By Amanda Matteo (she/her), Choir Coordinator
“What stood out to me is the healing that can come from having a place to go every week where we can show up and laugh, cry, rage, and heal together through music. We get to express the language of the heart through connecting in song.” - Quill (they/them)
There is safety in community and healing in song. When the world feels unsafe, unwelcoming, or unmanageable, there is no better place to be than in a choir practice room. On our best and worst days, music is the underlying safe space.
Nineteen PLC singers had the privilege of rehearsing and then performing with the choir at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility in a joint summer concert, performed for other AICs (adults in custody). We also had the unique opportunity to sit together and discuss what it means to us to be in a choir.
We shared the joy we feel when the harmony hits just right. We shared the rage and pain of lives and worlds that feel unfair and the peace that overcomes when the song begins. We shared laughter and tears, and the sense of belonging and understanding that only music can express—individuals from countless different walks of life, connected immediately through the music that we sang.
Most importantly, we shared truths from our lives and held space. We laughed and cried; complimented each other’s glasses; practiced call-and-response; and pranced to PinkPony Club. We supported nervous soloists and built risers and set up (and broke down, and set up again) tables and chairs, and did so with smiles and a shared sense of gratitude.
To sing with these spectacular humans, to get a glimpse into their lives, to celebrate joy and humanity and community with them—it’s a privilege and honor.
“I was glad to know that by singing with the [choir] we were supporting and encouraging personal creative expression, and reinforcing the resilience of incarcerated people. I loved seeing how music enriches their lives.” - Rhiver (they/them)
It was a reminder of the importance of spaces like the Portland Lesbian Choir and the Coffee Creek choir room—spaces that open themselves up for those most in need of a safe place to land, on Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons and all the small moments in between.
“ I want people on the outside to know I'm proud to go sing with a choir on the inside and we had a great time. I want people to remember the humanity in each other. We need that so much right now.” - Laura (she/her)
To sing in a choir is to join together as part of something greater than yourself. It doesn’t matter where that choir room is located or the circumstances that brought you there. Come as you are, we see you. Be here, share your gift with us, and find whatever it is you are seeking.
It’s a space to share in community and beautiful song; to lift one another up; to cry, laugh, rage, and love. To sing together as a queer choir—or, a choir of folks who are marginalized and othered and deeply dependent on community to survive—is the most powerful force in the world.
It can feel impossible to quantify powerlessness, sadness, and rage. Yet despite (or, perhaps, in spite of) these seemingly insurmountable barriers, music continues to be what heals us all most.
“I see the women in the lunchroom through the two-way mirror and think of swallows flying up and over the barbed wire into the darkening orange sky. There’s no way to cage music. We aren’t allowed to take pictures or write letters, so I remember faces, sing the songs. I set off the metal detector. ‘What do you have in there?’, the guard asks. ‘Love,’ I think to myself. ” - Damian (any/all)
