office initiatives: Black Disabled Lives Matter

Jermaine Greaves founded Black Disabled Lives Matter in 2020 to bring to light, celebrate, and, include the black disabled people who were as enraged, passionate, and creative in their methods of dissent, and more at risk of policing, with more than half of black disabled Americans experiencing an arrest before the age of 28. Greaves, has spent his life as a representative for black disabled people. His background boasts impressive work in event planning, modeling, and dancing, including a role in Lincoln Center’s 2021 “You Are Here” performance. Greaves has gone above and beyond what was expected, or made accessible to him to make way for disabled people in exclusionary spaces.

But after years of serving his community and well…serving in the NYC party scene, Greaves has turned inward to build spaces of rest and rehabilitation. For the past few months, he’s been in and out of the hospital with a fractured arm and skin condition, as well as a positive COVID test. Greaves has taken the not-so-subtle cues of his body to start putting himself and his health first.

After becoming re-infected at Rutland Nursing home, office checked in with him at New York Presbetyrian in Park Slope. Greaves has since returned home to his apartment in Clinton Hill, where he is facing eviction and currently raising funds to secure housing. In conversation with office, Greaves reminds us of the importance of caring for yourself in order to care for your community. Greaves has gained a new sense of purpose and personhood, following his inner voice to lead others.

Read our conversation below, and support Greaves and his work Black Disabled Lives Matter using the links beneath.

Hi! How are you feeling today?

I am okay today. I am happy to be here. Yesterday I was in pain and I could barely sleep, because I was in the hospital. I've been in the hospital since the 10th of February for an arm fracture and a condition called hidradenitis suppurativa. I also have other disabilities known as cerebral palsy, and anemia. So those are the three disabilities I have currently, and arm surgery. About a week and a half ago, I was at a rehab, called Rocklin Nursing Home where I got reinfected. So I guess, I went on an adventure, it’s called Hospital Gate. I think, for me, one of the things I'm realizing about black people, black men in specific, is we're in a constant state of survival. There is no sense of rest, but what I have learned about my life is that people expect a lot out of me. But a lot of people don't understand how much some of those things take. It takes a lot for me to physically get up and do something. And I think people forget that. Disabled people need rest.

How have you been prioritizing your rest?

Well, I have to. I’ve been sick for like five months with the arm condition, and I had to stop all the work I was doing before. It’s not the same, I’ve certainly tried to be at that same level. But it’s not the same when things change in you’re body. There's nothing you can do about it. I think for me, I've had to accept the changes in my body; where my life is right now, and who I am right now. I think it was hard because I was somebody who was on the go, who was hustling, who was doing a lot. I moved out of out my mother's house when I was 20, and since then I had no need to ask anyone for anything. It's very different. But I think the joy of this experience has been to finally be able to relax, not be obligated to anyone. Sometimes we, as young people, we’re so stuck in our obligations and what we have to do because we're in our 20s and feel like it's passing us by. But it’s okay to say “you know what, no, I'm not going to do this today.” It's okay to take that rest. It's okay to take that vacation.

How does it feel, then, to ask for help?

I would say I'm still adjusting. Because it's new, all of this stuff is new. The sickness the feeling kind of like, what do I do? Now that I was sick? I think I think what I have learned is that it is okay. To not be okay. And it's also okay to like say, You know what, I'm gonna, I'm good there. Now, I'm not doing great. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm lost. I'm confused. I don't know who I am right now. And I think this rebirth is about me. You know, I spent my whole career doing for others working for businesses working for brands, hustling for other businesses, where I sell to do things for other people. But I really didn't know that well. But I mean, for money. So I did what I had to do to get the money, but like, I don't have really solid relationships. I didn't cultivate my relationships, strong enough that they could last. We needed each other for a period of time. And that was it. I was looking at– “oh, maybe I'll need some help down the road.” I wasn’t thinking about needing help or assistance, me and all these services. I think going from being able to do so much to having such a limited capacity and going through rehab and running through all of this rehabilitation of my body. It has been such an adjustment to see myself starting over.

