April 2018 ISSUE 77 BUFFALO’S MONTHLY PUBLICATION FOR THE LGBT COMMUNITY AND ITS ALLIES
PUBLISHERS
WHIZZBOOM MEDIA
BUFFALO PUBLIC MEDIA EXECUTIVE EDITOR
CHRISTOPHER JOHN TREACY CONTRIBUTORS
JAMES MCMASTER
Photo Credit: Kevin Kuhn
On the Cover: “Untitled,” photograph by Christopher John Treacy, Boston Pride March June 1993
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Heading ‘Black in Time’
Book Review
History project event traces the evolution of African American queer culture in Buffalo
by Terri Schlichenmeyer
by Christopher John Treacy It’s been a long road back for Sweets Lounge.
Back in late 2016, amid numerous complaints about noise and unseemly behavior from nearby residents, the LGBTQ-friendly venue suffered a low blow when shots were fired from outside of the establishment. It gave the city an excuse to force a shut down, and while there’s no denying that the gunfire actually occurred, the mainstream media’s portrayal of the event reeked of racial and sexual identity profiling. In other words, it gave the city an excuse to do something it’d wanted to for a while.
“It sure felt like profiling,” owner Denise Sweet said recently over the phone, going on to describe some business tensions with an event promoter that’d been mounting around that time, which resulted in the shooting. She also cited that the venue had been catering to a younger crowd, which can sometimes be rowdier and more difficult to handle. Sweet isn’t bitter, though. Instead, the Founder and President of the Black Intelligent Ladies Association is focused on continuing to brand Sweets for the neighborhood lounge that it is, bringing attention to the delicious food coming out of its kitchen and the easygoing vibe that the venue exudes while simultaneously offering an alternative, off-thebeaten-path option for LGBTQ folks – particularly those of color – to feel at home.
“The whole thing made my relationship with the LGBTQ community break apart a little, but it’s been coming back, and it’s a better crowd,” she said. “It’s taken a lot of promotions, advertising and linking up with various people to bring in a different clientele and convince them it’s a safe environment, because it is. It’s a nice atmosphere – there’s no harassment, nothing uncomfortable. The way the news made it sound… they called it a ‘hole in the wall’.”
So, you can imagine Sweets’ delight when she was approached by the Buffalo-Niagara LGBTQ History Project about an event called Black in Time, which comes to fruition on Saturday, April 14. Branded as a dance party with an educational edge, Black in Time is designed to celebrate the evolution of African-American LGBTQ culture in Buffalo… which, incidentally, has always involved off-the-beaten-path destimations. In fact, Sweets seems like the perfect spot for this event. “We started by calling it a ‘historical dance party’,” said History Project member, Ana Grujić, noting that the idea took hold in the wake of her partner (Loop’s own Adrienne C. Hill) working on a story about Mean Alice’s, a Buffalo bar of the past that became known for turning away folks that weren’t white.
“We were both sort of negatively fascinated by a detail in the story about music used as weaponry to push people of color out,” she said. “If they noticed too many black people dancing, they would suddenly change the music,” or, at least, that’s how it was characterized by Robert Hairston when he recalled his experiences at another Buffalo club from that era, Me and My Arrow, for Hill’s article. Hairston and his partner, John Morrison, filed a complaint against Mean Alice’s and also had a hand in organizing the some of the initial dance parties that became the glue for LGBTQ people of color in decades past. Grujić went on to say that LGBTQ African Americans in Buffalo also would travel to other cities to find the music they wanted to hear in clubs, but especially given that Buffalo’s racial demographic has hovered around 40% black for many years, this wasn’t any sort of real solution. Black in Time will revel in the music and spirit of venues that people of color claimed as their own throughout the decades – fifty years – from Little Harlem Hotel (1940’s) to Touch of Class (more recently), as well as parties like Just Us and Jack Your Body, which were recurring events in the 1970s and 1980s. Later, events planned by MOCHA and Black Men Talking were designed to educate people about protecting themselves
from HIV in a festive environment. All in all, it’s a richer history than you might think. “We had to ask ourselves, can we have a dance party where the music is going to be played decade by decade? Once we started learning about the segregation of queer spaces in Buffalo, we began to pick up on what music was relevant to the development of queer identity for different communities.”
To that end, the History Project teamed up with DJ Remmz (a.k.a. Richard Stepney) to help prepare the soundtrack, which will move back in time as the evening progresses, beginning with the aughties. Though attendees are encouraged to share memories and reminisce between decades in person as the evening unfolds, there will also be filmed segments of people speaking their recollections played between Remmz’s sets. In addition, the group has been accumulating archival materials from various sources to display at Black in Time.
