Mahalaya Vol. 2, Issue 1

From March to Movement: Uniting Asian, Black, and Blasian Communities

BY FELICIA HYDE

In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, Rohan Zhou-Lee sparked a movement redefining Black and Asian race relations. The 31-year-old of AfricanAmerican, Filipino, and Chinese heritage founded the Blasian March, recognizing mainstream media’s limitations in capturing the essence of the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement.

The Blasian March has gained momentum since its inception in 2020. Inspired by the contributions of Asian organizers in BLM rallies and aiming to foster collaboration between Black and Asian communities, this transformative movement breaks stereotypes and provides a platform for understanding among marginalized communities.

“We need to help people see their stories and create a new narrative based on lived experiences. That’s where the celebration comes in,” Zhou-Lee said. “We want individuals to feel empowered to create their own stories and let those stories anchor them as they connect with different communities.”

The Blasian March builds community through education on parallel struggles with racial injustice,

colonial settler violence, and mutual celebration. It goes beyond traditional forms of protest, incorporating innovative platforms like book fairs, film festivals, and fashion shows to encourage artistic expression. Marches also include performance art, free food, and essential resources, enabling participants to immerse themselves in community-building without concerns. Zhou-Lee and the Blasian March seek to reshape the narrative around activism and promote solidarity among Black, Asian, and Blasian communities.

“Ever since ancient empires, Africa and Asia have always had some level of trade. There have always been bridges between our communities,” Zhou-Lee said. “White supremacy has done such a good job of suppressing those bridges. But those bridges never left. It’s beautiful that the Blasian March is helping people find those bridges again and cross them once more.”

The Personal is Political

In the summer of 1969, a series of spontaneous demonstrations erupted at the Stonewall Inn, a popular gathering place for the LGBTQIA+ community in New York City. Fueled by frustration and resistance to ongoing police harassment, the Stonewall Rebellion —

alongside significant events years earlier like the Cooper Do-Nuts uprising in Los Angeles and Compton’s Cafeteria confrontations in San Francisco — became a defining moment that ignited the LGBTQIA+ rights movement.

The uprisings were rooted in the struggle for LGBTQIA+ liberation and influenced by the broader movements of Black Power and feminism of that period. The legacy of these uprisings and their connection to the Blasian March lies in their shared commitment to building unity across various communities experiencing social injustice.

“The Blasian March serves as an invitation for the Asian community to join and connect with the Black community, providing a space for unity,” Zhou-Lee said.

The first Blasian March, which took place on Oct 11, 2020, in New York City, held significance for the Filipino community as it commemorated the sixth anniversary of the murder of Jennifer Laude, a transFilipina woman who died at the hands of U.S. marine Michael Pemberton in 2014. The tribute drew attention to the impact of the U.S. military presence in the

Rohan Zhou-Lee leads the third annual Blasian Pride for climate justice wearing a golden Sampaguita crown by Marharlika. Photo credit @sd_herzog_photo

Philippines and highlighted the systemic violence faced by trans individuals worldwide.

Zhou-Lee pointed to the significance of the phrase “the personal is political,” drawing inspiration from author and activist bell hooks. As a queer and nonbinary Black Asian author, dancer, and organizer, they reflected on their own encounters with antiBlackness and queerphobia within the Chinese and Filipino communities and the critical need to make space for Black Asians. In exploring their Asian and ethnic identities, Zhou-Lee has found the healing and empowering nature of reconnecting with their roots.

“I think folks really need to heal from white mythologies, white miseducation about what has happened to us,” Zhou-Lee said, referring to the whitewashing of Black History and attempts to invisibilize Asian American contributions to civil rights from U.S. History.

Reconstructing Lost Histories

Following the Civil War, the “Lost Cause” myth emerged in the South, romanticizing the Confederacy and downplaying slavery as the main cause of the war. Slavery’s impact and brutality were often minimized, with textbooks omitting crucial details about the harsh conditions and violence inflicted on Black people. Historical narratives during segregation upheld white supremacy, glorifying Confederate leaders while ignoring the central role of slavery. Ongoing efforts are challenging these distortions by uncovering and teaching the true history of Black Americans and their contributions.

One example of such erasure occurred in 1882 with the implementation of the Chinese Exclusion Act. This discriminatory federal law restricted Chinese immigration to the United States and perpetuated stereotypes and discrimination against Chinese American laborers. As a result, the contributions of Chinese Americans to the development of the American West and their struggles for civil rights were effectively erased.

The Blasian March Book Fair seeks to reconstruct lost and forgotten histories by providing free books written by Black, Asian, Blasian, and Indigenous writers. Zhou-Lee described it as an opportunity to distribute literature and allow communities to reclaim and share their stories.

Also central to Zhou-Lee’s work and the Blasian March is a commitment to the Land Black movement, which advocates for Indigenous sovereignty and the return of ancestral lands to Indigenous communities. The movement aims to rectify historical injustices of U.S. colonization responsible for continued land dispossession and the forced displacement and assimilation of Indigenous peoples that have led to a loss of cultural heritage, economic resources, and selfdetermination.

