 Hello everyone on the live stream and welcome. My name is Yusef Severs and I have the pleasure of being a director in this year's Trans Plays of Remembrance Festival but I wanna invite you to enjoy Friday night in the Trans Plays of Remembrance Festival. Tonight you will be seeing two pieces. First will be Wah Africa, one, two, three, a queerly scripted, tragic African Fantasia by Nick Mualuko. And second I'll introduce in just a little while. I briefly want to say that I'm coming to you from the unseated lands of the Chumash and Amumu peoples and I hope that we are all doing what we need to do in order to maintain relationships and in order to better take care of the land that we are all now on. So I hope you sit back, relax. There will be a brief talk back afterwards with some of the artists that you will see very shortly. Please prepare any questions that you may have or things that excited you or things that made you question. Bring all of those things forward into the comment section and if you know where you are coming from or where you're tuning in from, please feel free to put those in the chat section as well and we'll be sure to shout those out. So that's all for me. I'm going to turn my camera off now and the next piece that you will see will be While Africa, one, two, three, a queerly scripted tragic African Fantasia by Nick Mualuko. Scene, sexing while trans, queer, African and black. Oh, we know Mbabi in their first sexual encounter together. This is your first time with a woman, I mean. Any woman. Have you ever? Oh. Nervous? Are you? Your breathing is, it is. Talk to me. Don't look at me. Not while I say this to you, Bobby, okay? Whenever I masturbate, I mean, when I touch myself, while I dream of fucking you, I'm me and I'm not me. I'm a man. Maybe sort of, I don't know the right word, but when I dream, I dream I fuck you the way my father would. Mask face soul. I've never told. Not anyone. You're my first. You're my first, Bobby. It's true. So I need to show you how to read my body. So you can unmask me. What do you see here? No. My chest. This, say it. I see your chest. And this. Is my penis. I have to do this. It doesn't make you, remember you told me once that you think you're a coward or less than that they made you internalize some gender inferiority bullshit. But listen to me, Owino. Nothing in my eyes. Nothing. Say it or I won't take off my clothes during sex. I swear on my ancestors, I will not. I struggle. It's because I. Please. But I'm trying to expose. Bobby. Look it personally, I self identify as a lesbian. It's a struggle for me to refer to male body parts during sex because I just. Okay, but I need. Say it, Bobby. Please. I see your penis. Owino is big. And beautiful. Are you lying to me? And. And this is my penis too. And this is my penis. And this is my penis too. And because they are all of my penis, they can never hurt you or rape you or make you feel any less or not full or not whole or whatever you don't want to feel, okay? Because you are a woman, my man body can't. My man body won't let you be disrespected or feel small. I promise. Never. Do you understand me? I mean, what I'm asking is, do you understand all of me? Please say yes, but do you? Until now, I did not believe I could show my full me to anyone. Until now, I did not believe if I show my man body, full me, that I would still be loved, but now is different. Now I believe I can exist because of you, Bobby. Because of you, I exist. I believe. Thank you so much. So, do you believe I am who I am not when I am who I am? I do, absolutely. How does it feel as witness to see all of me seen the audacity to call that love? One more space, quick change of atmosphere. We know goes to table, turns on radio. He adjusts the station. Light romantic African music is playing. Bobby gets up literally collapsing into here arms. They sway very slowly, gently. Listen. The pulse, Bobby. The beat. Karakara, karakara, karadrums. It goes straight to my legs. Like my moves. Nice, eh? Now check this out. Eh, eh, eh, eh. Is this the national radio station? Sweet, right? My dancing, eh? Well, that's why you're laughing, right? What's this song about? A We Know Whisper Something in Bobby's Ear. Really? On national radio, nah. Really? Liar. A We Know Whisper Something Else in Bobby's Ear. No way! Never on national radio. Think I'm dumb. You're beautiful. That's what I think. A We Know Kisses, Bobby. This is where you belong, Bobby. In our space. The radio crackles with static. Ah. What is it? Stupid radio. Maybe the batteries are low. No matter how much you spend on batteries, the guy at the kiosk always robs from you. Pinching a ceiling here or there to empty pockets. A We Know walks over to the radio table, lifts it up, opens the back where the batteries are stored. He takes the batteries out, music stops. He wipes the battery clean with the corner of your shirt. Maybe they're sweaty. A We Know blows on the batteries, then reinserts them back into the radio. Music resumes. They kiss, dance, and static crackle from the radio again. And now what is it? A We Know walks