Schutzian Research 8 (2016) 179– 200

Why I cannot dance the Tango:1

Reflections of an incompetent member
of the “milongas porteñas”2

Carlos Belvedere
Research Institute Gino Germani, National Scientific and Technical
Research Council, University of Buenos Aires;
National University of General Sarmiento
Argentina

Abstract: The purpose of this paper is to discuss the idea that members are fully
competent at what they do. With that aim, I start with a Schutzian and Ethno-
methodological account of what it is like to be a member of the tango scene in the
dance halls of Buenos Aires. I specify different degrees and kinds of competences.
On the one hand, there are fully competent members (sanctioned dancers) and
incompetent members (the “beginners”3). The incompetent members are the vast
majority in comparison to the few fully competent ones. On the other hand, there
are technically competent members and socially competent ones. Technical com-
petence is very hard to acquire, thus it is very rare. Social competences, instead,
are accessible to all members. These different ways of being a member are hetero-
geneous and indicate a significant diversity of competences and skills. I conclude
that not all members are alike and that each one is challenged in a particular way.

Key words: membership, rules, embodied knowledge, competences, diversity

Tango is my passion. A passion that has taken me from milonga to milonga,

trying to become the kind of dancer that I always felt I was. Five years and

1
I am grateful to Clare Huish for her help in proof-reading this paper.
2
“Tango dance clubs of Buenos Aires.”
3
I will use quotation marks when recollecting members’ categories and natural language.
180 Carlos Belvedere

eighteen different milongas4 are testament to my absolute dedication and to

my absolute failure. There can be no doubt of my incompetence in this field
of dance.
However, didn’t I manage in some way to become part of, a member of, that
Milonga scene? How is it that I was able to interact with numerous milongueros
that share the same feeling as me for tango even though, much to their amuse-
ment, they express this with all the grace that I lack? Furthermore, how did I
manage to anticipate my failure? I mean, how did I manage to comprehend
that you don’t dance like that, that that just isn’t Tango?
When I became fully conscious of my dancing ineptitude, I felt like I’d
turned into a kind of sentimental milonguero, the kind of dancer who is all
emotion but lacks skill. I was incapable of dancing and I knew it because in fact
I was already able to tell that I felt the tango just like everybody else. Finally I
knew with absolute certainty that dancing the Tango is not my thing and was
able to give the reasons why because I had learnt to see myself just as anyone
else on the dance floor would see me – I had internalized the “Generalized
Other”5 – . With that, I’d acquired that critical, sarcastic way of looking char-
acteristic of my “significant others”6. I hadn’t learnt to follow the rules of the
dance (I mean I couldn’t do what was required of me on the dance floor) but
I could recognize that in the actions of others and I had learnt to recognize
how they viewed my clumsy steps. Somehow, I had become a member of the
milonga. But, what did that mean?

1. What is it to be a member?

My status as an eternal beginner faced me with a crucial dilemma: Am I or

am I not a member of the milonga? A concern which, in turn, raised another
question, prior and fundamental: What is it to be a member?
Ethnomethodologists often appeal to that notion, when speaking, for in-
stance, of the methods that members use to make and make observable phe-
nomena, the study of natural languages,​​etc. Since the very begining, this term
has been used to account for what makes members a part of social settings. For
example, Garfinkel refers to it in his early writings, when speaking of “tribal
members” as bona fide participants “in the tribal relationships” who share

4
In my fieldwork, I visited the following milongas, where I have also taken dancing classes:
Centro Cultural Torquato Tasso; Chiqué; Club Almagro; Club Atlético Fernández Fierro; Coch-
abamba 444; El Abrazo; El Arranque; El Beso; Fulgor de Villa Crespo; Grisel; La Argentina;
La Catedral; La Ideal; La Viruta; Lo de Celia; Maldita Milonga; Niño Bien; Salón Canning.
5
Schutz 1967: 189.
6
Berger and Luckmann 1967: 131.
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 181
“a socially employed metaphysics” which makes them all “alike in essence.”7
The notion of member has also been from there on recurrently used. We can
also find it, for instance, in Garfinkel’s lattest writtings, where he speaks of
“member’s methods” when outlining Ethnomethodology’s Program8 and points
out that they provide for descriptions of ordinary things9.
The notion of member has also been used in Conversation Analysis. We
can find it already in Sacks when he is dealing with practices and methods.
From his early lectures – focused on “membership categorization”10 – and on,
he was concerned with “how members, in particular contexts (or classes of
context arrived at by examining particular contexts), methodically construct
their talk so as to produce a possible instance of an action or activity of some
sort, and to provide for the possible occurrence next of various sorts of actions
by others.”11
In all these ways, I could say that I am a member of the milonga since: I
had become a tribal member endowed with a common essence; I managed
to make sense of ordinary things; and I was able to methodically construct
other’s talk to provide for the possible occurrence of their actions. Thus, the
fact that I couldn’t dance did not exclude me from the milonga. It just made
me a particular kind of member: a member who “cannot dance.” So I learned
that the social setting of the milonga is partly organized on the basis of nega-
tive certifications indicating not only who can dance but also who cannot.