The Blasian March’s expansion from rallies to arts and literature allowed them to address specific community needs. It recognizes the challenges people of color face in finding books that are accessible, affordable, and representative of their experiences, especially in a time of heightened book bans and increased cuts to public education funding across the country.

The book fairs have experienced a notable rise in attendance, with growing engagement from Asian and Black readers and support for Black and Asian-owned bookstores to promote community wealth.

“We fundraise to purchase books directly from these bookstores, and it’s heartwarming to see their increased support. It signifies a positive change in equal interest and support,” Zhou-Lee said.

The Blasian March as a Vessel for Social Change

By acknowledging the unique learning styles and cultural backgrounds of people around them, Zhou-Lee strives to create an environment that accommodates these differences and embraces diverse approaches to education and celebration. They describe a harmonious connection between their role as an artist and the march’s emphasis on art-centered activism and community organizing that empower them to unapologetically express their opinions by writing fantasy novels and poetry and imagining Black Asian solidarity and

multiculturalism beyond political boundaries.

“It’s also encouraging that we’ve had fewer conversations about how to support each other in these spaces. Two years ago, we organized our first Black, Asian, and Asian trans power rally to uplift these communities, and now there’s a growing understanding of how to hold each other up,” Zhou-Lee said.

The impact of the Blasian March brought Zhou-Lee to the 2022 Unite Festival in Zurich, Switzerland, where they performed an original ballet solo called “Homage” that pays tribute to Asian Americans killed by police in the United States. The rendition first premiered at the A-Squared Theatre Asian American Performing Arts Festival in 2016. Zhou-Lee also sang the National Black Anthem and debuted a commissioned poem titled “The Obsidian Wings of Heaven,” honoring the memory of Nzoy, a South African immigrant who died at the hands of Swiss police during a mental health crisis.

The deliberate inclusion of “Homage,” the National Black Anthem, and “The Obsidian Wings of Heaven” in the festival’s program served as a reminder of the transformative power and role of the arts in advocating for justice and shedding light on social issues surrounding race and police brutality.

“This transformative journey has taken me from audition struggles to a more rewarding and stable career in writing and public speaking. It’s truly been a beautiful experience,” Zhou-Lee said. “My ballet teacher in Chicago used to say that in one shot, you have to tell the entire story through your movement. That principle has influenced my approach to the Blasian March, where I make it explicit that I am Asian.”

The Blasian March holds a special place in ZhouLee’s heart. Once a local event in its founding city, the march has grown into a nationwide movement, with organizers in Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York

spearheading the expansion with their own artistic elements.

“It’s where I truly came into my own, embracing my queer journey and discovering so much about myself,” Zhou-Lee said. “It was amazing to see others take the lead and reimagine the event in their own unique way, incorporating theater, music, and diverse performances.”

Zhou-Lee recalled experiencing a sense of awe during the 2022 Blasian March in Chicago, where they experienced a sense of awe and detachment.

“There was a beautiful moment where I realized that the rally had taken a life of its own. I found myself in the back, listening to the crowd chanting in solidarity with each other. It was a moment of collective empowerment and connection that I had no direct involvement in, and it was truly wonderful,” Zhou-Lee said.

In June, Zhou-Lee witnessed a Korean drumming ensemble perform at Blasian Pride in New York City while trans marchers of Afro-Caribbean and IndoCaribbean descent joined together with Pride flags in hand.

“I was moved to tears because it was an organic display of solidarity. It showed that unity is possible, not only as a response to oppression but because it brings us joy and empowers us individually and collectively,” Zhou-Lee said.

With love at its core and Zhou-Lee leading the way, the Blasian March has become an instrumental vessel for social change, demonstrating the potential for impactful transformation when communities work together in solidarity.

Contributions and additional reporting by Bernard James Remollino

BLASIAN MARCH, from front page

Rohan Zhou-Lee in a red terno by Mahal Kita @keith_lafuente. Photo: Lucy Baptiste @flicks_by_lucy

A closer look at LEAD Filipino’s Queer Lakbay Summit and its commitment to social change

BY NIKKI ABELEDA

Once a year, queer Filipinx creatives, educators, and activists across Northern California come together in San Jose for the Queer Lakbay Summit, an annual gathering organized by a passionate team at Leadership, Education, Activism, and Dialogue (LEAD) Filipino that cultivates a space for dialogue, celebration, and community building.

Lakbay is a combination of the Tagalog words lakbay for “journey” or “to take a trip” and bakla, meaning “gay” or literally, “third sex.” Drawing inspiration from these words, the Lakbay Summit seeks to ignite a sense of inspiration and provide opportunities for participants to engage in self-reflection and exploration while fostering a journey toward wholeness.

