#granvarones

miss major griffin-gracy

she was at stonewall. she was there when the world turned its back on people living with HIV.

she was there when our community was learning how to survive without apology.

miss major mothered generations of us, the lost, the loud, the too-much ones. she didn’t just fight systems, she built love that stretched across decades and borders.

as we grieve the passing of miss major, we hold on to the lessons she left us:

that care is radical.

that rage is sacred.

that we belong to each other.

thank you, miss major. for your laughter. for your fight. for reminding us that we are worth protecting.

rest in power.

rest in love.

Nursing a wounded heart and bruised ego are never easy things to do BUT a glorious pop jam but a pop diva will always pull me out of the dumps. Baybee!, Doja Cat’s just released single “Jealous Type” did just that. And a person who is proudly perpetually in love with 80s music, “Jealous Type,” sounds and looks like the 80s never ended. The big synths, neon colors, MTV video vixen attitude. ALL OF IT! Miss Doja captured everything that made that era feel larger than life.

But Doja isn’t pulling from nowhere. By the late 80s, radio already belonged to the pop divas! I know this because I was there consuming it all like oxygen.

Paula Abdul. Janet Jackson. Pebbles. Jody Watley. Chaka Khan. Vanessa Williams. Karyn White. Apollonia 6. The Mary Jane Girls. These women gave us songs that blurred R&B and pop. Songs that lived on every radio format and songs that will no doubt be blasted at my funeral. Check out these jams!

CHAKA KHAN • THIS IS MY NIGHT (1984)

SHEILA E. • GLAMOROUS LIFE (1984)

APOLONIA 6 • SEX SHOOTER (1984)

MARY JANE GIRLS • IN MY HOUSE (1985)

JANET JACKSON • WHEN I THINK OF YOU (1986)

PEBBLES • GIRLFRIEND

PAULA ABDUL•THE WAY THAT YOU LOVE ME(1988)

VANESSA WILLIAMS • THE RIGHT STUFF (1988)

JODY WATLEY • REAL LOVE (1989)

KARYN WHITE • SECRET RENDEZVOUS (1989)

Together they not only broke ground for women in pop music but they built the blueprint. They made pop look bigger, sound brighter, and feel bolder.

“Someday we'll be free

I promise you, we'll be free

If not tomorrow

Then (Or) the day after that

And the candles in our hands

Will illuminate this land

If not tomorrow

Then the day after that.”

“The Day After That” is a song that doesn’t leave you. It was written for the Broadway stage, but it carried the weight of queer survival. It became a soundtrack for a community holding on through grief.

Broadway Icon Liza Minnelli was on a search for a way to respond to the devastation she was witnessing as AIDS had taken friends, collaborators, dancers, designers, and her ex-husband Peter Allen. She was grieving, but she was also furious at the silence surrounding the crisis.

When she heard “The Day After That” during a performance of the Broadway Musical Kiss of the Spider Woman, its message of unwavering hope beyond unimaginable loss, resonated deeply with her. It gave language to what queer communities were living through.

Written by Fred Ebb and John Kander, the song debuted in Kiss of the Spider Woman, the 1993 Broadway musical that explored love, politics, fantasy, and resistance inside an Argentine prison. In the show, the song is quiet but devastating, a call for what comes after terror and loss. For many queer people living through the height of the AIDS crisis, those words landed like a hand on the shoulder. Soft and urgent.

Liza was determined to take the song everywhere. She recorded the song in multiple languages including English, Spanish and French.

In June 1994, She performed “The Day After That” at the 25th Annual Stonewall Pride Parade, offering the song as both memorial and rallying cry. Months earlier, on World AIDS Day 1993, she sang it at the United Nations, turning a global stage into a space of remembrance and demand.

I grew up in a household where divas were celebrated, and Miss Liza Minnelli was one of them. My mother wasn’t blasting her records, but she loved Liza as a woman who kept getting back up. Yes, Liza was an accomplished actress, singer, and performer with an Academy Award, a Tony, and an Emmy. But it was her public battles with addiction and her many “comebacks” that made her, much like her mother Judy Garland, a queer icon.

That’s the thing about Liza. Her art is camp and brilliant. But her survival is legendary.

For queer people living through the AIDS crisis, she was more than a star. She was someone who kept returning.

Someone who kept choosing life. Someone who showed up for us, again and again, even when the world didn’t.

“The Day After That” captures that spirit. It is a song about imagining tomorrow when today feels impossible. A song about rebuilding when grief has emptied the room. A song about never surrendering.

And that’s why it mattered. That’s why it still matters.

