GLR November-December 2025

story, I knew almost nothing about Two-Spirit identities while growing up. The term itself was first articulated only seven years before I was born, and I encountered it much later, during a program for American Indian social workers. As a gay Chick asaw citizen, I felt an immediate sense of affirmation. A defining “coming in” moment for me came in 2024 at the 37th International Two-Spirit Gathering, when I was invited to help coordinate the community resource fair with the All Na tions Two-Spirit Society. By then, I was a graduate student in New England, far from home. The chance to return to Okla

hooks’ essay “Theory as a Liberatory Practice.” In it, hooks writes: “Living in childhood without a sense of home, I found a place of sanctuary in ‘theorizing,’ in making sense out of what was happening.” I knew that sense of being a stranger without a sense of home. As a youth, I found refuge in Canyon Camp, a place where I could step outside the smallness of my home town and feel a little less like an outsider, finding connection among peers from other small towns. Though it was not neces sarily an LGBT-affirming space, it was “queer” in the ways it al lowed us to express emotions and engage in truth-telling outside the towns where we were raised. As a self-described “emo” kid—com felt fragile. Returning there later in life, I carried with me the memory of that younger self who had once sought safety and belonging in the canyon’s embrace. Now I was meeting the space with new layers of life perspectives and tools that I’d acquired after many years of travel, a doctoral program, and extensive therapy. At Canyon Camp, I ran the full emotional marathon: I wept, I belly-laughed, I remembered. I sat in my first sweat lodge, led by the legendary Beverly Little Thunder, Lakota Two-Spirit elder and author of the memoir One Bead at a Time . I healed. And, most importantly, I came in . What struck me most at the gathering was connecting with other Chickasaw Two-Spirits who were further along in their own coming-in journeys—a re minder that I was not walking this path alone. One revelation hit especially close to home. I learned that in recent years Chickasaw LGBT youth in Byng, Oklahoma, had worked with our traditional language teachers to revitalize a phrase in our language, Shilombish Toklo‘ , which loosely trans lates to “two spirits.” Suddenly, the younger version of my self—the awkward counselor wearing long, plaid cargo shorts at Canyon Camp—felt tethered to this new language marker. Curious, I set out to understand what it meant. Lokosh (Joshua D. Hinson), a Chickasaw linguist, artist, and cultural historian, explained that Shilombish Toklo‘ is a contem porary term that has been used to reflect Chickasaw Two-Spirit identity: “We are in the business of translating similar items into our language, so we did.” The tribe recently launched a full-time, two-year Chickasaw language immersion program designed to create fluent speakers and support language revitalization efforts. Hinson explained that while the term itself may not have a “his torical precedent,” it resonates with younger Chickasaws who pushed for its creation, asking for cultural engagement and safer spaces—often online—to talk about LGBT issues. Based on data from a 2024 survey by the Trevor Project, 46 percent of LGBT youth in Oklahoma had seriously considered suicide in the pre vious year. For transgender and nonbinary youth, this number was 52 percent. Faithlyn (Taloa) Seawright, a second-language learner, artist, and culture bearer, put it plainly: “Chickasaw people as a whole are still learning and embracing the term Two-Spirit.” She added that it’s been a bridge to connect with other tribes, plete with Hot Topic bracelets, floppy Justin Bieber hair, and Silly Bandz—I ex perienced the canyon as both oasis and sanctuary, offering emotional and spiritual grounding during a time when home life was tough, feelings ran high, and identities

homa—a place layered with both nostalgia and complexity—felt like a divine calling. The gathering took place at the same grounds where I had attended a United Methodist Church (UMC) camp every sum mer as a youth, a space where being LGBT was discouraged. Returning to that canyon as part of a historic Two-Spirit event carried

“Coming in” shi ft s the focus from public disclosure to a return to one’s place within family, community, culture, and land.

a certain irony. Some of my favorite counselors and fellow campers from that time are now openly queer, a reminder of how much society has changed and that the UMC in recent years has taken progressive strides toward LGBT affirmation. As a Chickasaw first-generation student from a town of 450 in the desolate Oklahoma panhandle, I felt estranged from my community for many reasons that other young gay boys do. Though I had a natural curiosity as vast as the Great Plains, I was taught from an early age that this curiosity was dangerous. I still remember the tears running down my cheeks as I read bell

Narcissus, 31 x 41 inches, acrylic on canvas ©2020 Bill Grainge

BILL GRAINGE More info at www.billgrainge.com

TheG & LR

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