Tag: LGBTQ community

  • Alcoholics Anonymous Welcomes Queer Members – But Is It Enough?

    Addiction is inherently bound up in issues of class, race, sexuality, religion, and yes, gender – the exact “outside issues” that AA members are taught to check outside the meeting room doors.

    Every day, in thousands of church basements, community centers, and clubhouses across America, people who can boast anything from a few hours to many decades without alcohol gather to collect one more sober day. Nearly all these meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous begin with members collectively reciting something called the AA Preamble, a statement of purpose for the AA group and reminder that AA’s “primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics achieve sobriety.”

    I first heard the Preamble in 2009, during my earliest attempt at sobriety, and have heard it hundreds more times since. The Preamble is so ubiquitous in the AA program that almost all members can recite it by heart. The Preamble is short, just two paragraphs comprised of five sentences. Until last year, it was exactly 100 words. It is now 98. The loss of three words, and addition of one, might seem small, almost meaningless, to anyone outside of the AA program. But for an organization that has stubbornly resisted most edits to its doctrines and covenants since its genesis over 80 years ago, it is earthshaking. And for those of us who want AA to change – who hope the program that did so much to save our lives can adequately respond to new, more inclusive cultural norms – it is a sign that AA is not a relic or a curiosity but a living, evolving thing, still in search of the best way to carry the message.

    For 74 years, the Preamble told members that AA is “a fellowship of men and women who … help others to recover from alcoholism.” Here’s the big change: “men and women” has been dropped and replaced with “people.” There’s a poetic simplicity to this that shouldn’t undermine its significance. No longer does AA’s self-constructed statement of purpose reduce members to men or women, Box A or Box B, this or that. AA is full of queer, trans, and non-binary addicts who for decades were greeted at every meeting with a recitation that excluded them. That is no longer the case.

    To understand why the change to the Preamble is so important, you first must understand just how rooted in antiquity much of AA is. I’m a gay atheist, and my first few years in “the rooms” were spent largely trying to see how, or if, I could fit in. No easy task. The central text of Alcoholics Anonymous is the “Big Book,” originally written in 1939 by famed AA founder Bill Wilson with assistance from other founding members. The Big Book’s first 164 pages, the pages thought of as the “nuts and bolts” of the AA program and authored primarily by the near-mythic Bill W., have remained largely set in stone, subject only to grammatical and semantic edits. Wilson’s vision of a set of principles and practices to get and keep a drunk sober remains intact. And many of those principles read as outdated at best, and offensive at worst, to modern eyes.

    Consider the chapter that caused me the most distress. “We Agnostics” purports to be the AA welcome wagon for the irreligious, but it is deeply condescending to those who don’t believe in God. The chapter begins reasonably enough, with sympathies toward those who have found organized religion corrupt or otherwise distasteful. It then turns toward AA’s unique, somewhat incomprehensible notion of spirituality, a vague sense that there is a “God of our understanding” who is in some way “bigger” than us. This can all be read metaphorically, which most godless AA members do, as a call to get out of our own heads and kill our egos. But there is a hard religious turn toward the end, a nod to our “Creator,” and a parable of a drunk redeemed through faith that wouldn’t be out of place on a megachurch’s Instagram feed. The overall message of “We Agnostics” is: Perhaps you don’t believe in God now, but you will, if you want to get sober.

    Arguably worse is “To Wives,” chapter 8 of the Big Book. As the title might have tipped you off, “To Wives” is sexist, heteronormative nonsense. Written in a confessional style, “To Wives” purports to tell the story of the long-suffering wife of the alcoholic – “Oh, how she cried!,” that sort of thing. The unspoken assumption is that alcoholics are men, and AA membership is mostly men, and these members are straight and married to women. In that sense, the old Preamble – written eight years after the Big Book and when AA was becoming more established – sounds downright progressive in its inclusion of both “men and women.”

