At Penn Station, Our Pro-Democracy Dance Parties Spark Joy During Divisive Times

One Friday a month, I don an American-flag cape, heart-shaped sunglasses, and a neon boa, then wait outside Baltimore Penn Station for rush-hour passengers to exit like kids on the last day of school. Music swells from speakers behind me, and signs held by our band of merry protestors proclaim what we dance for: More Boogie Less I.C.E. No Kings, No Wars, No Camps. Democracy: I Still Dig It.

Our group of 50 or so doesn’t resemble the image of angry protestors conveyed across the news and social media. Some carry tambourines or wear rainbow skirts. Others don inflatable costumes (my favorite is a hippo wearing a tutu) and one dancer always dresses as Lady Liberty. We aren’t afraid of becoming spectacles, because, the way we see it, joyfully expressing who we are and what we stand for is the strongest act of resistance against a world lurching toward tyranny.

My friend Sonia Shah and I came up with the idea for what we now call Pro-Democracy Dance Parties after the 2024 election. She and I met in a hip-hop dance class and bonded over our shared love of movement, which allowed us to release our rage and frustration in a country changing faster than we could keep up.

At other protests, I longed to process my emotions and express myself more than just holding a sign. So, when Sonia found a video of protestors line-dancing in Washington, D.C., we thought, “Why not?”

One year ago, we first took our positions on the concrete pedestal of the train station’s Male/Female Statue with a karaoke speaker and six-hour playlist, wondering if anyone would show up. We started with a few dancers who quickly became regulars and friends, including our resident DJs, Gonzostein and Tew Slim, who mix house music and dance favorites by artists like Daft Punk and Baltimore’s own Ultra Naté.

Now, every third Friday at 5:30 p.m., there are always new faces, including joggers midway through runs, ride-share drivers who leave their cars with emergency lights flashing, children who twirl in bubbles that waft from our pop-up DJ booth—even passengers who drop their suitcases, shed their inhibitions, and join us. At least once, hundreds of people stretched down Charles Street and circled the statue’s plinth in an hours-long conga line.

Along the way, we’ve unlocked an infectious expression of community that has bonded us as a group and to Baltimore, which embraces us for all our eccentricity. Like this town, our effort is unapologetically DIY. We bring extra signs and boas. Volunteers help cart DJ equipment up Charles Street. There are no instructions on our sign-up forms, but the people of Baltimore keep showing up with flying colors, dressed as Care Bears and Uncle Sams, lugging snare drums and cowbells.

Like this town, our effort is unapologetically DIY. We bring extra signs and boas. There are no instructions on our sign-up forms, but the people of Baltimore keep showing up with flying colors.

Others have shared how much they need our pro-democracy movement, too. A commuter who identified herself as an immigrant once teared up telling me what it meant to get off the train from her job in D.C. and encounter our unbridled joy. One regular relayed how our inclusive environment is the highlight of the month for her son with disabilities, who “just doesn’t want to be judged.” A friend who received good health news a few hours before coming to dance told me, “I just felt all the stress flow out of me.”

The dance parties encourage a reckless abandon, but there’s always a minute right before the music starts when I feel the sting of self-consciousness. I grimace, thinking of my awkward concentrating face that others will surely see. I ask myself, “If I get off rhythm, will I become an internet laughingstock? Do I look ridiculous?” “Yes, of course,” I remind myself. That realization and acceptance is part of the process.

I start to move while the sun begins its descent over I-83, the breeze twirling my cape. I join the steps of my fellow dancers, moving freely, in celebration of who we are and what we believe. That all are welcome. That having the freedom to embrace our uniqueness is what makes our country great. That we can resist with joy instead of anger. That we can stand, united, against hate.

I heave a sigh and let the bliss set in.