Diversity Statement

“Doing the work” is a phrase that I frequently hear as a BIPOC artist in the dance community. For me, “doing the work”, is a phrase that has multiple meanings: do the research to support the content of creative work, take a personal inventory and how does the final result affect your relationship to “x, y, and z”? Diversity has become a buzzword, it’s an important one, but a buzzword nonetheless. Unfortunately, as a student of many years, I believe that “doing the work” in direct relation to diversifying educational institutions, specifically in the dance field, is one that is too frequently overlooked and bypassed. What I tend to see when universities are called upon to diversify are departments that are all too quick to switch from predominantly homogenous white institutions to offering practices and safe spaces that support students of marginalized communities without having “done the work” as faculty, staff, and as a program/department. This drastic performative switch can be extremely jarring and dangerous to marginalized communities as they tend to be actionless facades intended for the purpose of “saving face” or appeasing the expectations of diversification.

I have been functioning in these homogenous settings for as long as I can remember. As a first-generation Korean-American woman, it is rare that I find myself in situations that are truly diverse in nature. My schooling demographic from grade school to candidacy as an MFA in the Dance Department at CU Boulder, was predominantly Christian White American. Often, I am a part of the incredibly small minority student demographic continuously “code-switching” and assimilating into programs and departments. In this instance, I refer to “minority” or “minorities” not only on a racial/ethnic level but to also include dancers and students from all marginalized communities. Faculty support and understanding are slim and I, along with other students of color in my proximity, were frequently encouraged to access resources outside of the department in order to fulfill our research topics, thesis subjects, etc.

It is from my observation and participation as a life-long student that the classroom should be apolitical, which means that some instructors believe that students should enter the classroom without their identifiers, which are innately political. Identity matters and it dramatically affects how we interact with the class content, the world, the communities students participate in, and people. Recognizing this, and vocalizing my own identities and perspectives allows me to create transparency in the goal of establishing an inclusive classroom environment for all.

In 2017, I began shifting my teaching lens to encompass more of Hip-Hop’s idealistic core: the embrace of anyone and everything regardless of sexuality, race, gender, religious and political affiliations, and class. Depending on the style, Hip-Hop was primarily performed by Black and Brown men and women. Many styles under the Hip-Hop umbrella were born out of xenophobia and racism. As a result, many of the creators of these styles are Black and Brown men and women, who were, at the time, seeking safety and community in ways their disenfranchised

community could not offer. It is because of this narrative, that I believe Hip-Hop is a radical subculture of the United States encouraging radical acceptance and love. It is out of this radical idea, that I design my lecture and technical courses. We, the students and I, open the semester with a discussion of the syllabus, classroom expectations, my expectations of the students, AND the student’s expectations of the class and me. I also explain that this course is for them. Meaning that the content of the course is to help their movement, their research, their interests/dis-interests; and that I am here to be utilized as frequently, or as infrequently, as they like/need/want. I’ve learned that this process lays out clear boundaries for the semester.