The Serpent Bares Its Teeth: Art, Intimidation, and the Magic That Endures

The Serpent Bares Its Teeth: Art, Intimidation, and the Magic That Endures

The Pink Exhibition Closing Reception at the Arts Council of Greater Baton Rouge was everything art is supposed to be: vibrant, connective, jubilant. It was the kind of night where the colors leaned in to whisper stories in your ear, where strangers became soul-kin over sparkling rosé and the hush of shared wonder. My art was seen. My voice was heard. For a moment, everything felt possible.

That’s what art does. It holds you. It reminds you that you are not alone.

But the very next day, I was reminded that not all stages are welcoming and not all communities are truly community.

Saturday was Pride.

I arrived early and set up in the exact space I was assigned, though something already felt off. The table was too small. I reported it. I waited. And waited. Turns out I had been sent to the wrong location entirely and then left there for an hour and a half with no follow-up, no support, and no concern.

When someone finally arrived to "help," they didn’t come in kindness.

They came as a group - seven organizers descending on me all at once, not to offer solutions but to force a move I never should have had to make. It felt like bullying in the most traditional sense: strength in numbers used to silence dissent. But I didn’t silence easily. I stood my ground. I asked for fairness. I asked for basic human decency.

That’s when the threats began.

They didn’t say, We’re sorry.

They didn’t say, Let’s fix this.

They began carrying my things away while I was still speaking.

They relocated me to what can only be described as an exile spot: tucked away, out of view, disconnected from the heart of the event.

The woman who had misassigned my space, ignored my concerns, and failed to follow up was the same woman who ultimately threatened me. That’s a trifecta of failure. Rather than acknowledge her error, she tried to erase me. Her shame became aggression. Her mistake became my punishment.

And here’s the part that’s hardest to say:

I didn’t cry then. I didn’t collapse on the spot.

But I did later.

Because when the organizer reached out days later to apologize and offer a full refund, something that should have felt like vindication, I spiraled. I curled up in bed and sobbed for hours. My nervous system didn't register “closure.” It registered danger.

Last year, my ex threatened my life. He texted that he had a gun. I froze. I didn’t act. I texted friends, desperate for direction. They all told me to call the police. I did, but I felt guilty for protecting myself.

That’s the kind of trauma that rewires you. It teaches you that advocating for yourself is dangerous. That survival means silence.

So no, I don’t feel like a badass right now. I don’t feel strong or powerful.

I feel like a person who’s still unlearning fear. Who is still reprogramming years of being taught that making noise could cost her everything.

And maybe that’s what real strength looks like. Not standing tall while the mob gathers but telling the truth about how it broke you open. Telling the truth even when your voice shakes.

To the woman who tried to erase me: I see you. I understand you. But you do not get to write me out of the story.

To everyone else: kindness matters. Accountability matters. And community isn’t built on shared identity. It’s built on compassion, integrity, and care.

—

Meanwhile, beneath the streets of New Orleans…

The final episode of Tongue of the Serpent Season One premieres this week.

Something has awakened.

It stirs in the deep water veins beneath the city, older than memory, louder than thought.

Lucien stands at the threshold. Evelyn clutches the last piece of the puzzle.

The Krewe of the Morningstar gathers for what may be their final stand.

What is it that’s waking below the stones of the Quarter?

What was buried that refused to stay dead?

And who among them will still be standing when the veil thins and the serpent whispers its name?

Join us.

Watch.

Listen.

And remember: in the end, everything has teeth.