Exodus Crooks

Transcript

Exodus Crooks (Voiceover): Across the one year research project, I worked closely with research partners, including Trans Media Watch, Trans Actual, and Black Trans Hub, and participants to explore the tangible and intangible support structures available to Black trans people in the UK. Extending the motif of the emergency survival pack in seminal science fiction author, Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower, my research project explored notions of tenderness and survival as it relates to Black Trans life through the lens of the pillow as a symbol of rest. My project reflects on how tenderness and survival—two seemingly disparate states of being—might be reconciled, and if their reconciliation can offer a pathway to self-actualisation for Black Trans people.

How much can I fit in, like, stretching materials such as tights, a pillow? Like, how much before that stretching material breaks down, explodes, reaches its limit. Like with a balloon, obviously, you put too much air into it, it's going to explode. Being trans is not just about reimagining the body, it's about bearing witness to the structures around us and detonating them.

Exodus Crooks: Before I started this project, I was reading Parable of the Sower, and I was reading it actually as part of a Book Club-meets-Walking session with an incredible organisation called Peaks of Colour, based in Sheffield. The book starts in the year 2024: July, and so we were reading it – end of summer 2024 as part of this walkshop. When I began this project in the August now, I'd reached that point in the story about survival. I guess the whole thing is about survival, but that bit where you can see where Lauren is specifically figuring out what they need to do, that readiness, that preparedness to go out into the world and survive. And maybe because I think summertime does feel like an... It's a quite intense time of... Like, politically, it feels quite intense. I think summertime is when you feel like perhaps the protests tend to happen more often than not. It felt like for me, I was actually in a time of quite intense survival myself. We began the project in August, going into the Autumn. We held the first workshop in April, in the spring of 2025. Interestingly, having that workshop first as the first public-facing thing was necessary because I had been doing so much research around some of the tensions of survival, the difficult stuff to do with myself being Black and Trans as well, to then be greeted with all my kinfolk, people like me.

I think I needed that. And so to have that gentle spring, that ease into coming out of the winter period, out of this harshness into softness, being around people like me was really perfect. That timeline just felt right. We held the second workshop in the summer, July: 2025. Again, it felt almost like full circle because the project started in the summer and me having to think about how do I talk to audiences that are now, particularly not my community, there's going to be people in this workshop who are not Black and Trans. And so that second workshop was really, really quite powerful. I think both workshops couldn't have existed, though, without... We worked with a therapist called... By the name of Kris Black, a Black queer therapist. Kris was present for both workshops. And I think that was really important. I don't think the workshops could have functioned the way they did without them. We can't talk about this tenderness and survival and community and emotions and all these things without having an experienced person who does that for a living that has specialists knowledge and skills in how to support people's emotions and our wellbeing.

That was something it took me a minute to get used to was knowing Kris is not just here for the participants. Kris was also going, Exodus, are you all right? How are you feeling? Like checking it. And so I didn't have to give from an empty cup, which is usually what I'm doing when I'm facilitating. But with the support of the team, generally at Studio Voltaire and Kris, both workshops felt like I was constantly being filled up again, so I was able to then facilitate. That was the July now, the summer. We had the last workshop then, and the project was then going to be closing now in the August of bringing us to almost like a full year. And that's just been a really beautiful change of seasons of watching us go from summer into that spring. And the workshops in line with those seasons. And then we closed that project in the summer of August 2025. And it's been an incredible and fantastic experience. And maybe not the end. I'd probably say it's the beginning of more research.

It's unfinished bits, too, that I still haven't figured out or got answers to, which makes me, I suppose, feel somewhat vulnerable, too, creatively. I What's the problem with this? It's going to make me want to do the project all over again. This entire research project coincided with me actually reading this book, which is Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler, a very popular book for lots of reasons. I would say this is the book that started it all in terms of inspiring what direction I was going to go in, because what you'll find is fairly early on in the story, the main character, you find that she's planning this, her escape, if you will, and thinking about survival. She lists all these things that she's going to pack and prepare before she leaves the house and goes on this adventure. She uses two pillowcases and ties them up with a string of washing line and thinks about what needs to go into those pillowcases in order for her to survive. Things like toothbrush, toothpaste, seeds, things like that. And so this is the book that I would say started it all because it got me thinking about what would go into my pillowcase or our pillowcase as a black trans community.

