I head to Lyon in the wake of a large ‘anti-immigration’ protest in central London. Stoked by press sensationalism, fuelled by social media, a wave of unsettling nationalism has culminated in a huge gathering, where anger and frustration play out on familiar London streets, crowds of Brits wrapped and daubed in St George’s or Union Jack flags. Within this most inhospitable of environments come calls to prioritise the needs of ‘native’ Brits over ‘immigrants’. But what does that mean? Exploring the theme of hospitality at the international Lyon Dance Biennale is a useful frame to question elements of nationalism – in the UK, across Europe and beyond – looking specifically at whether pervasive colonial narratives around borders and ownership can be countered by enriching cultural exchange. By instigating dialogue and inviting a wide(r) range of perspectives, can a ‘host’ create a better understanding of geopolitical history, undermine divisionist narratives, and create a more hospitable environment? If so, who gets to play host? Who’s the guest? What are their roles and responsibilities… and is it right to watch?

This year’s Biennale includes the Forum, a new free public programme designed to invite and centre indigenous movement practices from across the Global South (five continents, no less), with a series of presentations in a range of formats that aim to acknowledge the impact and legacy of colonialism and to celebrate the resilience, richness and relevance of art and culture that survived it. It’s an ambitious and much-needed discourse, in theory with the power to begin demystifying and reframing artistic practice, possibly even the way we understand contemporary dance, weaving embattled history, acts of resistance and generations-old stories into the development of art-making from Brazil, Australia, the US, Mozambique and Taiwan.

The workshops that I attend are everything I hope they might be, offering generous, insightful glimpses of processes and practices that are less seen on western stages. Taiwan’s Fanga Nayaw presents a workshop that allows participants to experience for themselves the joy of ancestral dances and the punk principles that form their legacy, unlocking a deep sense of connection in a studio full of strangers. Brazil’s Original Bomber Crew perform a resonant fusion of capoeira, drumming and spoken word that culminates in a moment of unexpected tender togetherness. And devynn emory’s lecture-demonstration is a dive into their practice, which spans both modern and ancient medicine, inviting us all to connect to ourselves and our surroundings, in line with devynn’s ancestral heritage. It’s fascinating, moving, and I’ve never experienced anything like it – what a treat.

The Forum also presents ‘Sweet Discomfort’ from established US researcher Thomas F. DeFrantz. Part prose, part lecture, it explores with great clarity the experience of performing ‘Black joy’, and attests that, in the absence of a frame of reference within which to consider it, white audiences cannot hope to truly understand or develop an informed critique. He makes specific reference to the ‘white gaze’ of the critic and I’m reminded that, although the Springback writers are a diverse and ever-growing group, in this Assembly we are a large group of almost entirely white writers. I wonder: what does our pervasive whiteness mean for the artists sharing practices in the Forum? Is it fair or reasonable for curators to present a range of work from artists of the Global South and expect other audiences to understand or appreciate them? As ‘host’, what is the curator’s responsibility in terms of the potential ‘othering’ or ‘exoticising’ of guests?

Looking around, I’m not surprised to see that the audience demographic for Sweet Discomfort is exactly as DeFrantz anticipates – a largely white gathering with a few Black faces who might exchange a nod, the uncomfortable acknowledgement of shared minoritisation. His presentation prompts important questions about how curators nurture relationships with both artists and audiences, about how indigenous practices are knitted into the performance programme, and how audiences for the work are grown and diversified.

Shortly after landing back in London, I am shocked to learn of a violent, racially aggravated assault on three Biennale artists on 26 September on a Lyon street. The artists had been verbally assaulted and beaten, at least one of them suffering two days of temporary incapacity for work. Lyon mayor Grégory Doucet condemned the attack, saying ‘Lyon draws its strength from its values ​​of humanism, equality, and respect. It will never give in to racism. In the face of hatred, let us remain united.’

The shocking, hard face of ignorance once again revealed its ugliest form here, and my reflections on the Festival radically shift. It’s impossible not to rethink the ‘guest and host’ dynamic in the context of violence and brutality. I can only really conclude that efforts to inform, diversify and enrich the programme at a time like this are acts of essential resistance and solidarity, a move towards equality and away from hatred. To be applauded and continued. I sincerely hope that the Biennale’s seedling efforts this year aren’t tainted by this awful attack, but are used to justify and consequently grow a consistent and very necessary offer.