Because the day after loss, the day after crisis, the day after stigma, we keep going.

We keep remembering.

We keep fighting.

Just like Liza.

“I believe…

This song is about

the war against despair.

This song is about the devastating plague we’re going through.

This song is about hope.”

We remember exactly where we were the morning the news broke. We remember the shock and grief that rendered us unable to process. We remember everything, everywhere, and it’s kind of an obituary. We remember not knowing what to do with all of the love and rage sitting in our chests. We still don’t. But we still remember the faces and names.

This week, Q-Latinx, a grassroots racial, social, and gender justice organization in Orlando, held an ofrenda to honor the 49 lives taken at Pulse. With candles, marigolds, photographs, and prayer, Q-Latinx created space for collective remembrance, rooted in queer Latinx tradition and resistance.

Born in the aftermath of the tragedy, Q-Latinx emerged to fill the void left by institutions that failed to meet the needs of the queer and trans Latinx community. What began as a healing space quickly grew into a powerful organizing force, centering queer and trans voices of color in the fight for justice, safety, and joy in Central Florida.

Pulse is not just a tragedy to remember. It is a reminder that every drag show, every house party, and every Latin Night where we are free to be ourselves are ultimate acts of survival and resistance. And for all the queer young people finding their first dance floor, we pray that they experience exaltation.

Nine years later, we still mourn and dance. We follow the lead of survivors, and we speak the names of the 49.

One by one. Out loud. Again and again.

Jesús Ociel Baena Saucedo was a significant figure in Mexican LGBTQ+ politics, known for their pioneering role and activism in the community. Born on December 9, 1984, Baena Saucedo’s life and career were characterized by groundbreaking achievements and a dedication to advocating for non-binary and LGBTQ+ rights.

Baena Saucedo made history in Latin America by becoming the first non-binary magistrate on October 1, 2022. They served as an electoral magistrate at the State Electoral Court of Aguascalientes, marking a significant milestone in representing non-binary individuals in Latin American judiciary systems.

As a leading LGBTQ+ rights activist, Baena Saucedo was a prominent figure in advocating for the rights and recognition of LGBTQ+ communities. They were known for their judicial role and gained popularity as a TikTok content creator, focusing on electoral, political, and LGBTQ+ liberation.

Tragically, Baena Saucedo’s life was cut short at the age of 38 on November 13, 2023. They were found dead in their residence in Aguascalientes, under circumstances that remain surrounded by mystery. The cause of death was uncertain, but reports noted that Baena Saucedo and their romantic partner, who was also found dead, had received death threats related to Baena Saucedo’s gender identity.

Jesús Ociel Baena Saucedo’s contributions to the LGBTQ+ community and the broader push for social and political rights in Mexico cannot be overstated. Their pioneering role as the first openly non-binary magistrate in Latin America and their advocacy for recognizing LGBTQ+ people in Mexican politics will continue to inspire the fight for equality and representation.

In 1996, Frank Mendez was one of the most visible people living with HIV in the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas along the US-Mexico border. At a time when the drag community had been impacted heavily by losses to AIDS, Frank was out about his HIV status both in and out of drag and used his platform as Jacqui Fabiane to advocate for safer sex, testing, and education. After testing positive in 1992, Frank became a leading voice in the fight against HIV/AIDS in the Valley and worked as a community health educator for the Valley AIDS Council.

In 1995, several clients protested against the Valley AIDS Council – feeling ignored and taken for granted by the organization's leadership. After launching a hunger strike to incite changes in the agency, Frank left and started his own grassroots group- The McAllen AIDS Coalition.

Needing money to fund his efforts, Frank turned to drag. Since the onset of the AIDS crisis, drag shows had been used to raise money to pay for medical and burial costs for those impacted by AIDS, as well as a forum to educate others about HIV and AIDS. Frank called on four of his fellow drag queens from the local community. The choice was obvious in the Winter of 1996, and they put together a Spice Girls-themed benefit show.

British girl group The Spice Girls burst onto the scene with their breakout single "Wannabe" in July 1996. It became a global pop sensation seemingly overnight with their brash lyrics and take on "Girl Power" feminism.

The quintet- consisting of Geri Halliwell (Ginger Spice), Melanie Brown (Scary Spice), Emma Bunton (Baby Spice), Melanie Chisolm (Sporty Spice), and Victoria Adams (later Victoria Beckham- Posh Spice)- seemed tailor-made to have a huge queer following- whether it was the larger-than-life camp-inspired outfits donned by Ginger and Scary, Sporty's tomboy aesthetic, or Posh's high-fashion and iconic pout.

