The Basque Country: A brief history

The Basque Country comprises about 20,000 square kilometres along the Bay of Biscay and in the Pyrenees Mountains within the nation-states of Spain and France. Donostia is the city where I conducted the twenty months of ethnographic research that formed the basis of my PhD dissertation in ethnomusicology at the University of California, Berkeley. It is located on the coast at the mouth of the Urumea River, just twenty kilometres southwest of the border that marks the boundary between the Spanish and French states. Donostia is the capital of the province of Gipuzkoa, the most Basque-speaking area of the Basque Country (Figure 2).

Figure 2.

Location of the Basque Country with labeled provinces, courtesy of Gabriel Trisca, licensed under the Creative Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Basque_Country_Location_and_Provinces_in_Europe_Map.svg).

Figure 2. Long description

The main map displays Europe with the Basque region shaded in blue at the western edge of the Pyrenees, straddling the border between Spain and France. A rectangular inset zooms in on this region. Within the inset, the Basque area is subdivided and labeled: Bizkaia is in the northwest, Gipuzkoa to its east, Araba to the south, and Navarra occupies the southeast. On the French side, three regions are labeled from west to east: Lapurdi, Benafoarra, and Zuberoa. The inset also marks the national borders of Spain and France, with the Basque region spanning both countries. All labels are in blue, and the surrounding countries are shown in pale colors for contrast.

Although proto-Basque languages, and therefore what could be thought of as Basque people, are believed to have existed in the area since 3,000 B.C.E., what might be considered a Basque identity (given current understandings of ethnic, racial, or national group identity) could be said to have emerged in the nineteenth century along with the rising importance of nationalism throughout Europe. Towards the end of that century, in keeping with broad European trends, Sabino Arana (known as the father of Basque nationalism) solidified an idea of Basqueness as representing a pure and noble racial group that corresponded to a geographical area, linguistic background, and “nation.” At this time, dance was adopted as a symbol of Basque identity and a powerful folkloric dance revival emerged linked to Basque nationalism. Arana’s thought reflected a rising concern about the dangers of miscegenation as immigrants from other parts of the Iberian Peninsula flocked to the Basque Country during industrialization. While these xenophobic tendencies have been strongly contested by many Basques, such exceptionalist and isolationist attitudes reverberate in Basque culture and identity to this day.

Throughout much of the twentieth century, during both the authoritarian rule of Primo de Rivera (1923–1930) and the much longer and harsher rule of Francisco Franco (1939–1975), many Basque cultural expressions were subject to strict censure and control. Speaking the Basque language, singing Basque songs, or dancing Basque dances outside of officially sanctioned folkloric presentations could be cause for severe punishment by the Spanish state.Footnote ⁶ Therefore, Basque expressions were forced underground. While there was never an abandonment of such expressions, for the most part, people only spoke, sang, or danced privately and secretly in small communities in which everyone was a known and trusted insider.

Especially in cities like Donostia, there was a rupture in intergenerational transmission of cultural expressions because of political persecution during the Franco dictatorship. People were afraid to practice or teach the Basque language, Basque music, and Basque dance, and therefore, some intergenerational knowledge was lost. Most of the people I encountered attending plaza dances in Donostia had learned to dance through official dance classes rather than from family or friends. They were making a conscious choice and intentional effort to reclaim the practices that were denied to them because of the dictatorship.

People in the Basque Country have long resisted outside domination and oppression. In the 1950s, at the height of the Franco dictatorship, an organization emerged dedicated to creating an independent Basque Marxist state: Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (ETA) or in English, Basque Homeland and Liberty. While ETA started as a nonviolent organization, it later adopted violent tactics, primarily bombings and targeted assassinations. Outside the Basque Country, throughout Spain and much of the rest of the world, ETA was seen with abhorrence and fear. Within the Basque Country during the Franco dictatorship, attitudes towards ETA were deeply mixed.Footnote ⁷ With the transition to democracy in Spain, Basque public opinion broadly turned against ETA, but the group continued to function into the twenty-first century, only fully disarming in 2018.