So what would you tell your old self, now that you’re starting over?

It’s like, Germaine, you can’t help everybody. You can’t be everything for everybody. You know, when you're in the activism space, you give so much of yourself. And it can be exhausting. I love it, but I realized Black Disabled Lives Matter was a labor of other people needing things. I think what's the most important thing for me, now, is to show people that you can still help others but carve out time for yourself. You can still be good to others, but don’t overextend yourself. You don't always have to turn on the brand person. You don't have to turn out your credentials. Who gives a shit? You're sick and going through. Who gives a shit about credentials when people are saying they care about you as a person.

I'm in a different place mentally in terms of knowing that recovery is gonna take a while. It may not happen right away, but it will happen and it's okay. Everything I'm going through is literally a part of my story. And I think I'm growing, I'm learning, I'm making mistakes, understanding myself more. I'm learning my own way of doing things, so that I can also get the things that I need. I think I’ve fought against that, because that’s what everyone expects from someone like me, who's disabled, but I’m realizing it's okay to have a moment where you don't know what you're doing. And you know, we're in a pandemic, it's been three years now. A lot of us don't know what we're doing. We're trying to do something, but we're still lost.

You don't always have to turn on the brand person. You don't have to turn out your credentials. Who gives a shit? You're sick and going through it. Who gives a shit about credentials when people are saying they care about you as a person?

What has the pandemic been like for you?

Girl, at the beginning of the pandemic. I was getting money. I was getting that stimulus money. I was pending that money to go back to school to study theater. But, my pandemic experience was emotional. At the beginning, my sister passed away. I had to see her funeral and that was shitty, and my mother had COVID and then long COVID and that was also shitty. I eventually got sick now so I have been going through it. And then in the pandemic, I was also worrying about paying rent, surviving, I was just living life. And now, I miss my life. I miss my whole life. I know this is my life now too, but it’s different. It’s not the same. I think for me, what is so hard is realizing that so much has changed so quickly. And I don't know what else will change in the next five months. I don't know how my relationships will change, who will stick around who wants to stick around, and how that will look as my disability changes.

And after the summer of 2020, how did you found Black Disabled Lives Matter?

I think for me, I was upset with the Black Lives Matter movement because I thought what exact year did you start it? I started it in September 2020. I was upset that there were a lot of black people dying. But they weren't talking about their disability like Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Elijah McClain, these people had disability and they weren't talking about it. They were just talking about they were black. I felt compelled to start it. Because I didn't see myself reflected. I know I went to one activist march, and nothing was accessible. I was surviving in a march. And I'm here screaming for George Floyd. It felt like, who's screaming for me?

And it was just like, I gotta start this because I have to share with the general population to highlight the experience. Because a lot of people don't know. They don't know that most people that are being killed by the cops are disabled, 50% or more of people being killed by cops are disabled. It's an even higher percentage for those who are black and disabled. We don't know that statistic, because nobody's talking about it. We don't know that that maybe 25% of disabled people are getting jobs. The rest are either on unemployment or on something which is not income. Most people don't know that disabled people are not making enough money to survive and sustain.

In that work, what do you get angry about, and what do you find peace with?

I think I'm so angry, but I think the thing I found peace with is knowing that my work is going somewhere like our future. I see my work going in places that they've never gone before. And what I want my work to what I want my blackness ablisim work to really do is show people that people like me exist. And I want to be a part of changing history.

Tell me about your work as a dancer.

I guess for me, I enjoy dancing because I don't see anyone like me doing it. When I was dancing on Tik Tok, dancing on Instagram, it was like who is like giving it in their wheelchair so confidently? You know, I was always a creative kid. I went to college for musical theater.

Do you sing, too?

