Liberation in Dance: An Interview with Cleo Parker Robinson

Photographer unknown. A still from Cleo Parker Robinson’s Run, Sister, Run, a piece choreographed about Angela Davis’s experiences as a fugitive. A young Cleo Parker Robinson is in the center wearing sunglasses and looking upwards, her hand reaching towards the sky. She is surrounded by seven dancers, those in front and to the right in lunges, their hands clasped together. The man directly to her left has his fist raised, a typical representation of Black power. 

In March of 2025, I had the privilege of sitting down with Cleo Parker Robinson, the founder and artistic director of Cleo Parker Robinson Dance (CPRD). A school, ensemble, and dance theater located in Denver, Colo., CPRD is an African American institution dedicated to serving the community in Denver through dance and the arts. I personally grew up dancing at CPRD — it was a second home. Ms. Parker Robinson is not only a mentor of mine, but my family.

The following is a shortened version of my interview with Ms. Parker Robinson. Initially for my article, “‘It’s About Change’: The Liberating Spaces of Black Dance,” from the Spring 2025 Internews collection, Collective Liberation, I wanted the opportunity to share the full interview. I hope you enjoy Ms. Parker Robinson’s wisdom and insights as much as I did.

Lily McKenna: When I say collective liberation, what does that mean to you?

Cleo Parker Robinson: Well […] I mean I kinda go with “One Spirit, Many Voices,” what we’ve been doing for a long time. And I think once everyone feels that there’s a place for them, there’s a place and there’s a voice, then it’s a natural liberation. I mean people feel free. It’s a freedom. And it doesn’t mean just freedom for women, or for […] people who are feeling marginalized all the time, but everybody feels a sense of worth. I think that’s really important. […] But we don’t ever dig deep enough to go, wow, we wake up with so many biases. How do we then just address that internally and then go, and so what is somebody else’s challenge, and what is mine and aren’t those pretty equal […] Aren’t those pretty equal? […]

So I think it really means how do we keep hearing each other, how do we hear each other, so that we can feel liberated in our own kind of dilemma and our own traps, whatever those traps are, you know, internally. I think there’s all kinds of racial stereotypes and we don’t even get to hear what they are until someone goes, “I was called this and this and this,” and then you go, whoa, you know. […] First it comes with awareness, I think. And that’s what you’re doing, you’re bringing a sense of awareness. And then I think comes a sense of sensitivity. Being sensitive to that rather than reactionary, you know. So I think that […] that’s real important. […] But I mean, yes (claps), I think it’s about freedom, girl! It’s about finding freedom. And it’s a journey. You know, I think it’s a journey. […] 

I think finding a sense of a collective voice that then has strength. It has a tremendous influence. I think that’s important. ‘Cause you can have your individual voice, but it doesn’t usually make change until it’s collective.

LM: Absolutely. How do you think dance plays into that, like as a method of expression?

CPR: Well, I think dance is such a personal identity; it’s our bodies. It’s, you know, and our bodies change, and they change over time. […] The body changes. And, when you learn that your body is your friend, you have to dance with it. And you have to accept it, and you can change it. But mostly, you can just love it (laughs). Just love it! I think dance helps you love your body. And love your life. And love your journey, whoever’s with you. And not just like a long journey, but in that moment. That little moment of, “Ooh that felt good! You know, I don’t know your number, I don’t know your name; that felt good.” […] I mean we’re learning more about the chemistry of the body and the way all of it functions. It’s like a machine (laughs). You know, it’s a scientific machine, and so how does it work?

