I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way. Or not. AKA I *heart* Miranda Hobbes

I'm just going to come out and tell you right now that I watch endless reruns of Sex and the City. And I'm not ashamed. I have lots of guilty pleasure TV, but Sex and the City is something I will turn on when I'm working, bored, whatever and watch, even if I've seen the episode. Like, five times. Of all the characters, Miranda was, is, my favorite (although the whole 'I'm going to date a Black man, Robert, and NEVER talk about race cause he's just great!' pushed my limits). And, given that the actress that played her, Cynthia Nixon, is apparently as outspoken as her character was, Miranda will always reign supreme.

So it was with great pleasure that I read social networking sites and other "news" sites, all abuzz today about Nixon's recent comments on being gay and her long time relationship with her partner, Christine Marioni (I'm saying this like I know her). You know, the woman she has been with for the past seven years and recently had a child with? You may not know this because, unlike me, you don't pay attention to Nixon's personal life. But, she's an Aries (me too), so what can I say? Apparently, Nixon was asked to give an "empowerment" speech to a gay audience and in her prepared speech she stated, ‘I’ve been straight and I’ve been gay, and gay is better.’ Well, the organizers weren't too keen on that sentence and asked her to remove it because it implied that being gay was a choice. To which she responded,

"And for me, it is a choice. I understand that for many people it’s not, but for me it’s a choice, and you don’t get to define my gayness for me. A certain section of our community is very concerned that it not be seen as a choice, because if it’s a choice, then we could opt out. I say it doesn’t matter if we flew here or we swam here, it matters that we are here and we are one group and let us stop trying to make a litmus test for who is considered gay and who is not."

Exsqueeze me?

I have to say I'm impressed, or maybe just intrigued, that she made this statement in such an emphatic way. Way to go, Miran--er, Cynthia. Total applause!

But I am surprised, as this is so not the line of many folks who speak for or on behalf of queer people. I'm looking at you, Gaga. Can I just say that I really hate the song "Born this Way?"  First, because I find Lady Gaga simple and disingenuous. Second, and maybe more importantly, because for me it implies that "if we had a choice, we wouldn't be gay" (or, as Gaga sings, Black, white, beige, Chola descent--wtf are these last two?--Lebanese, you're orient !!!) and there's nothing we can do about it so back off. Like her chorus, "ooh, there ain't no other way, baby I was born this way."

Um, actually there is.

You can be "born this way," or have a desire or attraction to the same gender or transgender and never act on it. Or, act on it and never identity as gay, as many of our Republican elected officials have demonstrated. See, lots of choices. And, I'm not knocking these choices, but do know that they are choices. Just as identifying, acting upon said feelings, aligning yourself with, openly loving "your people," and cherishing queer community is. a. choice.

Better yet, it's a decision.

And, I don't care how out you are, as I've said before, I don't know that coming out megaphone-style gets us any closer to ending the oppression of gay folks, which by the way, is hard as f*#@--especially when we internalize the shit. Don't get me wrong, I live a pretty awesome life: I love my woman, work at a place where there are other (actually a majority) of queer folks, have a solid community of lesbians and gay men that I surround myself with, and get to write this blog and other pieces about my love for LGBTQ folks. It's super!  I never thought that my life would be this good, really.  Growing up as a Black girl and seeing the things that I did, I really didn't see myself living past or even making it to 30. For the first year after that, I didn't know what to do with myself (that's a whole other blogpost).

But even though things are great, I can't say that I dodge being targeted as an out, Black dyke. And I experience these things because of the way that I chose and continue to choose to live my life as a queer person of color: Students who are a little more aggressive and challenging in your direction.  Threatening stares when I'm holding hands with my partner on our cross country trips (and, yes even in the Yay Area). Being told recently that I haven't slept with the right man yet. Or, having sneaky feelings come up when I try to do things in my life that only straight women are supposed to do--more on this later--and feeling like maybe I, as a lesbian, shouldn't be doing them. And even though all of this sucks a$$, and not in a good way, I would never change my decision to come out and live and love the life that I have. I would never opt out of being gay. But, let's not pretend that this isn't a decision that I, and many other queer folks, didn't make at some point, regardless of how we were "born," or have lived our lives up to that point. Nor should we overlook that for many it's a decision they (we) make every. single. day.

There really ain't no other way.