over to the table again, lifts the radio, shakes it, puts it back down on the table, music resumes. Suddenly, music stops. Kenya Broadcasting Corporation, KBC. We interrupt our regularly scheduled music program for Brief News Bulletin. His Excellency, our most esteemed leader, President Daniel Arap Mwai, issued the first of a series of fiery speeches condemning the recently formed Kenya Gay-Lesbian Queer Alliance, Umoja Wa Wasinge. In his remarks, the president said, quote, I will use everything in my power as Supreme Commander and Chief of the Armed Forces to crush this ridiculous crusade for homosexual rights. His Excellency, the president went on to say, I personally sanction fellow Kenyans and all Africans to do whatever is necessary by whatever means necessary to root out deviant, perverse, extremely sick behavior from our national soil. This will make you a true citizen, a true patriot. This, my people, will make Kenya great again, end of quote. Umoja Wa Wasinge, a Calentine organization claiming social justice for all, won national attention a week ago. Today, when its leaders, two Kenyan men, were arrested for kissing in a local park. Their case sparked a recent wave of violent protests throughout the country that is raging into more rural areas. Both men remain on trial for the death penalty. Meanwhile, fighting continues to escalate in response to the president's inflammatory remarks. And now, on to sports. Awino pulls violently away from Bobby. What the fuck is wrong? Touch me again, and I swear I'll beat the shit out of you on the only God I know. What? There's no time, we... Listen to me, listen, we... Put the clothes inside there. Are you listening to me? Listen. Get the suitcases from under. Tell me where we're going first, and I'll... Just pack. I am, I am packing our... They packed together in silence. Will you listen to me, please? Sweetie, you and I, we both have to think of a plan for us. To be able to pick up and just leave. What, eh? What are you? I can't do this by myself. Where do you, where do you want us to go? Go without... Is this your country? Is this your country, huh? Is it? I didn't think so. Can you, do you know how they will react to us? Lesbians, deviance, faggots, queers. But what about what, what in the hell can we do if we don't have any money? Do you know anything? No. So shut that stupid, big American mouth of yours. Take the rest of the clothes and put them inside of the suitcases. Bobby doesn't move. A wiener walks over and literally shakes Bobby. Do you know anything? No. What do you want me to say? That I am scared? Here, I am terrified when they come, Bobby. And they are coming. That'll be it. We'll be arrested. I'll be put in prison though. They'll put electricity here. No more me. No more you. No more us. And believe me, they are on their way. So either you help me pack or I'll do it myself because I couldn't care less what you decide at this point. Listen to me. Listen. What? We up and lead this house. Where are we going? Who house us? Nobody. We're the sick, contaminated, deviant, toxic, lesbian queers, remember? And we're broke. We're so broke it's not even an option to all I'm saying. You say, you say, you. You, you, you. Who are you? And what are you doing here in this village, really? Today morning, I told you this would happen, didn't I? First thing through that door, what was I saying? Hey, Bobby, what did I say? We are going to die. They will kill us. But what did you say, huh? There is no they are we know. Who is they? Only personal truth. Big ideas and me being the stupid, foolish, dumb idiot that I am. I ignore everything I know about my own people, my own culture and believe in what you say. You think I'm stupid, huh? Think because I'm quiet, don't say a word, just sit there watching that I'm that African fool you can seduce, can manipulate, huh? Like puppetry, is that right? You are an American with a passport. What a passport! You will leave me here in a minute with you say, you say. Fly back on to the airport, to the United States, never mention my name nor what happened to you ever again. That is your plan, right? So you listen and you listen good. I know, I know you are nothing but destiny. You stupid American, privileged, rich, or that's what I say. We know Razum's packing, Bobby takes a moment. Never leave you. Never ever, look at me. I said I won't ever. Sorry, I didn't mean to say I or suggest that I'm centering my experience. We are going through this. You and me, together. Oh, we know. But baby, please, please don't ignore me. If we look at the larger picture here, we leave this house to go where? To home without two cents in our pockets. Look, we get to check first thing tomorrow morning. One of us should stay to collect the money. But you do want to leave me. Fine, you stay. Collect the check if that makes more sense. Okay, that will kill you. They will bust through that door and they will just. Stop. The situation is bad enough as is. Calm down. Use your smarts for a second. Just, they will not kill me. I'm an American. I work for the Peace Corps, so we know. They