Planting Roots Through a Dance School

My name is Lou Thao, though the community and the stage know me as "The Finisher." It’s a name that has become so intertwined with my identity that I’ve even added it as a middle name; when people see me, I want them to know exactly who I am and the energy I bring to the floor. My journey began thousands of miles away in a city in Thailand. While the details of those first few months are a bit of a blur, my story truly took root when my family migrated to the Rondo area of St. Paul in 1993. I was just an infant then, but this city has been the backdrop of my life ever since.

For a long time, I was just a dancer—specifically a breaker—honing my craft in East St. Paul. But everything changed in 2017 because of a place called the Indigenous Roots Cultural Arts Center at 788 East 7th Street. I had worked with Mary Anne Quiros years prior at Battle Creek Middle School, where she was an after-school coordinator. Back then, she would talk about her vision: a cultural center where community and art could breathe together. She told me if she ever built it, she wanted me to lead the breaking classes. Years later, that vision became a reality. I got the call, took a leap of faith, and launched my own dance program at Indigenous Roots.

Starting out was a whirlwind of trial and error. I didn’t know the first thing about running a business, and navigating a shared space was a beautiful, chaotic challenge. We’d have two different classes happening in the same room, figuring out how to respect each other's rhythm and schedule. But the founders, Mary Anne and her husband Sergio, provided more than just a floor—they provided accessibility. They operated on a "pay what you can" model and showed me what it meant to be generous, even when resources were slim. Our collective grew quickly. I started as the main breaking instructor and brought on David Jr. to teach hip-hop. Soon after, Karen joined us, and she’s still with me to this day. But we weren’t alone. We shared the center with a vibrant tapestry of cultures—from Ayana’s Bomba classes to Alejandra’s Haitian dance groups, Hmong dance troupes, and the center’s own Aztec dance programs. That environment taught me that success isn't just about the moves; it’s about the community that supports you. We grew from 10 students to 20, eventually outgrowing the center and moving into our own dedicated space during the pandemic. Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful. I took a chance on a dream at Indigenous Roots, and they took a chance on me, helping me turn "The Finisher" from a stage name into a career. Leaving the physical building didn’t mean leaving the community. Even though I’ve moved out, my connection to Indigenous Roots remains a cornerstone of my work. We continue to show up for each other:

7th Street Live: We still return to the neighborhood to host breaking battles during this massive street festival, where they block off the road and the whole community comes alive.

Mutual Support: I’ve watched with pride as they’ve renovated the center and grown their own reach, even being flown out to places like Hawaii to present their work.

From the Studio to the State Capitol

Perhaps the most incredible part of this journey has been the shift from "teaching dance" to "advocating for the arts." Last year, with the encouragement of mentors like Maiko Vue (assistant to Senator Foung Her), I took a chance and stepped into the State Capitol to champion the arts. It was an eye-opening process—navigating the legislative world as a dancer. With the support of representatives like Jay Xiong, Samantha Vang, and Senator Susan Pha, we secured two major legislative grants:

$100,000 for the Workforce Fund.

$175,000 for the Legacy Arts Fund.

Indigenous Roots continues to act as our fiscal sponsor for these grants, proving that you don't need to be under the same roof to be part of the same mission. Looking back at those early days at Indigenous Roots—the "pay what you can" sessions, the shared rooms, and the sweat—I realize that they didn't just give me a place to dance. They gave me the foundation to build an organization that now receives state-level recognition. We started with 10 students in a shared room; today, we are part of the cultural fabric of Minnesota. The function supports the Arts that was interesting, and just also it was a super awesome experience to bring my students to to talk and testify.

My journey as "The Finisher" has always been about more than just my own career; it’s about creating a stage for an art form that is often underrepresented and misunderstood. Watching my students perform right there in front of the legislators was incredible. It wasn't just a performance; it was proof that street dance is a vital part of the arts. That advocacy led to our massive events at the Mall of America, like Cypher Rotunda. I wanted to bring street dance into the biggest, most visible space possible. We also launched the first-ever Hmong performance and arts event at the Mall of America, showcasing our culture on a grand scale. Today, our programming focuses on these high-visibility events and masterclasses, giving our community access to learn from industry professionals. Yet, growth hasn't been easy. After leaving Indigenous Roots, we moved to a spot in Gem Lake. We were there for about a year and were already bursting at the seams—moving from 50 students to nearly 90. Then, disaster struck: an electrical fire broke out in the owner’s office. We were left without a home for months, but the power of the community blew me away. We raised $10,000 in less than 24 hours. Parents stepped up, finding us temporary space in churches and recreation centers so we wouldn't have to stop dancing. That support bridge is what kept us alive until we found our current home in North St. Paul.

