Contemporary Queer | Technology Issue by Sage Saturn Nenyue

Issue 1 • Technnology [June • 25 • 14]

Supporting & Celebrating the Margins Contemporary Queer is a space for queer and trans people of color to tell their stories, to draw inspiration from one another’s triumphs, to find and connect with others who may be in their situation or similar ones. Or even to learn from other communities. Spaces like these are nececsary. Lack of intimate knowledge and, to be frank, concern, for the struggle of those who stand at the intersections of non-dominant gender identity and expression, sexual orientation, and race/ethnicity/culture makes raising the necessary funding to make projects like this succeed exceedingly difficult. Not only that, but there are bigger, better-established organizations with a larger bases of support and more resources at their disposals. All over the web and physical space, people are constantly asking for the necessary financial support to spark and continue projects with lasting benefits to our space. And because of the way our capitalist system works, these worthy projects must compete with one another for a limited amount of funding to achieve their goals. For this reason, I am extremely glad that I know people who would rather compete cooperatively for the good of everyone in our community and who support one another. Despite the better-established projects, there were some folks who heeded the call and took action. They believed in the mission of this digital media platform and chose to support it amidst the large number of other projects they could have supported, for which I am eternally grateful. Their funding helped Contemporary Queer achieve the ability to secure digital space, the necessary features for future expansion and community empowerment, and a step on the path to being able to compensate creators for their labor. There were such amazing people that got the ball rolling. These are the people that believed in this project when it was only me there to vouch for it with pleas of what ConQueer would achieve or their personal knowledge either of my publication-heavy past or my passion for queer empowerment. (Or they just wanted me to stop annoying them. Honestly, I’m open to every realistic possibility!) At any rate, these are the angels that got this publication started. I want to give a big thanks to these folks I’m calling the Founder’s Funders!

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Contents. 4

Queer, Poz, Colored & Living

CONTEMPORARY QUEER Contemporaryqueer.com ConQueer.com

Designer & Editor Sage Nenyue Cover Design Marianna E.

Navigating my Life as a Gay Ex-Muslim 6

My name is Zain Ahmed. I am a nineteen year-old, Pakistani-American, gay, male-identified person who is in his sophomore year at San Jose State University with no conclusive field of study.

tity questioning growing up as a Muslim-American boy. I was raised as a first-generation Ahmadi-Muslim American boy, as my parents were both immigrants who emigrated to America during the 1990’s. It was difficult for me to navigate myself and find a sense of identity between my mosque community and my peers at school.

I am passionate about music, singing, writing, performing, traveling, eating, sleeping, experiencing life, the social justice ideology, My childhood revolved strongand community advocacy work. I have goals in helping people find ly around constantly attending happiness through creating art the mosque every other week, attending the classes and programs and safe spaces for conversation. available for children and adults, I experienced immense culturmemorizing different verses in the al shock, anxiety, depression, and Quran and sets of prayers, celebratidening the holidays, and participating in these competitions that tested memorization skills, speech writing and public speaking skills, and reciting skills. Honestly, being a Muslim made up a lot of my identity as a child, and it consumed a lot of my day-to-day life. As I got older, I had even more responsibilities, such as needing help in setup and cleanup in events, needing to be involved with helping run events as well as different projects. There was a lot that was expected of me, and there is a lot that is expected from teenage and adolescent boys and men at the mosque.

In high school, I really started to question my stance on faith. I began to open-endedly question different ideals and morals within Islam, as well as within Pakistani culture, and my own spiritual and moral identity, and really see things in a different light. I realized that, at least in my perspective, Islam contained a lot of problematic people that were sexist, that were extremely strict on gender roles in Islam, that promoted racial and ethnic stereotyping, and that were hypocritical in their thinking. I began to hate Islam. I hated the ideology, I hated the morals, I hated the people and culture, and, most of all, I hated myself. I hated myself for being born into such a suppressive lifestyle. I started to hate attending mosque, listening to sermons, talking to people at the mosque, and just being engaged with the community whatsoever. I felt like Islam was controlling every part of my being – I couldn’t express myself as I wanted to, I couldn’t have the friends I wanted to have, I couldn’t think the way I wanted to think, I couldn’t pursue the careers I wanted to pursue. It was as if the entire course of my life was already pre-determined for me, without

any sort of idea as to whether or not I would actually want to live that life. My parents and the community implicated that I had to do certain things, and I had to live my life in a certain manner, and that I didn’t get to choose for myself in too many ways. I felt severely stuck, and that I had no way out of this path. I couldn’t make my own path.

ed in my life. I recall feeling intense anxiety – feeling that the world was entirely against me, that I was meant to live my life in unhappy suppression. I was closeted with this throughout the rest of high school and my first semester of college. Up until then, I had more moments of just intense anxiety and depression, and after awhile it built up so much that I wanted to run away, or move out of my parents’ house. I needed something new, so I took a risk and reached out to San Jose State University’s LGBT Resource Center. I started off the Spring semester by attending a retreat run by the center. It was my first time really meeting gay people, but not only gay people but lesbian people, transgender people, genderqueer people, and people who transgressed gender normativity as a whole. I instantly felt at home with these people, with this center. I actually came out to my parents soon after this retreat happened, and stopped practicing Islam altogether.

I became increasingly depressed during high school. I hated my life, I hated the people in my life, and I ultimately hated myself. I felt really alone and helpless, and that the idea of being happy was an impossibility for me. I also experienced immense internalized racism because of my experiences in Islam. I hated when I saw other Muslim women in hijabs, or when I saw other desi folk being stereotypically desi. I began to really invalidated other South Asian and Middle Eastern people, simply because seeing a person’s appearance started to generate a lot of preconceived notions about their life, personality, morals, and persona. And I never wanted to be around brown people, unless they could prove that they were American-born and had a more progressive ideology. I also hated seeing other Muslim women, simply because it triggered my perspective on that Islam was a sexist religion, and that women were severely oppressed because of it. It made me angry to see it, because it made me angry to think Throughout the past year, I that women were simply enduring that oppression, without question- found a new community. I found a new sense of identity, a new sense ing it. In the latter part of my senior of knowledge and ideology with year in high school, I came to realiz- social justice, a new sense of haping that I was gay. One can imagine piness and comfort with life, and a how much more pressure this add- new sense of pride and assurance

in myself. Because of social justice, I’ve began to learn the importance of diversity, and I’ve grown to be mindful of Islam and other racial backgrounds, as well as South Asian and Middle Eastern people. I’ve overcome my internalized racism and internalized Islamophobia, and now I see both in a better, more understanding light. I can’t ever say I’ll be Muslim again, but I don’t hate the religion anymore. I began to seek out leadership opportunities and ways to be involved. Last year, I was offered to become Secretary of this school’s Queer & Asian organization. Now, I facilitate most of the meetings and consider myself an LGBT leader on campus. I also take part in organizing events, collaborating with other organizations, and doing outreach. I’ve noticed I’m doing similar things that I did at my mosque, but now I’m doing it for a cause and community I believe in. I feel like I affect more people now, because I want to be engaged with people more. I want to connect with others, engage with them, and help our community grow. My life is far from perfect, and I haven’t completely overcome my depression and insecurities; however, I do feel that my sense of self has grown, and my confidence and self-affirmation has improved vastly. ▶▶ .‫( مكيلع مالسل‬Zain Ahmed)

Side-Eye Servitude The side-eye is most notable for conveying “look at this stupid...”, but it is also used to confirm support in hard times interpersonally. And sometimes that support is exclusionary. Folks forget that when you shut others out, you remain alone. This is a story that will most likely end in side-eye sadness. You’ve been warned. Renaldo and I queen it up at the bar. Our shrill OMGs are only drowned out by the technoletric remixes of divas or Lady Gaga. Normally, he’s a Selena-Shakira queen and I fanboy for Eartha Kitt while being an M.I.A. banger. Our drinks are made with heavy-handed love, our mess is hot, and our love (platonic) was found in a hopeless place. The majority of our friend group is white, and we are well aware of our sidekick status. Our token roles. But like a strong relaxer taken to 3A hair, the smoothing process is easy. In fact, we have a whole routine of tension easing jokes that we tear ourselves down together with. The jokes take on colonial past activities and policies spurred by current interpersonal situations and circumstances that are not dichotomies, but oppressed sides of the same multifaced die: Maid/slave. Fruit picker/sharecropper. Mariachi player/ Jazz musician. “You’re good at ironing—can you tap my shirt, Maria?” I might

When we walk outside during ask him, pretending to hand him the daytime in humid Souththe iron as I crease my pants to “Every ern City heat, stylishly cut through steel. “That heteronormative shirt’s low quality... I’m race has affecting young surprised you couldn’t them.” He would tell since 99% of it was point out some time professional post-undergrad picked by your uncle.” later. “We just have realness, we run “Did you get this watermelon at the super- to keep being the across a young proper ones.” group of Black market or did you steal kids whose voices it from Todd’s garden last sound like Alvin and the night?” “You tried it, Renaldo… You know what, I’m gonna turn to Chipmunks on helium but whose Jesus for this one. You know, one appearances we read as male. For of your multiple cousins. He’s the me, it’s uncomfortable. They are Black, I am Black. They are queer, I one that picked it.” am queer (“I like guys” I may have We could go on for days like pointed out with a slightly upthat. turned lip during that phase of my The relationship is intimate—I life). They are like me but beneath trust Renaldo completely with my me. They can’t sit with us. But I emotions and thoughts and well- have to confirm. My side-eye is being—but it is an elephant pre- shaky and tentative, but I extend cariously set on the itty bitty tippy the hooks through the corner of top of a needle. To outsiders, our my eyes. jokes are cruel—even by Dozens Like a true blue betch, Renaldo standards—but they have rules. catches them and we rise above There are boundaries you do not the rachetry, regal realness reflectcross. We know them in our minds ing on our closed faces. The kids but we could never speak them. suck their teeth and talk shit auAnd we usually maintain well.