The suppression of regional linguistic and cultural expressions in Spain, so prevalent under Franco, lessened toward the end of the dictatorship as the regime was losing power. Peripheral nationalist movements drew upon and utilized language and other cultural expressions while simultaneously working to strengthen them as part of their attempt to resist oppressive Spanish nationalist rule.Footnote ⁸ In the 1970s, especially after the transition to democracy in 1978, it became more common to encounter Basque language and cultural expressions in public spaces. This decade saw a boom of Basque dance and other cultural expressions as a part of the Basque artistic movement initiated by sculptor Jorge Oteiza in which dancer, choreographer, and founder of the company Argia, Juan Antonio Urbeltz, played a central role (Corcostegui Reference Corcostegui2006:56–57).

However, to this day, the power and novelty of being able to speak Basque, sing Basque songs, and dance Basque dances has not worn off for those who personally experienced the Franco dictatorship or whose lives were deeply marked by it. Many people with whom I spoke, who are regular participants in plaza dances, speak of a deep sadness that they were not able to learn and practice these expressions as children or young people. For them, it is incredibly important and meaningful to make sure that such events continue to take place.

Arnasguneak: Breathing spaces

Originally referring exclusively to language, the term “breathing space” was coined by socio-linguist Joshua Fishman as a “demographically concentrated space where Xish [the language in question] can be on its own turf, predominant and unharassed” (Fishman Reference Fishman1991:58). Basque socio-linguist Mikel Zalbide translated the idea into arnasgune in Basque and defined it as follows: “An arnasgune has a large demographic concentration of Basque speakers: all or the majority of citizens know Basque and, what’s more, within the arnasgune, amongst themselves, all or the majority’s daily general language is Basque” (2019:18).Footnote ⁹ In its original sociolinguistic usage as both “breathing space” and “arnasgune” this idea specifically refers to fixed socio-linguistic and socio-geographic areas. In both cases, breathing spaces and arnasgune refer to spaces in which one can live in a little-spoken language without having to think about it, eliminating the linguistic stress that many speakers experience in their daily lives. Zalbide emphasized that, in the Basque Country, an arnasgune is a space in which the Basque language can exist as the assumed language of communication, where most people in the area are in favour of supporting the language, and where many are native speakers who have learned and continue to teach the language through intergenerational transmission. In a breathing space, the idea of a minority does not make sense because the group is the majority within that space. These spaces allow a globally small population group to be the unmarked category (Brekhus Reference Brekhus1998).

Along with Zalbide’s concept of arnasgune, two related concepts have been developed by scholars in the Basque Country. As explained by Basque sociolinguist Maddi Dorronsoro Olamusu, these are “the babesguneak [tr. safe spaces], the safe spaces for speaking Basque in the areas where either Spanish or French predominates; and the arnasuneak [tr. breathing moments], the events or activities to promote the community of Basque speakers” (2025:20). I am deeply indebted to the work of the scholars who have developed these concepts in Basque.Footnote ¹⁰ The plaza dances I explore are both babesgune in that they are protected spaces for speaking the Basque language and arnasune in that they are temporary. Throughout this article, I use “breathing space” in English as an umbrella term that incorporates elements of all three Basque language concepts.

Beyond its original sociolinguistic meaning, I expand upon the concept of the breathing space to mean a space in which Basque cultural expressions, always including language, but also music and dance can (to paraphrase Fishman) be on their own turf, predominant and unharassed (Reference Fishman1991:58). These breathing spaces are transient; they come into being and disappear with the people, sounds, movements, and activities that fill them. In breathing spaces, cultural expressions constitute social life; people live through them rather than performatively present them.Footnote ¹¹

Participation is crucial in all events that I consider breathing spaces: they cannot be performances for a passive audience but rather necessitate immediate and relatively intimate interaction between individuals and groups through language, music, and/or dance. Participatory music and dance, as described by ethnomusicologist Thomas Turino (Reference Turino2008) who uses the term “participatory performance,” is a fundamentally different kind of practice than presentational performances or recorded music. Turino defines participation as:

Plaza dances are public and therefore often include people who are passively watching the music and dance. However, the goal of the event is participation. Those who intentionally attend (as opposed to those who might happen to pass by and stop to watch for a moment) actively contribute to the sound or movement of the event.