The Queer Lakbay Summit emerged from a 2016 workshop organized by LEAD Filipino organizers Daniel Lazo and Jenny Edra that later evolved into a retreat in 2019. At the heart of its success lies the Queermittee (Queer Committee),

a driving force behind the program’s thought development, content creation, and production.

“We’re hella queer. A lot of us identify as LGBTQ+,” Queermittee Director Celeste Francisco (they/them/siya) said.

Francisco cited disconnects between Lead Filipino’s early programming and team demographics, wherein two-thirds of its members identify as queer—the Lakbay Summit aimed to address these needs by prioritizing queer Filipinx experiences, stories, and narratives.

Every Lakbay Summit since its inception in 2021 has explored diverse themes and brought together various musicians, artists, community resources, and small business vendors.

Lead Filipino’s third summit in June 2023, “Halo-Halo: Get Into the Mix!” centered on relationship dynamics, intergenerational dialogues, and community care.

“It’s like a mix of all different toppings: activism, mental health, storytelling, disability justice, and art,” Francisco said. “We had all these different voices and topics that were really important to us. That’s why we

picked Halo-halo as the theme.”

Workshops were the highlight of this year’s summit. Francisco offered particular praise for Sera Fernando’s workshop, “Empowerment Beyond the X.” Fernando, a Manager for the Santa Clara Office of LGBTQ Affairs and Chief Diversity Officer for Silicon Valley Pride, focused on the impacts of current anti-trans violence and legislation in the United States.

In light of the recent Supreme Court rulings limiting LGBTQIA+ protections, LEAD Filipino and its Lakbay Summit are becoming critical spaces of resistance that grow collective self-empowerment and facilitate conversations rooted in organizing and social justice principles.

“We’re activating these networks and spaces to move and bring our people into our statewide advocacy. It’s important to show people that you can engage, pull these levers, and push these buttons,” said Dr. Gel Cortez (she/her), Executive Director of LEAD Filipino. “We need a presence to influence the outcome of something that could be onerous and atrocious to LGBTQIA+ communities.”

Luzanne Batoon (she/they) cherishes the Lakbay Summit, recognizing its rarity in San Jose.

“There’s not many queer things in San Jose. I always have to go to Oakland or San Francisco for queer events, especially during Pride month. It was nice to have something local and in person that’s queer,” Batoon said.

As the event progresses, attendees can anticipate a stronger and larger gathering achieved through fruitful collaborations with other LGBTQIA+ organizations and queer and trans-Filipinx collectives. Sharing space as a community and among people with similar identities was a major highlight for Cortez.

“The workshops, speakers, emotions and feelings, and the stories that were shared all left an imprint on me. It was the moments between organizing with the Queermittee,” Cortez said. “I love being with other queer folks. It’s not even a matter of safety. It’s how we relate, our banter, and what we talk about—just having those types of conversations at that depth and height. I feel like we go everywhere mentally and emotionally together.”

Outreach Queermittee member

LEAD Filipino celebrates Pride month with its annual Queer Filipinx Lakbay Summit held on June 3, 2023, at De Anza College in Cupertino, California. This year’s theme, “Halo-Halo: Get Into the Mix!” explores relationship dynamics, intergenerational dialogues, art, and community care. Photo: E Aaclan.

members explore ways to preserve the spirit of Pride in safety, sponsorship choices

BY JANELLE SALANGA

Northern California Reporter, CapRadio

Editor’s Note: The following article was published by CapRadio on Friday, June 9, 2023. CapRadio serves California’s Capital Region, Central Valley and Sierra Nevada as the public-supported alternative to for-profit media.

Queer and trans people exist loudly during Pride festivals and parades: They take up space in parks and downtowns, marching from one part of a city to another, many decked out with rainbows and flags for their respective identities.

To some, the month’s celebrations are an opportunity to claim space through joy.

“I am most looking forward to seeing everyone be the very embodiment of QT [queer and trans] joy and liberation,” Elk Grove Pride organizer Judah Joslyn told CapRadio via email. “To claim and take up space to exist and be in community with one another.”

To others, these celebrations are a source of affirmation.

“What Pride means to me is being able to be out and be my true authentic self,” said Cindy Baudoin, who helped organize Placer Pride and sits on the board of the Placer LGBTQ+ Center.

“Seeing people living in their truth is really powerful,” said UC Davis doctorate student Mia Karisa Dawson about Pride month.

Power in numbers provides a source of safety, they

added: “There’s a type of community seeing everyone coming out and living their lives together. If you’re surrounded by other queer people who are doing their thing, it feels more safe to be yourself and do your thing.”

That’s a weighty feeling when being pushed to the margins of society through homophobia and transphobia makes safety for LGBTQ+ people a tenuous, uncertain thing.

The first Pride marches were held in 1970, a year after queer and trans people fought back against police who stormed and raided the Stonewall Inn. At the time, homosexuality was still criminalized in every state barring Illinois, and businesses could be shut down for serving or employing gay people.

And during the inception of the AIDS epidemic, then-President Ronald Reagan barely acknowledged the disease and the predominantly gay men and trans women of color it was killing.

