Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Hip Hop Hooray

A “hype man” by definition is the person responsible for getting the crowd pumped up for a performance or event. Go to any Hip Hop concert to see them in full action, or better yet listen to Jay-Z's “Encore” track off The Black Album. During a visit to DC for a gay pride event I was disturbed by what I felt to be “inappropriate hyping by a hype man.” If you have ever encountered a hype man you know the spill is pretty standard. The first objective is to get you hyped about the event or the artist that will perform shortly (unless it's a Lauryn Hill concert, in which case, means it could be hours). This is usually followed by getting you hyped about yourself – scream if you are grown and sexy and able to pay your bills – something like that. Yet, at this particular event it appears that the hype man didn't get a copy of the preempted script. He got the first couple parts right, and then decided to freestyle a bit. I've done some theatre, so I could appreciate an artist taking some liberties and improvising. So he's building up when he asks the crowd, a crowd of black gay men and women, to make some noise if they weren't HIV positive. I was floored. Wow, I thought. This was such a loaded statement. It implied so many things. How did this make HIV positive folks in the crowd feel, as they came out with anticipation of a good time, not a commentary on their status? My mind was racing. Yet, in my moment of shock I failed to realize that in all of his attempts to get the crowd hype this statement alone had garnered the greatest response from the audience. I was unsure about what I should feel or think. Unable to allow myself to be fully engaged in the bliss of the activities, I had to ask whether we were our own worse enemies, and if everyone else was merely taking our lead? Do black gays and lesbians believe that HIV/AIDS is a gay disease?

I guess that one could make the argument that HIV/AIDS is a gay disease, as there are a disproportionately higher number of cases among gay men. Yet, in the same breath one could make similar conjecture as it relates to the African American community. Things aren't always as simple as black and white. Numbers can not merely stand alone. Numerous factors should come into play as we determine our attitude about things. The lack of access to education and health care serve as major barriers that cause spikes among certain groups. It seems that everywhere I turn I'm faced with the thought of HIV/AIDS. Be it the magazines – Vanity Fair recently dedicated an entire issue to it – or merely going to my local Starbucks – the cup that contains my latte gives statistics about the affects that the epidemic is having on the youth. Awareness is a great thing as I realize the brevity of the issue. Yet, sometimes as a black gay man, I can't help but to feel sometimes suffocated by the issue. Within our community it seems to always ease its way into our conversations. In contrast, I feel that in my interactions with heterosexual friends, the topic of HIV/AID rarely surfaces. Not so much because it's not an issue for them, but because it doesn't carry the same amount of weight as it does for us. We give power to those things that we most focus on, so much so that there is a whole sub-culture of gay men out there who seek to get infected. I read an article some years back about the rising number of “bug chasers” and “gift givers.” “Bug Chasers” are gay men that seek to become infected with in HIV/AIDS, as they feel they will eventually contract the virus because they are gay and “gift givers” are HIV positive men who willing infect others.

I think that our actions point to where we really stand on the subject, as hard as it may be to swallow. Yet, I feel that we end up doing a disservice to everyone by simply buying into the hype; increased homophobia and creating a false sense of safety in the minds of some heterosexuals. We need to support a message of personal responsibility and accountability and focus less on allocating blame. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that I have engaged in behavior that has put me at risk of contracting the virus. And the fact remains that every time we lay down with someone, gay or straight, and we don't engage in safe sex, we put ourselves at risk. Most of us are simply lucky. Along with that, no one has the right to speak from a place of superiority because they are HIV negative. As we navigate through all of this, we should be ever cognizant of how our actions affect other people. When situations arise like the one in DC, we must let our disdain to be known. We need to look beyond figures and actively engage ourselves in the process of bringing forth solutions.

A Man, Not a Narrative


Eugene Robinson writes: A 24-year-old man, a professional athlete in his prime, is gunned down as his fiancé cowers in fear and their young daughter sleeps -- it's hard to imagine a more tragic story. Period. I found myself deeply affected by the news. I think that in part, it was due to the fact the I loss a collge friend of mine last month - he was stabbed to death - he was 26. I hope you agree that all who mourn Redskins safety Sean Taylor's passing should resist the temptation to fit what little we really know about his life and death into some kind of familiar narrative about race and pathology.