2. The sanctioned dancer

In my ineptitude, I played a central although undesirable role. I was the

one who “stomps,” the one who cannot dance. I was at the bottom of the
milonga. At the other end, at the top, you will find the expert dancers, among
them, outstanding amateurs and even some professional dancers who frequent
the milongas to soak up “the grime and the grit” of tango.
I heard about this for the first time from Miguel Ángel Zotto, one of
the most respected professional tango dancers. In an interview for an official
magazine of the City of Buenos Aires he told me that he went to the milongas
“very often” for two reasons: “for my pleasure and to not lose the ability to
improvise.”12 He even bases part of his shows “on what the milongueros tell me

7
Garfinkel 1956: 423.
8
Garfinkel 2002: 72-73.
9
Ibid., 101.
10
Schegloff 1989: 205.
11
Ibid., 197.
12
Zotto 2001: 125.
182 Carlos Belvedere

during the dances”13: “I took specific things from the milongas: steps, ending
positions.”14 By doing this, he continues what he used to do with his teacher,
Antonio Todaro15. That’s one of the reasons why he wants the male dancers
in his show to be “popular dancers” (like he is) who have “the grime and the
grit of tango,” and that’s why he sends the female dancers (who are classical
and contemporary dancers) to the milongas so they can “learn the grime and
the grit.”16
Another thing I learned is that, at the milonga, professional dancers are
measured by the same standard as any other dancer: Can he dance? For in-
stance, one time someone said to me “Zotto can dance.” Moreover, I came to
notice that there is considerable proximity between professional dancers and
experienced amateur dancers.
In particular, those who have embodied tango by having lived through
its “golden age” (the ‘40s) are well respected. These “milongueros viejos” (old
dancers), that were “breastfed” on “old time tango,” are cherished by the
most demanding of fans because of their practical embodied knowledge that
is transmitted only through dancing.
This is why tango teachers encourage their students to dance with as many
partners as possible: because there is something related to inter-corporality that
can only be passed on by actually dancing. Usually they say out loud several
times during the class: “switch partners,” to induce their students to inter-
act with different dancers endowed with different backgrounds, techniques,
personal styles and bodily skills – briefly, endowed with different “stocks of
knowledge”17 – . Sometimes, couples who are taking the class “together” are
reluctant to change partners. In that kind of situations, teachers might insist
and even choose a different dance partner for their students in a polite al-
though firm manner.
Back to these “milongueros viejos” who are “the living history of tango,” they
have a status of their own albeit as prestigious as some professional dancers
who, like Zotto, frequent the milongas. The level of respect given to them is
also comparable to that of well-known teachers. At times, they join them as
assistants in their classes, both to show the steps and to dance with the trainees.
This was the case of another acquaintance of mine: Julián18, a man in his 60´s
who became an outstanding amateur dancer by attending the milongas on a
daily basis after his first divorce. In a few years he become such a good dancer

13
Ibid.
14
Ibid.
15
Ibid.
16
Ibid.
17
Schutz 1967: 38-39, 146; Schutz 1964: 45, 49.
18
All names used in this paper are fictional, unless quoted from published articles or
interviews.
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 183
that the teacher at one of the milongas he attended asked him to become his
“assistant.” Julián was really proud and was boasting about how he was this
professor’s “assistant.” He pretended to pretend that he was proud about it,
only to conceal the fact that he was actually proud about it.
However, the dancer’s status is clearer than that of “professor” as the for-
mer status comes from others while the latter is self-appointed. Even some
old milongueros are quite skeptical about many self-called “Professors.” As
the famous tango by Enrique Santos Discépolo “Cambalache” says (which
Julián quoted when talking about this), “a great professor is much the same
as a dumb-ass.”
Of course, apart from personal initiative and a share of narcissism, a pro-
fessor needs students who follow him and, more importantly, who pay for
instruction; but that is not an expert opinion. So he might well lack the
recognition of his alleged peers and still have – by virtues not related to the
dance such as likeability, “pinta”19 and business sense – a hefty clientele. But
in order to “really dance” it takes much more than this.

3. The Dancer’s Status

At the milonga, not everyone can dance. You have to acquire the status of
a dancer but of course you can’t give this to yourself, only others can give it to
you. Experienced dancers and some regulars used to say, or whisper as if they
were revealing a secret, that “so and so dances” when they wanted to acknowl-
edge or point out someone’s talent. But this isn’t just said about anyone. The
distinction applies not only to milongueros but also to professional dancers.
Amongst the dancers there was a guy, named Cachito. He was 83 when I
first met him and he was quite a name on the milonga scene and at a Dance
Academy. Some people even used to go to the milongas just to dance with
him. He was invited to dance at different events. He travelled abroad to other
countries with his dance partner to display his talents. People said that it was
Tango that kept him alive and it was true. Despite a medical condition, he
continued dancing for many years against all odds, especially at the beginning
when his prognosis was far from hopeful. Tango kept his spirit alive too. Re-
turning to the dance floor helped him get over his wife’s death, with whom he
had shared most of his life. He not only rediscovered his joie de vie but he also
made new friends. At the milonga he met people from all walks of life, from
ruffians to former Government Ministers. He, who had been an [Link]
all his life, was now rubbing shoulders with members of the local aristocracy,

19
In the slang of tango, “pinta” means: “Elegance, distinction in dress / / look of a per-
son.” (Rodríguez 2014)
184 Carlos Belvedere

