The leaders of ballet are failing us

They're failing you, and me, and every single survivor of abuse in ballet.

Last week the ballet world was shocked to learn of the death of British choreographer Liam Scarlett, who died at home at age 35. Scarlett, an acclaimed choreographer, had had a “sudden downfall” in recent years: in 2019, England’s Royal Ballet, where Scarlett trained as a dancer and established himself as a choreographer, investigated allegations that Scarlett had solicited nude photos from ballet students and rewarded those who complied with better roles in his ballets.

The Royal “found there were no matters to pursue in relation to alleged contact with students of the Royal Ballet School,” but parted ways with Scarlett anyway, after which several other ballet companies pulled his ballets from their programming. In recent days, the Royal Danish Ballet, which had planned to perform Scarlett’s critically acclaimed “Frankenstein” in its 2022 season, announced that it would be striking the ballet from their programming after several employees said they witnessed “unacceptable behavior” by Scarlett in 2018 and 2019.

“The cancelation occurs as information has recently emerged about unacceptable behavior… towards several people among the Royal Theater’s employees,” the company said in a press release, before going on to emphasize its “clear policy against abusive behavior” and its commitment to showing employees that their allegations will be taken seriously.

The day after this announcement, Scarlett died suddenly. The cause of death has not been reported, but many in the ballet world have concluded that Scarlett died by suicide.

It is tempting to call this the ultimate cost of “cancel culture,” and some have already been tempted by this tidy explanation of the situation; one dance cinematographer, posting on Instagram, quickly claimed that “cancel culture kills,” and that sentiment has been echoed by some of the ballet world's most powerful choreographers, critics, and artistic directors. Dancers and companies have posted glowing and unequivocal tributes to Scarlett with seemingly no thought for the message they’re sending to his alleged victims, and to all victims of abuse in ballet—to say nothing of the message they’re sending to would-be abusers.

The messier reality is that Scarlett was investigated by two institutions he worked for: one, the Royal Ballet, did not find any information it deemed worth pursuing, although it parted ways with Scarlett after the investigation concluded. The second institution, the Royal Danish Ballet, did find evidence it deemed credible.

That institution then acted to protect its employees by removing Scarlett’s work from its programming for the foreseeable future. Upon learning that several of their employees had been mistreated by a choreographer while on the job, the company opted not to ask those employees to rehearse and perform his ballet. It decided not to showcase his work. Not to send the message—to dancers, balletgoers, and the annals of ballet history—that abusing artists is acceptable as long as the art is of a high enough quality.

Professional ballet is an insular world in which almost everybody knows almost everybody. It is an industry where the vast majority of companies are run by white men, and where the majority of choreographed works—especially the big-budget narrative works—are made by men. It is an artform that cannot exist without dancers’ bodies, and a culture that too often silences their voices.

It’s little wonder, then, that the history of ballet, and particularly of choreography and leadership, has been written to favor the Great Men of ballet; George Balanchine, Jerome Robbins, and behind them a long line of men. Ballet historians have sidestepped their mistreatment of dancers—Balanchine told his dancers to eat nothing, and Robbins’s abusive temper was legendary—on their way to exhaustively praising the ballet companies they founded and the ballets they made. And so the story of ballet becomes one that accepts the suffering of dancers as a fair price for great dances.

For too long, the mistreatment suffered by dancers—verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical and sometimes sexual abuse—has been ignored except by those who endure it. Little thought has been given to the wasted artistic potential of a dancer who quits ballet training because of sexual harassment by a teacher, or the loss to ballet when a dancer burns out after enduring verbal abuse from an artistic director.

Now, for the first time, ballet institutions are choosing to protect dancers, and to signal to those who would bring allegations of abuse that their claims will be taken seriously. That it might not be fruitless to speak up. That their coming forward might prevent similar harm from coming to other dancers.

This is an essential first step towards the world that those who decry “cancel culture” insist that they want: a world without abuse. In order to make that world a reality, institutions must first signal to would-be abusers that they will face consequences for their actions. 

Suicide is a tragedy, and Scarlett’s death demonstrates the desperate need for a restorative justice model that offers people who have suffered professional consequences a path back to doing the work that they love. As institutions move to take allegations of abuse seriously, they must also offer both victims and perpetrators a more satisfying and healing outcome than simply erasing an artist’s work from the classical ballet canon. The rights of the accused must be respected, and in ways that do not leave dancers with even fewer protections, and even less power, than they already have.

My thoughts are with everyone who loved Liam Scarlett. And with the victims of abuse in ballet, who are being told that their desire for accountability and justice is to blame for a tragedy they had nothing to do with.

My thoughts are with all the former dancers who quit ballet because of abuse, who suffered mental illness because of abuse, whose gifts we lost because of abuse.

My thoughts are with the few ballet leaders who have the courage to reverse centuries of ballet tradition, who are working hard to prioritize the dancers over the dances, the artists over the art, the workers over the work.

Lastly, my thoughts are with all the survivors of abuse in ballet who are watching their ballet idols disappoint them right now. Who are being reminded, yet again, that this artform doesn't take their suffering seriously.

We see you. We believe you. Your pain matters. And you deserve better from ballet.