When asked about Taylor's sudden and awful death, Coach Joe Gibbs said simply that life is fragile. Others have not been so modest, or so wise. They recount Taylor's past "troubles" and try to make him emblematic of Young Black Men -- the mean streets, the parasitic friends, the casual violence, the weapons, the beefs, etc., etc. This is an argument, not an explanation. It's lazy and wrong, and it is unfair.


Do me a favor: If you have to impose a narrative on Sean Taylor's death, pick something other than the Young Black Men story. How about the Molded into Violence narrative -- the story of how Taylor, like other professional football players was rewarded all his life for the ability to create sudden, explosive havoc on the football field, leaving opponents battered and broken; so why should anyone be surprised that he died a violent death? Or make it into a story about South Florida, where bizarre, brutal crime is are common place. Those are bogus narratives, too, but at least they provide a little variety.


Better yet, don't try to make Sean Taylor's life and death into any kind of cautionary tale at all. He was a complicated man. He loved his family, he was a loyal friend, he didn't like talking to the media, he hit as hard as anyone in the National Football League, and he doted on his daughter. He had "turned his life around," they say, as if navigating the shoals of career, fatherhood, love and maturity were a simple matter of taking a few GPS readings and heading, um, that way. Here's what we know -- at this point, all we can possibly know: Life is fragile. And Sean Taylor was just 24.

Friday, November 23, 2007

My Favorite Things

Oprah's yearly favorite things show was the other day. This is always a must see for me… I loved the one were she proclaims "You get a car, you get a car, you get a car… to all members of the audience. So in homage to the Big O, and in boredom I decided to compose my list of favorite things:

1. Jo Malone Grapefruit Cologne - It’s a unisex fragrance that's clean and classic. It can be mixed to best suit your body chemistry.
2. Cakebead Cellars makes my favorite Sauvignon Blanc and it's affordable… $22
3. James Baldwin books. I have read number his books. I am reading one of his screen plays now. His writing is so honest and pure. The lessons he teaches are universal.
4. The Breitling Watch… in a word… classic.
5. Cashmere Socks.
6. Art by Romare Bearden. I had anticipated purchasing my first real piece of art this year for my birthday, but it's a must have for me next year.
7. The Studio Museum of Harlem. Contemporary and Classic. A membership is a must have.
8. Ne Me Quitte Pas - Nina Simone. I have a number of her cd's but I want the definitive collection.
9. The Bose wave music system. It affords me the opportunity to listen to Nina with complete clarity.
10. Jordans.
11. Burberry Trench.
12. Jersey Bed Sheets.
13. The Foley House Inn - Black Owned Savannah Bed and Breakfast
14. The Sunday New York Times.
15. Good U.S. Open Tickets
16. Well tailored Thom Browne Suit
17. Starbucks
18. Mulberry bag
19. Gucci Aviators
20. LV overnight bag
21. Chucks
22. Acapulco Candle by NARS

Studio Musuem of Harlem: Kori Newkirk


November 14, 2007-March 9, 2008
Kori Newkirk: 1997-2007
Kori Newkirk is a celebrated multidisciplinary artist whose conceptual practice is based on transforming modest materials into loaded signifiers that question both cultural and aesthetic notions of beauty. Newkirk elegantly blends medium and message-using photographs, wax, hair pomade, beads and neon lights-to forge a new paradigm in art practice. This survey exhibition presents work produced since Newkirk received his MFA from the University of California at Irvine, includes a site-specific project and illustrates how interrelated strands of his practice have converged and developed over time.
The Studio Museum in Harlem is the nexus for black artists locally, nationally, and internationally, and for work that has been inspired by black culture. It is a site for the dynamic exchange of ideas about art and society. The Executive Director, Thelma Golden, is smart, savy and stylilsh. She has managed to make her voice heard, known and recognized in an overwhelming white male art world. I have mention on several occasions that "I want to be like her when I grow up." It's a great exhibit that we should support, along with the Studio Museum of Harlem.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

