From when I came here, I just want to dance, I want to sweat in this place and let sweat fly
off me in this place. I wanna leave a piece of me in here; maybe that’s what I’m trying to say when
I’m saying I wanna dance and I wanna sweat. It’s this sense of ownership, this sense of belonging,
this sense of yes...this is art, this is high art. I came here when I was really young, so when I was
in primary school, the first time I came to the Tate. Just seeing actual art from a Black artist--
and I'm South African too, and to see it, it's absolutely amazing. It's quite uplifting actually.
I don’t know if you appreciate how powerful this exhibition is. And how proud it makes me feel.
I think it's brilliant that they're here. I think that there’s a lot of conflations of history
in relation to what the Tate is and what it represents, in terms of it isn’t a space that has
been welcoming, and open, and accessible to Black bodies, let alone Black bodies on the wall. So, to
see this kind of takeover of these two huge rooms of their work is kind of, is really emotional,
it’s very overwhelming, and it's very beautiful to see the journey and to see this happen.
This is what it looks like when we get to show you who we are, we get to write our own
narrative. I think that's what's so captivating about Zanele's work,
whether it's a self-portrait, whether it's a picture that they've taken of someone else,
there’s this the strength and power in every single picture.
This is a moment in history that I will always remember, that I was sitting
in an exhibition hall where Zanele’s work is on the wall, surrounded by all of this fabulous work.
And to be honest, I’m even trying to find the word to contain myself right now.
It’s just an absolutely beautiful representation. It’s really important to have this work
in an establishment like this. If I had seen someone like me,
a good couple of years ago, I wouldn't have had such a hard time accepting myself
because especially when I was younger, I used to think I was crazy.
As a queer Black person, I want to be taking up space and showing that actually we exist as well,
and that there's more than enough room for all of us to exist, and to create, and to share,
and to educate, and to spark conversation. Usually, when Black queer bodies are presented,
it's as a site of violence, as a site of mockery, as a site of ridicule.
Just the visibility of human beings being humans, where queerness is usualised, it’s not
the ‘thing’ for which you stick out. To be able to look at this work as a young child trying to
navigate your own identity, trying to navigate queerness, trying to understand what you feel
and have a name for it and have something that you can look to as a
representation of what you feel, of what you're coming into, in terms of your own queerness.
I believe finding community is about finding yourself. It is important. When I came out as
gay in 1994, which sounds like a long time ago, I could not find my own community. It's not that
I didn’t find a gay community, I couldn't find the community of colour who are queer.
I'd been coming to London since the '70s and I'd noted there was this major segregation and
I wasn't really seeing Black people other than in Brixton or Tottenham.
I wasn't seeing them in clubs in the West End or bars in the West End. So, I kind of decided
to use my activism to do what I do best, which is to throw really cool parties for people that
nobody wants to throw cool parties for. When I grew up there was no community.
It was a white gay community which I kind of wanted to be part of, because that's
where the spaces existed in the ‘90s were. There were a few underground Black clubs.
But the kinds of spaces institutionally didn't exist. That's why myself and Ajamu created rukus!
rukus! Federation was a Black queer arts project that was born out two artists who
were just frustrated with there being no space that spoke about us, or no space that spoke to us.
For me, home is being present, it's feeling loved, it’s being in a space that loves me back.
Being brought up in a Bengali, backwards Muslim upbringing,
this was never accepted. This was never even an idea that I was allowed to entertain.
I grew up as a kid and I remember there were times that I would put towels on my head to pretend
they were wigs. My aunties would dress me up, but then that was only for the kid phase,
once you reach the teenage phase, no, no, no, you don't play that game.
It really is my chosen family that has really brought me out to become the person I am. And when
I am with them, I feel so authentically myself. It’s effortless, we can sit there; we don’t have
to talk. It’s just a real feeling of love. We just appreciate each other in whatever form.
Even my parents don't know me like that. When I first ran away, the first day,
I remember I went outside and just screamed at the top of my lungs, ‘I
am gay,’ because I could never say that out loud. I feel authentic on stage because I am
being myself. As much as it is a performance, it’s a performance that
comes from my whole being. There’s a lot that can be said
without speaking and the way that I express myself is through movement and
burlesque was the perfect way for me to do that. It is very important to find communities,
because communities become your family of choice. They become your rock, they become the people
that you go to when you are sinking. They are the ones that will help you out in times of trouble.
I think the pandemic has been really telling for me to work out
what chosen family actually means as well. Because, it probably has been for a lot of
other people. They’re just, like, your die hard – you can go to them for anything and they do things
for you before you even ask for them and it’s the same vice versa. It’s a real testament of love.
By chosen family, I mean that you get to unlearn, or discover for the first time, what
a family structure looks like outside of a cis-het point of view. It’s reaffirming
and powerful as a queer Somali to be surrounded by other queer Somalis because you grow up as a young
kid thinking you’re the only one. Because your family don’t talk about it, your cousins don’t
talk about it, your parents don’t talk about it. I’m part of a generation who was trying to have
these conversations with organisations, like the Tate, twenty five years ago, so we have
to unpack that before I can answer where the future is. Because, you know, the idea of being--
of telling people about this kind of world that Muholi is just part of by default,
the global majority, is something that the white patriarchy completely and utterly
dismissed, didn’t understood, and didn’t think was important, financially, institutionally,
politically, spiritually. So, we can’t talk about the future unless we talk about
the past. So I come with a certain amount of trauma in terms of conversations around that.
The Tate just meant to me sugar, slavery,
all of the conotations that go with what the Tate represented.
Because Black people haven’t always been welcomed into higher positions,
the outcome of what could be really magical actually becomes something that is
potentially delivered with a limited gaze, potentially racist gaze,
potentially a prejudiced gaze. And the whole point of the art gets lost in translation.
This is art. Look how fantastically beautiful
it is. But it still comes across as activism, as visual activism, because
this is not allowed to just be. This communicates to people,
this isn’t the Tate. This communicates to a wide range of people. You don’t need to be PoC
to understand that this is important. Open it up to all groups of people,
all walks of life. Let people come and see this exhibition and be a part of it. Let’s have
a narrative and study around how it all started and what it means; for Zanele and for the
community that Zanele has served and photographed. Let’s find out more about where we are going with
this. Zanele’s work is also activism in motion. And activism is not glamorous. It’s a continuous
thing; you don’t just move onto the next thing. I just want younger Black queer kids to know that
this world is also there’s. We have a long way to go,
but to just see that we can have artwork now with Black trans women in it, it's amazing. There needs
to be more exhibitions, not just one. There should be a few more, Yeah, yeah, this is great. This is
a beautiful thing. Yes, Tate, well done. But what are you going to do next, what's the next step?