Growing Up Black, Trans, And Southern

I was born in Chicago, Illinois in 1951 to poor, uneducated, black parents from the South.

They were well meaning, extremely religious folks; hard working and responsible. Unfortunately, they hadn’t a clue when it came to raising a child like me.

And despite the fact that I clearly did not fit into the mold they created for me, all my self-expressions and pleadings were ignored. So as a small child, a transsexual girl, I learned to hide myself as much as possible.

That only had limited success. I think it was the fact that my parents failed to see me, which caused me to grow up feeling alien to my surroundings and birthed my desire to seek a home outside the US. 

I tried when I was about 19 to publicly express my truth and I did so for a couple of years, but I had no guidance, no role model, and no information to help me find my way. Consequently, the social pressure forced me to retreat back into myself even deeper, and the budding woman was forgotten as if buried alive.

In a few years, I was married, and the parent of four children. So, I raised them, and lived that life for thirty-one years. Eventually my wife died, and I found myself free to explore my subconscious and unearth the real me after several years. I managed this with the help of several therapists and an awful lot of soul searching.

Transitioning: The Beginning

I’ve now been on this journey of true self discovery for more than a dozen years, and in the process, I transitioned to my true self. I changed my gender presentation to female, which was a lot of work. I legally changed my name and gender marker, which was much easier than my presentation. I also medically transitioned with HRT and had an orchiectomy. I would have had complete bottom surgery, but I couldn’t find the means to pay for it.

At this stage of my life though, I feel I’ve accomplished a lot, and I’m satisfied with what I’ve done.

With all of that however, I was still not satisfied with my life — because I was living in the US and wanted very much to be somewhere else — a place that wasn’t tied to memories of me being spit on by white kids, because I was Black. I wanted to be someplace different that was not in my mind associated with white cops pointing their guns at me, because I was Black. I wanted to be somewhere that didn’t remind me of all the times I had been bullied, ridiculed, harassed, called a sissy or faggot, because the people around me didn’t understand that I was a transgender female. And I wanted to be somewhere that I wasn’t afraid that I was going to always be misgendered.

That was all from the emotional side of things; from the practical, I needed a place where I could get the proper healthcare, and it had to be affordable. And for my personal aesthetics, I wanted a certain climate, landscape, and beautiful architecture.

I know that seems like a lot, but a person is multi-faceted, and anyone who truly knows me will say that I’m very complicated.

I had gotten a passport in 2010, but that was before I had changed most everything — so I had to update it with all the new and correct information. I had the necessary supporting legal documents, still I was nervous going to the post office to request a new passport, because I was afraid of how I would be received. To my surprise, the gentleman who handled my application was very professional and nonchalantly went through everything with me, took all my papers and my payment, and informed me as to when I could expect my new passport. And I think with a little bit of a flirt, he told me to take care.

Back To The South

I moved from Chicago to New Orleans in 2015, and in some ways it had been a good move. But it turned out to be more expensive than my meager social security income could comfortably handle. I also encountered more transphobia than I had expected, so I knew I had to continue my search for a home. 

A Moment In Canada

With my newly acquired passport, I left for Montreal in 2018. I had read that Quebec was good for transgender people, and I had been in contact with one who was also a refugee from Northern Africa. She had made a home for herself in Montreal, and was going to help me relocate. I flew into Montreal in October 2018, and found the city and it’s people to be very pleasant and welcoming.

All things considered, I loved the place but couldn’t see myself living there, due to the frigid, snowy weather, and the fact that my income did not meet their requirements for a retirement visa. So after two months, filled with disappointment, I returned to the states. I was angry and frustrated that my plans for Montreal hadn’t worked out, especially because I had received such respect from the nurse at the hospital emergency rooms, the one time I went. I had a toothache, and no insurance, so I went to the hospital. During the intake process the nurse asked me if I was taking any medication, and if so what kind. I told her about my estrogen, and she politely asked me if it was for menopause, and I chuckled and said, no, I’m transsexual, and she carried on without hesitation — as if it was the most common thing in the world.

In my mind, that was exactly how she should have responded: with complete nonchalance, and why I wished I could have remained in Montreal in spite of the terrible weather. But this taste of respect and dignity from someone who wasn’t an American made me realize that I was on the right track, and that I couldn’t let this setback deter me. I decided to look elsewhere.

European Dreams Deferred

By 2020, I was all set to go to Lisbon, Portugal; I thought it would be a good place to start a year long trek around Southern Europe, but then I got sick and couldn’t travel. Later that same year I tried again, but this time the pandemic got in the way and I was once again grounded. I was feeling angry and desperate, and I had lost a lot of money. I was beginning to despair that I was stuck and would never be able to fulfill my dream.

I had left New Orleans and visited my daughter in Southern California for about a week, then gone to stay with a new friend in Texas for a while. I hadn’t given up on my passion, so I kept thinking and searching: where I could go as — a transgender woman of color with a small income — and still feel safe, comfortable, and cared for?

Welcome To Puerto Vallarta

I had given Mexico a casual look before, but because of that, I knew very little about the country. I realized that Europe was — for the foreseeable future — out of reach, so I had to come up with something less grand and closer to home. Maybe Mexico might be the answer. When I renewed my research, I came across a city called Puerto Vallarta. I had never heard of this place, but I saw that it was on the pacific coast and had beautiful beaches, mountains and forests, warm weather all year, very affordable prices, and was regarded as LGBTQIA+ friendly. I began looking even more closely at this city and watching YouTube videos about it, and I was beginning to fall in love with it, because it was so picturesque. I loved the way the city seemed to rise from the ocean up the mountainsides, which gradually were overcome by lush green forests and jungles. And the city itself was this white stucco red clay tiled jumble of low lying buildings and cobblestone streets — not everywhere, but in most areas, so that you could easily be carried away with this feeling of old world charm and romance.