    None of this should be surprising. Wilson was the product of both his time and his spiritual biography. In 1939, women had only been voting for 20 years, and the teaching of evolution could still be outlawed by states. For his part, Wilson had put down the bottle with the help of the Oxford Group, an anti-hierarchical, but explicitly Christian, sect focused on adherence to high moral standards and surrender to God. He incorporated many of the Oxford Group’s teachings into the Big Book. The roots of AA are Christian ones, and as a result, there is a religious lean to much AA literature. Some members are happier about this than others. When I was first trying to stay clean, I told a longtime member I was an atheist. He responded, missing the point entirely, that this was fine: “All you need to believe is there is a God, and you ain’t Him!”

    Both “To Wives” and “We Agnostics” remain, unchanged, in the Big Book today, although there have been unsuccessful movements to remove or rewrite them. It is no exaggeration to say that the change to the Preamble is the biggest move toward modernity AA has taken in perhaps its entire history. How did it happen? Well, making a complex process simple: any AA meeting can propose changes through their elected representative, who then takes those proposals to an annual conference, where they are voted on by all the area delegates. (There are 93 “areas” in the US. Some states have one, bigger states have more – New York has four.) It is at these General Service Conferences where the big decisions about the most fundamental tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous are made.

    The Preamble vote took place at the 2020 Conference. One New York area delegate put together a charming PowerPoint presentation, appropriately titled “AA In A Time of Change,” laying out the broad procedural steps, and I am cribbing from that here. AA groups in New York, D.C., and Louisiana pushed to have the change debated at the Conference. One committee initially voted down the proposal, finding that they needed “more information.” And that could have been where the change died – smothered in committee and consigned to next year’s conference.

    It wasn’t to be. As per the delegate, “in rapid succession,” members brought four floor actions. A floor action is discouraged at a Conference – it is outside of the normal “process” by which change is made within AA, and can be voted down immediately. There is a radical bent to a floor action, and for a body that requires 2/3 majorities to pass anything, the Conference process is nothing if not deliberative. But “I guess we’re alcoholics,” notes the welcomingly wry delegate, and members pushed. And so, after a “spirited” debate, the floor actions passed, and on May 1, 2020, Alcoholics Anonymous formally voted to make the Preamble inclusive of non-binary recovering alcoholics. It was announced in Grapevine in 2021, and was introduced at AA groups throughout the summer and fall.

    I wanted to find out just how spirited the conference debate was. The voting debates at the General Service Conference are not public, even to other AA members. While writing this article, I reached out to six area delegates to hear their recollections of the Preamble debate and vote. Only one responded, and he declined to speak. I anticipated their hesitancy – one of the most religiously observed creeds of Alcoholics Anonymous as an organization is its refusal to engage in what it deems “politics.” This is so important that it is even part of the Preamble itself, which states, “AA…does not wish to engage in any controversy [and] neither endorses nor opposes any causes.” And so, AA takes no position on medication, health coverage, drug legalization, or any of the other myriad policy debates that directly touch on addiction.

    But this is a country that bans trans people from public restrooms, that mandates genital inspections for children to play sports. In that context, yes, making the Preamble queer-inclusive was “engaging in controversy,” and it is silly to pretend it isn’t. Certainly the opponents of the change, in private Facebook groups, attacked it in political terms. “Extraterrestrials are going to feel excluded now.” “More Cancel Culture, Politically Correct BULLSHIT.” One member’s post I saw bluntly stated that her group would refuse to read the new Preamble. And again and again, members expressed annoyance that AA would take up what they call an “outside issue.”

    The “outside issue” trope is an old one in the program, drawn from the language of the Tenth Tradition, which tells members that AA “has no opinion on outside issues,” and thus will “never be drawn into public controversy.” It is deeply connected to AA’s refusal to engage in “politics.” The justification here is that anything not explicitly related to sobriety can alienate addicts from the program, and thus keep them mired in active addiction. But there’s an equally salient point – by not engaging in the everyday realities of members’ lives, AA can seem distant, naïve, and unfeeling. Plus, as in the case of the Preamble change, the ban on outside issues can be weaponized by bigots.