Homophobia and transphobia aren’t vestiges of the past. California’s Proposition 8 remains in the state constitution, despite being overruled by 2015’s Obergefell v. Hodges, which made same-sex marriage legal across the U.S.

And this year, LGBTQ+ people face rising legislative violence — with over 550 anti-trans bills introduced in legislative sessions this year — along with emotional and physical attacks, both nationally and locally.

“None of us are safe,” Dawson, who also organizes with Decarcerate Sacramento, said. “Some of us are more safe than others.”

For queer and trans people of color, racism also

complicates and impacts the meaning of safety. While the broader LGBTQ+ community faces increased rates of surveillance, profiling and violence from police, trans and gender-nonconforming people of color, particularly Black trans people, are most likely to have experienced police violence.

While there’s a spectrum of views on police at Pride — in either a security or personal celebratory capacity — queer and trans people in the Sacramento region agree: “We keep each other safe.” And that takes many forms, from community training as protection to coming together to learn from each other and experience communal joy.

Broadening ideas of safety, protection at Pride

For many Sacramento community members in 2019, Sacramento Pride became an explicit protest and proclamation. The year marked the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, sparking conversations about whether modern-day Pride celebrations retained the same spirit of the original marches. And one of the main conversations was about the increasingly accepted presence of police at Pride.

“The big push was mostly by trans and gender nonconforming folks,” said Ebony Ava Harper, who had been voted Grand Marshal for the parade that year. “Most of us were just bringing to attention that trans folks are still suffering, and law enforcement plays a huge part in that suffering.”

See ELK GROVE PRIDE, page 5

‘We keep each other safe’: LGBTQ+ community

Marchers outside the California State Capitol during the Sacramento Pride parade on June 9, 2019.

Photo: Nick Miller/CapRadio

While the Sacramento LGBT Center had initially asked LGBTQ+ law enforcement officers to not wear uniforms to the main event that year, they reneged on that promise without consulting staff, much to the frustration, dismay and anger of many community members. It in itself was the result of an organizing push that began in 2018, after a predominantly Black, queer group of organizers presented a variety of demands, including the demand to keep police out of the Pride parade.

The Lavender Library, an all volunteer-run queer lending library and archive, also put on an event with face-painting, drag queen readings, queer historical presentations and music that drew hundreds of people as an alternative to those who no longer wanted to attend Sac Pride due to the Center’s decision.

A separate, but allied group of organizers — largely queer and trans people of color — calling themselves the Still Here Alliance for Trans Rights arrived to that year’s Sacramento Pride, ready to barricade the

entryways and hold a demonstration calling for the reclamation of Pride. They had been planning the action for months, before everything that happened with the Center.

“It’s not a winning fight to talk about visibility and inclusion into a system that is already grinding and brutalizing people,” said Nghia Nguyen, one of the alliance’s lead organizers.

A press release Nguyen shared from 2019 laid out the alliance’s “rallying cry”: “No cops at Pride. No rainbow corporate sponsorships. No collusion with an anti-trans, racist state. We will make Pride free again.”

The momentum of those conversations has taken new shapes after 2019: The COVID-19 pandemic began, backgrounding a summer of protesting police violence after George Floyd’s murder. And violence against LGBTQ+ people has been rising in tandem with right-wing groups targeting drag queens and trans people inside and outside legislative halls.

Now, community members and Pride organizers have different strategies for community protection.

Many Pride organizers around the region have

chosen to hire private security firms for their respective events, only having uniformed police present when mandated by permit requirements or in the case of emergency.

Sandré Henriquez Nelson has been the director of Davis Pride for nine years and said the committee had major discussions about limiting police at Pride; it eventually “came back to the mission of building inclusive communities to eliminate hate-based violence.”

This year at Davis Pride weekend, which happened from June 3-5, the Davis Phoenix Coalition hired a private security firm, and says law enforcement didn’t participate “outside of permit requirement guidelines, if we have political candidates or government officials, and/or if called to help protect attendees from threats.”

Four years after 2019 Sacramento Pride, the Sacramento LGBT Center maintains a similar policy for this year’s Pride celebrations, which happen this weekend: No uniformed law enforcement “unless in a

ELK GROVE PRIDE, from page 4

(Top left to right) Headliner Ryan Cassata and the kids zone area at Placer Pride on May 20, 2023. Photos by Jolanne Tierney and courtesy of Cindy Baudoin. (Bottom) Demonstrators protest the Sacramento Pride parade in response to a decision to allow uniformed police officers to march on June 9, 2019. Photo: Nick Miller/CapRadio

See ELK GROVE PRIDE, page 5

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Casey Ticsay

MANAGING EDITORS

Nikki Abeleda

Bernard James Remollino

COPY EDITOR

Maia Alviar

WRITERS

Nikki Abeleda

Felicia Hyde

Bernard James Remollino

Faith Alexandria Remollino

Janelle Salanga

Caralie Wegeng

PHOTOGRAPHERS

E. Aaclan

Lucy B.