 But I think it’s also cultural, how we see our bodies from a cultural perspective. […] I think that the place, for me it’s sort of discovering who I am through my body. You know, discovering that voice that has a spirit […] So we have a biological, scientific thing that works. (Jokes) You got your kidneys that’s workin’, you got your heart that’s workin’, and you got all your molecules that are workin’ and they’re changin’ everyday […] if you do whatever, it’s a chemical thing. But, it’s a soulful thing. I think it’s a soulful thing. And I think when people dance, they find something deeper than their body. They discover almost an ancestral thing. They discover something about who they are that’s bigger than that body that they see. Because […] it’s an ancient thing to find out that we belong to the human race, this clan of human beings, and how cool is that? ‘Cause most of the time, we’re lookin’ at the news, and we’re not so cool (laughs). We are like, what are we doing, you know that kind of thing. But I think when you dance together, when you are discovering that you have this ability to feel and to experience and to share and to receive, that’s a powerful moment. You are alive. […] The dance sort of breaks up the monotony and goes, I am so alive, and I am so in love with your life, that that moment, for that moment, I just think it’s the best thing in the world (laughs). I think everybody should dance. I think most people do and don’t talk about it. Dance is all over the world and I think– we say it’s universal language, and I think it’s the thing that connects us to the world. Like food, or anything else. But I think even deeper than food. It’s a soulful– it’s soul food. It’s our soul food (claps). You know, honey.

And then when I watch, I mean I don’t have to physically do it myself either. […] I mean, you’re looking at different parts of the body and how it’s starting to, kind of, get unified (laughs), it’s kinda connected. And then you see, some other kind of power. It’s like a force field. You know, it’s huge. It comes off of the body, rather than the body. And I think then it makes me realize that we have a lot of light and we can come into a room and shift it. You can shift it. Because there’s a lot of anger, there’s a lot of fear, there’s a lot of hatred. We can help move that. That’s what I think dancers do. They bring a consciousness, but they also bring a sense of change makers. We can change how something looks or feels. And I think that’s kinda magical (laughs). I do! (laughs)

[…]

LM: So you’ve faced some backlash with hiring more multicultural dancers into a Black dance space.

CPR: Oh yeah, oh yeah (laughs). 

LM: So why do you think bringing that into this circle is important, along with maintaining the roots as a Black dance institution?

CPR: Yeah. I think it’s kind of complex. I don’t believe it’s simple, because it’s in the fabric of racism. See, I think we have to understand the racism that we’ve created in our country. We have to understand it. And then we have to go, and we can dismantle it. […] We inherited it.

So, I think about why Black dance company, first of all. […] I do believe that there was something really important about me needing to connect with that identity in my own life. My own desire, my own sort of ancestral need. My father, it was very important to him that we lift our race. That was very important to him. […] He lived life through his soul. Not through his spirit, through his soul. And his soul was so proud. He was a proud Black man, he was proud. But he was also in rage. So, the combination of rage and pride, the rage of how dare me have to work harder than any other man, because I’m Black? How dare me have to be followed by the police? How dare me have to have my life threatened all the time, and the life of my family? How dare that happen? I will change that, not for me, but for my race. […] So I inherited that (laughs). That’s the first thing.

Does it have a color? Maybe. But it didn’t necessarily. It was human justice. So, it is a rainbow of colors. […] I knew that right away. 

My mother, being white, she like didn’t understand. I said Daddy was her university (laughs). She’s like, “I am learning everyday what this is like.” So loving the man is not just loving when he was wonderful, but understanding the complexity of what he felt was happening in our country. And, feeling as a white woman, “What do I do about that, and am I guilty of any of that? And maybe I’m not guilty, but my ancestors are, and how do I make up for it?” Maybe you don’t. But maybe you don’t stay in a place of ignorance. And I think that’s what she really understood. So, always encouraging me to discover that was really wonderful. That was really something.

But, I never saw Black dance as only Black, because dance is a human experience. It doesn’t come in a color. It comes in all the colors. So there’s no way to avoid it being all of the above. But I think politically it’s something different. Politically, it becomes a verb, it’s an active thing: it’s about activism. It’s about change. And then it’s about aligning with others who really understand what change is and the necessity of it. […]

