After finally letting my weary mind and tired body rest, I have a story to tell. A story of ups and downs, laughter and tears, hope and happiness.
About a month ago, The Empress Dupree reached out about booking me. It was, by all accounts, just like any other booking request: a Drag Brunch at a restaurant and a Drag Story Hour at a church. Bring your best and let’s have some fun. Some questions about producing this and reading that, and we were all settled. The advertising was made and we were promoting as usual.
And then it started.
Escalating Threats
With the recent firestorm surrounding drag anything across the country, it wasn’t long before the Twatwaffle Societies of America decided to create some noise.
I’m on the radar of these people and have been called out, by name, in their chatrooms and amongst themselves as ‘THE DRAGSTER’ (I did not make that up and have to copyright that!) who is doing all these baaaddddd things.
And it just kept escalating. After receiving screenshots of proposed protests and angry ‘thoughts and prayers’ for our destruction, it was time to figure out a plan.
After some deep conversations with Empress – who was working directly with the venues – our valid concerns reached the ears of those who would help turn the tide for us.
Much to my happiness, my wonderful friend and ally, Mallory McMaster, reached out. Mallory’s expertise and true grit fueled our fire to keep moving forward: constantly reassuring the entertainers that our safety was paramount and that we did not sign up for this kind of ridiculousness.
In between all this, my husband Paul and I had conversations about how this impacts our lives. No spouse wants to see the other being put in immediate danger or fear for their life. And the ultimate question was asked, “When is will it be enough for you to stop doing what you are doing?”
It was a valid question that required serious introspection. Ultimately, I feel we both understood the impact this will have on the entire community and fearfully understood the risks.
Increasing Fire
Some local media coverage put us on the map. Opinions were flying around like a hurricane and we were the eye. Element 41 and Community Church of Chesterland UCC were receiving vile threats and harassment: phone calls and emails, hate speech towards the employees, calls for the destruction and demise of each place.
And you have to wonder, where does all this hate and vitriol come from?
Then, a week prior to the event, the unthinkable happened. Like out of some newsreel from the cold war, a Molotov cocktail was thrown at the church! Someone decided to take matters into their own hands and tried to burn down the church.
Let’s repeat that, slowly: Burn. Down. The. Church.
Luckily they were caught by federal and local law enforcement and are set for a lengthy time away. How can someone so young (20) associate themselves with such hatred for the human race? Can we say indoctrin…….well, you get the idea.
We were thrust into and even bigger spotlight, now having made national news coverage. This added more hate fueled rhetoric to be thrown at everyone involved. This made local police departments issue a formal statement with an ‘official recommendation’ to cancel both events due to the volatility of the situation.
Back down? Give up? We think not.
Days leading up the events, people from our respective circles started checking in: asking what they can do, expressing their anger and willingness to step up. We were inundated with messages of support and encouragement.
All of these things, we carried with us, like a protective aura around us.
The Day Arrives
Picture it: Chardon. April 1, 2023.
Drag performers Empress Dupree, Monica Mod, Carmen La’Shon and Veranda L’Ni are about to embark on an adventure they wouldn’t soon forget. Personal escorts, police, barricades, protestors, supporters, brunch and books. Media outlets, interviews, photographers, reporters, onlookers, security and bomb-sniffing dogs.
Generosity and love overflowed when we arrived. People, businesses and organizations volunteered their time and energy, donated treats, food, gifts and flowers. Everyone made sure we were comfortable, mentally and physically.
And as true professionals, we did our job. We performed our hearts out. We read stories of love and acceptance, encouragement and motivation. We danced and hugged. We calmed each other with hugs and hand-holding, tears and smiles, jokes and laughter.
We had friends around us who made us think this was just like any other show. Michael Ronga, Daphné Dupree and Hellcat Rose were heaven-sent in our time of need, helping, pinning, zipping, asking what we needed and making sure we were calm and collected.
All the while, Mallory and her kick-arse crew were behind the scenes wading through the reporters, police, crowds and bullhorn/flag-carrying/hate-spewing groups of protesters.
At one point, there was a report of a bomb threat during our brunch. Yes, a bomb threat. And to top it off, the Cleveland chapter of PB announced that their “it’s gonna be wild” protest was an April Fool’s joke.
Well, the joke was on those fools because it didn’t scare us away like they thought it would.
Heads – and Wigs – Held High
The most surreal moment for me was getting to the church, arriving to the scene of car searches and bomb checks. We got out of our vehicles to reporters cameras and flashes like we were doing the perp-walk or a much-less-glamorous paparazzi moment.
Once inside, we needed to gather our collective wits and get ready for the kids and parents. Already feeling drained, we still pushed through. Walking up into the main floor of the church, we could immediately see the group of kids ready for us. There was sea of adults: parents, supporters, onlookers.
And behind them were the press, all ready with their cameras rolling to catch the forecasted “deviant behavior of the dreaded Drag Story Hour.” I have a feeling they knew all along that this was as harmless as it is supposed to be.
Stories were read with enthusiasm and cheer. We danced around with silliness and laughter.
After the last song, Pastor Jess Peacock brought us to a close of a very long day, filled with gratitude and assurance that we did the right thing, and will continue to do so going forward.
With weary exhaustion, Empress, Carmen, Monica and I all breathed a collective sigh of relief. We hugged and cried and wanted food! We were still being asked for interviews but were so spent. We had nothing more to contribute.
Our actions spoke volumes. People keep coming by with words of thanks and bravery, cupcakes and even posters filled with messages of love.
Finally, the emotional roller coaster was about to enter the station. The drive home was filled with the phone calls to loved ones and the silence of the road.
We are all still processing the weight of that day: the overarching impact that will hopefully allow other entertainers to maybe not feel so scared during this rather crazy time in our collective history and the knowledge we gained about how to make our safe spaces actually safe.
It took a well trained crew of amazing people, a whole lot of law enforcement and too-many-to-count volunteers to pull off what should have been an extremely simple day of entertainment. You all have my upmost respect and infinite gratitude for keeping the art of drag from being silenced.
I am certain that I missed sharing some wonderful people within this narrative and just want you to know that I thank you all from the bottom of my glittery heart. As overwhelming as it was, I am glad we did it and am in awe of our community rallying behind us every step of the way.
Until next time. Because there will be a next time. 🔥
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