To date, we have spent more than a year at the CLGA undertaking research for the Stories Project. Our time spent here has been far more dynamic than expected. We have met many interesting people who regularly visit the archives — sometimes from international locales — to do research for one project or another. We have encountered academics, actors, artists, dancers, historians, photographers, and students.
Recently, a group of performance artists began frequenting the CLGA. They were mining the archive’s vast holdings to generate new works. They subsequently used the premises to stage a special series, CLGA Unarchived, for the Rhubarb Festival. The artists creatively appropriated the CLGA’s hallways, kitchen, offices, and washroom — even an elevator — to create intimate pop-up theatre spaces.
After watching this group come and go over the course of a few weeks, it dawned on us that there was a neat parallel between CLGA Unarchived and the Stories Project. Both reanimate history, albeit in different ways. So, we decided to approach one of the people involved, Heather Hermant, to find out more. She is an interdisciplinary artist and doctoral candidate in gender studies. She co-created Queer slow dance with radical thought with Alvis Parsley for the Rhubarb Festival. Heather explained to me their creative process: “We ingested texts found at the CLGA and archived them in ourselves. We then transmitted the thoughts of our forequeers [queer ancestors] to audience members by dancing and engaging with them one-on-one.”
Interestingly, Heather’s piece recreates an ancient tradition of orally preserving history. Before cultures invented the written word, knowledge about the past was handed down from one generation to the next by “ingesting” and then recounting or reenacting these historical touchstones.
When discussing her show, Heather raised an interesting question that related directly to the Stories Project. She asked, “What makes history encounterable?” She noted that the past “does not exist until we rediscover and reanimate it. Otherwise it is hiding and disappears.” Heather was speaking in part about the fact that traditionally empowered voices — particularly those of educated white males — overwhelmingly predominate in historical records, which includes those found at the CLGA. Consequently, vital perspectives of women, minorities, and entire populations of everyday individuals are often unavailable to be reanimated and reinserted into the public conscience. We referenced this problem in our last blog, which noted a rarity of records about private people’s points of view.
These issues reminded us of the famous Bishop Berkeley maxim that to be is to be perceived. This got us thinking, “Are we rediscovering and re-representing an appropriate diversity of voices through the Stories Project?” The first volume relating to issues of equality that is currently under development leverages quotes — some never before published — that date back decades or centuries. We took a count and found that out of approximately 100 quotes, nearly all represent people who had privileged access to a soapbox they could use to transmit their points of view.
Trying to think of ways to remedy this situation, it dawned on us that there was one source of information we had not considered — letters to the editor. We therefore began retrieving copies of the earliest gay and lesbian publications stored at the CLGA. We are still sorting through them but have already found a trove of gems that will help provide a more representative set of viewpoints for our publication. Consider the following bluntly worded letter a gentleman sent to the Body Politic in 1978.
“If you think that by publishing articles that infuriate the public and create a backlash against us you are doing us a service, you had better think again. … It may surprise you to know that most of us prefer to keep a low profile about our sexual preferences, and don’t need noisy idiots like you to harm us. Why don’t you just shut up?”
Ouch! We were aware, as discussed earlier (see January blog “How activists found their voice”), of tensions in the 1970s between activists and the people they sought to represent. Who knew, however, that some felt this angry? More importantly, this man’s sentiments make it clear just how visceral feelings of fear were of being discovered. For him, and so many others of his generation, existence required turning Bishop Berkeley’s maxim on its head. To be gay or lesbian demanded being unperceived.
Recently, a group of performance artists began frequenting the CLGA. They were mining the archive’s vast holdings to generate new works. They subsequently used the premises to stage a special series, CLGA Unarchived, for the Rhubarb Festival. The artists creatively appropriated the CLGA’s hallways, kitchen, offices, and washroom — even an elevator — to create intimate pop-up theatre spaces.
After watching this group come and go over the course of a few weeks, it dawned on us that there was a neat parallel between CLGA Unarchived and the Stories Project. Both reanimate history, albeit in different ways. So, we decided to approach one of the people involved, Heather Hermant, to find out more. She is an interdisciplinary artist and doctoral candidate in gender studies. She co-created Queer slow dance with radical thought with Alvis Parsley for the Rhubarb Festival. Heather explained to me their creative process: “We ingested texts found at the CLGA and archived them in ourselves. We then transmitted the thoughts of our forequeers [queer ancestors] to audience members by dancing and engaging with them one-on-one.”
Interestingly, Heather’s piece recreates an ancient tradition of orally preserving history. Before cultures invented the written word, knowledge about the past was handed down from one generation to the next by “ingesting” and then recounting or reenacting these historical touchstones.
When discussing her show, Heather raised an interesting question that related directly to the Stories Project. She asked, “What makes history encounterable?” She noted that the past “does not exist until we rediscover and reanimate it. Otherwise it is hiding and disappears.” Heather was speaking in part about the fact that traditionally empowered voices — particularly those of educated white males — overwhelmingly predominate in historical records, which includes those found at the CLGA. Consequently, vital perspectives of women, minorities, and entire populations of everyday individuals are often unavailable to be reanimated and reinserted into the public conscience. We referenced this problem in our last blog, which noted a rarity of records about private people’s points of view.
These issues reminded us of the famous Bishop Berkeley maxim that to be is to be perceived. This got us thinking, “Are we rediscovering and re-representing an appropriate diversity of voices through the Stories Project?” The first volume relating to issues of equality that is currently under development leverages quotes — some never before published — that date back decades or centuries. We took a count and found that out of approximately 100 quotes, nearly all represent people who had privileged access to a soapbox they could use to transmit their points of view.
Trying to think of ways to remedy this situation, it dawned on us that there was one source of information we had not considered — letters to the editor. We therefore began retrieving copies of the earliest gay and lesbian publications stored at the CLGA. We are still sorting through them but have already found a trove of gems that will help provide a more representative set of viewpoints for our publication. Consider the following bluntly worded letter a gentleman sent to the Body Politic in 1978.
“If you think that by publishing articles that infuriate the public and create a backlash against us you are doing us a service, you had better think again. … It may surprise you to know that most of us prefer to keep a low profile about our sexual preferences, and don’t need noisy idiots like you to harm us. Why don’t you just shut up?”
Ouch! We were aware, as discussed earlier (see January blog “How activists found their voice”), of tensions in the 1970s between activists and the people they sought to represent. Who knew, however, that some felt this angry? More importantly, this man’s sentiments make it clear just how visceral feelings of fear were of being discovered. For him, and so many others of his generation, existence required turning Bishop Berkeley’s maxim on its head. To be gay or lesbian demanded being unperceived.