“African” American Gangster


Though I went to see American Gangster during its opening weekend, I felt that I needed some time to digest it and give it a proper analysis. Of all the movies released this year, this by far was the one I most anticipated. If ever there were a formula for a perfect movie, this was it – a great director, talented writer and a slue of wonderful actors. Having said all of this, imagine my disappointment when the film fell short of my high expectation. I could talk about the fact that the script felt a little under developed in is attempts, or lack of attempt, to get inside the heads of the primary characters. I could talk about the fact that the casting choices, at times didn't make sense. I could even talk about the fact that the movie was about 45 minutes too long. Yet, above all these things, the thing the prevented this film from being the perfection I had in my head was the lack of what I like to call the black aesthetic. This often happens when white directors seek to make “African American” themed movies where the effort is to create a great “American” movie with themes that transcend race – see Ali for another example. Yet, it’s difficult for me to understand how one could make a film about “black life” without dealing with the racial underpinnings that created the character. One may argue that Frank Lucas, like the Italian mobsters, were both motivate by money, but what that money meant to them was in many ways different. Playwright August Wilson often talked about the black aesthetic. The following analogy hits the nail on the head:

The commonalities we share [with white people] are the commonalities of culture. We decorate our houses. That is something we do in common. We do it differently because we value different things. We have different manners and different values of social intercourse. We have different ideas of what a party is. There are some commonalities to our different ideas. We both offer food and drink to our guests, but because we have different culinary values, different culinary histories, we offer different food and drink. In our culinary history, we have learned to make do with the feet and the ears and tails and intestines of the pig rather than the loin and the ham and the bacon. Because of our different histories with the same animal, we have different culinary ideas. But we share a common experience with the pig.

In putting this into the reference of the film, the fact that African American and Italians don't share in the horrors of lynching or the main of a policeman's bullet, or better yet the hull of a slave ship – the way in which Frank Lucas operates and his motivations for dealing drugs are quite different, and the movie felled to deal with these differences and why they are important. Black conduct and manner are fueled by its own philosophy, mythology, history, creative motif, social organization and ethos. So instead of speaking to our personal truths as African Americans, it merely aped a white way of doing things. There were moments in which it did connect – Frank's scenes with his mother (Ruby Dee) and his confrontation with the Nicky Barnes character played by Cuba Gooding Jr. One of my favorite moments in the film occurs at a party in Frank's house that ends in a casual shooting that leaves a blood stain on his white rug. It is priceless to here Denzel shout “You blot that shit, you don't rub it.” For all that its worth, American Gangster is a movie that is well executed. It however does not live up to the expectation of an amazing film that delivers a new and unique perspective – make it a Blockbuster night and rent The Godfather and New Jack City.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Get Some Culture - Kara Walker: My Complement, My Enemy, My Oppressor, My Love



There is a truly amazing exhibit showing at the Whitney right now. At her New York debut at the Drawing Center in 1994, Kara Walker unveiled a daring reinvention of image-making in which she incorporated the genteel eighteenth-century medium of cut-paper silhouettes into her paintings. Since that time, she has created a poignant body of works that addresses the very heart of human experience, notions of racial supremacy, and historical accuracy.

This exhibition presents a comprehensive grouping of the artist’s work to date, featuring more than 200 paintings, drawings, collages, shadow-puppetry, light projections, and video animations that offer an extended contemplation on the nature of figurative representation and narrative in contemporary art. Drawing her inspiration from sources as varied as the antebellum South, testimonial slave narratives, historical novels, and minstrel shows, Walker has invented a repertoire of powerful narratives in which she conflates fact and fiction to uncover the living roots of racial and gender bias. The intricacy of her imagination and her diligent command of art history have caused her silhouettes to cast shadows on conventional thinking about race representation in the context of discrimination, exclusion, sexual desire, and love. “It’s interesting that as soon as you start telling the story of racism, you start reliving the story,” Walker says. “You keep creating a monster that swallows you. But as long as there’s a Darfur, as long as there are people saying ‘Hey, you don’t belong here’ to others, it only seems realistic to continue investigating the terrain of racism.”

Check out the link below for some interesting insight on the exhibit.

