For Alisha Acquaye, Safety Is Both Community and Solitude

At Milk, we stand for inclusivity and the freedom to live your life openly, authentically, and unapologetically. Laws that threaten our community affect all of us. A wave of recently passed and proposed anti-LGBTQIA+ legislation in the US is the latest attempt in an ongoing effort to strip the rights of LGBTQIA+ people. That's why this Pride, we believe it's more important than ever to uplift and create safe spaces for our community. 

Throughout the month, our special guest editor Devin-Norelle, a model and trans advocate, is sharing the stories of seven people across the country who are actively fighting for their rights. Because all LGBTQIA+ people deserve to have a safe space to exist freely. 

For Alisha Acquaye, there is no limit to the number of ways in which safe spaces can manifest. Throughout her life, she’s found it through emotions as varied as her experiences: love, vulnerability, bravery, stillness, and connection. As a child, they created their own safe space sitting in front of a pink and white toy vanity, conjuring up imaginary worlds with new casts of characters. Later in college, she found safety in daring to go on stage to try spoken word and multimedia performance for the first time.

“Even though being on the stage is one the scariest and most vulnerable things, something about it was freeing,” they say.

If there’s one word that sums up Alisha’s relationship with their queer identity, it’s evolution. Even as she’s stepped fully into owning and accepting her queerness, she still speaks of all the ways she has yet to learn—about the community, about herself, and about identity. As a queer writer and poet, they explore fluid concepts of safety, home, and self through words. A safe space can be as ethereal as love, or as tangible as the branches of a tree.

“Safety, for me, is also in nature,” they say. “I feel held by trees and by mountains, and by water. The internal communication that happens when I’m sitting still in nature gives me answers. It’s healing, and it makes me more aware of the fact that I’m more than this body.”

While safe spaces are often defined in terms of community, Alisha also recognizes safety in solitude, within herself. “I definitely do have safe spaces in my family and chosen community, but I think because my body has been through so much harm, I've had to learn what safety means in this body,” she says. Through this process of self-learning and unlearning, she’s also explored what it means to be a safe space for others.

Read on to discover exactly what that means to them.

What does a safe space mean to you?

A safe space is being able to move through the world carrying my beautiful, authentic, and loud Black body in many countries. Being alone in another country and speaking a new language really makes me feel like my most powerful self. It makes me feel the safest, too. 

I find power by learning new languages and stepping into the different portals of myself that I unlock by being in new places, and meeting the version of me in those places. It makes me feel like I have homes all over the world. I meet people that change my perspective about life, and that enriches me. I learn how I want to live. I love learning things from different cultures that teach me how to be a better person, love myself, love my friends and family better, be more honest, and be healthier.  

So much about this country [the U.S.] is unhealthy. This country was not built for Black, queer people to survive. It was built to eliminate us. Carrying those lessons with me (that I learn when traveling) and implementing them here helps me build a better home.

I don't have a sense of home in a tangible way. My sense of home is being able to travel. I think that has a lot to do with my home not feeling safe since I was a kid. That is where a lot of my trauma and issues with space and safety come from. Growing up, home wasn't safe. But now, safety is about being brave enough to travel alone. 

What is your earliest memory of finding a safe space?

My earliest memory of finding a safe space is being a kid and having this pink and white toy vanity. I would sit in front of it, stare in the mirror, and talk to myself. Something about that felt so safe and calming. I would act like a TV show host or act like I was making commercials. I was in my own imaginary world, creating different characters in this little vanity.

I remember all the friends that cycled in and out of my life, from elementary school to high school. When we were together, we would play silly games and just chill on the block, hang out at John's Deli, go to Coney Island after school, or ride the train to the last stop and back. We'd spend hours on the train talking and kissing. We'd do these things because we didn't want to go home yet. We wanted to make that time with our friends last. That felt so safe and loving. We were kind of holding each other down.

How do you foster a safe space?

