Green County Pride was co-founded by Zach Taschoff, Jade Goodman, and Cedar Turner. They live together in a house in Catskill with their cat.
"This is Treacle," Goodman told me as we sit down in their living room.
"Treacle's pronouns are are she/her," added Taschoff.
"Yes!" Goodman exclaimed. "We like found out she was marked as spayed, and then like when the doctors looked at her, a while later, they were like, 'oh she's actually a boy.' Fancy for us to have the transgender cat!"
Greene County Pride is one of the newest - if not the newest - Pride organization in the Hudson Valley. They formed in January, and they've already launched several event series. They host a monthly queer youth club in Cairo, and another in Prattsville. They do a crafting meetup at a Catskill tea shop. A big part of their goal, Turner told me, is to create spaces for queer people to gather outside of bars. "We were feeling the lack of specifically sober queer spaces. And also spaces where you could exist without paying money."
"There is a difference between a gay space and a queer space, especially in this area," said Goodman. "There can be a space where it's like predominantly white cis gay men, and when we're in those spaces we don't feel very comfortable."
"I think a big aspect of queer spaces is the inclusivity, is the making sure that people feel welcome and feel heard, as well as seen," said Taschoff. "And I think that that's maybe lacking in these gay spaces that we're talking about. We're obviously here for our gays. We're here for our queers. We're here for everyone. But I think a big aspect of this is trying to get people to have an open mind about inclusivity."
Goodman grew up in Rockland County, and remembers how transformative it was to go to events at the Rockland County Pride Center, which was run by a Black trans woman named Alex Alessandra. Alessandra, Goodman told me, "was the first adult trans woman that I ever met. And that completely flipped a switch for me when I realized, 'Oh, we do get older. Oh, I can age.' We tend to not live that long, whether it be by the hands of ourselves or others. And I think it wasn't just seeing her be an adult, but be a happy one. She is someone who is just like exuding joy. Like, just like pouring out of her. Like, constant spotlight."
Goodman first felt the power of that spotlight in her own life when she was 14. At the time, she was just beginning to realize she was trans. She was still using he/him pronouns, but had started painting her nails. She spent hours and hours alone in her room, feeling depressed. One day, in hopes of getting her out of the house, her mom asked if she wanted to go to Walgreens.
"And I said yes," Goodman said. "Because that means I could get more nail polish."
When they got to the checkout counter, her mom was trying to rush through the transaction, hoping no one would notice Goodman's painted nails. Goodman wasn't having it. "I slam my hand on the like counter so the cashier person can see my nails!"
When Goodman's mom tells the story these days, she says it was like a spotlight came down on Goodman's hand. "She says at that moment she knew that, like, this train is leaving the station. She better get on or get off. You know, she realized that she's either having a transgender child or a dead child."
A few weeks ago, Goodman was packing up after one of Green County Pride's events, and two young kids walked by. "They saw the word 'Pride' on my hat, and literally screamed up to the sky, 'Oh my God, pride! We're safe here.' That gave us the moment of, this is what creating a queer space is. Where a kid can say that. A kid can feel that. But it is also about having someone's parent feel comfortable and know the resources to go to when their kid comes out as queer."
Sometimes, when Green County Pride posts about their events online, they get hateful comments. "Which feels incredible for me," Taschoff said. "I don't know that it should, but it feels incredible for me. It feels like we know that we're doing something right if the wrong people, or if the right people, are pissed off."
Goodman was quiet for a moment. "I am not going to say that they're the wrong kind of people," she said finally.
"I am," Taschoff reiterated, laughing.
"I think they're the exact right people," Goodman continued. "When we talk about inclusivity, we need to be inclusive of the kinds of people that would leave hate comments. Because when I talk about serving our community, that's our community. They live right there, you know. They're our neighbors, and sharing that community is serving them."
This, they all agreed, is not an easy time to be a queer person in the world. In June, during Pride Month, two Catskill businesses with Pride flags displayed outside had eggs thrown at them. And lately, the Supreme Court has been ruling in favor of state governments seeking to restrict trans people's ability to express their gender identities.
Cedar says it makes them anxious about the future. "We've had conversations about what happens if we can't get the healthcare that we need anymore. Specifically, like gender affirming care, and specifically hormones. Like, I have to think about what if we have to leave like Greene County. But I also think it it makes it feel even more important to be like creating these spaces where we're primarily centering joy and community.
As Zach put it, this moment where queer people are being treated like "terrorists" is also a moment for queer people to be even more visible. "The three of us are sitting on our couch with our cat Treacle, and this stuffed raccoon named Chug Jug," he began.
"Yeah, we're knitting and watching Doctor Who!" Goodman added.
"It's so embarrassing to to think that way about people who are wonderful," Taschoff said. "We're wonderful people."