    Addiction is inherently bound up in issues of class, race, sexuality, religion, and yes, gender – the exact “outside issues” that AA members are taught to check outside the meeting room doors. AA teachings discourage these discussions in any formal or public setting, and so, newcomers living in poverty are told that this is no barrier to a spiritual awakening, minorities are told to overcome their “victimhood,” and old timers – usually white men with decades sober – often spitefully attack any mention of drugs other than alcohol in meetings. Yes, even drug use is considered an “outside issue” by many AA members. As it has with the Preamble, the outside issues rule is vague enough to be targeted at any inter-group discussions some members don’t like.

    Try as I might, I could not get an AA representative to comment on the record for this story. I had a lengthy chat with a very nice employee at AA’s General Services Office who asked me to forward some questions and refused to be quoted. Those questions were not responded to. I wasn’t surprised – I’ve written about AA and politics in the past, and was castigated by some for even identifying myself as an AA member in public. There is an overarching fear of sunlight in AA that is at odds with our current cultural moment, where institutions both private and public are held accountable for their internal rules and processes.

    The Preamble’s change is a sign that the tide is turning in Alcoholics Anonymous. As older addicts are replaced by younger ones, the wall AA has built around its teachings weakens a little more. As one Facebook commenter put it: “Stop debating queer and trans members because we’ve been here and stayed sober even when we weren’t included, don’t get it twisted nothing any of ya’ll have to say will change my sobriety date.” Exactly.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Finding Deeper Meaning in Pride Month: Activists, Trailblazers, and "Wigstock"

    Finding Deeper Meaning in Pride Month: Activists, Trailblazers, and "Wigstock"

    At the end of Pride Month, Debbie Harry, Penny Arcade, Barb Morrison, and others weigh in on trauma, growth, activism, 9/11, and RuPaul’s Drag Race.

    June 28 marks five decades since the police raided the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in Greenwich Village. Years of rage erupted into a series of riots demanding equal rights, kicking off the global fight for LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer or questioning) liberation. Pride is a movement based on self-affirmation for the LGBTQ community; it came about to commemorate the Stonewall Riots and overthrow years of guilt and shame caused by discrimination and prejudice, and to “build community, and celebrate sexual diversity and gender variance.” 

    The first pride parade was in 1970 in New York City. Now, celebrating LGBTQ pride is worldwide.

    Wig, a movie about the annual drag festival Wigstock, premiered last month at the Tribeca Film Festival.

    A Drunken Drag Show in the Park

    Watching it brought up a mountain of memories for me. The much-loved extravaganza began late one night in 1984, when drunken drag queen Lady Bunny and her wasted entourage spilled out of a nightclub, then wobbled, lurched and landed in the local park. It was there they staged an impromptu drag show in the bandshell at 3 a.m. Their audience was a group of angry homeless peeps trying to sleep. That one unplanned performance launched a nearly 20-year drag (and drug) bacchanal.

    My first Wigstock was in 1987. Had I known about it earlier, I would’ve gone. Since 1980 my modus operandi was to get stinkin’ drunk then hit the East or West Village afterhours clubs until the sun came up.

    Dorri Olds at WigstockI have snippets of memories of meeting Hedda Lettuce (nee Steven Polito). I was a boundaryless touchy-feely drunk. He was wearing the cutest Minnie Mouse costume but with a bare chest. I remember coming eye-to-eye… er… eye-to-fringe-pasty. Without even introducing myself, I stuck out my pointer finger and gave that fringe a twirl.

    The next day, I woke up at 5 p.m., still drunk, and called a friend.

    “Can’t believe what I did this time,” I said, with each word triggering another hammer to my head. “I have to stop drinking. I’m so embarrassed. I twirled a stranger’s pasty.”

