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Vol. XIX No. 5 February 2004 |
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Steps of Defiance and Celebration Around the World François Battiste is a fourth-year drama student. Fourth-year drama student François Battiste traces the historical origin of the African Boot Dance—one of the numbers performed by students in this year's M.L.K. Celebration—and discovers a thread of similarity running through various "body-percussion" dance forms in different cultures. In the wings of a sold-out, 1,000-seat Braden Auditorium at Illinois State University await 10 adrenaline-filled members of the first black Greek letter organization for college men, Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity Incorporated, founded in 1906 at Cornell University. House and stage lights go black, and soaring beyond an anticipatory silence, we hear a baritone voice powerfully ring out: "Black is for the blackness that's in a man. Gold is for the riches that's in his hand. Red is for the blood that we have shed. Green is for the homeland from which we have fled." As the lights slowly come up, revealing the members of Eta Tau Chapter outfitted in black-and-gold tuxedos, so too do the cheers and applause from the standing-room-only crowd.
Standing transfixed in the heart of the crowd, I felt privileged to bear witness to such poetry in motion. I was a junior in high school, visiting my brother in college, and this was my introduction to "stepping"! Amidst my dumbfounded amazement, I remember wondering where in the world did this stepping come from? Virtually any art form has trailblazers and influences; stepping is no exception. Its roots are firmly fortified with tribulation. African Boot Dance, from which stepping derives, has its seeds deeply planted in political and social oppression. In 19th- and 20th-century South Africa, slave workers in diamond mines wore Wellington boots to prevent foot rot generated from stagnant and infected waters. Working sunup to sundown, Monday through Friday, and forbidden to speak, the workers ultimately set up a Morse code of sorts, communicating by slaps to the boots in covert defiance. The practice eventually came up to the street level from the mines and ultimately became a stepping, stomping, and slapping art form of an indigenous people in South Africa. This history has a clear correlation to the African experience here in America. During the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, as Africans were stripped from their homeland, families, religion, language, and freedom, so too were their drums, a vital part of their existence, taken away. Not having access to drums, the slaves compensated by applying percussive foot stomping and hand clapping—and the juba was born. This healing form of expression energized the body, motivated the mind, and lifted the spirit. The juba (often referred to as "patting the juba") is a dance created by slaves as a celebratory and spiritual release from a life that constantly tested their endurance, patience, and faith. The word "juba" can be traced back to Africa, where there's a dance called "djouba." The dance itself was also common in Haiti, where it is called "martinique." William Henry Lane (1825-1851), who was known as Master Juba, popularized the dance from America to England, where he performed for Queen Victoria. Charles Dickens, upon witnessing William Lane, hailed him as the "danciest fellow ever was." As a result of many years of "drumlessness," the juba inspired many other percussive movements of a celebratory nature, notably the hambone. The hambone involves chanting a rhyming phrase or story while hitting one's chest and thighs in a synchronistic pattern. If done correctly, it can sound like a percussion ensemble.
When Irish, Scottish, and English immigrants came to the New World, they brought their step-dancing traditions with them. These conventions included Irish jigs and clogging. The rhythms of African and Native American dancing and drumming influenced the European immigrants' dancing, and American clogging was born. In traditional clog dancing, no thought is given to facial expressions or line formations, and the arms are kept motionless. The basic step consists of a double toe step, a rock or brief transfer of weight to the other foot, then a step back again. Some Irish cloggers can tap the floor more than 70 times in 15 seconds. Clog contests in the 19th century would have the judges sit behind a screen or under the dance floor, judging the sounds rather than the body movements of the dancers. Early Irish dancers wore hard shoes designed to protect the feet from weather in the British Isles. It was there these dancers created the jigs they eventually used in what is called step-dancing. Also known as buck dancing, hoofing, or flat-footing, American step-dancing has its origins in the southern Appalachian mountains of the United States. Deeply influenced by the Native American ritual dance steps, American step-dancing is a free-style solo dance, in which rhythms and movements are improvised to provide a percussive accompaniment to, traditionally, old-time fiddle tunes. Tap dance, too, sprang from American soil, and is very similar in nature to traditional clogging. There's speculation, though, in a general sense, that any historical dance involving foot stomping—Portuguese fado , for instance, or the Spanish zapateado which were frequently performed atop the tables in cafes—could be considered a precursor of today's clog dancing and tap dancing. Tap dancing started with slaves who would beat out rhythms and dance on river boats. Plantation owners called these dancers "levee dancers" throughout the South. In the mid-1800s levee dancers would find fame with the minstrel shows; however, most of the dancers who were hired were white men who would wear face paint. Eventually, within the medium of vaudeville shows, tap and clog would flourish successfully. After the Eta Tau Chapter dancers had performed a spellbinding step show, received the first-place trophy, and earned thunderous applause, I immediately realized two things: those young men of distinction must have practiced long and hard to achieve such rhythmic precision—and I, one day, would become an Alpha like my brother, father, and grandfather before me. I figured that, if this fraternity was sought after by the likes of Thurgood Marshall, Martin Luther King Jr., and my daddy, why not me? I eventually learned, however, that upholding such a distinguished legacy would encompass a great deal more than stepping.
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