First You Gotta Put Your Neck Into It: Loving Pariah

I went to see Pariah on opening night in San Francisco last Wednesday. And I loved it, from the very beginning. In fact, it was the beginning that I really loved. From the first few minutes of the opening scene of a queer women's dance club, fully equipped with scantily-clad go-go dancers and Khia's "My Neck, My Back (Lick It)" playing in the background, I was pulled in.  Given that you know, as a moviegoer, that the movie is about a young, Black lesbian coming of age in Brooklyn, those lyrics and the go-go dancer in slow motion take on a different meaning. At least I think it does. If you don't know the words, or haven't heard the song before, it starts out like this:

All you ladies pop your pussy like this/Shake your body don't stop, don't miss/All you ladies pop your pussy like this/Shake your body don't stop, don't miss/Just do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now/Lick it good/Suck this pussy/Just like you should/Right now, lick it good/Suck this pussy just like you should/My neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack

Now, imagine those lyrics with a young Alike, the protagonist, smiling, with a line of women behind her with dollars, her best friend, Laura, included. I know this doesn't change the fact that there is a half naked woman dancing on a stoop with people throwing money at her but, personally, having the film open in this way signaled that this film was indeed, mine. It was ours.

I've written about the context of queer women's clubs being a place, another place for me to come out as a queer Black woman and to (re)embrace my love of hip-hop (look, if it wasn't for queer girl clubs, I'd still only be listening to Belle and Sebastian). And while I'm not the clubster I once was, it still serves as a site that makes me love being queer and being in queer women's community. Squeezing onto a packed dance floor with a bunch of other women who dig other women and are only there for the purpose of looking for someone to take home, look good for their partner that they dance with all night, or just getting a chance to "release" on the dance floor with their friends? Sign me up. Even if it's over a sexist, misogynistic beat, which it usually is. But I love it. And, I'm not going to defend Khia's lyrics or my stance. Look, I'm a bit more of a shy, easily embarrassed feminist so to continue to sing along to the lyrics:

First you gotta put your neck into it/Don't stop just do it, do it/Then you roll your tongue/From the crack/Back to the front/Then ya suck it all/Til I shake and cum

You know, it makes my cheeks a little red, even as I sit here and type.

But the choice to open this film about a queer, Black woman with this song, centers the experience of Black lesbians in an important way. It signals that this isn't "the feel good film of the year," in the way that we all want to relate to film characters and feel good when we leave the theater. Rather, it suggests that you are here as part of my experience and I'm not here to make you feel good in the way that we all want to feel good about gays and lesbians in this particular moment. In other words, Ilene Chaiken's version(s).  And, Pariah is not the first film about Black lesbians to do this, as Salamishah Tillet (and others) has pointed out, Pariah rests on the shoulders of the brilliant, often overlooked Black lesbian filmmaking of the last two decades. But what I love about Pariah being released last week, at a time when there are gay characters all over nightly television sitcoms, and we all love gay people, is the opening scene and others that make no apologies for being queer. There's no "we're just like you" narrative underlying the film, or "look, I'm just a normal girl trying to figure out who I am, let me be." No, from my reading, Pariah says, "this is what it looks like, if you're in, let's go, otherwise, peace!" And how refreshing is that from a queer woman of color perspective? Especially from a butch perspective.

Which is the other thing I love about the movie. Alike, for all intents and purposes, is butch--or presenting as butch in the beginning of the movie. And we all know how I feel about butches, or, in this case, those trying to figure out their gender presentation (go ahead figure it out, I'll wait:). If you don't know, I *LOVE* them. And, I LOVED who Alike, and her best friend Laura, was in the film. No apologies. She (they) pushed her way into various settings, even when she had to cover herself up at home. Broken open. Like the scene when one of the girls at her school who "liked girls, but loved men" glanced in her direction and, within earshot, said, "she's cute, but if she was just a little bit harder." Swoon. And another moment of "get in or get out." Similar to when Alike was trying on the strap-on that Laura got her and her sister walked in. Unapologetic. She, and Laura, pushed back on their mother's rejection (which, I have to say, is not the freshest representation of Black motherhood, and a critique that Summer M. nails over at the Black Youth Project), without changing who they were. Even Alike's pushing back on Laura's expectations of her presentation and her sexuality is a strong statement of who she is. Breaking is opening. And that's a brave take on Black queerness in this moment. A moment when real Black queerness (if you can say such a thing) is overlooked, discredited, and ignored.

So thank you, Dee Rees, for putting your neck into it. And for remembering that Black queer girls are not broken. We are free.

