Loud Mouth Brown Girl

It’s that fantastic, fabulous, Drag King and Queen filled time of the fucking year friends…IT’S FUCKING PRIDE!!!!!

Holy shit, can you believe it’s actually here? Already?

For those of you who have been with me from the beginning, this is not for you, while I appreciate your viewing of this post, this is for all the people who are about to find me after I attend Pride in Surrey, this coming weekend.

Now I’m writing this ahead of time because in past years I’ve struggled to enjoy Pride.

The last three Pride events that I went to were dotted with men who abused me or someone I care about, and that has made it difficult for me to feel safe at these public outdoor events.

Now that the world is in complete chaos, I also struggle to find reasons to “celebrate” Pride.

I know that we’re honouring all those who came before us, those who threw bricks to make space for people who otherwise wouldn’t be allowed to exist today.

I know that Pride is a time for us to gather openly, proudly, and excitedly, to spend time with friends we haven’t seen in a while, but this year, something feels off. It felt that way last year, too, but this year it feels different for bigger reasons.

With everything that is happening in Congo, with everything that is happening in the DRC, Haiti, Sudan, Palestine, I mean, there is nowhere in this world right now that is safe for Black, Brown, Indigenous, disabled, LGBTQ2S+NBIA, marginalized communities.

Period.

It’s just not safe.

America was once touted as a shiny beacon upon which all the world’s morals were tested but also built. We treated – and yes I mean all of us in this world – as if the resources we have today, won’t run out tomrorow and now only now, are those of us who knew better starting to admit, that they actually fucked up. On purpose.

And only because of court cases, politicians, advocates, and alliances between dozens of people who have struggled the most, to bring the truth to light.

This is a globally defining moment in history. What we do today will define how we behave tomorrow, who we become tomorrow is entirely dependent on the choices that we make today.

Eight years ago I made a choice to pick up a joint, and to fight for my life by telling my story. In return I was called psychotic, a rat, a bitch, whore, slut, cunt, crazy, and told repeatedly that “you wanted it.” For decades, these same abusers took advantage of the most innocent among my community, turning them slowly into the same vampires that used to haunt us.

I built this platform from scratch, because I was called a “Loud Mouth Brown Bitch,” by a white cop who bruised every part of my body for his entertainment, while calling me names and telling anyone watching I was crazy.

I never got the apology, but I did learn that cops are not the saviours I was taught they would be. At least not for me, a Black, Biracial, Disabled, Queer person, struggling to find their own identity outside of the idolization of white supremacy I was raised with.

I broke the decades long conditioning by healing my own God damned self because one of my therapists turned out to be a rapist. I can’t make this shit up. Its all here on the fucking blog.

I’ve been arrested repeatedly but never charged with a crime. I believe in the idea that Palestine came first, and Israel is a violent fantasy built by thousands of people with a thirst for blood.

I am writing all this out, because I want you to understand that to many in this world, I am considered “Radical” for believing that girls – any girl can’t be “Fast” at age five. I don’t believe girls can be “Super bad”, I believe boys are not taught to protect girls, and I also believe boys are very rarely taught, to keep their hands to themselves.

Too many boys are raised with nothing but privilege and girls, specifically gay girls are the ones who live with the consequences.

In my case, I was threatened with death, and the death of my family. That’s what kept me silent, for more than thirty fucking years.

And when I finally decided to come forward, not only was I called crazy, I was stalked and harassed by my abusers while cops continued to say I was crazy, and my abusers mostly got away with what they did to me. Because no one chose to believe it was happening.

This is how Black, Brown, and Indigenous women go missing. If I had died you’d be one of the many wondering why the RCMP did nothing to protect me when they had the chance.

The answer is simple: The RCMP is not trained to care about protecting victims and survivors. I know this because I’ve worked with cops. I was the former Program Director at a local church that you drive by every day if you use King George Highway.

I trained cops on how to deal with people who have drug issues. I’ve de-escalated situations that would have most certainly gotten cops hurt or worse, because I know what I am talking about when I say cops are not the solution.

We as a society have to understand that what is happening in the USA right now can and absolutely will happen to Canadians if we are not careful. Saying it can’t is simple ignorance and Canadians are nothing if not ignorant.

We are a strong, smart, educated people, filled with knowledge that goes back as far as the founding of this country and yet we still act shocked and surprised when women, girls, and marginalized people go missing or end up dead in horrible ways.

We have the power to accept those who are different from us, without being comfortable with their downfall. And yet so many among us, choose not only to throw people through the ringer, but into the fire, just because it amuses them to do so.

Then, what’s even worse, they then turn around and blame you for being angry at them, for abusing their power. It’s a strange world to live in one, and surely not the way that I was raised.

I was raised in the Roman Catholic Church, where I was told that I was not proper as a lady, and I was going to Hell no matter what I did. So I did whatever I wanted, regardless of the consequences, because it was easier than trying to pretend I didn’t have impulse control issues.

I was a very sensative child, who needed music theraphy and received ridicule instead.

I was a gentle child that the world turned into a hardened warrior. My work isn’t just about complaining about my life, it’s about shifting the conversation from stigma to acceptance.

Each of the posts I write on this website, are designed so someone out there, regardless of the vessel their soul is carried in, feels as if someone in the world, genuinely gives a flying fuck, about those of us struggling with mental health.

Sometimes I do my job well and other times I fail miserably, but every single time I put my thoughts to the page, I am doing so in hopes that other people will come find me and say “Yeah, you know…me too.”

I just like so many of you, just want to feel less alone. Less scary in the world when you have an army of supporters. Lucky for me, I’ve had almost five thousand of you follow me across all my platforms all these years, supporting, pushing, and genuinely wanting good things for me.

None of this would have been possible if I hadn’t asked for Mutual Aid when I needed it. None of this would be possible if the LGBTQ2S+NBIA community hadn’t come forward and supported me when I was in need. None of this would be achievable if not for the people in the Disability Twitter community who gathered their pennies, shared their platforms, and guided me into the kind of ravishing creature you see before you today.

Yes I am strong, but as a Strong Black Biracial Person, I hate that word. I hate that the world forced me to be strong, instead of letting me be comfortable and soft, but because I remember what was stolen from me, I know now what to give and how to give, when I am able.

Sometimes my love language is communication, and other times it’s gifts, but at all times it’s genuine.

If you’ve read this far and joined me after meeting me at Pride, Hi, I’m Devon J Hall, The Loud Mouth Brown Girl. I probably won’t remember that I met you unless you remind me, but if you see me, please remind me. I love meeting old friends. But as per the above listed abuse, I also suffer from brain damage due to being hit in the head repeatedly. So sometimes I forget stuff, but that doesn’t mean that I want to forget stuff.

I really am glad I met you at Pride, and I can’t wait to see you at the next one, but if I don’t, know this: I wore black that day for all the friends, allies, accomplices, and loved ones, who can’t be at Pride, for whatever reason. I wore sparkles because I want them to know, that even when they can’t be there, I carry their light with me.

If I took pictures with you, you can look forward to seeing them on IG in the coming weeks, but only if I have your permission, otherwise I won’t take a photo with you.

I hope you had a wonderful pride, ignored the bullshit and danced your heart out with all the Queens, Kings, and everyone in betweens.

I love you. I’m glad you’re here, and I am glad that we found each other. You’ll know if you found me, if you were given a love letter. If you weren’t given a love letter, better luck catching me next time. I’m Supa Fas.

Sending all my love,

Devon J Hall,The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl