Happy Pride: Sir Lady Java

In the Los Angeles club scene of the 1960s, Sir Lady Java—a dancer, comedian and drag queen—was a two-shows-a-night fixture. But two shows a night wasn’t all she did; Java—who passed away in 2024—was not just a performer, but also a pioneering activist—even though her work for the LGBTQ+ community and laws that restricted drag performance is not always taught as a part of LGBTQ+ history much less American history.

As a Black gender non-conforming woman, Java was at the intersection of discriminatory policing targeting both Black and brown communities and queer communities in 1960s Los Angeles and across America in cities like San Francisco and Chicago and St. Louis that welcomed diversity.

Born in 1940, Java moved from New Orleans to Los Angeles as a child with her family, and transitioned at a young age with the help, support and love of her mother. After graduating high school, Java became part of the vibrant Black performance art scene in L.A. and took on stand-up comedy and go-go dancing gigs at nightclubs across the city. But while she was taking the nightlife scene by storm and was featured in magazines like Jet, Ebony and Sepia, she was also the focus of increasing surveillance from the LAPD.

First introduced in 1958, the notorious Rule #9 of the local municipal code dictated that no bar owner could employ anyone who performed as the opposite sex to the one they were assigned at birth. For Java, the consequences of that law reached fever pitch during a run of performances in October 1967 at the Redd Foxx, a Black-owned nightclub which catered to a wide audience—the club was took the stage name of its owner, comedian and actor John Elroy Sanford.

Now, Sanford applied for a permit that would enable Java to perform, but the LAPD denied the permit, mentioning “female impersonators” which is how Java referred to herself. But her decision to live openly as a woman at that time is part of what made her trailblazing and her use of the phrase “female impersonator” encapsulated a variety of identities that today we might think of as transgender woman or cross-dresser.

After the permit was refused, Java held a protest arguing for her right to work, and the American Civil Liberties Union [ACLU] backed her efforts to try to overturn Rule #9 but California’s state supreme court wouldn’t hear the suit; due to the way Rule #9 was framed, the plaintiff had to be a bar owner rather than a performer, and the ACLU couldn’t find a bar owner willing to see the lawsuit through.

And while Java’s case was unsuccessful in court, her protest did raise awareness and visibility, and two years later, the rule was overturned via a separate lawsuit. In many ways, those challenges have continued to the present day. It was only in 2021 that the U.S. Supreme Court handed down a landmark ruling protecting LGBTQ+ employees from discrimination and yet that same year we saw a number of bills rolling back transgender rights across the United States, largely targeting transgender youth access to healthcare and participation in sports.

And today we continue to face an onslaught of anti-LGBTQ+ policies and bad-faith legislation, especially toward our trans brothers and sisters. We must remember that the rights and spaces we have today are the result of decades of struggle and resilience by people like Sir Lady Java.

There’s a couple of old sayings about history that if we don’t learn from it, we are doomed to repeat it, and another that says history doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme. While we’ve made strides in codifying LGBTQIA+ rights, many of the issues Lady Java fought against—discrimination, erasure, and marginalization—are still with us as the federal government seeks to strip transgender and gender nonconforming people of legal recognition and protection.

Our history is important, especially in a society that does not see our history and culture as worth teaching. We need to remember, and speak about, our Black queer and trans elders who fought so that we could have the rights and visibility we do today. Their stories are not “old stories”—they’re a battle plan for the future—as we face the butchering of transgender legal protections.

We must look back at the courage of people like [from left to right] Sir Lady Java, Stormé Delarverie, a biracial, lesbian drag king, and Marsha P. Johnson, a key figure in the 1969 Stonewall uprising, and advocate for unhoused and transgender youth.

We need to know where we come from so we can fight to be where we want to be, where we have a right to be.