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How is art a form of protest today? The story of the Lesbian Avengers and fierce pussy

  • Mar 8
  • 8 min read

Can art be a form of protest? Does art really work as resistance? And how can you make protest art?


In times like these, it's natural to wonder if art is really important. If writing, music, performance, and other creative work really matters.


I find hope and inspiration from looking at stories of artists using their work to resist the status quo. The story of the Lesbian Avengers and fierce pussy is a powerful example to show the way.


Listen to this story!



The moral crusaders had done their job well. The ones that are always there, the opportunists and soulless ghouls, the ones that say they believe in God, then try to destroy anyone that’s not like them.


Today it’s MAGA. Back then, it was the Moral Majority.


And in the early 1990s, this group was winning the propaganda war in many ways. Throughout the country, gay men were associated with AIDS. And lesbians? Who heard of such a thing?


Until a small group of lesbian activists and artists decided to start recruiting.


How did a group of women change the narrative for LGBTQ representation and equality in the early 90s? How did street performance and circus acts turn the invisible visible? And what can we learn from the Lesbian Avengers and fierce pussy about making art as resistance? 

 

PART 1: LESBIAN LANGUAGE

Throughout our show, we’ve featured a lot of artists who appropriate insults as part of their resistance. The groups we’re talking about today did the same, using the slurs dyke, bulldyke, bulldagger, and more to shock outsiders and to strengthen themselves.


And that brings up an interesting question. Where do these slurs come from? And what really is the power of language?


Think about the word many Americans draw the line at: cunt. It’s at least a thousand years old, and potentially came from early German dialects referring to female anatomy. It wasn’t taboo. But then add Christianity’s shame about sex and deep oppression of women, and it became the dirtiest of dirty words.


So what about dyke? The etymology is a bit contradictory, probably because our history of sexuality and identity is relatively new. While lesbians and gay people have always existed, our current language around lesbians, gay men, transgender people – that’s all from the last 100 years.


Read any novel from the 1800s, and you’re going to find two girls who are bosom friends, who declare passionate love for one another, who sleep in the same bed… . But they’re not called lesbians, because the language wasn’t there. And also because the women often still end up marrying men. Middle and upper class women had no other official recourse at the time – they were not allowed to work or own property, and their only access, their only survival, was through marriage.


In part because of this, men could not fathom women who didn’t want them or need them. They viewed women as little more than a breeding animal, without any internal lives. And women who loved other women? Whattttt?


So when men did occasionally spot two lady-loving ladies together, their strongest insult came from ignorance and wounded pride: those women were mannish. They were trying to be men. They were not women but bulls and butches.


And through some sort of meshing homophobia and racism and patriarchy, the term bulldyke became relatively common starting in 1906ish, and dyke in 1930s.


Dyke and bulldyke weren’t just words. They could be accompanied by deep rage and violence. Women could hear dyke spit at them before being attacked. Words are never just words, but often preceded or followed by terror.


And young baby lesbians, coming of age in the last century, could live in fear of hearing these words. Of being spotted, and targeted. Of being shamed, and punished.


So when a group of lesbians came together in 1992 to create an organization just for them, their first revolutionary artistic act was in language. They used these terms of terror as badges of honor.

                 

PART 2: WE RECRUIT

In NYC in 1992, six lesbian activists, who had worked in ACT UP against AIDS, in street theatre groups and others, came together to form a new group.


Ana Simo and Sarah Schulman were the start. They wanted to form an action group focused on the streets, and not on just conversation. They pulled in Maxine Wolfe, then Anne Maguire, Marie Honan, and Anne-Christine d’Adesky. Over dinner one night, they came up with a name, made a mission, and created a plan for their first action. And they made their first flyer and manifesto, which they would use to recruit lesbians at the Pride parade.  


The Lesbian Avengers didn’t want just shouting in the streets and sit-ins. Similar to the group we described last season, W.I.T.C.H., they wanted to make a mark. They wanted images that would irresistible to our media.


Because at the time, similar to today, right-wing legislation was targeting the queer community. States were passing laws repealing civil rights protection for lesbians and gays, all in the name of “protecting the children.” Even in New York, in 1992, in Queens, a right-wing group was trying to block a curriculum for elementary school kids called “Children of the Rainbow.” There were brief mentions of lesbians and gay lives. And dear god, the horror.


So in September of 1992 the Avengers created a kid-friendly event. They had a marching band. They handed out balloons. They wore t-shirts that said they were a lesbian child. They talked to passer-bys. They were a group of happy, thriving women who were not the satanic dykes the world painted them as.


 

PART 3: EATING FIRE

Not long after the event in Queens, a terrible story came out of Salem, Oregon. Hattie Mae Cohens and Brian Mock, a lesbian and a gay men, burned to death after a Molotov cocktail was tossed into their apartment.


Hattie and Brian were not the first, nor the last, queer people killed by bigots. But the Lesbian Avengers wanted to make sure the news didn’t fade, as all things do in our news cycle.


On Halloween, they held a memorial to Hattie and Brian. And they did something fascinating.




The women ate fire, one by one.


