Addressing the differences between Latin dances within a ballroom context and those flourishing in actual circumstances, Ruud Vermay says, “You will, of course, never see a Cuban Rumba or Brazilian Samba until you travel to the birthplace” (Vermay, Kastell Verlag: 32). The authenticity of a popular dance is ultimately linked to its place or origin. Latin popular dance styles in a lived culture express the heritages of a people or a nation, as is the case with the rumba in Cuba, merengue in the Dominican Republic and cumbia in Colombia. Originating in Cuba, salsa has spread throughout so many parts of the globe that it is difficult to speak of an “authentic” salsa dance. The exotic appeal of salsa outside of its sites of “origin” is, nonetheless, founded on the truth —or perhaps the illusion— that a genuine dance can be reproduced. Salsa’s connection with an authentic cultural expression “sells” the dance and transforms it into a cultural commodity in Montreal.

The commodification of the dance in the city thrives in a multicultural context. The use of dance to express multicultural values has a history in Canada. Since the introduction of the official policy of multiculturalism in 1971, the federal government has allocated funds to promote the development of 'traditional' dances by community organizations and the performance of these dances in culture shows. The federal government promotes dances that exhibit the ancestral heritage of a specific group such as Canadians of Chinese or Ukrainian descent. Critics of multicultural displays claim that these dance exhibitions fossilize the cultural practices of ethnic groups. These performances become representations of primordial remote cultures to which immigrants once belonged, reducing rich and complex dance traditions to such stereotypes as the Chinese lion dance and Ukrainian Cossack dancing. The philosophy of multiculturalism presented through the culture show is one of the mosaic in which each group expresses its heritage separately without influencing the 'dominant' cultures, as well as the cultures of 'other' ethnic groups (Li, 1994: 376 -378).

Salsa dancing in Montreal is not a 'pure' representation of a traditional culture. Consequently, this dance is not the kind of practice that is selected to display the ancestry of a particular ethnic group. Although salsa dancing is an expression of the heritage of Montrealers of Latin descent, it is also a cultural commodity that circulates throughout various cultural institutions such as dance schools, Latin clubs and community radio and television stations. The multicultural flavour of the Montreal salsa scene is created by the diversity of individuals involved in promoting, teaching and dancing salsa. Both Montrealers of born in Latin nations and also in Canada are involved in the teaching and promoting of salsa dancing. The connections created through the circulation of this Latin dance style provide insight into the nature of a multicultural society that extends beyond the image of diversity promoted by the federal government's funding of ethnic dances. For instance, the cultures of diverse groups can fuse together to produce new or hybrid expressions. Transculturalism is not always possible between groups who occupy disparate positions from the centers of power. Cultures of minority groups are often usurped and reformulated by the dominant cultures.

In Montreal, people speak of “Latin” and “Latino” people and culture. “Latino” is the preferred term in the United States, but in Montreal, the terms “Latin” and “Latino” are used in both French and English. These terms are, in a sense, markers of oppression, as they define people of diverse national, racial and ethnic origins in general terms, with differences subsumed under totalizing definitions. “Latinos” themselves use the term “Latino” to assert their identity within the American context. Eduardo Mendieta writes of the experiences of Latin Americans when they migrate to the United States.

One arrives a Guatemalan, Salvadorian, Colombian, Cuban, Venezuelan, Peruvian, Costa Rican or Dominican, and slowly, after painful experiences of oppression, marginalization, and isolation, starts to learn to become a Latino and Hispanic. But in the process of learning to become a Latino and Hispanic what were originally artificially imposed labels now take on a different character. These terms become ways for us to claim and build a place in the political culture of the United States (Mendieta, 2000: 47–48).

By using the terms “Latin” and “Latino” to describe themselves, Montrealers who come from many nations in Latin America connect themselves to the Latin diaspora that crosses the United States and the Americas. These terms are a way for Montrealers of Latin descent to also claim a place for themselves within both a Quebecois and Canadian context. It is in this context that the terms “Latino” or “Latin” are used in this exploration of salsa dancing in Montreal.