Today, we are located at 2104 11th Avenue, and the growth has been explosive. We went from those 90 students in Gem Lake to over 300 students today. We’ve expanded into a massive four-studio space. We even launched K-pop classes because I saw a huge, unmet need for youth K-pop in our community. Our neighbors are a big part of why this works. We are right next to Warman Thai; they’re loud, we’re loud, and it’s the perfect combination. Unlike our previous spots where we had to worry about noise complaints from restaurants, here, we belong. The most beautiful part is that the building, McKnight Plaza, has become a true Hmong business

hub. My wife’s family bought the building shortly after we moved in. Now, it’s a full community:

Joshia Adult Day Care (my wife's family's business)

South Eats (a Hmong/Asian restaurant)

Hmong House and Hmong Tropical supply stores

A video game store and various other local shops

We started as a small program in a shared room at Indigenous Roots. Now, we are the anchor of a thriving community plaza, proving that when you give street dance a home, an entire community can grow around it. I look at my studio today, and I honestly don't know how we do it—but we are running 40 classes a week. It’s a massive operation, but the secret isn’t just software or scheduling; it’s the way we’ve built a village.

One of my favorite parts of this journey is seeing how our community feeds back into itself. Take Amber, for example. She started as a parent of one of my students, Jonathan, back when we were still at Indigenous Roots. Today, she is one of our most vital instructors. She teaches our "Littles" (3 to 5-year-olds) with a waiting list of 20 kids, and she leads our Adults with Developmental Disabilities (ADD) program. Seeing the impact of the ADD classes has been incredible. Just this past year, one of our adult students performed at the Minnesota State Fair. We've performed there two or three times a year, for the past few years, and my goal moving forward is to make sure our ADD dancers are a permanent part of that stage.

Investing in the Next Generation

With the help of our legislative grants, I’ve been able to hire youth to help run the studio. They aren’t just dancing; they are assisting in classes and managing the front desk. I’m teaching them the business skills I had to learn the hard way. Having them at the front desk has been a lifesaver for me, especially now that I have a baby at home. It’s allowed me to step back from the "grind" of the desk and focus on the vision, supported every step of the way by my wife. When people ask me what drives this business, I tell them it’s my morals and values. Growing up, I didn't have this kind of support. My friends and I would bike or walk to recreation centers just to find a place to move. We’d get kicked out of rec centers; we’d get kicked out of friends' houses. People didn't understand what we were doing—they didn't see that we were just trying to express ourselves and find a positive path.

Today, when I see a room full of kids or adults with disabilities finding their voice through dance, I feel fulfilled. I’ve built the space I wish I had when I was a kid: a place where you aren't kicked out, but where you are given a stage. No matter how big we get, that will always be the heart of what I do. There was a time when I fell away from dancing. Without a steady place to go, I started drifting down paths that weren’t the best for me. I’m only here today because my crew kept me in a positive light, and that experience is exactly why I feel so fulfilled now. I’m not just running a studio; I’m providing the safety net and the stage that I never had growing up.

From the Sidelines to the Target Center

The growth I see in my students is staggering. Back in 2015, I started performing for the Minnesota Timberwolves with the First Avenue Breakers. Since then, I’ve made it my mission to pull my students up onto those same big stages. We are making history together. My student

Amelia became the first Hmong youth to join the Timberwolves Pups (their youth hip-hop team), followed by Harmony. Watching Harmony’s trajectory has been a "full-circle" moment for the studio:

She started in the Pups youth group.

She worked her way into the 612 Crew (the adult pro team).

Now, she is an instructor at Cypher Side, coaching our Junior Hip-Hop team.

In 2024, our entire studio was featured for the Timberwolves' AAPI Night halftime show. Seeing our students—many of whom had only dreamed of a stage that big—handle themselves with such professional grace was a highlight of my career. Sometimes, I tell people our youth are even more professional and easier to work with than the adults! We don’t just stay in the gym; we bring our culture to the biggest moments in Minnesota. My students and I have performed for the Governor’s Inauguration and marched in the parade for Olympic Gold Medalist Suni Lee. I want my students to see that their instructors are still living this craft. When they see me performing at the Super Bowl, it shifts their perspective on what is possible. It’s not just a hobby—it’s a career, a culture, and a community. We’ve gone from being kids kicked out of rec centers to being the headline act for the state’s biggest celebrations. At Cypher Side, we aren't just teaching moves—we’re building the next generation of professional artists.

When I look back at everything we’ve built, the one thing that stands out is the

support system. I know I wouldn’t be where I am today—from a kid in a Thai refugee camp to a studio owner in North St. Paul—without the people who believed in the vision. In my business, the philosophy has always been simple: support people first. If you focus on helping people and building a community, the rest follows. It was never just about the money; it was about creating the space I needed when I was drifting.

I’m incredibly grateful for every experience, from the shared rooms at Indigenous Roots to the bright lights of the Target Center and the Super Bowl. My life is proof of what happens when a community invests in its youth.