The dance part of saying that we are a Black dance company, we knew we had to be political. Because, we were never given parts, we were never allowed to tour, we were never given housing. We had to find some collective voice that could give us some kind of influence, some kind of power to make a change. But it was never to isolate. […] I think the Black experience is, we want you to experience it. And yet, that desire to honor where it’s coming from, and to honor the people that have shared it is still very very important to people. That’s why I think when I say Katherine Dunham, or if I say Talley Beatty, or Donald McKayle, or all the folks who have given us their life work, I wanted them to know that yes, we’re gonna carry on Nureyev and, you know, Madam Sliwinska, and we’re gonna carry on all of those great artists, Martha Graham and Helen Tamiris and all the artists that we worked with. But we’re gonna come into […] that larger voice, because of the work that we’ve been doing, are those voices that are not considered or heard. […] […] I think that the dance […], the Black dance also, allows me to connect with people of color around the world. And then, align in a way that helps educate everybody, you know, I think that that’s what’s been great. 

[…] I believe Black dance comes out of the Civil Rights Movement. And if we did not have to fight for our civil rights, we wouldn’t need to identify (pauses), our, I would say, segmented so much, we wouldn’t have to do that. But I think it has a role, it has a role. But it also can be a curse because you get […] pigeon-holed. And I think that that’s happened to me too when I was not doing Black dance, whatever we call Black dance, if I wasn’t doing shimmy-shimmy-coco-bop, I wasn’t doing whatever they called that. And if I chose to do “Carmina Burana” and open Boettcher Concert Hall, I would get a critic that would say, “She needs to stick to her own aesthetic,” and I’m thinking, my aesthetic is music and dance in the world, I don’t know what you’re talking about. So […] I had to then train the writers, because they wanted to […] say I shouldn’t be doing anything but the blues. Or jazz, because if you’re a Black dancer, that’s what you do. […] So I think I’ve had to fight for that, as a choreographer and as a dancer and as an artistic director, for that kind of larger voice, that voice […]. And I think it’s worked. […]

But Black came out of the Black arts movement in the Renaissance period of time. […] Our theater became very successful, the Bonfils Theater. And it was really, on the backs of Black material. All of a sudden, there was a white, very elitist theater, where people of color couldn’t even go in the front door at all. It began to change, and we changed it and we brought in material that was not only Black but that was multicultural. […] We’d sit outside at City Park and there would be two or three people watching an entire two hour show and we’re going, “But there’s nobody there,” and Henry would say, “There’s two people.” (laughs) We’ll do a show for two people? Then there were two thousand. We never stopped. That, I think, that perseverance and persistence to say, “You will see the diversity in our community,” and we were able to change it, you know. But now when I go back I’m not so sure, Lily. I see it where it should be, because if we did that fifty some odd years ago to make sure that we created a diverse programming, diverse communities, that sense of equity and value, and celebration, then I go to these opera houses and theaters, and you look backstage and people of color are not making decisions. They’re not in there making those decisions, you know. So there is in a sense, there are more that are making decisions than ever, but still that equity is not there. And so they’re still making decisions about other people’s culture and lives. And so I think that’s what we’ve got to make some changes to.

LM: So how, in that way, is dance so important to continue to be space for activism?

CPR: Well I think dance is not seen as political. And I think that people need right now to not feel political (laughs). ‘Cause they feel manipulated. And even before they even figure anything out they’ve already made a position. Either I’m a Republican or I’m a Democrat, or I’m liberal, I’m not, or I’m conservative, and they’re really close-minded. There’s a lotta close-mindedness. I think the dance removes you from the mind and goes right to your spirit. And I think that that’s really important. And I think it also brings, maybe, those polarized places together, in a place that feels more neutralized. And there, people will hear each other. And maybe we can bring a greater balance. And, I think that that’s what the dance does, it brings us into that place like, if you want to sit and argue, I will be out on the playground, and I will be dancing, while you are here trying to decide what you wanna blow up. (laughs) I’m not gon’ be doin’ that. But, tryin’ to understand why would you want it to blow up? Why would you want to do that? And really trying to understand it. And then going, well let’s dance it, let’s try to figure out a better, are there better solutions. And I think that that’s imagining. I think dance helps us come together to imagine something even better. 