with professionals, business men, artists and politicians. All thanks to this new
social life that the milonga was opening up for him and where, besides being
well liked, he also felt respected. A respect that came from “he can dance.”
His status as a dancer was not only important to others but also and more
importantly to himself. One day at his home, with the background Tango
music coming from the City’s radio that was never switched off nor tuned into
any other station, he told me that on one occasion, after having frequented the
local milonga infinite times and having displayed his talent there, a respected
dancer came up to him and said, “you can dance.” Cachito recalls that mo-
ment with particular emotion. It was a significant moment that marked a
before and after in his life. He experienced it and relates it as a rite of passage.
From that moment on he felt like a dancer. He took to the dance floor with
his confidence tripled and he now felt authorized to be able to share his talent
with his usual dancing companions and with gentlemen who looked at him
with admiration (and perhaps a secret envy) and with friends to whom he
offered advice and shared some secrets about Tango. Aside from this, Cachito
managed to get a “dance partner.”
Every good tango dancer has a steady dance partner especially for those oc-
casions when he has to show off his skills. That woman was Myrna, an attractive
woman, 35 years younger than him and Cachito was platonically in love with
her. On top of that Myrna had her own Dance Academy where she taught
Tango, apart from running a number of successful businesses with work both
in Argentina and abroad20. Thus it was only Tango that brought them together.
One day Cachito showed me a letter he once wrote to Myrna, expressing
his sincere and respectful love towards her. “She drives me crazy” he confessed.
However, their relationship never went further than strictly Tango. She didn’t
reject his letter nor his other demonstrations of affection. He never went fur-
ther than these gallant manifestations. It was more like the love of a courtesan
than post-modern sexuality. It was all about dancing. That was their thing.
Everything else paled in comparison to the attraction of the milonga.
Having gained recognition from experienced dancers and the admiration
of his fellow companions, being constantly asked to dance by the ladies and
now having his own steady “dance partner,” Cachito was indeed a real dancer.

4. The Incompetent One

Cachito and I appeared to have absolutely nothing in common. From

the experienced dancers I received nothing but criticism. Some could not
fathom how difficult those few, clumsy, grotesque steps were to perform. My

20
For instance, as an artist she was selected to show her work at the Venice Biennale.
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 185
incompetence seemed, for moments, to overwhelm teachers of vast years of
experience with students of different ages, nationalities and expectations. You
don’t see many people with as little talent as mine on the dance floor. The
experienced milongueras wouldn’t dance with me even out of pity. What’s more,
my fellow beginners would correct me as if they were the experienced dancers.
I remember one of them in particular, a woman older than me but who
was also starting to learn Tango. She wanted to teach me to indicate (marcar)
by pressing her fingers into my back frenetically trying to show me what to
her was obvious but what to me was a mystery.
In the dance of tango, “marcar” (to indicate) and “mandar” (to command)
are two things that indisputably the man does21. That is why we speak of “the
man’s role” and “the woman’s role”: because, unlike most dances, in tango we
have two different although coordinated choreographies for each member of
“the couple”.
Although this makes up a gender division of dancing labor, on particular
occasions these roles can be performed either by the man or the woman. For
example, in the early tango, it was common that men in the brothel, while
waiting for their “turn,” would practice between them. Also, at working-class
neighborhoods, young men thought to their younger or less experienced
friends and practiced along with them while preparing for the dances. In ad-
dition, teachers and professionals “know both roles,” as they must teach “the
man’s role” as well as “the woman’s.” It is also estimated that every competent
dancer knows “the role of the other” and even sometimes, to coordinate with
her/his dance partner a special or new “step”, s/he will show what is meant
by doing “the other’s part.”
So gender roles have much to do with technical coordination.22 Of course,
it also serves to mark a gender difference but not a rigid boundary since the
ability to put oneself in the shoes of the other, to interpret (i.e., to do) what the
other does, involves a reciprocity23 which is complementary to the difference

21
See Carozzi 2015: 179-184.
22
Some other interpreters of tango, however, think that the division of gender roles is
related to “a love ritual” and “a way of symbolic coupling before the intercourse” represent-
ing in the dance “what will happen next in bed.” (Varela 2005: 46) While it may be admit-
ted that tango is related to sexuality, this is unspecific and abstract because, from a Freudian
point of view (which obviously underlies the interpretation discussed here), the same applies
to all human activity. Moreover, this stance is questionable for its being too simple, for sub-
ordinating the dance of tango to an instrumental role and, in particular, for assigning the
woman a passive role since she is depicted as “submissive” and “awaiting” the man, who “rules
the direction and pace with his chest and shoulders.” (Ibid.) On the contrary, the aim of this
paper is to depict the practice of dancing tango (in both, male and female roles) as an active,
prolific and skillful production.
23
As Zotto says, man and woman have to know “50%” in order to dance the tango.
(Zotto 2001: 125)
186 Carlos Belvedere

established, in what would otherwise be mere gender domination. It could be

said in Schutzian terms that this involves “the idealization of the interchange-
ability of the standpoints”24.
Back to my incompetence, that was so vast and basic, I had failed, in the
eyes of my circumstantial partner, to assume the basic role of “the man” for
being unable “to command.” Carrying out these functions on her own was
proof that my partner judged me as incompetent. So she lost patience before
I did and then avoided me on the dance floor for the rest of the night.
Both things (pointing out someone’s mistakes and avoiding dancing with
her/him) are practical procedures that members use to decide that somebody
cannot dance.25 I got a lot of this at the milongas. I knew I couldn’t dance
not only because I intend to be a reasonable person but also because in the
few attempts to dance in the milongas (in the real dances, not in the class) I
was almost immediately rejected by women (usually with kind euphemisms
like pretending there was someone waiting for them) and criticized by men
(a few of them with a friendly attitude, as if they were giving me advice, the
others with a tough attitude or even a sarcastic one). So, by pointing out my
mistakes and by refusing to dance with me, my circumstantial partner was
telling me that I was not a member. Anyway, who was she to judge me that
way? Indeed, I complained by saying: “Were both beginners!” She should be
as incompetent as me…

5. The eternal beginner

Regardless of what my partner thought, I believed that after more than a

decade of circulating the Milongas of Buenos Aires I was allowed to say that,
in some way, I am a member since I have been formally admitted as an as-
piring member from the time I started taking classes. I was assigned a rather
weak and marginal status within the world of tango which made me a part of
it – not the best one but a member after all.
I still remember the first class I ever had. It was at a milonga not far from
home and from work. Julián (the talented dancer I mentioned before) recom-
mended the place to me as well as the teacher. So I went there, climbed up the
stairs and paid my ticket (5 Argentinian Pesos, which by then was equivalent
to U$ 5). I entered a big room with a tiled floor. Three rows of small tables