Exodus Crooks (Voiceover): What do we need to survive? What would be put inside of it? Whether it was physical objects or intangible things. W. E. B. Du Bois talking about that double consciousness and being not just being Black, but also looking at that, like Black and Trans experience, that two-ness and that double consciousness, which got me thinking about having two pillow cases within one another. Because actually, I think Lauren does that in the book. She puts two pillow cases in each other to strengthen it, too. Whereas we consider sitting at an intersection, probably a weakness or making me more of a target to be Black, Trans, woman, all these things. But I'm now thinking, Okay, but could those two things make me actually more of an asset or a strength?

During the research project, I spoke with three different people who were all equally incredible and helpful. I spoke with Sabah Choudrey, who was the co-founder of the Colours Youth Network, and also worked with Gendered Intelligence. I spoke with Chay Brown from Trans Actual, and Travis, who organises the Black Trans Hub down in Bristol. It was just incredible to look at these different organisations, different people that have worked in this field of supporting Black Trans people in the UK, people like Sabah, who had also worked quite specifically with young trans people of colour. The Black Trans experience isn't the same for everybody, and we know that. It was really nice to speak to different people, all from different perspectives, ages, races. Chay and I had an incredible conversation around his experience of being trans, and that varied quite differently to Travis's, and that varied differently to Sabah's. And it was incredible to speak to them because I was speaking to them and interviewing them as almost, like, the workers. These are the people that do the work in supporting. Yes, they are trans themselves, but they're also thinking about supporting other trans people, which is a difficult point of labour to be in.

It's a difficult role to have. Two of my questions were around, very simply, what do you think of when you hear the word tender? Which, "tender" being the title of the programme, Tender Living. And that word became quite crucial in my research. So I asked them about the word tender. I asked them about the word survive or survival. And they all gave me their responses of what that looks like for them, what that means. They spoke a little bit about what even visually comes to their mind when they first hear that word. Like, word association, if I just say tender, what comes to your mind? It was really, really fun conversations. And then I asked them more specifically about their work and in their experience in their groups. When I asked them about what they think a Black Trans person needs, that was a really comprehensive intense chat because it varied. But some of the answers that came out, I wasn't expecting. I guess that's the good thing about research. You don't know the answer. But I remember something said around a safe adult that the young people need an adult they can speak to.

Because a lot of young people being the most vulnerable members of society and not having rights and just being seen as a child that shouldn't have a say, then who advocates for them? Who can they talk to? They live in the houses of parents and aunts and uncles and carers who aren't their safe spaces. Whereas for us as adults, we have a slightly different experience for myself. Thankfully, I'm in a position where I live in a place where it is just me. I'm my safe adult for myself. But a lot of young people, Sabah was saying, actually what they need, we talk about what they need, they need safe adults. They need adults that are educated, that are gentle, that are tender, understanding. It sounds like an obvious thing. Of course they do, but it's something that's happening. So that was a response that stuck with me.

How much support do we need? For how much longer do we need this support? The sustainability of that support because a lot of the organisations that existed had had to close down for lack of funding or lack of support. So it was interesting to see, okay, there's all this stuff in place, but then they could only last or survive themselves for about six weeks before they had to shut down. Which again speaks to the Black Trans experience, I think. Gender and capitalism, gender and politics, how they interact with each other. This individualistic living compared to how birds and animals flock together. And so we don't really survive on our own.

In April of 2025, we facilitated a workshop specifically just for Black Trans people. It was an invite-only, very intimate call-out organised by the Studio Voltaire team. You came along to that workshop, which I'm very grateful for. I think what you added was just to that atmosphere as well as your knowledge was really special.

