Pascale Solages’ documentary follows a queer Haitian dancer whose pursuit of art becomes a fight for survival amid displacement, asylum and the constant threat of deportation.
During a recent research trip at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, I pored over the Haitian Refugee collection. Spanning three decades (1972 to 2004), the collection includes documents about asylum cases, grassroots organizing and government proceedings related to the plight of Haitian refugees in the U.S.
While in the archives, I encountered newspaper clippings and demonstration flyers about the case of Turenne Deville, a Haitian man detained in Miami who died by suicide before being deported back to Haiti in 1972.
Fifty years later, undocumented people seeking asylum in the United States continue to face death at the hands of a system that treats them unjustly.
Even when they are not killed by ICE or related causes, the current climate has created an atmosphere of fear and tragedy among undocumented Haitians and far too many others.
Just last month, 31-year-old Haitian asylum seeker Daphy Michel died of hypothermia after ICE released her at a Pittsburgh bus stop 30 miles from her home, despite her severe mental illness, language barriers and lack of support. The county medical examiner later ruled her death a homicide, concluding that it resulted from the actions or omissions of others. Her death has become a stark symbol of the human cost of an immigration system that abandons vulnerable people after detention.
I was thinking about those asylum cases while watching Pascale Solages’ gut-wrenching documentary Born to Dance, Forced to Run—which premieres in New York this Saturday, July 25, at the Brooklyn Children’s Museum (145 Brooklyn Ave, Brooklyn, N.Y., 11213, at 6 p.m.)
The film traverses cities, countries and continents, following Steeven Labady, a talented dancer who has spent most of his life on the run, seeking refugee status.
Born in Haiti, Labady’s passion for dance began at 10 years old when a television performance of the ballet Giselle mesmerized him. Despite being discouraged by an uncle who said dance was an unacceptable pastime for a boy being raised to adhere to rigid codes of hypermasculinity, Labady’s passion prevailed. He refused to be shamed.
In her directorial debut, Haitian feminist activist Pascale Solages animates this story of art, human rights, survival and resistance combining in the life of this young man. A tireless advocate for human rights, Solages is the co-founder of feminist organization Nègès Mawon, which works to improve the conditions of women and girls in Haiti, and a member of Nou Pap Dòmi, whose activism advances justice at home in Haiti and abroad.
I asked her why it was important for her to tackle this topic in her first film. She said Born to Dance, Forced to Run approaches migration through an intersectional feminist lens.
“Steeven is a queer Haitian man whose journey reveals how multiple systems of oppression—anti-Black racism, xenophobia, discrimination based on sexual orientation, restrictive and violent migration policies, economic inequality—intersect to shape people’s and migrants’ lives. As a feminist and a migrant myself, my conviction is that struggles for justice are interconnected and that I cannot fight for women’s rights while ignoring racism, homophobia, forced displacement or the violence experienced by migrants. These systems reinforce one another.”
The documentary’s protagonist is a queer, Black, Haitian man, and an exquisite dancer. The film captures his striking talent in choreographed scenes, live footage from performances and still images of Steeven Labady mid-dance: whirling on pointe shoes or soaring in a majestic leap.
Labady’s passion for dance is also marked by discipline—at one point he describes the physical suffering he experienced due to only having one set of dance clothes, a challenge that did not dissuade him from pursuing his dream.
Steeven Labady is equally unrelenting in his quest for a better, more just life and his determination to survive. Throughout the film, he seeks to pursue this dream through numerous paths. We witness Labady moving to the Dominican Republic to attend a dance conservatory, appealing to the Haitian government to co-sponsor a scholarship to study dance in Spain and fleeing into the woods to not be detected by German authorities in search of undocumented migrants. As he crisscrosses the globe to fulfill his dream of becoming a dancer, the audience journeys alongside him, hoping his next turn will bring grace, safety and protection.
… We learn about Steeven Labady’s twin worlds … his pursuit of the dream to be a dancer … [and] the nightmare of being Black, queer and undocumented in countries that refuse to welcome strangers.