so much as touch me. There will be a media frenzy so big, every new station in the United States, plus Kenya, plus the international. What happens to me? You're not gonna like what I'm gonna say to you. What happens to me? Go to your father. Yes, sir. Mungu mungu, what have I been saying all day? What has the radio been saying, eh? This is beyond chief and child. Nothing is beyond chief and child. But sometimes your stupidity is so. Yeah, think I'm stupid. I'm no clue what I'm saying. We've run, how far do you think we get? How far before they find us out as the contaminated, deviant lesbos? It splattered all over the national radio. Everyone is listening and talking. Tomorrow's paper's headline is already a given, so it's not a question of if. It's a question of when and how. Today, tomorrow, half an hour from now, but they will find us. They will definitely find us. That's what I'm saying to go straight to your father for protection. Shut up. Better you tell him the truth than tell him about the absolute freedom of. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. How you found the purity of your very own personal truth. Oh, how it's behind your friends or your family or your village customs. No, you don't know how much you're. Your ancestors. It's vital. It's larger than your fear, Owino. It's so vital. It's larger than yourself. Anything and everything that's ever kept you down or away from discovering who you really are, what you really need, what you want, what you believe in, that's what it is. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. Stop how sacred it is to you. What? Stop translating my culture to me and come. Don't you see, baby? It's impossible for us to go anywhere. No, if we leave this second body, we can protect truth. We can preserve our love. I have the audacity to call what we have love. We sneak around corners, living like shadows. None of your friends come to visit you anymore because of the way you look. Can't get a job. One of the only people in this village fluent in Swahili and English to count them, to difficult languages. You've gone to high school. Your dad is Kenyan royalty, a true chief. But you're unemployed. For how long now? Because you look too much like a masculine woman slash female boy to stand behind a shitty counter and sell pennies worth of cigarettes. Is that the love you're asking me to protect? Is it worth my life? Our lives lived in complete fear, spinning lie after lie, packs of lies to everyone in our community. From family to neighbors to ourselves. We have to lie to ourselves every single day. Just so you don't go too crazy. All in the name of love you want me to protect, right? I mean, once, just once. I like to walk out, talk to someone in our village about our relationship. Instead of wasting millions calling the states for a simple conversation on the phone. Is that the love you're talking about? Look, point to one, just one. Sex positive space in our home, huh? Space where we celebrate the uniqueness of who we are. What we share together together. Pointing to the picture of the smiling presidents on the back wall. But look it, there's no picture of you on the wall. No, God forbid my lover be on the wall in our home where we live. Oh no, instead we have three stupid heterosexual, cis, gender, patriarchal men hanging over my bed. Flexing like African presidents, like strong men, dictators. Saying in fact, demanding people kill African queers to be true patriots. See how they're grinning? Who in the fuck do you think they're laughing at, Oino? And this fucked up, secluded, tidy, shitty. Speaks directly to the picture of the smiling presidents. I was out and proud and free. Black woman, but now I'm back in the closet, back inside the fricking, oh! In her frustration, Barbie marches to the cupboard, takes a pot of water from underneath. She throws the water then the pot at the picture of the smiling presidents. This is considered an act of high treason, meaning if caught they would be executed. The picture liquidates to the ground, Oino is utterly, utterly shocked at this blatant open transgression. They both stand perfectly still. Holding you, holding us, tight, loving on you. How much you're terrified? I can feel your fear is screaming from your insides. You're scared like hell. You could lose another parent, not to death this time, but abandonment, which feels worse. Trust me, I know how wounding it is to be erased, denied to be shut out in exile by the person you love the most. Pain piercing past heart to your core, touching even screaming in places you've been told are unlovable, unwanted, unreachable forever. Worthy of nothing but screams. Howls that turn into numbness. I know what that's like. Believe me, but I swear to you, Oino, your father, he will not, he cannot abandon you. He will never, ever, ever deny you to be seen. It's okay to not make yourself invisible. You have the right to center your truth, to give yourself permission, permission to scream back at a world that constantly, non-stop, keep screaming at you. Why? Because you're you. Oino pulls away