I decided I had to go and see this place for myself, and to make things even better, it had its own airport. I did have to change planes in Mexico City, but the flight from there was only an hour and a half. In September of 2020, I said goodbye to the US and have not looked back.

At Home In Mexico

I’ve been in Puerto Vallarta for a little more than a year, and have been very happy. I’m an introvert, which doesn’t mean that I’m shy, but rather that I prefer my own company for the most part, so I don’t socialize — but I can talk to most anyone if they speak enough English. I’m learning Spanish and it’s painfully slow, but I’m making progress.

I’m sure most people who haven’t spent any real time in Mexico probably think that because of its proximity to the US that it is probably very similar, but nothing could be further from the truth, especially for a Black transgender woman. I must point out here that I’ve been told that I “pass” very well, so that of course helps, but even with that I’ve been read as transgender some times and that doesn’t bother me, but what does is being misgendered by an unapologetic asshole. That has only happened one time (I’m knocking on wood as I type this), since I’ve been in Mexico, and I have to tell you that helps make for a much more peaceful stress free life.

I’m not going to say that most Mexicans don’t know I’m transgender, but what I can say is that Mexicans seem to be more respectful of other people and they mind their own business. This even applies to the police, who are everywhere in this town. You see them, and as an expat at first, you are a bit unnerved by their presence, because they carry these large assault type rifles and ride on military style vehicles — but they don’t bother you at all! It’s as if they see you, but don’t see you. This is so refreshing and reassuring as a Black person.

I may not socialize, but I don’t stay in the house all the time either. One of my favorite activities is walking, and I’ve spent many hours doing that here. I walk for exercise, to be outdoors, to get familiar with my surroundings, and to take in the beauty of the landscape. I go to all the different markets and shops I want, and since this is a beach community, I go to the beach when I feel like it.

Something else that makes being transsexual in Mexico easier than in the states, is that if you’re on hormones, you don’t need a prescription to get them. All you have to do is go to the pharmacy and ask, and they sell them right over the counter. I’ve found the people to be very helpful, just because they want to help without being asked. I have not faced any barriers when apartment hunting — except my own income, of course.

So, from my experience, I feel I can safely say Puerto Vallarta is a good place to be transgender. One other thing, I haven’t dated yet — but not because I haven’t had the opportunity, but rather because I haven’t wanted to. I’ll say this: men are the same here as they are everywhere, so I think you know what I mean.

Travel Tips

Learn Spanish before coming to Mexico. You can get by in the more touristy areas with little or no Spanish, because most people will speak some English, but if you want to stay, you will do them and yourself a favor by learning the language. It is not just helpful, but respectful on your part, and they will appreciate it. I stumble through with my little Spanish and I also use google translate which helps a lot, so have that on your phone if you don’t speak the language and it will definitely come in handy.

And I would tell anyone who is trans and planning to travel by air, if you haven’t already done so, please make sure your identification matches your gender presentation; that will save you a lot of embarrassment, hassle, and inconvenience. With all the hassle of flying as it is, you don’t want to make the process more stressful if you can avoid it.

Another thing to consider is changing money. Don’t bother with getting pesos in the states, as ATMs are plentiful in Puerto Vallarta — but to avoid paying more than you need to in transaction fees and the other fees, I would suggest getting enough cash to cover a week of expenses. If you’re going to be here for that long or longer, keep in mind many places only take cash. I found my first apartment on Airbnb which is a pretty good starting place, because they list both short and long term rentals and they always come fully furnished. Also Facebook marketplace can be a good place to search for rentals. For me, I never stayed in the mainly tourist focused areas, because I wanted to keep my costs down, and I wanted to start to get the feel of being in another country as quickly as possible.

Mexico is a fairly easy place to begin an international journey as a trans person, but think about this, it’s also fairly conservative — so you might want to think about how you dress if you’re concerned with standing out. Also as a Black person, technically brown, that helps me to blend in more with the locals, especially when I wear a black long hair wig. If you’re white on the other hand, you’re going to tend to stick out more like a sore thumb; but don’t feel bad, because my height makes me stick out too. Sometimes I feel like a giant here.

There are a number of gay establishments in the Romantic Zone, if you go for that sort of thing, but I would suggest if you’re going to drink make sure you get an Uber home and not walk; tourists have been known to get mugged walking home late at night, and being trans and drunk might put a target on your back.

Since the pandemic is still a threat, mask-wearing indoors is still required, but not outside. And hand sanitizer is available at the door of most businesses. Some still check your temperature. 

If you don’t know this, you can’t drink the tap water. Buy bottled water to drink and cook. You can bathe and wash with tap water, but you shouldn’t brush your teeth with it either, or get it in your nose. Also, from what I’ve been told, you don’t have to worry about the water served at restaurants, as it comes from bottles as well.

When you rent an apartment, it will have a contraption to put these big 20 liter bottles that you can buy. If your stay is short term, your host or landlord will undoubtedly be furnishing you with drinking water, but check to be sure. If you do your own cooking, always thoroughly wash the fruit and vegetables.

