Joy Knows No Boundaries (8/26)

 I believe I’ve tried my whole life, both personally and professionally, to be sensitive to cultural issues. I try to make sure that respect and appreciation is embedded in the foundation of how I think about, experience, talk about different cultures. Of course, today there’s a hyper-sensitivity that is coming from a good place, trying to move beyond the callous disregard and insults of the mainstream Protestant white culture that assumes itself as the norm. But at the same time, it’s driving me crazy the trend to tiptoe through the mined fields of political correctness. 

 

I have thought long and hard about how to make whatever I bring to these workshops to China both respectful of their culture and relevant to the kids they will teach. But who am I to say what that is? Maybe better just to offer what I offer and trust that they will figure out how to adopt and adapt according to their situation.

 

One of my strategies is to offer a repertoire from diverse cultural sources. We have been playing games and singing simple songs from Slovenia, Iceland, Spain, Bulgaria, Russia, Chile, Peru, the U.S., Canada, Japan, Ghana. Soon we will play pieces from Thailand, the Philippines, China itself, Azerbaijan, the U.S. and beyond. It’s a good way to accent the universality of the musical experience and sidestep the missionary mentality of just American offerings.

 

But in this morning’s class, it was so transparently clear. No one cares where a piece is from once the cork is out of the bottle and the full power of each person’s genie/ genius is unleashed. What’s more important than the piece itself is how it’s taught, what kind of permissions are given to go beyond the mere notes, what invitations offered to release the full measure of one’s own inspired imagination.  

 

Today their task of finding Mandarin words to replace the Spanish ones of the Choco-late partner-clapping game and also create new gestures that are related to the word reaped hilarious, wildly expressive and sublimely artistic results so far beyond ticking off the lists of what is considered correct teaching these days. Who would dare to reduce the class to those political viewpoints that leach the joy out of such a simple but powerful experience? Indeed, this comes uncomfortably close to the Maoist Cultural Revolution that committed a type of genocide against authentic artistic expression, narrowing it down to mere fodder for the propaganda machine. The power of art is its resistance to following any paint-by-number program, its refusal to be used for any other purpose than its own sublime expression. 

 

Freed from such limited thinking, all were simply swept off the feet in the collective joy that burbled and bubbled in the room. Especially me. Their culture was certainly present in the musicality of the Chinese words and some movements that clearly came from a cultural dance style. But most important was the unbridled joy we all felt together witnessing the inspired creative choices of each and every pair of partners. In that moment, we were all simply fellow two-legged human beings wrapped up in the delight of imagination fully released. Yes, indeed.