hope & a token

That’s one of my favorite sayings: “Hope and a token will get you on the train.”  Meaning, it’s the token that gets you moving–hope is lovely, but it must be paired with something tangible (resources, action) in order to produce change.  On Monday night I attended this event, which was intended to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots.  I don’t often go to the Village any more; when I was in graduate school at NYU, I’d go to Christopher Street all the time b/c one of my best friends lived in a tiny 6th-floor walk-up.  Those were the days…going to class, going for cake on Bleecker, and then going to Gabrielle’s place to hash out everything that was brought up in class.  It was through Gabrielle that I met Rosa, and now both of them are making performance art all around the world (in addition to dazzling the academic world with their brilliance).  Of the three of us, I am most definitely the under-achiever and the only wallflower; Gabrielle’s on a Fulbright in Mexico City and just wowed folks there with a big show.  I wanted to support Rosa and I had missed her last show, so I took the train downtown and tried to remember how to get from West 4th station to Christopher St.  The Village feels like it has changed a lot since the ’90s, but maybe my memory’s just not what it once was.  I’d never been inside the Stonewall Inn, and could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been inside a club/bar.  The show was being held upstairs, and I figured I’d just pay the $20 cover and find a dark corner where I could hold up the wall without attracting any attention.  Instead, as soon as I walked in, another NYU grad tugged my sleeve and pointed to the table near the stage where Rosa was seated.  She looked totally calm, and gorgeous in a tangerine, strapless, floor-length gown.   With her was another NYU grad, Alan, and he kindly offered me half his seat.  We took a few minutes to reminisce, and then the outrageous MC came out on stage…she signaled the DJ at the back of the crowded room, and the loud boppy music (I love ABBA!) abruptly stopped.  I’ll admit, I was really only planning to stay for the first couple of acts (Rosa was #2).  I don’t like being out at night, I don’t like being social in public (if that makes any sense), and I’m just more comfortable being alone and at home.  But the line-up was so good, and the performances were so compelling, I stayed almost to the very end–and I might have stayed longer if the overkill air conditioning hadn’t turned my fingernails blue.  Rosa sang, performed several provocative poems, and looked like a total natural up onstage.  She stopped occasionally to sip from a Red Stripe beer–she wanted to make a point about a recent campaign launched by the owners of the bar; in an attempt to show support for LGBT folks under assault in Jamaica, they urged members of the NYC queer community to boycott all Jamaican products.  Unfortunately, they never ASKED the queer Jamaican community what help was really needed, and which companies ought to be targeted.  Rosa then asked, “When things got crazy over Prop 8, was there a call from the queer community here to boycott California wine?”  A thoughtful silence followed.  I won’t describe all the other acts, but I left after a powerful performance by Stacy Ann Chin; she’s got a new memoir out (The Other Side of Paradise), and after reading an excerpt that described her first visit to the Stonewall as a college girl, she launched into some poems that at times dissolved into a diatribe.  She knew what she was doing; it was deliberate, and clearly expressed her frustration with the ongoing racism in the queer community.  I left thinking about her closing words: “Are you willing to put more than your money on the line?  The movement needs your body, too.  More than just money.  More than just these happy celebrations of your own personal progress.”  And she wasn’t referring to the movement for gay rights; she wants something more integrated, a movement that would include straight women, anti-rape activists, trade unions, and AIDS activists around the world.  She stopped herself after a while and acknowledged that her angry tone and her accusations weren’t likely to encourage the majority-white crowd to buy her book.  But she had the mic, and THAT was what she needed to say.  Earlier that night, as I watched two drag queens, Chic and Sassy, rap about equal rights, I started sketching my latest novel.  I already have about a third of it completed, but I need to revisit some issues.  Initially I had planned to have Judah separated from his mother by her decision to leave the countryside of Jamaica to find work in Kingston.  Then I changed it and decided to have Judah witness his mother’s murder at the hands of his father.  And then, during that performance, I considered having Judah’s mother murdered for being in a lesbian relationship.  But after hearing Stacy Ann’s rant, I wondered if that was really just an empty gesture.  How do you figure out how to be a good ally?  You ask, of course.  I think many of us DON’T ask, b/c we’re afraid of the demands our queer friends might make.  They “passed the hat” during the show that night, but I’d already paid my $20 and didn’t have more to contribute.  So I’m not one of those folks who can write a check and call it a day.  But is it enough to try to raise awareness through my writing?  Isn’t that too easy?  And is it really MY story to tell?  Am I doing the same thing those activists did when they decided to blindly boycott all products from Jamaica?  I’m going to talk to Rosa about this tomorrow night.  Sometimes I wonder if she’s grown weary of my endless questions.  Maybe being an ally means doing some of the legwork on your own…