24
Schutz 1967: 11-12.
25
This kind of strategies are well described in a tango by Merico and Trongé: “Si vas a los
bailes, parate en la puerta, / campaneá las minas que sepan bailar, / no saqués paquete que dan
pisotones... / ¡Que sufran y aprendan a fuerza’e planchar!” [“If you go to the dances, stand in
the doorway, / watch the women who can dance, / don’t invite to dance “that thing” because
she will trample you… / Let them suffer and learn from rejection!”] (Merico and Trongé 1929)
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 187
seating 4 each, covered with table cloths surrounded the dance floor on each
side and at the back. At the front, there was a big stage. Tango music was
being played and some people chatted sat at the tables. I asked the guy at the
door: “how do I start taking classes.” He told me to wait for the teacher and
talk to him. When he arrived, I approached him and said that it was my first
class. He asked me if I could dance. I said no. “Go to beginners”, he said.
“Beginners” was the first group of students. We gathered by the stage. Our
instructors were not the main, well-known teachers but a couple of younger
“assistants.” The main teacher just passed by once in a while to check on us,
maybe to praise a talented student and correct one or two who were doing
not so well (a couple of times, the corrected student was me). He might even
“show us” how the steps were supposed to be done by dancing with one of the
female students. Then he went back to the groups of “Advanced” and “Inter-
mediate” students, where he spent most of his time. At the end, he gathered
us all (“beginners” to “advanced”) together for a short simple practice before
dismissing the class. After that, some stayed for dinner or for a drink or to
socialize, some others joined new dancers who were not part of the class and
started dancing. That was my first time as a member of the milonga. I was at
the bottom but I was in.
Feeling a member of the milonga, I started taking classes in different places
– which is something “typical” (in Schutz’s sense): once you’re into Tango, you
try to make the most of it by attending as many milongas as you can. After
several months of intense practicing (which I did mostly for my pleasure,
not so much to acquire new skills as a dancer), I was promoted from the
category of “beginner” to “intermediate.” It was my greatest achievement as
a vocational dancer.
This happened in a different milonga from where I had started taking
classes and was first admitted as a member, although it worked pretty much
the same way.26 I had been attending for a few months on a weekly basis. One
day I walked into the group of beginners as I usually did, just as the class was
about to start. The female instructor looked at me and told me: “No, you go
to ‘intermediate’.” I said: “Really?” “Yes,” she replied while pointing with her
finger to the group next to me. Her partner showed his agreement by saying
“yes” with words and nodding his head. That was it! A very simple, unexpected
rite of passage. I was promoted and feeling happy.

26
Both sites were centers of immigrant’s communities whose cultural activities included
tango dancing. Here is how these places usually work: Someone is in charge of organizing the
dancing (to play the music, collect the entrance fee, and make sure that everything is fine).
The people who run the place offer drinks and meals, and have their own staff of waiters and
barmen. They usually pay a fee to the organizers (a percentage of the sales). Finally, someone
who is a well-known dancer (who is also into teaching) organizes the classes (with his own
staff of assistants) apart from the general ticket you pay to enter the milonga.
188 Carlos Belvedere

At “intermediate” I had new instructors and could perform more demand-

ing and gratifying steps. I felt entitled to attend “intermediate” classes wher-
ever, not just at this particular milonga. And I got accepted as such just by
saying “intermediate” when a new teacher asked me what my “level” was. Just
once I had to explain where and when I was promoted. Usually, just a mention
of my level would suffice.
As an “intermediate” student I had one of my most gratifying experiences. It
was at Club Almagro, with Suzuki Avellaneda. Some people remember her as a
very demanding teacher. In my mind, she is the most generous one. I had the
feeling that she was really training me, passing on a volume of wisdom and skills
that I might get elsewhere but only over a much longer period of time. In a few
weeks I learned the most sophisticated and elegant steps I have ever performed. I
even started to feel that I could dance. It was the pinnacle of my amateur carrier.
Unfortunately, for reasons not connected to the dance I had to step out
of the milonga for a few months, after which I returned to the category of
“beginner,” a position I could never surpass again. My only consolation was
to know that Husserl also felt like a perpetual beginner...

6. Native and professional categories in the milonga

It’s interesting to note how native categories can differ from professional
categories. I mean, how the way ordinary dancers see each other might diverge
from the way teachers and assistants see students and practicants. This will be
easyer to understand if we take as an example the case of that female dancer
who refused to dance with me (as narrated in “The Incompetent One”). I
was being categorized by my partner as “not a dancer” while the teachers had
categorized me as a “beginner dancer.” In her eyes I was totally different from
her (I sucked, she didn’t); in the teacher’s eyes we were both the same (just a
pair of “beginners”).
To better understand this I will describe members’ and teachers’ classifications
of dancers as Membership Categorization Devices (MCD). These devices “are
collections of categories for referring to persons, with some rules of application”
that members apply to populations to say things about them and which they
“use together or collect together” as a set, i.e., as “categories-that-go-together.”27
What dancers and teachers do can be described then as a MCD to classify
dancers and students. I will call these MCD “native” when they are produced
by ordinary members in the course of an interaction in the milonga, and “pro-
fessional” when they are produced by teachers and assistants in the course of a
tango class or lesson. This will allow us to make some meaningful comparisons.

