There’s something about dancing that makes people lose their minds.
Literally.
Reason steps aside.
Coherence kicks off its shoes.
And suddenly, we’re clapping along like toddlers at a birthday party, mesmerized by hips and half-smiles.
I had just watched a video of Brice Oligui Nguema, transitional president of Gabon, dancing in front of an enthusiastic crowd. Not a polished two-step. Just that loose, spontaneous, unbothered sway men do when they know the power is theirs, for now. People went wild.
Phones up.
Chants loud.
The body had spoken.
And like any proper millennial on the edge of burnout, I thought: what does this even mean?
And then came Tidjane Thiam, in Côte d’Ivoire, gently tugged into the rhythm of the campaign trail. The smile was tight. The movement careful, as if his Harvard degree might come undone if he bounced too hard. But the message was the same: See? I can loosen up too. The crowd responded. As they always do.
Because we don’t vote with our minds.
We vote with our guts.
And guts love a good beat.
The Dance Joins the Debate
We’re here now.
The age where campaign messaging includes economic plans, foreign policy… and a carefully timed shoulder shimmy.
Obama knew. A little Al Green here, a basketball game there…suddenly he was the most relatable president in history.
Macron dropped a DJ set from the Élysée basement. Cringe or cool? Doesn’t matter. It went viral.
Zelensky danced before he ruled, and now he dances around global diplomacy with a wartime swagger.
Even Trump, whose dance resembles a malfunctioning karaoke machine, found that movement, no matter how strange, sticks.
And Kamala?
Well. Kamala stayed poised.
Tight. Controlled.
Always ready. Never too much.
Which, in a world that confuses stiffness with seriousness and joy with incompetence, may have been the safe bet.
But maybe not the winning one.
Dancing While Black Is a Different Game
Here’s the thing: dancing is a currency — but only for those allowed to spend it freely.
Let’s not pretend Kamala’s hips would’ve been met with the same applause.
Because racism is still alive, well-fed, and in the front row.
When white men dance, they’re charming.
When Black women move, they’re “extra.” “Unprofessional.” “Too much.”
She dances? She’s unserious.
She doesn’t? She’s cold.
Pick your stereotype, it’s coming either way.
As an African woman, I’ve lived in the stereotype stew.
We’re always the ones with rhythm, with soul, with “energy.”
Always expressive. Always moving.
Never thinking, apparently.
We dance, yes, but not to perform for anyone.
And not all of us. And not always.
The truth? Dancing has always been political for us.
It was banned during slavery.
Surveilled during colonialism.
And now, it’s either sanitized for Instagram or turned into meme-worthy marketing.
Our joy is real. And it’s resilient.
But it’s also a weapon.
Used against us.
And used by us.
The Hypothesis (Half-Serious, Fully True)
So, if Kamala had danced more, would she have won more votes?
Probably not.
But maybe she would’ve been felt more.
And in today’s politics, “feeling” matters more than facts.
And the irony? After voting en masse for Kamala in 2024, many African Americans, tired of being loyal, blamed, and ignored, have now decided to rest, stay home, and learn line dancing. At least the rhythm doesn’t lie.
The body speaks louder than the brain.
Always has.
And in a world full of slogans and soundbites, a well-timed sway might just say: I’m still alive. I’m still here. And yes, I feel joy too.
Final Step: Don’t Be Fooled
Let me be clear: dancing is not going to dismantle white supremacy.
It won’t save democracy.
It won’t put food on the table or keep the lights on.
But sometimes, it reminds people that they’re human.
That joy is not a luxury.
That movement can still mean something in a system designed to keep us static.
So no, dancing won’t win the revolution.
But it might get us through another day.
And maybe (just maybe) make us believe again.
If only for a beat.