Get to know the rukus! Federation, curators of Black LGBTQ+ life in Britain

The Cambridge Dictionary defines the noun ‘ruckus’ as “a noisy situation or argument”. For many, the word carries negative connotations; to “make a ruckus” is to cause a disturbance. For many Black people raised in the West, often surrounded by white-majority communities and pressured to conform to white cultural norms, this is precisely what we are taught not to do.

While this is not universal, countless Black people understand the experience of self-surveillance: ensuring you don’t draw too much attention to yourself in school, where discipline is often harsher; worrying about “being loud” around neighbours for fear of them calling the police. The world teaches Black people to be small, quiet and invisible. However, Topher Campbell’s Making a rukus! exhibition offers a defiant response – a bold rejection of white cultural values that expect Black people, especially queer Black people, to diminish themselves or erase their existence.

With its striking bright pink accents, Making a rukus! at Somerset House is unapologetically loud and disruptive. It serves as both an art project and a living archive, celebrating contemporary Black LGBTQ+ culture and political history. “The name rukus! Federation has a double meaning,” Campbell tells Dazed. “It is derived from the Jamaican use of the word ‘ruckus’, meaning to make noise or create a scene – appropriate to our aim of creating a larger-than-life art project. It is also named after Ruckus, an African American porn star with a ten-inch dick.” Campbell and pioneering photographer Ajamu X launched the rukus! Federation charity in 2000 following the death of a friend who left him a collection of dolls and erotic magazines. Since then, the collective has organised events, created films and curated an archive of Black LGBTQ+ life in Britain.

The Making a rukus! exhibition features a curated selection from the archive’s extensive 2,500-item collection, spanning four themed rooms. The Founders highlights the creative partnership of Campbell and Ajamu through archive videos, photography, newspaper clippings and personal artefacts that trace the origins of rukus! The Icons celebrates Black LGBTQ+ artists and activists, showcasing ephemera such as meeting minutes, posters, memorial materials and works by figures like poet Dorothea Smart and photographer Rotimi Fani-Kayode. We Dance, We Sweat immerses visitors in Black LGBTQ+ club culture with an audio-visual installation by Evan Ifekoya, accompanied by photographs, flyers, music and memorabilia from iconic clubs like Bootylicious and Off the Hook. Finally, Film & Video screens work from the archive, including Sharing Tongues, a series of oral histories of Black LGBTQ+ life in London, Birmingham, Manchester and Liverpool, and Campbell’s The Homecoming: A Short Film about Ajamu (1995). Together, these elements celebrate the art, activism and cultural legacy of Black LGBTQ+ communities in Britain.

What struck me most while walking through the exhibition was its boldness in bringing the private lives of Black LGBTQ+ people into public view. From sex slave contracts and pornographic images of Black men to an old Attitude magazine story where Campbell and his ex-husband detailed their escapades in a Starbucks toilet, the exhibition does not shy away from intimate, often taboo topics. As Jason Okundaye writes in his Guardian review, “Such a willingness to put personal desire on display feels revelatory.” This openness is central to rukus! Campbell explains, “We’ve always been about fostering a public conversation. As artists, we wanted the exhibition to feel fresh, contemporary and interactive; an invitation into a world people may not know or might only partly recognise. From there, anything is possible.”

The exhibition first opened in October of this year, coinciding with Black History Month in the UK. However, Campbell insists this timing was purely coincidental: “To be honest with you, I didn’t even realise we were launching in Black History Month. I had just come out of installing my show at the Tate [My rukus! Heart], so I was just literally like, ‘Let’s just get this thing up.’” Black History Month in the UK often stirs complex emotions within the Black community, with many rightfully arguing that Black history should not be designated into one singular month. Rather, it should be taught and celebrated every month and incorporated into traditional school curriculums (a 2020 petition to update the national curriculum to include Black British history was rejected by parliament). This perspective aligns with one of the main aims of the rukus! Federation: promoting and cultivating Black history as an integral part of the cultural narrative.

Campbell elaborates on this ambition, explaining how the exhibition bridges cultural and academic spheres: “The final room of the exhibition is a study, which is a nod to how rukus! has ignited interest in academia. There’s a real sense that the cultural history we’ve created through projects like Sharing Tongues isn’t just Black queer history; it’s Black history. It’s British history. The archive is embedded in our culture, and that’s always been our aim: to show that it’s not something separate. People are often surprised by the material we’ve gathered, but it’s alive. It’s part of who we are.”

The exhibition, which concludes on 19 January, has not only received widespread acclaim but has also deeply resonated with audiences; a response that has profoundly moved Campbell. “It’s been a beautiful surprise,” he reflects. “Not just that it’s been well received, but that people have engaged with it so meaningfully. When you’re so deeply involved in something, you almost forget the impact it can have when shared with the public. It’s brilliant to see people inspired by it. I’m genuinely struck by how much this level of culture has been undervalued and overlooked in the UK.”

Making a rukus! Black Queer Histories through Love and Resistance runs at Somerset House from October 11, 2024 – January 19, 2025, and will operate on a ‘pay what you can’ basis.