There does not exist a single Latin immigrant group in Montreal that could be accredited with 'bringing' and maintaining salsa in the city. As a result of immigration patterns, members of the Latin community in Montreal originate from at least eighteen countries in Latin America, Central America and the Caribbean. The first wave of Latin American immigrants occurred between 1974 and 1978 with an influx of Chilean refugees. Since 1982, the city has experienced a dramatic increase in immigrants from Central American and South American nations. The most important countries in terms of population are from El Salvador, Chili, Peru, Guatemala, Columbia, Argentina, Guyana and Mexico (Manègre, 1994: 14). With the exception of Columbia, Montrealers of Latin descent come from countries that are not leading salsa nations. Although salsa has it roots in the Latin-Caribbean, this music and dance as it is known today has developed since the 1950's from the migrations of Latin-Caribbean people initially to New York and later to other cities in the United States, such as Miami. Salsa also extended in the 1970's to the nations of the Caribbean basin as Columbia, Venezuela and Panama (Manuel, 1995: 78).[1] Immigrants from Latin-Caribbean nations, such as Cuba and Puerto Rico represent only a small percentage of the Latin population in Montreal. Although many Montrealers of Latin descent may dance to the rhythms of salsa on Canadian soil in order to evoke memories of their 'original' homelands, others have started to dance salsa since their arrival in Montreal. Many Latin immigrants find themselves listening and dancing to salsa, as well as, to other popular Latin styles, such as merengue and bachata, as a result of their immigration to Canada. One of the city’s dance teachers who is of Latin descent comments on the way in which listening to Latin music becomes a way for Latin immigrants to assert their cultural identity and to establish boundaries in a multicultural Canada. He says,

The Latins who immigrate became one thousand times more Latin here than in their countries. It was a phenomenon that in the beginning I didn't understand [...] You can ask many Latins what kind of music they listened to in their countries. They listened to just music in English. Coming here, they listen 99% of the time to music in Spanish —salsa and merengue. And why? It's because, above all, they are trying to find their roots. Who am I in this huge country? [My translation] (1998)

Consequently, the majority of the dance teachers of Latin descent in the city did not dance to salsa in their country of origin. These teachers come primarily from Guatemala and Peru. The Canadian-born instructors also learned to dance salsa in Montreal.

Although most salsa teachers have honed their dancing skills in Montreal, the rhetoric of “authenticity” cultivates the dance as a marketable product. This paper looks at the ways in which the discourse of origins and authenticity is either invoked or rejected to legitimize the different dance styles that are promoted, taught and sold in the city’s schools. Tensions arising between instructors and schools result from differences in the culture and dance traditions to which they link salsa and in the ways they express the dance corporeally. Since salsa has not developed out of a lived context in Montreal, no solid dance heritage exists from which instructors can draw to legitimize their knowledge. Those involved in the promotion and teaching of the dance must carve out a place for their particular form of salsa from an array of styles that circulate in the city. The various ways that schools and teachers justify their style express how diverse Latin groups, as well as people of non-Latin descent, interact in a multicultural setting. Depending on the school, salsa dancing is connected to an international phenomenon through a ballroom dance tradition, New York club dancing, a general Latin heritage or a specific Latin-Caribbean cultural practice.

Associating the Montreal dance styles with different areas of the globe reveals how salsa flourishes well beyond its Caribbean roots. Some instructors connect salsa to a general Latin heritage, a link that reinforces how this dance and music represents a Latino consciousness that extends throughout the Spanish-speaking Americas (Marre and Charleton, 1985: 80). Others connect salsa to New York, since salsa evolved in that city during the late 1960s and 1970s; New York is often regarded as its “birthplace” (Catapano, 1999). The connection between salsa dancing and the Latin component of ballroom dance reflects how modified versions of dances from Cuba, as well as other Latin nations, were incorporated into British and American-derived Latin competitive dance (Buckman, 1987: 199-200). Lastly, the establishment of the Caribbean as the “true” birthplace of salsa inaugurates a clear place of origin for a dance and musical style that has become international.

As teachers “sell” the same commodity, they have a stake in distinguishing their version from that of others and in “exoticizing” and linking it to a source outside of the city. Dance schools compete for a share of the market. There are, however, a few instructors who are open to the diverse styles that circulate in the city. The mapping out of variations among the schools exposes a myriad of possible relations that occur through the circulation of the dance: the celebration of diversity, the assimilation of a minority practice into the prevailing culture, the appropriation of minority practices by the dominant culture, the creation of hybrid forms or the resistance to hybridization to ensure cultural purity. My analysis of salsa illustrates how multicultural relations in actual circumstances have the potential to bring diverse people together, as well as to reproduce hierarchies based on such distinctions as culture, ethnicity and race. The connections embodied in the Montreal salsa scene are always anchored to the commodification of the dance in the city.