“Your hair’s kinda nappy,” he about PoC things under whiteness dibly. At the time, I knew if they’d as an umbrella. But as I said earjust acted right, they’d have a seat says as he hands me his comb. at the table. But it was what it was “Huh?” I ask, ignoring the comb. lier, there were boundaries even between us. Things that we exand we’re already onto the next. “Nappy… Your hair is a litThe next was not that far be- tle nappy by the edge,” he says perienced, having a different sort hind. A few days later, we see a and mimes on his own recent- of access to each other through Latino man with a fierce face and ly-straightened hair the area near mutually oppressed standpoints across the same intersections that a dainty manbag wearing stihis temple. And white folks could only know about lettos with heels so thin “Ahhh, I gotcha, ” I I don’t from us. And we sometimes transthey slice the air like say, chuckling and gressed those boundaries out of a think either of swords with every accepting the strange compulsion to harm othstep onto the conus wanted to be comb and taking ers grown from the frenzy of dealcrete. I don’t know white so much as it to my hair. “Sor- ing with microaggressions large what Renaldo thinks, accepted-and-not- ry about that—I and small from the dominant culbut our bemused lips couldn’t under- ture, our own cultures, and other marginalized. after the second sidestand through your PoC cultures. eye tells me it mirrored accent.” He laughs and And I don’t think either of us my own experience days earlier. as I comb my hair and we continwanted to be white so much as “Every race has them,” he would ue talking, I’ll never know if my accepted-and-not-marginalized point out some time later. “We dig about his accent cut as shalby the global dominant minorijust have to keep being the proplow-but-blood-drawingly deep as ty. Our words, tones, glances, and er ones.” his remark about my hair. Or if the It was telling. At the time, I times he offers me his straighten- mannerisms served respectabildidn’t know what it was telling ing iron when I don’t ask is a litmus ity, multi-cultural assimilation, of, but I knew I’d remember his test to gauge something about and upwardly mobile ideals rathwords years from then. And I do my blackness and masculinity, or er than the desire to necessarily now. We had appointed ourselves if he’s just regarding me as anoth- leave our own cultures and join the protectors of culture. Despite er curly-haired friend primping up whiteness as anything other than not having a large platform from before the club and if it came from tokens. Our actions sought to which to gatekeep, we would de- an anti-Black Latin@ standpoint, usher in a soup society of white fend whiteness from coming into or a white supremacist culture/ base infused with the non-toxic, contact with the “embarrassing non-specified anti-Blackness, or non-corrosive, elements of Blackaspects and people of our race” just a betch with agency for his ness and Mexican-ness—in tanby dismissing their personhood or belittling them (usually cow- The two of us were beautiful, sitting on the upper ardly out of view and earshot) in floor and basking in the ambiance of light and soft front of our white friends and be- sound in a way that would make a liberal arts school tween each other—as if to prove diversity photographer have an unfortunate accident we were the right kind of people in his pants. and maintain that reality respectively. hair expanding the opportunity dem, misguidedly trying to cover I would also like to point out of a fellow betch’s hair. a large swath of PoC representathat we also policed each other. A part of me recognized the tion. We’d taken it upon ourselves Our wicked game of Interethnic limits and nuances of our close to be the upstanding represenDozens wasn’t this. This policing friendship tottering on respecttatives not only of our specific was more along the lines of cor- ability: We could joke together cultures, but also of the ones we dially-aggressively warning.

knew we’d be boxed into if our tongues were cut off and we were asked where we originated. It was our intention, then, to glorify the “mean” of whiteness with the “best and brightest” of our own cultures and beings, discarding anything that would hold us back and making hypervisible the acceptably exotic. *** In Renaldo’s condo one late afternoon the sun’s dark orange rays spilled in through the shutters, splashing on the wall and complimenting the chandelier’s refractive nature. The two of us were beautiful, sitting on the upper floor and basking in the ambiance of light and soft sound in a way that would make a liberal arts school diversity photographer have an unfortunate accident in his pants. I lounged sideways on the bed, drafting the next American classic to be accepted into the Western canon of greatness and he was setting the keyboard to re-imagine music since Mozart. Just casual post-undergrad liberal arts geniuses being casual postgrad liberal arts geniuses. Two glasses of wine—it was only 5 so it was still Classy Time in this proper part of the south—and we found ourselves pouring over one of his music books. It was only a matter of time before we were tipsily dueting the Phantom of the Opera’s “All I Ask of You.” Our music, gorgeous with the harmony of our drunken voices and masterful keyfingering, would come to a halt under the gaze and eventual intrusion (a strong word for the situation since he technically lived there, ad-

mittedly) of Renaldo’s boyfriend. As we sang and Renaldo played, Mike would cut in to correct his key, or to question his choice of notes played when he decided to get a little experimental. I’m sure my face was closed and I was still a guest, which shielded me from more than his small piques about how to not sing so horridly. As we sat with our backs to Mike, Renaldo would throw side-eye hooks that I caught and returned before Mike decided to sit closer and we all repositioned to accommodate him. Between the singing and music becoming uncomfortable and forced now, Mike continued to cut in and make criticisms. Eventually the music stopped as Mike asked questions that demanded full attention and Renaldo pushed back. The conversation got pointed and I moved back a little to let them get out what they had to say. Symbolically, it was telling: Mike sitting straightbacked in a way he never did with his white friends as he undermined and mercilessly critiqued Renaldo in front of his guest (me) never once conceding to the points Renaldo made that countered and at times rendered null his own. For what could a Mexican music major know that a white accounting major did not, unless it was with regards to salsa? How could he out-white a white man?

naldo was getting any kind of outside support; to see what I was doing. The moment we saw his head swivel, the connection broke off. Thus is the precarious nature of affecting respectability at most standpoints: You can only belittle those you deem beneath you and police those you consider at your level. Even if you disagree with those higher than you, by the very nature of the beast you’ve chosen to mount, there is no way you can win. You have already accepted the rule of those you have put on a pedestal as your betters.

In the case of the side-eye, it has shown itself to be a tool. It is used in communities of color and understood as resistance to public displays of racial-class aggression from members of privileged classes. It’s a measure of personal resistance against abuse from the eyes when the body has historically been policed—movements regulated, gestures controlled. It’s one forged of resistance, community, and positive affirmation. But like everything else, it is not void of the capacity to be used maliciously or nefariously. The only tool incapable of this—and which is not a tool in the traditional sense because it cannot be used—is love. And what does “love” really mean when you are busy invalidating every person and behavior that stops your willing complicitness I like to think that my holding to crimes commited by privilege? ▶▶ Sage Nenyue and returning Renaldo’s side-eyes helped to get him through the embarrassing ordeal. But even they weren’t infallible, as the connection was severed when Mike would catch wise and rotate his head every so often to see if Re-

After 76 days, 2day Jane Doe set 2 Your outpouring of love & support for this black b moved out of prison 2 a secure trans woman feels revolutionary. Let’s extend this unit 4 girls temporarily. Don’t stop love to #justiceforjane #standwithmonica telling her story. #JusticeForJane --@LaverneCox --@chasestrangio (6/23/14) #JusticeForJane because Dan Savage was not talking about us when he said #itgetsbetter I MEAN #itgetsbourgie --@DarkMatterRage ICYM my letter to -Still in prison without #JusticeForJane Too many trans #justiceforjane - 16yo women of color suffer through the charges. It’s been 75 days. girl who dares to smile + prison industrial complex and not #JusticeForJane. We won’t dream behind bars in an forget. given the opportunity to thrive. adult prison #girlslikeus --@Justice4JaneCT --@sailorfoxypussy --@JanetMock

No One is Disposable: #JusticeForJane and why dignity is a human right. bit.ly/1kOuKuO #Weekendmustreads --@Feministing

What message do we send trans youth if we are quiet when trans girls get thrown in solitary without charge? #JusticeForJane --@SophiaPhotos

JANE’S WORDS ABOUT HER EXPERIENCE

DEMAND

#JUSTICE4JANE (Click to help justice prevail.)

Jane Doe representation by Molly Crabapple

Even Superman Isn’t Invincible ▶▶ by Anonymous Kitty

What do you do when you’re here, you think they’re here too, but they aren’t here? Because they’re there? One person talks about navigating the treacherous landscape of dealing with a man in friendship-ish, love, and a host of emotions that have no name. I wasn’t going to make you see it… I realize that now. But each day that you’re not here with me, it doesn’t make me love you any less and it makes me miss you even more. Until this day, I still think about you daily and I still would want to see you and talk to you. But it seems that the oncean-open-book that you were is now closed and shut tight. Who knows what I’m writing this for; this is a diary of a 23 year old gay man who fell for someone, someone admirable yet so cruel. In this day and age, every gay man meets each other off of “dating” applications on the smartphone or the plethora of websites attracting robust men looking for some “loving.” I have been a beneficiary of this age and invention. Through these things, I have met a wide variety of men from all walks of life. Although a certain type seems to gravitate towards me: Successful professionals. That, or I’m a gold digger. Hopefully, not the latter. I have had some suspiciously incredible offers but turned them down as they did not feel right and I would definitely feel like the true cheap

whore that I am. Anyway, I digress. The focus of this writing for now is how I met someone who grew to be everything I have ever wanted. This happened roughly almost around one year ago. As mentioned, I always meet people from online, to this day I still haven’t been kidnapped or killed, thank God for that (I’m an atheist). For confidentiality, I won’t give out a name of this man, so I’ll just name him “Clark Kent.” Naturally, I met him on a gay dating application. It took him a while before he got back to me a month or so to be exact, but of course I wasn’t waiting. My initial thought of him was “oh, he’s attractive and looks like fun.” We talked for a bit and decided to meet up at my place. When he arrived, we chatted for a bit before anything happened, he had a read at my resume as I was looking for a job at that time and I needed a second opinion. Anyhow, before things could happen, he and I were a bit awkward, I suppose the “thing” didn’t start out like it normally would – the routine the gay men know all too well, minimal words, maximal action. He was a bit shy but things