Jon Chiang

SD Herzog

Nick Miller

Sarkasticco

ILLUSTRATORS

Talitha De Mesa

Trinidad Escobar

LAYOUT DESIGN

Casey Ticsay

LOGO DESIGN

Marybeth Soriano

***

Mahalaya is a community newspaper founded by Casey Ticsay in 2022. Powered by a staff of dedicated volunteers, this monthly publication centers Filipinx voices and experiences in and beyond the San Francisco Bay Area.

How people of Filipino heritage in the diaspora identify themselves has evolved over the years — Pinoy, Pinay, Pilipino, Pilipina, Pilipin@, Pin@y, Filipino, Filipina, and Filipinx. Thus, the terms we publish may be used interchangeably and will vary depending on article content or a speaker’s personal experience.

***

Visit our website at mahalayasf.org

Follow @mahalayasf on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Threads.

Issues also available on issuu.com/mahalayasf

Healing beyond colonial mentality: Insights from a somatic coach on embracing emotional self-care

BY FAITH ALEXANDRIA REMOLLINO

As a queer somatic activated healer, coach, creative and space-holder, Kim Saira (she/they) centers emotional healing and embodiment through her 12-week coaching cohort called Authentically U. The space welcomes an intimate circle of Asian women and femmes seeking to embrace vulnerability, connect with their intuition and learn about their unique ancestral roots. Decolonization, healing, and how they can be integrated into one’s work and personal life are at the forefront of group discussions.

“We cannot heal alone. We cannot do human existence alone,” Saira said.

Somatic activated healing, which means “healing through the body,” was coined by mystic and yogi Sah D’Simone. The method uses four modalities namely meditation, breathwork, speaking affirmations, and ecstatic dance. During therapy sessions, Saira

discourages intellectualization and speaking so participants can fully embrace and release the feelings flowing through their bodies.

“Because we’re healing from the body, we can recognize that we have emotional baggage stored,” Saira said. “The reason why this work really fascinated me was because I was tired of talking about my problems all the time.”

Saira highlighted how living in a capitalist society which values profits over people and prioritizes individual interests instead of the community can have negative effects on mental health. This is perpetuated through social media with narratives and images depicting an unrealistic and idealized view of people’s lives and their experiences.

“There are deep capitalistic wounds that tell us that our worth is connected to how much we work and how much we earn,” Saira said.

According to Saira, such wounds connect to the concept of the crab mentality in Filipino culture. This phenomenon, deeply rooted in colonial mentality, can

be understood through the image of crabs in a bucket. Individuals on the path to success are likened to crabs climbing to the top but find themselves pulled down by other crabs still reaching for their achievements.

“A lot of people in the Filipino community will celebrate someone who has already made it. Everyone else who’s just trying to get their foot out the door, it’s very easy for us to criticize and pull them down,” Saira said.

Adopting a crab mentality has consequences and can lead to self-doubt and insecurity in pursuing one’s dreams and ambitions. Saira emphasizes the need to prioritize emotional self-care and seek healing outside of colonial ideas and beliefs that have historically caused divisions between communities and community members. She encourages practicing “loob,” a Tagalog word that refers to one’s inner self “inside” or more spiritually as “the soul’s purpose.”

Opening up about her childhood struggles with

See KIM SAIRA, page 10

Photo Courtesy: Kim Saira

Beyond bakla: Trinidad Escobar’s liberating exploration of queer sensuality and identities

BY CARALIE WEGENG

Trinidad Escobar’s love for storytelling began as early as six years old when they penned a myriad of short stories into the pages of their collegeruled notebooks. Writing provided a creative outlet for the shy yet imaginative child and a place of refuge where their thoughts and ideas could take flight. Today, they are an accomplished cartoonist and poet in the comics world with pieces featured in publications like the New Yorker and The Washington Post.

Born in the Philippines and adopted by distant relatives in the United States, Escobar moved to Northern California, where their artistic journey first took shape with the help of the Pilipino Youth Coalition (PYC) in San Jose. PYC played a critical role in Escobar’s life, not only serving as their primary source of education in the arts but also as a lifeline that prevented them from the allure and potential pitfalls of gang involvement.

“I was put in that program because I was getting affiliated. It was during a time in California when

Filipinos were looking for a community. In the nineties, there could be 10 Filipino gangs in San Jose, so it was easy to fall into that kind of life,” Escobar said.

Escobar went on to study Creative Writing at San Francisco State University and later earned two Master of Fine Arts degrees — one in Poetry from Naropa University’s Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics and the second in Comics from California College of the Arts.

Filipino and queer identity are core tenets of Escobar’s work. As a queer non-binary cartoonist and poet, they draw inspiration from their personal experiences and various comic book artists, including multiracial Filipino American cartoonist Lynda Barry.