Many characteristics of participatory performance can lead to the experience that Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (Reference Csikszentmihalyi1990) famously described as flow, a state in which one’s concentration on the task at hand is heightened so that one is fully present in the moment. As dance scholar Janet O’Shea explains, while experiencing flow, “we lose consciousness of the self as separate from the environment and our actions” (O’Shea Reference O’Shea2019:92). Participatory music and dance can also lead to an experience of “wholeness,” or the integration of the self in which people’s inner life is balanced with their reason and senses. Anthropologist Gregory Bateson (Reference Bateson1972) argues that artistic experience is particularly conducive to the development of integrative wholeness for individuals through “grace”: the integration of the conscious and unconscious along with the attunement of the heart and mind (Bateson Reference Bateson1972:138). Breathing spaces, such as Basque plaza dances, allow participants the possibility to experience flow and wholeness.

An important aspect of a breathing space is that the language, music, and dance practised are contemporary and living, not recreations or recuperations of the past. Making sure that Basque cultural expressions are current and living has long been a preoccupation amongst Basque cultural advocates. As language activist José María “Txepetx” Sánchez Carrión puts it, “[a]dvocacy had to give priority not so much to making Basque into a national language, but to ensure it was a biziaren hizkuntza, meaning literally ‘a language of life,’ a language for living” (quoted in Urla Reference Urla2012:147). Although the music and dance practised at plaza dances are seen as having links to the past, the fact that they are participatory and social integrates them into people’s contemporary lives. This is in contrast to folkloric shows that offer a more static presentation of an imagined past.

As a spatial and somatic metaphor, breathing spaces allow me to explore how space, movement, sound, and breath interact to create a social environment. Breathing spaces are inherently relational. In a literal and material sense, the same air moves through different bodies while people inhale and exhale, making blatant the ways in which individuals are inseparable. This is akin to the ways in which various influences move through and amongst practices and communities, causing them to ebb and change. As gender studies scholar Magdalena Górska (Reference Górska2016) explains, breath is physical and cultural, material and discursive. I take a breathing space to be all of these things.

I contend that the expansion of the term breathing spaces that I employ here does meaningful work to maintain the vitality of minoritized cultures by exploring some of the ways in which people are creating spaces in which such cultures can thrive. The participation that makes up a breathing space is “radical within the capitalist cosmopolitan formation in that it is not for listening apart from doing – and we still tend to think of music as something meant for listening. Participatory performance is also radical in that it hinders professionalism, control, and the creation of commodity forms” (Turino Reference Turino2008:77). Breathing spaces constitute one way in which people create an alternative world in which they want to live, to the side of governmental and market machinations. These spaces exist in logics outside those of globalized capitalism, in which bigger is always better, the consumer is always right, and relevance means following trends. Plaza dances are one manifestation of breathing spaces in the Basque Country.

Dancing in the plazas

At plaza dances, called Plaza Dantzak or Muxikoak in Basque, predominantly Basque group dances are done. Jauziak, a particular kind of group dance originally from the area around the Baztán Valley in the northern Basque Country and Navarre but now popular throughout the Basque Country, are the most common, but other Basque group dances, such as fandangoak and arin-arinak, also appear. These dances are all done in circles without partners and generally without touching. Some partner dances from other parts of Europe are also often included in plaza dances: waltzes, schottisches, polkas, and mazurkas. Additionally, a few group dances (such as the bourrée described at the start of this article) that were not originally Basque have made their way into the regular plaza dance repertoire. While many of these events happen with a live band, recorded music might also be used (Figure 3).

Figure 3.

Dancers during the plaza dance described at the start of this article. Photo by the author.