The Washington Post - "Symbols of Hatred in the Shadows" by Robin Givhan.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

The Vagina Monologues

I had an opportunity some years back, to see a production of The Vagina Monologues, an Obie Award-winning episodic play written by Eve Ensler that featured Ruby Dee and Phylisha Rashad. It was a once in a lifetime experience. I shared in “Sho’ yo' rights,” head nods, outburst of laughter and even tears. Each monologue in the show somehow related to the vagina, be it through sex, love, rape, menstruation, mutilation, masturbation, birth or orgasm. In essence, it asks the question, “What would your vagina say if it could talk?” The thing that I found to be most compelling about The Vagina Monologues was the recurring theme of the vagina as a tool of female empowerment, and the ultimate embodiment of individuality. As I revisited everything that experience was, I couldn't get out of my head a recent experience I had with another sort of “pussy” - “boy pussy.” The term alone makes me reel. During the course of a session, which didn’t include intercourse, this dude that identified himself as a bottom, kept asking me to refer to his ass in the aforementioned way? I found it to be a bit of a turn off; as I prefer to be involved with men that, well, enjoy being just that (I am not speaking in terms of masculine/feminine). Had I wanted some “pussy” I would have gotten some, along with a side of titties, but I digress. After that experience, I was left questioning whether there is some sort of validation of “manhood” for those men that take pleasure in calling their partners bitches and use verbiage like “boy pussy.” Inversely, I wonder if the men on the receiving end feel that it is, in some way, a condition of them being gay – that this is what his role should/must be. I mean, the dude wouldn't even let me touch his penis. What's that all about? What man doesn't want a good nut?

The way in which we name, label and define things have a direct correlation with our thoughts and our actions. It is my belief that when we use terms like “boy pussy” we are subconsciously defining our relationship in terms of traditional male/female gender roles. I don't mean this in terms of masculinity or femininity, as masculinity, or the lack there of, has little to do with whether a man is a top or bottom. However, in setting up this dichotomy we begin to treat our “special places” like vaginas instead of what they really are; “boy pussy,” ain't pussy. Many gay men wear their ability to “take dick” as a badge of honor, with little acknowledgement for the recourse of their actions. From a human physiology perspective, the rectum is significantly different from the vagina with regard to suitability for penetration by a penis. The vagina has natural lubricants and is supported by a network of muscles that are composed of a mucus membrane that allows it to endure friction without damage and to resist the immunological actions caused by semen and sperm. In comparison, the anus is a delicate mechanism of small muscles that comprise an "exit-only" passage. With repeated trauma, friction and stretching, the sphincter loses its tone and its ability to maintain a tight seal. Thus, the implication of gender roles within the confines of sex can prove to be non-advantageous for us – when we allow for him to “beat it up like a pussy” we are in fact putting ourselves at risk. I am by no means saying that penetration is bad (Lord knows I'm not), but I know that “small people” can come out of a vagina after 9 months – I have seen asses do some amazing tricks, but that ain't one of them. All jokes aside, damage is more likely if intercourse is forcible or aggressive, if alcohol or other drugs have dulled sensitivity, if communication is poor, or if technique is clumsy. In a study published in the Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine in a sample of forty men receiving anal intercourse, fourteen experienced episodes of frequent anal incontinence. The best way to prevent this is through proper technique, clear communication, and mutual consent.

The residue of these roles often carry over into other areas where one person ends up either being emasculated or left playing a “submissive” role in the relationship. I can continue to play street corner psychologist and talk about self-hate, misogyny and homophobia within the gay community and how they all play into this topic; but I won't. I would much rather use the space to let it be known that I love my brothers. I like them masculine and effeminate. I like them tall and short. I like them slim, thick, toned and muscular. And I can appreciate the arch of a back as much as a dick that's curved to the right. More than anything, I want us to learn how to take care of our bodies (mental, physical, emotional and spiritual) and embrace everything about us that makes us men. In having gender roles we are in some way denouncing a part of ourselves, which puts us in positions that may not always be healthy for us. Let us be ever conscious of the roles we play and how our behavior could be perceived and exploited by others. Walk in your wholeness!

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Grown Man Shit

It's has become ever apparent that the social definition of Grown and Sexy, and my working definition are not the same. With this being the case I decided to create a list of my own Grown Man Shit:

1. I always tip appropriately; you never know when you may want to come back.

2. I ain’t saying you got to get a manicure every week – but dirty nails are not where it’s at. Good grooming is a must.

3. I find out the bartender's name and hook him up early, it makes getting a drink a hell of a lot easier and beats having to yell, "What up wit my Hennessy, yo."

4. I'm not dropping a bill or more every weekend for the club. That hundred or so dollars could go into my Ameritrade account, Roth IRA or my interest yielding saving account. A big part of being grown and sexy is the assurance that comes in knowing you'll be more than ok on a rainy day.