In all my time here in Mexico I have not once felt unsafe walking the streets, and I’m always alone, but I don’t go out at night not out of fear, but rather because I’m not a night-time person.

I’ve truly enjoyed my time in Mexico. Another thing that’s great about this country is that it has a very generous tourist visa policy. You, as a US citizen with a valid passport, are given 180 days on arrival — and you can renew that almost indefinitely simply by leaving the country for a short time and then returning. I’ve done it twice already, but the bad thing for me is that I don’t earn enough to qualify for a temporary residency visa. The amount is at least $1500 USD a month, so I’m going to be leaving Mexico at some point to continue my search for a home, but that’s okay. I’ve made peace with this type of thing and I have a pretty good handle on how to deal with it.

Transitioning After 40

Oh my goodness, what can I say? Personally, if things had been ideal, I would have transitioned at a much younger age, because it would have been much less complicated.

But there are some advantages in doing it later in life, because you will know yourself so much better. Also, you may have some type of financial safety net to rely on and the ability to pay for any surgeries you feel you need.

Transitioning after forty likely means that you will have been socialized one way, and that will undoubtedly be in conflict with your stepping fully into your new life. So there will be a lot to unlearn and then learn in a new way, and this will take time and patience. You will have to give yourself this time, and give yourself the love you need to get through this.

There may not be anyone you can turn to for support, and I would suggest finding a good therapist to help you. Also, there are a lot of online groups that may be able to lend a hand. Reach out to the ones that are a good fit.

Know what your transition means to you, it’s different for everyone. Do as much or as little as you need to do, and keep in mind that transgender is an umbrella term and it might not fit you. It doesn’t really fit me, because it is an umbrella term, and that’s why I refine it by using the term transsexual.

I’m sure you’re already aware of this, as it’s widely talked about, but if you have children, there is no guarantee that they will accept the new you with open arms. Be prepared for that, and the possibility that they may never come around. It will be very painful to think that someone you’ve given your life for can turn their back on you, but it does happen.

I can’t really speak to getting gender affirming surgeries, except to say that Thailand has for a very long time been an excellent place for those at comparably reasonable costs, and there are other excellent surgeons in other countries — including the US — who can take care of you. Those tend to be more expensive, but all of this is available online.

Interestingly, I found some years ago that Spain was a good place for this, but I haven’t researched this lately, so you’d want to look into what it has to offer. Your transition will probably be the most important thing you will ever do, and the most difficult to give the attention it deserves. I think you will get as much out of it as you put in.

Elizabeth Savage defines herself as “retired, 70 years of age, an African American transsexual woman who has always known that she was different, but couldn’t articulate that as a child, she knew she wasn’t a boy like everyone told her. “Then I started living my truth in 2011, that I’ve never felt like I belong in the US and am finally searching for a home. I don’t know if sharing my journey with other trans people can be of benefit and I’m always concerned about my personal safety, but I’m willing to put this out there.”

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The post Finding Home (for now) in Puerto Vallarta appeared first on TransLash Media.

By Adunni

Just the exact way you say it to remind us of outdoing the box, 

An imposing call to order,

reminding us that we might just be doing too much.

After all, we paid dues with our heads buried under the waters 

And dreams dying in thoughts.

Yet, we are advised to TONE IT DOWN!

Denying ourselves of existing at their comfort,

While we are made aliens in our birthplace, homes and even to ourselves.

They say, the more the normality, the better the acceptance.

We have been taught to

HATE who we are, 

BE AFRAID of what we’ve become

and BEAT DOWN at anything that takes our form.

They say you do not have to be out and loud

but you, you… While you stay flourishing in the regretful corner of your heart,

your freedom is to impose restricting opinions on our expression of self.

For what we love, who we are, brings us together and so that same…

the same is the joy to exist differently and free.

How so sweet to consider our safety

but it’s not in our position to apologize

when they are not close to comfort with our lives.

The post “Tone It Down”: Poetry By A Black Trans Femme appeared first on TransLash Media.

Is Seeking Mavis Beacon part of queer and trans cinema? After thanking me for giving them the opportunity to answer this specific question, this was Jones’ response:

Q&A Transcript

Jazmin Renée Jones: As a Black, queer, non-binary filmmaker, there’s no question that this is a Black film. It’s just, it’s Black cinema. Me being Black, regardless of what the subject of my film is, it’s a Black film. And I think it’s really interesting that queer cinema, it’s a little trickier. And it’s like, I think this [their film] is queer cinema. Olivia and I are gay as hell, but but it’s like absent of a love plot. It’s like we don’t qualify. And I think queer cinema is also just like, hey we’re queers, we’re out here.

Olivia McKayla Ross (associate producer and protagonist): It’s like we’re queering cinema [audience laugher]. Like, well, there’s a divestment I think from like a normative way of understanding the traditional structures that are upholding how what we deem is like a regular way to behave. And we bring as like, investigators, a femme politik to even encounter people’s space. And sometimes even overdoing it with like apologizing a lot, knocking on doors in a kind of way where like, it’s very common with investigative documentaries, you just have someone like waving a camera in your face, and like being very, um, there’s like a sense of like “it is my right because I’m holding a camera” and there’s these like dude, dude bro, like true crime. Yeah.

