Agnes Noyes Goodsir is neither well-known by studiers of queer history nor unfairly shunned. Instead, she falls into the familiar category of quiet lack of acknowledgment. Living from 1864 to 1939 and moving to France during the 1920s, it was not impossible for lesbians to be open about their sexuality, nor was it uncommon for them to choose to keep such information private. She made the completely normal choice of keeping her sexuality more or less under wraps. That is not, of course, to say that it was a well-hidden secret. With a beloved ‘companion’ she lived with and publicly said to be her muse, her frequenting of lesbian spaces, and connections to the lesbian community in France, she was not working particularly hard to hide this fact. Neither was she advertising it.
A certain level of cognitive dissonance is required to continue with the violence of colonialism, and racism is often both the source and excuse for this. As with any lie, conflicting facts and disproving observations will begin to appear over time. Within the life of Ngola Nzinga, the cracks begin to appear rather quickly, and though much of the truth is likely out of reach, the lies have begun to peel away.
In just a few years and with only a handful of short stories and brief writings under her belt, Qiu Miaojin went from being an educated schoolgirl doing freelance journalism to a Taiwanese household name as one of her country’s most famous and celebrated LGBT figureheads, countercultural voices and innovative authors. For most, it takes a lifetime to build a legacy of work to be remembered by, but Qiu Miaojin was able to accomplish just that by her mid-twenties, and is a name that is still being brought up again and again as a trailblazer and an essential contributor to the queer canon of the Far East.
To learn about queer history is to be in constant need of context. To look at what queerness meant to one society or another, how those within a given profession or period viewed gender nonconformity, or how a specific artistic movement understood gender as a whole, can be absolutely necessary to understanding even a single thread of the great tapestry of queer history. It can all become relevant depending on the story. In this project, we have been challenged to learn about the history of whistling as a profession, the philosophy of tropical modernism, and the evolution of queer cinema as a whole. One of the more difficult tasks that we have been set upon has been learning the history of a country. Suppose one can spend their entire life learning all the ins and outs of a single life. In that case, the history of an entire nation is a massive undertaking and one that has to be taken seriously. This is why it is one that this project often avoids. When possible, it is simply easier to avoid diving down that particular rabbit hole and learn only what the article demands about a country.
At 5’11” with a 76-inch reach, “Panama” Al Brown was one of the tallest and rangiest boxers in bantamweight history who died with a career of accomplishments that spoke for themselves but took a lifetime to achieve true recognition. Throughout his life, Brown pushed through adversity as a result of being Afro-Caribbean and the lifestyle choices that he made. Still, his skills and talent in the ring made it impossible for Brown to be ignored or erased, and via victory after victory he managed to win numerous championship titles and achieve numerous firsts in his sport of choice. With a life marked by constant tragedy and struggle, Brown persisted and pursued his dream job by day and the pleasures of life by night, ultimately living an unabashed and flamboyant life.
Being queer in the public eye is a whole different domain from being queer as a regular person. We are not usually representatives for our community—though queer people of color and particularly black queer women are especially punished through hypervisibility. Choosing to be open or not is a personal choice, and it’s especially hard when most of your life is up for public consumption. Are queer people in the spotlight required to be open about their identity and experiences? Absolutely not. More importantly, are queer celebrities who don’t publicly “come out” living any less openly than your average queer person?
Within the study of queer history, the subject of family is a touchy one. Even in the best circumstances, families of queer people can have mixed reactions. Throughout history, queerness has meant many different things. In the time and place about to be discussed, the idea of queerness as an identity was not popular. Queerness was not seen as an aspect of a person; it was an action. Because of this, the idea of coming out as queer to one’s family did not exist as it does today, viewed as almost a rite of passage by some in the queer community. Due to this, the story of some queer figures’ families do not often get looked that deeply into by this project. However, in the case of Elizabeth Amy Dillwyn, that is not possible.
One of the most prominent criticisms of the study of queer history is questioning how one can label a person with a word that did not exist while that person was alive. The final and most important piece of evidence to prove that a person is asexual, nonbinary, genderfluid, demisexual, lesbian, or bisexual is that of self-identification. Unfortunately, with certain figures, self-identification does not exist, whether that be because they were keeping such information secret for their own safety or because they lived before the labels used today even existed or at least had no access to these labels. There is also a language barrier to consider in many cases; beyond just not having self-identification to look to for evidence, languages reflect the culture of the people who speak them. Each culture views queerness differently, and that can be evident in their language. For some, all these questions and conflicts are a reason to leave the subject alone entirely. Frankly, it is simpler to do so, and it removes the possibility of someday finding evidence that contradicts the conclusions that one spent so much time drawing.
Ozaawindib is remembered in two ways. Firstly, as the agokwe woman who pursued John Tanner and was rejected, secondly, as the leader of multiple expeditions with multiple lakes named after her. Both of these narratives come from colonial forces, and neither is without bias. Without the work of indigenous scholars, two-spirit and otherwise, it is possible the story of Ozaawindib would have been completely erased from history.
To exist as a transgender person is to be in a perpetual state of proving yourself. To family, to friends, to doctors, to religious authorities, and often to yourself. In a society where the genitals determine how people are treated, what jobs are available, what marriages are legally sanctioned, and how they are expected to behave, undermining the strict system set before them is an inherently dangerous task. This is true now, and it was true in 1808 when Ferdinand Andreas Bruce was born.
Ifti Nasim was likely the first openly gay poet to originate from Pakistan. In his early 20's, he emigrated to the U.S. to escape persecution for his sexual orientation. He became known locally for establishing Sangat, an organization to support LGBT South-Asian youth, and internationally for publishing Narman, a poetry collection deemed to be the first open expression of homosexual themes written in Urdu. A long-term resident of Chicago, Nasim was inducted into the city's Gay and Lesbian Hall of Fame in 1996 but never became a household name beyond the local accolade.
An innovative belly dancer, writer, poet, political revolutionary, translator, and all-around renaissance woman, Armen Ohanian dared to defy the stereotypes associated with Middle Eastern women during her lifetime. She overcame many obstacles to pursue a career that would showcase her numerous talents, distinctive artistry, and people’s culture to the Western world.
The halls of queer history are filled with art. Sadao Hasegawa is another name in a long list of iconic creators who have shaped and changed their culture. His name most often shows up in lists, tied to two others. First, Tom of Finland remains one of the most well-known figures in queer art history. He is described as the “most influential creator of gay pornographic images.” The other name tied to Sadao’s is Yukio Mashima, an author equally controversial as he was iconic. It is primarily due to Hasegawa’s admiration that his name is linked to Mashima’s, as well as their similar deaths.
Though now the legacy of Witold Gombrowicz is a rather universally celebrated one, within his lifetime, this was hardly the case. A Polish anti-nationalist whose work was banned, unbanned, celebrated, and derided, only his death secured his place as a loved and mostly uncontroversial writer. This place likely would have chafed against the author if he had lived to see it, as he spent much of his time deliberately leaning into both the love and hate he inspired.