On Rappers, Homophobia and Tolerance: Not Really Buying It

Alright, I'm trying to get into the holiday break spirit and take some time off, but a grant due in early January and grading is keeping me from it. And, I can't seem to shake an article I read the other day on homophobia, rappers, and hip-hop. In the Daily Beast article, "Why Rappers are Suddenly Coming Out in Support of Gay Pride," author Chris Lee cites several rappers discussions of queerness as evidence that rappers are not as homophobic as we think. He states,

While rappers have yet to unfurl rainbow flags en masse, and casual homophobia still abounds in videos and on songs, the current groundswell of tolerance reflects not only a wider societal acceptance of homosexuality but also changes in the way many MCs fundamentally view themselves. Where before hip-hop defined itself as a culture of resistance, by now the genre has mostly shed its outlaw status. Having saturated every corner of the mainstream—from fashion to advertising, television, and movies—hip-hop has largely remade the status quo in its own image. And given major rappers’ wealth, they seem less compelled to define themselves against others as a means of self-validation than at any other point in hip-hop history.

and 

But in the last few months, seemingly unprompted by anything more than some new wellspring of compassion, major hip-hop artists have been speaking out in vehement condemnation of old homophobic tropes, calling for greater tolerance toward gay people, urging closeted gays to come out, and expressing admiration for the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender community in ways that would have been unimaginable a generation ago.

OK, I will give it to you that there are some changes to the tenor of hip-hop and homophobic remarks are out of style right now (see how I said right now?) and one will receive condemnation if spoken and then quickly "apologize." Still, the evidence given doesn't convince me, Fat Joe's interview on Vlad TV, where he claimed, "In 2011 you gotta hide that you gay?” he asked. “Be real! ‘Yo, I’m gay. What the fuck!’ If you gay, you gay. That’s your preference. Fuck it if the people don’t like it," and Game's statement, "I don't have no problem with gay people." 

This is your evidence that things are shifting?

Um, let's put this evidence into context, shall we? In basically the next sentence in each interview, Fat Joe and Game suggest that there is a "Gay Mafia," or that "Gays are everywhere," running shit. Not to mention that the Game goes on to say he's got a problem with dudes pretending not to be gay but are really gay fooling people and giving people AIDS. Something to that effect (I've already talked about Game and his comments, here). So yeah, this "WTF, why can't gays come out, do you" attitude is one thing that is bulls---. But, to erroneously claim that these comments are somehow indicative of a larger support that rappers have for queer folks borders on irresponsible.  I'm not pointing fingers at any rappers in particular, nor do I assume that rapper = homophobic. I'm also not going to sit here and write that things haven't "gotten better," since, you know, 1930 or so. But, to suggest that these out of context/not really showing the bigger picture comments are somehow indicative of a significant shift in the experience of the queer hip-hop generation is false. 

And I love hip-hop. Have loved it since I was a teenager, particularly because of its Blackness in every fiber. But, there are few spaces for Black queerness in the genre. And while there are few spaces where queer Blackness exists in the mainstream (thank you for making Pariah, Dee Rees, need it!), the lack of queer spaces in hip-hop has been painful at times for those of us who identify with it. A space where queerness and Blackness meet has been carved out in gay bars, house parties, queer performativity, our own headphones, and in out, queer hip-hop. That's made things better, even good. So, to suggest that the words of a few (presumably) straight male rappers makes rap more gay-friendly ignores the decades long efforts of those of us who have made this music, this culture our own.

(OK, I should've prefaced this by saying that the grant I'm writing is on popular culture and LGBTQ Black youth. You know, where I write about invsibility and death. Yeah, I could've said that)...Still, I have to ask:

What, Mr. Lee, is the point of your article and, more importantly, how are you defining homophobia, you know, the casual thing you refer to above (I really don't mean any disrespect, but p.s. check out the comments section of your article to see how far "tolerance" is getting us)? How do any of us define  homophobia? And, an end to it? Is it simply that someone says I got no problem with gay people (only recently replacing "faggots" with gay people)? Cause that's not what it's about for many of us. I don't really care if you "got no problem" with me. What I need you to do is organize for an end to the oppression of LGBTQ folks. Make your spaces not just tolerable or accepting of gay people,  but safe. Reach out and acknowledge LGBTQ Black youth who download your songs, dance to your music, and are part of your community. Become friends with the gay people you say are running things and make sure they're not trotting out the same old tropes of Black sexuality. Interrupt homophobia every. single. time. you hear it and say why, cite those gay folks that Fat Joe says are in every family.

Do that, that's a start.