started and ended great anyway. I noticed that there was something unique about him. After “it” ended, he would spray the cough/ throat spray. He tried to say it wasn’t weird but I was more than fine to ignore it and I didn’t really think anything of it. At this point we got to talking a little bit more; I asked him what he did and I had established before that he’s Canadian. Being in Thailand and having met so many people, I’ve developed a skill to identify what sort of job someone would do based on their demeanors and personalities. I told him my guess—that he was in the humanitarian field and I was right. I have always aspired to be in this field as well. One thing we have in common then. After the initial exchange in person, we kept in touch. We actually hit it off really well. He asked me if I wanted to be regulars with him, to which I said sure without really thinking much, I didn’t have any expectations then. He arrived on a taxi but he needed to study for an interview so I suggested he went to another place nearby and we walked to a subway station around my place that happened

to be close to a shopping mall as I thought. But the conversations I needed to get something to eat. were still great, we got to talking a lot and aside from lunch at the We parted ways there. There he was this handsome mall, we had ice cream. I’m not a 29 year old Canadian man whose romantic and I could tell that he passion lies in humanitarian caus- isn’t either but I feel we really had es, I was left with a mild infatua- a connection. As some of our contion with him then, I liked him but versations were a bit on the exI wasn’t sure if we’d meet again. plicit side, he requested our FaceLittle did I know that we’d actually book conversations to be deleted talk again, later that day, the day so I did and I helped him delete after and the day after that. We his on his phone. decided to meet again the week after and of course the start was a bit “awkward” and cute in a way but it got to that. We talked a lot more and we walked to the same subway station, as we had been talking he started to share his life stories with me, his friends, his likes, and his future plans (in the vaguest form) and I was starting to open up to him as well. This walk was different because he decided to tag along and have lunch with me, he introduced me to kebab, something I never thought to get with a combination with this special Thai spicy salad. We, of course, talked a lot more, I got to know his intelligence and insights into the world, his all-around knowledge of things and I wasn’t bored at all – at this point, you might be. We left things at that that day, still we kept in touch we exchanged numbers and Facebook to make it official. Our conversations were shifted across all platforms, the dating app, chatting app and Facebook. We started talking a lot more, the third time came the week after, we did our routine, I felt very comfortable with him at this point but the sex was wearing off

The week after both of us started our jobs, I had landed a job at a foreign government somewhere in Bangkok and he started working at an NGO organization. We thought that our jobs would keep us busy but we still kept in touch…

be a bit busy during the week as we had our professional obligations, we tried our best to meet up at least once a week and were actually able to achieve that. It helped that he was living around my workplace, luckily. We would meet up for dinner everywhere, we tried everything different, things I hadn’t tried. We went crazy over food like pizza and some Taiwanese cuisine. We got closer and closer each time we spoke and met. He would sometimes text me to say he was thinking of me when he was having noodles at this place we’d go to often. We met up for a walk in the park, a swim and just gourmet lemon meringue pie and ice cream. I also loved giving him massages. It really hadn’t occurred to me that I grew attached to this man. Before I knew it, he had actually become someone important to me as I found myself sharing everything with him and I think he was sharing most of his life aspects with me, his childhood, his aspirations, his parents, family, ex-boyfriend and friends.

At this point, we had shared so many things, daily life stories, his on and off again fear of aging, his housemate’s quest for the perfect nutrition, my experience in sex amongst many other things. I don’t know what we called it at that point, “regulars?” “Friends with benefits?”“Boyfriends?” I never thought of us as anything… I didn’t know what we were. As the What struck out to me was evnovelty of the sex was running off, ery time that we were about to I didn’t care much for this. part ways, we’d linger around and We still talked on the chatting tried to talk as much as we could. app, Whatsapp constantly and Even after leaving, we’d still talk a Facebook almost every night. We bit on Facebook, we got a good met up again the weekend after night off of each other almost evas I was in his area and it hapery night. pened again. We had lunch at this Skype was later added and we Raw Vegan restaurant in which we had some good laughs over had the chance to use it a couhow particular this place was. It ple of times. I remember he paid became so natural that everyday close attention to things I posted we’d talk or almost everyday. He and shared. I loved to share funhad become a big part of my life ny things with him… he would give suggestions and provide in that month. guidance over job applications As we had established that we’d

as well as sharing his interview ic response “we are in a very nice experiences when he was going place.” I was very taken aback by all of that that night, I tried to save through one during that time. Things were going great, the sex this conversation by asking if he actually got better as I found out likes me as well, talk about high I had feelings for him, although school drama… he did give me a it didn’t happen all the time. I somewhat satisfactory response learned more and more about him somewhere along the line of “I everyday, how long he had been don’t develop strong feelings for here in Thailand, where he was people but with you, I liked you living, things he was doing, plac- right away.” es he’d gone. I found out he was balding a bit and his family line is predisposed to prostate cancer and he was diagnosed with a mild form of it but he is keeping it at bay. To this point, I actually started to worry about this stranger that had become one of my closest friends. From June to September, I thought we were almost inseparable in terms of connection. As I didn’t know what was going on with us and with how well things were going… I decided to drop the bomb on him… on Whatsapp after one night we met. I told him that I like him when he was attending his Christianity course at the local church near his place. I suppose he was going through some things, he was stressed he had expressed that a few times and I could see that some times. So after that Church session, he read the message and it took him a bit to reply… I got “that’s nice of you to share” to which I said “you’re welcome” and I added a remark “nice one side stepping that.” The conversation turned out to be one of the most awkward conversations I had ever had with him up to that point, I asked him if we were going somewhere and he gave me a very diplomat-

After that point, things were really never the same, I felt he was avoiding me and the conversations were thinning… we still carried on. He had a vacation the weekend of the day to Malaysia and after that we didn’t meet until 2 weeks after. We finally got to meet again but he felt a bit different… like there was a wall up and I couldn’t get to the best friend he used to be. He was telling me about all these job applications and the places he applied to. One of them was Yemen, he said it was nothing personal, wasn’t me and that he needed a change from Bangkok. He added that the job he was doing, while he enjoys it, was driving insane. I had no idea why that is as he said it himself that he enjoys being at the office until late. I suppose his hair falling more was a telling sign to which I sympathized but I did not agree with him moving. He felt a bit cold and wasn’t warm like before. Still, we carried on.

was at least liking that person. It felt like I was trying to hook up with a stranger once again… and I don’t really have a problem having sex with random guys but this felt strained. Regardless, we set a date up for it. Although, it had to happen spontaneous when he was free and he was progressively getting busier and busier, the sex did happen and we both enjoyed it. We got some ramen after, discussing what we had just done, good things. We used to talk about how he wanted someone regular and exclusive so I told him after I left through texts that I was ready to be that person, the response I got was less than heart warming, he said he was comfortable with his boundaries at that point to not be exclusive but happy to be regulars… when I had thought that we were regulars as he’s asked me before. The responses he gave, up to this point, to my deep questions were diplomatic and empty and I truly felt that I had lost the guy I came to love… I had always thought that he was a bit distant but that wall had all but gone away and now he had become a stranger whom I was trying very hard to reacquaint.

I talked to friends about this in hopes of trying to find the answer and solution to win this person over. I felt depressed and lost. The messages that used to get immediate responses would be delayed I tried to set a date up with him or ignored altogether… I felt like I so we could do what we do. He was slowly being pushed away. stated that he didn’t want to take I attempted to do something advantage of the feelings I may have for him. I don’t really under- sweet for him by getting him a stand where he was going with cashmere scarf, his favorite fabric, that… I thought that the prereq- from our favorite brand, Uniqlo uisite of doing it with someone which happened to be in his fa-

We carried on like this for 2 more months, October to November… we were able to meet up here and there… the last time I actually saw him and felt intimate was November 11, I thought it was one of the best times we ever had. I gave him a massage, great sex, grocery shopping and cooking at night. Then later on, we watched a few videos on Youtube and shared ice For a while, things actually got cream. It was a perfect night for better… we got to talking like we me, I didn’t want anything more used to, almost. But he was al- than this. It felt right. After that, he got a vacation time ways busy or so it seemed, I didn’t feel like analyzing every move he again, as he really was stressed made. He would always tell me and needed that, he flew to Mahis plans in advance anyhow, so I laysia for a 4 day getaway… when knew what to expect, plus he gets he came back he was busy with a sick very often, chronic sinus infec- job examination and fell sick once tion. He isn’t a slut like most guys again. We were supposed to be and I think I’m at least 90 percent meeting every week like we had right about this, although he is no agreed to but I understood, he virgin, he definitely isn’t as bad as had things to do and places to be. I used to be. But somehow seeing Someone he was close to back him online on the app had made in Canada passed away from a me jealous, especially when you fight with cancer, his best friend’s could check the timestamps. mother. He had mentioned her vorite color, red. That night, we met up for ice cream the same place we went to all the time, I gave this to him as a surprise present. I told him that I thought of us as very close, and that I wanted to give him things that he wanted, the great sex he was able to get with me, constant and exclusive, my worries with his change in behavior in terms of the messages.

I tried to stay on the bright side of this situation, just because you’re online doesn’t mean you’re looking and someone could just be messaging you. I know he’s very picky so at least I could sort of rest assured he wasn’t out doing it…much.

before, how he was closer to that family than his own… they knew he was gay and she looked to him like he was her son, so as such I understood that he might not have wanted to hang out. But I wanted to be there for him… after all, I love him.

