The Stonewall Stage

On June 28th, 2015, Minneapolis celebrated Pride. The scene is familiar to Twin Citians: a parade, vendors in Loring Park, rainbows. There are a lot of rainbows. Twin Cities Pride, the nonprofit corporation in charge of the festivities, describes it as a day “that brings the greater GLBT community together to commemorate our diverse heritage, foster inclusion, educate and create awareness of issues, and celebrate achievements in equality.” Pride started as a riot, though the only riot at contemporary Prides are in stomachs, a result of drinking too much of the corporate booze being peddled.

On June 28th, 2015, there isn’t a riot. There is, however, a conflict. It’s occurring on a tiny stage in the “purple” zone of the park. A group of activists, mostly trans and people of color, are fighting to take over a stage run by drag queens. The activists, holding a large banner that reads Black Lives Matter, request to use the mic to talk to the audience. They chant simple chants, things like “Black Lives, They Matter Here; Trans Lives, They Matter Here,” but the host of the stage, a popular drag queen in town named Nina DiAngelo, is resisting. She chants back, “All Lives Matter,” a problematic chant typically used by suburban white people, people who support the confederate flag, or — in its most innocent form — people who do not understand the concept of intersectionality. Nina’s voice is only one voice — though she speaks for many — and so she resorts to a greater power: music. The song of choice used to drown out the activists? God Bless the U.S.A.

Interestingly, this stage is called the Stonewall Stage. Stonewall, the riot that started Pride celebrations, was initiated by trans women of color. But now, 46 years after the original spark, the weekend after the Supreme Court ordered gay marriage legal across the nation, a white drag queen is denying a group of queer activists of color space on the Stonewall Stage. This is a symbol of our current state of affairs.

Acquiring space at Twin Cities Pride can be tricky. A booth requires money. Performers can request to use the stages, and they will receive payment, but their proposal must first be selected by the Twin Cities Pride board. This board, mostly with corporate backgrounds, tends to pick performers from homonormative backgrounds.

Enter Nina DiAngelo, a popular drag queen at the Gay 90's, who’s been asked to host the Stonewall Stage. DiAngelo currently runs the Gay 90's drag show, which is arguably the most popular drag show in town. She’s well-known, she’s good, and she’s been in the scene for nearly two decades.

On the opposite end are the QPoC activists, now also occupying the Stonewall Stage. They revealed a banner which reads “Black Lives Matter,” which was met with a sizeable applause from the audience. Though the sign reads “Black Lives Matter,” this is an unauthorized protest not run by the BLM group. This demonstration has been organized by Jobi Adams and Vanessa Taylor, two activists who run the Black Liberation Project. Jobi and Vanessa, with aggressive intelligences that defy their young ages, met while protesting in Ferguson. They bonded over a shared passion for uplifting the most marginalized voices, and this bond brings them here: the Stonewall Stage, Loring Park, Minneapolis.

After a bit of scuffling, Vanessa has been given the microphone. Nina patiently waits on the sideline, as the majority of the audience seems to favor the activists. Vanessa gives a rousing speech, which is met with as many applauses as awkward silences. By the end, Nina and the activists reconcile, though the initial conflict rests in the air. The queer trans people of color occupied the stage for about as long as they occupied the media’s airwaves this weekend. Loud, passionate, and ready to inspire, their message often falls on deaf ears.

I first heard about this encounter in my kitchen. My friend Mawrgyn came to visit, and when we asked about her Pride experience, she responded, “It was okay. Well, actually, it was kind of weird.” She then went on to describe the parade, and how she was dissappointed in the parade’s commercialism. This is a common complaint. Many were hoping for something a little different this year, especially with the announcement of Andrea Jenkins as the Grand Marshall. Mawrgyn, though white like myself, is an active supportor of Black Lives Matter. She was excited about Jenkins, but was consequently dissappointed when Jenkins was often upstaged by music during the parade.

Mawrgyn then tells me about this exchange in Loring Park.

I was fascinated. This scene seemed to perfectly demonstrate the frustrations rising for years in the queer community. White gay men have historically stolen the spotlight from other marginalized queer voices, which has led to exclusion at best and a reinforcement of patriarchal ideas at worst. To many gay men, the gay movement starts at Stonewall and ends at gay marriage. Though few would admit it, the passing of gay marriage marks a chance for some white gay men to become apolitical, returning to the domestic kitchen to cook and abandon their fellow queer voices.

This is not to belittle the victory of gay marriage. The passing of gay marriage is historic, and the changing of America’s conscience on the issue has been remarkable. To many older gay men, who were too busy supporting their lovers and friends during the AIDS epidemic to even imagine the possibility of gay marriage, criticizing supporters of gay marriage seems like a dangerous game. And yet, our community finds itself at an important passing. Will white gay men support their queer trans friends of color, or will they align themselves with the conservative right? (Keep in mind the important chant: White Silence Equals Violence.)

I quickly googled the conflict, finding nothing. So I decided to go further. Luckily, it turned out Vanessa went to Mawrgyn’s alma mater, and so she was able to snag Vanessa’s contact info. I sent Vanessa an email, expecting little, but hoping for a chance to talk.