I–I tried singing. It wasn’t my calling. Okay, no, I can sing, but It’s more Rihanna, I give that vocally, but I don’t give, like Beyonce. As a kid, I did voice lessons. My high school had a glee club so I went but there were all these people who perform and could sing, so I was intimidated. What intimidates you and what makes you feel automatically confident? I’m not intimidated, no more. There you go. I think throwing parties in like 2010 in a random basement in Brooklyn in my wheelchair–that gave me confidence. Like having a real New York moment. I was one of those girls at the time, who was throwing parties in the clubs in Brooklyn an clubbing a lot. I was 19 or 20 getting drunk with a fake ID and a wheelchair, that was my life. I live my life. I’ve done mosh pits in the chair, I’ve made out with someone at a festival in the wheelchair.

What role does humor play in your life?

It’s everything? Sometimes I joke on myself, sometimes I joke on my disability. I think humor plays a role in my life because it makes my life more exciting. A hospital can be a depressing place, and I have chosen to find joy in the bleakest scenarios. I’ve been watching the Olympics, listening to music, twerking, or fake twerking. Just trying to live my life. In a hospital, it can seem like there isn’t an end in sight. But, for me, the beginning is there. Life is beginning and I have a new life. I’m wearing a hospital gown. I get to be naked, like a baby.

So what’s next for your new life?

Sleep. I just sleep. It’s like being a baby again. I sleep all day, I wake up, eat, sleep again. For me, this has been a wake-up call, like a sign that if you don’t get your act together, you’re going to keep going back. And clearly, I need to get my act together or I’m always gonna come back and nothing will ever change. I don’t want to make it seem like it’s a bad experience. I think I have to accept that this is what my life is going to be like for maybe a month or two, and eventually, I’ll get back to it. It’s not over because you went through something, it’s over because you stopped. It’s over if you give up and stop caring. But I still care. I know I got some fire.

Culture

Mowalola x Miss Sixty Launch with H. Lorenzo

I swing my legs over the ropes that guard the VIP entrance. Always over (I’m 5’10), never under. I’m late to the H. Lorenzo x Mowalola event, and the line wraps around the block. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I hate waiting in lines; it just ruins everything.

“Hey, my friend is DJing right now. My name should be down,” I say.

The youngish security guard looks me up and down. I have made an adventurous choice for this type of crowd. Neon pink hoodie, bright orange vest, my Raimundo jeans, and Jeremy Scott animal print sneakers. I let him take me in and look over his shoulder. Hmmm… I will be swathed in darkness when he lets me in. Dark night, dark clothes, dark makeup, furs, hoods, leather accessories, and sunglasses. I don’t recognize anyone, but it’s hard to tell who anyone is because I can’t see after 8 pm without my glasses. Night blindness. I can still catch a vibe though.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Mr. Guard says, interrupting my squinting.

“Who?” I ask.

“The woman in charge of the list.”

That’s a drag. I want to dance. Lately, I’m going out in the name of music.

“So…can I go in?” I ask.

“Just wait for her to get back.”

That sounds fine. I wait. The outdoor smoking area is packed. I hope the inside mirrors this, maybe with people dancing instead of blowing smoke in each other’s eyes.

“You got instagram?” The guard asks me after about ten minutes of flirting.

“Can I go in?” I said.

He laughs. He lets me in the event without a wristband.

Inside, I understand why the other guard was gone for so long. I make a mental note to not drink too much liquid; the bathroom line is almost as long as the line to get in. The party is popping, far from a flop.

I push through the crowd solo, following the speakers to the DJ booth. The immersive visuals provide me with enough light to make out Mowalola in a gold bikini and her low rise denim. My pulse races like the horse printed on the front of her coochie. That’s the point of the collection, obviously.

I spend a good thirty minutes grinding my hips before swaying to the open bar. I smile to myself, noting that it’s a mezcal forward menu. I see a drink that disgusts me, so I order it without hesitation. It’s a mezcal coffee concoction. My heart ’s ran through already, why not go all in? I hear Shigecki’s set start so I head back to dance. I’m jumping around, sweating, and I yelp when I pause for a beat. Strippers have materialized and are working poles opposite and behind the DJ booth. Good. Events should be sexy.

