This is What an Old Lesbian Looks Like
By Jewelle Gomez
The title of this piece is emblazoned on tee shirts of the members of Old Lesbians Organizing for Change (OLOC). When I wear mine it gets many double-takes as if ‘old lesbian’ is an oxymoron that barely computes. I’ve been out since the 1970s so I believe that qualifies me as an ‘old lesbian:’ one of those birds rarely seen in the wild or in captivity. Two recent events upped the sightings and had me seeking more.
In 1975 I moved from Boston to New York City just as athlete Diana Nyad broke the record for swimming around Manhattan Island (7 hours, 57 minutes). I read the news, not especially interested in records, but anxious for word that she’d survived. Maybe there was a secret lesbian gaydar; somehow I ‘knew’ Nyad was a lesbian. I felt she carried the banner for all of us even though I was about as athletic as the quilt on my bed.
In 2023 the film ‘Nyad’ made history and not only because Jodie Foster (63) finally played an out lesbian (Nyad’s former lover and trainer). Annette Bening (67) brilliantly embodies the spikey, determined swimmer I remember from the news clips, who at aged 64 swam the 110 miles between Cuba and Florida. The film recreates the four grueling attempts that were halted by stings from jelly fish and man-of-war, pushy currents, and storms. The triumph of Diana Nyad staggering onto the Florida beach in 2013 after 53 hours in the water is joyous. Some ‘officials’ belatedly tried to disavow her accomplishment with retroactively enacted rules. Still, Nyad (now 75), the athlete and author, remains a revered figure in sports and is one of the most determined and courageous old lesbians ever.
Another old lesbian celebration was held recently in Berkeley, CA where photographer, Irene Young, launched her new book. “Something About the Women,” is a collection of photographs of musicians, artists, and activists (many of whom are lesbians) taken by Young over the past 50 years. She created the photos for more than 600 CD covers and head shots for such artists as Judy Collins, Kate Clinton, and Laura Nyro.
The concert celebrating Young’s book was a cornucopia of old lesbians who came to burn the house down (figuratively speaking)! Most of the white-haired audience had come of age listening to the more than thirty performers for over forty years. Many of the musicians and some of the audience are now legends yet the event had the warmth and exuberance of a reunion. At the concert and when I visit Nyad’s YouTube channel to see videos of her inspirational talks I feel like I’m at the corner store and they are all giving out candy.
From Rhiannon to Mary Watkins (86) to Holly Near (75) each woman brought that long distance energy that I now associate with lesbian success. As young women we thought social change was just around the corner. But as old women we learn to take the long view and embrace endurance to avoid despair. It was inspiring to again rock to the singing of the Washington Sisters (twins Sharon and Sandra, 64)) as if it was still the 1980s, their voices just as strong and determined as ever. And yes, there was chair dancing and much singing along.
Linda Tillery, (75) leading her band from a wheel chair, was as fierce as when I first heard her sing “Secrets” in 1985. Her voice has a powerful blues thread that enlivens all of her music along with a sly sense of humor that has only deepened over the past decades.
The sweetest moment for me was Ferron (71) singing the songs that rescued many a lesbian who thought she was alone with her broken heart. Her poetic/mystical lyrics wrapped around us again, reminding us we’d survived. Seeing Ferron strumming the guitar, her new glasses slipping down her nose, was like a call to arms.
Watching the Nyad film and being at the concert reminded me of how both powerful and vulnerable old women are. We can lift our voices effectively in protest and commit to unimaginable feats. At the same time we are targets on the street for muggers; ignored at meetings, easy prey for internet scammers, or dismissed as having out of touch values. Our physical frailties may not be obvious all the time but so many places—at home and in pubic—are impediments to our physical safety. Every week when leaving my strength trainer he doesn’t say ‘goodbye’ he says ‘NO FALLING!’
As I monitor my balance on the stairs to the bedroom or walking on uneven pavement I know I’ll find more confidence by doing exercises. Being raised by my great grandmother and grandmother I saw them negotiating the creeping physical debilitation, and they had no physical therapists to advise them. But their minds stayed sharp. So the scary part for me is wondering if my mind will last long enough for me to keep contributing to the social change that has been at the center of my life. And, as importantly, will I be able to continue writing all the stories I have on my To Do list. It’s not just about having to search for a word here and there. It’s terrifying to have an idea pop in to sharp focus in a flash and then just as suddenly evaporate. How will I sustain an idea for three hundred pages?
The coda that Holly Near (74) delivered at the concert was a reminder that the music, the artists, our activism, and our art should not be seen as nostalgia. While aging and death are inexorable (unless you’re one of the vampires I’ve created) it’s paramount to fight the depression that the knowledge of mortality can drape over your shoulders. For me, I need to make myself stop focusing on future: the outline I made for the next book and will there be time to finish it; or on ‘my legacy;’ or worse: who’s going to empty my basement after I’m gone!
More important is that I try to follow a Buddhist suggestion: stay in the moment; observe and fully participate in what is happening right now. I love doing historical research whether I get to write my Victorian novel or not. I can see how my balance is changing as is my memory so I use the tools at my disposal (a cane or search engines) to ameliorate the change. If I have to stand up, away from my computer, every fifteen minutes to keep my back from aching, I set a reminder on my device. If I can’t stand long enough to go on a march anymore, I send the post cards and make the phone calls that keep elected officials paying attention. And write the stories I think can instill hope and inspire activism long after I’m gone.
Oligarchs and billionaires have descended on our democracy with the intent to eradicate social empathy, good manners, pursuit of excellence, and democracy itself. We’ve seen it before and they are back again. They hope to make this nation a theocracy; that being code for men are in charge—women and lesbians and poor people beware. So even if I know I won’t be around for the twenty-second century my candy store—that is my creativity and activism—will stay open for sharing with everyone until my spirit returns to the stars.
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