This project sprung from taking part in The Hearth's 2022 Certificate Training in Community Storytelling. Through a weeklong intensive in April, a second intensive in September, and workshop webinars in the months between, we learned and cultivated skills in gathering stories as a way to create social change and empowerment.

I wanted to do this blending of different storytelling methods. Doing an interview felt like its own natural progression of a storyline between two people, the interviewee and the interviewer. I still wanted it to feel like the storyteller, the person being interviewed, could be speaking at an open mic like the ones that The Hearth organizes, and I tried to do that through the questions I was asking. I took what we have been learning through these trainings, about harvesting questions, asking elicitive questions, crafting stories, and so I was able to help them weave their answers through that process of digging for more of what I wanted us to really get at the heart of. In a way it felt journalistic, especially in the time we are living in, a time fraught with anti queer legislation and racially charged discrimination, across many marginalized groups and identities. In all of that, people are also doing the difficult work of breaking generational cycles and healing familial traumas. It can be excruciating, but there is also great triumph, discovery, and joy to be found there. A hope is that these stories can capture these complexities. I chose to do a google site to make the project accessible to community members that face barriers meeting in person. It also means that this project can be ongoing, and more stories can be added in the future, all collected in one place.

The storytellers and stories you'll read about come primarily from participants of the QTBIPOC Liberation Space. I wanted to center the Liberation Space in the hopes of uplifting our members and their voices, that I believe to be a lifeline for their communities, and reflecting on the complex aspects of holding intersectional identities. These complexities don’t get talked about enough in the greater, broader community, and I think talking about something enough can direct people to action. Many people I talk to, talk about leaving the Rogue Valley. Life is difficult here for queer folks and people of color, and this reality is a common thread throughout many of the stories. A question I asked everyone is "what makes you stay and what makes you want to go?" The majority of answers fell on the side of why people are going. It is a recurring theme in this area, especially in grassroots organizing and advocacy work, that people are systemically getting pushed out. Issues including lack of diversity, lack of connection, burnout, isolation, and the tense, looming presence of alt-right and white supremacist groups, can make trying to gather and find belonging a very daunting mission. It's an uphill marathon. To be clear, these stories are not meant to foster a sense of hopelessness, but rather to highlight ongoing systemic issues and a culture that normalizes and encourages homophobia and racism. As stated above, there is also great joy and triumph in their words, in the resiliency of being able to speak up and share their experiences.

While these stories are in no way meant to fully encapsulate the QTBIPOC experience in Southern Oregon, I think they provide a glimpse, and a way of existing here that is universal in its specificity, and still so precious, real, and singular to those that share those same or similar identities. I see the grounded confidence and anticipation of a high school student in a critical chapter of their life. I see the hurting- the image of entrapment- that drives determination. There is strength in that hurting and grieving, in looking towards new things, and graciously collecting the lessons of the past to take alongside you forever. I see what life could be. I see a life where one does not have to hide, where one can come out and the world doesn't end, nobody explodes. But maybe things do end and do explode, and that would also be okay. I see the curiosity in an incomplete picture. The searching, the disappointment, the starting over. Because you just know no other way than to keep moving forward.