The next few days, I tried to reach him and I did not really get much of a response… I had had enough. One day late November, I finally hit him with a honest conversation asking him what was At this point, not only did I know going on, how he shouldn’t igwhat we were, I also had no clue nore me and if he didn’t want to where we were… were we even see me anymore. He took the time to give me a long reply of which friends at all? he essentially said “to say that I I worried a lot, I became a bit jealous, I wasn’t myself, I never used to check anything but I found myself doing that. Not that I was instigating any drama but I couldn’t help but wonder.

don’t like you is very inaccurate but you seem keen for more than I could provide, it is best for us to take a step back for now.” I felt numb, I couldn’t even cry… I had finally lost him. I tried and tried to tell him that we were meant to be and that we were great together. I must’ve sounded like a broken record, I was desperate. I tried my best to refrain from contacting him but to no avail I was constantly checking his Facebook, Whatsapp and other other gay app, I didn’t know what the purpose of that was but I did it almost religiously. I would text him really long messages and he would reply… now that things have exploded, he decided to be responsive. He would give me long replies as well but at this point it just sounded like he was making speeches, words like “commendable patience” and “you’ve been hurt enough”, “you’re a strong man” and the likes. I was just reading through these texts with disbelief wondering what had gone so wrong. I tried again and again to get in touch with him and meet him but he won’t meet me as he wanted me to move on and ease on our contact… I felt very powerless, there was nothing I could do to turn this around. The man had turned his back on me. December was the most painful month last year, I swear I must’ve cried so many times looking through his pictures and our old conversations. I kept on going to where we would always go and had flashes of what we used to do everywhere. Such a depressing time. I went without seeing him for a month or

so… wishing he’d come back to me, every week I’d drop a long message much like what a crazy ex-boyfriend would do. We had a talk on the phone once when he was about to board a plan for work to India, he admitted that he wasn’t very good at feelings and that we became very close but he thought, once again, that we needed to “take a step back” as we couldn’t move forward at this point. He said meeting wouldn’t be conducive in me moving on so he played the cold war game and essentially cut that part of his life out. Fast forward one month, in January, he got back to me… to my pleasant surprise, I had thought that he realized a few things and decided he wanted to be with me but I was wrong… He told me he was leaving for Yemen. I had thought of that as a possibility but I never actually thought that he would be crazy enough to go or that his family would allow him to but I was so wrong. He told me that he wanted to touch base with me and let me know he was leaving, I don’t understand why he would do that… to tell me… The thing is I no longer knew him at this point, forget all the stuff I knew about him, he felt like a completely different person… I was in shock. I didn’t know what to think. As he was busy trying to ship all his belongings to his post, I tried to meet up with him once more, at the very least to have dinner with him one last time and maybe possibly try to change his mind.

TOO busy it seemed. Then I met him at the park on a Sunday taking a stroll with couple of his friends, they had a night out as a farewell for him, I walked up to him and we talked for quite a bit, I asked him if I was living a lie all this time, he said that I wasn’t. But what the fuck was going on with us then?? What were we? I asked him if he had missed me at all, he asked me if that would make any difference, I guess the answer would be a firm “no.” I suppose because his friends saw me, they had a chat with him after I left, that might’ve helped him realize a few things, his actions may have been too cold, he later texted me apologizing and saying that he felt really bad about the whole ordeal, once again. Once again the responsibility talk backed up by emptiness. Although, he became a bit more responsive in the last days before he left, we got to talking a bit, I told him my future plans and he was telling me about his imminent move… We were able to meet up for lunch 2 days before he left… for a while, it seemed that everything was back to normal… I could sort of talk to him once again. I had said everything I wanted him to hear, a long string of the word love. He tried to make it seem like everything has remained the same, the way he’d pick out a restaurant with his indecisiveness, or the way he’d laugh… but it felt a bit like he was trying to act like all of the things he did back then didn’t actually mean a thing, like all those things we did, he would do normally.

left for him, he needed to finish his work and pack things and have them shipped… one thing struck out to me was that he seemed to have an opinion that I’m a nympho. He did admit that the sex between was “really really really great” and he was happy being with me and a whole lot of other crap about feelings although it didn’t lead anywhere. It ended with us hugging before parting ways. I didn’t know what to feel at that point, everything was so surreal, he was moving away. That distance will erase everything that we were. He promised to keep in touch… but I wasn’t sure if that is a promise he’d keep. He flew off at the end of January, it is now April, it has been 3 months since he had gone away. I managed to keep a very loose touch with him, here and there. Exchanging a few words doesn’t seem too satisfactory. He would say he needed this adventure, a career advancement and he had grown tired of Bangkok… that I should’ve known this was coming, of course there were signs, he was applying to all these places but who would’ve thought he’d actually leave after having been here for 5 years and established friends and family and of course having met me…

I can only keep watch of him on Facebook and news in Yemen, talking to him on there or Skype, technology made it possible to keep in touch but ultimately, it is the person’s choice… I wish I could reach him. Although, I have said everything, I feel I haven’t I offered him goodbye sex but said enough. I really cannot get through to him no matter what I I couldn’t get to him, he was of course there wasn’t any time

say or do. Facebook stalking him makes it even worse sometimes when he “likes” some things from some other guys. I do try to focus on the positives and try to think of that in a non-flirtatious way… I wasn’t going to make him see it… I realize that now. But each day that he’s not here with me, it doesn’t make me love him any less and it makes me miss him even more. Until this day, I still think about him daily and I still would want to see him and talk to him. But it seems that the oncean-open-book that he was is now closed and shut tight. The images of us laughing, the things we talked about, places we went are still so fresh in my head, they keep on replaying and replaying and I can’t seem to stop them. His love for soft baked cookies or gourmet desserts and vanilla ice cream, his passion for politics and the conspiracy theories we talked about, his future plans, his plans to save his money, his love for puppies and kittens and his not-so-good health… I still think about them all… I sound like I’m rambling on and on about an obsession, maybe it is an obsession… who knows. All I know is that I care for and love this man, this awkward smart guy who became my best friend who then became my hopes and my dreams who then became my fears and despair. I don’t know if he’ll ever miss me the way I miss him, or will the things that used to remind him of me have any effect on him now. All the Taylor Swift’s songs have

all become too relatable presently. “Losing him is blue like I’ve never known, missing him is dark gray all alone.” Or that Miley Cyrus’ Wrecking Ball, forgive me but that shit is very relevant and was probably written for me… I tried to bring that wall down once again but I failed and got wrecked badly.

they get left behind by someone they love, a theme we can all share and appreciate, ha ha.

While I don’t agree with the ways he dealt with us and with me, I still love him and admire him anyway. Whether he really wasn’t into me like that or he wasn’t ready for a relationship or he needed to go… the way he left things is really just In the end I still don’t know why too dry and hard to swallow. he left things the way he did… I I hope that one day he’ll see… understand his needs for career that even Superman needs someadvancement but I don’t un- one by his side and that he isn’t derstand why he would cut me invincible… I hope that he really off that way, he says he respects meant it when he said he had feelwhat we had but the pages have ings for me… even if it was in past turned on us. To me, it’s just irre- tense… at the very least I wasn’t sponsible to leave it all like this, lying to myself… I hope that he’ll I didn’t have a say in our “break- see that I really do genuinely and up”, not that we were anything honestly love him… but “special” friends. Ironically, he If this story were to find you, “Mr. used to say that friendship lasts Kent”, be it my “Mr. Kent” or others’ a lot longer than a relationship, Mr. Kent, I hope you’d think twice but he single-handedly destroyed about leaving someone you’ve our friendship to the point where grown attached to…unless of talking feels constrained… I woncourse I was being a total bitch to der how he feels about us… and you then by all means leave me about me. and never speak to me again… The point of me telling this Live, Love, Laugh. story isn’t to demonize him, I still think “Mr. Kent” is a very wonderful man whose ambition is end world’s hunger. His passion has pushed and inspired me to decide to make a career of out the humanitarian field as well. The point of writing this is I wanted to reiterate this story one more time to let people know what I’ve been going through, it may sound like a school girl’s crush bedtime story but it feels real. I hope some people can relate to this and wouldn’t feel too alone in this situation… although very specific, the gist of it is what people go through when

Untitled 18

Heavy heart Teary eyes

The fond memories

Trembling lips

Becoming nothing but a distant past You’re leaving me

How come tonight my moonlight is eclipsed?

All my prayers

What has stolen my light?

All my pleas

Oh how my nights used to be With just you and me

What do I do? Where do I go?

Now all I can see is darkness

You were a part of my soul

All I can do is watch you walk away

Why did you have to go?

Nothing I can do would make you stay You say the pages are turning I feel lost

That my future is promising

I feel confused

That our stories are diverging

The things we’ve been through

That your dream is calling

The places we’ve gone to The memories made

Secretly I wish

The time shared

That someday we’ll be reunited That someday you’ll come back to me

The streets remember our walks

But today all I can do is wait

Restaurants echo our talks Images etched onto my eyes

My pages will still be blank

Everywhere I turn

Awaiting your return

Glimpses of you and I

Maybe then we’ll write our story together once again...

The way we walked The way we talked How could it all have ended? So suddenly So desperately, I cling to you The only one I’ve been true to

▶▶ Bottomless Bottom [Of Emotions]

Queer, Poz, Colored & Living Survival,

Or to give

hot upon my psyche,

Complicating my

stench like that of a ranchers brand upon

Just enough power

Cattle,

For love

seemed to be the natural state of things.

To flower

Flesh burning, scars, no

@ greatness,

And

Memory of when it happened.

But I live,

Free

Just knew it was normal for

For a challenge.

People

Things

I believe in living,

In breathing,

Me.

In loving,

And

Until lungs collapse,

Me?

