This scares me.

 I am scared because I feel that there is a large part of what makes Vodou - my faith and practice - whole is going missing. The thing I’m worried we’ll all forget is: ancestors lived their spirituality the way they did for a reason. I do not believe that anything they accomplished was by chance nor by sheer whim of appeasing a colonizer. If we can agree on that, then we can agree that any reference to today’s Vodou practice as that which uplifts a white colonizer and degrades black identity is a slap in the face.

Let me be clearer.

Vodou, a living oral history, teaches me that my heritage is powerful. That my ancestors put their roots down in Haiti and built communities where folks supported each other through spiritual growth and maturity. There are ways of knowing that get passed down that speak to our place in nature and our ability to access nature’s power. These ways of knowing, though, have always, also spoken to the existence and power of a creator. Certainly, not a creator in the image of a racist jawn, the dieu blan, but a creator who built the landscape that we benefit from - that sustains us.

It is this understanding - this deep seated belief - that keeps me in fellowship with anyone with an awakened consciousness. It is that same belief that ensures I have no interest in having the “my-belief-is-better than-yours” conversation.

 That said, the current conversation and movement to perform a version of Vodou practice that is for stage performance, or devoid of any mention of a creator, or that paints folks that pray litany as mindless, does a disservice to various oral histories that have shaped our practice today. In other words, there has never been a “right way to do Vodou,” Ritual practices can change from region to region, house to house, and family to family. Yet still, there has only ever been a common way based on shared foundational understandings that I, you, and divine are in harmony because we exist - because we are (in) nature.

Academia makes all this worse.

The ability to theorize and string together complex sentences is not what brings value to the existence of our practices. If you believe we have been this dope as Afro-indigenous folk, then you have to also believe that describing that dopeness is a gift and not you elevating anything.

There is a difference between what is theory and what is practice. Be careful.
 For example, a scholarly paper on why Vodou should be stripped of all talk of saints and angels because of colonization, is a great theory, but it isn’t law. It’s a mistake to use that scholarship to dictate how we should (or shouldn’t practice). Brain exercises are not always soul exercises. 

While there is science in our practices, there is no real hard proof of how things should be. Everything stems from an oral history. Our ancestors have passed on the trade of being… a historian.

Teachings of Vodou exist via generations and generations of folks acting and sharing, teaching and re-learning. Likewise, a colonized mind, as folks say, gets supported from lessons inherited. Does this mean that the two are one and the same?​

I don’t think so. And, I believe to tote this as fact is a mistake. In fact, it is an insult to the communities that support the idea that we all are spiritual in nature. In attempts not to trivialize the point, I want to offer that a photo of a white Ezili Freda does not take away they fact that she is Negrès (#blackandqueening). Also, perhaps a statue of St. Michael the Archangel exists because someone just hasn’t created a brown version. In any case, the sacred arts we spend so much time delving deeply into are not the things that make Vodou; it’s the belief behind it all that make it. The belief that affirms that when we pray and practice, we have left these physical limitations and transcended space and time.

The Nou Series, an experiment in embodied knowledge, resistance, and history that prioritizes “nou” (“us” in Haitian Creole) was a layered performance, choreographed and curated to explore the history of the Wyckoff House, documenting memories of native Lenape peoples and enslaved Africans in Canarsie, and the migration of Black Caribbeans to Brooklyn. Through a lens of muscle memory and spirituality, we hoped to build a connected narrative and express it through movement.

Ultimately, our goal was that by positioning our bodies as museum installations we can expand and interrogate stories and processes of cultural preservation and community identity. Each layer of our performance, from the wardrobe to the sequence of installations, contained a piece of this intention which added more depth to our storytelling. 

The audience was taken on a public Walking Tour featuring an interactive witnessing of the body installations. Moving through the Wyckoff House Museum the audience engaged with “installed bodies” that shared about what KDC members learned, what they know, and what they hope to see in the future using movement informed by their time in this residency.

During the tour, attendees were encouraged to:

1. Be present.
2. Maintain an open and curious mind.
3. Engage critically with what they were witnessing using their sense of sight, hearing, and smell.
4. Use their own interpretation regarding anything that resonated with them.
5. Respond to any physical cues performers offer.
6. Complete the entire tour.
7. Join the performers in dancing and celebration at the end of the tour.

The feedback we have received has been truly heartfelt and reassuring. Attendees have described their experience as transformative, powerful, and thought-provoking. Attendee notes that the work evoked ideas about spirituality and honoring women and ancestry. It brings another level of meaning to our work when our intention is clearly felt and absorbed. ​

Wyckoff staff shared that this was the first time in the museum’s history that the Wyckoff legacy was interpreted from the perspective of the African and Indigenous in a way that challenges the integrity of this legacy. Intentionally, the piece questioned both staff and Wyckoff family accountability to the treatment of the enslaved Africans and Indigenous people who also occupied the land.
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This performance has solidified the power of our collective movement in a way that feels exciting as we continue to grow our work. It speaks volumes about our capacity moving forward given how seamlessly we were able to create a connected story though each of us as individuals moved from a distinct perspective and dance vocabulary. This kind of cohesion is a great building block for us to continue to teach, learn, and create collaborative action for folks that think differently than we do, and, for communities that want, need, or can benefit from this type of work. ​

If you attended the performance we also want to hear your experience. What were some of the thoughts, questions or feelings that came up for you? 
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*This performance is part of the Protest Garden Project, made possible in part by the Lincoln Center Cultural Innovation Fund, which is generously supported by The Rockefeller Foundation and administered by Lincoln Center.