When we learned of the Club Q shooting just as Trans Awareness Week was wrapping up, horrific violence against our community that took place on Trans Day of Remembrance, we at Telling Queer History delved deeper. We not only renewed our mourning of the violence and mounting losses that continue to impact our community; we went deeper into celebrating ourselves, the fact that we still exist, and reclaiming our birthrights of joy, pleasure, and resistance as LGBTQ+ people.
Many kinds of pleasure become sustenance for queer folks. Gathering together in social settings where we can unapologetically be our unique queer and Trans selves is one such pleasure. That’s exactly why violence like the Pulse and Club Q shootings have been so gutting. Social settings are where we meet our partners and chosen family, build out our circle of support, and celebrate with our beloveds.
One vibrant queer social center in Minneapolis in the 1990s and into the early aughts was Vulva Riot, the monthly cabaret created by Eleanor Savage and Kabir Mohamed. Telling Queer History featured Eleanor and Kabir in June 2015. Eleanor shared that a force leading to the creation of Vulva Riot arose from challenges:
“...There weren’t a lot of spaces for people to come together outside of the bars, queer spaces, and that was what interested me in starting an event was creating something that would bring people together.”
Kabir Mohamed, left, and Eleanor Savage
Kabir spoke about the heart of Vulva Riot:
“When you have a space that is really about - embodies self-reflection- in a world where we were invisible, all of a sudden we realize how we have become used to our voices being on mute and our bodies on the periphery. Finally, the longing for what did not exist in the world became the vocal desire of the space. Those of us who identified as queer, gender non-conforming, transgender, disabled, working class and poor, people of color, we were also on the borderlands of the queer periphery…all of us did not want to settle for tokenism, but a true embodiment of spiritual and psychological belonging.”
Vulva Riot was a space where pleasure and eroticism were centered. Kabir shared,
“...The one thing you have to remember about Vulva Riot, is, it was a very highly sexually-charged space. We are dressed up, because we wanted to, kind of in the Vulva Riot fashion, see and be seen. [During intermissions when announcing the concessions] I was known for describing lemon bars very passionately. So it released the [sexual] tension for a second there.”
Part of what sets LGBTQ+ folks apart from dominant culture is our fierce celebration of love. A big part of our queer magic is our defiant embrace of eroticism, pleasure, and our insistence on embodying desire. Our experiences of sex have not always included consent and pleasure, so we are often very intentional about reclaiming our erotic connection to ourselves and each other. We know that connection is an essential component of wholeness and thriving.
Conducting inquiry into our own and our LGBTQ+ ancestors’ experiences of pleasure is one way to restore our erotic connection and to build thriving relationships with ourselves and each other. Having access to our community’s stories of sex, eroticism, and embodied pleasure helps us imagine our own wholeness.
In February 2020, storyteller Mikko Blaze shared about their first kiss when they were a teenager. Listening to Mikko’s expressive voice as they told of their first kiss, we are transported to the sites of our own longing:
Mikko Blaze
“And I remember just being like all right, I’m going to go now, I gotta go, and she was like, you wanna kiss? And I was like, what? What?! I was really nervous, at this time, you know, I hadn’t, you know, anything- not even a boy, nope, nope, and I was like, sure, and she kissed me, and it was awkward (laughs). I didn’t know what I was doing; there was tongue, there was saliva, what is happening?! I remember afterward, I was, I felt conflicted, like that was really awkward, but really nice (laughs).”
Do you remember your first pleasurable, consensual queer kiss? Have you ever imagined what it might have been like for our queer ancestors to have their first queer kisses- with people they really wanted to kiss? As an act of healing and reclamation, we can imagine that our ancestors experienced consensual, pleasureable kisses: the desire for a kiss builds; faces and bodies are drawn closer together as if magnetically; heat builds slowly in lips, tongues, cheeks, and eyes; breath suspends momentarily; and all that exists is the pulsing of chemistry and physiology. Magic happens through movement, and it both ignites and fulfills desire.
