What's in a Name?

Allow me to adjust your expectations from the start and blatantly state that this post is not intended as the end-all be-all research sourced academic article aiming to answer all the controversy surrounding the use of the term “belly dance”. This is a mere teaser that hopes to send you off on your own journey into a rabbit hole or two.

So, what’s in a name? Well, the quick answer is “a lot!”.

Buckle your seatbelt Dorothy, ‘cause we're goin' places! It ain't gonna be a short ride!

Let’s begin by narrowing down the term geographically. According to some historical research, Egypt is the country of origin of what we, here in the West, call belly dance. I am absolutely unqualified to dispute that, so from now on whenever I say “belly dance” in this post I mean specifically Egyptian belly dance. After all, any 10 famous past or present day belly dancers I can name off the top of my head did or still do perform in either Cairo or Luxor. Also, it’s important to acknowledge the effect of Egyptian Cinema’s Golden Era (the 1940s-1960s) on the motion picture industry worldwide and Hollywood in particular. A lot of movies made in Egypt back then featured belly dancers, so by implication that kind of exposure brought belly dance into the limelight.

However, do not ever think that all belly dance is Egyptian belly dance. There is a rich history of this dance form in Turkey, Levant and North Africa. It’s absurd to think that regional boundaries were impermeable throughout the Middle East preceding modern times. People brought their art of entertainment with them when they traveled, they grew roots in new places and their art grew and evolved with them. If you are ever lucky enough to take classes in regional styles other than Egyptian, go for it! You will not regret it.

Chances are, you are familiar with the history of the name “belly dance” and its colonial roots. If not, here’s a brief overview.

“Belly dance” is the English version of the French “danse du ventre” which literally means “dance of the belly”. In its origin, the term was used as an alternative name for one of Jean-Leon Gerome’s paintings. His “Dance of the Almeh” sparked such scandal that in May 1864 art critic Charles Asselineau published a scathing review of the work, calling out the “nude and bloated belly” as the focus of the painting and advised the viewer “don’t go ask a scholar what this danse du ventre really was”. The French press ran with it, thus the name “La danse du ventre” stuck as an alternative for Gerome's work. As it stands right now, there is no recorded use of the term “danse du ventre” before Asselineau’s published review. Yeah, in case you didn’t know, the whole genre of dance is named after a stereotypical Orientalist painting created by one European man and mocked by another.

The English version “belly dance”, as well as “abdominal dance”, “stomach dance” and “ventral dance”, appear to have been used by international media during Parisian Exposition Universelle 1889 to promote the Rue du Caire (“Cairo Street”) exhibit.

The popularization of the term is credited mostly to Solomon Bloom, entrepreneur with the sense of ethics typical of the times, at The World's Columbian Exposition (aka Chicago World's Fair) of 1893 and his Algerian and Tunisian Village. Mr. Bloom is also credited with introducing belly dance to North America and the world at large by extension. The legacy that was created back then by the promotional material and press coverage is haunting. A quote from one of the review articles published in Princeton Union: “hellish contortions” and “abomination known as belly dance.”

You might be asking why in the world were they calling it belly dance and not by the name the dancers themselves used? Because nobody bothered to ask the indigenous performers what they call their form of art! Funny that. Also, “raqs” (Arabic for “dance” ) did not sell as well as “dance of the abdomen” in the post-Enlightenment prudish Victorian moral climate. Sex sells -  always has and always will. Any advertising agent will confirm that. The name “belly dance” was as raunchy and salacious as the societal norms would allow, yet acceptable enough to haul in profit. 

“Raqs” seems to be the term people of the area used prior to the British invasion. Terms like “raqs sharqi” and “raqs baladi” make their appearance in Egyptian history after the occupation by British military forces in 1882.

