There is a persistent myth that to live a safe and fulfilling life as a Black and LGBTQ+ person, you must leave the South. We are told that the forces of racism, homophobia, and transphobia are too entrenched here, and that our only option for freedom is to flee.
This myth is a tool of erasure. It is designed to shrink our vision, to isolate us, and to keep us from being able to see a future in the communities we call home. When our communities are forced to defend our very existence, such as fighting legislative attacks on trans healthcare, book bans that erase our stories, and being confronted with the effects of systemic violence, we are not meant to have time to dream. We are meant to be locked in a permanent state of survival. The Black Queer Visionaries Summit (BQVS) was our refusal of that myth. It was our declaration that we have always been here, and we are here to stay.
I would be remiss if I didn’t start by saying that this would not have been possible without the vision and deep partnership of The Knights and Orchids Society (TKO). As a Black-trans-led organization on the frontlines of this work every day, their partnership was not just an act of collaboration, but an affirmation of who this summit was for and who should be leading it. From the very beginning, our priorities and values were clear, and we stayed true to that every step of the way.
Built from the work of our Black Trans Futures fellowship program, our goal was to continue that momentum and build a community-first, sustainable movement. We asked ourselves, “What do we actually need to do for folks to show up and bring their whole selves into this space?” We committed to removing barriers like admission fees and lodging and travel costs, that often keep us out of these spaces. We even offered free childcare to those who needed it. This decision required a trust-based model and a significant upfront investment, but we knew it was non-negotiable. We didn't just ask people to trust us; we modeled that trust first. The result of that commitment was truly transformative and made this space what it was. It felt like a collective exhale.
Building this space certainly presented its challenges, but the depth of joy and connection filled our team with immense gratitude and made this all worthwhile. What we witnessed was the profound, rare sight of Black queer and trans folks bringing their whole, unapologetic selves into a space without fear of judgement or persecution. This was not about reacting to struggle, but rather a proactive and intentional gathering that poured directly into the attendees and their lived realities. We held space for all of it: the hard conversations, building around and mapping out practices for community care and organizing, the collective processing of grief, the sacred act of archiving our own stories, and most importantly, for radical unapologetic joy. We wanted this to feel like a community exchange where every person’s vision was a crucial part of the experience, and that’s exactly what it was. We are beyond grateful that our efforts paid off, and that folks resonated with this space as deeply as they did.
We do this work on the foundation laid by those who came before us. We were heartbroken by the recent passing of Miss Major Griffin-Gracy, a mother to our community and an avid supporter of our work and our people. Her legacy, and the legacy of all those who paved the way for our liberation, lives on through us. The joy in that room was an act of honoring them, and the work we built is a continuation of their fight.
While the inaugural summit itself is now over, it is proof and a model for what is possible when we stop waiting for permission and start building the futures we deserve, right here in the South. The work continues, and now we are more connected and resourced and rooted in our collective power. I am so excited for this renewed sense of purpose and all that is to come.