Their lyrics celebrating authenticity and expression resonated with many young queer people. For Halloween of 1997, it was common to see groups of five queer friends dressed as the girls. They were also a popular act for drag queens to emulate.

While the group has always embraced its queer following, it was their third single, "2 Become 1," that cemented their status as gay icons- with a lyric change intentionally made to be more inclusive of the community.

“2 Become 1" is a sensual R&B flavored ballad celebrating intimacy. The original version included on their debut album “Spice” featured a lyric sung by Ginger, "Any deal that we endeavor, boys and girls go good together."

While Ginger quickly became the most popular member of the group, she was the only one who did not have any singing or dancing training. When the group decided to release the song as their next single, she confessed that she had trouble singing her portion and was worried about having to sing it live.

Realizing the original lyric could potentially alienate their growing queer fan base, the girls decided to re-record that portion of the song with new lyrics sung by Posh. The new lyrics, "Once again, if we endeavor, love will bring us back together," - made “2 Become 1” a song that anyone who wanted to "get it on" could relate to.

“2 become 1” became the group’s first Christmas #1 single in the UK in December 1996 and reached #4 in the US the following summer. The song also has an essential nod to the importance of safer sex. Towards the end, Baby sings the final bridge “Be a little bit wiser baby, put it on, put it on…because tonight is the night when 2 Become 1."- a nod to condoms and to navigating sexual safety at a time when AIDS was still ravaging the queer community.

The Spice Girls' connection to queerness went beyond being vocal allies and supporters. In various interviews, Mel B. came out as bisexual- revealing that she had been dating women since her Spice Girl's days. In 2019, she also confirmed long-standing rumors that she and Geri had hooked up during their time in the band.

For Halloween of 1997, the Spice Girls were so ubiquitous that it was common to see groups of five queer friends dressed as the girls. They were also a popular act for drag queens, especially performers who wanted to share the stage with members of their drag families.

For the fundraiser, Frank- the group's leader- was Ginger. Frank's drag mother Takisha More took on the role of Baby- donning her signature pigtails. Takisha was a transgender woman who grew up in San Juan and Edinburg and performed in drag since the 1970s. In 1993, Takisha became the first trans woman to come out publicly on the local news. She was known for her signature high-energy dance moves.

Frank's drag daughter Kanela del Karibe served Sporty Spice with a ponytail and track pants. Kanela was originally from Puerto Rico and moved to the Valley in 1994 with the original plan of moving to San Antonio. She found a community and a voice in drag and decided to stay- remaining in the Valley to this day. She was known for making all of her outfits by hand.

Arden Van York played Scary Spice. Arden was a trans woman from Mission, Texas, of Native Hawai'ian and Mexican descent. She was known for her acrobatic dances- jumping up in the air, doing a flip, and landing in a split at her shows Arden passed away from cancer in 2019.

Rounding out the group was Ty Paris as Posh Spice. Just a few years before, Ty was a young gay teen who found family and community at McAllen, Texas gay bar 10th Ave after becoming the first drag daughter of Valerie Paris - a trans woman from Roma, Texas whose drag house eventually became one of the most prolific in South Texas.

Some of these pictures were taken by Frank’s goddaughter Crystal- who was raised by her mother in a large chosen family that included several drag performers. Crystal would go on to co-found the first GSA in the Valley in 2000.

Instead of hosting the benefit show at a gay bar- which was most common at the time- this group of queens organized their Spice Girls - themed show at a community center in Mercedes, Texas- bringing drag, queer and trans visibility to this small town smack dab in the center of the Valley.

Frank Mendez and his Spice Girls-inspired benefit show in 1997 exemplified the power of community, creativity, and resilience in the fight against HIV/AIDS. By combining activism with entertainment, Frank and his chosen family of drag performers used their platform to raise funds, educate the public, and foster visibility in a region where such efforts were desperately needed.

Written by: Gabriel Sanchez (they/she/he)

Gabriel Sanchez (they/she/he) is a queer and nonbinary native of the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas.

Gabriel is a community historian who has spent the past several years researching, documenting, and sharing the history of the LGBTQIA2S+ community of the Rio Grande Valley and the rich stories of resistance, visibility, and creativity from within this community.

Gabriel curates a pop-up exhibit highlighting this history and a digital archive on Instagram called Pansy Pachanga where they share picture and stories from this community. They are also currently co-directing a documentary of the same name. Gabriel is also a part of various organizations that work to support and celebrate the Rio Grande Valley's LGBTQ+ community including @southtexasequalityproject, @rgvtranscloset, and Casa Kimberly.

