CRITICAL APPROACH TO THE RESEARCH

As an indigenous dancer and teacher, I possess the experience and skill to make varied use of a number of the techniques of contemporary indigenous dance. Likewise, I understand both the social and cultural contexts that are essential to its development. The term “dance” refers to the activity valorized in the following: “To dance is probably the best way to learn the rhythm and also to learn how to control our instinctive drive for movement. It is through free movement that one acquires their autonomy by learning to freely express themselves, expand their perspective and realize the terms of proper teamwork” (Kapsalis, 1977; Haselbach, 1979; Sanderson, 1988; in (Georgios, 2018, pp. p, 106).

The most famous dance classes in today’s society are ballet, hip hop and ballroom; such classes are offered by dance studios which serve children, youth and adults, and may culminate in a theatrical performance. However, as charming as the presentation is, it is no more than a show. While in indigenous dance the objective is to present a living culture and the formation of cultural values in the participants.

My interest in indigenous dance and my belief in its worth to artistic education have grown from my deep concern at the absence of classes dedicated to native dance at many studios in the city, and the resultant inattention to certain cultural values. Indigenous dance highlights such cultural values as reciprocity, respect, humility, tolerance, and proper relationships to Nature and the Universe; its dances, meanwhile, inculcate an indigenous knowledge: “The dances are living response, creation and activation, rather than a consumable production that is essentially discarded when the lights go down” (Shea, 2016, p. 3) They should not be understood as only dances, then, but rather as “a living representation of the sacred [that has] further ceremonial purpose” (p. 3). For the indigenous Andean Peruvian, everything is alive, with this cosmic orientation leading naturally to an “ancestral acknowledgment, acknowledgment of place, as well as (to cite María Regina Firmino Castillo’s essay, ‘Dancing the Pluriverse: Indigenous Performance as Ontological Praxis,’) acknowledgement of relation within a ‘telluric’ ‘pluriverse’ that includes not only other humans but also ‘earth others,’ an understanding underscored by other contributors as well. (Mumford writes, ‘The Nishnaabeg people consider water to be our relative;’ Blu Wakpa describes a reciprocity with non-human entities (animals, plants, and the land) that “‘transcends human-to- human relationships” ” (p. 3). In the same sense, “Cultural dance is defined in this revision as dance particular to a cultural or ethnic group that stemmed from the purpose of celebration, whether it be religious, temporal, or social” (Olvera, 2008, p. 354).

Learning indigenous dance at the age of 25, I received a great transmission of cultural values. I got my start in dance at the age of six, when I performed the “Tondero Dance” of Piura—and at every stage of my education leading up to high school I performed various dances native to different regions of Peru. At the end of the school year, I decided to participate in the Folkloric Cultural Institute Matices Peruanos (Peruvian Colors). I was taken there by Jessica Loyaga, and accepted into the group by its directors Gladys Varillas, may she rest in peace, born in the province of Yauyos near Lima’s mountains, and Jesus La Madrid, from the Andes near Junin—to whom I owe my final formation as an artist, teacher and researcher of Peruvian culture, because they instructed me in the Andean vision of the cosmos passed down orally. They taught me that in Peruvian culture and Andean philosophy “The universe is the Pacha, which in the Quechuan tongue means both the material world and time, which is to say, the cosmos” (Garcia & Roca, 2013, p. 23). They also taught me that the Pacha or universe is divided into 4 worlds, “Hawa Pacha (the world outside), Hanan Pacha (the world above), Kay Pacha (this world), and Ukhu Pacha (the world beneath)” (p. 23). The mission of the Matices Peruanos was, is, and will ever be to prepare artists to educate the public in this culture by means of folkloric dance performances, with the high point being the annual performances which are keyed to the major agricultural and festival events of Peru. In addition to their activity of cultural transmission, the Institute’s directors were dedicated to attending such traditional festivals as the Mollendo one in Arequipa as representatives of the province of Lima.

