Celebration is resistance
In January I attended the Q Christian Fellowship conference for LGBTQIA+ Christians in Atlanta, Georgia. It was three days after the inauguration of the US president, and the rooms were filled with fear, anger, and confusion. The US government, through executive orders, publicly denied the existence of transgender people and ordered the removal of all trans folks from military service and all references to them erased from official government websites. DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) programs were also to be eliminated. It was rough y’all.
Atlanta native, Kevin Garcia, a queer writer and podcaster, called us together for a difficult reality check. “What’s clear to me now is something that’s been clear to our queer elders and to people of colour forever, and I’ll hold your hand when I say this. No one is coming to save us. To say it another way. There is not a singular person or entity that’s going to improve our society. There’s not a knight coming in to ride on a horse for us.”
In the queer community, we have always saved ourselves and each other. During the ravages of the AIDS pandemic in the 1980s, queer people learned complex nursing care to take care of each other because hospitals refused to admit AIDS patients. At the same time, they danced, fell in love, performed drag, and, yes, held Pride parades.
Kevin continued, “There’s not a saviour that’s going to come around and upend the tables of corruption, not a person, but perhaps a collective could.”
Resistance is fuelled by a compound of anger, joy, and hope. Our friend Willie James Jennings writes, “Joy is an act of resistance against despair. Resisting all the ways in which life can be strangled and presented to us as not worth living.” When you have lived a life where joy and celebration have been easily accessible, it can be difficult to imagine joy and celebration when you have to work for it. But it is so worth it. This is how.
We lean into family, chosen family, and community. We need each other. You need your loved ones and they need you. Find the people you can cry with as well as laugh. Ask for help and help when asked.
We celebrate milestones. Last year I gave myself and my friends many ways to celebrate my 50th birthday. Recently, I celebrated the crap out of my PhD completion. I’m still celebrating. I know the joy those celebrations brought are still fuelling me to face these days we are in.
We lift up those who are doing the work. Mr. Rogers taught us to look for the helpers. I will add to look for the resistors. Pay attention to the protests, the collective actions, and the mutual support networks. Participate and give as much as you are able. Whatever history says about this moment, it will not say we let it happen unopposed.
We create art. Art inspires us. Go to a museum. Find outdoor art in your community. Art comes from the places where joy and sorrow meet. So you’re not an artist. Paint a room. Build a deck.
We hold hands. Embrace, find comfort, be with people. Feel someone else’s heartbeat besides your own. Look into another person’s eyes and see the complexity of their joys and sorrows. Do not let yourself fall in the trap of thinking you are all alone in your pain because you are not. You are loved. Someone is thinking fondly of you right now.
This is how we do it. Together. Celebrating together is a necessary part of resistance because, without it, we easily forget why we are resisting at all.
What are you celebrating these days? How are you working to make joy happen? Let me know.