27
Sacks 1995: 238.
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 189
First we note that both kinds of devices classify the same population, since
most of the students stay late for the milonga and many of the dancers were
or still are advanced students. Also they both produce a very similar hierarchy:
at the milonga, either you “can dance” or you “cannot dance”. Having tango
classes, either you are a “beginner,” an “intermediate” or an “advanced” student.
Seccondly, the native Categorization Device (CD) is simpler: it only uses
two categories (“can dance” / “cannot dance”) in comparison to the profession-
al CD, which uses three categories (“beginners” / “intermediate” / “advanced”).
Thirdly, the divergences between both CDs are stronger at the bottom
than at the top. The professional CD specifies two levels of non-competent
members (“beginners” and “intermediate”) while the native CD only specifies
one (“cannot dance”). But they both acknowledge only one kind of fully com-
petent member (those who “can dance” or who are “advanced” practicants).
Furthermore, these higher categories include the same population (usually who
“can dance” is or was an “advanced” practicant) and make dancing a “category-
bound activity” since “Members take it are done by some particular category
of persons”28 and used “as an explanation of the position” of a member29.
Fourthly, there are significant gender differences between both CDs. The
native CD makes things harder for the man who “cannot dance,” while the
professional CD tries to even up the differences. As an experienced female
dancer told me once, “it’s harder for the man to learn how to dance [the
tango] because he has to lead, so he should know better, instead the woman
can let herself go. All she needs to do is to be carried along [dejarse llevar] by
the man.” That is why women are rarely rejected by skilled dancers if they
are pretty or dressed sexy and so they get the chance to be taught whereas the
man can only learn by getting someone (a friend or a teacher) to instruct him
before the dance. He cannot learn from dancing but has to already know in
order to be allowed to dance. On the contrary, the professional device makes
things even for both genders since it matches dancers or trainees with similar
skills and group them in categories according to those skills.
Anyhow, both MCDs sent me off the dance floor since they certified that I
am not a qualified dancer. So, I’m an incompetent. But I’m not the only one…

7. The Plethora of Incompetents

Given that practitioners are classified according to their skills by two or

three levels of increasing skills (according to who is categorizing), the whole
set is based on the least competent stage, that is, on the “group” of those

28
Ibid., 241.
29
Ibid., 425.
190 Carlos Belvedere

who “cannot dance” or who are “beginners.” This is the largest group of all.
Therefore it makes an important contribution not only economically (as they
are the majority of those who pay for the classes, drinks and meals) but also
to the whole dynamics of this social setting as it is the one that provides a
substantial amount of members. It can be said that the incompetence of a large
number of members is essential for the functioning of dance classes and, given
its closeness to the milonga, it also helps to enhance it. Thus, it is important
to describe how the incompetence of the many is routinely produced as a
condition of the competence of the few.
Much of its production happens during the tango classes. Contrary to how
people learned to dance tango in the old times (spontaneously and guided
by friends and acquaintances rather than “teachers”), nowadays its learning
is mediated by professional instructors, it is systematized by a set of teaching
techniques (which are diversely given, as they say that “every teacher has his
own book”) and, above all, it is institutionalized so that, except in a few excep-
tional cases, they are run as academies rather than as dance halls (usually when
they are run by famous tango dancers). This makes it possible to categorize in
a standardized way the population of trainees into tree different “levels” and
to distinguish a few sanctioned dancers from the plethora of incompetents.
As a result, the class is nowadays an annex of the dance floor. What is
most common is that it starts before the milonga begins so that those who
are competent enough can first practice and then dance. This also adds an
extra public as quite a few beginners, and even curious companions, stay as
spectators and participants in the social life of the milonga – which of course
involves buying a drink or even having dinner there. So nowadays, classes and
milongas usually work in conjunction with one another.
In this context, the class is organized in a collection of practitioners based
on their competences where the “teacher” knows the competences and incom-
petences of each student and also addresses the “class” in general, interacting
with each of the “levels” separately and with all of them together.
One of the main purposes of this organization of the classes is the labeling
and subsequent classification of practicants. As already seen in this paper, they
are categorized into three levels: “Beginners,” “Intermediates,” and “Advanced.”
This categorization is a stratification based on the skills and competences
acquired. The transition from one level to another occurs when the teacher
thinks that the practicant is competent enough (even in cases where promo-
tion comes after the request and insistence of the person interested). There is
not an “exam” but rather an ongoing evaluation.
Since only a few make it to the top, the technical incompetence of the
many supports the continued production of the exceptional competence of
the few. This can be defined as “a performative elitism” which makes most of
the members of the milongas something like “incompetent members.”
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 191
8. On the pleonasm “competent member”

How can we speak of members who are not competent? Aren’t members
supposed to be competent? To address these kind of questions and to account
for experiences like the ones I have just related, it requires further specification
about what is it to be a member.
For many ethnomethodologists, to be a member is to master a natural
language, to recognize what is evident for everyone, to know what everyone
knows, etc. In addition, the word “member” is usually associated with words
such as “achievements” and “skillful,” which suggest that he is successful in
his tasks and capable of “doing” what everybody does. This gives the idea of
fully competent members who are able to perform in an effective way, achiev-
ing the goals they’re supposed to, and mastering natural languages and bodily
movements. Some even treat the notion of member as equal to mastery – for
instance, Heritage when he speaks of the “‘mastery of natural language’ or
‘membership’”30 as if they were both the same. Anyway, it is not a personal
idea held by Heritage but a widespread conviction that the notion of “mem-
ber” – which “is the heart of the matter” – must be referred to as the “mastery
of natural language.”31
In this respect, members are “skillful”32, which means that they are “unani-
mous” in some respects, that their methods are “unavoidably used” in a certain
way, and their practices are somewhat invariant33. All this leads to the idea
that members can make an “adequate application” of precepts based on their
competence34 and produce an orderly social setting. One could say, then, that
Ethnomethodology is quite optimistic as regards members’ skills and that it
tends to emphasize the perceived normality in social settings.
This sort of infallibility of members is based, in part, on the idea of rule
that is involved with the idea of ​​competence. If “learning to follow a rule is
learning what to do”35, then there is no way that a member who, as such,
understood the rule, could be incompetent to follow it.