    “Honey, isn’t that what fringe pasties are for?”

    During my laugh she cut me off.

    “You’re right about the drinking, though. You’re getting closer to wet brain. Not a pretty look.”

    Man, her timing was right on. I’d just been side-swiped with a blow-up. My mild-mannered roommate and long-term bestie grabbed my upper arms with his long-fingered, graceful piano-player hands. He squeezed me so tightly it hurt. An enraged vein popped out near his temple as he shook me and yelled, “I’m not gonna watch you kill yourself anymore. Quit drinking or I’m leaving.”

    That’s when I buckled.

    He spotted my determination and supported my efforts but each failure led to another until it hit me hard: I could not stop. On a bug-eyed morning after a night of coke, I dialed my cousin and asked for help. I woke up in another state.

    The 31 days turned me inside out and ripped off the protective skin but I managed to learn a few things. On the last day, the staff told me I needed a therapeutic community for a year.

    “You won’t be able to stay sober because you started too young and New York City is full of temptations,” they said.

    It pissed me off, so I went home treating it like a dare. Oh yeah? Watch me.

    A Return to Wigstock, Sober

    Staying sober out of spite drove me to keep schlepping to therapy and muddling through dark moods without offing myself. It took a year and a half before I would take a chance on being around the lucky bastards who can be high and happy. After dips into socializing I inched toward more outings. Shaky, but better, I ventured back to Wigstock in August of 1999. The riotous, flamboyant, fake hair and sequins up to there were exactly what I needed. That year was a blast and I wasn’t in a blackout so I remembered it.

    Lady Bunny felt we needed a lift again so she brought Wigstock out of retirement last year and it was the inspiration for Wig. It reminded me of the impetus for Jane Rosenthal and Robert De Niro to co-found Tribeca Film Fest right after 9/11, when our grieving city needed a lift.

    My favorite segment in Wig is Lady Bunny engaging Debbie Harry in titillating banter at 2018’s Wigstock revival. Then Harry launched into the Blondie hit “Atomic.” The punk powerhouse who blew the ceiling off of rock and roll’s patriarchy doesn’t need any backup, but taut and sexy artist-director Rob Roth dancing beside her dressed in a black bikini with sparkly top and smoky eye makeup added to the hot ambiance.

    By happy coincidence, one month after the Wig premiere I found myself seated at a tiny table in a dark corner of Alan Cumming’s Club Cumming sandwiched between Roth on my right and Harry’s manager Manzi on my left. It struck me that here we were in the East Village only blocks from the park where Wigstock began.

    We were there for the season finale of “Enclave Reading Series,” a monthly event featuring literati like Pulitzer-prize winner Michael Cunningham along with other established and emerging voices. That night, Debbie Harry was the surprise guest. She snuck in via the club’s dimly-lit entrance then slid into her waiting seat beside Roth. Enclave’s co-founder, co-curator, and emcee Jason Napoli Brooks built up the mystery guest before announcing, “The one and only, Debbie Harry!”

    Debbie Harry Remembers 9/11

    As the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer headed to the stage, the room burst into cheers. The club’s seductive red lighting and boudoir-ish velvet curtains served as the perfect backdrop. The disco ball always hanging over the piano seemed especially fitting that night. “Club Cumming” shone in red neon hanging above the singer’s head. Next to that was the sign that read, “I ❤️ New York Pride.”

    Harry opened by saying she’d planned to read something “a bit more lighthearted” but instead took her manager Manzi’s advice.

    “I just hope that all of you that take antidepressants have taken them,” she told the crowd. “And for those of you who don’t, I hope you’ve had a nice drink.”

    Debbie Harry at Club Cumming

    Harry read about her night at a 2001 Marc Jacobs fashion show.

    “There was a big party that he threw down on one of the piers in the West Village and it was wonderful.” She described it as a happening—an event. “And everybody was there.”