I end the night smoking my friend’s Korean strawberry cigarettes taking in the air of cool- when a man comes up to me wild-eyed exclaiming that we look just like one another. I look at him- no, not at all. I turn slowly, remembering what I should be doing: listening to DJ G2G’s set. Back inside, she is playing reggaeton type beats with lasers beaming out of her headphones (I want these). A rave in it of herself.

Too bad all the events end at 2 am in LA.

Culture

Vans Pipe Masters 2024

On the first night, Steve Van Doren and the Vans team hosted the heat draw for the competitors at a casual backyard barbecue. The son of Vans’ co-founder Paul Van Doren, Steve has worked in the family business for decades, and is now known as the Ambassador of Fun. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a cowboy hat made out of old shoes, he was definitely dressed for the part. The surfers, along with family and friends gathered in a relaxed setting as 40 men’s and 20 women’s names were drawn from a shoebox. The competition would run in 3 rounds, the top 4 men and 4 women with the highest scores moving onto the finals. When asked about their strategies, most gave answers along the lines of “get waves.” Refreshingly simple.

After waiting a few days for favorable conditions, the first day of competition kicked off with Women’s Round 1. It was finally time to see Pipeline in action. Banzai Pipeline is known as one of the most dangerous places to surf due to the powerful waves breaking over shallow and sharp reefs. With the potential to crash into the rocky edges or have leashes caught in caves, it takes a ton of skill–-and even more courage–to surf here. No stranger to these risks, the first heat included favorites Caity Simmers and “Queen of Pipeline” Moana Jones Wong, who showed off exactly why they’d been successful here in the past. Midway through the heats, Mother Nature decided to throw in another element as a light drizzle turned into a proper downpour. Rain or shine, the athletes went out unfazed, focused on getting their first points on the board.

After another short day’s break, the competition continued with the women’s second round and the men’s first. The beach was filled with spectators, locals and tourists alike, as the competition was free for all to attend. While fans rooted equally for the women and men, the most popular were the local Hawaiian athletes, which made up about half the competition. The women started off the day again, hyping up the crowd with incredible rides. One ride by Bettylou Sakura Johnson earned the first Bag of Cash of the day– a cash prize (of undisclosed amount) awarded in a brown paper bag to any surfer that pulls off a wow moment, excites the crowd, and pulls off something spectacular regardless of what the conditions might look like.

Winds picked up as the men’s competition began and two strategies quickly emerged: an aggressive approach, targeting any decent waves to build small scores; and a patient approach, waiting for the perfect wave to chase a high single score. Even the waves that were unrideable were a spectacle in itself. The sheer size, illustrated by the length of surfboards riding up and over, and the following crash of white water spray was hypnotizing. Then imagining having to experience it out on the water, duck diving under or being lifted over, brought a renewed respect for the surfers.

After watching these early rounds, it was time for office to head back to the cold. With the competition officially spanning from December 8-20, it seemed the forecast was gearing up for some massive waves— and it didn’t disappoint. Following from afar through Vans’ Instagram and live updates, we saw the full extent of what it means to surf at Pipeline. After a series of electrifying and daring surfs, the 2024 winners were crowned: Erin Brooks and Nathan Florence.

The thrill of watching top athletes compete at the highest level of their sport, even remotely, never fails to inspire. Few sports surrender so completely to the forces of nature as surfing does. And at its core, surfing is all about having a deep respect for the ocean—its unpredictable whims, its immense power, and its ever-changing moods.

Culture

The Cost of Queendom

December 17, 2024

One summer afternoon in New York, a few days after their New York premiere of the acclaimed documentary Queendom, office met up with documentary filmmaker Agniia Galdanova and producer Igor Myakotin at a tattoo parlor on the west side of Manhattan. While Agniia received a tattoo of the portmanteau “DOCU CUNT” across her fists, she — unfazed by the needle on her knuckles — answered our questions alongside Igor about the making of the stirring story that has traveled around the world.