“We filmed one segment at Sweets, which was all women,” Grujić said. “Then we spoke with Keke Valazquez-Lord, whose face kept popping up in the archival materials. As a pageant performer and someone associated with Marcella’s for many years, she’s got tons of memories about different parties and performances. She’s a matriarch of sorts.” Grujić also spoke of the difficulties in finding archival items from a segregated community that developed underground, but she’s managed to tap a few rich sources.
“We are trying to collect as many photos and fliers and posters from as far back in time as we can,” she said. “We have material reaching as far back as the early 1960’s, and our hope is that it will make an impression on young people, since they don’t know exactly what it looked like. It’s about learning their history in an immersive, entertaining way, and maybe showing them that things they do today, they’re not the first ones to be doing them.”
Often, the venues claimed by LGBTQ African Americans haven’t been gay, per se, such as Miss Julie’s Touch of Class – a.k.a. 134 or 1-dirty-four — which eventually became just Touch of Class on Dewey St. and, sadly, burned in the early 2000’s. Though never established as a gay bar, the owner’s son was gay and it was very open and friendly to people of color in a way that the established bars were not, apparently. As is always the case, the Buffalo-Niagara LGBTQ History Project is hoping to inspire people rather than merely entertain them. The idea is to facilitate events that make people want to become the historians of their own stories, to learn and gain a greater understanding of the past events that have shaped them and create a desire to preserve that information in any way possible.
“People are often surprised by what our projects bring to light,” she said. “They tell us they didn’t know this history had been here their whole lives. The beautiful part is getting to meet all these people and forming relationships with them… getting to the point where they trust you to share their stories. It doesn’t always happen, but it’s very fulfilling when it does. It’s hard not to get swept up in the idea that their history is somehow also yours, and this is an important boundary to maintain: we are just here to facilitate. The stories are their own.”
Black in Time at Sweets Lounge, 2 Schreck Ave., on Saturday, April 14, from 8:00 p.m. to Midnight. The event is 21+ and admission is on a sliding scale with a suggested $5 donation (nobody will be turned away!). Photo Credits: (Left, top and bottom) Keke Valazquez-Lord, backsatge and in the spotlight as photographed by Dani Boris; (Right) drag performance in action, unknown performer, 1980s,
Tomorrow Will be Different by Sarah McBride (Crown Archetype, 2018) 288 pages Things are never as bad as they seem.
There’s always a brighter spot if you just look for it, always something to be thankful for, a way of making yourself feel better because things aren’t as they seem. As in the new book “Tomorrow Will Be Different” by Sarah McBride, there’s always a chance to make a change.
Though she was ten years old the first time she heard the word “transgender,” Sarah McBride knew from an early age that she was really a girl. Problem was, everyone around her saw her as a boy, and she didn’t want to disillusion them because she didn’t want to disappoint them.
And so, McBride tamped down a feeling of “homesickness” inside herself and she tried to be a boy by dating girls, joining a fraternity at college, and doing guy things that felt wrong. It wasn’t ‘til the end of her time as student body president at American University that she took the leap and came out, publicly, as a woman. It was a relief, she says, and though there was some initial shock, her friends and family never stopped loving her. For that, she acknowledges her fortune; a high percentage of her LGBTQ peers aren’t so lucky.
Not long after this major life-changer, McBride was accepted for a dream come true, landing an internship at the Obama White House. She’d been fascinated by politics since she was small and was a campaign volunteer in her home state of Delaware. Starting in the Office of Public Engagement, she was quickly engaged; activism, as McBride learned, was something she could sink her teeth into, as a trans woman.
Happier than she’d ever been, McBride’s life continued to rise: she fell in love with Andy, whom she’d met at a party, though she didn’t see him again until he emailed her months later. He was trans, too – a homegrown Wisconsin boy with a sense of humor, and she adored him. The future was bright. And then things changed again…
There’s a message inside “Tomorrow Will Be Different” – and it’s not the activism one that you think is there.
Oh, there’s no denying that author Sarah McBride is an activist and she’s been a big part in making change, not only at state-level but nationally. She’s a history-maker and a shaker. But this book isn’t just about that.
Oh-so-subtly, McBride makes readers’ brains itch. LGBTQ teens can be fragile, and you’ll watch closer after reading this book. Health care isn’t just an issue for the middle-class, and you’ll understand better now. Politics aren’t just something to rant about, and in the midst of all this, believe it or not, you may be better off than you think you are. This book forces a different way of looking at things, but you might not initially notice that as you’re crying over the rest of this memoir.