Hearts stop,

I live,

Brain fries

Love,

Learning disabilities,

From too many tries

Liberate,

Unchecked, disbelieved, until I almost failed

Work,

College was a rollercoaster,

Attempts to love wholly,

And play for the little boy,

I rolled and I coasted so well that the

Freely

Who never knew such things were possible

White House knew my name,

Humanely,

Because his drug addicted mother

Had me over for a BBQ,

Humans.

Never

But black flesh,

Here.

Knew

Queer sex,

In America,

Such

Radical politics,

It’s hard to do.

Things

Aren’t great ways to pay the bills,

Hard to live.

Were

Pay for your ills.

Without losing you.

Possible

HIV survival,

Loving.

For colored boys,

Openly,

Living.

Queer youth,

Loving,

Liberating.

Poz men,

Self,

Your self.

Is Suicide.

Acts of internal

Me.

Still I rise.

I live.

From

External justice

Low

That will kill you,

For just a taste of real life.

How many are willing to die to live,

▶▶ BlaQueerPoz

Disidentifying Performance of Freedom ▶▶ Art by Laura Haldane

My art takes a look at cultural norms surrounding gender by challenging and deconstructing views in the contemporary world that constrict diverse individuality. Utilizing the mediums of holography and photography, I attempted to dispel the contradictions of commonality within individualism. My process included an active challenge of a social perpetual cycle attached to gender and identity.

The photographs include real individuals that pose as voguers or performers who utilize dance as a means to disidentify from dominant culture. These photographed poses are intended to further celebrate the deconstruction of gender norms, as it is these performances of freedom that are induced by elements from a confined mental and physical space.

My holograms are of dolls that are manipulated to confront my audience with ways in which our society perpetuates gender norms. The process of seeing the holographic image correlates to the almost transparent traditions we use to define ourselves.

As a whole, the goal is to unveil that the ultimate truth is that there is no ultimate truth, as it is our own selves that hold us back from true reality. Enjoy what you see, and take time to think. Laura Haldane

DarkMatter Matters ▶▶ Photo courtesy of darkmatterrage.com

Eclectic, powerful, and oh-so-chill with it, DarkMatter is an arts collective comprised of Janani Bala and Alok Vaid-Menon. If you don’t know them by now, here’s a quick 101. What is it essential that things and Alok is always on forms and produces sexism, homophobia, transphobia, we know about your arts time. capitalism, and other broad collective? systems of oppression. We’re a couple of weirdos. You work in the area of We also come from a forBut really, we’re two queer/ decolonization: Can you extrans South Asian artivists pand on what’s at stake and merly colonized nation (Inliving and working in Brook- your contributions to the dia) who is now occupying other lands (Jammu and lyn, NY. Alok is currently an ongoing efforts? Kashmir), and materially suporganizer at the Audre Lorde We are both brown setports the fascist and military Project (a QTPOC comtlers on Native land; specifoccupation of Palestine. We munity organization) and ically, we live on occupied consider part of our work as Janani is an organizer at the Lenape land in New York Indian diaspora as challengQueer Detainee EmpowerCity at the moment. We do ing the violent actions of the ment Project (an Alternaour work as QTPOC artists nation-state where we place tive-To-Detention program and activists with the aim of our heritage. for queer, trans, and HIV+ challenging settler-colonialimmigrants). Alok is lacThis summer, we had the tose-intolerant and Janani ism broadly, and in particular opportunity to travel to Palisn’t. Janani is always late to how settler-colonialism in- estine to work for 2 months

with alQaws, a queer grassroots community organization in the West Bank and 48. Part of our analysis of ‘decolonization’ includes operating and building in solidarity with global South queer and liberation movements. With regards to Western LGBTQ modes of discourse & identity, can you expand on your experience in Palestine? How did you experience yourselves? We just wrote a four part statement on the same!

With your work in detainee and penal system activism—what should we know about our systems and where can one start if they wanted to get into this sort of work? Check out this kickass series of videos called Everyday Practices of Prison Abolition. Prison and detention abolition are central to our analysis and practice. We write and organize with the potential of a world without detention centers and pri-

sions in mind. This means supporting the survivors of those systems (both currently and previously incarcerated/detained folks), building alternative safety structures, and creating accountability mechanisms that don’t rely on ‘punishment’ as the presumption. One of the best ways to get involved with this work to start is to find prison and detention abolition organizations in your area and show up to do the work and/or give them your money. This work is neither easy to do nor fund--so

make it happen! What do you do when you aren’t GOING THE !!!! IN on oppressive power structures? How do you chill out, kick back, and/or turn up—if you do indeed turn up? Janani is an introvert who loves bad television with lots of Straight White People (eg gossip girl) and Alok is an extravert-supremacist who likes going to Very White Gay Clubs. We also love hanging out with our NYC friends (to whom we owe so much

of our survival, politics, artmaking, and love), making and sharing dinners, calling friends who live elsewhere, and singing Barney songs together when we walk down the street (really, you should walk down the street with the two of us sometime). Is there anything we haven’t covered that you’d like to? Yeah! Our twitter handle is @darkmatterrage and we do love to tweet.

Quick and Dirty Business with Marianna ▶▶ Interview by Sage Nenyue

It’s vital to any strong community that those in the community support one another. Queer communities are no different. In fact, as vulnerable as we are (compounded by intra-POC dynamics that value some as higher than others by their proximity to whiteness in apperance, economic standing, or behavior/rank) it is even more important that we support each other. While grassroots movements and community organizations are important for our folks, so too are our for-profit businesses. Businesses that empower the financial mobility of queer people who, in turn, support others in our communities. Businesses that inspire others in our communities to get their entrepreneureal legs about them. Businesses that allow us to bankroll our own liberation. With “Quick and Dirty Business”, I discuss business and entrepreneurship with queer people at all stages of their business’s life in an effort to take a series of snapshots of the state of qtpoc profitable ventures. It is our hope that you are inspired to start a venture of your own, or take yours to the next level. Our first “Quick and Dirty” is with artist extraordinaire (and creator of our fantastic cover image) Marianna of Florida. She runs an online store for her art.

What are the origins of your art and store? I started it when I was sixteen. I found the website randomly and thought it could be a fun way to make some money since I always love Photoshopping stuff. Originally I started out with a few designs based off of Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” because a friend wanted shirts of that, and the video was so artistic and colorful that people started buying. It took me two years before I started getting a steady flow of customers and making money every month. Eventually I got more ideas and requests from people, as well as incorporating TV shows and movies I liked that had little merchandise for those who wanted. I also make products from pictures I’ve taken, namely for phone cases. I’ve been into photography since I was eleven so that was a natural thing to do. What were some of the challenges you faced? Not having many products that people wanted, my store not being visible, and more recently an antiblack transmisogynist reporting my store repeatedly so it would get shut down. It took me a while to figure out what people liked but when I did, lots of people were enjoying my products and telling their friends and family about my store! Unfortunately now that my store has been shut down, I’m working on my own website to sell off of. I just hope I’ll be able to recreate my previous success on it! Are you a part of a community of queer sellers/entrepreneurs? No, I am not part of any community when it comes to my store and I am not ‘out’ to many people either to join one. What advice do you have for vendors who might want to begin selling their own goods? Look into what’s currently popular and try to make products with that. Things are constantly changing but once you find something that’s really, really big, it can last you a while. Also make products that are very unique, so even if there are products that have a similar “topic” as yours, make it impossible to find ones like yours anywhere else. Don’t make things too expensive either; sometimes there are products that are really basic and are complete rip offs. Keep up with Marianna on Twitter and support her shop! As she said, she’s working on her own independent website, so she’ll soon have the ability to send folks there directly.

SHOP If you are or know of a fabo business person and you’d like to submit them to be considered for the Quick and dity Business section of the zine, drop a line!

Get Me Unbodied

Social justice graphic design service

Can you tell us about Unbodied Designs origins--why it started and where you’re directing it for the future? I began my graphic design at the University of Washington Q Center. This is also where I was introduced to ideas around social justice, identity, and anti/oppression. I was hired here as a student employee to work on their website and create posters for them. I didn’t have a whole lot of experience, so I am super grateful to have gotten to grow from that space and work. I was involved in queer, trans*, poc, and disability communities actively on an grassroots level and an academic level (not to mention a personal level). Questions of who is represented came up pretty early on in my work. As I was developing an un-

derstanding on intersectionality, and was eager to seek acceptance in this new space/understanding of myself and my beliefs, I was weary of my every design move. I was/am so disturbed by callout culture, which rant rampant through the Q Center. My worry of harming someone by not having them represented in my work and fear and uncertainty around being called out (as this often came without access to resources to understand harm done or privilege/ antioppression), I decided my fears weren’t irrational but rather the expectation to represent everyone through an understanding of intersectionality was irrational at this stage of my graphic design knowledge and self teaching. I started trying to explore ways to of not representing anyone (if everyone can’t be represented then

no one will). My quick explanation of my work was “no bodies, this is the next step representation, beyond adding token pocs and women”. My work with disability communities that I belonged to really made think about the ways in which bodies are used without question, how ableism happens through the privileging of visual mediums of outreach in social justice spaces, and how accessibility was something I didn’t realize pertained to art. I ended up going to a web accessibility training that took place at UW, through it was very basic, it really pushed me to do some more self learning. Now, to me Unbodied Design embodies an unearthing of identity as it was taught to me through the Q Center. My design work has

been a mode for me to connect to Eastern Philosophies around bodies, identities, and self. The idea that we are not our bodies, our identities are not our bodies, and our identities are not us would have seemed ridiculous to me a few years ago. I’m now open to exploring that. In a way that is similar to how say that bodies are not “male/female” or “disabled” but rather are what is self-determined by its inhabiter, I want to think about ways to represent or art identity in way that is independent of bodies to give space for self-determination. So my goals are: 1) recognize the complexities of intersectional identities and how this is impossible to represent visually (to me this would require over a billion bodies to nod at every permutation of identities), 2) to explore ways to talk about identities in a ways that is

not dependent on the body (for example, understanding that poc identity is more complex than being brown/black or being brown/ black is more complicated that visual bodily identifications-- which are not always in line with how we see ourselves), and 3) to create accessible design. Eventually I was to make community connections that will allow me to make my work more environmentally conscious, I want to come up with trainings to teach small orgs/organizers how to use technology to assist their activism, I want to have more convos about identity and bodies, and I want to eventually be able to provide more than webs support/ website building skills (which primarily what my paid work has consisted of ).