So I think there’s a way in which, um, like the fact of our queerness embeds in everything that we’re doing. And also the lessons I think, like, that we learn from queer and trans people of history about representation and how it can be a trap [muffled]. Invisibility the entire, yeah having visibility and having a voice…

Jazmin Renée Jones: Another thing, I think, coming back to your question too, we had a really interesting experience, Olivia and I. We went to film at a certain queer archive and the question came up of like why would we let you film here, your movie isn’t queer. And then we were like but no, we are, and then they’re like but your subject isn’t queer, and we’re like you got us there, maybe, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her about that yet. So I think in general, I just, I’m excited for this to be in conversation with other queer films.

Olivia acknowledged that we spent a lot of time studying the hero’s journey and then the heroin’s journey, which I really love, um, but I also found it to be incredibly clunky in its gendered language, and so, it’s like I had to like translate like the divine feminine. And like okay that means intuition.

And so if anybody here also would like to work on like a gender nonconforming Journey which is basically us figuring out the principles of that without all of this gendered language, I would love that um, so yeah thank you.

Guetty Felin (producer): You’ve done it with Seeking Mavis Beacon.

Jazmin Renée Jones: Thank you.

Family Dynamics In Seeking Mavis Beacon

Call it a “Sundance moment”: I serendipitously sat down with several of Jazmin’s family members at a cafe near the Seeking Mavis Beacon premiere on my way to the press line, before having any idea who they were. I had seen an open chair at a table and politely asked if I could use it, and was immediately invited to take a seat with the family. We easily fell into conversation, and upon learning what I was there for, Jazmin’s mother shared with a big smile that they (Jazmin’s parents, step-parents, and more) were there for the same film too.

As I looked around the table in awe, I told them what a beautiful gift it was for me to witness such a unified front for Jazmin. Even though I didn’t know her and hadn’t seen her film yet, it meant so much to see a fellow queer and non-binary person being supported in big ways by their blood and chosen family on their special day.

I didn’t have to tell them that I and other queer and trans people don’t always get this support. I could tell they already knew.

My brief time sharing space with Jazmin’s family was filled with their father and step-father trading anecdotes about her always having a camera in her hand, the warm tones of their voices full of pride and nostalgia. Jazmin’s mother’s phone then dinged with a notification, followed by her alerting the table that Jazmin had asked that they meet her at the press tent.

Since I knew where it was, I offered to guide them there. “You’re our angel,” Jasmin’s mother said as I led them out the door, and we made our way through the snow to the little white tent where Jazmin was waiting inside.

From a respectful distance, I watched as Jazmin’s family celebrated her getting her flowers, then joining her for photos on the red carpet. As Jazmin’s mother walked over to me, I thanked her again for the shared moment and congratulated the family before I stepped away to find the passholder line for the screening so I could get a good seat.

Queer Family Legacies

Once inside the theatre, I was immediately surprised and delighted to see up on the big screen several of those same family members I had sat with in the cafe. Between scenes of their investigative work, Jazmin wove in the ways that her family held space for them and offered advice along her years-long journey to find the elusive woman behind one of her favorite childhood computer games.

Jazmin also included scenes of herself with vibrant queer and trans chosen family; her own angels supporting her on her quest for truth and resolution. Queerness and transness is embedded so deeply in the film that it seems impossible that anyone could watch this movie and not call it queer cinema.

Seeking Mavis Beacon tenderly holds a story about a Black woman’s fight for control over her own likeness and right to privacy, while Jazmin and Olivia experiment with subverting technology to find her—and the truth about themselves.

While I thought I was going to watch a film about the intersection of race, gender, and technology, what I experienced was a fascinating and complex story about the ways we as queer and trans people—especially Black and brown LGBGTQ+ folks—find representation in media that wasn’t necessarily created for us, cultivating family online and offline in traditional and nontraditional ways.

If we choose it, we can use technologies as tools to help us unlock the truth about who we are, while fostering familial connections along our path to self-actualization and healing.

Will a future e-girl/e-person make a film about seeking Jazmin Renée Jones because they saw so much of themselves in Seeking Mavis Beacon? I’m betting on it happening sooner than you think.

Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing Is Complicated Black Representation In Tech

One of the most influential Black women in technology is a figment of our collective imagination. The co-founder of Myspace invented Mavis Beacon to sell the world’s most popular typing software, but the real woman she was modeled after disappeared in 1995.

Seeking Mavis Beacon poses critical questions regarding anthropomorphization and the consumption of marginalized bodies in the tech industry, while reimagining the legacy of a missing historical figure.

Launched in the late ’80s, educational software Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing taught millions globally, but the program’s Haitian-born cover model vanished decades ago. In Seeking Mavis Beacon, two DIY investigators search for the unsung cultural icon, while questioning notions of digital security, AI, and Black representation in the digital realm.

TransLash’s guide to the 40th annual Sundance Film Festival will be released during this year’s fest. Subscribe to our newsletter to access our guide: www.translash.org/connect

Did you find this resource helpful? Consider supporting TransLash today with a tax-deductible donation. Did we miss anything? Let us know and we’ll update the guide with your suggestion, crediting you as the contributor.

The post Seeking Mavis Beacon: a Black Queer and Trans Film about Healing Tech and Chosen Family appeared first on TransLash Media.

REWIND: HISTORY ON REPEAT spotlights Black LGBTQ+ experiences from the late 1970s to mid-1990s, and in particular, pays tribute to now-passed members of McCall’s chosen family. The exhibit is a snapshot of life during the era McCall remembers as a time of disco, the AIDS crisis, the LGBTQ+ rights movement, and anti-trans violence. Layering McCall’s personal photos, button embellishments, and archival materials, the exhibition is an invitation for all generations to feel empowered as they reflect on the past, present, and future of Black LGBTQ+ communities. 