This festival featured very interesting social and cultural exchanges, as I was able to meet and learn from a number of other delegations from different Peruvian cultures. It was here that my love for indigenous culture and ways of knowing was born—and I became interested in doing field work via a visit with the teacher Lizardo Panta, who was from the Collagua Indigenous community in the state of Arequipa. Here I conceived the desire to learn about the customs surrounding the corn harvest. These began before sunrise with a ceremony honoring Pachamama, or Mother Earth, directed by a Paq’o (Andean shaman), which demonstrated complete respect towards Nature and the abundance of its offerings, with the supplicants asking that the coming year be a productive one. Following the ritual, the harvest of corn was carried out over four hours, with the harvesters chewing on coca leaves at the start, during a rest period, and at the conclusion of the agricultural task. The entire harvest endeavor stood as a symbol of solidarity with the land’s owner, as it was done in accordance with the system of El Ayni—a system that guarantees a reciprocity of aid. When “one group of people or a family carried out work for another, they in turn would be helped when help was needed, as is summed up in the phrase “today for you, tomorrow for me” (Portillo, 2009).

After resting for a time from their labors, the Indigenes ate and drank, then began the corn harvest dance. As I observed them, and followed their steps, I understood that each movement of the dance and figural expression had derived from the same movements made during the course of the harvest.

The agricultural workers knew that I was not an Indigene from their regions, but instead had come from Lima—but thanks to the teacher Lizardo Panta I established an excellent rapport with them, and was thus able to learn of their customs. It was necessary to be mindful at all times that these were their customs—and that without their authorization it would not be possible to witness them.. Panta, however, let me know that they would be happy if the world knew of and learned their customs as they are properly enacted, so there was not a problem with my presence. One ethical question that arose from this experience is summed by this question and answer: “Do you need to be Indigenous to practice this type of research? Atalay states that one doesn’t have to be a Native to approach research from a community-based Indigenous framework. But one does have to be aware of cultural differences and not assume an understanding, whether one is Indigenous or not” (Morris & Staikidis, 2017, p. 5). Each individual possesses a unique way of seeing the world; and out of this entire experience I came to comprehend the need to “understand Indigenous knowledge systems as ways in which relationships connect lives for the purpose of deep learning that intrinsically encompasses a new dimension: a moral value system and ethical action” ( p. 5).

Through my apprenticeship for some weeks with the teacher Panta I became more and more involved with the community; I observed and came to understand some of the problems that need solving, and resolved to help in the future. Because their meetings were held in the Quechuan 8 tongue, I didn’t always understand everything that was happening; but by observing their weekly routines I was able to comprehend that “a community-based Indigenous framework means merging with the community process right from the beginning; it is not about going to the community and telling them what you want to do, but rather, exploring their needs and issues” ( p. 5). I continued with my fieldwork, becoming acquainted with the Quechuan, Aymaran, Shipibo and other indigenous cultures. I observed, researched, and analyzed—and came to realize that at each site, I needed to offer a tribute to los Apus, or gods of the place. To the mountains, for instance, I would make an offering of food by burying it on a slope of the tallest one. This ensured that my time in those precincts would be a good one, and that the mountain would not punish me with vomiting or headaches. The permission of the people involved was also, of course, indispensable—but I had no problems in this regard, as I had friends who were teachers and others who were musicians, and they helped me maintain good relations with members of their

community.

When I returned to Lima, I began to teach Indigenous dance in its cultural context; when I say “cultural context,” I mean the totality of custom and practice surrounding it and native to its place of origin: the typical costumes, personages, un-stylized movements, traditional choreography, theatrical modes, props, and authentic music (sometimes performed live by musicians). Eventually what I had been preparing was presented by over 100 students at the Tereza Gonzales de Fanning National School for Women, where I was the cultural programmer. We performed the dances with all of their cultural context, and our performance was highly esteemed by the school’s director, who noted that such dances may have been seen in Lima before, but without the cultural context needed for an audience’s thorough understanding. A group dance workshop was inaugurated to represent the school at educational events, and in 2001 we won the national prize for Best Choreography in a competition chaired by Peru’s Minister of Education called “For a Healthy Youth.” Then, in 2003, we received First Prize at a national competition sponsored by the Museum of Peruvian Art.