My late mother once had a friend named “Gary.” I remember him vividly because he LOVED himself some Stephanie Mills. Not in a casual, “Oh, she’s nice” kind of way, but in a full-blown, church testimony, hand-on-his-chest kind of way. Anytime one of her songs played on the radio—he’d shout in declaration, “I love Stephanie Mills!”

My love for the one and only Stephanie began in 1985 when she released the very poppy “Bit by Bit.” Chyle, that song had me dancing and lip-syncing in the tiny bedroom my mother rented. The space was so small that it barely fit two full-size beds. I slept on one with my mother, while my three brothers shared the other. But it was home. And I don’t remember it feeling like anything less.

In early 1989, we moved into a house—a whole house. For the first time in fave years, my three brothers and I now had a “proper” home. We had our own bathroom that we didn’t have to share with strangers. We had heat. And my gawd, I had my own room—a space to play to blast my music and imagine a life bigger than the one we had.

To understand Home, you have to go back to The Wiz. The Tony Award winning 1975 Broadway musical reimagined The Wizard of Oz through a Black lens. It blended gospel, soul, R&B, and funk into something uniquely historic. It was a moment that was both commercially and culturally ground-breaking. And at the heart of it all was a seventeen year old Stephanie Mills singing the hell out of Home.

When Stephanie recorded Home again as a tribute to her Broadway roots for her 1989 album of the same title, she wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was an R&B star, an artist who had lived, loved, and felt the weight of the years between then and now. The new version had more depth and more ache. It wasn’t about longing for home anymore—it was about knowing where you belonged. And that’s why it hit so differently.

By the time Home arrived at radio in late 1989, the concept of a home meant different things to me. It meant a physical space of fleeting stability and adults who personified safety. At the same time, the world around me had changed. The AIDS crisis was tearing through Black, Latine and LGBTQ+ communities like wildfire, and the government was still pretending not to see the smoke.

In those harrowing years, music became more than just entertainment. It was healing. It was survival. And songs like Home took on a new meaning.

“When I think of home

I think of a resting place

A place where there's peace,

quiet, and serenity

And that's where some

of my friends have gone.”

Those opening lines alone could make you cry, especially if you had lost someone. And in those years, everyone was losing someone.

Home became an anthem of remembrance. it was about the people who made us feel at home. The family, the friends, the ones who saw us and held us when the world didn’t. And when they were gone, we held onto songs like this because they reminded us that love never really disappears.

Now, as an adult, I cry when I listen to Home. Sometimes it’s because I miss the house we lived in back then. Sometimes it’s because I miss the people who made it feel like home—my mother, my brother, the family and friends I lost along the way.

I often wonder if my mother and “Gary” ever heard Home the way I do now as an adult. I hope they both got to hear the song in any moment when they needed it most.

My current home is sometimes lonely. It is because my son is not here and won’t be here with me anytime soon. But Home, for me, has never just been a place. It’s the people, the memories, the love that never fades—even in long absences. That’s why the song Home still matters. That’s why Stephanie Mills’ voice still reaches somewhere deep inside.

And that’s why, if “Gary” were here, I know exactly what he’d say.

Pride started with a protest. Pride Month is a declaration of the fight for freedom for all LGBTQ+ people. It is a way to honor our history, resilience, and collective resistance. For those of us who have the privilege, one act of resistance can be coming out publicly as a member of the LGBTQ+ community. And Amber Ruffin did just that during the last day of Pride Month.

On June 30, 2024, multi-talented comedian, writer, and television host Amber Ruffin posted a picture of herself rockin’ a purple shirt that read “QUEER.” The caption of the photo read:

“In what will come as a shock to exactly zero people, I’m using the last day of PRIDE to come out! Be proud of who you are, babies! I know I am! And I can’t wait to be discriminated against for a new reason!!”

Amber gained widespread recognition as a writer for “Late Night with Seth Meyers,” where she became the first Black woman to write for a late-night network talk show. Her segments, such as “Amber Says What?” and “Jokes Seth Can’t Tell,” showcased her sharp comedic skills and her ability to tackle serious issues with a light-hearted approach.

In 2020, Amber continued to break new ground when her critically acclaimed and Emmy-nominated “The Amber Ruffin Show” was launched on the streaming channel Peacock. The show combined sketch comedy, monologues, and musical numbers, often addressing racism, sexism, and homophobia.

Amber has also recently garnered success in the world of theater as co-writer for the “Some Like It Hot” revival, for which she was nominated for a Tony Award, and updating the book for the Deborah Broadway Cox-starring hit, “The Wiz.”