In Defense Of... Dap

"In Defense Of..." is a yearlong look at Blackisms that have been co-opted, gentrified, manipulated or misunderstood.
Two men give dap in a Washington neighborhood.
Two men give dap in a Washington neighborhood.
Joseph Edwards

In the early fall of 2022, childhood friends Le’Greg Harrison and William Carter Jr. see each other and simultaneously swing their right hands in opposite directions before bringing them together with a resounding smack. They smile broadly as they get close for a tight embrace. It’s a gesture of familiarity — intimacy, even. The joy is infectious.

This is more than a handshake and more than a hug. It’s most definitely not a bro hug.

It’s dap.

We, Rhonda Henderson and Aaron Stallworth, the co-creators of The Dap Project, wanted to examine the sanctity of the greeting, which, to this day, is arguably the Black man’s most nuanced and telling gesture. As such, we hold dap in high regard and affirm that our cultural folkways and communication styles are worthy of both study and preservation. Communities can be broken, and gentrifiers can snuff out neighborhood stories — but dap, much like recipes or last names, has survived for generations.

Dap began on the battlefield of the Vietnam War. It was the height of the Black Power movement, and common for Black men to give each other “the power,” or the raised fist. However, white supremacy is gonna white supremacy, and Black soldiers were forbidden from greeting each other in this way. So they evolved the standard handshake into a more elaborate, soulful greeting.

Within the diaspora, it has an even deeper history. In Diasporic Salutations and the West African Origins of the ‘Dap,’” scholar Tyler Parry writes that European traders observed ritualistic salutations among men in Sierra Leone. The greetings involved shaking hands and then snapping fingers or thumbs.

Across the U.S. and around the globe, the dap has various marvelous permutations among melanated people. It might be a loud smack of hands, followed by a grip and a shoulder lean-in. Or a four-fingered shake, then sliding together of fingers, then the shoulder lean-in and a back slap. Each gesture wordlessly denotes the depth of respect and intimacy the two people share.

Two men extend their arms to give dap in the northwestern Washington neighborhood of Stronghold.
Two men extend their arms to give dap in the northwestern Washington neighborhood of Stronghold.
Joseph Edwards

One of the many beautiful elements of the dap is that despite its variations, its meaning holds true across Black America. Dap means: “What’s good? How are you? You good? I see you.”

I. See. You.

Let’s break this down. This is “I see you” in a way that only I can see you and you can be seen.

“I,” a person who comes from — literally and spiritually — the same space as the listener, the person on the other side of the handshake.

“See,” not just with your eyes, but through a lens of camaraderie. The eyes that see 1619 on America’s timeline and nod, “Damn straight.” The eyes that, in a room of a thousand non-Black faces, see yours. The eyes that see the rhythm bouncing around your head. Eyes that see our shared history, present, and Afrofuturist freedom dreams.

“You,” the individual, and you as a collective. You as an extension of me, me as an extension of you. You as an embodiment of a diaspora that remains steadfast, despite countless efforts to disband it.

In the summer of 2022, The Dap Project –– which by then included two photographers, Joseph Edwards and Edward Underwood, and grant funding from HumanitiesDC –– explored neighborhoods precious to Washington’s “Chocolate City” identity in search of dap. Through Anacostia, Congress Heights, Edgewood, Park View and Stronghold, we sought to understand how dap sustains the neighborhood soul and spirit. Truthfully, we were in search of native Black Washington. Our photos and interviews would later become a multimedia exhibit showcased at the Anacostia Arts Center.

We met John Minor, the owner of J&C Unisex Barber Shop, a 30-year-strong business located in his native Park View. This shop cuts generations of heads, and serves as a community hub. It’s in this space where dap turns divine, and those who slide into a chair for a cut get to momentarily escape a world that fears and hates them. This is a safe place for Black men, where dap is a moment to acknowledge that I not only see you, but we’ve survived all the pitfalls set to trip us up. This is why no matter how many ways dap is appropriated or co-opted or gentrified (we see you, bro hug), it will never carry with it the intrinsic struggle of American Blackness and the platitudes of perseverance.

Two people give dap in the Washington's Congress Heights neighborhood.
Two people give dap in the Washington's Congress Heights neighborhood.
Joseph Edwards

For Harrison, a creative entrepreneur behind The Museum DC, dap is in the playground rehab that he spurred for his childhood elementary school, Martin Luther King Jr. Elementary School in Congress Heights, and the multiple art collaborations between local artists and the city’s sports teams. In Stronghold, the dap is in the regular softball games on Sundays. The way we take care of each other, explained India Luckett of the Stronghold Civic Association, is evident in the nature of how we dap.

On a slow Saturday, we interviewed a Washington native about dap. He kicked around all of the meanings that dap could possibly have before finally settling on “Dap is a love language.” It became the name of our exhibit.

Our pursuit to understand and appreciate dap in our communities is our love note to Chocolate City, and all the Chocolate Cities around the U.S. We see you.

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