“Lynda Barry is special because she’s Filipina. She writes about her mother and growing up in Seattle with diverse and multiracial kids and queer people,” Escobar said.

The representation Escobar sees in figures like Barry has influenced them to write in ways that reflect their authentic self. They value the freedom to explore sexuality and erotica through art and create vibrant, entertaining poems and comics.

Among Escobar’s work is Arrive in My Hands, a graphic novel of erotic comics, and poetic compositions such as “Filipina Beauty Queen #1,” “Filipinx Beauty Queen #2,” and “trinidad #1” that employ humor to expose awkward interactions natural of human sexuality. “Bakla,” an article previously published by The Nib in 2019, explores the relationship between queerness and Filipino cultural identity.

“‘Bakla’ is often used as a slur, but the word has its roots in indigenous language and culture and a time when Queer identities were revered,” Escobar wrote. “The word ‘bakla’ is used differently given the context and circumstance. Usually, it is used to describe people with femme-presenting characteristics. It is not used as often to describe masculine women or trans men. However, ‘bakla’ is still an umbrella identity because it does not simply mean gay or trans. At the same time, many Filipino Americans identify with the term because of its non-Western connotations.”

Escobar has made a profound impact on queer Asian readers through their Patreon service, instilling a new

See TRINIDAD ESCOBAR, page 11

Artist Kimmortal blends healing, activism, and immigrant experiences into new album “Shoebox”

BY NIKKI ABELEDA

Before rap and poetry, Kim Villagante’s heart belonged to dance. The Filipinx Canadian interdisciplinary artist, known as Kimmortal (they/them), began their journey as a queer and nonbinary multi-hyphenate artist and musician at the University of British Columbia, where they studied Visual Art and Art History and in 2012 performed with Stylophonics, a competitive dance crew based in Vancouver.

“Dance was my first love,” Kimmortal said. But the world of competitive dance and choreography stifled Kimmortal, who felt the rules and demands for each dancer to look and perform the same silenced their expression. In search of inspiration, Kimmortal found their voice in a Women’s Studies and Literature course. It was a time of exploration and a space where they could practice the art of storytelling, poetry, and writing. Tasked to rewrite a fairytale story, Kimmortal used the classic television series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, to analyze the ways in which the show exoticized Black and brown people and made the antagonists women of color.

“I felt in the art of storytelling that I was fully seen by people and that I was really heard,” Kim said.

Kimmortal describes their early storytelling experiences as a melding of two passions: Filipino activism and the creative arts.

“Being with the intergenerational Filipino community learning about fighting against racist policies impacting titas who are or were domestic workers, learning about the timeline of immigration waves into so-called ‘Canada’ with other Filipinos,” Kimmortal said. “My lyrics started reflecting what I was learning and I was encouraged to perform by Filipino activists in the community.”

After graduating, Kimmortal got their first job as

a community archivist documenting the ways the arts were used by the Filipino community to organize and mobilize. “It was my job to interview Filipino artists in the community and document the art they created to uplift the community. I learned about the political fashion shows the Philippine Women Center in Vancouver created where each dress told the story of a domestic worker in the organization. It was inspiring to learn of the ways young artists would interview titas in the community and together they would tell the story.”

They draw inspiration from artists like hip hop duo Blue Scholars, rapper Lauryn Hill, Tierra Whack and their poet and theatre peers who create other worlds.

“That’s so powerful in just seeing that another world exists.” Kimmortal shared. “I think if I can offer a glimpse of what my world is to others, they can start imagining what their world is like too.”

Inspired by the world around them, Kimmortal crafts soul-activating lyrics that reflect their own lived experiences and tales of their loved ones. Their words and eclectic musical sound influenced by hip-hop, electronic, folk, and alternative styles encapsulate diverse emotions and speak to intersectional queer Filipinx issues.

They describe the writing of their original song, “This Dyke,” as a playful transition between words and beats. “This dyke/ wanna go all night/ boom boom.”

“In my head, I heard ‘this dyke Wanna ride a bike? Vroom, vroom.’ I heard those lyrics because at the time I wanted to be a dyke on a bike. I wanted to write like an iconic local dyke song because the community in Vancouver has such a dope queer drag scene and it was my goal to have my music blasting in those spaces,” Kimmortal said.

In their song “Sad Femme Club,” Kimmortal writes about their loved one, a person of color having to fight against the bureaucracy in higher education, reflecting on a time when a white professor commented on their hair. Angered by these experiences, Kimmortal

used their art to center femmes of color who have experienced similar incidents.

“Dear Goddess, give me patience/ Tired of trying to explain/ I’ve got zero tolerance/ When they fuck with my sacred space/Bar the trolls, hit the corners for escape / Build the platforms, take up space / Code the scripts to infiltrate/ ‘Cause you’re never not fighting/ A racist system that keeps powers in place/ And that fails to acknowledge the root of your pain/ Took it too personal, over-emotional/ Where are you from? Are you beauty or brains?/ If I lose my shit right now?/ Will I just be dismissed right now?”