Jauziak are “called” group dances; that is, either on the bandstand or dancing with the crowd, one person uses a microphone, saying the names of each step just before it is done. If there is recorded rather than live music, these calls are often part of the recording. The jauzi dance moves consist of small steps, skips, hops, taps, and turns. Dancers’ feet move quickly and lightly across the ground while the upper body remains rather still. Most people maintain their head at a relatively fixed height while dancing, not bouncing, tilting, or dipping lower into certain steps. Slight variations in steps are accepted. For example, for the call “erdizka lauetan” most dancers take two two-beat steps forward, then (twice as fast) step on their outside foot while turning 180 degrees, bringing the other foot in to tap against their ankle and then stepping it forward. This is repeated three more times. However, some dancers do this entire sequence while spinning 540 degrees during the first two slower steps. Despite acceptance of variations such as this, most people do all of the jauzi steps in exactly the same way. The few variations that are accepted are taught in classes.

During plaza dances, announcements, dance calls, and most social communication happen in the Basque language. If outside observers come up to ask dancers a question about the event in Spanish or English, I have seen these dancers politely answer and quickly turn away. Participants sometimes speak amongst themselves in a mixture of Spanish and Basque, but the dominant language of communication in the space is Basque. Given that (based on the most recently released statistical data from 2021) 47%, less than half of the population of the city, is fully bilingual, and the use of Basque in the streets is 15.3%, having spaces in which Basque is the assumed language of communication is deeply meaningful for those who would like Basque to be the main language of the Basque Country.Footnote ¹²

Participants in plaza dances are expected to come already possessing the knowledge and sensibility to be able to participate with the physical aesthetic, linguistic familiarity, and social comportment expected at such events. People who participate are generally quite familiar with jauzi dance steps and calls. Very rarely will a musician or dance caller explain a dance during an event itself. While experienced dancers have stated that they are happy to help those who do not already know the dances even during the events, my observation of and conversations with people who are not regular participants at such events show that this is not a common practice.

The physical location of plaza dances, however, creates different expectations in terms of dance precision and pre-existing knowledge and skill. The dance described at the start of this chapter took place in the historically working-class neighbourhood of Egia. At the regular monthly plaza dances in the Boulevard, a high degree of dancing proficiency is expected, probably at least in part because the Boulevard is a central high-end shopping area in Donostia, which is the home to the city hall, the municipal library, and often hosts official functions. Due to these factors, dancers in the Boulevard might feel more of a need to perform the dances exactly according to the norms by which these dances are taught.

Participatory and social dance has been given little attention in Basque dance scholarship until recently. These practices were long assumed to be an important part of Basque life and neither deserving of, nor in need of, academic research. As early as 1775, Basques were described as “The people who dwell or rather dance at the foot of the Pyrenees” (Voltaire [Reference Voltaire1775] 1954:428).Footnote ¹³ In the twentieth century, Basque scholars began to write about Basque dance, documenting dances mostly in terms of their meaning, origins, and the context in which they were performed (including costumes, music, and social functions), so that they would not disappear.Footnote ¹⁴ Basque dance performances and competitions also began to proliferate. Participatory social dancing only recently began to gain scholarly and public attention. Dance schools that were started in the twentieth century to teach performance and ritual dance only later began to teach the social dances (Corcostegui Reference Corcostegui2006). The attention of both scholars and teachers to social dance points to the need to more formally teach that which was previously learned informally through intergenerational transmission. This reflects the increasingly felt lack of community in Basque society and the consequent need to intentionally cultivate it. Given the widespread repression of Basque cultural expressions and the extensive violent conflicts in the area throughout the twentieth century, it makes sense that increasing interest and attention started to be given to personal and physical group socializing through participatory dance as a way to recover and revitalize Basque communities.