5. I don't wear sunglasses on the inside. Are you Lindsey Lohan or somebody? The paparazzi are not after yo ass. Take off the sunglasses, it looks stupid and defeats the purpose - “sun”glasses.


6. I give back with both my money and my time. Next year, instead of just walking in the AIDS Walk, raise some money or volunteer at an AIDS Service Organization. I give money to my alma mater, my church and I volunteer. Stop complaining and do your part to make it better.

7. In my business there is a tax ID, five years of forecasting and revenues. Let's be real, all of us can't be in the music industry, fashion industry or be stylist. By the way, mannequin shopping at H&M does not make you a stylist, nor do un-trademarked names on business cards or on websites.

8. Rockin timbs, a fitted and a hoody validates nothing. Being grown and sexy means embracing what feels right to you – not what you think will appeal to the masses.

9. I still like to sag my shit a little bit, but if I lift my shirt all the way, you shouldn't be able to see any skin between my drawers and my belt loop. My dude, come on now.

10. If I bump against you in the club or vice versa, one of us should apologize and the other should accept it. Either that, or just swing. Who has time for the back and forth cattiness.

11. "Balllin'" isn't defined by being able to pay a little extra for conveniences like table service. E. Stanley “just got a $200M severance package” O’Neal is a baller – not you and me sir.

12. Moet popping at the club – no sir. I have never seen the need to pay triple the liquor store cost to do something that was once hot in a Jay-Z video. Give me a bottle of Bollinger's La Grande Annee – and by the way, I’m drinking that shit off the small of your back.

Ok... one last one... smart... well informed... articulate – always, always makes for grown and sexy.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

In Memory of E. Stanley O'neal

The news that E. Stanley O'Neal had been named president and CEO of Merrill Lynch in 2001 marked a sign of change for many who aspired to become investment bankers. It was an uncommon move: O'Neal is an African American, and Wall Street has long been a place where blacks have rarely reached the pinnacles of power. For many of us O'Neal's ascension to the investment banking elite was indeed a momentous feat in an industry whose racial barriers may come across as subtle, but are ever present. African Americans represent fewer than one in ten (6.6%) of the securities professionals in New York, according to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. And in the industry's top management positions, there aren't enough blacks to fill a New York City taxicab (even if we could get one to pull over). Stanley O'Neal's promotion at Merrill was a step in a journey that's been defined by educational excellence, professional achievement, and his ability to focus on the opportunities before him rather than the obstacles he faced. When he was 13, his family left their modest farm in Wedowee (pop. 796), Alabama, in pursuit of a better life in Atlanta, some 75 miles away. It was the mid-1960s, a period of turbulence and change in America that had made it possible for a black man like the elder O'Neal to land a well-paying job on the assembly line at the General Motors plant in nearby Doraville, Georgia, instead of being denied because of his race. Although his family initially lived in public housing, O'Neal described his new life as "ten stories higher" than anything he had ever known. He graduated from Harvard's business school with distinction and later ascended through the executive ranks at GM (we won't belabor the obvious irony here) to the company's second-highest financial position in New York, assistant treasurer. There he headed the mergers and acquisitions area. "It was a very satisfying time for me," he told FORTUNE. "Everywhere I turned there was a new horizon, and I was focusing on what I could do to expand those horizons." O'Neal joined New York-based Merrill Lynch in 1986 as vice president of investment banking and has held a series of increasingly responsible positions since joining the company. He was named president and CEO in July 2001 and served as president of the company's U.S. Private Client Group from February 2000 until July 2001. He served as executive vice president and CFO of Merrill Lynch from 1998 until 2000 and also held the position of executive vice president and co-head of the Corporate and Institutional Client Group prior to that. Previously, O'Neal was in charge of Capital Markets and a managing director in investment banking, leading the financial services groupO'Neal has been widely credited with improving investment brokerage firm Merrill Lynch's profitability and transforming it into an international financial giant dealing in commodities, private equity, asset management and bonds. He reorganized the firm after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks and made company-wide cuts during the 2002 stock market slide. The company's board gave him more leeway as he more than doubled the firm's profit level to an average that topped $5 billion annually from 2003 to 2006So on this day, when many will criticize his work, his politics and his manner, let us be ever conscious of the contributions that he has made in helping to pave a way for so many of us. The need for poster figures like O'Neal is even more profound in an industry like investment banking, which has little resonance among black youth. His example show us that we are indeed capable of all things!