So bring tissues while you read and let your brain itch. Let “Tomorrow Will Be Different” sink in because things can always be better than they seem. LOOP - APRIL 2018
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scout’s honor by James McMaster
What do you feel when you are ready to get tested for HIV?
I’m sure it’s not the same sensation as when your direct deposit hits your account earlier than expected, or the experience of watching your favorite queen from RuPaul’s Drag Race win the crown. It’s probably more like the panic of a random phone call from a parent at 2:00 am, feeling nervous watching a current Mariah Carey performance, or being disappointed when your favorite queen on Drag Race sashayed away (or when RuPaul lets the bittered eliminated queens decide who lip syncs for their legacy on All Stars 3). It’s easy to deter ourselves from getting tested, and impossible to make it a routine. Our reasons for dreading this experience are varied and very personal. I get it. It sucks. But if we are humping, pumping, and dumping, we need to do it. If we are HPD’ing with multiple partners, we need to do it more often.
I won’t make any claims to trick you into believing HIV/STI testing will be like going to a bomb ass brunch, but hopefully I can help reduce your anxiety, understand that testing gives you control of your sexual health, and how routine testing can improve your sexual health competence.
Needles! Blood! Did you cringe from those words? It’s common to fear the prick of a needle or the sight of blood. Most agencies, and medical centers use a blood sample for HIV testing, which makes it difficult to avoid. The good news for the belonephobic is rapid testing uses lancets to collect a blood sample, which hides the small needle from your sight. For the hemophobic, rapid tests only need a small amount of the red stuff, so it’s faster to gather the sample, and bandage the punctured area. Rapid testing is the Disney version of traditional bloodwork. If you make testing “Part of your World,” the repetition helps your body get used to it.
I bet you’d rather listen to Donald Trump talk about infrastructure for 24 hours, than have to tell your former, and/or current partner(s) that you tested reactive for an STI. How far do you have to think back? The more time elapsed between testing, the more partners to you’ll need to notify. Routine testing helps organize your sexual timeline and reduce the hassle of partner notification. You can rule out the sexual partners you had prior
to your last test date.
If I don’t have to recall awful hook ups, count me in.
Who would you confide in if you were in an orgy — your best friend, or the person behind you in line at Wegman’s? If you said the stranger, you’re just bragging, and I support you. But for most of us, we need to build trust in order to share our personal experiences. Being tested with a consistent health worker builds the necessary trust to facilitate honest dialogue. The health worker will have the ability to provide advice tailored to your sexual health and history. Find a health worker you like and use their services regularly. I’m pretty cool, and I test. End of terrible self-promotion.
False, and outdated information about HIV still permeates our culture. Our country’s sexual health education is an embarrassment. We are left to learn about sex, HIV, and STI’s on our own, without any regulation. Growing up, I learned about sex from a clueless friend, who learned it from his clueless brother, who learned it from… you know how this story goes. I was essentially learning about sex from a long game of telephone (and… apologies to the person I told that women only have one hole for every function between their legs). Regular testing with a knowledgeable professional helps build your sexual knowledge and allows you to shed the crap information you’ve collected over the years. Pick their brain while you’re being tested. Questions should be welcomed by the tester. Health workers want you to become a sexual academic. I know I do. Because you’ll go back to your community with the wisdom to better inform the people around you, thus bringing about important change. Society tries to force its guilt, shame, and judgment on us because of how we view sex. It’s common for us to find comfort in the unknown. But lack of honest dialogue or flat out silence around sex adversely affects our health. We can change this. We can change society’s narrative about sex. The first step? Get tested.
Climate change: The ABC’s of R-E-S-P-E-C-T-A-B-I-L-I-T-Y by Ron Ehmke I see there’s a name for it now.
The phenomenon is all too familiar, but the term “respectability politics” is relatively new. At least it’s new to me, having been out of the academic loop since those hazy crazy days of the nineties when “queer theory” came along to offer trend-conscious heterosexual scholars a consequence-free way to identify as “queer.” You may be similarly unfamiliar with the phrase, but if you have ever helped organize an LGBTQ event, read the editorials in a gay publication, followed the heated arguments on a queer-themed blog, or even simply argued with a stranger in a bar about whether to use “LGBTQ,” “gay,” or “queer” to describe yourself and your friends, you know what respectability politics is all about. Every time a gay person asks, “Why does the media only focus on the drag queens, leathermen, and bull dykes at our parades?,” that’s respectability politics. And every time someone responds, “What’s WRONG with being a drag queen, leather man, or bull dyke, anyway?,” you’ve got the makings of the Great Debate of our people. And it’s not just an issue for “our” people, or even “our” moment in time. The term was coined—in the heyday of “queer theory,” as it turns out—by historian Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham in her 1993 book Righteous Discontent: The Women’s Movement in the Black Baptist Church, 1880–1920. Higginbotham was interested in the way that churchgoing African American women in the South stressed the importance of education, fighting negative stereotypes, and essentially attempting (unsuccessfully, in their day) to blend into white culture in their fight against racism. In championing what is now called social justice, they (and such earlier and later movement leaders as W.E.B. “Talented Tenth” DuBois and Bill “Pull Your Pants Up” Cosby) became a self-policing force that could be even more 4
LOOP - APRIL 2018
restrictive, prescriptive, and proscriptive than the majority culture.