The film offers an intimate portrait of an undocumented young person on the run. Unlike the headlines of today, the documentaries can delve deeply into the lived experience of an individual whose intersecting identities as a Black, queer, undocumented Haitian migrant reveal multiple layers of oppression.
As Labady shares his story—his happy childhood in Haiti, his decision to stop pursuing medicine at the university level and choosing dance as a professional path, moving to the Dominican Republic because Haiti does not have a dance conservatory; then taking us to the present day of living in the U.S. and making plans to survive the next ICE raid—we learn about Steeven Labady’s twin worlds. On the one hand, there is his pursuit of the dream to be a dancer. On the other, there is the nightmare of being Black, queer and undocumented in countries that refuse to welcome strangers.
After the assassination of Haitian president Jovenel Moise, Labady no longer feels safe living in Haiti and leaves for a dance opportunity in Switzerland. Upon learning that it would be easier to seek asylum from Germany, he relocates and spends eight months in a refugee camp until he receives official deportation papers. But, miraculously, these words flash across the film’s screen, surprising the viewer as much as they must have surprised Labady himself. “At the moment Steeven thought everything was over, life gave him a chance.”
He arrives in New York in 2023 and auditions for several dance companies. After the election of 2024, Labady seeks Temporary Protected Status (TPS) but is denied and receives a second letter of deportation. He experiences depression, isolation and extreme hunger; amid these mental and physical health challenges, dance becomes a way to ease the pain of his situation.
Labady’s determination to live is fueled by lessons from the ancestors, the support of friends and an abiding love of dance. “I will always dance because dance drives me, that helps me,” he tells us. As the film chronicles the hardships that Labady endures, it paints an unflinching picture of how people of tremendous talent, fortitude and perseverance are being hunted. Despite everything unfolding in his life from a legal status perspective, Labady continues to dance and make community among other dancers. The film makes clear that Labady loves life and develops friendships in the refugee camps as easily as he does during dance classes.
Composed of beautiful music and an ample array of photographs, the documentary also treats us to interspersed dance vignettes. In the scenes that feature Steven on pointe dancing with a partner, he glides effortlessly across the frame. Alongside this beautiful backdrop of elegant dancing, neither Steeven nor the film mince words when it comes to capturing the trauma and the stress of his situation. As he says in his own words,
“I am not just afraid, I am terrified.”
“I don’t know how to look for help.”
“I don’t where I will go or what I will do … I feel trapped.”
These raw sentiments from Labady’s final interview are rife with desperation. The constant fear of ICE raids requires unyielding vigilance. Just as he runs into the frigid mountains of Germany to flee the authorities there, he now must strategically create plans for his safety in the U.S.
At the same time, Solages refuses to divulge only the pain of his story, allowing the power of the arts to infuse the film with a spirit of possibility. As the camera segues into a stunning dance solo near the film’s emotional conclusion, Labady’s body moves with abandon to the song “Del Rio” by Serlee Skai.
Solages told me migration is a feminist issue. “Haitian women and girls face specific forms of violence throughout their journeys, including sexual violence, exploitation, trafficking and discrimination.
“In the Dominican Republic, for example, many Haitian women have been subjected to racial discrimination, barriers to healthcare, arbitrary expulsions and violations of all their rights—exactly like Steeven. Steeven’s story is the story of most of us, across gender, sexuality and legal status.”
Labady’s story reflects the reality confronting many Haitian migrants today—made more complicated after the Supreme Court ruling last month allowing the Trump administration to end Temporary Protected Status for Haitians and Syrians, clearing the way to revoke protections for about 350,000 Haitians and 6,000 Syrians. This is yet another blow in a series of policies seeking to deny the dignity of Black and brown lives.
Born to Dance, Forced to Run offers an intimate portrait of what it means to live undocumented in a moment of escalating attacks on immigrants. As the current administration continues targeting Haitian migrants and dismantling Temporary Protected Status, the documentary is not simply timely—it is essential.
How many others are being forced to run, rather than pursuing what they were born to do?