TransLash spoke with McCall and Souleo about the exhibit, their shared artistic vision, and how we can draw strength from queer lineages. 

TransLash: Can you tell us a little bit about yourselves?

McCall: I am Beau McCall from Down South, Philadelphia. I am a self-taught button artist. My journey started many moons ago, over forty years to be precise, with a jar of clothing buttons in my mother’s basement. I saw the buttons just sitting there and talking to me. Eventually, I began to create wearable and visual art using buttons. That’s why they also call me The Button Man.

Souleo: I am a creative, curator, impresario, consultant, and muse. It sounds like a lot to digest but it’s really all about using creativity to tell stories (mainly underrepresented narratives) whether that is through exhibitions or public programs or writing. Oh, and I’m one of those rare New York-born and-raised individuals, you know, like the disco song. 

TransLash: Beau, can you talk about how you came to work on REWIND: MEMORIES ON REPEAT as a book? What was the artistic process like for you? How did the book evolve into an exhibit at the Stonewall Archives?

McCall: Nick Kline at Rutgers University’s SHINE Portrait Studio Press offered Souleo the opportunity to do an artists’ book. At the time, Souleo didn’t want to do a book about his experiences so he asked if I was interested and if he could edit the book. I thought about it for a minute and started reflecting on my core group of friends, or as I call them, my chosen family. They are all deceased. But mentally and spiritually I am still holding onto the memories of our time together. So I wanted to honor them in the book.

The day before I began to work on the book my closest friend, Tracy, passed away. So it made it very difficult to begin because I had to mourn that loss. But in many ways working on the book while mourning was also cathartic. I was able to reminisce and reflect on how important these friendships are to me. 

In terms of the artistic process, I created the collages by hand using my historical photographs (mostly shot by me), archives, and detailed images from my actual wearable and visual artwork. Before social media and camera phones, I always had a disposable camera at hand in my pocket or bag. I would document all the things me and my friends were doing whether we were just hanging out at a club or putting on makeup. My friend in the book, Antoine aka DeeDee Somemore called me “picture crazy.” But at some point, I knew I was gonna utilize all the information I collected. I just didn’t know how I would use it. 

The photographs I selected are heartfelt, joyous, and fun. For example, the image of me and Saifuddin Muhammad at the Patti LaBelle concert is one of my favorites. I remember us being in the lobby at the Forrest Theatre in Philly. This photographer came up to me and saw I had a photo of Patti in the breast pocket of my blazer. He asked to photograph us and we said yes, not knowing where the image would end up. The next day we were in the Philadelphia Daily News and we got 15 minutes of fame off of that photograph. 

The book and the exhibition are full of such special moments. The exhibition was a vision me and Souleo had from the beginning when we first started working on the book. We both agreed that Stonewall National Museum, Library, & Archives (SNMLA) was the perfect place to launch the exhibition. 

TransLash: REWIND: History on repeat functions like a personal tribute and memorial, as well as evidence of life in the 70s-90s. What do you want people to understand about the friends who inspired this art? About this period in time?

McCall: I want people to understand that true friendship never dies. At some point, we all reflect on the past because your past has a lot to do with the current state of who you are. Because of my experience with my friends, I am who I am today. I’m grateful for them being in my life. This time period, despite its struggles, was also joyous. I had the time of my life with them. It made my life easier with these particular folks that I welcomed in as my chosen family. They were all unique, talented, and we all had something to offer each other and the world. So I really want people to know how special these individuals were and to reflect on the friends in their lives and to be thankful for those bonds.

TransLash: Souleo, can you describe a little bit about your process working as both an editor and curator for this collection? How did you and Beau begin working together?

Souleo: We started working together really from the beginning of our romantic relationship about thirteen years ago. But it was during the COVID-19 pandemic when I officially became a consultant and started representing him. In terms of working on this project, I had to balance my role as his lover with my professional duties. There were times he would break down in tears of pain or joy reflecting on his friendships. So I had to lend an ear and comfort him during those times as a romantic partner. At the same time, I had to keep us on track to make sure we hit our deadlines, I had to ask him a lot of questions to fact-check his memories as much as possible, and be objective enough to edit and curate the work even if it meant challenging him on certain aspects. 

TransLash: The exhibit description notes: “…select collages are paired with an archival item from SNMLA that relates to the theme of McCall’s artwork. This pairing draws a parallel between the personal experiences of McCall and his friends and the larger historical moments that impacted their lives.” 

Can you tell me about the historical and social contexts the exhibit speaks to? 

McCall: One of the biggest historical moments that shaped our lives and the collection is disco. We were friends during the height of disco in the 1970s. I remember going out every Friday listening to incredible music and watching people do the Hustle dance. When we went to the club we were free and didn’t have the pressure of society with a magnifying glass looking down on us for being part of the LGBTQ+ community. Disco allowed us a space that was welcoming and open to people of all backgrounds and identities because the music connected us. 

In terms of trans identity and expressions of gender, you have to remember that at that time we didn’t have the language we do today. There wasn’t a trans label for those who identified as such. You were just called a drag queen. In these disco clubs, I met individuals who were trans men and women. So that was fascinating to me because I was young and had never met a trans person. Seeing the confidence with which they carried themselves was inspiring to me. So the disco clubs created an environment where me and my friends felt safe enough to express ourselves in ways that were authentic to who we were and that challenged sexuality and gender norms.