I can’t think of a more concise illustration of the concept than the 1971 hit single by the gospel/soul act the Staples Singers (inexplicably covered by, ahem, Bruce Willis, on his best-forgotten 1987 album, The Return of Bruno). Songwriters Luther Ingram and Mack Rice begin with this perfectly reasonable premise: “If you disrespect anybody that you run into / How in the world do you think anybody’s s’posed to respect you?” They follow that rhetorical question with a series of etiquette tips for young African American men: Don’t mock preachers, don’t curse in the presence of women, don’t behave as if “the world owes you something.” By the end of the song, the audience is even told to “Put your hand on your mouth when you cough, that’ll help the solution.” It was not clear to me as a pre-teen in the era of Black Pride exactly how proper hygiene during the cold and flu season would uplift the race, but the concept of looking your best and minding your manners in the presence of the authority figures you are attempting to subvert makes me think of the dapper suits and ties all the men are always wearing in images of Mattachine Society demonstrations in the 1950s and early 1960s, long before “Gay Pride” even had a name, let alone a closet filled with black leather jockstraps and hot pink feather boas.
I vividly recall the controversy that swirled around what was briefly called “gaystreaming” in the late 80s and early 90s: The desire, most frequently and loudly proclaimed by wellto-do white gay men, that we all just politely blend into the mainstream and assimilate ourselves into a “normality” that sounded and looked an awful lot like a new form of invisibility. (And yes, boys and girls and all-others, there really was a time long before Grindr was
invented when classified ads specified “no fats, fems, or fairies.”)
If you ask me, it’s a debate that transcends race and sexuality. I have witnessed versions of it in my own existence as a (white) Southerner, an atypically masculine person, an activist, an artist, a young person, an old person, and so on. It can be paraphrased in this imperfect but still useful one-size-fits-all way: How should public figures from “our community” represent “us” to the larger world? What behaviors are “appropriate” and “inappropriate” when “our” celebrities are on camera or onstage? (Every one of those words in quotes has been the subject of its own mini-battles, needless to say.)
This line of inquiry raises a related question: SHOULD we expect anyone BUT ourselves to speak FOR us to others who are not like us, the ones we consider “outsiders”? I don’t have an easy answer to these questions or a convenient resolution to this seemingly eternal debate. (Full disclosure: In the typical ACT UP WNY demonstration of the late 80s, I was usually the group member whose first impulse was to make nice with the cops, and then to put on a happy face for the benefit of news cameras, because there is a part of me that really does believe in challenging kneejerk associations like “angry protestor.”)
What I do have to offer is a tip for the talking heads on Fox News: “Respectability Politics.” Memorize that buzzword NOW so you can start twisting and perverting its original/intended meaning to serve your own purposes— as you have previously done with, in roughly chronological order, “diversity,” “multiculturalism,” “identity politics,” and “intersectionality.” You know, that thing where you take a word that was actually helping a certain relatively small group of your fellow humans make sense
of THEIR experience and feelings of powerlessness and exclusion (and potentially EVERYONE’s, INCLUDING YOURS), then complain that IT makes YOU feel powerless and excluded TOO—in fact, that YOU are the true victim and THEY are the exclusive elite club that won’t invite you to join their reindeer games.
You know, that thing where you turn someone else’s TOOL into a weapon AGAINST them. You know, demonize your enemies and their flimsy flawed
human
attempts to resist THEIR demons. But here’s the thing:
IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE “us” vs “them”
AND “WE” DON’T HAVE TO PLAY INTO THAT TRAP, Because
When you remove the hideously misunderstood term “political correctness” from the conversation, you just might realize that EVEN IF you are the straightest, whitest, male-est, cisest human in the room, EVEN YOU probably have strong feelings about how YOU want to be seen and understood by people who are not exactly like you in every single way. NOW do you see?
And if you do, can we please MOVE THE CONVERSATION FORWARD now? Because it’s getting just as boring to “us” as it is to “you.” And besides:
We’re all in this together.