The elderly Palestinian woman Mahfodah Shtayyeh cries as she hugs an olive tree that was cut down by Israeli settlers near Nablus in 2005 (Credit: Nasser Ishtayeh)
The Rewilding Cultures Mobility Conversation aims at initiating conversations on cultural exchange and offers grants for mobility beyond the current forms of support. Amongst the projects of 2024, the dancer Ghazal Ramzani travelled across Europe with the support of Ionian University, to meet dance practicioners who connect their art to anti-colonial and ecological struggles. Here is her report.
Report and photos by Ghazal Ramzani
Ghazal Ramzani is a Berlin-based Iranian dancer, choreographer, dance filmmaker and facilitator. She received her formal dance training in the indo-persian Kathak dance at the National School of Kathak-New Delhi, where she was awardee of the Indian Councils of Arts and Culture. She completed her MFA in Contemporary Performative Arts at the University of Gothenburg, where she was awarded the Artisens Vanner scholarship. As an artist hailing from North-Iran and descendent from working-class women, Ghazal Ramzani’s practice encompasses artistic engagement with her community of origin. According to the artist, her movement language is rooted in communal stories, counter-narratives and indigenous dance traditions and her dance performances chronicle narratives of injustice, trauma and resistance that intertwine layers of the mythological, the political and the intimate. In this project, Ghazal Ramzani aims to explore the connection between disappearance of indigenous dances and the vanishing forests in her homeland Mazandaran/Iran, probing into the reflections they offer in the contemporary landscape. Recognizing informal dance gatherings within her community as fertile grounds for imagination and introspection, she seeks to delve into the ways in which these gatherings reflect the environmental emergency.
In December 2024, I embarked on a journey across Europe by train, meeting and interviewing practitioners of Indigenous dances deeply rooted in anti-colonial movements, along with artists and climate activists. This project stems from a critical observation: while many Indigenous dances and movement practices connected to soil, water, and ecological balance are often discussed as tools for reimagining humans’ relationship to environment, dances that explicitly embody resistance to colonial oppression are rarely examined through the environmental lens. Yet, dances like Palestinian Dabke, Irish dance, the North American Ghost Dance etc. hold relevance for climate justice efforts, as climate justice is the legacy of colonialism, and these dances reflect anti-colonial movements that resist the exploitation of both humans and nonhumans.
Colonial powers historically committed both ecocides and genocides to exploit lands and peoples, establishing systems of resource extraction and environmental degradation to fuel their economies. This legacy persists in ongoing violence, as vividly illustrated by the full-scale invasion, devastation, and televised genocide and ecocide in Gaza by the Israeli apartheid regime. The events in Gaza starkly reveal how colonialism continues to ravage human lives and ecosystems alike, demonstrating in real time the profound and often irreversible consequences of such oppression. As Vijay Kolinjivadi and Asmaa Ashraf emphasize in their essay “Palestine Against an Eco-Apartheid World”:
“The Palestinian resistance is currently articulating the clearest expression of anti-colonial dissent, of a national liberation movement that refuses to have its humanity cancelled, and its populations erased and sacrificed for the imperial core… and which refuses to have their lands destroyed.”
As a dancer, I am compelled to explore how movement practices rooted in anti-colonial resistance illuminate the crises they challenge. These dances as embodied expressions of resilience, storytelling, and world-making, hold cosmologies that challenge the exploitative systems responsible for the polycrisis we face today. What might we discover if we delve into the meanings embedded in these political art practices? What do they reveal about the communities and struggles they arise from, and how can they inform our search for climate justice?
Given the urgency of the issues at hand, the initial phase of this project focuses on Palestinian Dabke and Irish dance. Dabke has long been an expression of Palestinian resistance, serving as a communal practice that asserts identity and belonging in the face of ongoing oppression and expulsion. Similarly, Irish dance has played a vital role in Ireland’s anti-colonial struggle against British rule. The unapologetic solidarity of the Irish people with the Palestinian cause, marked by numerous collaborations between Irish dancers and Palestinian Dabke performers, makes these two dances a compelling focus for this initial phase of the project.