TransLash: Beau, you’ve said that “Since the 1970s we have lost so many individuals to AIDS, drugs, and anti-trans violence. So I wanted to tell some of these lost stories through images of my own friends who experienced these issues. It is my way of honoring my friendship with them and bringing greater visibility and representation to the unsung everyday people of the Black LGBTQ+ community.”

Can you talk to me about how the three forces you name — AIDS, drugs, and anti-trans violence — have shaped queer and trans lives broadly, the lives of your friends, and the exhibit? 

McCall: AIDS was something that had a profound impact on my group of friends. Some of the images in the exhibition are from the height of the AIDS epidemic. I remember us all being on pins and needles as to who would be next to get AIDS and die. I’ve always been very particular about who I am intimate with so the fear of AIDS made me even more selective, which probably ended up saving my life. I remember each time when we would meet we’d hear of another person who died from the disease. In my circle, the disease kept getting closer and closer until it claimed the lives of some of my friends featured in the exhibition such as Antoine aka DeeDee Somemore, Joey aka Ericka World, and Saifuddin Muhammad. Mentally, it led me into a depression and I took about a ten-year hiatus from pursuing a professional creative career. I withdrew and became very guarded. After I started losing my friends I didn’t develop any new friendships in the LGBTQ+ community. 

On a positive note, these forces have led to the creation of more organizations and activism surrounding the LGBTQ+ community. There are more spaces where people can share their stories and find support. We didn’t have as much of that back then. All we had was each other. I think we’ve made a lot of progress in terms of visibility and in public policy. Of course, there is still a long way to go and the struggle continues as we see by current political efforts targeting the LGBTQ+ community. 

TransLash: When reading the exhibit description, I thought about what other generations of LGBTQ+ people might take from the exhibit, given our current political moment (and especially in Florida, where the Stonewall Archives are). Souleo, what do you hope people will take from the exhibit?

Souleo: I hope people walk away inspired on several fronts. In the queer community, some are rejected by members of their own families. So to be able to choose your family and have that support is very important. And we need to uplift those bonds as much as possible to add an alternative to the dominant traditional family narrative. 

I hope people walk away inspired with an appreciation for Black LGBTQ+ experiences. Within our own queer community, the Black experience and those of other similarly oppressed groups have been underrepresented. And when there is a spotlight it focuses on the same set of names. But with this project, we are sharing the everyday Black queer perspective from individuals who were surviving and living and trying to figure out life together. Along the way, some of them made important cultural contributions that deserve greater amplification and placement in the canon such as Moi Renee’s music and Beau’s artworks. 

I hope people are inspired to do as Beau did and start their own personal archives and eventually have them acquired or donated to institutions such as SNMLA. It is collections like these that add that emotional and human perspective to our collective history. In particular, this is also how we can expand archives to be more representative of Black LGBTQ+ experiences.

And finally, I hope people are inspired to take political action in one way or another by voting, signing petitions, donating to causes, or whatever it may be. The exhibition arrives during a time when LGBTQ+ rights are under assault in Florida and across the country with numerous bills introduced to restrict access to LGBTQ+ books and lessons in educational settings. That’s why I’m honored to curate this exhibition at SNMLA, because it is spaces like this where we are able to share important stories such as that of Beau’s chosen family.  

All Photos Courtesy of the Artist.

Sara Youngblood Gregory (she/they) is a non-binary lesbian journalist and writer. She is the author of THE POLYAMORY WORKBOOK and a former staff writer for POPSUGAR. She covers sex, queerness, disability, culture, and wellness. Her work has been featured in Vice, Teen Vogue, HuffPost, Bustle, DAME, Cosmo, Jezebel, and many others.

Sara serves on the board of the lesbian literary and arts journal Sinister Wisdom. As a poet, Sara has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best New Voices. She’s also attended the Kenyon Review Workshop in 2019 and 2022, as well as a Winter Tangerine poetry workshop. Her chapbook RUN. is out now.

To learn more and support Beau McCall’s work, visit his website.

To learn more and support Souleo’s work, visit his website.

The post Stonewall National Museum Archives and Library: A Q&A with Artists Beau McCall and Souleo appeared first on TransLash Media.

I am only in my mid-20s and have lived at over ten different addresses. I’ve moved for many reasons: schooling, jobs, and love, but underlying each of those moves was actually a desperate search for community.

“Home” for me is a blip on the map just south of Houston, Texas. Growing up, sometimes I felt more at home in the city with the rest of my family and where I could blend into a crowd of people who looked like me, but my mother insisted on the “safety” of small-town life. So, instead, I was big, Black, queer, and poor in a space that revered everything but. Eventually, I left and looked for people who lived out loud.

For college, I ended up in Western Massachusetts. It was only different from my hometown when it came to the foliage and political representatives. There, I ran into primarily white people who didn’t hide their gender expressions or sexualities. I spent my time trying to fit into their friend groups. I was convinced their queerness was the most legitimate because it was the most prominent. The queer and trans people of color I knew were still mostly closeted, often hanging out with me in secret, and it scared me to go back to such a life.

After undergrad, I became engaged to an abuser, a white trans man, in my first openly-queer relationship. We had been together throughout college and were drawn together by our rejecting families. I was convinced that time equaled value, so I clung to the strongest connection I had despite toxicity outweighing the joy. We moved again and again to follow jobs and the promise of opportunity. I noted increasingly frequent displays of white fragility, controlling behavior, and threats to my safety. The facade could no longer be maintained and I finally broke off the engagement. Then, in the middle of a global pandemic, I was alone again.

