30, 68, 71–72, 74, 77–80, 82, 90, 94, 97–99, 104–105, 112, 121, 127–128, 132, 134, 136, 144, 146, 149, 189, 194, 196, 217 political  4, 6, 24, 51, 66, 116, 134, 141, 143, 240, 263, 277, 289, 303, 304 pornography 104 postsecondary education  146, 149, 199 Potter, Les  80 power  6, 17, 23–24, 26, 38, 52, 56, 68, 134, 141– 142, 144–146, 158, 160, 162, 172, 179, 183–184, 189, 193, 195, 206, 220, 231, 239–240, 242, 262–263, 289, 295 power structures  51, 57, 68, 70, 90, 152, 172, 193 pre-dance therapy  148 pregnancy 188

premeditated pedagogical outburst  206 pre-professional training program  18 pre-service teacher program  141 President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities 16 Price, Jeremy  173 Prichard, Robin  149, 207 principal  20, 22, 24, 71, 75–76, 79, 107, 188, 192–193, 282 prison  242, 256–258, 261, 263–265 privacy  55, 110, 134, 136, 196 private Christian elementary school  28 private studios  19 private two-year schools  147 privilege  38, 57, 58, 115, 160, 186, 239, 255, 296, 303 problem solving  11, 65, 157, 257 professional codes  194 professional dance artists  147 professional dance companies  147, 148 professional training  18, 147 professional Western concert dance  148 program evaluation  20 prosocial behavior  35, 93–94, 96, 100–101 Provost, Lori  78 Pruchno, Rachel  267 Pruitt, Allison  101 psychosocial development  11, 124 puberty 65 punishment  107, 109, 112, 229, 251, 253 queer  127, 135; see also LGBTQ+ Quin, Edel  211, 219 race  2, 6–7, 56, 88, 123–124, 143, 152, 177, 185– 187, 233, 255, 277, 288–289, 293, 296–298 race relations  178, 288, 293–294 racial isolation  144 racial slurs  186 racialization 143 racism  177, 182, 185–187, 233, 239, 289–298; see also passive racism Rae, Kathleen  223, 224, 232 Randolph, Mickey  195 Rawlings, Jared  71 reciprocity  231, 241, 276 reflective personal pedagogy  2 reflective practice  3, 57, 70 refugee 116 rehabilitative programs  7 Reinkraut, Rick  47 rejection  57, 134, 136 religion in school  29 religious beliefs  13, 28, 29, 30, 33–38, 116, 121, 123 religious development  35 religious differences  14 religious identity  12 religious instruction  35 religious minorities  33 religious persuasion  33

 religious silencing  34 repercussions  109, 218 repertory 149 residencies  19, 54, 199, 200–201, 204–205, 263 respect  35, 47–49, 59, 64, 77–79, 105, 113, 134–135, 142–143, 156, 158, 163, 167, 188, 196, 204, 206, 225, 232, 240, 245, 253, 264, 282, 284, 294, 304 retention 169 retirement 148 Rheingold, A.A.  195 risk  28, 33, 36, 57, 71, 83, 85, 89, 110–111, 171, 286 Risner, Doug  1–3, 12–13, 25, 51–52, 56, 58–59, 62, 69, 79–80, 89–90, 112, 135, 140, 145, 147, 149, 152, 159, 172, 184, 195, 200, 206, 212, 219–220, 243, 288, 295 Rizzuto, Maria  29–30, 34 Robinson, Daniel  51–52, 188, 195 Robinson, Margaret  89 Roehlkepartain, Eugene  34 Rogers, Carl  206 Rojstaczer, Eugene  142 role model  56–58, 79, 90 Ronnberg, Margaret  252 Ross, E. Wayne  206 Ross, Janice  256, 263, 265 rubric 73 Ryan, James  144 Sacro-Thomas, Malaika  231–232 safe learning environments  101 safe space  53, 55–56, 123–124, 134, 212, 224 Salazar, Maria  296 salvation 24 same-sex couples  127 Sansom, Adrienne  124 Sapon-Shevin, Mara  48 Saporito, Salvatore  296 scaffolding  208, 239 Schmid, Dale  71 scholarships 52 Schön, Donald  3 school administrators  6, 80, 119, 278, 283 school arts committees  141 school boards  36 school community  17, 78, 136 school–community partnerships  24 school culture  196 school management  148 school policy  121 school principals  19, 141, 192, 195 school shooting  31 school superintendents  141 school zoning  143 Schouten, Lucy  35 Schupp, Karen  1, 13, 51–52, 56, 89, 140, 145, 147, 149, 207, 243 Schutz, Paul  171 Schwartz, Peggy  105, 224, 231 Scott, Holly  104