Supported by the Rewilding Cultures program, this research phase aimed to engage with dancers, choreographers, and activists across Europe. Traveling primarily by train, I engaged in conversations that uncovered the stories, knowledge, and meanings within their practices. These exchanges revealed glimpses of how Indigenous dances, rooted in anti-colonial movements, grasp and relate to the polycrisis. This report captures moments from these encounters—fragments of insight that lay the groundwork for a broader exploration into how these dance forms both reflect and resist the interconnected crises of our time.
In Berlin, meeting with Mohamad Freijeh: Dabke
I began the interviews in my home city, Berlin, with Mohammad Freijeh—a Dabke dancer, choreographer, and teacher.
I first met Mohammad during a Dabke workshop held in a queer cultural space in Berlin. Many participants were familiar faces from Palestine solidarity protests and events. Like me, they likely brought their exhausted bodies—worn down by a year of police violence, silencing, and the weight grief and rage over the devastating news from Gaza—seeking a moment of respite. The workshop offered a rare space for community, connection, and the shared joy of dancing together.
The Sea
Mohammad begins the interview by playing a traditional tune on his Ney, a wind instrument from Palestine. The melody carries a poignant dialogue between a Palestinian and the sea, with the sea being told, “We will be back soon to you.”
He learned this song as a child while part of a Palestinian folklore music group in Lebanon. It is an old, deeply familiar song that resonates with every Palestinian.
“You cannot be part of a political resistance if you do not feel something,” Mohammad reflects, explaining how the songs and dances of Dabke evoke powerful emotions—joy, hope, bravery, rage, homesickness, and an intense yearning to return, as expressed in the tune he played.
For Mohammad, every aspect of life serves as a reminder of resistance:
“Whatever we do, wherever we go—while eating, praying, making music, even breathing —it all reminds us that these things would feel different in our homeland. The air would smell different, the food would taste different. Whenever we dance, we say, Inshallah, one day we will dance in our homeland. Whenever we pray, we say, Inshallah, one day we will pray in Al Aqsa. Wherever we go, whatever we do, it always leads back to our homeland and the wish to return.”
The Olive Trees
Mohammad shares several Dabke songs that are heartfelt conversations between Palestinians and ancient olive trees:
مواقم اي ،ضرلأا ىسنت لا كلهدنيب نوتيزلا رجش
„The olive tree, is calling you
Never forget your land, oh fighter“
ابايت ىلحا يما سبلتو اباحص يدانت ضرلأا موي
„The land calls us: my children its time for us to come together. And on that day my mother wears her most beautiful cloth“
Mohammad believes these songs illuminate the relationship between humans and olive trees, showing how both are deeply affected by the occupation: “You can see the relationship between humans and olive trees in them,” he says. “How we treat them—with love and respect. They are like mothers, children, family members.”
He explains that these ancient trees have stood alongside generations of Palestinians, living through the lives of their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. “They are
the oldest family members—they fight and resist with us. These songs make us feel that we are all one, united as one hand. It’s complex and beautiful.”
How can one not recall the iconic image of Mahfodah Shtayyeh, a Palestinian woman embracing an olive tree after it had been attacked by Israeli settlers? In an interview, she said, “I hugged the olive tree… I’d raised the tree like my child.” This moment profoundly encapsulates the united resistance of all that is tied to the soil. Similarly, Dabke embodies a deep sense of interconnectedness, as Mohammad explains, revealing a cosmology in which human and non-human bodies are inseparable, woven together in a shared existence.
In Göttingen, meeting with Morteza Fakharian: Sympoiesis
The day after my first interview, I traveled to Göttingen to meet my friend and philosopher, Morteza Fakharian, who has been a mentor figure to me over the years. Conversations with him—whether about my work, upcoming projects, or broader topics—always serve as reflective spaces that deepen my understanding and enrich my artistic process.
This meeting was no different. I spoke with him to clarify what exactly I was trying to uncover through this project. Our discussion touched on works of Donna Haraway, the immense power of dance as a non-verbal medium, and the shared grief and rage we feel witnessing multiple genocides in our lifetime.