My primary aim in this paper is to contrast how the discourse of authenticity and origins is either invoked or rejected by instructors in the two largest schools in the city, Lafayette and Santo Rico.[2] To a lesser degree, I include smaller dance schools in the discussion. The differences between these two schools expose a key conflict in salsa dancing: the rupture between ballroom-influenced Latin dance, and salsa dancing as part of a street dance culture thriving in a lived context.

This analysis of Montreal’s Latin dance schools draws from an extensive body of ethnographic work, which deals with the city’s music and dance scene. I conducted interviews with twelve dance teachers as well as with club disc jockeys, community radio station disk jockeys, music promoters, club owners, musicians and people involved in the community television station. Although salsa dance teachers in the city come and go, my ethnographic study looks at dance instructors who have lasted at least five years, and still offer classes today. In this category are four schools started by Canadian-born instructors, all of whom are women, and eight salsa schools directed by Montrealers of Latin descent, all but one of whom are men. I have explored the interconnection between issues of gender and ethnicity in current research (Pietrobruno, 2001). To document how the rhetoric of authenticity is deployed to sell different styles of salsa, I conducted open-ended in-depth interviews with these instructors. One of my goals was to ascertain how they perceive the style of salsa that they teach. Claims of “authenticity” are largely based upon the kinds of movements taught and how knowledge of the dance has been acquired. To trace the movements that the dance instructors promote and teach, I took salsa lessons, so I could understand the style taught at each school. Having extensive background knowledge of each school prior to the interviews enabled me to ask well informed questions, and provided a context in which to interpret responses.

Before discussing how Montreal dance schools legitimize the styles of salsa that they teach and sell, I furnish some background on the forms of salsa dancing which have developed in a lived context and those that have been influenced by ballroom dance.

When individuals grow up moving to the rhythms of salsa, this acquisition of the dance differs from learning it in a studio or club. As salsa has evolved in many cities and countries throughout the Americas, it is difficult to delineate precisely the “true” and “authentic” salsa sites that develop this dance in actual circumstances. Identifying salsa in what I call a “lived context,” I am less concerned with where individuals have learned the dance than in how the dance becomes a part of their cultural heritage. In a lived context, salsa is not formally learned but is passed on from generation to generation. Most people who grow up with the dance acquire it in childhood, its movements often taught indirectly through the corporeal language of the body, so that those raised with the dance may not have a sense that they have learned it. Dancing usually is done to music: there is no separation between the rhythm of the music and the steps of the dance. According to Yvonne Daniel, this inseparability of music and dance is a part of Cuban culture with links to an African dance/music concept that has spread through out the Americas (Daniel, 1995: 34). The salsa that develops in a lived context involves more than a series of steps and turns: dancers execute movements with their entire bodies. The subtle, but essential elements of the dance, such as how dancers hold their bodies, move their heads, position their hands and isolate various body parts are rooted in motor control and movements that are extensions of wider cultural expression. One of the principal ways in which the salsa body moves is through corporeal isolations. Specific parts of the body such as the head, hands, hips and shoulders move separately in coordination with steps and turns, to the rhythm of the music. Although executing body isolations may require more skill than the steps and turns of the dance, these isolations are often unconsciously learned. A child may be formally taught specific footwork and turn patterns of salsa, but picks up body isolations by experiencing the family dance culture, similar to acquiring everyday gestures. Although these subtle separations of parts of the body may seem effortless to the outside viewer, their performance involves a great deal of skill and dexterity. Individuals of Latin descent, who are dispersed throughout the Americas, often learn the dance as an extension of their heritage. Such is the case for Lisa Sánchez González, whose acquisition of salsa in Los Angeles brought her closer to her ties with the Puerto Rican diaspora. She writes, “As a Boricua raised in Los Angeles, I learned salsa in my home among our extended family. The music itself has been for me another home in what I came to understand as a species of exile, as part of the legacy of the Puerto Rican working-class diaspora” (Sánchez González, 1999: 244- 245).