Azekel: Honestly, for me, that workshop was many things. It was like a seeding. So like a seeding planting new realities. It was also like pasture, just a place to lay down in the grass and to just be. And it was also, I want to say revolution. It was also a reminder that I'm not alone.

Exodus Crooks: Yes.

Azekel: Yeah.

Exodus Crooks: To follow on that point, that's a really powerful thing because I do think capitalism wants us to think we are, and this individual thing. And so, yeah, there is power in, Okay, we're not alone.

Azekel: My favourite part of the workshop was coming up with what tender meant to us. Then you gave us these pillowcases and you gave us paints. We were tasked with taking that interpretation and bringing it into the physical.

Exodus Crooks: What is your feeling or interpretation of the word tender? Not necessarily what you just think of when you first hear it or a dictionary definition, but your own personal... What does your mind and soul do when it hears that word?

Azekel: When I hear that word, initially in the workshop, I thought of softness, outstretched hands, and that tenderness between one outstretched hand to another. I don't know, that image. And the softness that awaits inside of that embrace, but it hasn't happened yet. Because it makes me think of outstretched hands, it makes me think of lineage as well. Ancestral lineage We all have a history, I guess, bloodlines. I see over the generations, one hand outstretched and reaching to another, whether it's a parent to a parent or a sibling to a sibling.

Exodus Crooks: As I'm listening to you say that, and you can correct me if this doesn't feel appropriate or correct, but I feel like that was in a way happening in the workshop too amongst us.

Azekel: 100%.

Exodus Crooks: When you talk about that lineage thing and those hands stretching out, I feel like we were doing that in the room that day amongst each other. If you had to create a survival kit for the Black Trans person, what would go in it?

Azekel: That's an incredible question. Well, I want to start by naming that even though I am trans, I understand that the trans experience is so broad, and what I would need actually might not essentially be what other people in the community would need. But if I was to answer off the top of my head: housing, therapy, the warmth of friendship, access, access to community, access to the healthcare that you need. There's this incredible term called access intimacy [Mia Mingus]. And access intimacy is essentially defined by being able to meet your access needs in a way where you don't feel violated. For example, in my personal case as a disabled person, I can't ask everyone for help. There needs to be a level of access intimacy, and it's something that you build and you grow, you build upon. A lot of friends come to care for me, for example, because there are days where there are things that I can't do by myself. I can assess intimacy between us because I'm able to not only voice my needs, but I'm able to ask for what I need, knowing that, number one, I won't be made to feel like I owe this person.

Number two, this person is aware of their privilege and the power dynamic between us with them being able-bodied and me being disabled. Number three, I won't feel scared to ask about what I need or to have to reduce it. So for me, care—when someone comes to care for me—that's a form of survival. They're helping me to survive. And that's where the tenderness lies in care for me. That outstretched hand of, how can I help you? What do you need? But it's coming from a place of abundance and fullness. And then I'm able to be vulnerable, and that's where the access intimacy is found. One of my favourite parts of it as a concept and as something that you can experience is the fact that it is like a small little plant that you take care of and you grow.

Exodus Crooks: Yeah, that's quite profound. I'm just digesting that. What did you leave the workshop with? Was there a takeaway when you actually left the venue physically? What stayed with you?

Azekel: There was definitely a hearth in my heart space. Because I'm a very feeling being, when I think about how I left the workshop, there was a warmth in my heart. I could hear and feel the crackling. I left with the feeling that I wasn't alone, and that actually all of that is an illusion, a very well-fabricated and constructed illusion, where if you are not in community in the way that you need to be, you can start to internalise that illusion and truly believe that you are just an individual and you are connected to nothing when as human beings, that just couldn't be further from the truth. Absolutely. We were a part of nature. Came from nature, we'll go back to nature. I left with a full belly because I love the meal.

Exodus Crooks: Do you remember what the meal was, what we had?

