Recently while in Washington D.C. for the Ignatian Family Teach-In for Justice. I found myself nervous to embark on this trip in the first place. I was unsure about any event that was so closely aligned to Catholicism. Such a place felt surely un-queer. I found myself surprised. The first speaker I went to while in D.C. was about queer issues in the church. Fr. James Martin, S.J., gave the first speech—speaking about ways that members of the Catholic Community can recognize the ways in which they have actively harmed queer individuals. Moreover, the second event that I went to was also about queerness. The presentation, entitled: “Queer Latinx Voices in Jesuit High School Education,” focused on the ways in which Jesuit High Schools can work to provide queer-friendly resources, juggle justice and a staunch Catholic identity, and prioritize the wellbeing of their queer student population. All in all, the Catholic Jesuit conference was surprisingly queer friendly.
Though the conference was fairly queer-friendly, I found myself discouraged after speaking with staff members of Ted Cruz’s office about queer issues in Texas while at his D.C. office. I was in certain need of a queer space. Not only a queer-friendly space but also an intentionally queer space.
Spaces that queer friendly are—no doubt—elemental to the safety, comfort, advancement, and empowerment of queer populations; however, I find particular and unique value in space that is intentionally queer. Queer spaces, where queerness is anterior to the space (rather than auxiliary to), create orientations that are conducive to a type of resting though not passive queer performance.
A resting, though not passive, queer performance is a type of performance that allows the queer individual to simply be. Pure queer existence is found in spaces that are oriented for queer people. Queer individuals often have to tarry precariously in spaces—taking note of how much space is allowed to be taken up, perceiving how safe it is to perform, choosing how to say, how to walk, how to talk, and who to talk to. The orientation of non-queer spaces is a violent phenomenon for the queer individual. Queer-friendly spaces, while allowing for performance, reinstitutes the notion that most spaces are not naturally or specifically clear. Queer accepting spaces require power structures oriented to do the accepting. In a queer-friendly space, one is being invited, tolerated, or left alone in a space by one (an ally, or a group of them) who will demonstrate some justice and altruism. In these spaces queerness is still limited, still waiting. Queer spaces, spaces that allow for cis-bodies straight minds, function to liberate the queer individual by engendering a lack of need for liberation work. The queer being can rest, actively as queer.
I attended a Busboy’s and Poets Open Mic. The open mic time was intentionally queer, intentionally a place of color for people of color, intentionally radical, intentionally mystic, and intentionally anarchist. The open mic was approximately twenty-five minutes away from our hotel rooms. A group of Regis University social justice activists and students had ridden in the subway, through the rain, to find and co-create queer and black space.
The Open Mic began with a powerful litany of rejection—rejection of hate. The list ran like a creed of justice and acceptance. The emcee of the event, Black Hope, began with a loud cry: “Here! Here, we are openly Queer! Here we are never sexualized bodies but always living sexual beings! Here we are not beautiful despite our color but because of it! Here we are unapologetic! Here we are for liberation, radicalization, and hope in the promise of Justice with a belief in the power of words.” Black Hope yelled the manifesto with fist raised, eyes forward, back straight. She explained the rules of the space—the way to create the space. The space was open; but, the space was not hateful. The space was loud; but, it was not overtaking. The space was radical, but; it was not violent. The Busboy’s (in defense of the poets) would willingly kick out anyone who spewed racist, homophobic, sexist, ableist, or transphobic.
Black Hope explained that in this space, there were chances for appreciation. One could snap, one could say mmhm, one could say amen! So, throughout the night, I birthed the sounds mmhmm, thundered my snap, and roared my amen. Throughout the night, I felt my soul rise and my eyes fall.
Poetry, as Lorde would say, worked to liberate me--a luxory of a space that I needed the creation of.
Thank you, Nick, for your post--I am heartened to know that the Teach-In included these panels/speakers and that you were also able to attend this open-mic event. Sounds like it was a powerful event!
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