Adults who first learn salsa in the formal setting of a classroom do not acquire the dance in actual circumstances. They have, nonetheless, grown up in a dance or movement culture whose vernacular they may or may not have consciously learned. As they produce their movement heritage in the ways they move their bodies, they transpose their bodily culture to the salsa dance class. Their corporeal vernacular, acquired in actual circumstances, exerts an influence on how they apprehend this new dance. The idea that individuals grow up in a movement culture that patterns their everyday gestures finds resonance in Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus. The habitus of an individual is determined by the socializing practices of the group or class into which a child is born (Bourdieu, 1977: 167).

When salsa is “brought” to a new setting, often just the steps and turns of the dance are culled. How the total body moves, particularly the posturing and isolations, cannot be easily reproduced, as these corporealities have taken years of acquired knowledge and informal practice an individual garners from being part of a culture. Consequently, those elements that render the dance “authentic” can often never be fully seized. John Martin sums up the difficulties involved in assessing the authenticity of a dance style when it is has been transplanted to a new setting: "It is far easier to speak in a foreign language without a trace of accent than it is to dance a foreign idiom with complete purity of style" (qtd.in Vermay, 1994: 32).

The ways in which salsa is modified from its ‘original’ context when it is transplanted to a ‘foreign’ context echoes the manner in which Latin dance styles have been altered as a result of their incorporation into the world of ballroom dance. Ballroom dance appropriated and modified Cuban dances as the rumba, chachacha and mambo, as well as other Latin dances such as the Argentinian tango, Brazilian samba and the Dominican merengue. The Latin dances that were integrated into British and American ballroom repertoires were altered as a result of their transplantation from their “original” context. The Cuban street dance style rumba, for instance, was incorporated into American popular culture in the 1920s, and remains a part of the Latin section of competitive ballroom dance. However, the dance that was exported under the name of rumba resembled more the Cuban son, as the rumba could be not easily transplanted to white American society. The rhythm and movements of the rumba were so anchored in the lived dance culture of Cuba at the time that this dance could not be easily learned and reproduced by American society (Buckman, 1978: 197). Yvonne Daniel notes, "While both dance variations use traditional rhythms, the popularized ballroom dance style does not resemble the original Cuban dance, sometimes contrasted as rumba del campo or rumba from the countryside” (Daniel, 1995: 18).

Latin dances have been transformed in accordance to the movement ideals of the European-based heritage of ballroom dance. Jane Desmond argues that when Latin dances were incorporated into this tradition, they crossed racial lines and moved primarily from black dance to white dance resulting in a corporeal shift (Desmond, 1993-1994: 39-40). There emerged a stiffening of the hip and upper body rotations and an increased focus on footwork. As both ballet and ballroom dance have been developed by the same ethnic group, I argue that these two diverse dance tradition share similarities in the body ideals which they promote. My position is based on Joann Kealiinohomoku's work on how ballet reflects the standards of a particular ethnic group namely, "Caucasions who speak Indo-European languages and who share a common European tradition" (Kealiinohomoku, 1984: 544). The ballet ideals of pull-up, body lift and bodily extensions are part of the dance aesthetic of this specific group (Kealiinohomoku, 1984: 542) Ballet movements are characterized by predominantly straight back, still and rigid hips, fully stretched legs and feet and a curved arm position (Guillot and Prudhomme, 1976: 28, 83 & 199). These corporeal patterns surface, though to a lesser degree, in ballroom dance. Certain prevailing characteristics of ballet are antithetical to the isolations which characterize the African-derived movements in Latin-Caribbean dance. Work done on the African influences in North American dance styles can be adopted, nonetheless, to the Latin-Caribbean context. Marshall and Jean Stearns point out how various African-originated movement patterns can be linked to the vernacular dances of both the Caribbean and the United States (Stearns, 1994: 11& 12). In tracing the influences of African dance in contemporary African-American dance styles, Jacqui Malone argues that one of the corporeal traits of African dance which influenced North American styles is to dance with flexed joints (Malone, 1996: 12). The bent knee, flexed elbow, as well as, the fluid hip movement of the African-derived dance culture of the Americas stands in sharp contrast to ballet movement patterns which are marked by straight knees, extended curved arms and still hips. Some of the ways in which Latin street dances were transformed in the ballroom dance tradition illuminate the movement ideals of ballet since they include a stiffening of the upper torso and hip movement, as well as the incorporation of leg extensions. Salsa dancing is today a transnational practice, enjoyed by diverse classes, races and ethnicities, and cannot easily be linked to a particular group. However, the body isolations that characterize the dance can be traced to the African-derived heritage that flourishes in the Caribbean.

