The Elusive Safe Space
How do you make and keep them in a violent society?
Is there such a thing as a safe space? One that isn’t just a feeling or a wish.
On March 21, I went to the launch celebration for Saretta Morgan’s debut poetry collection Alt-Nature in the verdant back patio at Nurture House in Phoenix, hosted by Palabras Bilingual Bookstore and ASU’s Center for Imagination in the Borderlands. The night also featured readings from poets LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs and Gabrielle Civil, and was catered by The Rez: An Urban Eatery.
There was extra security at the event because, days earlier, the community space was targeted by Libs of TikTok followers for promoting an upcoming drag fundraiser for Palestinian children. The organizers started to receive threatening DMs and Palabras canceled the event out of concerns for safety. Noelle Cañez, a drag performer and organizer of the event, told LOOKOUT, “America may say that this was the land of the free, but if you're anything outside of the box, then you're a target.”
How do you make a place safe when extremist accounts with huge followings can pinpoint their attention on you and your event? Safety for people gathering to raise funds for Palestine, for example, can be threatened at the speed of hateful DMs filling up organizer’s inboxes. It’s always because the work (the fundraising, the event, the message) is needed. And because the work threatens the horrific status quo that funds genocide and thinks drag shows are more damaging to children than human-made famine.
Yesterday, Wasted Ink Zine Distro who, along with Palabras, is the longest tenured group in Nurture House, posted about how to build spaces that are actually safe. Making the statement “This is a safe space” can only go so far if there aren’t definitions or clarification to strengthen it. Wasted Ink’s Safer Space Policy begins with a poem, reminding me to always turn to the poets in horrifying times.
Invitation to Brave Space
By Beth Strano
Together we will create brave space
Because there is no such thing as a “safe space"
We exist in the real world
We all carry scars and we have all caused wounds.
In this space
We seek to turn down the volume of the outside world,
We amplify voices that fight to be heard elsewhere,
We call each other to more truth and love
We have the right to start somewhere and continue to grow.
We have the responsibility to examine what we think we know.
We will not be perfect.
This space will not be perfect.
It will not always be what we wish it to be
But
It will be our brave space together,
and
We will work on it side by side
This morning, I opened Substack and there was exactly what I needed to read: Teresa Finney’s “Bakery Letter #5: Heart-Center” about what it means for her to feed the public, and the larger possibilities for a nontraditional bakery. Teresa’s writing consistently joins or complements what I’m thinking and (trying to) write about. These sticky questions about building community and liberating ourselves and others from the isolation in which capitalism thrives. In her letter, Teresa shares a quote from Bread Matters, “If the bakery business is rooted in, and supported by, the local community, it will contribute to the health, skills, confidence and economic security of a much wider group than those directly involved.” Replace “bakery” with “bookstore” or “zine shop” and you can see the network of unmeasurable and essential benefits that Nurture House provides.
We ate extremely well at Saretta’s event at Nurture House. Mario of The Rez Urban Eatery makes some of my favorite food in Phoenix, and this was the first time I had his vegan green chile tamales. There was also a kaleidoscopic vegetable tray with black tepary bean hummus, vegan and gluten free black bean and chipotle brownies, and horchata and a blueberry agua fresca to drink. Everything on my plate was delicious, and the conversations at my table flowed from writing to food to reading.
How does a space become safe—and stay that way? I asked at the beginning if there even is such a thing because the unsaid part is most important: Safe for whom, for how long? What does it mean when a person doesn’t feel safe questioning how a “safe space” is kept safe and who is defining safe?
The US is built upon some, but not all, feeling safe. Colonization and settlerism in the US is a story of safe spaces for white people being constructed at the violent expense of Indigenous, Black, and Brown people. Subjugation became a means of guaranteeing safety for a select few, and so a culture has grown around the false idea that some can be safe when others aren’t. No one is safe unless everyone is safe, is the truth.
Making spaces safer, as with many other things, is a much more slippery and ever-changing process than a linear one. This elusive nature makes it more important to not walk away in defeat, but to keep working collectively until all beings and the planet we live on are safe, together.
The Good Enough Weekly comes out every Friday, alternating an essay (like today) with Of the Week. This time last year I wrote: “When good enough doesn't feel like enough.” I also take on freelance editing and writing projects. Reach out if you’re looking for help in those departments — I’ve worked on everything from zines to textbooks. More info here.
You raise such important questions with this piece. I so admire your writing.