I've been waving
a sign on street corners since H8 passed: "Black
Queers." Responses have varied -- from honks of support
to looks of disapproval from both blacks and whites. A
black woman came up to me at a rally and asked me if I
didn't think the sign was offensive to black people. I
said, "It's who I am, and people should know."
"Gays should protest black people! The new conflict
is gays vs. blacks, and blacks vs. gays. And black gays
vs. themselves. It's gonna be great." --
Stephen Colbert
I've been waving
a sign on street corners since H8 passed: "Black
Queers." Responses have varied -- from honks of support
to looks of disapproval from blacks and whites. A
black woman came up to me at a rally and asked me if I
didn't think the sign was offensive to black people.
She looked around as if there were a person in charge of
things like this, someone who could head-nod in
disagreement.
I said, "It's who
I am, and people should know," flipping it over to
reveal another slogan: "We Do Exist." When I carry the sign
in the middle of a crowd, it faces in and then out,
equally interchanged -- a message to my communities.
"We've been going
up to the church every weekend to volunteer. You know
they want to sue our church if we refuse to marry them?" my
dad says.
My dad used to
come to rallies I planned for National Coming Out Week at
University of California, Los Angeles; he was the first
family member I chose to come out to as a lesbian (and
then as a bisexual). He respected and comfortably got
along with my transgender girlfriend, always saying,
"I love you for who you are."
"They" got to him
and to most of my immediate and extended
African-American family over the age of 21. Mormons
deviously targeted one of their most unlikely allies
for a campaign of misinformation. Enemy of my enemy
won the day, but I actually find the subsequent discourse
regarding "black backlash" highly encouraging.
Anger is getting
people to talk and making them ask hard questions. I met
an African-American couple who shared their experience
volunteering for No on 8 even while they dealt with
discriminatory comments from within. Since we all
happened to be at the same rally, we walked over and talked
to Lorri Jean of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center. She
was aghast, saying, "We've got a lot of educating to
do in our own communities."
Instead of
continuing to talk to my loving mother about how hard the
struggle is for black queers, I asked her if she voted yes.
“I love you and accept you as you are,”
she said, “but I cannot support your marriage
to a woman.” Honest, and very to the point --
“marriage is religious,” “it is
representative of the black family,” it's the new
tent pole for the Christian right, and it's held aloft
by the moral high ground assigned to blacks by
mainstream culture. It's really not a good thing for
anyone, for when the backlash against proponents of H8
begins, African-Americans are first in the line of
fire. African-Americans did vote disproportionately
for Prop. 8, and as a community we are also
disproportionately affected by HIV, the cops, access to
quality education, and glass ceilings.
Somehow I see a
correlation. I see ties between bigotry, fear, and
ignorance -- but how do you get beyond that to love?
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Faith Cheltenham is a blogger, activist, and poet.
Read more of her work atwww.faithish.com.