CharlotteCooper.net - Travel - Nolose-Tennessee

Nolose used to stand for National Organisation for Lesbians Of SizE, but now it's not really an acronym for anything, just a weird word, because - hallelujah! - it's broadened its mission to include a wider community of queer women, dykes, lesbians and bisexuals, and also transgendered people. Some of the old school are finding it hard to come to terms with this but me, I lived through the nightmare of lesbian identity politics in the 80s, and I'm as happy as anything that the organisation is moving forwards with the times.

A lot of stuff goes on at the annual Nolose conferences, check out the programme on the website of you want to know more. It's the only place in the world where you will find a room full of fat girls lapdancing for each other. If that's not your wet dream then what are you doing with your life? It's also a hotbed of activism, ridiculousness, high fashion, friendship, community and general amazingness. At Nolose you will always see something that makes your jaw hit the ground, it's a place where you get a teeny-tiny glimpse into an alternate universe, a better world, it's a gathering that makes you strong and happy inside, it gives you a sense of the possibilities there are for life. I'm proud to call it home.

Nolose takes place in a big, bland business hotel. Actually, I just read that the hotel is the same place where the 9/11 hijackers stayed before starting their mission. But anyway, Nolose is like a stealth event, the other guests have no idea that, only a couple of doors away, fat dykes are causing all kinds of rowdy mayhem. They have no idea of the lawlessness that lurks so closely. This year our venue was the Marriott at Newark Airport, a monolithic, brown building that has the control tower in its grounds. Cool.

Kay and I were Nolose virgins last year, this year was different because I had been asked by the board of directors to deliver the keynote address. What's a keynote? It's the main speech, it's the big one where you get to talk to the whole of the conference, where you set the tone of the meeting and, like it or not, they have to listen to you.

Being asked to keynote Nolose is one of the greatest honours of my life. To an outsider it might not seem much, certainly my family and many of my friends were underwhelmed, but to me it was something big. This is where I get a little bit blubby.

So much of my work is really obscure, but being invited to talk meant that people thousands of miles away had heard of me and liked what I do. It affirmed, in my mind, that I'm okay, I'm on the right track. I'm a politicised fat dyke, but that makes me very isolated on my home turf. I'm also a perennial outsider, so being asked felt like such a gift of acceptance, a massive pat on the back and a big shot of encouragement. I felt very excited that this organisation of American fatties was looking to expand its horizons with an international speaker - a big risk for them and one I hoped would pay off. And really, who wouldn't feel thrilled to bits at the opportunity to speak from the heart about difficult things to a room full of the people in the world who are most likely to understand you?

I was scared, nervous and excited. I knew that the speech would probably be okay, but I was worried that some people might get upset, or that some of the nuances might be lost, or that it might be too long and droning. On the morning of the speech I set my alarm extra-early so that I could have time to pace and stress. Then it was time to go down.

Devra gave me such a sweet and generous introduction, I can barely let myself think about it too much. She said that my work is so good, that my heart is big, and that I deserve to be carried aloft by everyone. Oh no, I'm blubbing again.

And then I was onstage. I gave the speech that had taken me so long to write, (you can read my notes if you like, though it's not the same as being there) that had been such a headache to manage along with all the other work I had to do before I left the UK. I felt very good. It was like a dream, really. People cheered and laughed and clapped and answered when I asked questions. They were engaged. And they cried at the sad stuff and stood up to applaud me at the end. I got the biggest cheer of my life. It was so overwhelming. Even now I can't think about it too much because I'm afraid that the pleasure of that moment will get worn out.