P.S. - He's leaving with a $200M parachute. Got to love that!

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Why Did I Get Married Review


I have to give it to Tyler Perry, if nothing else; he is a smart business man who has created a formula that works. Why Did I Get Married started out as a stage play, which was subsequently taped for home video last year and now his fourth feature film. Aside from recycling the same story multiple times, Mr. Perry keeps cost low, ensuring that even if the movie is a flop by box office standards, he comes out on top making upwards of five times what it cost to produce. That's smart business. There is a market out there that's looking for a little bit more that violence and absolute absurdity that is often accompanied by movies directed towards African American audiences and Mr. Perry, perhaps, helps to fill that void. I was relieved to not have to sit through Mr. Perry parade the screen in drag, and while this is his best work to date, Why Did I Get Married is no cinematic masterpiece.

The definite standouts were Tasha Smith and Bill T. Jones who committed and delivered despite a stiff and didactic script. Smith keeps the one-liners rolling and as an emasculating alcoholic that tells it like it is. Jones plays the part of a husband that belittles his overweight wife; he plays it so well that you hate to dislike him. The film delves into a plethora of issues, so many in fact, that it may be easier to talk about the issues not addressed. The story meanders a bit as a lot of the relationships don't make consistent sense. However, I found it to be entertaining and a good stab at exploring the complexities of black love. I have to commend Mr. Perry for his growth and for creating a body of work that highlights "positive" black folk and I will continue to support his endeavors. I don't know if it's the responsibility of black movie goers or black film makers, but I would like to see a great movie like Talk to Me have the same sort of opening weekend that Why Did I Get Married had.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

How Did We Get Here

Over the past couple of weeks I have been in dialogue about a few different things. At the root of all this talk and discussion has been the state of the black community, and exactly how we have arrived at this place. I think that somewhere along the road, we allowed others to take a more active role than we were willing to take. On many occasions I have sat and listen to my elders reflect on pre-integration. There was a greater sense of cohesiveness that existed within our community. When young black men and women went away to be educated, they returned to their communities to educate another crop of young black minds. Despite the lack of adequate resources, there was a heighten quality of education that was delivered because the teachers had a vested interest in seeing the students succeed. There was a spirit of camaraderie that existed between parents and teachers, as they were neighbors, fellow church congregants and friends. A child’s “progress report” could be given at anytime. To that same point, the spirit of entrepreneurship thrived because there had to be a black tailor and a black grocery store and a black dentist. These people also lived in the same community, went to the same church and they knew all of the young people within their community. They were visible, and it wasn’t so far fetched to achieve. What integration did was allow for us to depend on each other less and on the "white majority" more. The black dentist and the black tailor became less visible as communities melted together and as a result young black people saw less and less black "working professionals." So now, those images have now been replaced by what's on TV or the radio or the internet, and these are the things that young black people ascribe to.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Random Ass Quote of the Week

Some foolishness for y'all from UGK's Pimp C:

In XXL's October issue:

You’ve conducted some interviews recently that expressed some prettyoffensive opinions, but you only apologized for your “Atlanta ain’t the South” statement. Any other apologies you wanna make?Let me say this: That statement about Russell Simmons had nothing to do with his sexual orientation. It had more to do with a disagreement [we had]. I don’t know if the man likes Martians, squirrels or whatever, so I ain’t gonna speak on something that I didn’t see. It’s no gay-bashing with me. It’s just, be proud of what you are, instead of hidin’ in the closet. And if ya f*ck boys in the ass, then don’t be tryna f*ck with the girls, too, poisoning the pussy population wit’ ya sh*tty ol’ dirty-ass dick.