“The idea that someone could ‘understand the verbal formulation of a rule’
but not understand ‘what to do’ where the rule is to be applied is an absurdity.
[…] Someone who has mastered a rule has not learnt the verbal formulation
of a rule, but has learned how to do something, namely, apply (or follow) the
rule. […] if you have understood what you have been told to do this is the

30
Heritage 1992: 155.
31
Garfinkel and Sacks 1986: 160.
32
Ibid., 170.
33
Ibid., 173.
34
Ibid., 176.
35
Sharrock and Button 1999: 203.
192 Carlos Belvedere

same as knowing what to do (because what to do is exactly the same as what

you are supposed to do i.e. what you have been told to do).”36

Accordingly, from this perspective, the only way of being a member is

to succeed in following the rules, in accomplishing what must be done, in
achieving the expected goals. It is a very high standard and, on special occa-
sions, it might become almost impossible. Indeed, some ethnomethodological
accounts have shown that skills and accomplishments can be diverse and that
members face different challenges. See, for instance, how difficult it was to
become “vulgarly competent” for some of Garfinkel’s students.

“Garfinkel’s students would have to become ‘vulgarly competent’ with the

methods they were studying. Not only would they have to learn by doing, but
their mastery itself would provide the basis for, and subject of, their investi-
gations. This requirement presented no initial difficulty for studies of com-
petencies the students had already mastered, but it did create a demanding
prerequisite for those of us who aimed to investigate specialized practices in
mathematics, law, and the natural sciences […]. In a different way it was a
problem for those who investigated the competencies of persons with severe
disabilities […] and members of exotic cultures.”37

Lynch’s testimony about Garfinkel’s students is a crucial contribution since

it depicts different kinds of competences which pose different kinds of chal-
lenges to the ethnomethodologist. It also depicts three different types of situ-
ations. The first type is that of competencies already acquired, which naturally
provide an adequate base for research. The second type relates to specialized
practices whose specific competencies are difficult to acquire. Finally, the third
type refers to members of exotic cultures and people with severe disabilities,
whose competencies are impossible to fully acquire by most ethnometodolo-
gists.
I would like to focus on two issues implied in Lynch’s description of Gar-
finkel’s studies, which are deep insightful findings. The first is that not all
memberships are the same type and that it is possible for members to signifi-
cantly interact within certain social settings regardless of the fact that they
have different competencies. In this respect, a bias in some ethnomethodol-
ogy studies is to assume that competencies are distributed uniformly within
social settings and produce invariant results, while at times they are diverse
and heterogeneously distributed. Indeed, social settings may be heterogeneous
and require precisely this heterogeneity to exist. In short, social settings can
be described according to their degree of internal diversity. The second issue

36
Ibid., 203.
37
Lynch 1999: 218.
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 193
is that the occasions described by Lynch can be reduced to two circumstances:
one, in which competencies are accessible to all and, therefore, they can be
universalized and distributed homogeneously among the members; another,
in which competencies are specifics and difficult to acquire and therefore are
distributed heterogeneously.
Heterogeneity can take different forms. One of these, which is particularly
relevant for this paper, is the distinction made by Francis and Hester between
social and specialized competencies. On one hand, “social competence consists
in the ability to use [...] structures in producing and making sense of social
interaction.”38 It has to do with the requirement that, in any social setting,
members “pay attention to, and make sense of, what is happening around
them.”39 On the other hand, in specialized populations, most people might
find it difficult (or, I would like to add, even impossible in certain cases) to
achieve specific competencies.

“When the subject of research is something that most persons participate

regularly, like ordinary talk, the game of tic tac toe, driving, walking, etc., the
unique adequacy can be assumed for most persons (persons with disabilities,
who may lack ordinary competence, may nevertheless have revealing under-
standings of these common tasks). However, with regard to practices that have
specialized populations, like science or policing, unique adequacy can be very
hard to achieve. An ethnomethodologist pursuing unique adequacy within a
specialized population may spend years in a research site becoming a compe-
tent participant in its practices.”40

9. Social and technical competencies in the milonga

The distinction between social and specialized competencies serves as a

basis for distinguishing two different kinds of memberships in the milonga.
So far, I have distinguished two paradigmatic cases, the one of Cachito, an ex-
ceptional dancer and a fully competent member, and mine, being member of
a remarkable technical incompetence but still able to interact in the milonga,
make sense of what is going on, and act a certain role in this social setting.
In the words of Francis and Hester, I can say that I am a socially competent
member of the milonga. Besides, people who attend the milonga make up a
specialized population. This explains the enormous difficulties I have faced
in my frustrated learning attempts. This is indeed a difficult competence to
acquire. But there is something more to it than specialized knowledge.

