Gauging West Michigan's "Pulse"

Kalamazoo collects people. The hodge podge of groups and eccentric individuals who collectively make up the populous attest to the claim that no one is out-of-place here. But to collect is not necessarily to accept. And not being out-of-place doesn’t mean that there is a place for everyone. As members of West Michigan Pulse are discovering, finding acceptance in any community starts from within.

At the intersection of Portage Road and Lay Boulevard, Kalamazoo’s Fire Gallery is the venue for a meeting of intersections between race, gender, and sexuality and West Michigan’s Pulse. If you are unfamiliar with its residence, you may drive right past it. A small signed stenciled out of rusted metal hangs without much notice above the rust-colored metal side door that is the gallery’s main entrance. If there is not an event at Fire, if there is not a collection of smokers hanging around outside, leaning against the tan brick side wall of the more than hundred year-old building, you may think the fire hose sits unused—the many boarded windows and the lack of signage indicate this. When there is an event at Fire, while there may not be enough of a crowd to surpass the fire code, what is lacking in numbers, is made up for in vocal volume.

This is the scene on a warm and clear Saturday night in late May. Fire’s website says that the monthly installment of Organic, the open mic performance component of Pulse—West Michigan’s “premiere” group for LGBT people of color—starts at eight o’oclock, but at 7:45 no one is here, not even to set up or unlock the door. When a few people do arrive, set up is casually underway but still there is no potential audience as eight o’clock comes and goes.

“It might just be us tonight,” says Denisse, one of the Fire’s co-owners and a founding member of Pulse, to Jan de la Torre, another founding member and the group’s unofficial spokesperson.

“I didn’t even bring anything to perform,” is his response.

If you’d attended Organic in its original conception last summer, the experience would have been one far different than this current inception. “It started out as the after-hours party, so when the bars closed everyone would migrate here and we’d have music and dancing; it was a very different atmosphere than now.” The continuation of Saturday night began after two and would continue until the pre-dawn hours of the morning. The evolution of Organic into a pre-bar or party venue was helped along by Fire’s neighbor, the Church of Christian Scientists, who complained about the late-night noise.

“I don’t know who is at church at four in the morning, though,” offers 44 year-old Matthew Barnes, who is technically, as a white gay male, an ally of the group and not a member.

“It’s okay to be gay on Saturday night but Sunday is God’s day,” comes a response from the small collection of members and allies now gathered outside. The crowd, all men, seem to be regular attendees of Organic and other pulse events. They all also, seem to have been previously affiliated before Pulse. They all officially or unofficially are part of other LGBT organizations in the area. After a dozen or so people have assembled and it appears that no one else is coming, the crowd moves inside where the same casual and comfortable informality continues as the event officially begins.

Against the backdrop of the white, curving gallery wall that extends to the stained bamboo ceiling 20 ft above, and where hangs various photos, paintings, and mixed-media art pieces—seemingly as random as the collection of individuals in the room, and with the soft groove of contemporary R&B stylings spun live from the DJ at his table behind “the stage,” Jan says some preliminary words of introduction and then begins the performance with his original poetry which he reads from a laptop poised on top a black metal music stand. The sun sets outside and Organic is underway.

Jan is not only an original member of Pulse and the MC for the evening, he is involved like everyone else, in the group in various and overlapping ways in the West Michigan LGBT community. At 26, Jan is one of the youngest members of Pulse (the other members range in age from late 20s to mid 40s). Jan first came to Kalamazoo a decade ago from the Philippines with his family. He has enjoyed, he will tell you, privileges and advantages that most first-generation immigrants to this country do not enjoy and never even dream of. While his accent is still distinguishable, his diction and speech are immaculate. He speaks about issues concerning sexuality, gender, race, nationality, and class with the proficiency and critical skill of a liberal arts professor. Jan attended MSU, majoring in Community Organizing and Development and went on to a master’s program at Western that took him to Sweden to learn the practical application of theory. He draws many similarities between Kalamazoo and the Arctic Circle. He now works at Kalamazoo Cares as an HIV Counselor and Prevention Specialist and is the director of PROJECT(!), a West Michigan group for gay males between the ages of 18 and 29.

Each of the two poems he reads at the Organic performance are inspired by the transition from life in the Philippines to life in America. “Mainstream gay culture in America, to the extent that it exists, is still very white-centric,” Jan believes. “Organic is about having a place to express all the layers of your individuality and experience with a receptive and supportive audience.” And the small audience sitting around the stage at metal café-style tables, in plastic folding chairs, is completely receptive. The performances consist of mostly poetry with a singer and guitar duo rounding out the night as the final performers. While from a critical standpoint, not every performer is a master of their art, each person has put time and thought and love into what they perform. And no one lacks personality, and strong individual voice; a testament to the night, to the event, and to the group is that no one, despite being any bit nervous, is afraid that their voice and opinion will be met with rejection or disrespect.

“While creating understanding and awareness is important, having the space and the confidence to express your voice and share your experience and knowing that everyone will respect the validity of that voice and your right to speech is most important,” says Michelle Johnson, the executive director of Fire and poetry performer at the event. Her joy in participating and being in the audience comes from the realization that both she and the other members “can be their full selves and identify with the voices and experiences of the others.”

As the performances conclude and the night winds down, everyone engages in small conversations and information about other events is exchanged. Jan announces the theme for next month’s salon discussion, (which also takes place at Fire) religion and spirituality in the LGBT community. The salons are a critical and personal way for big topic issues to be discussed as they are relevant and important to LGBT individuals of various racial and ethnic backgrounds.

Michelle would like to see more women involved in Pulse and Jan more individuals of different racial backgrounds; except for him, all the other performers this night were black. Both agree that no matter how many people are involved with Pulse or what their gender or racial identity, Pulse is about the individual having a place in a group of understanding friends and supporters.

“Performing is an external release and it can be loud and political and social but really it is about hearing one’s own voice affirmed and internally, carving out a place for yourself.”