“Raqs sharqi” translates to “dance of the East” or “Eastern dance”. Now, before you get your knickers in a knot, “Eastern” does not mean “East of Europe” in this context! It has nothing to do with Orientalism as a scholarly discipline of the Western European and North American society. It is the way for Egyptians to assert their cultural and national self-identity as the “Eastern Arab world” and differentiate themselves from the “Western Arab world”. The geographical division of the Arab world into Mashriq (East) and Maghreb (West) is known since the early Islamic conquests.

“Raqs baladi” can be translated as “country dance”. Here Egyptians are asserting the indigenous origin of the dance. They are basically saying “the dance that is local to us, not of those foreigners in power”. Even though baladi progression is a staple in a repertoire of many modern dancers, to native Egyptians raqs baladi is what you do at a party or celebration. Primarily, raqs baladi is a solo improvised form of dance suitable for small personal space as opposed to the big and showy use of stage space, often choreographed, associated with raqs sharqi.

So here we are, in the new era of enlightenment, decolonization and grass-root movements. Why don’t we just collectively agree to rename belly dance to raqs? Well, it’s not that simple.

Firstly, who are we to name anything that doesn’t belong to us? Let’s not repeat the same mistakes.

Secondly, modern day Egyptians, especially those of the higher social classes, have much less anxiety around using the term “belly dance” in English. It is used freely to advertise belly dance classes at women-only gyms as well as performances at high end nightclubs. These advertisements are not targeted at tourists and foreigners - their primary audience is the local urban population with enough spare income to afford such activities.

Thirdly, Egyptians throughout history cared much more about what they call their professional entertainers than the names for the dances themselves. It might seem paradoxical to a westerner raised within the environment of hard definitions and stiff nomenclature. Just like any other culture, Egypt has outgrown some of the language used in the previous centuries. Among the obsolete terms are “jink”, “jariya”, “qayna”, “mukhannath” and so on. These names for entertainers pertain primarily to Medieval and Ottoman eras and are no longer understood by modern day Egyptians. There are still a plethora of terms used to denote a female entertainer of the current times: “alma”, “ghaziya”, “raqqasa”, “raissa”. Some dancers prefer to be referred to as “fannana sha’abiya”, “people’s artist” in English, because the word “ghaziya” carries negative connotations within rural communities of Egypt where they mostly perform.

Fourthly, as tacky and ambiguous as the name “belly dance” might be to most western ears, it does serve as the umbrella term for dances of awalem and ghawazi, the big stage theatrical raqs sharqi and social raqs baladi that forms the foundation of them all. To paraphrase the immortal description for obscenity test by Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart from 1964: “Egyptians know it when they see it”, and they don’t hesitate to call it belly dance.

In conclusion, are we stuck with “belly dance” for now? The answer is resounding “yes!” Would you sign up for a class that was advertised as “MENAT dances” instead of “belly dance”? If you were invited to a performance of “MENAT dances”, would you first google to find out what you’re getting yourself into? Would it spark the same interest at street festivals if it is no longer called “belly dance”? Shoot me an email, I really want to know what you have to say.

Change takes time, effort and willingness to compromise. However, there’s hope. More and more I see people in the English speaking dance sphere use the term MENAT dances - Middle Eastern, North African and of Turkic-speaking regions. ”MENAHT dances” is used as well, where H stands for Hellenic, or Greek, origin. However, the way belly dance is seen within Greece is a whole other highly contentious and controversial topic that falls outside of the scope of this post.

Will “belly dance” go the way of all the other obsolete terminology? We shall see. MENAT dances are not set in stone, unmovable, unchanging museum pieces. They are the extensions and expressions of vibrant personalities formed within a unique milieu of ancient history, foreign influences and one-of-a-kind self-identity. Perhaps, the dances themselves will guide us towards finding a unified and unambiguous English name for them.

There you have it! A very brief run down of the history of the term used to describe one of the world’s most fascinating forms of dance. I’m, like, a hundred percent unbiased here.

Since the post is not intended as a scholarly work, I will refrain from including the list of articles, research publications and books I used to compile this text. However, if you’d like to know my sources, don’t hesitate to get in touch via email: askauntiehelen@gmail.com