You talk a lot about “assessible design”--can you expand on this? To me accessible design is threefold: 1) ensuring access to the information the visual is trying to communicate to as many people as possible through creating written descriptions of the info and art, making sure fonts and colors are legible to those with various impairments, and linguistic accessibility regarding jargon. 2) ensuring people can connect to the work somehow or at least not feel left out (this is where the complicated, hard to articulate, design philosophy comes in. 3) urging those I work with to include accessibility into their work through asking about their accessibility practices and giving them resources/solutions to access issues that might arise in their work.

What questions do you ask when you create designs for clients? So far, I’ve mostly been making websites and posters for events. In each I try to get a sense of what the org/organizer is about, for whom are they doing work, how are they doing their work, and how are they trying to grow. I try to keep in close contact with folks I’m working with because I don’t want to impose my views on their work. I do want to give them something to think about, but I don’t want to impose. I also ask design centric questions like “are there any colors you prefer”, “is it ok if I modify images provided to me”, and “what is your vision for this”. What do difficulties regarding your brand of design aesthetic look like? As I mentioned, this aesthetic in general is kind of complicated, so I honestly don’t always get to put it into practice. For example, I’m working on a website with lots of photos

of people. I understand that seeing yourself represented is important, I don’t think this is bad or wrong, and will doing this if this is what clients want or need this, I don’t want to impose and I recognize that my theory of design isn’t perfect, it is work in progress, always. It is also hard to work with

communities that I don’t belong to, I love doing it because it pushes me to the work of educating myself, but if they aren’t sure what they want, I worry about misrepresenting them.

with other designer companies that work w/ assessible design?

I WISH! As far as I know, a lot of social justice oriented design orgs are more environmentally conscious/centric and their practices are more about who they Are you a part of a network work with/for than integrated in their design strategies. This is my perception as an outsider. How would you encourage other designers who wish to do something along the lines of what you’re doing? I would want to connect with them. So much of my work has been a product of long hours of chatting over hot cocoa or chai, late night convos with folks around me involved in activism. I would also suggest they think outside of themselves. This is hard. I think I got into this because of identity development, and it was really about me for a long time, but now I’m able to allow myself to weave in and out of this work. Unbodied Design

THE CHILDREN OF NEW YORK Jocelyn. Jocelyn. Jocelyn.

by Kevin Joffre

I. Infierno

New York revving up for a party is like life itself, full of potential that slowly degrades by the hour until it just flatlines. I’m not usually this ghoulish, but straight clubs in New York have that effect on me. I’m Jo and I was drinking at the time so details may be off. Jo isn’t my birth name, and no, I’m not about to start telling where I’m “fromfrom.” A nightclub is no place to talk about your hometown, especially when you’ve got a table and a waitress coming by every few minutes handing you drinks. The club itself was two stories packed to the brim with dancers on the first floor--mostly ugly and perfectly awful--your standard group of hetero club-goers; writhing bodies in nasty slacks and collars with the plastic still in them. The second floor, which is where we sat, had tables and chairs and cordoned off VIP area to make us nobodies feel all special. We were out, we being Bobby Lee, Jason, me, and a mob’s worth of people packed into a gaudy bar out in the Meatpacking district, and we were already drunk, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying to remain sober. No person worth knowing should be in full control of his drinks in the presence of laughter and good friends. Besides, I was on a roll, I was making Jason laugh and he was flashing me his pearly whites and the little dimples around his eyes started to show. I should introduce them; there was Bobby Lee, living in the center of Manhattan in a building with a doorman, don’t ask me how he did it because he’s our age and should be living in dump in Harlem if there were any justice in the world. When I mimic Bobby Lee I pinch my nose and speak in a high na-

sally voice. He’s our tall, sweet, outrageous sometimes-racist brother from another mother. There was Jason all sleepy blue eyes that light up when he smiles, regular Prince Charming on the surface, but that boy is all queen. You can spot the queens a mile away if you know how to look; they’re all turned around, their insides are on their outsides

so they gotta build castle walls around themselves so you don’t get at them so easily. A queen’s army is his pouty bitchface, but I’ve cracked the defenses a few times, and when Jason’s face relaxes he looks sort of like Sid Vicious but without the wild hair and heroin addiction. The night started as business, not pleasure, we were here to support Jason’s friend who was some sort of important duke from Bahrain, maybe a second cousin to a Duke, or a friend of a friend to the second cousin...who knew? Guy was loaded and the drinks were on him (Jason’s talent was finding rich people to befriend). Few of us were aware that old

One solitary figure started up the stairs towards us. She looked around a little confused. She was black. B. L. A. C. K.

Something you should know right off the bat is that Jason doesn’t say things like that without good cause. It’s more of a Bobby Lee thing really, let’s turn tail and run because the bathroom is out of order. Nuh-huh. This was something else, something that was making Jason angry.

Duke o’ Bahrain had locked himself in a bathroom What was the deal? When was this girl getting and been crying for the last 15 minutes, but in our defense it was loud and you could hardly see with here? We weren’t the only table in Mr. Bahrain’s parall the strobe lights flashing in your face, and also ty, but I’d noticed the chairs around us had been getting emptier and emptier. we didn’t care. “Well if we’re going, we’re going,” I said, but Jason What I gathered from the blip of a meeting I had with him before the tantrum was that his family was held his hand out said to give him one more chance in tow and tonight was his chance to introduce them at trying something and off he went. to his sophisticated New York girlfriend. One solitary figure started up the stairs towards Think on this: An old rich dowdy ass family, one us. She looked around a little confused. She was degree removed from Downton Abbey by virtue of black. their ethnicity, with all of the money in the world and B. L. A. C. K. with none of the taste to know better than to stay Black beauty, dressed in comfortable Brooklyn away from nightclubs, and they are still not happy. chic, with hair in curly cues. She spun around lookThere are still ruffled feathers, crying in stalls, drama. ing at the floor and a few more strangers that we And they say gays and their families have problems. didn’t know got up and left, and we three were the Something was up in the air making that club rank only ones there. I knew what this was all about then with heat and disapproval. and there. I think Jason knew too. Bobby Lee was Jason walked to the bathroom and saw a crowd of probably clueless. I waved at her, she waved back, folks surrounding the door and he could hear Bah- she approached us and said, rain weeping even through the thumping bass. “Are you friends of ______?” “You guys, things are about to not look very good I shook my head and pointed to Jason almost as and we might wanna think about leaving,” Jason if I was accusing him of a disgrace. We were shoutsaid to us when he returned. He had learned that ing over the music and I was hoping the confusion Dude’s girlfriend would not exactly be mixing with would dampen things. You could be angry and disdude’s family. Dude’s girlfriend would not only be appointed in a silent room but it was tougher to be unwelcome, but be shunned. like that so much life around you.

“I thought you would say you worked in fashion, “I’m not sure where he is, I think he’s in the bathroom.” Jason said. The liar. He knew the situation. you look good!” She said what, and he repeated the lie--this time in “Thanks!” She said. her ear--and she shook all of our hands and repeatEh, good enough, I wanted her to feel good before ed her name to each of us. she found her boyfriend stuck in a bathroom surJocelyn. rounded by sneering family members. Bobby said something to her, then Jason, and she was laughJocelyn. ing radiating good will like you wouldn’t believe. We Jocelyn. talked for a good while until things died down and And she ordered a drink at the bar then came back we saw her twiddling with her phone. to us smiling and we loved her, simple as that. This “Oh” She mouthed, her face fell, she scrolled to was no exaggeration. It’s a tough thing to talk about love when you’re trying to bridge the gap into het- text after text like she was reading a book on a Kindle erodom because love there means a “feeling” plus app. I caught Bobby Lee’s eyes and we just looked at “time.” You can’t love me, you don’t know me, I hear each other. We’d been caught stealing candy. It was that all the time, but it just isn’t so. You can love a juvenile, I know, but it was hard not to feel guilty stranger as quickly as you can love a gesture, or a about belonging to the same species as her man. moment frozen in your memory. Jocelyn’s moment She looked up and Jason asked her if she wanted to came when she introduced herself, got her drink, go, but she shook her head, grabbed her purse, and and came back to sit with us all-smiles, all not-know- all but fled out of there. It was anti-climactic in a sort of embarrassing way, ing what was about to befall her, all tragic femme potential about to feel the hammer of God striking as if we’d taken part in her shaming, like we were her head. I knew this tale maybe a little bit more in a conspiracy against her. I don’t know what comintimately than Bobby Lee and Jason, but in a way pelled me to follow, but I did, down the stairs and they knew it too. Disappointment. Trauma. Hurt. We out the of the club. Jason followed, then Bobby Lee would shield her even though she would eventually sheepishly after. feel the blow, we would play the roles of fairy god“We’re going to a nearby bar, come with us,” I said. mothers, and I took the lead. Jocelyn wasn’t really going anywhere, and I could “Honey, what do you do?” see she was already decked out. She seemed on the She worked marketing, or marketing sales, or mar- verge of tears but she held it together. She looked ket research, it was one of those things and it hard- us and said “Why not?” ly mattered it was only a placeholder for the next thing to say which would have to be witty.

