Queer History Class 100: The Public Universal Friend

When America was barely born, this non-binary preacher was already burning down society's boxes

Hey there, identity warriors and history nerds. Ever feel like the world's obsession with gender is a modern thing? Think again. While we're out here fighting cultural battles in 2025, there was someone in powdered-wig America who already had the damn courage to say "neither male nor female" when George Washington was still kicking around.

Let's talk about the Public Universal Friend – a non-binary Quaker preacher who, in the 1700s, told society to shove its gender expectations right up its colonial ass. After surviving a deadly fever in 1776 (talk about a revolutionary year), they claimed to have died and been reborn as neither man nor woman, but as a "vessel to serve God." And holy shit, did that cause a stir in a time when women couldn't even vote.

This isn't some obscure footnote – this was an influential spiritual leader who built a whole-ass religion that championed abolition, gender equality, and free will when most of America was still cool with slavery. The Public Universal Friend didn't just talk the talk; they walked the walk, creating the first religion founded by an American person assigned female at birth.

"Dead" to Gender: The Rebirth That Shook the Colonies

Born with the name Jemima Wilkinson in Rhode Island in 1752, the Friend grew up in a strict Quaker community but got fired up by the passionate New Light Baptists in their twenties. Then came 1776 – not just the year America declared independence, but when the Friend declared their own personal independence from the gender binary.

After nearly dying from a contagious fever sweeping through their community, the Friend woke up with a wild proclamation: they had fucking died. Like, actually died. And then been reborn after God sent two angels saying, "Room, room in the many mansions of eternal glory for thee and for everyone."

From that moment on, they refused to answer to their birth name and scorned anyone who used it. In their own journals, they avoided gendered pronouns, though occasionally used "he" or "brother." This wasn't just talk – the Friend physically remixed their appearance into something defiantly androgynous: short hair on top with feminine ringlets in the back, rocking both men's vests and neckties with women's skirts.

In the 1700s. Let that sink in for a damn minute.

Preaching Revolution When America Was Still in Diapers

The Quakers – usually the cool, progressive ones – couldn't handle this gender-bending prophet and shunned the Friend faster than you can say "thee and thou." But did that stop them? Hell no. The Friend took their divine message on the road, preaching throughout the Northeast while dressed in their gender-blurring attire.

By 1784, they published their religious tenets for the Society of Universal Friends (their followers), laying out pretty standard Christian stuff: treat others as you wish to be treated, live a righteous life, and oh yeah – recognize the Friend as a prophet. But despite the fairly conventional religious teachings, people lost their shit over the Friend's gender presentation, calling it "unholy" and "immoral."

What's really fascinating is who gravitated to this message: The Society became dominated by women, who were actually invited to preach (a big fucking deal back then) and the congregation was racially integrated (an even bigger fucking deal). A group called the "Faithful Sisterhood" emerged as community leaders, and some female followers even started dressing androgynously themselves.

The Friend wasn't just challenging gender – they were building a whole community that rejected multiple forms of oppression in pre-1800s America. That's not just progressive – that's radical as hell.

From Judges to Jerusalem: Building an Inclusive Community

The Friend's message was so powerful that Judge William Potter – a man with serious social standing – abandoned his political career, freed his slaves, and built a 14-room addition to his mansion just for the Friend. That's some serious devotion.

In the 1790s, seeking peace from their critics, the Society purchased land in New York and named their settlement Jerusalem. Unfortunately, disputes over land ownership and religious practices limited the community's growth, and after the Friend's death on July 1, 1819, the movement gradually declined. By the 1860s, the Society of Universal Friends had pretty much vanished.

When the Friend died, their followers waited longer than usual to bury the body... just in case they resurrected again. That's how much these people believed. Following their wishes, the Friend was buried in an unmarked grave in Jerusalem. Their house, which still stands, is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Tools for Finding Your Own Revolutionary Spirit

If the Friend's story lights a fire under your ass, here are some ways to channel that revolutionary spirit:

• Question the "unchangeable": The Friend questioned gender in the 1700s. What "truths" are we accepting today that might be bullshit?

• Create your own community: When rejected by the mainstream, the Friend built their own damn town. Find or create spaces where you can be your authentic self.

• Mix and match identity markers: The Friend wore vests with skirts, short hair with ringlets. Embrace the contradictions in your own presentation.

• Stand firm in your truth: When people scorned the Friend's name and pronouns, they didn't budge. Your identity is not up for debate.

• Lead with compassion: Despite rejection, the Friend preached equality, abolition, and treating others with respect.

Finding Your People When Society Says "No"

The Society of Universal Friends shows us something powerful: community can form around radical acceptance. The Friend created a space where women could preach, where racial integration was practiced, and where gender presentation could be fluid.

In today's world, finding your people can be both easier and harder. We have online communities and more language for gender diversity, but we also face organized backlash. The Friend reminds us that building community around shared values – not just shared identity – creates lasting impact.

Some members of the Friend's community even changed their own presentation in solidarity. That's the kind of ride-or-die support we should all be looking for.

Conclusion: The Unfinished Revolution

Here we are, almost 250 years after the Public Universal Friend's rebirth, still fighting many of the same damn battles. Gender still confines too many people. Religious communities still exclude. Equality remains unfinished business.

But the Friend's existence proves something powerful: the struggle for self-determination isn't new. It's been woven into American history from the beginning, alongside and intertwined with our other fights for freedom.

The next time someone tells you that non-binary identity is "just a trend," remind them about the badass prophet in mixed clothing who was preaching a gospel of gender transcendence while the ink was still drying on the Declaration of Independence.

Your existence is not new. Your resistance is not new. You are part of a long, proud tradition of telling society's expectations to go fuck themselves.

The Friend's grave may be unmarked, but their legacy is written in the lives of every person who has ever dared to exist outside the boundaries society tried to enforce. That includes you.

What boxes will you break out of today?

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References

1. Moyer, P. 2018 “The Public Universal Friend: Jemima Wilkinson and Religious Enthusiasm in Revolutionary America “

2. Hyde, W. 2025 “The Five Great Philosophies of Life”