Modifications to Latin street dance in the ballroom tradition have created a style that reflects European-based dance aesthetics. Despite the evolution of a style of salsa dancing that is influenced by ballroom, salsa has not been firmly entrenched in the Latin section of this dance heritage. Although ballroom-modified versions of rumba, mambo and chachacha date back to the first half of the 20th century, salsa remains a living dance, which has not been fixed and structured, as have its predecessors. Salsa is gradually being incorporated into the Latin section of the ballroom style, however, resulting in body modifications to express the ballroom dance ideals. Ballroom-influenced salsa dancing does not incorporate the complex body isolations that are part of the street dance style. The principal body isolation that has been transported into the ballroom-influenced style is the hip rotation, which Paul Bottomer describes in his how-to book on salsa dancing, Salsa: Dance Crazy:

The Salsa feel is given to the basic movement by a combination of keeping the upper body perfectly still and concentrating the energy into the waist and legs. The leg action is all-important because it is this which gives the characteristic hip movement of the dance. However, the hip movement is a by-product of good leg action and is not an independent movement (Bottomer, 1996: 14).

In ballroom-influenced salsa, hip movement is not created by separating and rotating the pelvic muscles, but by leg movement. The still back that Bottomer identifies contrasts salsa posturing that has emerged in a Latin-Caribbean context. A quiet vertical torso, leg-triggered hip action, as well as leg extensions and straighter joints mark salsa within the ballroom-dance tradition.

Salsa learned in a lived context does not distinguish between the steps and turns of the dance and how the total body moves in dance. In ballroom dance, which is not lived, but must be formally learned, this separation exists. The disparity between ballroom salsa and the dance that emerges in a context is illustrated by Bottomer's mapping out of basic ballroom salsa steps for male and female dancers.

Man:
Move the left foot back, leaving the right foot in place, releasing the heel of the right foot and flexing the right knee. The left leg straightens as the body weight moves over the foot. 
Woman:
Move the right foot back, leaving the left foot in place, releasing the heel of the left foot and flexing the left knee. The right leg straightens as the body weight moves over the foot (Bottomer, 1996: 16).

In a written description of a dance style, the only parts of the dance that can be easily transmitted are the steps and feet placement. How the entire body moves cannot be easily translated into written language, but needs to be conveyed visually.

Montreal’s salsa dance schools display tensions between “live context” salsa and ballroom-influenced styles. Discrepancies among schools surface in how instructors access information about changes in the dance, in the actual movements that are taught, and the specific culture with which salsa is associated. Dance schools may institute the contradictory relations of simultaneously maintaining and dissolving cultural hierarchies as a result of the commodification of salsa in the city.

Lafayette, is headed by Canadian-born Helen, who founded the organization in 1993. Helen comes from a ballroom dance background. The school promotes a version of salsa resembling more a ballroom style than a dance influenced by Latin-Caribbean movements. With the exception of the hip movement, the school does not incorporate many body isolations. Beginner salsa classes learn the hip movement as an extension of leg action, rather than a pelvic rotation. Turns and steps are much more emphasized than entire body moves, and still, straight torsos and extended legs embody the performance style of ballroom dance. Helen is reluctant to classify her school's salsa style as predominantly marked by ballroom tradition; nevertheless, in an interview, she alludes to a link between Latin street styles and ballroom dance:

When people say ballroom, what ballroom really means [...] back when there were ballrooms, when people used to go dancing, they used to do the waltz [...] Viennese waltz, fox-trot and later tango. That's what we mean by ballroom. Now we say ballroom and Latin. Latin originated from the streets and people that were dancing it at parties and then people who were stretching ballroom picked it up and structured it (Personal Interview, 1998).