Like much that is magic in the world, queer and Trans folks encounter resistance and oppression while trying to live in the world as our whole, authentic selves. The cultures that revile us, who despise our sexuality, are also obsessed with it. LGBTQ+ people frequently are faced with violence while at school, in their neighborhoods, in the family home, and within religious institutions. Collective influences such as the AIDS pandemic, racism, and human rights issues create yet more layers of stress and trauma. Our storyteller Kevin ‘Kaoz’ Moore shares about coming of age and realizing he was gay during the 1980s:
Kevin ‘Kaoz’ Moore
“But I remember…associating even HIV and AIDS with sex, and you know by then…of course kids being who they are and, you know, mocking what they hear around them…I heard there was a gay disease and it was something that, you know, homosexuals- by then I knew what it was- well homosexuality was something that they get. You know, it's this HIV AIDS thing- it’s their problem. You know, it comes from them. And so I remember having this fear, and you know, I mean…kind of paralyzing at times…Okay, I'm having these little feelings…towards guys and I'm starting to get attracted to other men and stuff like that. And, you know, what does that mean?...It was…like, does that mean I'm going to get it?...And so after the first couple of, you know, experimental sexual things and I clearly knew which one I leaned more so towards I still kind of had this fear.”
Despite the relative acceptance and safety that exists for queer and Trans folks now, being open about our loves, our genders, and our sexualities is still fraught with uncertainty and sometimes peril. For many generations of LGBTQ+ folks before today, it was downright dangerous to live openly and allow their love to be known. At our Fast Friends celebration in 2020, storyteller and emcee Harry Waters, Jr. spoke of working in the arts before the turn of the millennium:
Harry Waters, Jr.
“I remember, as an actor, especially coming to fruition in the 70s and 80s and 90s, there was a scourge going on. It was the time of friends who were getting sick and dying, just dying right away. So that you knew if you were working and you wanted to keep working, you did not tell anybody who you were sleeping with, who you were dating, or who you were living with. It was a time of anxiety, but it also was a time of coming together, where we had to have more freedom with each other…there were so many people who were the ones that got me through, and we came together because there was nobody else but us. Our families didn’t know, didn’t know what to do with us, but we created an environment so that we could flourish, so that we could be happy, so that we could laugh, so that we could love.”
Reclaiming connection to ourselves and our pleasures is such a critical part of living as joyful LGBTQ+ people. For many people it can take years, decades even, to heal enough to regain a sense of wholeness. Healing from these compounded traumas often requires reconnecting body, mind, and heart, and working through periods of dissociation so we can re-inhabit our own bodies and reclaim agency and power within our experiences of pleasure and sex.
Sometimes it takes going back into our childhood memories and recollecting the earlier and more whole aspects of our queerness to help us heal as adults. In summer 2021, storyteller Heather C. Lou shared about figuring out their queerness as a child:
Heather C. Lou, self-portrait
“I just always remember just being a little bit, you know, you know, queer was just- something queer, and pansexual was always something for me, I remember having queer folks in my life. From the time that I was so little, I lusted after- being a child of the 80s and the 90s- this pair of white cowboy boots, and I really, really wanted them and I would parade around my neighborhood with them with my little dog. And I just loved jewels, and like, all of these things that of course, were so gay, right? Looking back, you're just like, Oh, honey, yes. And I remember, you know, as I got older, being so like, in love and attracted to folks, so many genders, and being like, Why are my parents so, like, ashamed of me, you know, for being like, this person is fabulous, then I want to spend time with them. And I feel so deeply in community with them. And being someone who like, feels, I think I just felt so excited about being in relationship, right, coming from a household where I didn't have healthy relationships.”