Bobby in the front seat went wild, yelling and lowering his window as if he was hot from church. Raise A cab pulled up to us like it was meant for us. your window, Jason ordered sternly like a mother We piled in and Bobby got the seat in front. Joce- while holding another hit. Jocelyn did a bump as lyn spent the ride most“You got coke?” The cabbie said. if she was family, then Jaly shaking her head and son, then me. Our cabbie “Oh lord yes, yes we do,” Jason said. rolling her eyes, but not in was stopping short so ofthe bad way mind you. We “You give me some and I will waive. ten and so violently that kept asking the cab driver we hollered and raised our No fee.” to play “classic Britney” as if hands every time he did. there was such a thing. Jason was next to me trying Bobby Lee didn’t do none on account of his drug to act coy. screenings, the angel. Every abrupt brake of the cab “We’re going to Niagara,” Jason told the cabbie. pushed us up and up until we had to stop ourselves “Don’t try to steal Bobby Lee in front you hear?” I from flying out of the roof with the palms of our hands. No one thought about putting on a seatbelt. said to the cab driver. The worst part about going out is getting from It was just a game, trying to scandalize the un-scan-

II. Purgatorio

dalize-able. A cab driver in New York City has seen everything short of murder (that we care to know about). This would be the side-show of his night and we thought he would merely tolerate us until Jason asked Jocelyn if she did coke. “You got coke?” The cabbie said. “Oh lord yes, yes we do,” Jason said. “You give me some and I will waive. No fee.”

the front door to the drink, but not when you’re on coke. We arrived at a dive in the East Village name of Niagara with a sign that lit the sidewalks blue. It was as straight as any bar in New York is straight-meaning--it wasn’t too straight, especially with us in there. We ordered our drinks and I noticed Jocelyn order a whiskey straight up. “It’s on me” I said.

She gave me a look, brushed her curls out of her We hit a stoplight and Jason keyed a pinch of the face, and said: stuff from his baggie and carried it through the cab “No thanks, I can pay on my own.” partition like it was the Olympic torch. Our cabbie I couldn’t parse whether this was a snub, or a matcraned his neck round and snorted it then returned to driving like he’d done this a million times before. ter of fact. She could pay on her own, and this was

not really in doubt, I was not calling into her question her ability to pay, but maybe I was? I mouthed O. K., maybe a little too sarcastically. I don’t even know what I was thinking then, honestly. Jocelyn followed Bobby and I reached for my wallet with a heavy weight lifting off my heart. If I had paid for Jocelyn I would have had to go get more money out of the ATM, and it would be...what? $40 out of $200 now? Jason was smiling and talking to the bartender who had served him his drink first. His arm rested on the bar and his foot on a foot rest. He brushed his hair back. He was lanky but held himself like the statue of a conquering hero. He was no longer looking at me, but past me, above the heads that crowded the bar and towards where Bobby Lee was sitting

disinterested dark heavy eyebrows. At that moment, Ben’s face was everything to me, a lifeline of pupils, mouth, and understanding. He wore a white shirt with three buttons around his collar undone and with a chest and clavicle rising like a miracle above a foaming sea. I wanted to kiss him, rip his shirt off. I wanted to make a grand show of our romance and I wanted to do it to show Jason that I didn’t need his attention. “We’re models, what about you?” Ben said. Those word brought me back. Models! Male models. The coke and the alcohol in my body refused to acknowledge my place in the natural order of things. This was when I was briefly sidetracked by a thought so perfect that I thought it could change the world, but I neglected to write it down. These models loved me, of course, I believed this with every fiber of my being. I believed this in the same way a pop singer believes in her sold out Madison Square audience. (I remember the great thought I had, it was: EVERYTHING I WRITE IS PERFECT, which, in hindsight, isn’t that great). “Models in Manhattan, sounds good, you can both call me Jo,” I said. Damn I was jittery. “Okay Jo, like the boxer, yes?” Ben said. I didn’t know what that meant. Bobby Lee tapped me on the shoulder and I saw a look of terror and sadness in his face. “Jocelyn’s in the bathroom, I think she’s crying.”

I peeled myself from the stares of the models, and walked with Bobby Lee to the bathrooms. He told me with Jocelyn. He was paying so much attention to she had sat there sipping her drink, looking around, the bartender that it started making me sick. What as silent as a lost little girl. She excused herself, very politely, then disappeared into the bathroom. Bobwas I doing standing there, was I waiting for him? by Lee went to the door and listened to her. I looked around me and found a striking man with “Jocelyn? Jocelyn? Jo--you okay in there?” I said. long hair tied into a ponytail hunched over the bar. The door itself was cerulean blue, and chipped I asked him what he was drinking with a daring that would scare me if I were sober. It was a tequila pine- around every edge, but in spots it looked as dark as apple monstrosity. I asked Jason’s bartender for the grey with bits of wood revealing themselves underdrink as well and the stranger asked what my name neath. It was like a toy door covering a toy stall. I’m was. The drink was an instant shared connection, serious when I say the bathroom inside was more a you see, but the rapport was there even after my lit- broom closet with the pipes curving in weird ways tle conversational trick deployed. He was Ben from to make room for the single toilet. This made Jocesomewhere in Europe, and he had a friend beside lyn’s crying really obvious, you didn’t even have to him with tousled hair and smoldering eyes under lean into the door to hear it.

“I’m okay, gimme me a minute.” Bobby Lee and me went back to our booth, both of us thinking of Jocelyn and me regretting bringing her back with us. I harbored that regret, stowed it away deep inside, I was already swimming within myself, intoxicated, there could be no room for regret.

And yet, a part of me knew exactly what Jocelyn was going through. Bobby Lee and I talked about Jocelyn, about what we should do, but I kept my thoughts from him. There was something we had lost, from the club to Niagara, dropped somewhere on the floor before we got into a cab. It was Jocelyn’s pride, shattered into a million pieces, like how you lose your wallet on a train and watch as it speeds away refusing to stop for you because it’s got a schedule to keep and loads of other people to pick up. The Jocelyn from the club, the girl whose smile we only began to love, was no longer with us. Instead, there was someone else who was coming along with us whose form was still taking shape, growing from shattered and bruised remains.

Jocelyn wanted to go to the Pyramid club, not too far from there. Me? I wanted to go everywhere. I had done it before too, I had gone to all those places and I was game for going back. I asked Bobby Lee about the clubs he mentioned, Jocelyn asked me about the East Village, and Jason waited patiently to talk to the person who wasn’t talking to me. We did more coke, one by one, pushing ourselves from our booth, giving the holder a knowing smile, then coming back refreshed. I asked Jocelyn about her job and she asked me not to, but the coke running in her system said otherwise. She said her job was fine enough though she was underpaid. Her coworkers didn’t know her, she said.

“It’s not like they don’t know me, I mean, they know me. We go to lunches, we have birthday parties, but they don’t talk to me. They don’t ask me about stuff beyond whatever is at hand--whatever gets the job done to have a quick back and forth. It makes me a little paranoid y’know? Like they think I’m not good enough. I know for a fact they’re getting paid more than me, that the boss likes them more than me. You know? You have the proof right in your hand Jason made his way towards us and you can’t use it? Who will you show it to? Who’ll “Who was that?” He said to me, as accusatory as believe you? I came here to New York for him, for he could imagine it, and though his mind was on _________ It’s just never good enough, y’know?” the good-looking models I was talking to before, I knew, but couldn’t meet her concerns halfway. I mine was on Jocelyn. was slumping into my chair with alcohol buzzing in It was fifteen minutes of bantering and drinking my brain. When it was my turn for another bump , I before Jocelyn rejoined us, all bruised ego, a sight went into the bathroom, did some blow, and found of feminine beauty among the drunks and the Ben the model waiting next in line for the bathdrugged. It was as she sat that she would set the room. Catching someone going out the bathroom, tone; would she need comforting, joking, nothing talk about vulnerable, but there we stood, me beat all? Her face was clean, free of tears or red eyes. traying some hint of delight no doubt, and Ben smilShe had a fresh coat of makeup, was all smiles. She ing, welcoming. He had his arm in his pocket and his didn’t want to show us her pain and we didn’t want grey shirt fell effortlessly over his thin torso and he to look. looked at me like I knew what I was thinking and like She told us she was getting us a round of drinks, he was also telling me that whatever I was thinking and so she set the tone for us to leave her pain in the was fine. restroom. It wasn’t the side effects of the cocaine, I thought We were quick to feel at ease inside the bar, away it was love. from the dance clubs and taxis, the bar, despite its He took me into his arms and we kissed. His propensity for leers and pick-up lines, started to feel lips, these stranger’s lips, they had a plump and full like home, but like a home that we were always tryfamiliarity. Strange how that feels. When we let go I ing to run from. Bobby Lee wanted to know what lost track of time and place. was next: Escuelita? XES? Jason always knew some“I never kissed a boy before,” he said. one who was throwing a loft party (he always does).