Index  339 Scott, Jenny  49, 285 scripted curriculum  1 Sczecsi, Tunde  122–123 secondary dance education  64 sectarian religion  35 segregated dance class  133 segregation  115, 142–144, 177, 296 self-actualization  135, 182 self-expression  134, 238, 246, 257, 262 selfies 103 senior citizens  136, 242 separation of church and state  29–30 September 11, 2001 (9/11)  116, 290 sex positive  110 sexism  101  233, 289, 298 sexploitation  82, 87–88 sexting  103–104, 108, 110–112 sexual abuse  89, 146, 194–195, 212, 219 sexual activity  85, 104, 110 sexual development  65, 104, 109–110 sexual exploitation  82, 87–88 sexual exploitation of the dancing body  89 sexual harassment  93–94, 99–102, 212, 220 sexual identity  7, 87, 297–298 sexual orientation  66, 90, 109, 185, 238, 296, 298 sexual violence  128 sexuality  2, 6, 68–69, 83, 86, 90, 104, 233, 289, 298 sexually exploitative content  90 sexually suggestive movement  90 Shakeshaft, Charol  193–195 shame 109 Shapiro, Sherry  89, 172, 264 Shaw, Ryan  41–45, 71 Shor, Ira  59 short-term versus long-term dilemma  205 Sinagatullin, Ilghiz  159 Sinanan, Allison  188–189, 195–196 Skelton, Christine  58 Smith, Bryan  143 Smith, Clyde  172, 206, 263 Smith, David  3 Snapchat  103, 105 Snyder-Young, Dani  295 social advocacy  238 social change  243, 288–289, 295 social class  67, 88, 185, 255, 277 social construction  5 social construction of gender  51, 57 social development  34, 87, 93, 275 social foundations  2, 3, 88, 90, 254 social immersion project  176, 254 social justice  3, 48–49, 55–56, 86–87, 176, 183–184, 243, 263, 288–290, 293, 295 social media  7, 69, 91, 103–104, 106, 109–110, 112–114 social networking websites  104, 110 social norms  102, 111 social oppression  289 sociocultural aspects of evaluation  171

340  Index sociocultural factors  6–7, 67 socio-economic status  12 sociology of teaching dance  6 sociopolitical climate  37 sociopolitical correctness  123 Sohoni, Deenesh  296 Soriano, Christina  58 South America  38, 125 special education  45 special education students  12 Special Education Team  13, 40–47 special needs  238, 278 specialized dance instruction  11 Spiegelman, Maura  11 spiritual development  34–35 spiritual perspectives  35–36 spiritual practices  28, 35 spirituality  33–35, 39 Spontaneous Gesture  174 sports  52, 58, 74, 76, 133, 135 Sprague, Marty  71, 78 stage mother  72 stage theory  34 standardization  1, 71 standards-based dance curriculum  17 state certification  167, 183 state departments of education  141, 144 state licensure  142, 169 state standards  11 status of arts education  16 Steinberg, Lawrence  100, 111 Steineger, Melissa  100 stereotypes  21, 32, 51–52, 58–60, 67, 122, 143–144, 159, 185, 286 S’thembile West, Cynthia  12, 89 Stinson, Susan  2, 6, 13–14, 28, 52, 62, 151–152, 159, 240, 253–254, 263 student achievement  24 student-centered learning  36 student-centered pedagogy  205–206, 212 student dance company  149 student empowerment  25 student evaluations of teaching  171 student leaders  103–106 student loans  168 student safety  82 student success  24, 78 student-teacher communication  218–219 student teacher rights  158 student teaching  7, 141, 146, 151–152, 154, 156, 158, 160, 165, 168–169, 171, 176–180, 182, 184–185, 189, 192, 197, 304 student teaching observation  166, 167, 171 student teaching placements  141, 158, 176–177, 180–182 student test scores  144 students of color  67, 177, 296 students with disabilities  40–44, 46–48 students with limited mobility  46 Suàrez-Orozco, Carola  103–104 subordination of women  122

