My draft of the next part of the series of rhythm and emotion was lost as I transitioned between computers, and the recent upheaval (resulting my small hometown of Richmond, Va. being featured in The Hindu!) had me grappling with issues of race, identity, privilege, and responsibility as an individual and as an artist. I’ll return to the series, but it would not be responsible of me not to address these things first.

June 19th was, for many years, simply my birthday. And this year is a milestone birthday - I’m leaving behind my 20s and crossing into the next decade of my life, and despite still calling the Richmond metro home, I am in such a different place in life that it’s nearly unrecognizable. Just nearly.

I’ve never fully reckoned with the significance of this date before this year, despite choosing to share my path in life and the last twelve years with an African American man. I am not qualified to explain Juneteenth, so I will not try. I encourage you to read on it if you haven’t heard of it before. However, what I would like to talk about is what I’m going to do moving forward.

The most commonly known and accepted image of racism comes accompanied with slurs, threats, and blatant violence. And its opposite is considered “not racist”, the passive existence of not using those slurs, threats, and other forms of violence. I knew in my heart that such a definition was insufficient, just from my own experiences.

When I moved to the US two decades ago, I absorbed the prejudices of my new home without even realizing it. I didn’t question my unfounded fear of the older brother of my African-American classmate, the casual usage of the term “that’s so gay” for anything negative, and a million other micro-aggressions that we unconsciously perform and accept on a daily basis. Yet, I loudly and sincerely believed in the equality of people. A core childhood memory for me was ending a friendship with another girl living in our apartments in India because she was offended that I called her father “Uncle” after “sullying” that word by calling our building’s watchman “Uncle” as well.

Over time, I recognized my own failings and attempted to correct my own behavior and question my motivations. I don’t think the 10-year-old scared me shying away from the neighbors’ kid was intentionally racist. But it was racist. Because it was based on racist ideas that I accepted without questioning, which led me to that fear. And frankly, these are likely the same ideas that have resulted in brown and black kids labeled “trouble makers” and punished more aggressively than their white classmates by educators, and the same racist ideas that have people of color followed in stores, and on and on.

Dr. Brene Brown’s interview with Prof. Ibram X. Kendi (go and listen to it. Just do it. There is not a better way to spend 1 hour) gave me the language to understand both my failings and my evolution, introducing me to the true opposite of racism - anti-racism. Anti-racism is the active rejection of racism, and this must happen on a personal level (anti-racist ideas) and a societal level (anti-racist policies). And a critical part of that is constant self-examination: is this idea based on racial hierarchies or racial equality? Is this policy resulting in inequity or justice? That is the real binary.

In Prof. Kendi’s words, “being an antiracist requires persistent self-awareness, constant self-criticism, and regular self-examination”. It is an active, never-ending pursuit. And, as Dr. Brown and Prof. Kendi said during the podcast, it cannot happen under the specter of shame but it is uncomfortable. We should respond with reflectiveness, not defensiveness. And when our own blindspots are brought to our attention, we should say thank you, and adjust accordingly.

There were many different layers to what the recent protests have been drawing attention to - the treatment of individuals, the systemic injustices, and the way in which historical narratives have been shaped by art and “mainstream” culture. I think there is equal importance to asking that individuals be treated with dignity, to identifying and dismantling systemic oppression and replacing them with just policies, and to relocating or even removing historic monuments commemorating the leaders of a nation formed on basis of the right to own people as slaves.

And, this is not simply an American issue.

I spent the last couple of hours attending thesis defenses by students working on their Kuchipudi masters degrees, and I was struck by these same benign blind spots seen in our performing arts traditions that can collectively cause so much damage: a nomadic artisan community described as “uneducated,” the discussion about the appropriate term for the hereditary women dancers in Southern India, a different discussion about how to utilize Western movement analysis systems to understand the pedagogy of Kuchipudi, plus the elephant in the room: the larger history of policies and prejudices and their impact on the evolution of Indian performing arts traditions to their current state.

Trying to synthesize all of these threads of thought, I landed here:

• There are many ways to get engaged. Given my personal circumstances and the national public health crisis, I did not join those marching down Monument Avenue. I did not turn my social media profile pictures into black squares either - I just missed the memo. That is not a denigration of those who did those things, nor a failure on my part. My mode of engagement has been to have challenging, courageous conversations with friends and loved ones. It was rethinking the narrative of my own life and the forces that have led me to where I am. It has been what I have been reading and listening to, and the ideas and actions I’m taking away from that material to carry forward with me. Do what you can, meet the moment as you are able to, but make it a movement. Make it lifelong.

• It is as important to work on the systemic levers perpetuating injustice and inequity as it is to work on the personal level. Be politically engaged. Vote. And then hold the politicians elected to office accountable. Also, systems are not simply perpetuated by good or bad politicians. What is most impactful is the policies that are in place, how tax dollars are allocated and invested, what laws are implemented and how they are applied, and these macro-level systems impact the trajectory of individuals. (On a tangent, “apolitical” is another word for “supporting the status quo”. Our existence as Asian immigrants living in the United States is political. It is not possible live apolitically - we are either tolerating the status quo or working to change it.)

• Art is political. We must examine the implicit messages in our art. We must carefully examine the language we use to contextualize our art form. Are those messages promoting anti-racist ideas? Are they building on the premise that people are equal? More concretely, are we taking the opportunity to learn and credit the names of those who have contributed to our form? Are we contextualizing the mythologies embedded in our choreography in a way to promote the values we want our societies to reflect? (One of my uncles skillfully highlighted ideas of equality, justice, and agency within stories of the Ramayanam and Bhagavatam for my cousins and me when we were kids by telling us the exact same stories I read in Amar Chitra Katha comic books, but highlighting different plot points than the popular narratives.)

• Art is a weapon. We must use it to amplify the voices and ideas that challenge and strengthen our society. We always say that the Indian arts we practice are a sacred tradition. Given that they are sacred, if we contemplate upon it, we will find in them the power to make the change we wish to see in the world. As our students have participated in the Richmond Peace Education Center’s Generation Dream performances, which asks for performances that align with the message of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., we have had these ideas replete in Padmabhushan Dr. Vempati Chinna Satyam’s choreographies and popular Indian classical songs. )

Even though I started this on Juneteenth, it is now definitely the “morning” after. I hope this is coherent. Thank you to all of you who have sent me birthday messages all day today. I hope you’ll join me as I work through life as a dancer, a writer, a wife, a mother, a daughter, and whatever other role may come my way, and I hope you’ll help me be my best self by holding me accountable to the ideals by which I want to live my life.

(Went with a stock photo from Squarespace for the cover photo - my photo library won’t load despite my best efforts and… it’s past my bed time.)