Apogee Journal – Queer History, Queer Now

And we know, we have always known, that no place is safe—we are queer people of color, no place is ever safe for us, not even the gay club—but it’s one of the few spaces where, at least for the duration of a song, we can imagine a complete surrender to the music that transports us into the sheer enjoyment of a moment.
Rigoberto González

Today, June 28, 2016, commemorates the 47th year since the Stonewall riots. This month, we stood in vigil outside of Stonewall Inn to mourn the devastating loss of 49 lives. Less than a year ago, Stonewall, a film purporting to celebrate the dawn of the queer liberation movement in the United States relegated the trans people of color at the forefront of that movement to the sidelines. Now we watch as the lives lost at Pulse become, as Joey de Jesus (Apogee Journal’s Poetry Co-Editor) writes, “another device with which the political elite polarize the American public” while their identities are disregarded.

Resisting this convenient erasure is essential to our survival. “Don’t Militarize Our Mourning,” the Audre Lorde Project’s response to Orlando states it clearly:

Contrary to what the media and mainstream LGBT organizations and publications are depicting: the victims and survivors are Black, Latinx, AfroLatinx, Trans, Gender Non Conforming, undocumented, and working class. These identities matter.They matter because of the US occupation and militarization of Puerto Rico and Latin/South America due to US sanctioned economic violence. They matter because our communities have to make separate Latinx nights at clubs due to racism even within the LGBT community. They matter because Black and Latinx club sanctuaries and safe spaces (like Starlight in Brooklyn, Club Escuelita in Manhattan) are routinely shut down due to rampant gentrification and increased policing of our neighborhoods.

We reject the whitewashing, the profit-making, and political tokenizing that warps queer struggles and tragedies. So much history is lost, so much only exists as whispers and rumors. We must document our own histories, or we risk a mis-telling and an opportunity for justice in truth.

The pieces in this folio—essays, poems, videos, interviews—create an altar for what would otherwise be erased if it weren’t for the tremendous and creative work of writers, artists, activists and academics like those included here. Taken together, they’re not just a response, they’re a reimagining of the way forward, a reckoning with the pain and anger. J. Soto writes, I imagined that big rage gathered up into something we can see, something we can position our bodies around, something we can imagine has form, something that we can hurl…

We offer up this work, unas ofrendas, for those who were taken from us this month, on June 12. Let our collective rage, love, tears, and dance beats move us toward a more just future.

Stanley Almodovar III,
Amanda Alvear,
Oscar A. Aracena-Montero,
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala,
Antonio Davon Brown,
Darryl Roman Burt II,
Angel L. Candelario-Padro,
Juan Chevez-Martinez,
Luis Daniel Conde,
Cory James Connell,
Tevin Eugene Crosby,
Deonka Deidra Drayton,
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez,
Leroy Valentin Fernandez,
Mercedez Marisol Flores,
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz,
Juan Ramon Guerrero,
Paul Terrell Henry,
Frank Hernandez Escalante,
Miguel Angel Honorato,
Javier Jorge-Reyes,
Jason Benjamin Josaphat,
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice,
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla,
Christopher Andrew Leinonen,
Alejandro Barrios Martinez,
Brenda Lee Marquez McCool,
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez,
KJ Morris,
Akyra Monet Murray,
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo,
Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez,
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera,
Joel Rayon Paniagua,
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez,
Enrique L. Rios, Jr.,
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez,
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado,
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz,
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan,
Edward Sotomayor Jr.,
Shane Evan Tomlinson,
Martin Benitez Torres,
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega,
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez,
Luis S. Vielma,
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez,
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon,
Jerald Arthur Wright