Kimmortal is proud to be a queer Filipinx artist who inspires others within and outside of the queer community.

“Recently, someone came up to me and was like, ‘hey Kim, you really inspired me to be myself,’ And just seeing a spirit light up like that, while I’m discovering my own freedom inside is fucking cool,” Kimmortal said.

Fans have much to look forward to following the June release of Kimmortal’s latest, “Blue and Orange” in celebration of Pride Month, including a U.S. West Coast tour slated for September 2023. Available on July 7, their next album, “Shoebox,” highlights the queer Filipinx community and includes a music video that features Filipina couple and activists in the Vancouver community: Tita Darla and Cecilia.

“I wrote the music video to Blue & Orange with my partner and it makes me cry. The song is about a long distance relationship between Tita Darla and Tita Cecilia and really speaks to the long distance relationships between queer Filipinos separated by borders. My album ‘Shoebox’ is my most personal album. It’s full of healing trauma, emotions and memories,” Kimmortal said. “When I release a body of work, I’m giving birth to something that literally grows legs and arms and runs.”

(Left to right) Portrait photos of Kim Villagante, a Filipinx Canadian interdisciplinary artist known as Kimmortal. Photos by Jon Chiang and Sarkasticco.

anxiety and sadness, Saira recognized that while she had difficulty initiating conversations with her parents about her feelings, they were only doing the best they could at the time.

“A lot of my healing journey is realizing that my parents can only meet

me at the extent of their healing,” Saira said. “That’s a really hard truth for a lot of kids of immigrants, that our parents can’t probably meet us halfway.”

Through the guidance of a fellow Filipina therapist, Saira has been able to set boundaries with her family members. She learned that healing takes time and the importance of gaining the tools and

wisdom necessary to improve mental well-being within themselves and among those around them.

While Saira has not come out to her family as a queer, pansexual woman, she remains grounded in her authentic self. She found that embracing her identity and expression became a much more beautiful journey when surrounded by

sex worker,” she said. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a Black or brown person that represents the system of policing. You having those identities doesn’t negate the fact that policing has acted as oppression to marginalized identities.”

Dawson, the Decarcerate Sacramento organizer, said safety isn’t something that just happens.

“It’s something we have to proactively create … we have to create networks, and create a community of people that are willing to keep each other safe,” they said. “You can’t think of it [safety] as like an absence of danger. You have to think of it as a presence of safety networks that come out of organizing and activism.”

An example of community making sure that “everybody was safe and looking out for each other” took place at a drag show during Davis Pride’s community fest last weekend, Nelson said.

“There was a couple of protesters … and they were messing with this young lady that was just having a good time dancing and singing,” he said. “The crowd around all of them did not appreciate it … and sent the message that, ‘Hey, you need to leave. You’re not welcome here. Your behavior isn’t appreciated.’”

“It’s not about the money”: Shifting Pride away from profit

Another conversation, though less emphasized, that emerged during 2019 was about who gets to access Pride — particularly when charging to attend Pride celebrations, especially ones increasingly reliant on sponsorships with companies that had worked against LGBTQ+ interests.

a supportive network and chosen family, regardless of blood ties.

“When I think of Pride, I think of feeling safe in my body, feeling safe to be who I am, with the people that love me and the people that will nurture my best self,” Saira said. “I encourage everyone, no matter who you are, even if you are closeted, to find those people for you.”

Like Harper, Elk Grove Pride organizer Joslyn said they often feel like most celebrations still center “those in our community who hold a significant amount of privilege.”

“Elk Grove Pride has become the embodiment of what Pride can look like when we take out corporate influence and center those who continue to be left out of even our own community,” they said.

The event, officially called “Elk Grove Pride: Embodied Liberation,” includes live performances, like an all-Black drag performer line-up, vendors and three panels: Family Acceptance, Embodying Black Queer Joy, and LGBTQIA+ Youth.

“It is important to center Pride toward Black, Indigenous and People of Color (BIPOC) community and youth because the Elk Grove and Sacramento community demographics reflect that,” Nikki Abeleda, one of the Elk Grove Pride organizers, told CapRadio via email.

Both areas are “minority-majority” areas, meaning non-white people make up the bulk of their respective population.

Of the four celebrations mentioned — Davis, Sacramento, Elk Grove and Placer — only one charges for its main festival: Sacramento Pride.

Its Sunday march is free, but tickets to the two-day festival start at $10.

Priya Kumar, the marketing and communications director for the Sac LGBT Center, said the payment system exists because of how big the Sacramento Pride event has gotten since it was first held in 1979.

last resort” or due to city of Sacramento requirements given event size.

Elk Grove Pride’s organizing committee, which is working in conjunction with Sac Filipinx, is putting together a comparatively smaller Pride event on June 17 — they’re also using a private security team “trained in de-escalation” to protect the event’s perimeter, said organizer Cheena Moslen.