The fact that these dances are taught in official classes rather than through intergenerational transmission augments dancers’ aesthetic uniformity. Such uniformity, which some may view as rigidity, can stifle creativity and individual expression, but it can also foster a strong sense of belonging amongst dancers. Having a fixed repertoire allows people to participate with the understanding of what they should expect and what kinds of knowledge and familiarity they need. This is especially important for older participants who might not have been able to learn the dances with family or friends during the Franco dictatorship.

Although people who identify as Basque and live in or are from the Basque Country are heterogeneous, those who regularly attend plaza dances are generally over 60 years old, Basque speaking (either through intergenerational transmission or intentional adult learning), and Basque nationalists. Older adults often say that they don’t understand why younger people don’t attend plaza dance events, while younger people often state that the general age demographic is the reason why they are not as interested in attending.Footnote ¹⁵ As Itziar Navarro Ibañez, a musician and dancer in her early thirties, put it, “it’s over 55, over 60. The organizers are normally that age. And the times that I’ve gone with Eneko, they came to us, ‘you’re very young, who are you? You’re new!’ It’s a little bit embarrassing, I don’t know. I would prefer if it was more mixed, young people, old people. But still, it’s nice” (Itziar Navarro Ibañez, interview, 3 March 2025). Another young musician and dancer, Teresa Jareño Querejeta, also emphasized that she doesn’t regularly attend plaza dances “because of age… I would go, but often it’s all over sixty and that determines what kind of dances they do as well… no more than three fandangos and arin-arins. But I also really enjoy those dances!” (Teresa Jareño Querejeta, interview, 28 January 2025).Footnote ¹⁶ Not only are these events not necessarily the social scene she wants to be a part of, but they also don’t do as many of the aerobically demanding fandangoak and arin-arinak that she would like to do because those dances are too physically exhausting for many of the older dancers.

Beyond the general trend of older people attending and the practice of less aerobic dances being deterrents to younger people’s participation, I believe that the need to conform strictly to an unchanging repertoire, along with a specific and highly controlled physical style, makes these events less appealing for some younger dancers. One of the reasons why I think many young people attended the plaza dance described at the start of this article and less often attend the larger regular monthly plaza dances in the Boulevard is precisely because it is an environment in which they can generally make mistakes and physically experiment without fear of censure or ridicule. While regular older participants at plaza dances who often correct newer dancers do not wish to discourage participation, their actions can.

For older dancers at plaza dances, embracing uniformity of style can be a way to further heal their past and bring it into their present and future. Plaza dances create opportunities for older participants to demonstrate their ability to publicly practice Basqueness, something that they were denied in their youth under or directly following Franco. By dancing in prominent public places, they also force non-Basques to recognize that Basqueness exists (Figure 4). However, none of this makes sense for younger dancers who were born long after the fall of the dictatorship and don’t have these motivations.Footnote ¹⁷

Figure 4.

Plaza dance participants and onlookers at the large monthly dance at the Boulevard in Donostia. Photo by the author.

Even though many plaza dances happen in highly trafficked tourist areas of Donostia, many interlocutors have stated that it feels better for them to do these dances in Basque environments than in those dominated by non-Basques. Lourdes Querejeta emphasized that there is a very different feel when she is doing something explicitly for outsiders or tourists. She has strongly disliked being a part of performative presentations for outsiders, stating that she has felt herself to be akin to a zoo animal presenting a spectacle of Basqueness for observers. Itziar echoed this sentiment, speaking about the ways in which presentations for outsiders feel jarring. “You know in Greek there is a verb, ksenerono. It takes me out of the water, like a fish out of water. Kserenosis. You feel like this makes no sense” (Itziar Navarro Ibañez, interview, 3 March 2025)Footnote ¹⁸ Plaza dances are often located in areas with a lot of outside observers, but the event is still directed towards the participants. As Lourdes said, “it’s not for them, it’s for us” (Lourdes Querejeta, interview, 30 January 2025).Footnote ¹⁹ However, the fact that these dances are often done in places with many outside observers points to the need of these dancers to be seen, to assert Basque existence, and to claim space as Basque.

