By Emma Bracken

Nestled in the Ozarks, somewhere between Tornado Valley and the Deep South, is the small, but colorful community of Northwest Arkansas. At its center is the University of Arkansas, bringing in students from all over the world, but especially from the American South. Because of this, the city of Fayetteville is a unique blend of different Southern cultures, with a long, spirited history of its own. 

An undeniable part of this history and remains today is the diverse, thriving queer community here in NWA. Oftentimes, the South is painted as a place for queer people to escape from, rather than a heritage they are proud of or feel connected to. However, for many Fayetteville residents and people all over the South, this is not the case.

Ashton Payne, a University of Arkansas student, wears vulnerability and passion for his community on his sleeve. As he sorts through the hardships and traumas of growing up queer in the South, he leaves room for appreciation and optimism. Despite everything, escaping the South is the least of his desires.

“I want to live in the South because the South has a very queer history, and I am a part of that. My relationship with the South is not a one-policy issue, it is a weaved tapestry of the good and the bad. I don’t want to leave the South because that lets them know they’ve won, and I need to let them know they haven’t,” Payne said.

When describing the experience of a minority group in the South of all places as “flourishing,” there is guaranteed to be some amount of confusion. For many of us living here, the South can feel like a trap in which our identities, personalities, and aspirations are suffocated. Particularly for minority groups, it can feel like dreams can only stretch so far before you hit a wall. People outside the region often disregard the South as a whole in matters of social progression, giving it a sense of everlasting doom. 

This leads people to be lax: to make peace with the fact that the Southern confines will never be escaped by the people they oppress. This belief is particularly easy to align with for those experiencing privilege or life in one of the more progressive parts of the country.

There’s a sort of “Why bother?” attitude attached to the South in particular when it comes to discussing change and progression for the country. It is rooted in this idea of the South as its own place with its own set of rules and expectations, born from the attempt at secession in the Civil War. While the rest of the country fought to remain united then, it seems that the lasting cultural separation has made people apathetic to the South in many ways. In the last few years of extreme political tension, it’s not uncommon to hear someone say that they wished the South would just break off and leave the rest of the country be, as they tried to in 1860. When we begin to isolate the region and reduce it to one brand of thought or set of values, a dangerous framework for oppression is supported.

What many people might be shocked to learn is that out of all of the regions in the U.S., the South actually has the largest queer population overall, accounting for about 35% of LGBTQ+ identifying Americans, according to UCLA’s Williams Institute of Law.  The visibility of this percentage varies across the region, with cities in Texas, Georgia, Louisiana, and Florida having much larger queer populations than states like Alabama, Mississippi, or even Arkansas. Rather than flee the region entirely, many queer people move to these safe spots, like Atlanta or New Orleans. 

This is not to say, however, that queer people are not existing and living happily in these places as well. The South is not a monoculture– it is a large, complex, place ranging from the Ozarks and the Appalachians to the Gulf of Mexico and to the Atlantic coast. Many cultural identities live and breathe in this space, and within them is a vibrant and empowered population of queer people. 

Though the South as a whole is still learning to uplift rather than muffle its queer voices, the effort is growing, particularly in cities and educational institutions that have the ability to incite real change across the region in years to come. 

Being a town centered on learning and bringing together bright minds from around the world. Fayetteville is a foundation for this kind of change and visibility in Arkansas. The university even offers a few courses related to queer issues and history, including The Queer U.S. South taught by Dr. Arley Ward, and LGBTQ+ Histories taught by Dr. Marie Cathryn Totten.

“These topical courses teach you about yourself and the world around you in ways that are almost more important than the credit hours. It’s important to talk about it, and to create spaces on campus and in our own worlds to acknowledge those communities. Classes are such an important resource for that,” Totten said.

Totten shared that she is surprised each time she teaches this course about how little students know coming into it. Despite being eager, well educated in history, and many of them queer-identifying themselves, they’ve had almost no exposure to queer history, especially in the South. This lack of education on Southern queer history is what leads to its erasure. 

“The biggest misconception about the Queer South is that it doesn’t exist,” Ward explained. “We try to erase queer people from history, society pretends they’re not there. But queer people have been essential to American history.” 

Ward pointed out that there is a certain racial dynamic particular to the South when talking about queer culture, as both homophobia and racism have made a home for themselves here. Though not many of the more famous queer historical figures are from the South, their impact resounds in it largely. Many of the most notable queer figures such as Marsha P. Johnson, Bayard Rustin, and many of our great queer American writers were also Black. Similar to the queer population, the Black population in America is highly concentrated in the South. According to the 2010 U.S. census, over 50% of the Black population lives in the South. Though many of the figures whose names we remember are from other regions in the country, the communities that they represent largely reside here in the South. 