But don't give me words that signal tolerance. Tolerance does nothing for me or my people, especially those that have to hide, play along, navigate violence in schools, clubs, streets and our own homes. Which is, at times, all of us.

Seems like a good day to Decolonize...

Today is the 42nd anniversary of Fred Hampton's murder. Let's celebrate him, his life, and his legacy by entering into a conversation about decolonization, colonization, and occupation.

"Without education, people will accept anything. Without education, what you’ll have is neo-colonialism instead of the colonialism like you have now. Without education, people don’t know why they’re doing what they’re doing, you know what I mean? You might get people caught up in an emotionalist movement, might get them because they’re poor and they want something and then if they’re not educated, they’ll want more and before you know it, we’ll have Negro imperialism."

  

"You don’t fight fire with fire. You fight fire with water. We’re gonna fight racism with solidarity. We're not gonna fight capitalism with Black capitalism. We’re gonna fight capitalism with socialism. Socialism is the people. If you’re afraid of socialism, you’re afraid of yourself."

Chairman Fred Hampton, 1948-1969

 

The Assassination of Fred Hampton How the FBI and the Chicago Police Murdered a Black Panther 

Quotes uploaded from Why Am I not Surprised


Videos from democracynow, uploaded by mediagrrl9


In solidarity.

Solidarity, White (Male) Privilege and Occupation

I've been involved with Occupy Oakland over the last couple of months, primarily around discussions about decolonization and the term Occupy itself. There have been several teach-ins on Solidarity with Indigenous Peoples, particularly the Ohlone, that have furthered this discussion. Simultaneously, there has also been a movement to change the name of Occupy Oakland to Decolonize/Liberate Oakland to recognize not only solidarity with the Ohlone, but the vast ways that people of color have been colonized historically and, perhaps more importantly, in the present. As news of an upcoming proposal to change the name has spread, there have been several oppositional blogposts, twitter posts, and other discussions that are virulently in favor of keeping the name "Occupy."

With all due respect to Indigenous Peoples, of course.

At least that's how many of the posts start out. "Decolonize the Americas, but Occupy Oakland," one post declares.  "Voting No to Decolonize Occupy" another states. After I posted on twitter the upcoming proposal date at the general assembly, I actually received a message that started out, "No offense, but..." Really? No offense? I don't think I've heard that expression since junior high. And, for the first time in a long time, I'm surprised.

By the phrase, not the sentiment.

A sentiment in defense of, to quote bell hooks, white male supremacist capitalist patriarchy.

See, here's the thing that I love about people of color and white women: we're hopeful every time a new protest or movement comes along that, like Occupy, speaks to us. We get involved. We organize. We take on leadership. We fight. We stick around, even when racism, sexism, and homophobia become explicit. In other words--when white male dominance is challenged and subsequently, (and staunchly) defended--we hang in there.

Because it always happens.

Whenever we organize with white men (or their comrades who protect white male dominance), there comes a time when they feel their status is threatened. And really, it can be from something as little as proposing a name change--mind you, this hasn't even went up before the GA yet and already there is a backlash, er, freedom of speech I mean. A name change that recognizes the experience of the majority of people living in Oakland.  A city whose unemployment rate is 17%, twice that of the national rate. And you know what that means? That means that the people that experience the rapid collapse of capitalism, which you so vehemently defend (I was also told that recognizing how Blacks, Indigenous People, and Asians have been colonized in this country was a distraction) are people of color. And we've been feeling the effects of this collapse for decades, not since September or whenever the decline began to impede on your ability to get a piece of the pie.

Personally, I support the name change (as other cities have changed the name to Unsettle and (Un)Occupy with little resistance) and I won't be deterred if the change is blocked, but I am and will continue to be swayed by the ongoing fight against white male patriarchal dominance masquerading as "community." No offense.

So, here's a tip: What you need to do now is listen, not interrupt. Cause what you're doing is interrupting. Listen to the majority of people who live in this city. Listen to people whose land we occupy. People of color make up the majority of Oakland, physically and metaphorically, the very fabric, and our voice in this movement needs to be recognized. Not in a "caucus," or a "working group," as some have graciously offered and declared support for. But, as the majority of the city that you are representing. The majority of the 99% in this city. We are as much a part of this movement, involved fully or not. And, as some of you have stated, you need to reach us. And, reaching us does not mean being defensive, posting numerous blogs and posts about your movement to block the passage of a name change, and trotting out your friends of color to tell us what "occupy" means.

You need to find another path to build and maintain this movement.

In solidarity.