Helen’s reluctance to classify the Lafayette style of salsa dancing as part of the Latin side of ballroom dance could partly stem from the fact that salsa dancing is not firmly anchored in this dance tradition. Her hesitation might also be attributed to the fact that linking salsa dancing to a ballroom dance tradition completely removes it from a lived context. Helen’s characterization of the Lafayette brand of salsa positions it, nonetheless, closer to the ballroom dance tradition than to a street dance style. She points out that salsa has not been structured to the same extent as other Latin dances, such as tango, rumba and chacha, and that therefore it is less codified, and open to interpretation. She says,

Most of these dances (tango, rumba, chacha) are pretty well structured. They've been around for so long that now they are established. There is a standard. For instance, you can say now in the tango, this is the norm. Of course, like dance any art is open to interpretation. You cannot control what people do. They will do what they feel is right. For instructions, there are guidelines. We have certain rules. In tango, you move forward with this part of the foot. You move yourself like so. You move in this direction. If you are dancing here or if you are dancing in Europe or if you are dancing in Africa. You are doing the same thing. There is certain agreement. Salsa is pretty fresh. Because it is mainly coming from mambo, it is still open to interpretation. People are trying to structure it now (Personal Interview, 1998).

When a dance flourishes in a lived context, developments and changes in the dance cannot be codified and imposed on the movements. Introduced into ballroom dance, however, Latin street dance movements become frozen and fixed, creating one of the key differences between ballroom and street dance styles. Furthermore, since a living dance develops in actual circumstances, transplanting it to other contexts will change the dance in accordance with the culture of the new location. Local styles influence how salsa is danced in different areas: for instance, salsa in Colombia is influenced by cumbia. Since the Latin side of ballroom has clearly prescribed rules, however, a Latin dance will be performed, according to Helen, in the same way in Europe or Africa.

The manner in which the Lafayette learns about changes in salsa clearly links their method to ballroom style. In a lived context, modifications in dance occur informally by observing other dancers and adopting different styles. Changes arising at the level of movement are passed on through both corporeal and verbal language. In 1996, Lafayette introduced a new salsa style called salsa rouletta, which involves a number of couples dancing together. Forming a circle, the dancers change partners and execute steps and turns according to the verbal cues of a leading dancer or a number of dancers. In the following extract from our interview, Helen reveals the manner in which dance school learns about current changes in salsa.

How do we stay up-to-date? There are many ways. Primarily because we are a dance school and we are established people know us. A lot of the time, the information finds us. Okay, it will be faxed to us or a friend will tell us or we have friends in the industry in New York or whatever. They say this is what is going on. Do you want to join us in a conference on this new style? So a lot of the time, it just comes. If we want to find it, we call our contacts or we go ourselves to New York or Miami. And a percentage is innovative on our part (Personal Interview, 1998).

Accessing information about a dance via technological modes of communication, such as faxes or possibly the Internet, clearly breaks with the oral and corporeal transmission of changes in lived dances. One of the methods that the Lafayette uses to find out about shifts in dance does resemble, however, how dances evolve in actual circumstances. As Helen mentioned, dancers and teachers from the school travel to destinations such as New York and Miami, to observe salsa dances in these locations. However, because the members of Helen’s dance school only visit these cities briefly, they are not part of the salsa development that continuously evolves in Miami and New York. Helen reveals that once a dance is transplanted from its original setting, there is a distinction between the dance that is learned and the underived form of the dance. To explain her point she refers to the Cuban dance, salsa rouetta, in which many couples dance in a circle, changing partners and performing numerous steps and turns called out by a male leader. Speaking about the introduction of salsa rouletta to Montreal, Helen says,

Now they (Montrealers) are bored of this (the Lafayette style of salsa) so we have to show them something more. That is why we started showing the Montreal salsa scene salsa rouletta, which is another way of calling casino rouetta. There are two ways of saying it. A Cuban person would probably understand salsa rouetta. A more Americanized saying is salsa rouletta. But, it is like anything. In its own place, the locals see it and know it. It is nothing special. They do it everyday. The moment it goes outside like in Miami and foreigners start to notice it, then it starts to suddenly be a fad. We’ll push it. It is new and hot. They'll take pictures. They'll write up on it. They'll do research and suddenly everyone wants to do this and meanwhile the people in Cuba have been doing it for ages. So it is always a situation like this. We say it is a new dance, but it is not. It is just new to everyone else (Personal Interview, 1998).