Meet Indigenous drag artists trying to 'offer hope' to LGBTQ and 2-spirit youth
Anti-drag sentiments aren’t stopping these artists from representing queer identities they never got to see
Strutting across a stage in size-12 stilettos might seem impossible for many. But for drag queens like Chelazon Leroux, it comes with the territory.
And as an Indigenous drag queen, balancing on high heels isn't the most difficult part of the job.
"[During a Pride event] I did this performance called Fall in Line which was [a song by] Christina Aguilera and Demi Lovato. But it was in reference to MMIW," Lerouz told Unreserved host Rosanna Deerchild. "People had no clue what it was. They're like, 'why is there a handprint over your face?'"
Indigenous drag performers like Leroux, who is Dene and two-spirit, have to navigate their identities in places where they're not always accepted. And a rise in anti-LGBTQ and anti-drag sentiment has created an uneasy, and sometimes frightening, environment for drag performers.
In spite of these challenges, Indigenous drag artists are choosing to take up space and represent the queer Indigenous identities they never got to see when they were young.
The backlash
Drag was put on the pop culture map after Ru Paul's Drag Race launched in 2009. Today, audiences can attend performances ranging from raunchy late night shows to music-filled drag brunches to family-oriented drag storytime events at libraries and bookstores.
But more recently they've been met by anti-drag and anti-trans protests from right-wing groups and, in the United States, Republican legislators.
In recent months, protestors have targeted drag storytime events for children across Canada.
Chelazon Leroux has experienced this backlash first-hand.
"They protested that show that I was doing [in Cold Lake, Alta.] at city hall. It was the biggest city hall attendance in the history of Cold Lake because they wanted to protest my show. And the amount of people that were in support outnumbered those that were being critical and ignorant…. That room was packed."
Leroux said the protestors had made assumptions about who she was and her intentions. In reality, her conversation with the kids in the audience was professional, she said. It was about her lived experience, what it's like being on stage and her favourite makeup brands.
Anita LandBack is a two-spirit Mi'kmaw drag queen based in Halifax. LandBack said that queer Indigenous people need to be visible, not despite the threats or hate directed towards queer people, but because of them.
"With everything going on in the world against trans and non-binary people, right now we need to strengthen numbers the most," they said.
Learning to love themselves
When drag performer Tygr Willy was young, the closest example of someone who looked like them was Anishinaabe actor Adam Beach.
"But Adam Beach was rugged and he was in all these war films," they said. "I never saw someone who was gentle or femme or someone who wasn't traditionally masculine, [who] wasn't rough around the edges."
Willy was born in Winnipeg, grew up in central Alberta and now calls Toronto home. Of Chinese and Anishinaabe descent, Willy was raised by a Scottish-Canadian woman.
There wasn't a lot of diversity where Willy grew up and they didn't consider themselves conventionally attractive. So, said Willy, they turned to burlesque and drag as a way to learn to love themselves.
Willy has made it their mission to be the softer, gentler representation of identity they wish they'd seen as a kid.
"If someone who's young, who's experiencing gender, who's experiencing sexuality, who is also curvy and soft and quiet, is looking towards media and they need someone, I would hope that maybe I could offer a bit of a reflection for them, or offer some kind of hope."
Making room for kings
For King Fisher, the challenges have been similar — but also different.
The Vancouver-based Ktunaxa drag king identified as a cis woman before they came out as trans. Watching Ru Paul's Drag Race was an exciting introduction to drag, but left them feeling excluded, Fisher said.
"I recognized that a lot of them would use the word 'fish' as a way of being like, 'Oh, I look very feminine. I look like a woman,'" they said. "It didn't sit well with me. It felt very misogynistic in a lot of ways."
After they started performing as King Fisher — which is a name that nods to the tiny, colourful bird — they felt some anti-drag-king attitudes in the Vancouver drag scene.
"I've had experiences with some drag queens, who are wearing those big silicone chest plates, that are looking down at me so much because I'm [assigned female at birth]," they said. "When they're taking that body that I grew up in and making money off of it.… Like it's almost like this costume."
It took some time for things to change. In the last couple of years, the Vancouver community has seen more kings get bookings and make names for themselves, they said.
King Fisher has also learned a lot about drag in the process.
"Having been a part of the drag community, I understand that a lot of it is satire. Like they're making fun of ideas of femininity in the same ways that I'm making fun of ideas of masculinity and really turning it on its head."
Representation is 'vital'
As a queer person, Chelazon Leroux felt like she didn't fit in on her reservation or in small town Saskatchewan. She only saw negative depictions of Indigenous people in the media.
So Leroux moved to Edmonton at the age of 18. But even in a bigger city with a drag scene, she felt misunderstood.
"There [were] undertones of racism everywhere," she continued. "And I wasn't fully comfortable in my Indigeneity yet either.… I never fully accepted it or wore it proudly."
Leroux said she later realized she has a responsibility as a two-spirit person to be a "bridge between two worlds." She decided to incorporate Indigenous culture into her drag and educate others about Indigeneity — and to be someone that young, queer Indigenous people can look up to.
Today, she's glad she has the opportunity to speak to kids.
"I remember the public speakers growing up that I had … I could relate to no one," Leroux said.
"I was that scared little kid growing up in northern Saskatchewan, not knowing where to turn," she continued. "Representation is not only good to have, it's vital in terms of mental health and being able to see yourself succeeding."
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