Avenger Jennifer Monson was the one that brought fire-eating into the mix. She was a choreographer and dancer with circus skills. So she brought this unique artistic skill that was part art, part magic, part jaw-dropping audacity. And it became a po werful symbol for the Lesbian Avengers. One they brought to Washington DC in 1993.

 

In April, there was a planned march for Lesbian, Gay and Bi Equal Rights and Liberation. But lesbians were nearly invisible in the programming. So the Avengers planned an alternate Dyke March the evening before. That night 20,000 women took to the streets of the capital. In front of the White House, a dozen Lesbian Avengers ate fire.   

And those who attended or saw footage went home to make their own Lesbian Avengers chapter.


At the time, very similar to now, anti-gay bills and policies were springing up all over the country. And stats showed that each time they did, violence spread. So the Avengers put a special focus on targeting leaders from these areas.

In one prominent example, when the Denver mayor came to New York to promote tourism, Avengers trailed him everywhere he went to demand the repeal of Colorado's anti-gay Amendment 2.


When Self magazine booked a ski-retreat in that state, Avengers invaded the Self offices. And in Colorado itself, Avengers chained themselves to the gate of the Governor's Mansion and invading celebrations held by the extreme right.


Each Lesbian Avenger chapter set their own priorities and worked on issues important to them. Could be local antigay initiatives. Could be religious right, or even the KKK.


[All clips featured here can be found in the full documentary below:]

 

Part 4: FIERCE PUSSY

What’s always fascinating when looking at these types of artistic and revolutionary movements is the sense of timing…and doubling.


Because the Lesbian Avengers weren’t the only group trying to turn the invisible to the visible a the time.

In 1991, another collective of queer women wanted to even more explicitly use art to resist. And they were also using language as a tool.


Fierce pussy was a shifting group of visual artists that relied deeply on analog, low-tech, and low-budget work, often using printing supplies and equipment from day jobs, old typewriters found in thrift shops and on corners, and photographs found everywhere.


Fierce pussy made wheat-pasted posters that reclaimed the language of violence, speaking directly to lesbians who walked the NYC streets. The posters read: I Am a Lezzie, butch, pervert, girlfriend, bulldagger, sister, dyke and PROUD.


Fierce pussy also reclaimed the streets. Using sidewalk stencils and spray paint, they re-named many streets along the route of the Gay Pride Parade, all after lesbian heroes. They went out  at night with ladders and wire, installing their signs on top of the official ones. Christopher Street became Tomboy Turnpike, Hudson Street became Audre Lorde Lane, Sheridan Square became fierce pussy Plaza, Bleecker Street became Martina Navratilova Court.


They also sent Season’s Greetings cards before the November 1992 elections, pre-addressed to the homophobic Cardinal O’Connor and Senator Alfonse D’Amato. The postcard was an image of woman’s legs spread and a hair-covered vulva, with the words You Can’t Legislate it, You Can’t Lick it, You Can‘t Beat it.


PART 5: LEGACY


While the major emphasis of the Lesbian Avengers and fierce pussy faded through the 1990s, their legacy was solid.

Where Lesbian Avengers set up chapters, you can often still find local Dyke Marches held the day before LGBT Pride Marches.  Their book, the Lesbian Avenger Handbook, is still a powerful  resource guiding artists and activists on how attract press attention from mainstream and lesbian and gay media. 


Fierce pussy still has shows and actions, with their roster rotating. Plus, they put their artworks on their website and encourage everyone to download, print, and spread the works in their communities.


Then there’s the more ephemeral impact. The kind we’ve talked about in almost every episode of this show. The power of representation, and upending stereotypes and fears.


At the time, lesbians were frustrated at their invisibility. In one interview, an Avenger said, "When a lesbian walks into a room of gay men, it's the same as when she walks into a room of heterosexual men ... You're listened to and then politely ignored."


Another Avenger said: "We're not going to be invisible anymore ... We are going to be prominent and have power and be part of all decision making."


And that visibility wasn’t just outward. The Lesbian Avengers in particular wanted to help lesbians see themselves in more powerful ways. Lesbians didn’t have to be ashamed of themselves, of stereotypes, of their butch or femme presentations.


Their flyers, their meetings, even the fire eating – it was all designed to show lesbians how fucking cool it could be to embrace their identity, and their community.


So what can we learn from the work of the Lesbian Avengers and fierce pussy? How can we make art as resistance to push back against today’s soulless ghouls?

  • We tell and show the truth. The terrible, ugly truths of this world.

  • We appropriate insults. Language holds power, but it’s even more powerful to turn and twist that language. To own it, and to take pride in it.

  • We get weird. Fire eating as a tool for lesbian liberation? Why the fuck not.

  • And we commit to making art as resistance for the long term. For a better world.

 

 

OUTRO

The Art of Resistance is a podcast from Rebel Yell Creative. To make art that matters, every creative person needs support. Find yours at RebelYellCreative.com.


This is Amy Lee Lillard, and I wrote, narrated, and produced this show. Check the show notes for all sources. And head to rebelyellcreative.com for full show transcripts, art, and more.


I’ll see you next time.  

 

 

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