The Lindy Hop: How a 1930s Dance Helped Me Understand Modern Community
Close your eyes and picture a cobbled street. There’s a bakery, a butcher’s, a pub, and everyone on this street knows everyone else. They know each other’s families, their unique little quirks and, most importantly, they know the type of things they will gossip to other people about. This is pretty much my idea of hell… and it’s what I picture when I hear the word ‘community’.
At this time of year, ‘community’ pops up a lot as charitable endeavours increase and we’re encouraged to spend more time with those around us to give something back. I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment but, at the same time, I feel like I’ve been invited to an all-you-can-eat cheese buffet.
I’ve long had an uncomfortable relationship with the idea of community; it feels like a concept of yesteryear that also conjures up problematic ideologies of those times. However, the more I’ve thought about this concept, the more I’ve realised I’m a hypocrite. As a child, I was that precocious kid who was involved in everything; I was fortunate enough that my parents could send me to ballet and piano classes, as well as a stint at karate, and if anything came up in school, I was there. As soon as I could, I joined the netball team, drama club, and more dance classes before going on to run my university’s dance society. I’ve been seeking connections with people my entire life and throwing myself into different iterations of community.
My need for connection hasn’t decreased as I’ve grown into an adult, nor has my love of dance, which is why I began taking Lindy Hop classes seven years ago. Lindy Hop is an African American swing dance that originated in Harlem in the 1920s before gaining huge popularity in the 1930s and 1940s. It’s a partnered dance with lead and follow roles, designed to encourage improvisation on a social dance floor.
Photography by Jack Childs
I began attending classes primarily because I’d had a break from dancing and was keen to fill that void, but, within a year, my personal life had taken a turn and I was experiencing the kind of loneliness you only get in your mid to late-twenties. In short, I was grateful for a community of like-minded people.
Jessie Brooks, founder of The Swing Project in Cardiff, had a similar experience with dancing: “It was just an immediate way to meet new people and I didn’t have to think about everything else that was going on outside. I could take any frustration I had [and] channel it into dancing.”
The Swing Project is a swing dance organisation offering classes in Lindy Hop, Charleston, and solo jazz and, since its inception, has built a large community of dance lovers in Cardiff.
Jessie discovered Lindy Hop when she lived in Toronto after years of dancing ballroom and Latin. She quickly fell in love with the dance and it changed her whole view on dancing and community. She says: “The whole fact that it was improvised and you didn’t know what was coming next, that was really exciting. And it was also a really lovely way, in a city where you didn’t know anybody, to be with people who wanted to meet other people. And that’s the really nice thing with dancing; generally, people are there because they want to connect with other people.”
Despite running an entire community, Jessie understands my unease with the word and, when I ask her what she thinks community is, says “I love that you very carefully said that without throwing up in your own mouth, so well done,” which feels like personal progress. She feels community “means people that care. And that’s about each other [and] about the thing that brings them together.” She goes on; “I think communities can be anything, right? Communities can be within a job, with your neighbours, it could be people who are all interested in the same thing [and] I think in the modern world, community is actually something that we all really need but isn’t always the easiest thing to find or foster. Because you can be really happy in a job, you can have friends, but you can also still feel quite untethered to the world around you.”
I find myself agreeing; being part of The Swing Project, I have seen numerous connections develop off the dance floor because people genuinely care about each other. When Jessie’s teaching partner, Benjie Talbott, launched a Kickstarter for his new board game business, the community came together and helped him meet his goal by the end of the day. When another member opened her own bookshop, social media was filled with posts of members showing off their new purchases from her shop. For me, in the twenty-first century, these are the types of actions I would expect from my inner circle of friends and family, whereas in the past it would be more expected that a wider group of people would come to support me in this way. I think it’s testament to what Jessie has built that so many people want to support each other and do it loudly.
