Air purifier lending libraries, mask blocs, and mutual aid initiatives are just a few of the ways activists are making spaces where LGBTQ+ people gather more COVID-safe.
This article was produced in partnership with THEM.
After becoming disabled by a COVID-19 infection they caught on tour in 2022, Themme Fatale went from being a high-flying trapeze artist to being homebound. Before developing Long COVID, much of the popular circus performer’s career had involved risk — setting themself on fire, flipping through the air, lying on beds of nails — but the danger of these stunts began to shrink in their mind compared to the risk of the airborne virus.
From home in Melbourne, Australia, Fatale began to closely follow Long COVID research, connecting the concerning findings about the disease, which affects every organ system, to their numerous symptoms. What they didn’t understand was why their local queer community — and society at large — continued to put themselves at risk of COVID-19, especially because Long COVID is more prevalent in queer and trans people.
It led Fatale to take action. In February 2024, Fatale launched Clean Air Naarm, one of over 30 volunteer-led initiatives around the world modeled after Chicago’s Clean Air Club. These organizations lend out high-quality air purifiers to help mitigate the spread of COVID-19 by reducing virus in the air at indoor venues.
“I started [Clean Air Narm] because I don’t want to see all my friends disabled in the same way that I have been,” they say. “If you lead with a solution, people are sometimes more open to hearing about what the problem is in the first place.”
Guided by a strong commitment to community care, a diverse group of queer performers, drag kings, and other event organizers are filling the gaps of global government failure during the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. Through clean air organizations, mask requirements at shows, and other COVID-19 mitigation efforts, they are making public spaces more accessible and safer for everyone, all while selling out shows.
Here’s how many clean air clubs work: Organizers fundraise in their communities for a fleet of air purifiers and/or far-UVC devices, lamps that emit a type of ultraviolet light that can reduce indoor airborne microbes by 98%. Because these technologies are expensive — lights and purifiers can each cost thousands of dollars —, clean air organizers offer them to event organizers in their community through a “lending library.”
Volunteers of the clean air initiatives then distribute the purifiers to event organizers who install them at venues, often coupled with other COVID-19 mitigation tools like masks and rapid tests. Mutual-aid groups called mask blocs, which distribute respirators and other items to their communities for free, sometimes help with events, too.
While these precautions make events safer, they don’t fully eliminate the risk of spreading or catching COVID-19 at an event. Clean air initiatives are often careful to advertise events as “COVID-safer,” not “COVID-safe.” Some advocates have also criticized these clean air clubs for prioritizing entertainment events, arguing that resources like air purifiers and high-quality masks should be used for the most vulnerable communities that can’t afford masks, including hospitals, prisons, or public schools.
Still, with COVID-19 at very high levels multiple times a year and many people still going out to concerts and shows, these multiple layers of precaution do reduce spread of the disease in important venues. The fight for cleaner air in public places is broad: Public health experts, and others have also proposed clean air mandates in public buildings, including Harvard University’s Healthy Buildings Program, Long COVID Kids, and Congressman Don Beyer’s Airborne Act 2024.
After founding Clean Air Club in 2023, Chicago resident Emily Dupree was met with an overwhelming demand for her club’s HEPA air purifiers. The success led her to write a guide to creating a clean air organization. More than 30 autonomous initiatives around the world have been implemented and improved on the guide — and they’re popping up quickly.
“What we all have in common is a deep commitment to free access to life-saving technology in the midst of an ongoing pandemic,” says Dupree.
While Clean Air Club purifiers are for any organizers who request them, Dupree has noticed the resource has been more popular with members of the queer community.
“It is not surprising to me that so many of us creating these clean air clubs and putting in so much work for our community are queer,” Dupree says. “This idea of care as a radical and very powerful foundational value for mutual aid organizations is closely aligned with queer politics.”
