The truest expression of a people is in its dances and its

The words of Agnes de Mille—“The truest expression of a people is in its dances and its music. Bodies never lie.”—resound with timeless wisdom. In them is the recognition that while words may deceive and histories may be rewritten, the movements of the human form and the sounds of the human soul cannot be forged. A culture may hide behind its politics or clothe itself in masks of civility, but in its music and dance its truth is revealed. For the body carries memory, rhythm, and longing, and in its movements the essence of a people’s spirit shines forth.

Agnes de Mille, herself a visionary choreographer, knew this truth from her own life. She fused ballet with the vigor of American folk traditions, proving that the stage could become a mirror of a nation’s heart. When she choreographed Rodeo and later Oklahoma!, she captured not only steps but the pulse of the land—the sweat of the worker, the dreams of the pioneer, the laughter and sorrow of ordinary folk. Through dance, she revealed America to itself, showing that the body in motion speaks more honestly than the tongue.

History confirms her words. In the ancient rituals of Africa, where drums beat and feet stamped upon the earth, entire tribes proclaimed their unity, their grief, their joy. In these dances, one sees more than entertainment; one sees survival, heritage, and resilience passed down through generations. Likewise, the flamenco of Spain, born from the sorrow of Romani and Andalusian peoples, carries a cry so fierce that no historian’s pen could capture its anguish. Truly, bodies never lie—they reveal the truth of suffering and triumph alike.

Consider the story of the enslaved in the Americas. Forbidden to speak freely, stripped of their names and their languages, they turned to music and dance to preserve their soul. From their songs rose the blues, gospel, and later jazz—the very heartbeat of American art. Each rhythm was an act of defiance, each movement of the body a declaration: “We still live. We still feel. We cannot be erased.” Words might be silenced, but their expressions endured, and in them future generations could hear the truest testimony of a people’s spirit.

The meaning of de Mille’s words is not only historical but deeply personal. The body, in its movement, is the most honest instrument we possess. We may speak lies, but our posture, our gestures, our very rhythm betray us. Joy cannot be counterfeited in a dance, nor grief faked in the tremble of a song. In the language of movement, the soul is laid bare. That is why the dance of a people reveals more about them than their laws, and why their music carries the echoes of their deepest truth.

The lesson for us is this: if you wish to know a people, do not first read their speeches—watch their dance, hear their music, feel the rhythm of their living. And if you wish to know yourself, pay attention to your body—how it moves when free, how it stiffens in fear, how it bends under sorrow, how it leaps when unburdened. Your truest expression is not in your words, but in how your soul finds motion.

Practically, this means allowing yourself to move, to sing, to dance, without shame. Engage with the traditions of your own heritage, for in them you will find the voices of your ancestors. Learn also the dances and music of others, for through them you will come to understand cultures more deeply than through books alone. Let your body be free enough to speak, for in that freedom lies truth.

Thus, Agnes de Mille’s words must endure: the truest expression of a people is not hidden in their archives but displayed in their dances and music. And because bodies never lie, to move, to sing, to dance is to reveal the eternal truth of who we are. Let us, then, never be afraid to move with honesty, for in doing so, we proclaim our humanity to the world.