A Torrent Of Solidarity in the Windy City
An on the ground photographic account of a Trans Day of Visibility protest in Chicago, IL.
by Piper Bly
There’s no such thing as an easy choice these days.
After our coverage of the DC protest, I bought myself a micro-four-thirds Olympus body, which I named Chase (after Chase Strangio) to commemorate the occasion. Three months later, I sat on the couch in my friends’ north side pad, with Chase in one hand and a massive Nikon telephoto in the other.
Normally, I bring a full pack to these types of things–dual-wielding my full-frame Nikon bodies Frank and Miranda with two weather-sealed Nikkor f/2.8 beater-lenses, my reporter’s notebook and a field recorder, shoved into a ten-liter messenger. I could stick with that; my Nikons are weather-sealed, and a look out the window at the weather told me it’d be a great day to be a duck.
Or, I could take it easy on my back for once, toss the Olympus OM-D E-M10 with its pancake zoom and a Panasonic variable-aperture telephoto in my purse, give myself a full kit at an eighth of the weight, and roll the dice and pray for dry weather and clear skies.
I decided on the big guns. Frank and Miranda both went into my pack, I lopped it over my left shoulder, and hopped onto the Brown Line towards downtown, loaded for bear and ready for anything.
Chicago’s own Trans Up Front IL put on the rally, celebrating Trans Day of Visibility right in the heart of downtown. The org–the only trans and deaf-lead organization in the state, as executive director Asher McMaher pointed out during their opening address–partnered with Trans Chicago Empowerment Center, Brave Space Alliance, and Life Is Work to take over Federal Plaza for the afternoon.
The Honorable Precious Brady-Davis, commissioner at the Metropolitan Water Reclamation District of Greater Chicago, took the stage, proclaiming “Let me tell you…we are a resilient people….We belong in every sect of society, from the boardroom to the bathroom.”
“I have news for President Donald Trump…we aren’t going anywhere.”
Next, emcee Lluvia Ramirez passed the mic to Tichike Tumalan, the program coordinator of the Trans Chicago Empowerment Center in Humbolt Park.
“One task for today, and for this whole year and for the rest of your life, hopefully; get to know one another. Now is a time when we need to rely on each other.”
Reyna Ortiz, program director at Task Force Chicago, led the crowd in a chant: “We will not be silenced!”
“We will not let Christian nationalism and white supremacy bring us back to the shadows of this society. We refuse! The time of shame and fear is over.”
Tanya (last name withheld at her request), a member of Illinois Parents and Caregivers of Transgender & Gender Expansive Individuals, opened by telling the crowd “I gotta say; I’m one helluva proud parent.”
“Lemme tell you; as a parent, seeing your child want to die under the weight of rejection and cruelty is the hardest thing in the world…and yet, despite the hate, my son would still rather be him than conform to what others try to demand he should be…I’m grateful to be able to say my son is still here.”
Zahara Bassett, Chief Executive Director of trans-led outreach org Life Is Work, demanded more from the crowd; “This is a wonderful crowd…but the next march that I see, I want us to be blocks.”
Being trans, she said, “isn’t just a trend. It’s not a costume, it’s not a debate–it’s a reality. One that comes with beauty, brilliance, and resilience, but also one that comes with many risks. Too many of us are still facing violence, discrimination, and silence. What we need right now is action.”
Dr. Corey Blake, the LGBTQIA+ Community Chair of the Chicago’s Teachers Union–shown here with one of the ASL interpreters, one of which accompanied every speaker and all of whom were so emotive that I genuinely wish I had the space for a gallery of just them–took the mic, stating that she was “here on behalf of every trans kid who ever needed a teacher to fight for them.”
“Growing up in Virginia in the ’90s, I didn’t have a word for being trans. Throughout my youth, I was constantly forced to erase or bury any femininity that I expressed…I didn’t have trans visibility, because the only trans people I saw in the media were the punchlines of a joke.”
“Since coming out as trans as the age of 30, I am happier and healthier than I have ever been…Our queer and trans students deserve to have visibly queer and trans teachers, and all of us deserve to live freely and openly as the best versions of ourselves that we can be.”
Channyn Lynne Parker, Cheve Executive Officer of Brave Space Alliance (shown here with another fantastic member of the ASL interpreter team) began with a song – Bob Dylan’s The Times, They Are A’Changin– saying that “The times have changed. And what we will not be doing, is going back to the times before.”
“There was a time in my life when I thought my compliance and following the rules would save me…and if you are out there, holding onto the ideal that these things will save you: I am telling you today to wake up.”
And–as in DC as it is in Chicago–the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were once again among us, with Sister Lucy Goosy bestowing a blessing unto the crowd before the march began.
“Oh, my family…my trans, non-binary-gender-conforming siblings…we see you, and you are so loved,” Sister Lucy stated. “And today is not a day for humility, and this blessing asks for no bowed heads–but if you feel moved, offer a hand to your neighbour, and raise us high. I bless this gift you have given today–the gift of your presence, your visibility.”
“May your courage, may your passion, be bolstered by the righteousness of our cause…I bless your courage to stand firm in a life, in a community, which celebrates joyous authenticity.”
And, with our benediction ringing in our ears and conviction in our hearts, we were off–through the streets, led by banners and signs held by leather bears and skate-punks, mesh-topped ravers and denim-clad academics–our trans and queer siblings, our community in all of its vibrance, flooding downtown visible and proud.
It seems the crowd heard Zahara Bassett’s earlier request, and covered the block, stretching out towards the horizon, under a bright blue sky–
–and then, in an instant, the rain hit, and despite the growing soreness in my left shoulder I instantly knew I had made the right choice three hours earlier.
It came down in sheets as the march soldiered on, with protesters using their signs as makeshift shields against the onslaught. I kept firing frames as I ran shot-put up and down the street, holding my pack in one arm and my D600 in the other, running ahead to get a visual and falling behind as I held down the shutter.
And, as the marched looped past the looming shadow of Trump Tower and back towards the cover of the Calder Flamingo, the weather cleared, welcoming us back with the warm rays of the sun as we all checked in with our travelling companions and went our separate ways.
I found the Sisters again to ask for a group shot, wanting to thank them for their work…and promptly busted out laughing, as my lens was soaked and was not having it.
Call it a heavenly glow, if you will. Or condensation. Hell, they may be the same thing, depending on your scripture of choice.
And, as I checked in with the group I had traveled in with, we talked a bit about the rain, the march, and life.
“There’s worse things than bein’ a little wet,”, I quipped.
“Any day you wake up suckin’ air is a good day,” one protester laughed.
I looked up at the city and the sky behind him, and smiled. There’s a lot of hard choices these days, but if there’s one choice I’d take again in a heartbeat, it’s choosing to come out, all those years ago.
“Every day’s a good day then, by those metrics,” I said with a toothy grin.
We laughed, shared hugs and contact info, and I stumbled up the CTA stairs and hopped back on the Brown Line towards Kimball, still loaded for bear and ready for everything.
Happy Trans Day of Visibility everyone–and hey, if you happen to know anyone who wants to snag me a pair of used OM-D E-M5s and a pair of weather-sealed Olympus f/2 PRO zooms for my birthday in a few months, let me know. My back will thank you.
Piper Bly is a professional illustrator and underground cartoonist. When she’s not busy plowing away at her drawing board, singing dirges in the moonlight, or wandering throughout the United States, she can often be found tending to her ivies, frying up some biscuits, spending unreasonable hours in the gym, or floating above the Mississippi River at midnight, waiting for the tide to wrap her in its loving embrace and take her away. Her whereabouts are currently undisclosed. You, however, can find her at piperbly.com.