became drunker, he was after the coke, obviously. I invited him to come and do some coke with me He would disappear and then reappear, each time in the bathroom, he said yes, and we kept it chaste. looking more as if he was being turned inside out. I’m not complaining of course, I still liked him, still liked the attention. Jocelyn was nearby, and had managed to push her beau away. She was a wreck sitting on a bar stool and utterly alone. Ben and James acclimated themselves to our cir“What’s wrong with her?” Ben said. cle as best they could. They were lithe foreign bodies, “I think she’s lonely,” I said. and under the dim lighting of the bar you couldn’t tell they were models. They smiled, laughed, brushed “She’s too pretty to be lonely.” coyly against our legs. James took to Jocelyn, asking I went to talk to Jocelyn, and she told me she her about her background. Imagine that? Her back- was leaving. Again, I followed, her out, perpetually ground, as if she were an anthropological study. I trailing behind this woman with a broken heart. only say this because I noticed Ben was doing the Outside of the Pyramid club she told me she was same to me. leaving it all, not just the boys, not just us, but the We made concrete plans to walk to Pyramid partying, the City. club, and during our trek towards it we were joined “You’re leaving New York? Tonight? Where will you by other bodies, someone Jason had pulled (the go?” wretch, if they only knew how he lived, from room “I don’t know. Back to Los Angeles. To my family in to room and boyfriend to boyfriend), and a mutual friend between Jason and Bobby Lee. I didn’t know Florida. To Haiti…” And she trailed off. I didn’t know she was Haitian. Practically an Island sister. their names because I was starting to lose mine. Jocelyn had changed, from our first meeting, We reached the Pyramid club just across and down the street, and I was not myself. I looked to to standing alone on the street in front of me. She Jocelyn and she was now my center. I noticed that was slumped over with one of her bra straps visishe hadn’t stopped crying. From the bar to the Pyr- ble. Her curls were no longer perfectly coiffed, and amid club tears dotted her face, and I think James her makeup was running. Her hurting had slipped between the cracks of our night, festering, churnonly noticed her beauty and none of her pain. ing, until even to my relief it popped, exposed for “Let me have a gin and tonic,” I said to the barthe harsh light of the street to see. She was fuming tender inside the club. and expressing a frustration I couldn’t dare touch or “...and a vodka redbull,” said Ben. look at. I realized then that her buying us a round “That’ll be $20 dollars.” of drinks was perhaps a repayment of drug funds, I Twenty! Twenty plus the other twenty I spent, plus couldn’t be sure. She was detached, flying out of my my ten dollar cover was…$70 out of $200. I’d have orbit. “I couldn’t tell,” I said.

III. Paraíso

to watch myself.

“This city, this god damn city, it’s just ruined it all Pyramid was a small space that seemed bigger for me,” Jocelyn said. due to its lack of furniture. One of many It was too late for Jocelyn, and too late for our places in New York that seemed like a nightclub friendship. I felt it back when we first met her, even shoved into a cafe. An entire way of life needed to as we loved her and put on a brave face, even when be invented to make sense of the dwindling real es- we were in the cab, we could not be friends because tate space, and so the bar/club was born and made she was withdrawing from all friendships. hip by drinkers, owners, and staff that couldn’t othJocelyn turned away from me to walk home and erwise possibly afford a larger space. reflected against the street lights I realized how black Inside, the walls were black and the lighting was her skin was. You’re expecting me to say it was like dim. Ben began to make his intentions clearer as we chocolate, but that’s inadequate and a little weird.

Chocolate’s meant to be eaten, and the wrapper’s meant to be thrown out. It’s strange to tell someone’s like chocolate unless you’re about to eat them. Analogies tend to fail like that whenever we think about skin colors. Besides, she wasn’t like chocolate anyway, she was shades darker.

Again, am I mistaken? We ask if a tree falls in the woods does it make a sound, but we don’t say that crap about space. We know it’s there even when we’re not.

I’m reminded of myself, when I was a kid, pre-thedawn-of-shame, and attempting to explain to my mother that I wasn’t anything as ugly as “brown.” That I was cafe con leche. She laughed and told me to repeat that to the whole family. Why was she laughing? Was I mistaken? Was there something in my whole family to forget to have a little pride in what we were? You don’t just slurp down cafe con leche, darling, you let it sit in a room and you let its presence remind you why you wake up in the morning. You let the smell of cafe con leche take over your house because the drink is love.

Analogies still fail against skin though, analogies about skin are like waves beaten back by rocks refusing to let them fall just right. Outer space is cold, deadly, still something to be feared. Jocelyn was only a human surrounded by a city that was deadly opposed to her. How long had she been dating the man who broke her heart? How sudden was this betrayal?

Jocelyn was black like outer space. Don’t laugh.

It always was, and forever will be. That was Jocelyn, that was how black she was.

I mentioned I was cafe-con-leche before, but that fails me too as I was feeling no where near that pleasant; more like poison. I walked back into the Pyramid Club and saw Ben

kissing and dancing with a girl, and his partner no- treated Jocelyn like that, and would it someday treat me the same way? The city spread before me, quiet where to be seen. as a mouse, sleeping even (don’t believe that great“Bisexuals,” Bobby Lee said as if in solidarity. est myth of New York that it never sleeps). More im“Models,” I corrected him, with my eyes only lookportantly; it was indifferent. ing to Jason who was doing everything in his power Jocelyn was a very nice woman, why had the city to not look at me. treated her this way, and how had we failed to in*** tervene in her sadness? I heard no response but the I woke up on the Coney Island Stillwell avenue call of birds and cooing of pigeons. stop. Naturally I had taken the N train the wrong New York was indifferent. Jocelyn would flee, way, thinking I was going North when I was actually thinking all along the city had destroyed her. I wish I going South. I was stirred awake by the vibrant light could tell her it hadn’t. of the sun rising over the building tops and beaming directly into the windows of my abandoned subway car. My train was suspended high above the ground ▶▶ by Kevin Joffre with a great glass dome above. I really had to pee. Before I went, I looked over the land, my land really, but I looked at it with hostility. How could it have

▶▶ Image Credits: Cover - Linh Nguyen | Others in Order of Appearance - Sage Nenyue, Ed Kwon, Stefan Kohli, Emilio Santacoloma. All images for this story were found on flickr.com and are used in accordance with the Creative Commons License.

Advocating for LGBTI2Q Health 50

ed by Health Canada, Promotion and Programs branch Ontario Region. Out of this community research project numerous findings described the lack of support LGBTI2Q people confronted when accessing any social and healthcare services in Ontario. CLGRO published there detailed research finding in a report called “Systems Failure: A Report on the Experiences of Sexual Minorities in Ontario’s Health-Care and Social Services Systems” In this report, it listed 78 recommendations for positive change on ways to tackle systematic oppression in the healthcare system for the LGBTI2Q communities. Once this report was published, CLGRO facilitated a meeting with activists, folks in academia, service providers, health care professional and community members. In 2001 that progressed towards establishing the Rainbow Health Network in order to start breaking down roadblocks that LGBTI2Q people faced when accessing services. Since that time, the Rainbow Health Network has developed into a vital advocacy group for LGBTI2Q health in OnThe Beginnings of Rainbow tario. One of our prevalent accomHealth Network stemmed from a community needs assessment plishments was our two year projdone by CLGRO (Coalition for Les- ect in 2005 which was funded bian and Gay Rights in Ontario) 17 by a federal primary care grant years ago in 1997 this community in Ontario to build and expand research study was called “Proj- awareness and capacity in Ontarect Affirmation” and was fund- io healthcare system regarding

Communities that are marginalised through systems and tools of societal oppression have had a multitude of barriers and roadblocks on accessing healthcare and social services. This is particularly true for Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans, Intersex, Two-spirited and Queer populations whose predominant issues around healthcare and social-services have not been properly addressed in any capacity by government or community organisations. Which consequently has had a profound impact for communities with identities who still sit on the margins of mainstream society. This is why the Rainbow Health Networks (RHN) was initiated to undertake and address such gaps in accessing quality healthcare and social services for LGBTI2Q identified people. RHN is a volunteer operated grassroots organisation that advocates and promotes for the optimal health and wellness for LGBTI2Q identified people. We operate with an equity-based, community-centered, anti-oppressive framework model that governs our practices and policies.

issues that LGBTI2Q communities endure. With this project, RHN developed committees that worked on providing education and training and examined public policy to make recommendations that specifically concerned Trans/Intersex communities in northern Ontario. The success of this project brought us to partner with Sherbourne Health Centre. To focus on advocating for a province-wide resource center to address Lesbian, Gay, Bi, Trans, Intersex health issues in Ontario. A proposal was made to Ontario’s ministry of health and long-term care. Which resulted an organisation named the Rainbow Health Ontario to be formed with ongoing funding since 2008. Currently, Rainbow Health Ontario (RHO) operates out of Sherbourne Health Centre in Toronto, ON and continues to do much needed and crucial work with regards to research and public policy that influences and regulates the quality of healthcare that LGBT2IQ communities receive in Ontario. One of Rainbow Health Networks capacity that we still maintain today is information mobilisation and exchange since our beginning we have maintained a list-serve that has connected many LGBTI2Q community members and allies to information regarding services, research and programs in Ontario. Anyone

can easily join by sending an email to “RHN-subscribe@yahoogroups.com” This enables any interested folks access and able to promote local programs and services geared to LGBTI2Q members. In addition to our work, we have been taking a critical outlook on the social determents of health and the overall impact oppression does havehas on someone’s health and wellbeing. In this research and community work we found it essential to also keep an intersectional based approach to critical advocacy and community programing. Including tackling oppressions within LGBTI2Q communities such as racism, sexism, ableism and transphobia that was prominent and causing many folks within the LGBTI2Q communities a server lack of representation and access to services even from programs geared to LGBTI2Q folks. I personally feel honoured to be involved with Rainbow Health Network starting from a member of their equity committee and policy committee to an elected member of their steering

committee serving as the advocacy director to the role of Chairperson. In the last twenty years we have made many strives and accomplishments in Ontario to address these issues but far long from being perfect. There are still many barriers and gaps that LGBTI2Q people face when trying to access service. Therefore, we still depend on dedicated community members who volunteer and help us carry out this vital community work. For more information on how to get involved or copies of our materials please email me at rhn.chair@gmail.com or visit our website. www.rainbowhealthnetwork. wordpress.com ▶▶ Brian De Matos Brian is a Toronto, Queer, youth community organiser and activist who is dedicated to social-justice work with a commitment to community growth and social responsibility. He is dynamically involved in various community agencies and community organizing in different capacities for a decade now.

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