Danzas chuscas are parodic dances performed in indigenous and mestizo villages throughout Mexico. In the village of Yalálag, a Zapotec indigenous village in the state of Oaxaca, Mexico, danzas chuscas are performed during religious celebrations, a time when many Yalaltecos (people from Yalálag) who have immigrated to Los Angeles return to visit their families. Since the late 1980s, these immigrants have become the subject of the dances. Yalaltecos humorously represent those who have adopted “American” behaviors or those who have remitted negative values and behaviors from inner-city neighborhoods of Los Angeles to Yalálag. Danzas chuscas such as “Los Mojados” (“The Wetbacks”), “Los Cocineros” (“The Cooks”), and “Los Cholos” (“Los Angeles Gangsters”) comically portray the roles that Yalaltec immigrants have come to play in the United States. Danzas chuscas such as “Los Norteños” (“The Northerners”), “Los Turistas” (“The Tourists”), and “El Regreso de los Mojados” (“The Return of the Wetbacks”) characterize Yalaltec immigrants as outsiders and visitors. And the choreography in dances like “Los Yalaltecos” (“The Residents of Yalálag”) and “Las Minifaldas” (“The Miniskirts”) reflect changes in these immigrants' social status, gender behaviors, and class position. In other words, these dances embody the impact of migration on social, economic, and cultural levels. Through physical humor immigrants and nonimmigrants confront the tensions and uncertainties stemming from Zapotec migration into the United States: community social disorganization, social instability, and changes in the meaning of group identity as it relates to gender, class, ethnicity, and culture.

In the 1920s and early 1930s, Filipino men patronized the popular American social institution of the taxi dancehalls, comprising nearly one quarter of the taxi dancehall patrons in major cities such as Detroit and Los Angeles (see Cressey 1932). Taxi dancehalls were at the height of their popularity during this period, often serving as a key site of sociality amongst and between immigrants. Women were employed as dancers for hire, and men, predominantly immigrants, were their principal patrons. Filipinos, workers and students alike, came dressed in McIntosh suits, eager to spend their hard-earned wages on taxi dancers. Here, Filipino men made rare social contact with women—taxi dancers who were largely white, occasionally Mexican, and very rarely Filipina (see Meckel 1995 for a detailed study of taxi dancers). Filipinos would purchase their dance tickets, choose their favorite girl within a group of taxi dancers, and move to the music of a live band. For ten cents per dance number, slow or fast, Filipino men could choose to dance with the same dancer until their tickets ran out or opt for the pleasures of another. Like a taxi ride, each dance came with a ticketed price and the expectation of a tip, either in the form of a drink, a sandwich, or perhaps even a marriage proposal.

Since at least the fourteenth century the Slavic ethnic minority population known as Polish Lemkos has claimed the northern slopes of the Carpathian Mountains as its homeland. Lemkos are part of a larger east Slavic population of Carpathian Rus' collectively known as Rusyns, who reside in the Lemko region (in Poland), the Prešov region (in Slovakia), and western Subcarpathian Rus' (in Ukraine) (see Figure I). Beyond the Carpathian homeland Rusyns live in Serbia, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Romania, and outside of Europe in the United States, Canada, and Australia (Magocsi 2005, 433; 2006, II). By the outset of the twentieth century in the Lemko Region, the term “Lemko” was gradually adopted as an ethnonym instead of “Rusyn.” Some Rusyns in lands other than Poland also choose to refer to themselves as Lemkos.

In classical Khmer dance dramas, the fluidity of gestural and choreographic movement is complemented by the seamlessness with which mythical figures move between the realms of sky, earth, and sea. Such mythical migrations have been the subject of Khmer dance dramas for centuries. In this essay I explore the recent development and performance of one specific danced story of migration and the performers' social realities that complicate their relationship to their art and to this story in particular. I discuss transnational migration's impact on current and future possibilities for Khmer classical dance, and the lessons Cambodia's female dancers take from the fluidity, adaptability, and flexibility required of Khmer choreography as they negotiate their immediate social, cultural, and political upheavals.

As we move we change. How could it be otherwise? The direction and consequence of change is far from assured. Dance inscribes movement in the world as a practical accomplishment. It legibly affirms, even if ephemerally, fleetingly, that some immediate difference has been made when the outcome of movement in life might still be in doubt. As a means for registering what movement can be, dance shows us how we pass from one state to another. It does this literally, as bodies configure their realms of space and time, and allegorically, as a touchstone to what it means to be passing through this world. Dance reports on the art of passing, telling us how to dwell amongst so many departures and arrivals. It also instructs us in passing as self-representation, convincing us in performance that it is dancers we see. Such a lovely tale, this. Yet in a nation of immigrants, all are compelled to move, but not all get to pass. Those who lived by the land were evicted in the name of property. Those who were designated property were affixed to the land in bondage. Others worked off their debts of passage. Still more were promised mobility from migration.