A drag queen on the drag bans
  March 7, 2023 Howdy, Meteor readers, We’ve got a big one today, so let’s get right to it. In today’s newsletter, we hear about Tennessee’s new drag ban from one of America’s favorite drag queens: me. And for today’s slice of women’s history, Meteor founding member and disability rights activist Emily Ladau reflects on the legacy of the great Judith Heumann—who passed away Saturday. But first: the news. Hope you’re ready for it, Bailey Wayne Hundl  WHAT’S GOING ONSuing the Lone Star State: Yesterday, five Texan women who were denied abortions for life-threatening pregnancies sued the state over its abortion ban. Though the authors of the ban say it allows exceptions in cases of risk of substantial harm to the mother, doctors across the state say it has been tying their hands—and putting patients’ lives at risk. Amanda Zurawski, one of the plaintiffs, developed sepsis when forced to carry an unviable pregnancy before doctors were willing to operate. The resulting scar tissue has left one of her fallopian tubes permanently closed. Today, these women told their stories on the steps of the Texas Capitol. “I may have been one of the first who was affected by the overturning of Roe in Texas,” said Zurawski, “but I’m certainly not the last. More people have been and will continue to be harmed until we do something about it.” Lauren Miller, another plaintiff, shared how she was not allowed to terminate the pregnancy of one twin to save the life of the other, asking, “How is it that I can get an abortion for a dog but not for me?” These women are incredibly brave, and we hope that bravery can help to make change for, as Zurawksi phrased it, “all Texans who, like me, are scared and outraged at the thought of being pregnant in this state.” You can learn more about Zurawski’s story here. AND:
 RECALLING A TOO-FAMILIAR HISTORYThe Attack on Drag, as Told by a Drag QueenBY BAILEY WAYNE HUNDL  DYNA WITH A D, AKA METEOR WRITER BAILEY WAYNE HUNDL, AKA ME (PHOTO BY FREDDIE COLLIER) On Thursday, Gov. Bill Lee (R-Tenn.) signed a bill making Tennessee the first state to officially ban public drag performances. The new law, which goes into effect July 1, prohibits a wide variety of “adult cabaret performance”—including “male and female impersonators”—from public property or any venue where a child could see a performer. And it probably won’t be the last of its kind; similar “drag bans” have popped up in 12 other states. I’ve been a drag performer for over five years now. I’ve met friends through drag shows; I’ve mourned friends through drag shows. Before I was fully aware I was trans, I entered amateur drag competitions as a safe way to play with my gender. The first place I ever tried out the name Bailey, just to see how it felt, was in the crowd of one of my favorite shows. For so many people in so many ways, the art of drag and the community surrounding it has acted as a source of freedom and solace from an otherwise oppressive reality. Hell, if I’d been exposed to drag sooner, maybe I wouldn’t have waited ‘til I was almost 30 to start hormone replacement therapy—a fact that I’m certain these anti-drag legislators have at the forefront of their minds. Laws prohibiting gender variance are unfortunately nothing new; in fact, they’ve been around for nearly 150 years. The Stonewall riots (aka the very first Pride) started in reaction to police arresting anyone who wore less than three items of their assigned gender—a policy based on an 1845 law intended to stop farmers from evading taxes. And the abuse these laws enable is well-documented. Targeting “male and female impersonators on public property” puts trans and gender-nonconforming people at risk of police harassment. It puts performers who’ve used drag as their sole source of income (who now have a huge “gap” in their resume) at risk of unemployment. It puts bar and restaurant owners who rely on drag shows to bring in business at risk of closing. “A lot of these performers…they’ve been around my kids since they were born, they’ve known them their whole life,” said Tennessee cocktail bar owner Nick Scott. “We consider them family.” The stated purpose of these drag bans is to protect children. (Apparently these legislators haven’t heard of school shootings.) But honestly? Children love drag. I’ve performed at several kid-friendly events over the years. I’ve had kids come up and dance with me—completely unprompted—while I’m lip-syncing Disney; I’ve watched their parents say, “It’s okay, honey” as they nervously approach me for a picture; I’ve handed them noisemakers to “be my backup band” while I perform; I’ve read them storybooks in the park. As “RuPaul’s Drag Race UK” alum Cheddar Gorgeous has said, “Drag can be made age appropriate in the same way comedy, movies, books, plays or any other art form can be made for and enjoyed by kids!” Everyone knows how much kids love shiny, sparkly, colorful things. And you know what? So do we. The right’s attempt to eradicate gender nonconformity is nothing new. But time and time again, the queer community has proven its resilience. So rest assured: We are not even a little bit close to giving up.  A 🍕 OF HISTORYOn Judith Heumann, the “mother of the disability rights movement”The activist passed away this weekend at 75. Her mentee, friend, and partner in the movement Emily Ladau reflects on her incredible legacy. When I was younger, as I was developing my own sense of disability identity, I read about Judy Heumann. To so many, she is known as the mother of the disability rights movement. And as I got more involved in the world of activism, I had the privilege of getting to know her personally. Judy had no children of her own, but she made people feel like family. So often, she took younger disabled people under her wing, mentoring, guiding, and connecting us with resources. From my first meeting with her, I knew she was going to illuminate my own pathway. Judy fought for so much, from her right to become a teacher in New York City in the 1970s to the signing of the Section 504 regulations of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973. She was among the leaders of the longest nonviolent sit-in at a federal building to get them signed. This was a precursor to the Americans with Disabilities Act; without these efforts, the collective work of the disability rights movement wouldn’t have moved forward. Advocacy was at the core of Judy’s being, from her time serving in the State Department to fostering relations with the global disability community. She was constantly in action: doing speaking engagements, co-writing her memoir, creating a children’s book, hosting a podcast. I often wondered how she took time for herself, but I also really admired how she always gave so selflessly to others. Judy was also quite the Jewish bubbe type and would regularly ask if I was engaged yet. Though I always had to tell her no, I appreciated that she cared. What I love the most about Judy is that she truly was deeply human (and not just because of her last name). And she was full of fire over the fact that people saw disability as a tragedy, rather than seeing the inaccessible world around us as the real tragedy. I am lucky that I grew up in a time after so much of the groundwork had been laid for a more just, inclusive world—so much of it because of Judy’s tireless activism and indomitable will. And alongside the rest of the disability community, I am ready to continue to carry the torch.  FOLLOW THE METEOR    Thank you for reading The Meteor! Got this from a friend? Sign up for your own copy, sent Tuesdays and Thursdays.
|