The Williams Institute of Law also shared that 51% of Black LGBTQ+ individuals live in the South, creating a particularly complex dynamic between these histories that shapes the way people view the South. Other places in the country, such as the Northeast, Pacific Northwest, and Southeastern coast are accredited for being more accepting, enlightened, and supportive of LGBTQ+ people, which is not necessarily untrue. However, these regions lack the racial history and tension that the South experiences, with only 17% of the Black population living in the Northeast, and just 10% living in the West. 

The skewed level of oppression, violence, and silencing experienced by Black LGBTQ+ individuals has entrapped the South in slower moving progression than other parts of the country. It seems to be easy for individuals on the outside to blame the southern region as a whole for homophobia, racism, and generally being stuck in the past, without remembering that the majority of people being affected by these things actually live here.

The South is an incredibly diverse melting pot, with influences blending across the coasts from Mexico and the Caribbean, the Midwest and Tornado Valley, and the Appalachians to the East Coast Beaches. While diversity allows for certain cultural practices to be swapped and shared between people, it also allows for individuals to find those who already align with their own. 

All of this together has culminated in a love for community. We can see this communal support in racial and ethnic communities, close-knit small towns, religious groups, and the South’s maintaining of local dialects, such as Creole or Appalachian English. 

This, of course, extends to the LGBTQ+ community as well. Community between queer people has been vital for survival and connection through many years of oppression, finding its footing in nightlife and creative spaces like music and art. In places where it feels the queer population is hard to see, these safe spaces must exist as a place for guidance, learning, and peace.

“It’s all about safety in numbers,” Ward shared, giving insight into why community is not just important but vital for queer people, especially those feeling alienated in parts of the South. 

Totten explained that this is one of the principal factors in learning about queer history, even more so in the South. It’s not that queer people haven’t existed forever or in these places, but whether the community has had to take on private spheres versus what is more public now.  

“Cities in the Northeast have queer communities that were able to form much sooner than we see open communities in the South. So there’s more tradition, more history, more to connect to as a queer person in those spaces. You didn’t have those spaces the same way in the South for so long, so they don’t know that history yet. They didn’t know that they were there together,” Totten said.

Whether you live in an urban city of the South, such as Atlanta or Dallas, you’ll likely have a different experience than in the more rural areas of the South. Many cities are somewhere in between, marked by the unique Southern quality of large populated cities with a spacious, small-town feel. Here, queerness can both fly under the radar or be celebrated, depending on a person’s individual experience. Growing up as a member of the LGBTQ+ community in Oklahoma, Ward explained, was not as controversial or dangerous as some might assume. 

“You knew queer people, but it wasn’t a big deal,” he said. “It seems to have gotten more polarizing in a way.”

Sophie Reed, a student at the University of Arkansas from Florida, agreed with this potential misrepresentation of Southern hostility towards queer people. 

“The South gets a bad rap when it comes to queer and trans people, but it isn’t all bad. People are unpredictable, so I believe the whole ‘live in this state, it loves gay people’ ideology isn’t necessarily true,” Reed said. “Northwest Arkansas is better than other parts of Arkansas, but there is still homophobia, just like there is anywhere. I believe the South will eventually become more accepting as a whole.”

People’s experiences definitely vary based on hometown, privilege, and family dynamics. Payne shared that in the small Southern town that he grew up in, he rarely heard the word gay unless used derogatorily. 

Despite significant progress in LGBTQ+ rights and acceptance over the last few decades, there has also been another more harmful shift in the cultural narrative towards queer people. Especially in the South, issues of sexuality and gender identity have become a largely political conversation more than one of identity. For some, queer and Southern identities cannot be mixed, or intrinsically erase one another. There is an idea that we must acclimate to Southern heteronormativity or leave the South behind us. Ward shared that in his research, what he found most surprising is the fact that this is far from the truth.

“Queer Southerners are super proud of their identity and their heritage,” he said. “For some that comes first, they’re Southerners who just happen to be queer.” 

He noted Southern religiosity is not exclusive and that the cultural cast of the South falls over queer and straight people alike. Be that in connection to the church, or other shared values of the South such as focuses on hospitality, home-cooked meals, or close-knit families. The blending of Southern culture and the queer experience has fostered a flourishing community filled with pride and joy, despite the struggles that come with it. 