Subrahmanyam, Kaveri  103 sustainability 16 Sutton, Rosemary  171 Swain, Amy  1 Tabachnick, Joan  102 tactile feedback  212–214, 220 Tanis, Justin  128 Taschuck, Heather  79 Tatum, Beverly  143–144, 177 Taylor, Renee  142 teacher-centered pedagogy  205 teacher certification  2, 168 teacher dispositions  142–143, 145, 163–164, 167, 170, 173 teacher education faculty  141 teacher education program  142 teacher emotion  171 teacher placements  145, 182–183 teacher preparation  1–2, 7, 135, 141, 146, 158– 159, 183, 196, 243 teacher preparation programs  2, 7, 135, 141, 183 teacher stress  171 teacher versus artist  140 teaching artist  2, 6, 7, 11, 17–20,  22–23, 215, 239–240, 242–243, 256–257, 264–265, 275, 288, 290, 292–296, 303 teaching artistry  7, 289, 294 teaching methods  2, 5, 172, 204, 235 teaching philosophy  55 teaching practice  3, 5, 7, 29, 39, 50, 67–68, 92, 198, 254, 304 teaching presence  169 technology 112–114 Temple, Jeff  104 Templin, Thomas  116 tenure  140, 148, 165, 169, 171 tenure and promotion  171 tenure-track faculty  141 terrorism  32, 116, 119 texting  96, 113 theory and practice  2, 265, 304 therapeutic application of the arts  36 Thompson, Christine  246, 252 Thompson, James  295 Thompson, Michael  80 threats  110–111, 195 Title IX  93–94, 98–100, 127 tolerance  119, 121, 177 Torrents, Carlotta  231–232 transgender  39, 59, 66, 69, 127–128, 131, 133– 137, 296; see also LGBTQ+ transitioning  59, 128, 132–133, 137 transparent grading  169 transportation  24, 240, 255 trauma  28, 30–34, 36, 181–182, 286 Trumbull, Elise  24 tuition  179, 181 Twitter  106, 113

Index  341 unacceptable teaching methods  199 under-resourced schools  65 underserved populations  20, 239 undocumented immigrants  190 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization  12 United States Congress  189 United States Constitution  30 United States Department of Education  1, 94, 100, 127 United States Department of Health  89, 93, 188 United States Department of Health and Human Services  89, 93 United States Supreme Court  30, 127, 143, 289 Universal Design for Learning  12 university administrators  7 urban  145, 176–179, 181–184 urban school district  176–177, 183 value-based pedagogies  3 value-centered pedagogical decisions  6 Vandenbosch, Laura  111 Van Dyke, Jan  52 van Ingen, David  72 van Manen, Max  47, 48 van Oosten, Johanna M.F.  111 van Rijsewijk, Loes  93 Vega, Desiree  24 veteran  28, 72, 115–116, 191 vice principal  31, 95, 120–121 victim support  110 violence  33, 102, 116, 289 vulnerability  33, 60–61, 67, 82, 90, 116, 135, 193, 232, 241, 243, 278, 285, 286 Vygotsky, Lev  12, 239 Wagener, Linda  34 Wakamatsu, Kori  68–69, 103

Walrave, Michael  104, 111 Warburton, Edward  78, 170 Wasicsko, Mark  142 Weidmer, Terry  66 Western concert dance  159, 220 Western cultural values  125 Western dance forms  25, 125 Wheatley, Karl  171 wheelchair  13, 41–43, 243, 269, 279 whistle-blowers  144, 146, 188, 193–195 White, John  206 white privilege  67 white supremacy  116, 177 whiteness  184, 296 Whitty, Alexandra  51–52 Williams, David  231 Wilmerding, M. Virginia  211, 219 Wilson, Heidi  241 window experiences  291 witnessing  70, 161 Wolak, Janis  112 Wood, Marsha  111 Woods, Heather  104 working artists  16 working-class  18, 22 world culture  143 Wyatt, Wendy  212 yoga 35 young adult identities  66 youth culture  252 Zangenehzadeh, Hamid  171 Zeigler, Karen  67, 123 Zeller, Jessica  206, 211 Zembylas, Michalinos  171 Zimmerman, Danielle  123–124 Zitomer, Michelle  247, 279 Zollar, Jowale Willa Jo  243