During my wait for Vanessa’s response, a connected issue popped into my newsfeed:

As a white gay male theatermaker (I run HOMO HOTDISH, a queer performance collective based in Minneapolis), I was aware of this production. One of its organizers had consistently spammed our wall looking for people to audition. I didn’t respond, mostly because I was busy, but this post caught my attention. While this may seem tangential, it illuminates an important representation problem that is coming to a head in the Twin Cities, as well as the nation at large. As a white, gay male performer and writer, it is my responsibility to address this problem. (Again, White Silence Equals Violence.)

Jael, who I do not know personally, continued:

This exchange, between one of the show’s producers and Jael, illuminates a crucial riff in the queer community, a riff which also appeared on the Stonewall Stage. James Baldwin described it best:

“I think white gay people feel cheated because they were born, in principle, in a society in which they were supposed to be safe. The anomaly of their sexuality puts them in danger, unexpectedly. Their reaction seems to me in direct proportion to their sense of feeling cheated of the advantages which accrue to white people in a white society. There’s an element, it has always seemed to me, of bewilderment and complaint. Now that may sound very harsh, but the gay world as such is no more prepared to accept black people than anywhere else in society.”

This is crucial. As a white gay male performer, I’ve noticed a victimhood among white gay creators that allows them to think their creative creations are free of judgement. To them, they are a victim to society, and so their work cannot be criticized. To many white gay creators, a criticism of their work is automatically seen as a reflection of homophobia. This is a dangerous thought, because, as Jael puts it, we cannot perpetuate the “legacy of white gay male appropriation.” White gay men are not freed of their patriarchal privilege because they are gay. As a white gay man, patriarchy is still something that must be dismantled, intentionally. Pretending it doesn’t exist only reinforces its behavior.

I don’t know much about Pearls Over Shanghai, and this isn’t a post about that show. However, as Baldwin puts it, “the gay world… is no more prepared to accept black people than anywhere else in society.” This thought can be extended to all minorities. On the Stonewall Stage, Nina DiAngelo’s chanting of “All Lives Matter” was a privileged, exclusive, and even racist response. Nina’s fabulous drag with experienced highlights and gorgeous wigs does not protect her actions from criticism.

Vanessa responded to my email a few days later, agreeing to meet me for coffee in Longfellow.

On the day of the meeting, Vanessa brought Jobi. They sat around a cute table in an even cuter coffee shop. I admired their protest abilities, but they were also great at a simple coffee klatch. I came to interview them but found myself wanting to chat — about the day, about the humidity, about growing up in Minnesota, or not growing up in Minnesota.

Despite this, we quickly got into the event at the Stonewall Stage. They laid out the timeline of the events, saying how they felt the parade hadn’t been enough and they needed something that made a bigger effect. On their own, Jobi and Vanessa decided to take the Stonewall Stage. As Vanessa said in the video, “Stonewall was a riot.” The duo’s actions seemed pointed, and yet also greatly symbolic.

There is a need for trans people, as well as their allies, to reclaim the Stonewall narrative from homonormative tellings. There is an even more immediate need for us, as a community, to create space for trans people on the Stonewall Stage. It isn’t simply about comfort, or expression, it’s an urgent problem that will continue taking trans lives if we do not challenge it — or rather, if privileged queer people do not challenge themselves.

Vanessa told me about her “demands,” items she wanted to demand from the audience at the Stonewall Stage that she wasn’t able to voice. I asked her to retell the demands, and the transcript of the conversation is below:

“The way the Pride board is organized right now is not reflective of the Pride community at all. We need that board to reflect us. I need to look at the board and see myself so I know that someone is actually operating for us. Part of our demands is not just getting more people of color on the board, because then there is still a problem with age. I want more trans youth of color. It’s really hard for trans people of color to get organizations and groups represented. There are no resources, asides from a few, to show trans youth of color opportunities to live.

Last year there was a GLB Beer Tent. GLB. That’s it. I want to get more trans youth of color out there. I want them to have more resources. I want them to have more opportunities. I don’t want it to be, ‘Oh. You’re just doomed. Go about Pride and pretend to be happy.’

The fees also need to be gone from the festival. At least have scholarships or something. Youth need to be able to get into the parade. You have to pay to have booths, so scholarships would help.

We also demand for it to be less commercialized. The majority of floats in the parade need to be from the queer community. They do not need to be from corporations. It doesn’t need to be Target.

We want the police out of there. Police don’t need to be marching in the parade.

Pride needs to take into account the intersectionalities — whose voices do they need to uplift right now? Remember. Pride was a riot. It was started by trans women of color.

After our conversation I left and walked through the Longfellow neighborhood. It was a gorgeous Minnesotan day, one of those days that you think about in winter and it makes your body hurt. The lawns were perfectly cut, nearly all the houses had bright flowers planted on every corner. The American Dream — leisure embodied. Most lawns had either a free little library or some sign: Save The Bees, Bernie 2016, Seward Stands Up Against Violence. I’ve always loved this about Minneapolis. People have a desire to be civic-minded. Maybe it’s the winters.

And yet, the big issues cannot be solved with signs and free libraries. We cannot pass legislature and think our communities are being heard. To me, queerness is about questioning, retrospection, discovery, and action. We cannot fully enjoy our recent successes as the bodies of our trans community members of color are subject to violence and homelessness.

We must make space on our Stonewall Stage.