The queer community is no stranger to mutual aid. During the peak of the AIDS crisis in the ’80s and ’90s, lesbians and other queer people started food banks, devoted their time to caretaking, donated as “blood sisters”, treated people with the disease, and provided other life-saving volunteer services while mainstream society stigmatized and abandoned people with AIDS.
Today, clean air organizations, mask blocs, and other COVID-19 mutual aid groups exist as a temporary solution for the widespread institutional failures of local, city, state, and federal governments that have an obligation to safeguard public health from COVID-19 and have instead completely failed to live up to that obligation, as Dupree says. “[These initiatives] give us a glimpse of what life could be like if only these principles were adopted at a larger scale.”
Dupree would like to see institutions that have the power to make large-scale, permanent changes in the interest of public health — including schools, public transportation departments, and prisons — improve their indoor air quality through the use of air purification and far-UVC technology. She’d also like to see mask requirements reimplemented in high-risk environments like hospitals, where many people have died after being exposed to COVID-19 while seeking life-saving care.
It’s pretty straightforward, Dupree says. “What we need from the government is what they did at the turn of the century to eradicate cholera from our public water. We need them to clean our indoor air.”
In the absence of these measures and few to no mitigation efforts today, the public is at continued risk of COVID-19 infections and Long COVID, which affects more than 23 million Americans of all age groups. More than 400 million have the disease around the globe, according to a recent review in Nature Medicine. The ever-present threat of the virus also makes it unsafe for disabled and other high-risk people to participate in everyday life, seek safe medical care, and do essential errands.
While many mutual aid groups are run by queer people, numerous LGBTQ+ organizations and advocacy groups are failing to make their spaces and events safe and accessible. Education about the risk of Long COVID in the community is sorely lacking.
But there are exceptions: In Los Angeles, two drag king-led shows, Disabled Cable and Them Fatale (not associated with Themme Fatale) have made their shows more COVID-safe thanks to the help of testing, mask requirements, and their local clean air organization, Airgasmic.
Founded in 2024 by popular drag king Dick Swagger, Airgasmic runs a lending library of crowd-sourced purifiers specifically for drag shows and other queer events. And while the volunteer service has been successful, it has also exposed how difficult it can be to get venues and some patrons on board with COVID-19 mitigation methods, particularly masking.
“A lot of people aren’t keeping up with the science,” Swagger says, explaining that he spends most of his free time volunteering for Airgasmic and educating his community online about COVID-19 and Long COVID. “More people tend to listen to me when I’m in drag.”
Swagger stopped performing live in 2022 after seeing the toll Long COVID has taken on the drag and queer community in Los Angeles. He knows 14 people in his local drag and queer communities with Long COVID, he says, adding that “it is like watching a slow-motion car crash” as more continue to get infected with COVID-19.
“I had to stop performing. I became increasingly frustrated,” he says,. “I was trying to protect [my local drag community] and protect myself because I can’t afford to become disabled.”
Leona Love, a drag king and queen who co-created Disabled Cable, says one of the most difficult aspects in organizing their show was finding a venue that would help enforce a mask requirement, a challenge other performers and organizers who spoke with Them and The Sick Times also faced.
As an ambulatory wheelchair user, Love says that a lack of accessible venues has kept them from performing at venues in Los Angeles in the past. The underlying ableism in the drag and queer community led them to co-found the show, which highlights disabled performers.
“The way I like to tell it honestly is that it is a project that was born out of rage and channeled into love,” they say.
But after finding a venue called Cantiq in Echo Park that fully supported their mitigation efforts, Love’s first show drew such a large crowd that they had to set a capacity limit for their sophomore performance so it would be less cramped and therefore safer. Now, the event regularly sells out.
“Getting to see the response to our show has been so affirming that our community still does care about COVID-19,” Love says. “We want to keep each other safe. Sometimes it’s about providing the right spaces and the right information to inform people how they can do that.”
“I do wish, however, that there were spaces outside of what we are building that were taking us into consideration as much as we are taking everyone in the community into consideration.”
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