For the last few years, I’ve taken advantage of worldwide social upheaval (including working remotely and vacated cities) and moved around even more. All the while, I’ve been searching for a place that feels more like home than the last. I’ve been telling myself that somewhere else will be better (and safer) than where I’ve already been, or that I’ll stumble into a niche community that accepts me with little effort. It seems to come easy to other people, so why not me?

Along the way, I began building my world the best way I knew how: through the art of writing. I joined writing courses, weekly groups, and even attempted an MFA in Creative Writing. There, I founded a literary magazine that platformed marginalized writers and received note after note telling me how important it was for it to exist. It got me thinking: my story is not uncommon.

How have other Black queer and trans people found each other? 

*

Simone Person (they/them) is a Black queer femme born and raised in the Midwest. Their queer community has been primarily shaped by the internet.

“At my core, I’m an introvert. Living with PTSD has made in-person activities harder, so I really appreciate the resurgence of digital communication,” Person said.

It took Simone years to acknowledge their queerness and transness. Also inundated with white queerness at the onset of self-discovery, they’ve come to believe that community sets Black queerness apart.

“Black queerness has always felt like it’s built on a belief in the future, particularly a future where Black people exist,” Person said. “In contrast, white queerness traditionally has such a deeply embedded sense of hyper-individuality—real ‘I got mine, you should figure out how to get yours’—a complete lack of structural analysis, and is often extremely reactionary (as seen with the rise of trans-exclusionary and sex work-exclusionary politics in so-called radical queer spaces, because whiteness is the same way). Few white people are willing to give up the social power of whiteness, so they continue to repeat the larger structures of oppression.”

*

Adrienne Doyle (she/they) grew up in close proximity to queerness with a bisexual grandmother. This allowed them the freedom to explore their sexuality in more depth, having had a role model throughout their youth. However, their process of finding queer community didn’t take place until around a decade ago.

After developing a crush on a Black queer roommate, the two became great friends. They introduced Doyle to dance parties, cafes, and other queer institutions run by people of color. Soon, jobs and career goals led Doyle into creating their own queer art-centered space.

“It was a response to the white supremacy that exists within Minneapolis’ cultural institutions—the lack of control Black, Indigenous, and POC folks have over their work, the shuck and jive we are asked to do, and the willingness of white folks to fund and consume depictions of our suffering.”

In 2014, Doyle started a two-year project called Burn Something Zine, featuring written and visual work from femme, nonbinary, and trans folks of color in the Twin Cities. The relationships crafted through this zine project informed the co-founding of Burn Something Collective, a group of seven artists working to create opportunities through exhibition and publication projects.

  “Social media has felt like the clearest way to stay in contact with people or to just see what folks are sharing about their lives, but the tech bros have designed these platforms to be such energy drains,” Doyle said. “I have been leaning on the people in Burn Something Collective as my tethers to some kind of social life. We were all dissatisfied with what the predominantly white Twin Cities art scene has had to offer our communities.”

Even as they’ve all navigated “disorienting” life changes and loss, some strong bonds have been able to form and even “otherworldly shit that feels like spirit working deep.”

“I envision growing deeper into ourselves as people through these relationships, and growing weirder or more comfortable with making fulfilling choices for ourselves that don’t need to make sense to other people,” Doyle said.

*

Kenia Hale (she/her), a recent Yale graduate, has also lived in multiple cities and crafted new worlds in each. She has organized in Ohio, finished up her senior year in Connecticut, and now, since being in New Jersey, has created an arts collective and started an all-BIPOC rock band. The pandemic, as well as the natural shifts that come with life’s cycles, separated those she knew and severed some ties entirely, making the need for community critical.

“During the summer of 2020, I was wondering ‘how can I find people that understand this deep pain that I’m feeling right now?’”

So, though her recent connections have been more in-person, she knew to turn to the internet when the question reared its head. Before her college and organizing years, Hale had found queer community online. Tumblr and its fandom culture helped put a name to her sexuality.

Perhaps inspired by the stress of rapid change, like her recent loss of a Black queer mentor, Hale believes it’s worth making an attempt to rebuild those online communities.

“When we travel from one place to another and hold tight to those connections, we create a mosaic. It’s a cultural exchange and it allows us to honor the paths laid out by those who came before.”

*

For better or for worse, the internet is the crux of the Black queer and trans community. This proves to be worrisome in a time where net neutrality is frequently at risk and broadband access is limited for those of us in rural and poorer communities. I’ve spent much of my life traveling from place to place, seeking the space with the “most welcoming” QTPOC for making deeper connections, when it seems like saving numbers and socials to a device in my pocket can be equally as effective.

For now, we seem to do this until we can achieve the dream of gathering our branching communities into one place to be near each other more often than not.

“Although we were only able to break bread once before the pandemic began in the U.S., we’ve built tender connections with each other throughout the pandemic and the Minneapolis Uprising,” Doyle said. “This summer, we are finishing up our fourth project together, and then I hope to organize a beach house retreat so we can hang in person for a few days, rest, and vision for the future of our collective.”

Person feels similarly about the relationships they’ve crafted but has been unable to nurture in a face-to-face context. They’re also ready to shift with the tide, since our friendships seem so malleable, especially during a time when the community is not and may never be entirely local.