Central to our conversation was the concept of sympoiesis. Derived from the Greek words sún (together) and poíēsis (production), sympoiesis means collective creation or organization. As Haraway writes in Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene:
“Sympoiesis is a simple word; it means ‘making-with.’ Nothing makes itself; nothing is really autopoietic or self-organizing. In the words of the Inupiat computer ‘world game,’ earthlings are never alone. That is the radical implication of sympoiesis. Sympoiesis is a word proper to complex, dynamic, responsive, situated, historical systems. It is a word for worlding-with, in company.”
We also discussed Haraway’s critique of anthropocentrism, another central concept in the book, which challenges human-centered narratives and calls for recognizing humans as part of broader ecological networks.
From the little I could gather about Dabke during my brief conversation with Mohammad, it seems that the concept of sympoiesis might resonate with how Dabke songs and dances reflect relationships between humans and non-humans, particularly in their depictions of olive trees. Dabke appears to suggest an understanding of interconnectedness, where humans, soil, water and everything connected to them are not distinct entities but parts of a greater whole. These elements share similar vulnerabilities under colonial regimes and embody a collective determination to resist. In this sense, the non-human is not an ‘other,’ but rather an integral part of a shared existence, enduring destruction and engaging in acts of resistance alongside humans.
In Svendborg, meeting with Sylvia Ferreira: Dabke
I traveled by train from Berlin to Svendborg, Denmark, to meet Sylvia, dancer, choreographer, and co-founder of Hawiyya Dance Company, a project centered on contemporary Dabke in Europe.
Sylvia’s journey in dance began with classical ballet and contemporary forms. She encountered Dabke as a professional dancer and choreographer at a moment when she felt overwhelmed by political injustices and questioned the relevance of her artistic practice:
“I regretted being a dancer, feeling it was very self-indulgent. Especially in the world of contemporary dance, where it’s about exploring your own space, body, and feelings. It’s overly focused on self-exploration, but it doesn’t change anything—except maybe yourself.”
Her path to Dabke grew from a desire to make her work politically meaningful. Unlike the individualistic nature of contemporary dance, Dabke offered her a practice that was inherently political and collective, directly reflecting the struggle for justice.
The joy of stomping your feet on the ground
“There is something about the rhythmical stomping of the feet in Dabke that takes the energy out of the body and into the earth, rooting you down. And when we are doing it together, it creates a sense of strength. It’s an expression of so many things—the rage as well as the joy. Dabke gives space to so many different emotions.”
Sylvia’s reflections remind me of an online panel discussion hosted by the Bethlehem Cultural Festival, where Dabke dancers and Irish dancers explored the significance of their respective dance forms. During the panel, Dr. Abdelfattah Abusrour, founder and director of Alrowwad Cultural and Arts Society, discussed the origins of Dabke, describing how its stomping movements are rooted in Palestinian farming traditions:
“Originally, Palestinians were peasants. Their dances were a prayer for the rain to fall and the plants to grow. That’s why they hit the ground strongly.”
I tried to reach out to Dr. Abusrour for further insights but haven’t succeeded so far. Still, with this small lead, I’d like to reflect: the roots of a dance that today resists erasure, destruction, and occupation trace back to a tradition that nurtured the soil and encouraged the growth of plants. There’s something profoundly fascinating about this evolution—from stomps that once cultivated the earth to sustain life, to stomps that now reject ecocide, genocide, and erasure. Perhaps the enduring connection lies in this simple act of dancing to exist.
In Dublin, meeting with James Greenan: Irish Dance
I meet Irish dancer James Greenan in Dublin, where we discuss the shifting role of Irish dance in post-colonial Ireland. James reflects on how Irish dance, once a powerful expression of the anti-colonial struggle against British rule, has been institutionalized and commercialized. In this adaptation to post-colonial context, it has lost much of its political resonance and its communal aspect: “In the South of Ireland,” James explains, “some communities still hold on to the traditional form of the dance, practicing it as a social experience. But as a people, we are losing what they call the Irish session—getting together, playing music, dancing. That’s where it becomes alive.”