    After going to bed happy, the next morning her friend called to say “Turn on the news.” Harry gave an eerie account of staring at the towers from her window. She saw smoke and recounted the “surreal feeling” of not knowing what she was seeing on the TV. After that, Harry read a poem about the days that followed.

    I’m looking forward to reading Harry’s memoir Face It (HarperCollins), which comes out on October 1. It’s hard to believe she turns 74 in a few days.

    During this month of Pride, I’ve been afraid we’re going backwards. Needing a reality check, I tracked down writer, cultural critic, comedian and theatre performer Penny Arcade. Her work exudes empathy and celebrates all of our differences.

    We discussed activism in the LGBT community.

    “Lady Bunny stands out because she has never relaxed her work standards over the past 30 years. She manages to have real politics in a world that is so much about fitting in,” she said.

    She also credited RuPaul for making a strong contribution in the ’80s.

    “The LBGT community was founded on having to band together against the illogical hatred of homosexuality,” said Arcade. “But 2019 is a long road from Stonewall to coming out to your mother as she is watching Will and Grace.”

    Arcade said it’s just human nature to want to be accepted.

    “But the LGBT community is no longer the issue it once was. RuPaul’s Drag Race has created drag contests for heterosexual boys all across America.”

    Arcade also expressed what many people seem to be feeling these days.

    “We are living in an era of emotional and social isolation that is greater than anything I have experienced in the past 50 years of my social consciousness.”

    Inspiration and Responsibility for Pride

    Next, I interviewed Harry’s music producer, Barb Morrison (pronoun they/them). They’re proud of 29 years clean.

    “One of the things that was so cool about hearing Debbie [Harry] read at Club Cumming was that we got to witness her speaking from a vulnerable place. She took us on an emotional journey with her,” Morrison said.

    We moved on to discussing today’s political climate with the emphasis on Pride Month.

    “I feel a responsibility to push myself to be even more honest with my work,” said Morrison. “Being on the trans spectrum I also feel a responsibility to help other trans musicians tell their stories.”

    They expressed that now it’s more important than ever to be visible and authentic.

    “Not only for ourselves,” they said, “but to help others free themselves from stigma and shame. Watching Debbie read that night inspired me to be even more honest, to tell my truth, and to fully step into my own authenticity.”

    Like Morrison, Steven Polito (aka Hedda Lettuce) finds deeper meaning in Pride.

    “For those of us with traumatic experiences almost anything can be a trigger,” said Polito. “I have to be extra vigilant. Turning my tragedies into triumphs is my gay pride.”

    Amen.

    Wig is now showing on HBO.

    (Images: the author at Wigstock; Debbie Harry at Club Cumming. Both provided by Dorri Olds, all rights reserved)

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Finding Deeper Meaning in Pride Month: Activists, Trailblazers, and “Wigstock”

    Finding Deeper Meaning in Pride Month: Activists, Trailblazers, and “Wigstock”

    At the end of Pride Month, Debbie Harry, Penny Arcade, Barb Morrison, and others weigh in on trauma, growth, activism, 9/11, and RuPaul’s Drag Race.

    June 28 marks five decades since the police raided the Stonewall Inn, a gay bar in Greenwich Village. Years of rage erupted into a series of riots demanding equal rights, kicking off the global fight for LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer or questioning) liberation. Pride is a movement based on self-affirmation for the LGBTQ community; it came about to commemorate the Stonewall Riots and overthrow years of guilt and shame caused by discrimination and prejudice, and to “build community, and celebrate sexual diversity and gender variance.” 

    The first pride parade was in 1970 in New York City. Now, celebrating LGBTQ pride is worldwide.

    Wig, a movie about the annual drag festival Wigstock, premiered last month at the Tribeca Film Festival.