Our success was due, I believe, to the emphasis placed on cultural context. Versed in it, students became more energetic and focused, and modeled the indigenous values integral to it: working as a team, showing respect for Nature and their fellow beings, community cooperation and reverence for Mother Earth.

After these experiences I returned to some of the indigenous communities where I had learned the dances and customs, and informed my indigenous teachers of the excellent results. This made them very happy, as they had always commented that in Lima their dances are not taught as they should be. I also brought gifts for the children, teens and adults of the communities to demonstrate my gratitude for all they had given me, and told them of my plans for further projects in cultural exchange. That experience has stayed with me, resulting in a greater connection to my cultural surroundings, and valorizing my own culture and that of others. It also has led to better relations with people around me, to an augmented feeling and appreciation for Nature, and to a desire to care for the earth and the bounty it offers. Likewise, it has taught me to be at peace with my soul—thinking, feeling, and acting with heart in connection with Mother Earth, or Pachamama.

To speak of Indigenous people in Peru is to mention the discovery in Peru in 2019 of a “5000-year old, 262-hectare archaeological site, The Sacred City of Caral-Supe,” now considered “the most ancient center of civilization in America,” evinces the great antiquity of Peruvian culture. (UNESCO, n.d., p. 1). Its Incan period, the Empire of Tahuantinsuyo, in which a king ruled over four suyos or territories, is also well-known today. This empire conquered previous pre-Incan civilizations, and in doing so incorporated all of their most advanced skills and knowledge—for example, it took from the Paracas civilization the art of textiles and using special wrappings in ceremonial burials, from the Chavin civilization its “architectonic structure” (Rico, 2012) from the Chimu civilization its metallurgy, from the Wari culture, who were great “gifted farmers who constructed canals to water their terraced fields many very productive agricultural methods” (Ancient History Encyclopedia, 2015) —and from the Tiahuanaco civilization the art of “constructing with huge stones”. (Go2PERU, n.d.).

The Incan civilization lasted from 1100 CE to the “16th of November, 1532”—the date of the Spanish conquest carried out by Francisco Pizarro. He seized all the gold he could in order to send it back to Spain, meanwhile forcing the conquered inhabitants of the land to work as slaves for the next three hundred years. (Ancient History Encyclopedia, n.d.). He and his successors also suppressed or transformed via syncretism all cultural knowledge and Indigenous religion over the course of these centuries. In 1821 Peru won its independence from Spain—but since that day abuses have continued against the 10% of the population that survived of the 100,000 inhabitants of Tahuantinsuyo: seizures of land, for instance, and many human rights violations. As Maria Remy describes in her study Histories of Peasant Communities, these survivors were divided into two groups: “Some are the colonial indigenes, who were assimilated into the colonial regime because they had been part of Tahuantinsuyo. Others are the indigenes who had not been assimilated, so-called ‘frontier societies’ from the jungle. With respect to all of this, it must be remembered that the very word ‘indigenous’ was invented by the Colonizers” (Remy, 2013, p. 7). Additionally, one must keep in mind that “many indigenous people had no contact whatsoever with the Peruvian State until the 1940s; others, but a few years earlier” (p, 13). The same Peruvian State had never really recognized ‘indigenous communities’ (whose name would later be changed to ‘peasant communities’ during the regime of General Velasco from 1968-1975)” and claimed that “the only indigenous communities are in the jungle, and besides, the ideal of these native communities is ‘not to be contacted’” (p, 12). “This same racialist framework continues to guide the State’s relations with the indigenous communities of Peru, who are considered ‘peasant communities’ for their dedication to agriculture, whether or not they are in the jungle.” “There are even astonishing cases of groups that still show traces of their pre-Hispanic heritage—groups like the Cañaris or the village of Tupe, in Yauyos, which still speaks (may it be preserved), the ancient language Jakaru. These are cases of a strong cultural/identity Resistance” (p. 12).