to resume packing. Who were we supposed to live inside their closet? How long did you think we could stay invisible? How long were you supposed to, how long were we supposed to keep lying to ourselves? How long were we supposed to make ourselves absolutely nothing on every level imaginable and call that love? I mean, queer love is a verb. It comes with risk, with pride, with utter audacity, fiercely fearless. Abandoned, and yeah, there's always a threat to your life. But queer love goes beyond courage. It's about taking real risk. Even as the world erases us, queer love shows us, despite that world, because of that world. But what we have here, in our relationship, is a threesome between you and me and oppression. I mean, what does love mean to you? Asking. It's a serious question, Oino. Bobby, I don't want to die. Won't, promise. Suddenly there's a knocking, and then a hard pounding at the door. Who? Quickly they all dim the lights. Who is it? End of play. Yes, indeed, yes indeed. Hands clap, so I mean, we can't hear you all, so y'all can clap. Yay, fantastic, fantastic. We're going to keep it rolling and move forward with our second piece that we're going to be showing this evening called Entitled Bananas, which is a prerecorded performance written and performed by Kezia Walters. Yeah. Yeah, Derek over here, talking about something. He got a little girlfriend. I feel like his daddy putting that stuff in his head. You ever see him in a girlfriend? He is only eight years old. He just barely stopped being in bed last year. You know, I'm putting the seasons and stuff back. Yeah, this morning, I don't need to record anymore. And I don't miss out on it. I don't miss out on it. Mm-hmm, I know what was enough. It's a neutral season. Some women pepper. Because we don't need salt in this house. I keep on telling them that. We do not need salt in this house. But you want to be able to put some salt in everything and I hid the salt. I put it in the bag. I even saw that Lil Nas video. Girl, she's the only man because she can't slide on the floor anymore. You know, she was a ball dancer. She was on a pole. She was stripping. And that's how she paid her way to college. How do they say she can't? You got to do the music, you got to do the money. When I was in school, I was over here. Oh, I was over here, I was over here, I was over here. What were you doing, I got to do. When I was in there to school, she was there with me. I was there all day long, I was there all day long. I'm over here, I'm over here, I'm over here. Yeah, I told you that. There ain't nothing but eight years of we just got to be related. Come over here, tell me something. You got a girl. A girl? Well, he is over here in college today, that is not true. He is not over there, I have a girlfriend. That's not true to me. I don't know. You should have a girl. You should have a girl and you try that and you have a girl, but they didn't keep it. That's not right. Can I take it again? I'm sorry, can I take that one more time? I realized I wasn't being a man. I'm not I, a man. Ain't I non-binary? I mean, I'm clearly painting my nails, nigga. I mean, sorry, I'm liberal. The fuck? Y'all fuck, bro, have you ever looked in the mirror to see your mom, bro? Fuck, to see my mom. That's just, that's just weird, fuck, the fuck. Fuck, oh shit, bitch, I'm high as fuck. I see my mom. I see my mom, bro. Yo, I see my mom, bro. That was little, I asked my mom. A couple of hours ago, could I get a banana? As you was like, nah, I did not write. Come on, could I get a banana? Nah, they're not right, I looked at my mom. I said, but I'm a man. I can have whatever I want. No, I'm not a man. Hello, hello, fantastic. First, I would like to correct the pronunciation of the playwright and performer in that last piece. And it is Keezy Aya, Keezy Aya. So wonderful. So I would love for everyone who's gonna be joining us for the talk back to go ahead and turn your cameras on. And we can just get this conversation started. Hello. Oh, say that again. Oh, hello. Oh, there you are, I can hear you. How are you, kid? I'm well, thanks for asking, how are you, Yusef? Fantastic, fantastic. Good to hear. Yes, Troy, if you're joining us, you go ahead and turn your camera back on. Oh, okay, I thought it was just the playwrights. Hi. If you're still here, feel free to turn your camera back on. So to go ahead and get this started, I'd love for everyone to just go ahead and introduce themselves. And say your name, pronouns if you're comfortable, where you are, the role you might have just played or what you do in the rest of your life, kid, for those folks who don't know you, but I'd love to just go around, we'll start with the actors and then kid can close this out, just do some introductions, yeah? Fantastic. Jenae LaShawn, my pronouns are she, her, hers. I decided to go ahead and cut Troy in line and go first because I'm actually going to peace out here. But this has been an amazing experience to be able to play Bobby in this festival. And in my regular life, I'm a theater practitioner. I'm fresh out, it's like how I like to describe