Though often a forgotten name, Assotto Saint was a trailblazer in the 1980s and early ‘90s who heavily contributed to increasing the visibility of contemporary Black queerness in literature and theater. In addition to writing his own poetry and plays about the Black Gay experience, Saint founded his own theater exclusively devoted to performances about Black Gay men, and also served as a mentor to an entire generation of up-and-coming Black Gay writers as publisher and editor to several Black Gay anthologies. Saint also became one of the first Black activists to publicly disclose his HIV status, ensuring that others like him would have a face and name to feel less alone with their struggle. Between his prolific work and active presence within his community, Saint was a central figure in the Black Gay cultural arts movement at the time, carving out a space for those voices often being left behind. According to Saint, “I deal with Black Gay issues because my art right now is an answer back. It’s a reaction.”

Not everything in queer history is certain; there are enough grey areas, opinions, interpretations, and controversies to fill a lifetime of learning. There are cases of clarity, but to only look at the clear cut stories would not only severely limit discussion but also prioritize the stories of people who shared our language, had access to community, and had the time and inclination to communicate their identities publicly. The cost of entering the grey area is the possibility of misidentification. With the higher burden of proof and the possibility of mistakes, it can be hard to willingly dive into the process. When looking at the lives and loves of Lesya Ukrainka and Olha Kobylianska this acceptance is necessary as, in the end, the answer is not clear.

Some have stepped onto a path of their choosing, and never strayed from it. Chavela Vargas was never that person, which is not to say that she was indecisive, she was clear about who she was and what she wanted from her life, but her path twists and turns through her ninety-three years of life.

In the creation of art, many different elements are necessary. There are plenty of arguments and books written as to what these elements are. One that is inarguable is also the most quickly ignored. There needs to be an artist who can create. For an artist to be able to create they generally require food, water, and shelter. Such needs are usually met with money, and that is the part of the artistic process where we find Winnaretta Singer.

Lord Byron was a star in his time, the first modern celebrity as we think of them. His poems and plays drew fervent admirers, and he was an enchanting persona pursued by waves of variously-gendered lovers. For many, his malformed right foot and frequently sour temper only added to his mysterious allure. Byron was a revolutionary in Greece during their War of Independence and died of a fever there.

Working in activism, whether that be incendiary writings, marches, protests, treatise, meetings, petitions, or speeches, has been an almost necessary part of the queer identity through difficult times. While there have been some able to carve out a small space of happiness for themselves and possibly a small collective of other queer people, much of modern understandings of queerness are rooted in the need to create change.

Finding queer people to write about for this project is an interesting task. We have gone through online lists, other projects, books, footnotes, and sometimes have just surfed the internet until we found someone interesting. This month I was working on expanding our master list and picked up a book from my shelf: Lesbian Lists: A Look at Lesbian, Culture, History, and Personalities by Dell Richards. In the introduction of the book, I found a sentiment that was extremely interesting considering the current discussions within the queer community around our history.

The life and legacy of Fidel Castro is a hotly debated topic even now years after his death. With a controversial man like that, it is hardly surprising. Loved for his revolutionary policies and how he changed and shaped a country, he is equally hated for his attacks on different groups within Cuba, including the queer community. While many queer people supported his rise to power, some being among the fiercest revolutionaries, Castro responded with violent homophobia. He jailed queer people, and his influence made Cuba an overall more hostile place for queer people. In the story of Reinaldo Arenas, the damage left on a queer person who was able to escape is clear. José Lezama Lima’s story is one of someone who stayed.

Eleno de Céspedes was born into slavery in Grenada in 1545. Due to his mother being a slave, he was not given a name at birth and a brand was burned onto his face when he was still young. While he never had a relationship with his father, who most likely was the slave owner, he was able to stay with his mother for their time in slavery. It was after the death of one of their slave owners that Eleno was released from slavery and given the name of the dead slave owner.

Content warning for antisemitism, Holocaust, concentration camps

Maria Dąbrowska is one of the most well-known authors in Polish history, writing incredible novels about class and family dynamics within Poland. Throughout her life, she was defined as being a moral authority for her country and time and is admired to this day. This is particularly interesting considering one-third of Poland recently announced they will become LGBT+ free. Dąbrowska, one of their most famous figures, had numerous relationships with women and men during her life. That just leaves the question: what does one lose when they denounce an entire segment of their country? Dąbrowska may have benefitted from asking herself the same question.

When looking at history through a queer lens, it can be easy to generalize. It's a defense mechanism; with so many queer lives defined by pain, it's easier to narrow down our history to “it sucked then got sort of better.” When we do this, the stories that don't fit the mold can be passed over. When the story begins with a black transgender woman born in the American South during the 1940s, we can assume a lot about the ending, but Jackie Shane’s life is one that does not fit those expectations.

Covering the small stories of the queer community is a difficult thing to do. With continuous active suppression of queer voices past and present, our stories are rare enough. The little stories—not famous writers, geniuses, or revolutionaries, but average queer people living their lives—are difficult not just because they are hidden, but forgotten. The ones remembered are remembered for a reason. In some cases, it is because the queer person, while fairly normal, was also very privileged. Most often the stories of normal queer people are remembered because they end in tragedy. Tragedy is recorded.

One of the nineteen first women to be elected into the Finnish parliament, and a lesbian with multiple relationships with multiple different women, Hilda Käkikoski was a groundbreaker in many ways. Working for equal pay for women, improving education, and free food for children at school she can easily be mistaken for a progressive politician, but that was not the case. Anti-sex worker, very religious, and a part conservative party of Finland, Käkikoski was not what one might automatically think of when they hear of a lesbian, feminist, activist.

To look at the story of Erick Martinez Avila it is important to first look at the history of Honduras. Similar to our discussion on Jamaica, Honduras is a country often overlooked in discussions of global queer rights because it has been written off. While the reasoning behind this oversight is often a completely justifiable case of empathy exhaustion, Honduras deserves our attention.

Jemma Redmond was an intersex person who innovated 3D printing technology and was poised to change the medical world with her work. Driven by the desire to get this technology into as many hands as possible, she worked to make 3D printers cheaper and more universally useful.