    A Drunken Drag Show in the Park

    Watching it brought up a mountain of memories for me. The much-loved extravaganza began late one night in 1984, when drunken drag queen Lady Bunny and her wasted entourage spilled out of a nightclub, then wobbled, lurched and landed in the local park. It was there they staged an impromptu drag show in the bandshell at 3 a.m. Their audience was a group of angry homeless peeps trying to sleep. That one unplanned performance launched a nearly 20-year drag (and drug) bacchanal.

    My first Wigstock was in 1987. Had I known about it earlier, I would’ve gone. Since 1980 my modus operandi was to get stinkin’ drunk then hit the East or West Village afterhours clubs until the sun came up.

    Dorri Olds at WigstockI have snippets of memories of meeting Hedda Lettuce (nee Steven Polito). I was a boundaryless touchy-feely drunk. He was wearing the cutest Minnie Mouse costume but with a bare chest. I remember coming eye-to-eye… er… eye-to-fringe-pasty. Without even introducing myself, I stuck out my pointer finger and gave that fringe a twirl.

    The next day, I woke up at 5 p.m., still drunk, and called a friend.

    “Can’t believe what I did this time,” I said, with each word triggering another hammer to my head. “I have to stop drinking. I’m so embarrassed. I twirled a stranger’s pasty.”

    “Honey, isn’t that what fringe pasties are for?”

    During my laugh she cut me off.

    “You’re right about the drinking, though. You’re getting closer to wet brain. Not a pretty look.”

    Man, her timing was right on. I’d just been side-swiped with a blow-up. My mild-mannered roommate and long-term bestie grabbed my upper arms with his long-fingered, graceful piano-player hands. He squeezed me so tightly it hurt. An enraged vein popped out near his temple as he shook me and yelled, “I’m not gonna watch you kill yourself anymore. Quit drinking or I’m leaving.”

    That’s when I buckled.

    He spotted my determination and supported my efforts but each failure led to another until it hit me hard: I could not stop. On a bug-eyed morning after a night of coke, I dialed my cousin and asked for help. I woke up in another state.

    The 31 days turned me inside out and ripped off the protective skin but I managed to learn a few things. On the last day, the staff told me I needed a therapeutic community for a year.

    “You won’t be able to stay sober because you started too young and New York City is full of temptations,” they said.

    It pissed me off, so I went home treating it like a dare. Oh yeah? Watch me.

    A Return to Wigstock, Sober

    Staying sober out of spite drove me to keep schlepping to therapy and muddling through dark moods without offing myself. It took a year and a half before I would take a chance on being around the lucky bastards who can be high and happy. After dips into socializing I inched toward more outings. Shaky, but better, I ventured back to Wigstock in August of 1999. The riotous, flamboyant, fake hair and sequins up to there were exactly what I needed. That year was a blast and I wasn’t in a blackout so I remembered it.

    Lady Bunny felt we needed a lift again so she brought Wigstock out of retirement last year and it was the inspiration for Wig. It reminded me of the impetus for Jane Rosenthal and Robert De Niro to co-found Tribeca Film Fest right after 9/11, when our grieving city needed a lift.

    My favorite segment in Wig is Lady Bunny engaging Debbie Harry in titillating banter at 2018’s Wigstock revival. Then Harry launched into the Blondie hit “Atomic.” The punk powerhouse who blew the ceiling off of rock and roll’s patriarchy doesn’t need any backup, but taut and sexy artist-director Rob Roth dancing beside her dressed in a black bikini with sparkly top and smoky eye makeup added to the hot ambiance.

    By happy coincidence, one month after the Wig premiere I found myself seated at a tiny table in a dark corner of Alan Cumming’s Club Cumming sandwiched between Roth on my right and Harry’s manager Manzi on my left. It struck me that here we were in the East Village only blocks from the park where Wigstock began.

