At the Intersection: Fight for the Life of My Self-Esteem
You know, when I go to West Hollywood, as an African American male, I feel like in just passing through the doors of the clubs and bars – my status is demoted. Sure, these are largely sexual arenas – singles clubs. But I would still like to just pop out – maybe on a Sunday afternoon for a drink with my gay community. While there, though, it is a fight for the life of my self-esteem. While in a black church or black neighborhood my six foot six frame and shaved head is adored, here, I'm invisible by most – objectified by a few – and humanized by hardly anyone. For over twenty years I never wanted to say that. Because I wanted to appear cool, unaffected, perfectly assimilated, and not appear beaten down by what has always been described to me as the "dominant culture."
I am, however, getting ever so weary.
But now the lack of inclusion has become political. Our sexual preferences, the friends we claim we are more comfortable with hanging out with who happen to be all of the same race, the Grecian statue like go-go boys that not only stand on pillars in the bars but also stand on pillars on our gay affiliated billboards and magazines – have affected what the straight world thinks we are: white, affluent, hedonistic men.
And, as we found in California, many people of color don't want to give the "dominant culture" freedom to marry when they seem to be having the White Party of their lives – not including any of us.
But while attacking whiteness is not the solution, blaming people of color is not either. At best, people are confused, and at worst people are confused. Because regardless of the impetus of the confusion – the outcome is clear: we have not gotten what we want because we have not legalized gay marriage in this nation.
What to do?
We must all look around. Who are our friends? Is it inclusive? Why not? What do we talk about? Is it inclusive? Why not? What do we post on chat lines? (Yes, even there). Is our honesty about what we like sexually damaging to the community we could help solidify?
There's so much to do. And yet, there isn't. Acceptance ultimately is easier than resistance – because when we all stop clenching our fists – we can let go and fly.
When I wrote my play, Chariot, I was elated that I finally got it all out but I was also terrified. What did I just do? I was taught, as many people of color were taught, not to air our dirty laundry – especially among outsiders – that meant white people. In my play I do just that.
What a betrayal.
But is it really? The betrayal would have been more if I didn't listen to my inner voice, write what was in my heart, and release my pain. But for people of color releasing pain, even the noble act of coming out – is indelibly linked to race. Because for us, when you come out, many of us have to deal with the feeling that we have disgraced and betrayed our race.
So, on a personal level, since so many of us can't really go home – let us have the West Hollywood's of the world be our home. Let all the gay communities in this country rigorously support the idea of the rainbow flag. So that no person of color has to say like my protagonist in my play says, "I am invisible inside the house; I am invisible outside the house."
I know. Sounds like utopia. But if our gay clubs, bars, friends, organizations and neighborhoods can't or won't do it, how will we be able to get the varied demographics in this country to feel like our cause is also theirs?
Steve Lee