38
Francis and Hester 2004: 5.
39
Ibid., 23.
40
Ibid., 26-27.
194 Carlos Belvedere

From the point of view of the specialized competencies, the difficulty is

universal: “it’s tough for everyone,” as they say. But in the case of Cachito, as
a sanctioned dancer, there is a much more restrictive membership because, as
I said before, the dancer’s status is given to a select few people. It is assumed,
then, that anyone who “can dance” does something that not any socially
competent member can do: he has a unique competence. Unlike social com-
petencies, potentially available to anyone who makes the necessary efforts,
the type of competence developed in domains such as the arts and scientific
and technological innovation are fully achieved only by a few exceptional
members who exhibit a talent that is out of the ordinary. So there is an aspect
of competencies that fall outside ordinary and are therefore prohibitive to
most people. Furthermore, unlike social competencies which all members
possess pragmatically – in the sense that they can do what they are supposed
to do (i.e. practically act as expected) – , technical competencies dismantle the
unity of understanding and action, meaning and practice, which characterizes
ordinary memberships as described by Sharrock and Button in the passage
quoted above.
Both types of competencies are involved in the social setting of the milonga.
On one hand, there is a social competence common to all, according to which
members are able to assign meaning to the interaction and to what goes on
there. From this point of view, I was a competent member since not only
could I interact significantly with milongueros, teachers and other participants
in the tango scene, but I had also come to understand the social and moral
aspects of this particular lifestyle, and had even come to internalize the basic
rules of Tango dancing. I just could not execute the steps, but I knew what I
was supposed to do and why I could not do it.
One of the many experiences which made me aware of this distinction
happened in one particular milonga. There, those who “cannot dance” actually
dance and they are even the majority. In that particular milonga I attended
both the classes and then the dance. I also watched audacious young couples
dance who made the dance floor their own, particularly on Fridays. But I
didn’t feel a part of it because “that just isn’t tango.” I, who couldn’t dance,
somehow knew what it means to dance Tango. Plus, I could recognize what
those people were doing as strange (“not Tango”) in that environment devoted
to tourism and flirting but not so much to proper tango dancing. There I was
allowed to dance but my milonguero instincts made me feel an aversion to it.
Of course, “instinct” is just a way to put it. It feels like instinctive behavior
because it’s not rational thinking but a global, emotional sense of the situa-
tion grasped perceptibly and shaped by past experiences sedimented which
engender a perceptual based aesthetic that structures in its own fashion a taste
of what’s likeable and what’s not. It’s a kind of embodied sense of what “real
tango” is. Well, because of that sense I didn’t feel like dancing there, although
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 195
I was allowed to. That place only led me to start dating a new girlfriend, not
to learn to dance the tango; meaning that to me it was a suitable social setting
but not a specialized tango ambient.

10. The misadventures of a left-handed dancer

I was a poor dancer not just because of my general limitations for danc-
ing, whatever the genre, but also for being left-handed in the context of a
dance floor where everyone is expected to move in the same direction. So I
faced an additional difficulty since all steps “left me backwards.” I consulted
with my teacher, asking her: “What can I do?” Her answer was blunt: “You’re
fucked.” Be that as it may, what I needed, and I began to assume that it would
be definitely impossible for me, was to acquire technical competence. My
membership, then, was limited by the same boundary separating social from
technical competencies. I had become a regular at the milonga, but I would
never be a dancer.
My frustrated attempts as a dancer led me to channel my passion for tango
into guitar playing.41 I realized that being left-handed posed no problem when
learning to play the guitar.42 As I’d started learning by peering through the
key-hole at my brother’s guitar classes and then furtively taking his guitar
and music book and practicing by myself, I had felt obliged to hold the in-
strument like “normal” people (i.e. right-handed people). I was able to learn
enough to hold my own as a guitar player on social occasions even if not at a
professional level. However, being left-handed did constitute a problem when
it came to dancing.
This surely has something to do with the fact that one can play an instru-
ment alone, whereas one dances tango with a partner. To have to coordinate
your steps with someone else who is doing different steps and keep those
other steps in mind whilst you hold your partner in a very particular way and
with one hand give them subtle directive commands with your fingers on
their back whilst your other hand hold is holding theirs; commands that are,
what’s more, expressed during the course of an interaction that takes place on
a busy dance floor where dozens of couples move at the same time in the same
direction (which, to me, feels like the wrong direction) all this back-to front-
world exponentially multiples the complications of Tango. I had to perform
the steps in the opposite direction to what to me was natural, beginning with

41
In a previous paper (Belvedere 2011) I make an account of my experience as an ama-
teur guitarist.
42
I came to this understanding thanks to the enlightening comments received at the 2013
annual conference of the Society for Phenomenology and the Human Sciences regarding a
previous version of this paper.
196 Carlos Belvedere

the “wrong foot.” This is quite something given that, according to various
teachers I’ve had, Tango is an extension of the way of walking particular to
porteños and that’s the reason why one of the basic exercises for beginners (like
me) is “walking the dance floor.”
So, besides walking backwards, I had to develop a sequence of steps that
to me seemed unnatural. I could only do it “thinking about it,” meaning cap-
turing reflectively that which for others was a pre-reflexive body expression.
On top of that, I had to anticipate my partner’s steps (something which any
dancer does) but adding in an extra mental step given I was thinking about
them as a left-handed person and then inverting the steps in my mind to get
a mental image of a step for right-handed people. This means that my unful-
filled anticipation of the movement sequence that I expected my partner to
perform had an extra step more to it than for “normal” people, given I had to
first think about it in my way and then convert it imaginatively in order to
be able to communicate it and execute it on the dance floor.
Only at that point was I able to “indicate” with my fingers on my partner’s
shoulder the way to go and I had to do this with my less able hand. After this
I had to coordinate my steps with hers, going once again in the wrong direc-
tion. All this ended up being an unmanageable difficulty, the reason being I
left the milonga and focused on playing guitar at a Tango bar (or peña43) where
my left-handedness posed no problem.

