The Followers Manifesto

 [Photo from goslinglindyhops.tumblr.com]

 I started swing dancing in the summer of 2007. It was a goal that I had set for the summer, along with an expansive book list, mastery of several languages, and solving world hunger. All totally attainable things, right? Of course, right!

I was on a temporary dance hiatus at the time. I grew up dancing solo and in teams, but outside of random musicals, had never experimented in partner dancing. But many of my feminist friends have trouble inhabiting a dance that came from a time when women had only just gotten the right to vote. They see taking on the followers role as being passive and not contributing to the dance itself.

As a dancer who gave up her ballerina dreams due to beginning at the ripe old age of 8, dancing had always been something that I did for myself, alone or with a team who danced the exact same moves to the music. It was cooperative, in a way that made you a team member not a spontaneous contributor. It was only much later that I began to learn dance as a conversation, instead of dance as a teammate.

So, to start off, let's consider a chart, that I believe to be remarkably accurate:

[Via Addicted2Salsa]

Leading is hard. Following is hard. But they are harder at different points due to the nature of the role. It just makes for a different learning curve, rather than assuming that one is inherently more difficult. Followers learn how to move themselves and listen. Leads learn to move themselves, and communicate their movements to their partners. But learning the opposite role has the potential to break through the plateau, which is especially valuable.

Which brings us to:

Le Manifesto

1. When not injured nor exhausted, I will do my best to say yes to every lead, regardless of skill level. When the lead vs. follower ratio is off-balance, I will seek out likely leads and ask for dances. Likely-looking leads are often easy to spot: shoes on, glancing around the dance floor, open posture. Inviting is part of the reciprocal nature of the dance, by making it more social. This exempts dancers who have previously caused injury. If you have hurt me physically or emotionally in the past, I have the right to refuse any dance.

This one is especially important when you're the newcomer to the scene. When I visited Dallas, it was interesting to watch the social dynamics, as the 'unknown quantity.' Having not set foot in the city's dance scene before, nobody who asked me to dance knew what to expect until they either danced with me or saw me dance with someone else. But being the unknown also gave me the ability to ask anyone. Being the unknown element gave me a chance to truly follow, instead of relying on a shared bit of choreography that we learned at a class together. It helped me learn different cues, and what they could mean in this shared time and space.

Yet, even though we encourage people to dance with all levels of dancers, injury lasts a long time. One of the hardest personal times came when during a theater warm-up game, a boy knocked into me, stepped on my foot and broke it, taking me out of the performance that night. And onto crutches for the next 2 months. Since most of my social life revolved around dancing and friends at dances (social and other), it was a very difficult time to simply get around. It is never worth it to dance with someone who hurts you.

2. During the dance, I will listen to the lead, and respond to their suggestions. I will take each suggestion and follow it to the best of my capability. If left room for improv and my own remarks, I will put them to good use, but the integrity of the following won't be changed. I may add movements inside the rhythm, but I will not attempt to establish my own rhythm, and will maintain the rhythm set by the lead.

3. After the dance is completed, I will always smile and say thank you. It's common courtesy, people. Yes, some people are intimidating, or you intimidate them. It happens. But being courteous and polite will go far.


This manifesto is open to change, depending on the circumstances and growth of said dancers. But it's a place to start.