I’m intrigued by the role Jessie feels she plays within this community. It’s undoubtedly driven by her passion and knowledge but, in all my years of dancing, I’ve never met a teacher who genuinely feels like they are integrated into the group, too. “I like to think of my role more as a facilitator”, says Jessie, “I know some people think it’s semantics but facilitator, to me, means I’m trying to create more of a space for sharing of ideas, to try and motivate people to engage actively with their own learning, rather than be reactive recipients of knowledge.” It’s clear from Jessie’s teaching style that she practices what she preaches; we try a move, discuss what worked or didn’t, and then try again. This collaborative approach breaks down the teacher/student dynamic I’ve previously been used to, which means that when we’re in a social setting, it feels completely natural to see teachers dancing with people of all experiences or chatting over a drink.
Jessie’s role also has another layer of responsibility that most dance teachers either don’t have or don’t recognise. Lindy Hop was created by Black Americans, which means the artform itself is intrinsically linked to Black culture. Like Jessie, most of the Cardiff scene are white and predominantly middle-class and the responsibility to make us all aware of our role within the dance is “a weekly concern” for Jessie. “It’s a big responsibility and it’s something that I don’t take lightly. But I also really encourage people to recognise that I’m also on this journey and to join me in learning more about the originators of the dance, the social and the historical context of the dance, and how that’s not limited to the time in which it was created.” Classes regularly feature video clips from key moments in Lindy Hop history, showcasing Black dancers and musicians who were pioneers in a community that still thrives today. Jessie always provides context to the videos, as well as providing additional material for outside the classroom, so as participants we can understand how and why this dance originated and grew. The Swing Project also makes monthly donations to organisations working across the globe to support issues affecting the Black community.
Another way in which Jessie honours the history of the dance is the way in which she teaches; I’ve always appreciated her collaborative, rather than dictatorial, approach to teaching as it engages me a lot more in the class. However, during our discussion, Jessie tells me there’s more to this than simply encouraging us to take ownership of our dancing. Generally speaking, in most dance classes you learn through shapes, steps, and positions, “which is a very Eurocentric lens to approach dancing. Whereas when we’re dancing Lindy Hop, we’re dancing an art form that doesn’t come from a Eurocentric aesthetic. It comes from an African aesthetic.” That isn’t to say we don’t learn specific moves, but the dance has different value systems which prioritise “rhythm, community, and collaborative interaction,” so that feeling of togetherness is an intrinsic part of what makes the Lindy Hop. The goal for most Lindy Hoppers is to be able to dance on a social dancefloor where you’re encouraged to dance with as many different people as possible; I can’t think of a more perfect example of community.
As with any large group of people, there will be many different subsets of communities within it and Jessie has actively tried to ensure that everyone feels comfortable within The Swing Project. All genders are encouraged to learn both the lead and follow roles, with Jessie and Benjie frequently switching between the two, and dancers from their twenties to their seventies attending classes. Jessie has also set up several initiatives to ensure finance is less of a barrier; not only does she frequently run free taster classes and social dances, but The Swing Project also offers a number of free classes to dancers who may need it, no questions asked.
Lindy Hop has been danced for at least a century but Jessie has found a way to honour it in a modern setting while still being authentic to its roots. She understands that everyone’s backgrounds, experiences and knowledge are different but “the thing that we’re always trying to do is to create a space that recognises where people are and invites them in, rather than calling them out.” Lindy Hop is a global community and Jessie has shaped a piece of it in Cardiff that has had a huge impact on hundreds of people.
Being part of The Swing Project has been a real-life case study in showing me how community forms, moves with its members and, ultimately, supports them. It’s hard to end this article without a generous slice of cheddar but, as it’s Christmas, I think it’s as good a time as any for me to grab the chutney, dig into the cheeseboard and declare: my name is Ellie Rees and I bloody love community.
Written by Ellie Rees
Ellie Rees is an aspiring writer, based in South Wales. She currently works in marketing and dreams of seeing her novel on the shelves of Waterstones Cardiff one day.