11. The consecration of the virtuoso

As I said before, at the milonga, I was not the only eternal student. Many
who go from class to class never make it to the big dance. Even though, they
take part in the milonga by admiring the ones who can dance while sharing a
drink with friends to liven up the night. I was one of these members. Was I
supposed to become an outstanding dancer? I can think of possible analogies
with other ethnometodological studies. How good a piano player do you have
to be in order to be able to account for jazz sessions? Do you have to win a
Nobel Prize to describe the interaction doctor - patient? Do you have to make
it to the top or does it suffice to assume a secondary role? If so, my limited
membership would not impede me to describe what goes on in the milongas of
Buenos Aires. In fact, it allowed me to understand that, as in other social set-
tings, there are two types of memberships which, in turn, have different scopes.

43
Peña literally means club. Tango peñas usually gather at nights at some neighborhood
restaurant or cafe to listen to local singers and sometimes to sing along to popular tangos that
the crowd knows by heart.
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 197
Indeed, these two forms of membership have different reaches: social com-
petence is universal, technical competence is restricted. All of us who know
what goes on in the milongas, who can assign meaning to this encounter of
dancers and perceive the obvious as such (in particular, the pathos present in
the embrace in tango), we are competent members in the first sense. But only
those who have incorporated bodily schemata through habits and achieved a
personal synthesis of the historic milonguero style and a distinctive personal
way of dance, are members in the second sense. The category of technically
competent member is, and is expected to be, highly restricted. It implies aris-
tocratic values ​​with which the milonga’s community distinguishes “the best”
dancers: those few members admired for their style, for their elegance, and for
keeping alive “old fashioned tango” by renewing it through what in the future
will be remembered as “this guy’s style.” The reader will have understood too
well that, sadly, I am not included in this category. In short, I have become a
socially competent but technically incompetent member.
By saying this, I don’t aspire to earn the reader’s sympathy. The category
of technical competence in tango dance is deliberately built to be exclusive. It
is known that the vast majority will never reach it; which condemns us to the
role of mere spectators. There is a moment in the milonga where all but two
people are spectators: it’s “show time.”
Every milonga – particularly at peak times – have starring dance partners. It
is known that “today so and so dancers are performing.” This creates expecta-
tions among the people there. When the dance is at its peak, the floor empties,
theatre lights (where available) are switched on and everybody watches from
their tables or stands on the edge of the dance floor while the starring couple
dances a few tangos. This moment marks the distinction between the two
meanings of membership in the milonga: those “who can dance” and those
who, as spectators, consecrate the exceptional virtuosity of the most eminent
members of the tango scene. My friend Cachito occupied that place. I, how-
ever, was in the antipodes. But I still was a (social) member, even though the
most (technically) incompetent of all. Anyway, as we say back there: “Quién
me quita lo bailao”44 (“No one can take the dance away from me”).

12. Differently challenged members (final remarks)

I started this paper with a question. I would like to finish with some answers.
Not referring to Tango but to what is it to be a member. My own experience as

44
This phrase is cited repeatedly in the tango scene and has turned into a topos or a saying.
It comes from the tango “Aguante corazón” (“Hold on my heart”), by Oscar Valles.
198 Carlos Belvedere

a non-talented Tango practicant is just an instance of a much larger issue that I

would like to discuss here: Are all members supposed to be alike?
My claim is that not all memberships are the same type. It is possible for
members to significantly interact within certain social settings regardless of the
fact that they have different competencies. Social settings are heterogeneous
and require precisely this heterogeneity in order to exist. Thus, they can be
described according to their degree of internal diversity. Some competences
are accesible to all and therefore can be universalized and distributed homo-
geneously among members. Some others are specifics and difficult to acquire
and therefore are distributed heterogeneously.
Heterogeneity can take different forms. In this paper I explored the hetero-
geneity between social and specialized competences. The fisrt type of compe-
tences is potentially available to any member, the second type is fully achieved
only by a few exceptional members – they fall outside of the ordinary and
therefore are prohibitive to most members. So, technical competencies disman-
tle the unity of understanding and action, meaning and practice, which char-
acterizes ordinary memberships. Accordingly, these two forms of membership
have different reaches: social competence is universal, technical competence
is restricted. This makes meaningful the expression “incompetent members,”
since not all socially competent members are technically competent. Plus, in
some particular settings, comptence and incompetence are strictly related.
As I have shown in this paper, at the milonga the incompetence of a large
number of members is essential for its existence. The incompetence of the
many is routinely produced as a condition of the competence of the few. The
technical incompetence of the many supports the continued production of
the exceptional competence of the few. This performative elitism makes most
of the members “incompetent members.”
We all are, somewhere and to some extent, incompetent members. This
means that members are differently challenged because they are endowed
with different skills which are not evenly distributed. Moreover, social settings
require the participation of incompetent members who appreciate, celebrate
and legitimize their most competent members. These set the course and the
rest follow them with a half-way understanding. An incompetent member
cannot excel in what the gifted can but he can appreciate it. Nor can he set
trends but he can follow them and give his approval to the courses marked by
technically competent members. So a minimum of incompetence is distinctive
of group members, full competence being only and rarely accessible to a few.
This shows that social settings are more heterogeneous than we think, that
there are different ways of being a member, and that imperfection and limita-
tions do not exclude us but define us as members of a specific kind. Perhaps
one of our outstanding debts as phenomenologists and ethnomethodologists
 Why I cannot dance the Tango 199
is not having yet learned to fully perceive, acknowledge and account for the
diversity of possible ways of being a member, including a variable but always
significant dose of incompetence.

Carlos Belvedere
Research Institute Gino Germani,
National Scientific and Technical Research Council,
University of Buenos Aires
National University of General Sarmiento
Argentina
cbelvede@[Link]

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