As a professional dancer, James has engaged in collaborations with Dabke dancers, including working with El-Funoun Dance Troupe in Palestine. These exchanges have been eye-opening for him, serving as reminders of the revolutionary heritage embedded in Irish dance. They also allowed him to see parallels between the histories of oppression and resistance shared by Irish and Palestinian communities.
Our conversations highlight a critical issue: while dances naturally evolve over time and adapt to new contexts, their foundational stories and collective significance risk being forgotten if not actively preserved. To uncover the embodied meaning of Irish dance in relation to Ireland’s anti-colonial struggle, it is essential to look beyond contemporary professional practitioners and turn to historical and academic works that document and interpret its deeper cultural and political roots.
At Cloughjordan Ecovillage: meeting with Eileen Brannigan and Rita Marcalo
My final stop is Cloughjordan Ecovillage, 155 km from Dublin, a community formed in the late 1990s by environmental activists and sustainable living enthusiasts. At the village entrance, I notice a Palestinian flag, a striking symbol of solidarity.
I meet Eileen Brannigan, Chair of the North Tipperary Ireland Palestine Solidarity Campaign, member of Extinction Rebellion as a climate activist and member of the Cloughjordan Palestine Justice group. Over coffee, we discuss Ireland’s anti-colonial struggle, the destruction wrought by colonialism, her experience of feeling like a second- class citizen as someone born a Catholic nationalist in Belfast, Northern Ireland, and the reason behind the ongoing solidarity between Irish and Palestinian people:
“For Irish people, the idea of a deliberate famine is very painful. Because of our colonial history (of imposed famine) and also partially due to the political hunger strikes of the
1980s. We know what it’s like to have your struggles ignored. I believe Northern Irish people in particular relate to the Palestinian struggle as the state of Northen Ireland, like Israel, is an imposed construct. Rigid borders were imposed upon the minority community supposedly to protect the majority. Our Irish culture, including our history and our equal right to self expression was erased and made to seem alien to the dominant British identifying culture- our very existence seen as a threat to social order. That sense of loss, of alienation from your own birthright, is very painful.That is possibly why I personally feel so strongly for the Palestinian people, but then, as a human being, who does not have empathy with the basic right to exist?”
Later, I meet Rita Marcalo, a choreographer, dancer, and environmental activist whose artistic practice focuses on both environmental issues and the experiences of oppressed people. Her project, „Dancing With Strangers: From Palestine to Ireland”, developed over the past year, aims to make the ongoing genocide in Gaza visible by amplifying the voices of co- artists in Gaza through sound and movement.
As I share my thoughts with Rita, I find myself questioning whether the medium of film can adequately capture the complexities I’m trying to explore. We discuss the idea of creating a digital map of anti-colonial Indigenous dances—a living archive. This digital space would house footage and information about dances connected to anti-colonial struggles, illuminating their embodied meanings and the intersectional injustices they resist. Through such a map, these dances and their stories could reach a broader audience, preserving their significance and revealing the knowledge they hold about interconnected struggles for justice and liberation.
Reflecting on the first phase of this project, I conclude that examining anti-colonial Indigenous dance practices through an ecological lens reveals profound significance. Through conversations with dancers, choreographers, and activists, I have come to understand that these practices offer vital insights into resistance, resilience, and solidarity in the face of ecological and social degradation. The interconnections between dance, land, and struggle are embodied responses to the urgent crises of our time. Hence
I am eager to continue this project in collaboration with other artists, activists, and scholars, further exploring these critical intersections.
Given the pivotal role of these dances in anti-colonial struggles, it is essential for dancers and scholars engaged with the embodied meanings of dance to document, verbalise and amplify the significance of this Indigenous practices. At the same time, the preservation and continued practice of those dances are fundamentally rooted in the community itself, thriving independently of institutional or academic validation. Its resilience and vitality as a form of resistance demonstrates that its power lies in the collective will and lived experiences of those who perform and embody it. However, it is perhaps the dancers, choreographers, and dance scholars educated and situated in Eurocentric institutions who urgently need to engage with Indigenous epistemologies to challenge and liberate their thinking and decolonize their practices.
Ghazal Ramzani was mentored by Ionian University for this mobility grant