“I wish more organizers would listen to the community members who share that police do not create an environment of safety; rather, they evoke fear,” Moslen told CapRadio via email about the decision to hire private security. “I wish they would listen to community members when they say that the uniform can trigger memories that take away from the experience of celebration.”

At Placer Pride, held on May 20, attendance doubled from last year, going from around 500 to 1,100 people — and so did the security presence, said planning committee member Cindy Baudoin. She said that for her personally, having police at Pride “was important and imperative to keeping our community safe.”

“I had some bad experiences with the police when I was a child, so it’s not like I’m immune to police violence or police brutality, but I feel that there’s good and bad in everything,” they said. “What we want is safe, and I know that police are a trigger for some people … so I don’t know what the real answer is.”

Baudoin added that Placer Pride organizers went through an active shooter training provided by police, in order to better prepare themselves for the worst case potential.

But Harper, who is also the executive director of California TRANScends, said she’d like to see community defense training come from the community — not from law enforcement — because “we keep each other safe.”

“We don’t really need outside entities,” she said. “There are people who volunteer to look out to keep our community safe [at events] … and I think it would be more communal to invest in [training] community folks.”

And she said the interactions and experiences a white gay man has with police are different from the ones she has as a Black trans woman.

“Recently, I was going to do my laundry, and I was stopped by the police because they assumed I was a

Monsanto, Dignity Health and Wells Fargo are among some of the companies that have sponsored Pride celebrations in the Sacramento region.

“Pride celebrations across the country have adopted a rainbow capitalist model of charging entrance fees that limit access to our most marginalised community members,” the Still Here Alliance’s 2019 press release read.

And Harper said of Pride: “It’s not about the money — Pride is still a protest. Pride is still resistance to dominant culture.”

The TRANScends executive director also sits on the board of the Transgender Law Center, wants to see more grassroots celebrations where corporations don’t play a sponsorship role — “with more seasoning, with more focus on the marginalized folks in our community,” namely Black trans women.

“You see us on Pose, you see us in different media outlets,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean that a Black trans woman in the hood benefits from that.”

At Elk Grove Pride, organizers have intentionally partnered with Black LGBTQ+ led organizations — especially since their event lands on Juneteenth weekend — and say they’re redistributing funds back into the community through paying panelists and performers.

“We are a nonprofit, so we don’t have, you know, unlimited funds to put on these types of events,” Kumar said. “The funds will go back into the Pride festival and back into the center. So we’re making sure that anything we do get is going back into putting these events on and making them bigger and better every year.”

Back in 2019, Lizzo was the Sacramento Pride headliner. This year, Rebecca Black headlines the festival.

Not every Pride event has big-name performers. But community members overwhelmingly said that the Pride experience they most look forward to — and enjoy — is the experience of being together with other LGBTQ+ people of all ages.

Baudoin said she met someone who was 66 and newly out at their first Pride during this year’s Placer Pride.

“They were just so grateful to just be there with their community and not have to worry and be their true authentic selves,” she said. “So that, to me, is the most important part of pride.”

And Moslen, another Elk Grove Pride organizer, added that she’s excited to bring youth into Pride celebrations, because they “are our past, present and future.”

“The trans and queer community has been built in part on the efforts of youth claiming their space among our community,” she said. “Without their knowledge and experience, we do not move forward as a community.”

ELK GROVE PRIDE, from page 5

Talitha De Mesa

sense of confidence that empowers people to celebrate their sensuality and fully embrace the natural and human aspects of themselves without shame.

“I get a lot of messages from “masc,” (referring to those who present masculine traits, regardless of gender identity) queer, and trans people. They’ll tell me how they feel invisible most of the time or who they are isn’t attractive or sexy. I get to see this intimate stuff that goes on with people after they read my work, and

that’s really special to me,” Escobar said. Sharing this type of content online is not without its struggles. Escobar activated the privacy setting on their Instagram account after receiving negative feedback from an audience within the Filipino community that maintains a vehement opposition against the exploration of sexuality and queerness.

“Filipino people have been my greatest readers, and they’ve also been my biggest critics,” Escobar said. “I’m grateful for the critics. But another part

of myself reminds me that I don’t do things for straight, cisgender people.”

Escobar, undeterred and fueled with a desire to create, has a plethora of works currently in production. They intend to build an online digital space called Happy Hardcore Bookstore for unpublished erotica and plan to release “Of Sea and Venom” this year. Set in the 1500s, the queer pre-colonial story takes place in an alternate San Francisco Bay Area and the Philippines that are ruled by matriarchal families who rebel against a white man and his pirates attempting to

settle on their lands.

In addition to their forthcoming projects, Escobar extends valuable guidance to those eager to embark on their own artistic journeys.

“If folks are trying to pursue creative work and there are no models for what they’re doing, or they feel weird and odd, or like they don’t fit into anything — they’re on the right track,” Escobar said. “Use that wandering feeling as a compass and a sign that you really are on the right path.”

TRINIDAD ESCOBAR, from page 8