Azekel: Yeah. No, I actually...

Exodus Crooks: It's like this is the blueprint for how we're going to escape, how we're going to survive. Which is constantly in the book, without spoiling it for you, what Lauren's thinking about. She's always in that mode of like, "Yeah, but what's going to happen if we need to leave?" And everyone else is like, "No, this is fine. Where we are is okay. We'll just manage. We'll just cope." Which is what we're in right now in terms of our society and our economy. It's like we just need to get by as opposed to reimagining a whole new system where we can actually escape, disrupt, rebuild. "Transnesses asks what else is possible?" Which I guess links back to that whole thing around imagination. Imagining what are the other options? What else can I be? What else am I? When I look outside of just what I've been told to be. What society says I am.

When I was first thinking about the tangible and intangible support structures for Black Trans people, I thought that they would be quite different or separate to those who are cis. But actually, as the project went on, I realised a lot of what the tangible and intangible resources were, were the same as what cis people needed, what I consider basic human rights and access to support, love, healthcare, and things like that. There were some areas that were a lot more specific. Black Trans people, I found throughout the research, it was less about them needing things, but actually the onus was more on the society around them to understand more, to educate, to provide safe space, to be a safe space, to fund things, and so on. There was a lot of intangible aspects there, a lot of intangible findings, things like softness, tenderness, community, conversation, therapy. Then there were some more tangible things which I think everybody just needs access to, such as medicine, care—gender-affirming care—which we know right now is politicised like many other things, but something that isn't... It is spoken about, but maybe not as often as it could be, is that gender-affirming care is accessed by cis people all the time.

It's not a trans issue or a trans 'thing'. Everybody uses gender-affirming care in some way, shape, or form. Even down to how we dye our hair is down to, "I want to appear a particular way. I want to present a certain way. That's why I'm going to put piercings in my ears. I'm going to put lipstick on, dye my hair. I'm going to dress this way. I'm going to go to the gym and get mostly..." All of that is about you feeling at home in your own body. And so for a trans person to say, "Hey, I'd like the same thing", it's not this massive sensationalised idea of just controversy that the media and the government make out that it is. The tangible stuff such as money, which we all need, a home, which we all need, medicine, things like that. There was a real overlap with the tangible where it was like, Oh, everybody needs that. Tenderness to me when I first started the project, I had... It wasn't quite negative associations with it. It was a word, growing up for me, that was used in an insulting way. It was a word that you didn't want to be called.

It implied that you were weak in a negative sense. You couldn't handle something, you weren't good enough. And so that has changed in such an incredible way in just 12 months, where now I'm like, Oh, it takes a lot to be tender. It takes a lot of strength to remain tender, especially in this world. If I meet someone that I would describe as tender in this society, I want to know how they're doing that because this capitalist, patriarchal society, it's trying to make you not be tender. It's trying to get you to be disembodied and to be harsh and hardened. And so tenderness for me now feels like strength. It feels like a superpower. It feels rare. It feels like the thing we need to revolutionise and survive. Survival is, I think for me, survival, one of the best parts of the research for me when I looked at that word was recognising the difference between, and this is something Sabah and I spoke about in our interview, the difference between surviving and thriving, because surviving implies you're just getting by. I'm just coping. I'm just managing to keep my head above water, get through the day.

But we deserve a bit more than just survival. Sabah spoke to me a bit about, Okay, but what's the difference? The idea is not to get the young people that he was working with to just survive. It was actually, we want to get these young people to be in a state of thriving. I'd never really thought about it like that before, as being at different stages. You survive and then you get to thrive. For me, survival is something I'm still battling with. I think it's not a word I'm still even fully understanding or come to terms with, even though we're at the end of the project. I'm still figuring that out myself in terms of, do I feel positive about it? Do I resent having to survive? How do I do it? Who do I become when I'm doing it? Certain characteristics come out of me when I'm in survival mode. And is that really me? Is it a version of me? So, yeah, I think both words definitely have this really surprising relationship.