“Bad people exist everywhere, there’s no avoiding it,” Reed said. “It’s important to surround yourself with good people, no matter which part of the world you’re openly gay in.”

The queer people of the South do not hide away, but have instead been host to several of the largest Pride celebrations in American history. Nearly every significant Southern city hosts its own Pride celebration; all the way from Oklahoma to Florida. Georgia, Texas, and Louisiana are home to some of the biggest Pride parades each June, with hundreds of thousands of attendees across the region coming together to share in joy and hard-earned liberty. 

“Even though we are part of the South, that doesn’t mean we can’t also be queer,” Theavan Saitang, University of Arkansas student, shared. “There will always be religious forces against LGBTQ+ people, but that doesn’t have to be the whole story. I’ve seen folks be openly gay and religious, very Southern and wearing a rainbow.”

Here in Northwest Arkansas, Fayetteville hosts its own pride parade each year bringing in thousands of locals and students together in celebration. Fayetteville’s first-ever pride parade was in 2004, and the size and grandeur of the event have grown with each year. This June will mark 20 years of Pride here in Fayetteville, but parades aren’t the only evidence of queer presence and significant history in Arkansas. 

Arkansas is home to Miss Gay Arkansas, beginning in 1972, which became the predecessor to Miss Gay America and the oldest pageant-affiliated drag queen competition in the nation. Arkansas is no stranger to drag shows and communities, and we were even visited by “RuPaul’s Drag Race” star Latrice Royale in June 2019. The White River Valley area is home to the Ozark Land Holders Association (OLHA), an intentional community of lesbians and queer women living separately in a communal arrangement. 

Even the University of Arkansas itself is no stranger to groundbreaking queer accomplishments and celebrations. In 1976, a subgroup of the Women’s Center at the university formed, calling themselves “Razordykes.” These women banded together to form a safe space to be out and discuss their shared experiences, but the group experienced pushback when the university didn’t want to fund them. Eventually, the student government was able to fund the Women’s Center, and some of that money was made available to the Razordykes and they were able to maintain their status on campus for a short amount of time. In the 1980s, the campus organization PRIDE (People Respecting Individual Differences and Equality) was formed and remains a part of the university today. The campus also now offers a variety of LGBTQ+ resources including Safe Zone Allies, LGBTQ+ mentoring, scholarship opportunities, and mental health services. 

The University of Arkansas is not alone in sharing in queer history and providing resources for its students. Similar or even longer lists of resources, in cases such as the University of Alabama and Texas A&M. Queer resources such as a PFLAG chapter in the city or a university-sanctioned pride center are available at every other major SEC university. The powerhouse universities of the South have at last aligned themselves with queer people, and are fostering a generation of the South educated in equality and understanding.

When teaching queer history, particularly to queer-identifying students, Totten found that students are hungry for the positive.

“They want to hear the stories of people who live in the South and want to stay in the South, who had queer communities,” Totten said.

While this change is positive, that doesn’t mean that queer Southerners live without pushback or endangerment. Queer politics have been twisted by some into a larger point of controversy than they have been in the past, even despite all of the progress that has been made. It seems that the pressure for queer acceptance on a legislative and enforced level rather than personal indifference has pressurized the issue. The South stands at somewhat of a threshold, tugging at itself in two directions; not just within the realm of queer politics but for the whole of our future. Rather than shy away from the South, queer people and allies need to open up conversations and bring the South with us in the search for equality.

“We’re here,” Ward emphasized. “And we always have been.”

This has always been the truth, but it is a truth that has acquired new agency. In a time where our future is uncertain, a lot of the focus of the backlash and controversy against queer acceptance is assigned to the South. While this is merited to some degree by the influence of religious and political ideologies, it negates the large and important population of queer people living and flourishing in the South despite the challenges presented to them. To leave the South behind, or lose hope in its ability to grow and become a more diverse, accepting place is to leave behind nearly one-third of the nation’s queer population. 

“Some say we can just move if we really wanted, but too many of us can’t,” Saitang shared. “For them alone, the South is worth saving. Fighting for them, making safe spaces, giving them a hearth for a home that doesn’t provide them warmth: all of this gives them hope and something to live for.”

Leaving the South behind is not just a disservice to the queer youth there whose futures are being shaped by our words and our actions, but negligent to the existing beauty in the queer South. There is something incredibly powerful about a community with the ability to find jubilance and love through years of suffering and oppression, and to keep pride alive in a world that has battled against it.