I love listening to my friends, and making them feel seen, heard, and understood. I'm the friend that will keep asking questions. I'll ask how things feel for them. I like to hold space for people. I love to help them imagine what alternate realities could be there for them. I like to inspire them to use art as a casual escape, or encourage their journaling, or just be playful together and dance. I love to have cute dates with my friends, like going to the ice cream shop or going to get pie. I like to do cute inner child sh*t with friends. Being a good listener and making sure they feel understood or heard helps me empathize better and foster safe spaces. 

What do people get wrong about Pride?

Something that people can get wrong about Pride is that it’s closed off to people who aren't queer. If you're straight and your friend is queer, you can still go have fun with your friend. It's a celebration of queerness, and you can come support us. It's something I battled with before I came out. I thought I had to look or be a certain way, or have certain experiences as a queer person in order to claim the identity within myself. I felt like I couldn't go to Pride because I'm not 'queer enough.' But that's not true.

Another thing that people get wrong is that Pride is just a fixed time. It's actually eternal; it's an emergence into self that's ongoing. It's not just June; it's way longer than that. 

How do you celebrate Pride outside of Pride month?

I check my straight friends on their allyship. I have friends that don't know what to do and are sometimes afraid to ask questions out of fear of offending me. I remind them that it's a part of learning. You can't just not try. You have to learn, and part of learning is making mistakes. If I have to check you, then I'll check you. I'm checking you out of love, but I'm also checking you because I don't want you to continue to have a mentality that's detrimental to how you might be seeing me or other queer people.

I also celebrate through my style, color palettes, makeup, and hair. I celebrate by embracing the expansiveness in how I love people, whether through the fluidity in how I love my friends, or honoring that I can love many people at once. I don't hold back on how I feel, whether it's saying “I love you” to a friend or validating people.

I celebrate through the media I ingest, the music I listen to, and the movies and TV I watch. I center queer artists all the time. I celebrate by educating myself, too. There's still so much I have to learn. For a long time, I felt like a fraud. Not wanting to feel like a person who wasn't sure held me back from coming out sooner. That's a part of what Pride is to me: embracing the expansiveness of what queerness means. There's so many sexualities and identities.

What does it mean to be an ally?  Some people that call themselves allies are not ready for that. It means being uncomfortable, making mistakes, and learning. I understand why it's hard; if you spend your whole life with certain privileges, it's uncomfortable being uncomfortable. It's that discomfort shifting from us to them, like a chain of learning.  How should allies show up for LGBTQIA+ people? Queer allies should not rely on their queer friends to teach them everything or be their personal educator. They should not limit their engagement with queer activities, art, and theory only to times when we're present. If you really love us, do that work and seek those things out on your own, too. I think the biggest thing allies have a problem with is not checking people in their own lives. Defend us when we're not present to people who might be queerphobic or transphobic. And when you do, don't try to congratulate yourself after.  For some allies, when you start doing the work, you're going to notice that there are people in your life that feed homophobia. Are you going to let it be, or are you going to teach them it's wrong? For us, this is not a choice. We have to cut out anyone who makes us feel invisible or demeans us. We have to cut these people out for our survival. If you're able to confront that person in your life, then that is a true ally to me.  And give us money! Open your pockets. Buy me lunch. Give a free therapy session. Those are other ways to be an ally.

What would you tell your younger self?

Come out sooner: They're waiting for you. Everyone is waiting for you. You're going to be so much happier. You're going to feel so much better. You're going to love yourself better! Do you know how many people you could have kissed, Alisha? You're blocking yourself from living to your fullest. There's so many things you can do. 

At the same time, I'm proud of you for coming out when you were ready. There is a pain that comes with coming out, but the bravery that comes with it is worth it,

What would you tell young people today?

Wear what you want, say what's in your heart, and come out as soon as you feel it. It's ok if your identity changes: Be ready for that journey. You don't have to explain those changes to people. You don't owe anyone an explanation. If you're nonbinary, you don't owe anyone androgyny. If you even have a question in your mind about some kind of desire, see where it takes you. Know that there are queer adults here to protect you, even if you haven’t found them yet. 

This community is vast. It's not lonely, and you're not alone. Find people you trust. Look at your friend group and evaluate if you really trust these people. Be authentic as soon as you can. We love you. You're needed in this world. You're important, you're beautiful, and I'm proud of you. 

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.