In July of 2020 T. Mychael Rambo shared a beautiful story of coming to awareness that he was gay during his adolescence, and seeing his love mirrored in an influential story:
“...It was that moment that I realized I love being around people who look like me, well, more than just African American people. But males, there was a certain connection and intimacy that I had. It wasn't unseemly, it was just a realization that I loved just the smell of other boys, being around them, being able to know that their touch, and their presence seemed to fortify and validate who I was. It's not unlike many boys- being around other boys is something that makes them feel strong and special and affirmed to who they are. But as I got older, in my teens, I began to realize there was something very special about those relationships. And it was something that I worked very desperately at to keep under wraps. Because it was something that I didn't want to ever be called. And that was the F word.”
T. Mychael Rambo
“...By my 16th year…I fell madly in, desperately in love with a fellow. That's right. And I couldn't contain it. And it really changed my life, changed my life, all for the better, I think, at least in that moment, of realizing that I was being cared for and attended to by someone who truly had affection, admiration, and cared about me. It was just more intimacy. But it was the type of intimacy that was unfounded, than anything else I'd ever experienced before. I loved being around him. And I could see he loved being around me. It wasn't till I got to college, I was able to name that after I read the book by James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room, I began to see and realize that these images, these feelings, these moments, had a name and were brought about in this book that James Baldwin wrote, and I really started to see myself in the pages of that book.”
Thank goodness James Baldwin wrote that book, shared his stories. One of our long-time strengths as a community is that we have always engaged in the pleasure of talking with each other. LGBTQ+ folks have gathered to share experiences across history and geography, despite pandemics, always overcoming obstacles. We know that each of our stories are amplified by those who have come before us, who have also told their stories. That sharing has created a broader path for queer and Trans folks to travel today.
Harry Waters, Jr. reminded us to travel that path of unburdening ourselves, to tell our stories, share our pleasures, and get free with our dearest beloveds:
“...Even those people that we love, we sometimes keep that love a secret, because, I don’t know, you might get hurt; I don’t know, you might appear vulnerable; I don’t know, you might not get what you want. But that’s a secret that’s also probably keeping you kind of safe, because you can’t get it out. If you can find those friends that you can safely say the secret to, oh, my god, it lets you go to a space, and it might give you a little break so that you can relax somewhere and think about, oh, I’m not keeping secrets, because I’m free.” He urges us, “...Be friends, be friends, be friends, love, and listen. Love and listen. Love and listen.”
Forever, it seems, our communities have been organizing to gain basic human rights, fight against hate crimes, and struggle to be included in many institutions. What we know to be true is that those inhumanities and violence can never take away the sparkle, the transcendence, the magic of what it is to be queer and Trans. Our LGBTQ+ community is vibrant, global, and filled to the brim with a fierce and joyful resistance.
Heather C. Lou sums it up for us:
“...Take a deep breath. Like, we all have stories. These stories are so important, right? Not all of our stories have pain. But there are magical things that we're able to take from that, right? From my own narrative of, like, power…I think about those cowboy boots and, like, those moments of authenticity, and then, like, persimmon joy. Those moments have helped me become a better artist, a better community organizer…”
We will mourn the loss of our people, and yet we will rise, stronger, charged by them to continue living and loving as our whole, brilliant, beautiful selves; building the possibility of the worlds we need simply by existing as who we are.
Written by Lucinda Pepper
This December, Telling Queer History will host its first ever 18+ virtual storytelling gathering on the theme of Sex, Pleasure & Embodiment.
Telling Queer History is turning 10 years old in 2023! Across TQH’s ten years of gatherings, storytellers have shared intimate parts of their lives in ways that allude to the December gathering theme, which inspired our mashup of storytelling moments included in this feature from our archives.
In the language of organizational life-cycles, we are in a growth phase, building up on our previous learning experiences and successes, seeking to positively impact more folks in the LGBTQ+ and allied communities, and to grow our audiences, funders, and reach. Support our work by donating today, or becoming a monthly sustaining donor! You can make a financial investment in our work by clicking this link: https://www.givemn.org/organization/Telling-Queer-History-1
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This project has been made possible through funding received from the Minnesota Humanities Center and the Arts and Cultural Heritage Fund.