When I think about being Black and queer, the first thing that comes to mind is the incredible and intriguing presence that Black queer people have. There is a powerful air of ownership, profound confidence, the bold audacity to reclaim the word queer and revel in our Black history. I think that comes after accepting our identity is still seen as an oxymoron in today’s society.
In my life, I’ve questioned whether I am Black ‘enough’ to occupy Black spaces, appear queer ‘enough’ to belong with the rest of the LGBTQ+ community – and if I am ‘enough’ of either in Black queer spaces. For many Black people and people of colour, conversations around LGBTQ+ identities are still taboo in the family home and community – any acknowledgement of LGBTQ+ identities may be met with a disapproving side-eye, presenting the notion that we do not talk about being queerness. That we must hide it and keep it a secret.
The silence around LGBTQ+ identities within the Black community is a direct impact of slavery. After the abolition of slavery, formerly enslaved people faced an unemployment pandemic. In order to be accepted into a hostile society, Black people had to assimilate by being compliant, controlled and reserved. Today, we still see Black people being unlawfully killed by law enforcement – we are perceived as a threat because of our clothes, our music, or simply because we are Black.
It’s been passed down through the generations to keep your head down, stay out of trouble and most importantly, try not to be seen – because this could make the difference between life and death. But this has led to a devastating mindset: ‘We are already seen as different, why would you draw more attention to yourself by also being gay?’ As if being gay is a justified reason to be targeted. Continue reading from Stonewall UK
The Pride movement itself began as a protest. The historic Stonewall Riots in 1969 played an important role in liberating the LGBTQ+ community and demanding equality. This year Pride organizers say it’s more important than ever to recognize that many of the leaders of this movement were people of color. Among them were two transgender women who were at the forefront of Stonewall: Marsha P. Johnson, who was black, and Sylvia Rivera, who was Latinx. Organizers say Pride programming must reflect and stand with the current protests against racism—that demanding justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and countless other black Americans is at the heart of what Pride symbolizes.
“You have people who believe that Pride and these protests are mutually exclusive, and that’s absolutely not true,” says Carolyn Wysinger, the board president of San Francisco Pride. “That idea stems from the whitewashing of Pride. The original brick was thrown by Marsha P. Johnson at Stonewall. One thing that we’re going to be focusing on in this year’s Pride is really making sure that people understand that Pride’s original intent was to defend black bodies—that black queer bodies are always just as violently targeted, sometimes more so than straight counterparts.” David Correa, the interim executive director of NYC Pride, agrees with the sentiment of protesting and solidarity this year, adding that, “Pride has always toed this line between protest and celebration. It might be more so in the protest realm this year—and I think that’s great.” Continue reading from Vogue
Against the Erasure of Black Queer History (The Trevor Project)
Black Queer History Is American History (TIME)
Black and LGBTQ: Approaching Intersectional Conversations (The Trevor Project)
Resources for Queer and Transgender Black, Indigenous, People of Color (WVU University)
Supporting Black LGBTQ Youth Mental Health (The Trevor Project)