“According to the 2007 Census, there are more than four million Indigenous persons in Peru: 83.11% Quechuas, 10.92% Aymaras, 1.67% Asháninkas y 4.31% from other indigenous Amazonian peoples. The database for indigenous or native peoples (BDPI) manifests the existence of some 55 different indigenous groups in Peru, who are speakers of 47 different indigenous languages”. (IWGIA, 2020)

The relatively small number of people in these Indigenous communities is due to the number of people who have left their native communities in search of better economic opportunities and have become mestizos. This “denotes a person of combined Indian and European extraction” (Britannica, n.d.). There are several types of meztizaje, or “mixedness,” however: for example, Indians with white European blood, Indians with Asian blood, and Indians with African blood. Meanwhile, in the cosmopolis of Lima the transplanted Indigenes can easily lose all of their cultural knowledge, as many of them lack any remaining connections to their original heritage. Eliminating the “caste system” (Bartels, 2015, p. 4) that was conserving the pure race by blood. K. Tsianina Lomawaima’s (2016) chapter, Thinking, feeling, and doing in Indigenous history and methodology (in Sources and Methods in Indigenous Studies) describes the role of “expansive Indigenous theories of kinship, including biological descent, adoption, marriage and clan affiliation. We rarely experience a cut-and-dried-status, though, as insider or outsider. Indigenous identities are complicated and generate a continuum for judging: Insider Outsider?” (Lamawaima, K.T., 2017, p. 60). I want to add the geography to which they belong, and the education received can also determine your identity by increasing Peruvian diversity.

For this reason, it is necessary to apply new methods for the preservation of their Indigenous culture and knowledge, so that these meztizos can come to know and value it, and even promote it as a way of forging a living culture for their contemporary community. Today, “there are indigenous peoples in Peru who have maintained through great effort, via struggles, marches, negotiations, concerted movements, and etc. their lands, social structures, and unofficial languages; and insist that at this moment—on an international scale—their rights must begin to be recognized. Now, internationally, the value of these traditions is being recognized, as is the value of multiculturalism, and the great contribution in terms of language, taxonomy, and knowledge it offers to humankind. The entirety of the richness of a living culture argues for its defense, and against the failure to recognize this identity” (Remy, 2013, p. 15). “In this sense, today the indigenous being is not only defined as such by not having mixed blood, but rather being indigenous, more than just a cultural option, is a political one as well—one involved in the struggle for equal rights, reciprocity, justice, equality and the complementary model of modern societies” (Anarte, 2019). “For these reasons, it is crucial to think out loud; either we take back up our epistemological, organizational, administrative, and indigenous communitarian economies, or we continue along the road of individualism, selfishness and exploitation of our fellow beings and of Mother Earth. We must hope that it will not be too late when we attempt to restructure our own lives” (para, 5). Even though capitalism is the structure that has done the most to destroy Indigenous communities, today it can work on behalf of the indigenous groups who have taken back control of their ancestral lands.

Because of this, I want to offer such fundamental outcomes to the cultural development of the community as an understanding of indigenous culture, with the diverse cultural values specific to it; also respect for Nature and a social development which emphasizes the deep, tight connection between humans and their Mother Earth. One of my principle desires is to bring knowledge of the field of indigenous dance and its values to places far from the communities where it originated. But before that can be done, I must first strive to stress the power of dance itself, and its benefits for a comprehensive education; it must take its place in any “understanding of the profound importance of culture, art, and beauty in this world” (Romita, A. & Romita, N. , 2018).

When I arrived in the United States, I needed to apply the knowledge I’d acquired in Peru in order to teach that land’s Indigenous dances. My first challenge teaching in the Chicago Public Schools under Polo Garcia, director of their dance programs, was the English language—but thanks to Claudio Rabadan, a U.S. citizen and teacher of Latin American dance who served as my interpreter for several years, I was able to teach at the New Field School in 2005. I wanted to utilize the same techniques I had used in Peru to teach indigenous dance—but I had to adjust my expectations. In Peru, the participants are spontaneously willing to dance, as in its culture dancing is a daily activity and students are always excited to engage in it; here in the United States I discovered a very different culture, and I had to meet the challenge of creating a teaching methodology based in play, with games, and come up with engaging activities related to students’ movements: if they weren’t having fun as they learned, I could not continue working with them.

