From Stage to Advocacy: Redefining Dance and Possibility

I grew up loving dance. My mother, in her authentic Caribbean accent, would often say, “Za-zel danced right out of me belly!”—and in many ways, that was true. Movement has always been my first love, my way of communicating joy, emotion, and purpose. At eight years old, I began studying dance at the Ruth Williams Dance Studio in Harlem, where I studied tap and ballet. I still remember walking down 125th street with energy and enthusiasm entering the studios with the smell of rosin, laughter of the students, and the joy of hearing the pulsating rhythm of my tap shoes echo through the studio. 

At thirteen, I auditioned and was accepted to the prestigious LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts (FAME!) where I majored in ballet. I discovered discipline, resilience, competition and the beauty of artistic excellence. I was addicted to dance! In my junior year, I received scholarships to both the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and the Dance Theatre of Harlem—two institutions that inspired me to believe in the power of representation in the arts. After graduation, I earned a full scholarship to the University of Michigan’s Dance Department, where I refined my talents and prepared to be a professional dancer. I was a diva! 

After college, my dreams came true. I performed Off-Broadway, toured internationally, and found myself living the life I had always imagined—one filled with passion, meeting other artists, and purpose. I signed with a talent agent and began booking regional and national commercials, as well as voice-over work. Performing was my life. 

Then, at the age of 38, my life came to a halt. 

I was diagnosed with meningioma, a benign brain tumor which was four centimeters. What followed was a 12-hour surgery that left me partially paralyzed. I woke up in the hospital unable to move parts of my body, confused and terrified, thinking, how will I continue to perform? My identity as a dancer, a performer, and a woman who had built her life around movement felt shattered. I had to learn how to rebuild—not just my body, but my sense of purpose. The resurrection began. 

Through intense rehabilitation and support of my family, and friends, I began to recover. I worked hard to regain strength, coordination, and mental clarity. But the real turning point came when I reconnected with my dear friend Barry Martin, a former dancer who I studied with at Alvin Ailey. Barry had been in a car accident while performing in South Africa and was quadriplegic. Despite his circumstances, he continued to perform, advocate, and formed Deja Vu dance company. He said to me, “Zazel, having a disability should empower you.” Those words changed my life. 

Barry introduced me to the Performers with Disabilities (PWD) Committee under the Screen Actors Guild–American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA). This group advocates for performers with disabilities, working to increase representation and improve working conditions in the entertainment industry. Barry himself fought for and won a guest role on Law & Order. Seeing him achieve that, knowing the fight it took, reignited my own passion and purpose.

That’s when I realized: my role in the arts wasn’t over—it had evolved.

I became an advocate for performers with disabilities, using my experience, voice, and platform to create opportunities and challenge perceptions. I founded ZCO/DANCEPROJECT, a physically integrated dance company where dancers with mixed abilities would collaborate to create powerful, inclusive performances. Our mission is to tell stories that reflect the human condition—stories of strength, struggle, beauty, and resilience. Through this company, I’ve been able to mentor, choreograph, and perform alongside artists who have been excluded from mainstream stages.

Representation matters deeply to me. I want casting directors, producers, and artistic leaders to see that disabled performers are talented, capable, and deserving of the same opportunities as anyone else. I’ll never forget an audition I attended for a commercial. I was cast as a mom and delivered my lines with conviction. I received a call back. They introduced a child actor as my son. The scene required me to run across the street to meet him. I froze. Running wasn’t possible for me anymore. But what struck me most wasn’t my limitation—it was that the creative team/casting director had never considered that a disabled mom could exist on screen. Go figure!

Performers with disabilities deserve to be seen not only for their disabilities but for their humanity—their artistry, humor, vulnerability, and depth. Whether in the theater, in film, or on television, we bring unique perspectives shaped by lived experience. 

I’ve attended CBS Pilot Season auditions in NYC specifically for performers with disabilities, where casting directors observed our readings and offered feedback. While it was encouraging to be seen, I left knowing that true inclusion means more than a single audition—it means ongoing opportunities, and meaningful representation. 

My advocacy extends beyond the stage. As a teaching artist, I’ve worked with organizations such as YAI/National Institute for People with Disabilities, Mount Sinai Hospital, Zucker Hillside Psychiatric Hospital and Ping Chong & Company, teaching creative movement to individuals with physical and cognitive disabilities. I see firsthand how dance becomes a tool for healing, confidence, and self-expression. Many of my students enter class uncertain, guarded, or self-conscious—and leave with smiles, laughter, and renewed belief in their abilities. That transformation fuels my commitment to keep pushing forward. 

Through ZCO/DANCEPROJECT, I collaborate with community centers, schools, and advocacy organizations to create inclusive workshops and performances. Each performance is a declaration: we are here, we are visible, and we belong. 

Advocacy for me isn’t just about policy—it’s personal. It’s about breaking barriers, redefining possibility, and reminding others that disability does not mean inability. I strive to mentor younger artists navigating the intersection of disability and creativity, encouraging them to use their voices and bodies as instruments of change. 

Living with a disability has taught me empathy, patience, and resilience. It has deepened my artistry and expanded my understanding of what it means to move—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. My mind and my advocacy is rooted in the belief that the arts can transform not only audiences but also the artists themselves. 

I continue to fight for equity, access, and visibility in every space I enter—whether that’s a classroom, a Broadway theatre, or a movie set. I want to see more casting calls that include disabled performers, more dance companies that integrate diverse bodies, and more stories that reflect the full spectrum of human experience. 

At the heart of my advocacy is hope—the hope that one day, performers with disabilities will not be seen as exceptions but as integral members of the artistic community. My journey from able-bodied dancer to disabled artist has been one of transformation, perseverance, and rediscovery. I dance not despite my disability, but because of it. My movement tells a story of survival, purpose, and rebirth. 

Today, I move onward, not only as a performer but as a voice for those still waiting to be seen. My mission is to ensure that no artist—regardless of ability—is left in the shadows. Because we all deserve a stage. We all deserve to shine. The journey continues, turning setbacks into comebacks!