Friday, September 21, 2007

God Save Queens

The New York landscape provides the perfect backdrop for advertisers to entice us with advertisements for their latest product offering. They are everywhere we turn – on billboards, buses even restroom urinals. Sometimes they use images to catch our eyes – the dynamic contrast between Dijmon Hounsou's opal black skin to the ultra white boxer briefs he wears in the newest Calvin Klein ads. Other times it's a catchy slogan – like the “Priceless” ads from MasterCard or the ever famous Nike “Just Do It” ad campaign. Whatever the case, these ads become ingrained in our psyche, and often times take on a whole separate set of meaning other than the intended purchase of a product or by-in to a lifestyle – the Dijmon Hounsou ad makes me want to get my ass into the gym, pronto. On a recent day out in the city I was struck by an ad for the John Varvatos line of apparel for Converse. The ad is of a woman wearing a denim jacket with “God Save Queens” on the back of the jacket. I found it a bit inspiring – the celebration of “queendom,” I thought. As I continued on with my day out in the city I thought about that ad more and more. Perhaps it was about more than the celebration of femininity? In a world ever consumed by the politics of religion and sexuality, I arrived at the thought that, God, does in fact, save “Queens.” What a beautiful affirmation I thought. Yet beyond that, I thought about the dynamic change that would occur if African American gays and lesbians would embrace this ethos.
Throughout history groups have used religion, and more specifically, the Bible, as a means to justify oppression. In Germany the Nazis used it as a means to justify Anti-Semitism. Here in America, it was used to establish the credibility of slavery by white Americans, and today it is being used by the Black Church to justify homophobia and anti-Gay thought. The Black Church has historically been the cornerstone of the African American community. As an institution it helped to set in motion the wheels of change as it related to civil liberties for black Americans. However, in recent years, the same institution so vigilant to establish change is now aiding in impeding the rights of African American gays and lesbians. In recent years there have been church led marches that called for a ban on gay marriage, and even a case in Texas where the church encouraged two girls to divorce their lesbian mother. We can assert blame to misguided pastors and so-called “reformed gays,” but I think that at the root of the issue are black members of the LGBT community who continue to fill these pews Sunday after Sunday and not speak out openly in disdain for the message that is being delivered from the pulpit.
During my college years I attended a church in which the pastor condemned homosexuality as an abomination – his thoughts were that gays and lesbians could “get out of the lifestyle” with faith and prayer. I sat there countless Sundays, made to feel ashamed of the person that I was, and on some level believing what was being said, and wanting to change. I guess if you are told something over and over, at some point you actually begin to believe it. Which I guess explains why so many members of the LBGT community remain in such congregations. The turning point came for me when I began to seek greater understanding about what the Bible really says about homosexuality, and as I began to read and understand for myself, I found that what I had been receiving from the pulpit did not fall in line with what I was reading. Needless to say, I stopped attending that congregation. By canceling my “church membership,” which included my tithes and offerings, I was indirectly sending a message I would not allow myself to be subjected to the hate that was being spewed. I learned a long time ago that silence equals agreement. By not saying anything we are shaking our heads and nodding yes. If more black gay men and women would simply stand up and walk out of these congregations, it sends the message we stand united and that hate will not be tolerated.
This can be a daunting task, as so many of us live in a constant state of denial, self-loathing and self-hate – affected by years and years of damning commentary about our orientation. Bell Hooks stated once that “A commitment to true telling is the first step in the process of self-discovery.” In saying this, I think that we have to learn how to be comfortable in our own skin – not allowing our sexually to be the most paramount thing in our lives, but being able to acknowledge that it is a part of who we are that should be nurtured accordingly. When we do this we operate under the auspices of self respect – and no self respecting individual would allow themselves to be put in situations that did not support their greatness. When we do enter into places of worship I think that we must walk in with our thinking caps on. Far too many times in our religious engagement we accept things at face value which leaves no room for thought, opinion or dialogue. This in turn leads to no room for spiritual growth. We often times become experts within our careers, super knowledgeable about the goings on within pop culture and connoisseurs of food and wine, but when it comes to our faith and what we believe, we tend to leave it entirely in the hands of another person. To ask someone why their spiritual beliefs are what they are is too often times get no answer.
Good advertising appeals to the emotional sensibilities of the consumer – our wants, desires, needs and even our insecurities and our fears. Yet, smart consumers research and make sure that the product lives up to its promises. Operating under the guise of redeeming people, a number of black churches appeal to the insecurities and fears of black gays and lesbians – guaranteeing hell if they do not change. Ultimately, however, the power lies in the hands of the individual, as they have a choice to blindly believe “smart advertising” from the pulpit or test and research for themselves. Does God save Queens? Hell emphatically yes! And he loves them too. Let us walk in the fullness of this love and in self respect knowing that we are divinely created.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