    We were there for the season finale of “Enclave Reading Series,” a monthly event featuring literati like Pulitzer-prize winner Michael Cunningham along with other established and emerging voices. That night, Debbie Harry was the surprise guest. She snuck in via the club’s dimly-lit entrance then slid into her waiting seat beside Roth. Enclave’s co-founder, co-curator, and emcee Jason Napoli Brooks built up the mystery guest before announcing, “The one and only, Debbie Harry!”

    Debbie Harry Remembers 9/11

    As the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer headed to the stage, the room burst into cheers. The club’s seductive red lighting and boudoir-ish velvet curtains served as the perfect backdrop. The disco ball always hanging over the piano seemed especially fitting that night. “Club Cumming” shone in red neon hanging above the singer’s head. Next to that was the sign that read, “I ❤️ New York Pride.”

    Harry opened by saying she’d planned to read something “a bit more lighthearted” but instead took her manager Manzi’s advice.

    “I just hope that all of you that take antidepressants have taken them,” she told the crowd. “And for those of you who don’t, I hope you’ve had a nice drink.”

    Debbie Harry at Club Cumming

    Harry read about her night at a 2001 Marc Jacobs fashion show.

    “There was a big party that he threw down on one of the piers in the West Village and it was wonderful.” She described it as a happening—an event. “And everybody was there.”

    After going to bed happy, the next morning her friend called to say “Turn on the news.” Harry gave an eerie account of staring at the towers from her window. She saw smoke and recounted the “surreal feeling” of not knowing what she was seeing on the TV. After that, Harry read a poem about the days that followed.

    I’m looking forward to reading Harry’s memoir Face It (HarperCollins), which comes out on October 1. It’s hard to believe she turns 74 in a few days.

    During this month of Pride, I’ve been afraid we’re going backwards. Needing a reality check, I tracked down writer, cultural critic, comedian and theatre performer Penny Arcade. Her work exudes empathy and celebrates all of our differences.

    We discussed activism in the LGBT community.

    “Lady Bunny stands out because she has never relaxed her work standards over the past 30 years. She manages to have real politics in a world that is so much about fitting in,” she said.

    She also credited RuPaul for making a strong contribution in the ’80s.

    “The LBGT community was founded on having to band together against the illogical hatred of homosexuality,” said Arcade. “But 2019 is a long road from Stonewall to coming out to your mother as she is watching Will and Grace.”

    Arcade said it’s just human nature to want to be accepted.

    “But the LGBT community is no longer the issue it once was. RuPaul’s Drag Race has created drag contests for heterosexual boys all across America.”

    Arcade also expressed what many people seem to be feeling these days.

    “We are living in an era of emotional and social isolation that is greater than anything I have experienced in the past 50 years of my social consciousness.”

    Inspiration and Responsibility for Pride

    Next, I interviewed Harry’s music producer, Barb Morrison (pronoun they/them). They’re proud of 29 years clean.

    “One of the things that was so cool about hearing Debbie [Harry] read at Club Cumming was that we got to witness her speaking from a vulnerable place. She took us on an emotional journey with her,” Morrison said.

    We moved on to discussing today’s political climate with the emphasis on Pride Month.

    “I feel a responsibility to push myself to be even more honest with my work,” said Morrison. “Being on the trans spectrum I also feel a responsibility to help other trans musicians tell their stories.”

    They expressed that now it’s more important than ever to be visible and authentic.

    “Not only for ourselves,” they said, “but to help others free themselves from stigma and shame. Watching Debbie read that night inspired me to be even more honest, to tell my truth, and to fully step into my own authenticity.”

    Like Morrison, Steven Polito (aka Hedda Lettuce) finds deeper meaning in Pride.

    “For those of us with traumatic experiences almost anything can be a trigger,” said Polito. “I have to be extra vigilant. Turning my tragedies into triumphs is my gay pride.”

    Amen.

    Wig is now showing on HBO.

    (Images: the author at Wigstock; Debbie Harry at Club Cumming. Both provided by Dorri Olds, all rights reserved)

    View the original article at thefix.com