One of the opening scenes of Queendom depicts a ritual many of us are all too familiar with in the 21st century. Jenna Marvin, the documentary film’s central subject, takes her friend along with her to take photos for Instagram. When she finds a suitable backdrop, she poses, poses, poses, and then reviews the photos. Dissatisfied, she gives her notes, and then returns to pose, pose, pose again.

By Brook Aster
Photos by Liv Solomon

The ritual may be familiar, but nothing else about the scene — from its setting to its stakes — is ordinary. The backdrop behind Jenna is a sweeping expanse of ice and snow in a small Russian port town called Magadan. Jenna is dressed in drag, but not drag of the Rupaul’s Drag Race variety; her drag has been referred to as “creature drag.” Her signature white face paint, platform heels and surrealist costumes, with their exaggerated sculptural proportions and use of duct tape and repurposed items, catches the ire of her neighbors and the love of online admirers alike. Jenna eventually accrued a following on social media for her public and technically illegal drag performances, which often involved little more than her walking or being in public spaces but nevertheless were often met with abuse and threats of imprisonment.

But when Agniia first encountered Jenna, she hadn’t yet reached the level of virality that would eventually come in the years to follow. The filmmaker was researching different drag performers in Russia for her sophomore project, which she thought would be a docuseries, when she heard from a friend about a young drag queen from Magadan. “I was like, this is impossible. I have to meet this person,” Agniia remembers. “And I could not actually go meet her because I was in Moscow and she was in Saint Petersburg, so I sent a friend of mine with whom I’d been studying with in film school, and she went and filmed the sample.” The simple video, showing Jenna and her friend getting dressed up for a party, struck something in Agniia. The drag was an earlier, more prototypical version of the style Jenna is now known for; less duct tape and ornamentation, but still that signature striking makeup. “Something sparked. I knew I just had to stick to this feeling,” Agniia says. She decided to turn the docuseries into a documentary solely focused on Jenna.

Around that time, the entire world came to a grinding halt: the onset of COVID-19 pandemic had just led to lockdowns around the globe. With only a couple thousand followers on social media at that point in time, Jenna had tried to branch out and connect with other drag artists in Moscow and Saint Petersburg, but faced rejection; her drag was extremely unconventional, and not even other drag artists quite understood it. “I think we found each other at the right moment, because nobody knew what to do, how to cope with all this,” Agniia says. “Jenna was saying that she was lost, and she also didn't know how to develop her art next.”

Unlike some of the other artists Agniia had initially researched, Jenna didn’t need much convincing to allow the camera into her life. “[Especially] after COVID came, there wasn't really [any] drag in my life,” Jenna recounts when I speak to her later over Zoom. “I realized that what drag is for me is not just a costume, a dress, something that you leave, that you take off and then in the dead of the night you put back on. Later, I understood that this is who I am, that I am art and I am drag, and that this is way bigger and more important than just clothing or costume.”

[LEFT TO RIGHT: Agniia Galdanova, Jenna Marvin, Igor Myakotin]

When it came time to move into production stages, Agniia sent a clip to Igor, who had been referred to her by a past colleague. When Igor saw the footage, he was similarly struck by Jenna — and even more struck to find out she shared his small hometown of Magadan. “It was just so fateful to know that I also come from this town, and I've never seen it through this cinematic lens, through the vision that Agniia has,” he says. “I was mesmerized by the footage, mesmerized by Jenna. I thought to myself, I have to do everything I can [for us] to work together, whatever the collaboration is gonna be.”

The two followed Jenna for over three years; Agniia first relocated to St. Petersburg, where Jenna had taken up residence after leaving her grandparents’ home in Magadan, and later Jenna moved in with Agniia in her home in Moscow. All the while, Igor and his team worked remotely from the United States to meet Agniia’s production needs. Inevitably, with all their time spent together, Agniia and Jenna became close.

