The legacy of the trans pioneer who fought the LAPD to keep drag artists on stage

In the 1960s, a svelte, raven-haired drag performer was one of the hottest performers in the Los Angeles nightclub scene.

Sir Lady Java, an openly trans woman of color, had a popular dance and comedy routine that attracted stars like Sammy Davis Jr. and Richard Pryor. When she appeared in the 1976 cult film “The Human Tornado,” she played herself with effortless charisma.

But behind her chic dresses and wry humor was an unwavering determination that led her to become one of the country’s first trans rights activists.

Java died on November 16 at the age of 82. Nearly six decades ago, she lashed out at the LAPD when they prosecuted her for performing in drag without police permission, as was then required by law.

She filed a lawsuit with the help of the ACLU, becoming their first-ever trans client.

Those who know Java’s history hope that she gets her roses even after she passes away.

“She was extremely courageous in trying to lead this fight,” said Amanda Goad of the ACLU Southern California. “There has been a role model of trans women of color leading the way in almost every area of ​​LGBTQ progress, and it is not always understood and appreciated. »

Intended for the stage

Java’s story began in New Orleans, where she was born into a family of black, Native American, and European descent.

When she was little, she moved with her family to Riverside, said Hailie Sahar, a longtime friend of Java’s who starred in the series “Pose.”

In her late teens, Java was a waitress at a Los Angeles nightclub. Soon, she was excited to take the stage.

“She was so gorgeous, so sexy, so beautiful,” Sahar said.

Its audience was mostly heterosexuals who felt “a certain level of voyeurism in imagining this person who they know was born male, who to them looks like a woman,” said Trevor Ladner, director of educational programs at One Institute, the oldest LGBTQ+ group in the country.

But “for many trans artists like Lady Java, female impersonation gave them the opportunity to have financial stability, to have a job and also to be able to express their gender and assert themselves in their gender , in the way they perceive themselves.” » said Ladner.

Java booked clubs like the Redd Foxx on La Cienega Boulevard, which took the stage name of the owner, actor-comedian John Elroy Sanford. Java recalled his performances alongside James Brown and Etta James, Sahar said.

“The shows were lined up around the block, limousines stopping to see Java,” Sahar said. “People came from all over the city and all over the country to come see Lady Java because they had never seen anyone like her at that time.”

We chatted about her Jet And Sepia magazines. His appearances across the country, from San Francisco to Atlanta, have made headlines.

Her 1967 performances at The Bistro in Milwaukee inspired the opening of a cabaret showcasing trans talent, according to the Wisconsin LGBTQ History Project.

But with fame came control.

Rule #9

In the 1960s, the Los Angeles Police Department began enforcing a city ordinance called Rule No. 9 which stated that it was illegal for a venue to hire someone to perform “by means of a costume or ‘dressing a person of the opposite sex’. Doing so required a special permit issued by the Los Angeles Board of Police Commissioners.

The rule was introduced during the “lavender scare” of the 1950s, but the LAPD used it to target drag performers and in 1967 tried to shut down the Java show at the Redd Foxx Club, said Goad of the ACLU SoCal who leads the group. LGBTQ, Gender and Reproductive Justice Project.

“They got everyone out,” Goad said. “They took photos of Java, considering his outfit as proof of his wrongdoing.”

But Java was determined to challenge the city’s establishment. She demonstrated in front of the club following Foxx’s protests, according to a November 1967 edition of Jet Magazine.

In a interview posted in 2016 by her filmmaker friend Tom Porter, she explained why.

“I didn’t really need the money because I was working, but my sisters after me did, and I had to make sure that drag queens could work in the city of Los Angeles, and that was important. for me,” Java said.

After the ACLU took on Java’s case, it ran into what Goad called a technicality: It was the club owner who was harmed, not Java. So the ACLU sought out landlords willing to file their own lawsuits.

“But it didn’t work, probably because the club owners were concerned about maintaining good relations with the LAPD,” Goad said.

Goad says the case was dismissed, but Java didn’t give up. She led protests in Los Angeles that raised awareness of Rule #9.

After facing separate lawsuits, the rule was no longer in effect by 1969. Artists could wear whatever they wanted – a big victory that still resonates with younger generations today.

“She had no shame, which I love,” said Bailey Linares, a 17-year-old from Wilmington who studies LGBTQ+ history in a teen program at One Institute.

It boggles his mind to imagine what Java went through.

“You go out and you get arrested because — I don’t know — you’re just wearing something that doesn’t match your gender, which is crazy to imagine,” Linares said. “And now we don’t even think about it.”

But with progress comes new challenges for the LGBTQ+ community. Goad of the ACLU SoCal cites recent attempts to ban drag shows across the country.

“They’re really not that different from Rule No. 9 in terms of banning certain types of entertainment performances that are perceived to be gender reversal and in some way harmful,” he said. Goad said.

Goad says she remembers pioneers like Java who once fought this battle.

Taking stock of its impact

Java’s friend Hailie Sahar said the artist remained humble, even after being featured in a Hollywood mural and museum exhibition and chose to lead LA Pride as community grand marshal in 2022.

“I would say, ‘Java, do you realize you laid the foundation to ignite this community?’ “, remembers Sahar. “And she would take a moment, and she would say, ‘You know what? I don’t think of things that way, but I did.

Java, in an interview several years ago, expressed joy at how much stronger the LGBTQ+ community had become over the course of his life – a stark contrast to his childhood.

“There was nothing to help us,” she said. “No one cared. So I had to worry about it, and I kept going and going and going.

Java’s long life, which has seen her suffer two strokes, is itself a testament to her resilience in a world where trans people, particularly those of color, face increased threats of violence and discrimination, says Rory Hayes, Head of Public Programs at One Institute.

“It’s a powerful thing as a young trans person to see the length of your life,” Hayes, 25, said. “It’s a relief to know that she was loved and cared for until her last day.”

Sahar hopes more people will discover Java in the near future.

The actress is working to bring Java’s story to life on screen in a project she says is in pre-production.

Sahar would play Java, having been trained for the role for years by none other than the professional herself.