A Space of Our Own: How Black Queer Tulsa Is Thriving in the Midwest
A Space of Our Own: How Black Queer Tulsa Is Thriving in the Midwest
Written by: Ferrell Dixon Jr.
Photographed by: Rebecca Rayon
Daniel McHenry didn’t set out to create a movement. He was just looking for community. "This was brought about due to lack of community and socialization for people who look like me and have the same experiences I do in this world," he tells ASLUT. What started as a personal search became something much bigger: Black Queer Tulsa, an organization that has carved out necessary space for Black queer people in a city that has historically failed to provide it.
McHenry recalls the moment of realization during the 2020 resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement. It was a wake-up call, one that made him realize Tulsa wasn’t providing for its Black queer residents. “I had no safe way of finding out how to connect with Black queer individuals in my community." So, he built what didn’t exist—a hub where Black queer people could find safety, support, and a sense of belonging.
That sense of belonging is not something McHenry takes lightly. Gatekeeping, he explains, is necessary. “We want everyone to feel a part, but we want no one to take over or gain control over what is our birthright to have and operate in.” Black Queer Tulsa is, at its core, a space built by and for Black queer people. McHenry and his team recognize the importance of cultural preservation in the face of the constant erasure Black communities have endured.
One of the most powerful elements of Black Queer Tulsa is its ballroom scene. The Midwest, not exactly known for its vibrant ballroom culture, is now home to a growing and thriving scene, thanks in part to McHenry’s work. After connecting with ballroom communities in Dallas and local legends like Chris Munk, he explains to ASLUT, “We have been throwing balls successfully since then with more growth and more events to come.”
The impact has been undeniable. He’s watched young people transform—gaining confidence, finding chosen family, and stepping into their full selves. “A lot of the kids were shy,” he notes in conversation with ASLUT, “but then it began to develop. They saw the safe space and took advantage of it and decided to become the best version of themselves they can be.”
Of course, navigating race and queerness in the Midwest isn’t without its challenges. Tulsa, like much of the region, operates under conservative norms, something McHenry has had to be strategic about. “The Midwest is the Bible Belt of this country,” McHenry says to ASLUT. “We want the support, but we don’t want to lose what we have built or compromise our mission and who we are!” That balance—between access to resources and maintaining integrity—has been one of the biggest challenges. But he’s clear on his priorities: “Sometimes you’re faced with money or integrity, and we choose integrity.”
Beyond community-building, Black Queer Tulsa is addressing urgent systemic challenges. They’ve launched mental health programs, a youth and young adult drop-in center, and mentorship opportunities. “We are developing mentorship programs and also proving Black and/or queer allied resources for them to tap into whenever they need!” he says.
Looking forward, Black Queer Tulsa has a stacked lineup of events and initiatives. Monthly OTA balls, ballroom series, Walk for Me Wednesdays, and Black queer brunches are just the start. “You can find details on our website,” McHenry says. Private events, bar takeovers, and other activations are in the works, ensuring the community has spaces where it can thrive.
His message to anyone unfamiliar with ballroom or Black Queer Tulsa? “TAP IN!” he tells us. “We pride ourselves on creating safe spaces for you to be yourself.”
And for those who feel like they don’t have a place? “You are not in this alone,” he tells ASLUT. “Come out and have an experience and let us love on you and show you what genuine family love feels and looks like.”