“There is an unspoken rule in documentary filmmaking that you have to keep this line, and you can’t overcome certain boundaries,” Agniia explains. “In my first film, it was not an easy subject [to do this with] as well. I was following a family for seven months, and [we became] close, but I always was trying to keep my distance, and was constantly thinking about it. How much should I say? How much should I give?” But as she got to know Jenna, it became clear that this time, that distance wouldn’t be possible. “With Jenna almost from the very beginning, I was like, fuck it. That’s not going to work with this one. I'm going to break this rule 100%. I never regretted it, because that's actually what built up the trust that is there.”

As Jenna's public performances continued and began to garner more public attention, her online audience multiplied. Among her virtual admirers was French fashion maven Michèle Lamy, who would eventually sign onto Queendom as an executive producer. Lamy's discovery of Jenna led to an invitation to walk in the Rick Owens show in Paris — her first time modeling, and her first time leaving Russia in her life. Of course, Agniia and her camera followed. But most of their excursions were not so glamorous; many of Jenna's performances shown in the documentary were undertaken at a real risk to her physical safety, and by extension, to the safety of Agniia. But neither of them were daunted.

I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.

After all, Jenna was used to both taking risks and documenting them well before she was the subject of a film; she and her friends long filmed the often impassioned, sometimes violent reactions of strangers and policemen to their mere existence in public spaces in drag. And after a protest performance in which she wrapped herself in the Russian flag, Jenna was kicked out of beauty school, her last attempt at a practical route before pursuing her drag as a full time venture.

The only time Agniia tried to dissuade her was on Paratrooper’s Day, a Russian military holiday often characterized by the drunk soldiers roaming the streets. The risk for violence was especially high. “On Paratroopers Day, people say you can't come out in skinny jeans or with nail polish,” Jenna describes. “[I think] you should do the opposite. You should really make a statement and come out wearing what you want to wear. I think that clothes, what we wear, is really at some point beyond our psyche, our mind, our understanding. It is as if it's a certain kind of spice that is enticing you and you follow the scent of that spice and you don't see anything else except that scent and you follow it. That's how I see it.”

“I was like, ‘girl, maybe we should not do that,’” Agniia says. “Igor was stressing out and she told us, ‘well, you don't need to follow me. I'm gonna go and do it. I don't care if you're coming or not.’” In the end, Jenna ventured out for her performance anyway, protesting the then-recent invasion of Ukraine. Agniia followed. Not shown in the film is that the two were arrested, and managed to talk the police out of their arrest.

Not too long after, she would have to leave Russia again, this time moving for Paris for good; the film follows her struggles to get a visa in time to leave the country after the onset of the war. “It's already been three years that I've been in France, and it is important for me to understand and remember who I am, and to remember that pain, those moments when we were back in Russia doing drag, fighting with the police and law enforcement,” Jenna says. “It is important that this resistance continues and that those voices are not being silenced. Yes, here there’s much more freedom, there are pride parades and queer people can get married, but this is an illusion because there are also places where you cannot get married and you cannot enjoy the same freedoms. I cling to who I am, who I was from the very beginning. I remember who I am. And this is what carries me through this life.”

“Meeting Jenna gave me hope for the future of the country, because governments come and go, people in power come and go, but the generations change at the same time,” Igor says. “So it warms my heart to see that someone like her came from somewhere like that. If I saw her back then at a similar age, it would be even more personal. I think I would’ve accepted myself as gay quicker, and I wouldn't be nervous or closed and not open to the world or myself… Working with this project also meant that we were amplifying the voices of many, many people who couldn't speak like Jenna could.”

For Agniia, the honor of telling Jenna's story is only paralleled by the honor of having her in her life. “We found each other,” Agniia says. “And what I learned from Jenna is so precious; about life, about art, about surviving. And I appreciate it a lot. This film grew so much larger than just a documentary, because I have a family now, a working family.”

Queendom is now available to stream on Apple TV.