Disciplining the body and claiming space

The strict adherence to bodily norms followed during plaza dances is part of the long history of disciplining physicality in the Basque Country. In my estimation, two of the most important factors in this disciplining have been the history of Christianity in the area and the ways in which political power has been consolidated into nation-states. Christianization and nation-state formation both propel and promote uniformity, and both have been part of the biopolitical processes by which population groups have been not only organized but also controlled.

There were long-held pagan belief systems in the Basque Country, and compared to other parts of Western Europe, Basques were late to fully adopt Christianity. The Inquisition sought to change this. This Catholic system of tribunals to combat heresy starting in the 13th century was deeply related to the Reconquista in Spain, the process by which Christian monarchs on the Iberian Peninsula worked to regain territory from Muslim rule. Anyone who was not fully Spanish or not fully Christian was seen as a threat.

In the early seventeenth century, in efforts to combat any non-Christian beliefs, a frenzy of witch hunting began in Europe. While witches were “found,” tortured, condemned, and executed (often by being burned alive) in many parts of Europe, the witch trials in the Basque Country were among the most extreme. After visiting the Basque Country, it was said that “the witch judge, Pierre de Lancre… returned to his home with the conviction that the entire Basque population formed one vast sect of witches” (Henningsen Reference Henningsen1980:xxvi). In 1610, there was an auto da fé (a ritual of public penance) in Logroño, Spain in which the vast majority of witches tried came from two Basque villages: Zugarramurdi and Urdax. The Inquisitors found that “a quarter of the adult population of the two remote mountain communities” were witches (Henningsen Reference Henningsen1980:27). Given the view that Basque people were fundamentally different from the Europeans around them and shaped by pre-Christian beliefs, it is not surprising that the Basques were over-proportionally persecuted during the European witch trials.

Music and dancing were long looked upon with suspicion by the Catholic Church. As Basque ethnomusicologist Karlos Sánchez Ekiza explains, in the Middle Ages “dance was converted into something immoral and maligned. Basque dances were especially seen in this way” (2005:82).Footnote ²⁰ Dancing and drums were thought to be persistent features of the Basque akelarreak, or witches’ sabbaths. The demonization of music and dance was political as well as religious. As Sánchez Ekiza states: “This satanization of the dances and their instruments… wasn’t only about social differentiation. There was also a political satanization of difference: the Basque is more immoral and satanic than the French” (Sánchez Ekiza Reference Sánchez Ekiza2005:84).Footnote ²¹ Again, one sees that the fear of Basques as a non-Christian, non-Spanish and French “Other,” was extreme.

The image of the Basque as anti-Christian and with sinful music and dance practices held sway until the Romantic movement of the nineteenth century. At this time, the idea of the natural, rustic, honourable, and authentic Basque man of the baserri, the Basque farm, came into prominence. Stereotypical ideas of Basques changed: they were no longer assumed to be pagan witches, but rather to be hardworking, devout Catholics. Belén Altuna explained that, “to be a good Basque meant primarily being a faithful and strict Catholic, and that, actually, being so was indistinguishable from being Basque” (2012:17).Footnote ²² The phrase “euskaldun, fededun” in Basque or “Basque person, full of faith,” directly associating Basqueness with religious devotion, is popular to this day.Footnote ²³ The association with Basques and Catholicism became so robust that, as Koldo Mitxelena put it in a 1992 dictionary, “He who says Basque, says believer” (quoted in Altuna Reference Altuna2012:23).Footnote ²⁴

As Basque dances were strategically modified to align with the vision of the noble Catholic Basque, elements understood to be either potentially sinful or foreign, that is, non-Basque, were eradicated. This was part of the attempt to consolidate an identity of Basques as a national people, deserving of rights commensurate with those of other national peoples of Europe. Eliminating physical touching was one way in which Basque dances were modified. In the early 20th century, the Basque music and dance journal Txistulari published that “[f]or a dance to be authorized, it is necessary and of utmost importance that no inconvenient gesture, no indiscreet contact, no intimate proximity between adults of the opposite sex, no dishonest posture, no union nor embrace which could incite carnal passion, should ever take place” (quoted in Bikandi Belandi Reference Bikandi Belandi2009:102). Basque music and dance scholar Sabin Bikandi Belandi emphasizes, “and woe betide anyone who tries to perform a foreign, impure dance such as the paso doble or waltz” (Bikandi Belandi Reference Bikandi Belandi2009:103). Throughout this process, Basque folk dancing came to be seen as a pure, moral, and upright expression of Basqueness.