 “My dream is to move to the Colorado mountains and have a Black feminist commune with my homies, but if I have to be more realistic, I just want to continue growing individually and together, even if it means growing apart,” Person said. “I’m trying to accept that change happens, and it’s not always the worst thing.”

 For Hale, this perpetual song-and-dance is simply a part of our culture.“You’re not born necessarily into a queer family, you have to find it,” Hale said. “In that same way, you have to find your own heritage and your own place in that legacy.”

Danielle Monique (she/they) is a Black queer nonbinary woman who writes short stories, screenplays, and essays primarily about the effects of marginalization and finding community. Originally from South Texas, their “cities I’ve called home” count is now at ten, including Baltimore, Los Angeles, and New Orleans. When not writing, she can be found communing with the ancestors, playing video games that go easy on the heart, or taking sass from her dog.

The post Searching for Black, Queer, and Trans Community appeared first on TransLash Media.

as land
how land is sacred because
it absorbs our weight, and
creates gems to
reflect and filter light

the pressure
between mud and skin
is so bold that
it squeezes earthglow
from the torrid core

and climbing up
through the dirt and clay,
my feet against the heat,
pulling planet up
into my spirit

this way the land
lets me know
i am held and needed:
the gentle pleading to

pray downward, too
honor the earth, and
all your energy
will be returned to you

as body
if you find a home
in your body

leave to me all the pieces
that couldn’t fit

they will not go to waste :
my temple will be beautiful, too

and when i build it
i will glow all within

the bright current of my pulsing heart
will open my rooms and valves with light

and drawn in
i will come home to myself

as truth
i.
coming home to grandma
in her chair, and
the news is loud on tv

mom is asleep if
it’s a dialysis day,
so don’t wake her up
unless it’s important,
and ( even ) then …

my stress nap, and soon
dinner fumes
like oxtail at the
beginning of the month
and pasta at the end,
when money is low

because gram loves her
island food, and mom
learned red sauce from
an old italian woman

i tell about my
private school day
and feel guilty
with no words
for the distance,
but mom + gram meant it
when they listened

ii.
home is a memory place,
so now the feeling lives
in prayers and in dreams

the longing and pointed aching
threatening my bounded seams
and flooding all within me

iii.
i can’t remember
the last time
i felt at home

no really

it’s been a little
over a year
since mom died

can you tell
i don’t know
where to be
anymore – ?

as future
because i am inhabited by hurt

i have decided to create a new world

Artist Statement
BELOVED HOME is a subject I spend a lot of time with in my brain and in my heart. The page is a place where healing happens – it’s so important to prioritize the process.

I was 23 when my Mother died. My Grandmother died 3 years later in 2019. In the past 5 years since my first parent’s passing, not a day has gone by that I haven’t intentionally fought to find a sense of belonging. Some people go their whole lives without ever having to consider if they are where they’re supposed to be or if they’re doing what they’re supposed to be doing, etc. My parents’ passing wasn’t, by any means, the first time I’ve carried these heavy questions.

My entire life as a Black, non-binary trans man, who is currently experiencing homelessness, who stole toilet paper from his private school to take back to a poor home, whose Mother skipped dialysis to attend his college graduation, who founded a nonprofit only to be kicked and deleted from the project because he was “too sad” and “too radical”… for all of the reasons I’ve seen glimpses of greatness & love that have been taken, lost or faded too fast, too soon… For all these reasons and pages more: my poetry asks : Where do I belong? Where is home? “On Home” explores themes of trauma, land, and body as elements of belonging.

Artist Bio
Z Bell (gender pronouns : they/them & he/him) is Bright and Lovely and does not give all the credit to the sun. Their writing invites a collective witnessing of experiences that hurt so much, they demand growth in spirit and in heart. The promise of rhythm and lyric in Z’s poetry gives readers permission to believe in alchemy, too. Their music tells a story about a Black, transMasculine, disabled, queer femmeBoi who sometimes gives himself space to admit his own magic. Z has written, designed and self-published four zine-length collections of poetry : Drop The Beat – We Gettin Free, HeartRot, CloudLight and Pull. They perform hip-hop and acoustic guitar sets in which they rap about being a Sad Boi and sing about having a pendulum-heart. Being in the dead-parents-club gives Z charge for celebrating their deep resilient power and for curating an intentional love legacy. Complex trauma, unapologetic play, divine pleasure and dimensional healing are all ingredients in Z’s work that look like prayer and wisdom on the page and a firecracker of vulnerable self-determination on the stage.

This hip-hop femmeBoi enjoys eating ginger, playing in lush grass and dancing at the cookout. They currently live in The Bronx.

Z has studied as a poet at the Kettle Pond writing conference. They have performed for a crowd of 400 people in opening up for charting hip-hop artist Princess Nokia, and have graced the stage at multiple local venues including but not limited to The StateHouse, Literary Happy Hour, RnB Wednesdays at Terminal 110 and CafeNine. 

Z’s most potent career background is rooted in radical political education, curriculum-design and facilitation for folx who love and struggle in the marginal intersections of race, gender, sexuality and class. They have worked with several local and national grassroots organizations including but not limited to Common Ground High School, Urban Farm and Environmental Education Center (CT), Black Youth Project 100 (national), Audre Lorde Project (NY), CT-CORE (CT), CEIO (CT), The National LGBTQ Task Force (national) and Brooklyn Movement Center (NY), etc. Learn more: www.zbellpoetry.com and follow Z on IG: @queerchaosbear

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The post Non-Binary Poem: ‘On Home’ By Z Bell appeared first on TransLash Media.