I also came to realize that in some of the schools of CPS, students could only dance for 3 to 5 minutes to even the most agreeable, infectious music, whereas in Peru I had been accustomed to presenting traditional dances that lasted between 10 and 12 minutes. But with the help of the two teachers Garcia and Rabadan I was able to make musical edits and changes to the choreography of a few dances without sacrificing their principal story or message; these adaptations helped my students get up to speed in our classes. Under this program, each class ran for 45 minutes, and it took 12 sessions for me to teach each dance: we then would dedicate one class to a dress rehearsal, and one to a staged presentation. I was used to Peru’s programs, where we would bring the dances into being over a stretch of 12 weeks and hold two rehearsals per week—but I grew used to the new experience of a dance program that functioned differently. Another challenge was posed by the actual physical resistance of some of the CPS students, who found 45 minutes of dance activity very taxing; even if they loved what we were doing, and wished to continue, they often grew very tired, and had to take a lot of rest breaks. It’s important to understand in this regard that almost all of the Peruvian dances require strenuous movements and many leaps; part of this is due to the fact that they were invented and are performed in very mountainous regions, and can be very fatiguing, as they require great physical stamina and balance. For this reason, in Peru dancers are used to rehearsing for two hours at a time, with only three or four short breaks, in order to master the dance’s expressions and poses and build up their stamina. The duration and difficulty of the dances derives from the fact that they are integral parts of 15 traditional Andean festivals, particularly processions that can last for many hours and are held even when the weather is very hot or it is raining. Nothing can stop the festival from going forward, as is seen, for instance, in the Festival of the Virgin of Candelaria in Puno.

At the start of my teaching career here, then, I had to overcome several obstacles—students who didn’t like to dance these types of dances, for example—but eventually I hit upon methods of motivation that yielded the results I sought, and all came to participate in and enjoy my Peruvian indigenous dance classes. Dance education can be directed towards the attainment of a number of results; as Jane Bonbright notes, “Everything depends on the goals or outcomes of the program” (Bonbright, 2010) It may also differ depending on whether it is addressed to children, youth, or adults. “If the goal of the program is to teach the artistic processes (creating, performing and responding) and the outcome for students is to have them create, perform and critically analyze work of self or others, then dance is taught as an art form in education. If the goal of the program is to promote physical activity (directed towards health, social and recreational aspects of education), then the dance component is taught under physical education” (p, para 3) Each of these disciplines “should be taught by a qualified educator,”(p, para 3) of course, as “each discipline requires completely different pedagogical preparation” (p, para 3). “Generally,” notes Bonbright, “dance specialists are trained in Colleges of Fine Arts and physical educators are trained in Colleges of Health, Physical Education, Recreation and Dance” ( p, para 5); she also urges that “It is important to note that both professions are valid and legitimate ( p, para 6)... They must not be confused. They must not be substituted one for the other!” (p, para 6) All of these principles became legal requirements under the “No Child Left Behind” law of 2002. “The 2002 legislation is the first time in our history that the Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA) literally mandates that dance as an art form must be taught by a qualified dance educator. This law is our opportunity to get the right people in the classrooms teaching the right content under the arts” (p, para 7). This has been an enormously important development—and dovetails with growing interest in the United States in dance as a key component of education. Many institutions here meet a demand for instruction in ballet, hip hop, ballroom dance and Latin dance—but indigenous dance has been restricted to places concerned solely with cultural transmission—museums, for instance, or centers dedicated to indigenous culture. Indigenous dance has scarcely appeared as an option in the curricula of academic programs, whether for minors or adults.