I think that’s why I love Ms. Dunham so much, […] I got lots of private time because she was isolated to her bed. She had arthritis like you can’t imagine. And I think that what I feel we did is we got her up out of that bed. We got her up. And we got her up because, I think she realized that we saw that there was something that she could still give. And that she could give it to someone that could continue it after her physical space. I think she could see that. And it’s happening, I mean it really is. But she was in that bed. But the hardest part of being with her was this: the Haitian boat people were dying all the time because they were coming in rafts from Haiti and dying in the sea. A little bit like the Middle Passage. And she would write the president, Bush, and she’d say, “Why are you sending these people who’ve made it all the way from Haiti to our borders, and you’re sending them back. They will die! And aren’t their lives important?” And the president could care less. And it was really destroying her, and so she fasted for 54 days, and we were a little bit a part of that fasting. […] And she would say, “Well what is death when you believe in something so strongly?” And so, really understanding that the dance brings us closer to the values of life, because dance is life. And so I think that that part of the body is doing, but the mind says, you are really (pauses) you are putting someone else’s life in danger. And why would we do that? 

[…] I realize when I worked with Mr. McKayle, and I worked with Ms. Dunham, they were humanitarians. And that’s what I think the dance does. It makes you more human. And I think that’s why we need it. That’s why I need it, because some days (jokes) I don’t wanna be nice, I don’t wanna be kind, and I don’t wanna be loving, and that part is coming out, I go, “I better go dance. I better work on this body, mind, spirit and align it.” It gives me a tool, you know. And I think then it also heals any part of me that’s hurting. You know, if I’m hurting because somebody’s hurt me, and I go, God did they do that on purpose or did they know they hurt me? Or, did I put myself in that position? And then I have to move the energy around my heart. I’m moving it, and I’m going, well I can sit here and be in pain if I want, or Imma get up, and I will try to move that energy for me. And I think that’s why I wanted the center to be called the Center for Healing, ‘cause I think we have a lot of healing that um, we need to do and figure out how to do it. With the dance and the music and coming together in the most positive way gives us that opportunity, you know. […]

I mean, but there’s still a certain amount of respect that goes on. I think all of that is really important. But, the need to touch and to be touched in a way that’s respectful, and um, and connected, happens in the dance. And I think during the pandemic, we lost a sense of ourselves and even the connectivity with everybody. So I think we still have to dance, we have to dance. I think we always will.

[Ms. Dunham] taught me things like that: that the dance is not taking a dance class. I think the dance is how we get through life. What is the dance, you know? And how do we dance with others, how do we go in sync with their movement? And if we’re always off rhythm, we’re stepping on each other’s toes. It was very interesting, people are very worried about two left feet, I’m gonna step on your toes. I’m going, well then when my daddy taught us how to dance, we would dance on his feet. You know, then let me step on your toes, let me find out how you do move. That, I think, is okay. (Jokes) I’m not gon’ die if you step on my toes, you know. Don’t deliberately step on them, but if that happens, that’s okay. And I think we’re a little afraid of each other as human beings still. And I think that the dance helps us not be afraid of ourselves. […] And I think that’s some of what’s missing as well. So I think we’re gonna get closer. 

I always thought when I worked in Washington, I worked there five years under Clinton and everybody else, I thought I was gonna have everybody dancing. Everybody will be dancing at the White House. And I’m like, they don’t wanna dance (laughs). They don’t wanna dance! But if we could figure out how they could do it, yeah yeah I think we’d be in a better place. And that’s sort of a, you know, kind of a real naive way of talking about it. But I did realize that people don’t even wanna look at each other. They don’t wanna look at each other, they don’t wanna touch each other. They don’t wanna be in the same room as each other. […] But we have to have fun, you know what I mean. I think so, we take our lives so seriously, so um, I think it’s important that we discover how we do that. 

I think the dance, even though it’s very difficult, it does bring us joy. It really does. And I think it tells other people, the dance will help you find your passion. Follow your passion. It’s a critical step to where you’re really gonna end up. You know, I think that’s what I find. I might be all wrong, but somewhere I think I’ve had some real indication that [dance] works. 

Find the article, “It’s About Change”: The Liberating Spaces of Black Dance, here.