being graduated from grad school with the MFA in acting. I recently directed Blood at the Root at Eastern Illinois University. And so, yeah, your girl is just out here trying to make that art that is meaningful and impacts our communities and the world overall. Please be looking out for me the top of next year. I'll be directing Blacks and Fats by Kevin Wren. It's a new work and that will be at Kalamazoo College. So thank you again, everyone, for this opportunity. I can't wait to see the discussion and I'm going to peace out. Thanks so much for joining us. Well, before you leave, Jenae, so good working with you. Amazing job and good luck with everything. Thank you, Troy. We'll be in touch. And it was a pleasure working with you as well. I don't be in touch with all y'all, so, you know, don't think it's weird. I am in touch. Thank you. Cool, so I'll go next. My name is Troy Rocket. He, they pronouns. I'm over in Kalonely known as, you know, California, open California on the Muehme Alone people, the land of the Muehme Alone people. And I'm out here. I'm a playwright and an actor in the Bay. And I loved working on this piece. Hello, everybody. My name is Kit Fenrir M. Ray. My pronouns are Day and or She. And I attended the place last year. And I was invited to come back and talk back with you all. So I'm just so excited to be able to hold space with you in my every day to day life. I am both a restorative and transformative justice practitioner, a global instructor, and I help facilitate direct reparations across New England for a piece of work. So I'm just so excited to get started talking. Amazing, amazing. And a slightly larger introduction for myself. You said Severs, I use he, they pronouns. And I was the director of why Africa. And I'm also a movement teacher at a conservatory here in the Central Coast of California. So first, I would love to just talk about first, I would love to just pick both of your brains all day long, first of all, I'll say that. But I'd love to know from either of you, what is vital about transplays being told and being shared in today? That is, thank you for this question. Yeah, I guess it's just a discussion, so it's not a, I feel at least in my community, we just have such a deep well, like, of compassion as trans folks and non-binary folks that coming from that place, writing stories from that place of compassion. And I think, yeah, our stories are nuanced, they're lovely, just like the last one we watched. I just, I think it's very important, especially that we speak, we share as loud as we can. This is about our dignity. This is about legacies and the continuation of that. So, but yeah, I love this question and whatever the discussion happens, but I'll just start there. I also just thank you for expanding upon that, Troy, I really appreciate it. I think it's just like a revitalization. It's rejuvenation. It's like changing the biochemistry of our hearts by telling us our stories and also like being able to become visual storytellers and to craft art, right? And to be able to just have a larger conversation, but also say we're here, we're present and we're doing art. So that's not gonna change a little while. And I think just having that open field to just honestly expand and explore and play with different dynamics and ideas. It's just one of the reasons why festivals like these are so, so crucial and important, especially during a pandemic. Absolutely, you both bring up such wonderful things. And when I think about changing narratives or when I think about expanding or shifting values, somehow, some way it's always rooted in the stories we tell. And so the values we have now are because of the stories we learned, whether or not they included all of us or were useful to all of us is to be written. But what's vital is that we continue to tell stories that amplify the nooks and crannies and all the nuanced portions of life that have been strategically or unstrategically unamplified. And so I find that it's so, so vital that we have these spaces where these stories can be told and be heard. And I find Zoom to be quite fantastic in this way because you can have what may be uncouth-like responses in your own space. You know what I mean? You can have the uncomfortable thing happen and get out of your chair and run to the bathroom and throw some water on your face. Which in most cases, in a public setting, there's not really time to leave the theater when you feel uncomfortable. And so in our home spaces, it's so beautiful to watch stories like this come to life and come into people's homes and private spaces. I would love to know from either of you, do you have any favorite transplays of any kind? Stories, either your own or someone's you've read. Get you first this time. I'm gonna take it through my mouth. No, that was a good question. I think just hearing the stories even today and not being prime for them, but also being able to resonate with the different components and themes of each play has just been like, I feel seed. I feel like I needed this TVH. And even compared to last year's plays, which