As people’s perception of Basque dance changed, dancers were seen to naturally embody what was considered authentic Basqueness. At the same time, both as dancers and as members of the community, they were expected to cultivate behaviour that would uphold the image of the authentic Basque dancer. As Lisa Corcostegui writes, “In addition to language, the dancer must understand the transcendental mentality of the Basques, their culture, art, political attitudes, traditions, culinary preferences, and values in general” (2006:67). This was also stressed by Bengoa Zubizarreta in the magazine Dantzari: “Our dance groups must not concern themselves only with dancing stupendously (although that is very important), but they should strive to have and maintain the authentic spirit of Basque folklore” (quoted in Corcostegui Reference Corcostegui2006:67). Creating a uniform idea of what Basque dance was and aligning it with Catholic values and an idea of essential Basqueness was a way of solidifying Basque identity and therefore the Basque nation.

Currently, plaza dances in the Basque Country are a way to claim space as Basque in this contested area. Throughout the Basque Country, there are almost always two or more languages and cultures present. Donostia, internationally recognized as within Spain, is an area in which Spanish language and culture have existed alongside Basque language and culture for centuries. In this city, different social and linguistic worlds sometimes exist in the same physical space, and sometimes next to one another, but they often maintain a strict separation. Although Basque people function within both cultures (all Basque speakers living within the Spanish state are currently fluent in Spanish and, unless they are making a concerted effort not to, can function with relative ease within Spanish speaking and culturally Spanish environments), the cultures themselves commonly remain separate. A person might go to an event in which most people are speaking Spanish, and the cultural references are those of the Spanish-speaking world (including Spanish and Latin American music, Spanish language television, and literature) and the next day, go to a Basque event in which the language of social communication is Basque and many references are to Basque cultural expressions (such as music and television). Even as people move between these two cultural and linguistic spaces, the spaces themselves generally remain separate. I have been to events in which some people switch between Spanish and Basque, showing that they can exist in a kind of hybrid space, but the fact that many native Spanish speakers do not comfortably speak Basque makes a true integration of the two spaces very difficult (Figure 5).

Figure 5.

A plaza dance in the old part of Donostia (Alde Zaharra in Basque or Parte Vieja in Spanish) in which the Basque flag featured prominently. Photo by the author.

Figure 5. Long description

In the foreground, a Basque flag with a red field, green saltire, and white cross lies flat on the stone pavement. Slightly behind and to the left, a person in a neon yellow jacket waves another Basque flag. To the left, a woman in a blue coat and scarf walks past. In the midground, several people stand or walk across the square, some facing the camera, others moving away. On the right, a small pile of personal items is placed on the ground. The background features a large stone building with multiple arches, balconies, and posters on the walls. Outdoor café tables with umbrellas are visible on the left under the arches. The scene is well-lit, suggesting daytime.

Any activity that is culturally marked (such as language, music, or dance) can be used as a way to claim space. During plaza dances, the sounds that fill the space (language, music, dance calls, and conversations), along with the movements of the dance itself, are all quickly and firmly identified as Basque. Therefore, at least for the duration of the event, plaza dances claim public space as Basque. The fact that this is done not only through movement, but also through sound, is particularly significant. As ethnomusicologist Marié Abe asserts, “space comes into being through the dynamic interrelations of multiple sounds, social encounters, and histories… space is produced through sonorous practices and encounters, and… sound does not simply happen in space, or across space, but dynamically produces space” (Reference Abe2018:29). Sound can pass through structures and bodies and “reroutes the making of identity by creating a greater and more suggestive weave between self and surrounding” (LaBelle Reference LaBelle2019:xvi). Therefore, marking territory as Basque through sound and bodily movements creates a deeply intimate connection between identity and space.

