To Be Seen is a Beautiful Thing
A Black woman’s eyes are covered by another Black person standing behind her.
When I think back on my childhood and the people around me and on TV, I didn’t see a lot of Black queer people. I know there must have been some, but I really can’t think of anyone. I was told later that one of my older cousins, whom I’d never met, was gay, but what good was that doing me? He wasn’t around! And the “gay” men on TV were just straight actors cross-dressing and playing a role, like Ving Rhames in Holiday Heart. So, little ol’ me didn’t think there was a place for Black queer people growing up, and if there were, I’d never find it.
As you can imagine, I didn’t have any queer role models growing up or any queer adults in my life who could guide me in my times of need. I needed one, too! It would’ve been great to have a Black queer mentor in my corner cheering me on. Things would’ve been much smoother and more relatable, I’d assume. But hell! With all of the homophobia and racism surrounding me in my small hometown, I would’ve taken advice and support from a little green alien from Mars as long as they were caring, understanding, and helpful.
I recall that when I was writing a biography for Black History Month, I discovered that Langston Hughes, my favorite poet growing up, was gay, and it didn't resonate with me at the time. I wasn’t happy to hear about it. It didn’t make me more curious or have the effect one would think it would have. The only thing I remember thinking was, “Huh! I’m surprised he lived so long,” because I felt his safety was on the line every day. Mine certainly was, and I was born almost a century after him.
Being bisexual (now queer) at that age wasn’t important because I was made to believe it wasn’t in my best interest. Neither was being Black, but I can’t hide that, so I just had to navigate through that on my own, too. Truth be told, my family, neighbors, and the whole damn town made it seem like being gay was awful and Black was a curse, so I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the queer lifestyle. I had a hard enough time trying to blend into my predominantly white school.
While I was doing my research on Langston Hughes, I read about his struggles with racism and how talented he was, but it didn’t focus on his homosexuality. In fact, the one sentence that addressed it made it seem like it was more of a rumor than anything else. Almost like an afterthought, it was just added into a random sentence. My research also didn’t address him as a social activist. At least from what I can remember. (This was so long ago; I was a child then, but I feel like I would’ve remembered that.) He was just a famous Black poet with struggles.
However, now as an adult, I know that he was more than just a talented Black poet who wrote for a newspaper every so often. As a child, I didn’t get the full grasp of who Langston Hughes was. Not even an inkling, and he wasn’t the only historical Black figure with a vibrant, fulfilling narrative that was dampened down by those who didn’t want to give him recognition.
A photograph of Langston Hughes, the poet AND social activist. Credit: Britannica.com
That’s why it’s so important for the Black LGBTQ+ community to have representation and recognition. Children are watching. Adults are watching. Everyone is watching, listening, and learning. What people hear or see typically sticks with them, whether they know it or not. What is absorbed from their interaction with us is how we are perceived, and when the narrative is left up to someone who doesn’t identify as a Black queer person, that narrative may become skewed or false.
The Black LGBTQ+ community should tell their own stories and pass on the history and knowledge of their people, my people. At the very least, it will bring awareness to our immediate communities, and at most, the awareness will reach the world. This way, we can create and steer our narrative as well as shed light on the racism, homophobia, and other forms of discrimination we’re facing and address them among each other and our allies. At the same time, we can teach young kids that there are all kinds of people in the world, and it’s okay if they are different than them. Adults too! I believe anyone can learn at any age.
Quick story! I had a coworker who admitted he used to despise gay people and was totally against our existence. It didn’t shock me at the time because he’s the type of person who would behave like that. Yet, it also shocked me because he willingly admitted that to my face. Then, he told me he had an epiphany one day. He said, “You know what? What they’re doing does not affect me in any way. They are not hurting my wallet, my son, or physically threatening me in any way. Why do I care what they’re doing or who they love? It’s got nothing to do with me. So, I stopped [hating] and started accepting.”
Honestly, I can say that was huge for him because that crazy bastard is headstrong and doesn’t listen to anybody! He changed his ways, which is also something I didn’t expect from anyone like him, and he started actually seeing us as people. Thus, he started treating us, Black LGBTQ+ people, like human beings. He proved me wrong, amazingly, and that makes me hopeful for the future.
Nowadays, there is much more Black LGBTQ+ visibility than what I’m used to, and it’s only increasing, which is great! We need people like Lil Nas X and Victoria Monet in mainstream media being beautiful and confident. We need Andrea Jenkins and Laphonza Butler in political spaces where they can make change. We need Robert Jones, Jr. and Camryn Garrett to create entertaining yet powerful pieces of writing to make us think and portray certain aspects of Black queer culture. Because when the Black LGBTQ+ youth see people that look like them in the spaces they wish to occupy one day, they’ll know it’s possible.
All of this is to say, if there were any Black LGBTQ+ visibility in my life as a child, I would’ve been more confident and less swayed by the homophobic, racist people in my life. Perhaps, I could’ve been a different person today, but there’s no telling. I’m an adult now, and I have all of these wonderful people I can admire. What matters to me now is building a community right here in RVA and online, so if anyone needs a friend, mentor, or just needs an example of what being queer and Black is, they know just where to find it.