My mission, then, is to promote indigenous dance and the knowledge it brings to the educators of these places. Interest in this movement is growing and seeing success little by little throughout the world, in large part due to the discourse of decolonization, which has as its objective the conservation and promulgation of indigenous understandings or knowledge. Such knowledge “contributes to the non-indigenous understandings in the world. As one example, educators are now growing in their understanding that the First Peoples’ Principles of Learning represent a highly effective approach to education that, among other things, supports deep learning, inclusivity, and responding to learners’ needs” (Chrona, 2014) Meanwhile, the forms of teaching indigenous dance “could be aligned with many of the federal, state and/or regional learning objectives, as needed” (Bigknife, 2006, p. 8). It must be stressed, however, that at this moment, many US educators’ “standards are founded on non-Native values and paradigms and may not adequately address the cultural diversity present in each respective school district (Barlow, 2005; G.A. Smith, 2002 in p, 8).

This results in a cultural bias toward western, non-Indigenous educational systems.” (p. 8) In addition, the benefits of learning indigenous dance are different from those which attend the learning of other styles of dance. As Citro and Cerletti argued in 2009, “Aboriginal dances are cultural forms. When people dance, the musical sounds and body movements function as signs of cultural experience. Therefore, aboriginal dances can affect the identity of performers. Sun (2010) points out that the purpose of aboriginal dance is to pass down ethnic culture and to strengthen the relationship among an ethnic group of people” (Chen, S. M. & Lee, Y. A., 2015, p. 23) “It’s not just about dance and Indigenous culture,” affirms Kim Walker; “it’s actually about the skills of training young people to succeed in the world” (Australian Government, 2018).

The benefits of learning indigenous dance are also seen in the inculcation of positive, much-needed values: it reminds us “that we must understand our relationship to all of life, and try our best to live in a balanced relationship to life” (Woodbine Ecology Center, n.d.) Respect is a value that must not be lost or neglected over time, because “respect is integral to healthy and balanced relationships. In our relations with the environment, with our community, or in our personal lives, without self-respect and respect for others, we doom ourselves to imbalance, mistrust, and resentment” (para 4). Mother Earth within indigenous cosmogony is Herself considered a humble and tolerant being who wishes Her children to follow her example: “With humility and tolerance, we appreciate that we are all in a constant quest for a great understanding, wisdom, and contentment with ourselves and with life around us.” (para 4) Following an apprenticeship in indigenous dance, students comprehend fully that “We must be good caretakers of the earth, not simply for ourselves, but for those who will inherit the earth, and the results of our decisions” (para 2).

Throughout the development of my career teaching Peruvian indigenous dance to children and adults, I have been able to witness the great, enchanting power of this unique style. Students come to understand that it is much more than just a set of dance moves—that it is in fact a way of being in the world, and of better understanding our place here. Bearing in mind that in indigenous dance "The experience of time and space begins with a grounding in a here and now, and it is through movement and rhythm—which then can be understood as a profound mode of knowing— as these are perceived and interwoven with other referents, always full of cultural content, that a being is constructed in the world, where the body, which perceives them, situates itself in the complex of references that mean being alive” (Guzman, A., 2014). Indigenous dance also enriches the learning process—which as a whole could help spearhead a movement critical of the devastations of the capitalist system as " René Highway, who was involved in the Native Earth Performances Arts Company. June Schudeler explains how Hihway’s dances and dancing embodied Woods Cree ways of knowing, which allowed him- and his audiences- to look at the reflect upon as a “retainer of Social memory” to override colonial narratives" (Recollect 2016, p. 2 in (Welch, 2019, p. 104).

Because the heart of " Indigenous dance is politically radical insofar as it creates spaces and practices of ‘world otherwise”, where the restraints of western linearity and atomistic individualism can be refuse" (p, 104) via the promotion of the core values of diversity, multiculturalism, education, the arts, and human rights. The necessity of preserving indigenous cultures—as the original cultures of the world—must also be stressed. The necessity of preserving indigenous cultures—as the original cultures of the world—must also be stressed. We must create and invest in innovative new paradigms that restore positive cultural values in the hearts and minds of this earth’s inhabitants, and instill a forgotten reverence for Mother Earth, or Pachamama.