Trannyshack Wetback Night

 
The first Trannyshack Wetback Night was a scream complete with both hired and actual protesters. The stage was line with razor wire and Lady Sergio ruled. The performances were art. I wish I could remember more detail, but time and drunkenness have faded the event. All I am left with are impressions, colors, and feelings: the realm of memories.

It was raucous. The protesters, the real ones, were outside chanting and holding signs, screaming at people, telling us not to enter The Stud claiming the night was anti-immigrant and racist. The other protesters, the hired ones, were shouting the same things with large signs that read "Lady Sergio is a racist!" We walked past them all, paid our cover, and went straight to the bar and then the dancefloor. We were there for fun and entertainment and a little controversy.
It was midnight, and the protesters entered the bar still chanting. The audience screamed. The music started, and there was Lady Sergio and Heklina on stage. Performances commenced among the cheers and jeers.

A mishap of razor wire, some splattered conr syrup blood, and a fight or two later and the show was over. It was frenzied, chaotic, cathartic. I was lost among the screams, beats, signs, and applause, transported to a land of art and dialogue and family saturated in crimsons, charcoals, and greens.

The next day and in the weeks to come, articles appeared in papers, pictures popped up on websites, and, if you listened closely, conversations overheard in bars and on street corners found a way back to that night. Everyone had an opinion; even those that weren't there. Our tribe was talking about immigration, race, language, freedom, activism. We were thinking critically and creatively, and people on all sides of these issues listened to one another for everyone's opinion was different and divided even among friends.

That night lives with me every time I pick up my pen. It serves as a reminder of the transendence of art, especially the low brow variety, and the memory reminds me that it is not a single work of art, performance, or song that holds that power. Rather it is us and our reaction to and memory of it.
And we must continually engage, connect, and reflect. We must listen and converse. We must challenge and confront. We must produce the art and change we wish to see in this world.
We must remain queer.

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