Afterwards people hugged and thanked me, it kept going on and on all through the rest of the conference. It's unbelievable to think that I touched people that much. We auctioned off my notes for the speech as a fundraiser and there was a bidding war and someone paid a lot of money for them. I was told that I was the highlight of the conference for many delegates, who had said as much in their feedback forms. And later I read what people thought about me, stuff they'd posted online about the speech, things my own family would not even say to me, like this:

"CHARLOTTE COOPER - as nerd_dog put it, "that was worth the price of admission". I felt so not alone. Here was a brilliant woman who fucking nailed it on the head and wasn't whining about it, no she's giving a call to action to fight back! We shouldn't be annihilated. We are valid! And the fucking diet industry and our governments are frighteningly misguided and out and out preaching for our destruction spreading misinformation and lies and pain. And it feels so fucking overwhelming I can't breath. It feels like no one outside of that room even sees what we see. It feels like I'm just a silly girl who's spending a lot of energy wasted on a not real issue. But it's all connected and now I can say, "up against the wall mutherfucker!" and more. We can begin to make our own propaganda and speak out and we've got brilliant leaders and resources like Charlotte. Not to mention she and Kay are completely lovely and I'm so happy they got involved. Just to think we've got the "tomato lady" to thank for it, and the delightful beccawrites." DM

So, this quiet voice inside me knows that it was a success. I feel proud of myself in a way that's hard to express. I said to my friend on the phone: "It's overwhelming, this applause, the feeling that I'm not a fuck-up after all, it's hard to take in."

Giving the speech was a pivotal moment for me, I felt as though someone was saying this to me: "Yes, youcan do this hard thing and you can do it well, and youhave to keep on saying the stuff that you're saying about fat, you have to be brave now and speak up, even though there are so few people like youthinking this stuff, you have to keep saying it because you know that it's true and real and that maybe it can help other people too."

When I relive the speech in my head I think about people I love being there in the audience and I wonder if they would be proud of me. I wrote a postcard to someone close and said that I got a standing ovation, but he never mentioned it when I spoke to him later on. This is where I come from, this is why it's hard to speak, but so good when it happens and when people understand. I'll go back to my real life, my workaday life, and people won't be able to see this thing - the applause, the affirmation - that's happened to me, but I'll know it's there and I know that it's a turning point.

Okay, so here are some non-speech highlights:

Marina Wolf Ahmad performed with the Phat Fly Girls East and later took us all through some hip hop moves at her dance workshop. Believe me, you have never seen anything like it. We shook, stepped, slid and shimmied like crazy and at the end, we had a dance-off.

The Hard Stuff was a workshop facilitated by Holly Hessinger where people spoke about the things with which they continue to struggle. This was a moving and powerful experience, far beyond the Fat 101 that I suspected would occur. People spoke simply and the room witnessed it. People spoke about such a breadth of subjects, with so many perspectives, it was such thought-provoking stuff.

We recruited a ton of new Chubsters, all of whom are demented, freaky, mean and weird. Highlights of our workshop included chub-body-slamming new initiates, the birth of the Chubster Strut, and all the useful tips we picked up regarding how to start a fight, how to act crazy, and how to use one's body as a weapon.

Even though I don't do dope any more, I succumbed to peer pressure because I wanted to look with-it when the hyper-cool Canadian contingent invited us for a smoke. With approximately three shallow puffs Kay and I were as stoned as could be. Comedy stoned. We went through the seven stages of stonedness in about half an hour, ranging from giggling hysterically, scouting for munchies, paranoia, staring blankly, being unable to form words, drooling, and crawling along the floor. Our moment of madness culminated in my pissing my pants. For real. Yes, we were cool alright.

I got to hang out with my incredible, uncouth and riotous American friends too, all together (apart from a few strays) under one roof. We bobbed around in the hotel pool together, flashed our tits at the guys in the control tower, played gut-barging too.

And then I got back to my room and looked out at my view over the New Jersey Turnpike, and endless stream of cars, and American landscape, just like the song. It was sublime.

PS. Fat dykes of the world, queer allies, you owe yourselves a trip to Nolose. Yes, it's expensive if you have to fly there from another country, but it's worth every penny. Next year, in 2006, the conference will take place in October, when air fares are much cheaper. I am planning on fundraising some financial assistance for international delegates. Please come, if you can.

http://www.nolose.org