The existence of Basque plaza dances reveals that participants refuse to assimilate into the Spanish world. They are unwilling to accommodate those unfamiliar with the language, music, and dances practised at these events. This has much in common with anticolonial and social justice tactics pursued around the world. When mutual recognition is impossible given unequal power dynamics, attempting to appease or accommodate those outsiders who are part of more dominant groups can become harmful. Refusal, as articulated by scholars Audra Simpson (Reference Simpson2007) and Glen Sean Coulthard (Reference Coulthard2014), is an alternative tactic to the politics of recognition. In the Basque Country, I see refusal in the ways that people are uncompromising in their use of the Basque language and unwavering in their expectations of technical proficiency, along with conformity to a certain aesthetic and style for those participating in plaza dances.

In plaza dances, the multiple and uncompromising expectations that discourage participation for some are part of why these events are so meaningful for their regular participants. The necessity for prior knowledge can exclude non-Basques and can also deter locals, both Basque and Spanish, who do not perceive their knowledge or skills (in dance or language) to be sufficient. I have heard people express feeling uncomfortable and fearful of being shamed or reprimanded if they do not participate in exactly the same way that everyone else does. However, the fixed demands for participation at plaza dances mean that people will know what they can expect and what kinds of knowledge and familiarity they will need to take part. People can take dance classes and then attend plaza dances, knowing that what they have studied will provide them with the skills needed to participate publicly. Formal methods of learning the dances are especially important for older participants who did not have opportunities to learn them at a younger age. Additionally, these events provide them with a setting in which the Basque language is guaranteed to be the assumed language of communication in a prominent public space.

Breath, discipline, and hope

Breathing spaces are spaces in which cultural expressions are vehicles for social life; they are the means through which a culture and its people live and breathe. I argue that breathing spaces are necessary for cultural practices to maintain their vitality and for cultures to remain relevant to members’ daily lives rather than being relegated to the museumified halls of folkloric performance. Within breathing spaces, cultural practices integrate new influences, change in response to the demands of the moment, and allow people to interact with one another through the medium of a given cultural expression: language, music, and/or dance.

Basque breathing spaces are spaces of wonder and hope. They show that people can create their own social world through actions, even in a physical space shared with others. They hold the hope that now and into the future, a world seemingly destined for extinction (through logics that contend that minoritized languages and cultures will always die out and be replaced by larger ones) can indeed thrive. German philosopher Ernst Bloch spoke of hope as utopian, arguing that it could play a key role in political struggles through helping people understand the limitations of their reality and imagine a better world (Bloch Reference Bloch1986). But the breathing spaces created during Basque plaza dances are not solely about the future. They are like the electronic dance music scenes that ethnomusicologist Luis Manuel Garcia-Mispireta described in that they “are not only dress rehearsals for better days to come; they can also create small, temporary pockets of living utopia” (Garcia-Mispireta Reference Garcia-Mispireta2023:14).

However, given the uniform aesthetic and behavioural expectations demanded at plaza dances—most clearly seen during the monthly dances at the Boulevard—one could argue that plaza dances are not breathing spaces. The strict disciplining of the body during these events allows very little (if any) room for innovation. The dances are expected to be done in an inflexible way—they are not allowed to breathe in new influences, to adjust or change. However, I contend that these events are breathing spaces, but that it is not the practices but rather the people who are able to breathe freely during them. And for people to breathe freely, both a disciplined body and a space of one’s own are necessary. For a dancer to continue to move with ease for hours and long into old age, they need to train. The fixed repertoire and strict disciplining of movement during plaza dances are a means for their older participants to physically breathe freely while moving. The ways in which space is claimed through these events also allow them to emotionally breathe freely through Basque expressions after the suffocating years of oppression under the Franco dictatorship.