were also phenomenal. So I think it's just experiencing things that are not within my local sphere is something that's really, really revitalizing and eye-opening and I just love the energy. So thank you. Yeah, you Troy, any favorite plays, playwrights? I don't, yeah, it's like kind of, I don't know if I have a favorite, but I just enjoy. I mean, every night I go out, like it's a show. So I just, I love people who tell stories and take up space and expand. I wanna put some names in the chat though, because I feel like I can't just say one. So I'm gonna take a moment to type out some names so people can go see them, because we got a lot, we got a lot. And aren't you writing a play, Troy? Am I making that up? Do you? Oh, yeah, yeah, that happens, definitely. You could have said the name of your play or... Yeah, so I have, yeah, it's three plays that all have the themes of transition and belonging. And it is kind of auto-fiction me going and talking to three of my loved ones who have passed and I didn't get a chance to come out with them. And so I meet with them, one play is Bold Fade, and I meet my childhood friend and we just chop it up, conversation with my dad and then a conversation with my granny. And we just talk about all the way, all the things, all the transitions, all that. So it's been a joy to be in that writing space and have those conversations that I didn't get to say, but I'm saying them now. So those are great. It's fun. Absolutely. And it brings forward the thing that Kit brought up earlier about changing our biochemistry and our hearts when we are able to take our own stories and say, this is that bit of reverence, yes indeed, for my journey, for my life and in that offering of reverence and change and honesty, folks start to pick it up on the other side. And that's when people lead the space differently or leave the experience with just a little bit more inquisition about their own lives and their own experience. Okay, fantastic. Okay, big question, not a big question. What does this type of work and artistry look like in the future in terms of non-binary work, transplays in general, what is your vision of that moving forward if you could have it all your way? I think I would love to see just like more like non-binary and trans youth, especially black youth to just have the creative spaces to be brave and to just be black and be wonderful and like share that collective confusion. I think that's something that I really hope to see take off in the future. I feel like there's so many different ways and so many different mannerisms and ways that our intersectionalities like impact the way we move throughout the world. So to be able to paint a picture accurately of what we envision is really important. And I think the more space we are given to do that I think the resonance will be able to increase and amplify as a result. Always about amplifying that resonance, David. I really love, I love that you brought in the youth. I am thinking about just the accessibility or just what I've learned through the pandemic. Not that everybody has this, but just connecting across, like just collaborating, connecting across. I've met so many of my siblings this pandemic and it's been great, especially during a moment, a time of isolation. It's been great to expand my siblinghood, all of that, it's been very fun. So I think the future, yeah, collaborating and just like no genre, just genre, genre, like beyond it, outside of it, new genre. It's, yeah, it's gonna be fun. Absolutely, absolutely. And one last thing I'll say is that for me in the near future, it looks like more disruption. It looks like more, because before we get to the seed coming out of the ground, we must till the soil. And we have yet to really till this soil. Okay, okay, you know what I'm saying? So I find that it to be most exciting that it is going to be quite mucky and messy and a little more blurry and a little more confusing and a lot more riskier choices, sharper decisions, more risk. I feel like there's much more to be till before we actually get the bloom in the fall. So I'm very excited about that. And I feel that this series is also a wonderful way to just continue to move that conversation forward and have people hear conversations happen in which love, compassion, harmony, resonance and reverence can all exist in the same space. So unless we have any questions from the chat, I'm gonna wrap this up. Those were the things that I really wanted to touch upon in this brief time about what's vital, what does it look like moving forward and the people that we can look to now for the stories that allow us to bring these things light. Yes, lovely, fantastic. So for those of you watching the live stream, thanks so much, I appreciate you all being here and watching and celebrating. Thank you, Kit. Thank you, Troy. Thank you, Lauren. Thank you, Wendy. Thank you, Janae. Thank you, Kiziaia, everyone for being a part of today's work and the days prior, all the back channels, we would not be here without all of you. So thank you all so much and have a fabulous, fabulous Friday.