What a Man, What a Mighty Good Man

My man is smooth like Barry and his voice got bassA body like Arnold with a Denzel faceHe's smart like a doctor with a real good repHe always got a gift for me everytime I see himAnd when he comes home, he's relaxed with pep


My heterosexual female friends keep me informed on almost a daily basis that there are no good black men out there. They give me statistics, quote Essence Magazine and give me the 411 on their latest quest to meet a good black man at the newest hot spot, in an all out attempt to support their hypothesis. These women have tried internet dating, speed dating and even the office fling. Some have allowed family and friends to hook them up on dates. Others have cooked, cleaned, worked-out, gave it up on the first date and even enlisted the “three month rule.” They have been to the singles ministry at church and even learned to “pole dance” to unleash their “inner-freak.” The battle cry of “they are all either gay or in prison” resonates stronger than ever among these women living in a post J.L. King Era. I have gotten these calls for years now, and I don't expect them to end anytime soon. Yet, the new trend for me has been that for every one black woman I speak with about the lack of good brothers, I talk to two black gay men with the same issue. I yell into the receiver “I thought they were all gay, so what's the problem?” That usually gets me a chuckle or deep sighs from the other end of the receiver. Perhaps I am overly optimistic, but I find it hard to believe that there are no good black men out there? In fact, I know more than a few. So if there are good black men out there, why then is it so difficult for us to meet and maintain a good relationship with them?
I guess one would have to define what qualifies someone as a “good black man?” Our definitions end up looking more like a laundry list of sounds bites we've heard over the years of what a good man should be than anything else. The list usually goes something like the following: He has to be attractive, in shape, financially secure, love his mother, be honest, have a big car, a big house, big hands, a big dick, good teeth, good credit, good manners, and good dick, have a 401k and speak five languages. That's the short list y'all. In fact, most would forgo the good credit and 401k for the big dick. In all seriousness, these attributes would be nice, but I have to ask how realistic it is to find all these things in one individual? Further, we must ask ourselves if we possess all those things that we are looking for in a potential partner. If my credit is “jacked-up” and my figure is less than fly, how then can I have a heightened expectation for a potential partner? The focus tends to be placed entirely on what the other person can bring to the table, as opposed to what both parties can contribute to the growth of a relationship. While the visceral is important (it is the thing that usually draws us in), I think we have to be able to move beyond that being the primary criteria. Qualities like good communication skills, spirituality and a good relationship with family should be paramount if we are in fact seeking to be in a lasting relationship. What this means is that we need to learn how to date, rather than completely immersing ourselves too quickly in situations. I have found that we tend to approach dating in inverse order; we meet, have sex, and if the sex is good, decide to move forward in the engagement of courting. So, we end up falling for the great smile, nice body and the good sex, as opposed to falling for the person in their entirety. Having already fallen, we become disappointed once we become acquainted outside of the “tall, dark and handsome illusion” and find that our compatibility is limited only to hot sessions between the sheets. The same becomes true when we place great emphasis on one's professional life. I joke with my friends about handing out my resume to potential dates to see if it gets their stamp of approval. My occupation is what I do, not necessarily who I am. It has no bearing on what type of friend, lover or parent that I am. The garbage collector or the MTA worker could quite possibly be really good black men, but our narrow scope keeps us from giving it serious consideration.
Aside from having a flawed definition of what a good brother is, I think that we have to also examine our patterns. If we take a moment to look at past relationships I think that we begin to see patterns form. Examining these patterns allow for us to see where the relationship went wrong, and by doing so we are able to avoid making the same mistakes over and over. In this, we have to be honest about the role in which we played in the detriment of the relationship, as many of us like to play the victim in a defunct relationship. By virtue of the fact that so many of us “come into our gayness” later, I have found that there are some really good black men out there who merely do not know how to have a relationship with another brother. Many of us have been told all of our lives that homosexuality is nothing more than a sexual perversion, and a lot of us bought into the hype. Thus, we tend to negotiate our relationship with other men from a purely physical vantage point. With this being the case, there is never really a conscious effort placed of moving the “relationship” to a higher level. I think that black women are at an advantage here, as there is a standard by which heterosexuals can measure themselves. The fact that most of us have never really seen long lasting gay relationships modeled for us puts us at somewhat of a disadvantage, because we are learning as we go. Though I know that many would argue that good relationship qualities transcend orientation, I personally think, based on my experiences, that the nuances and idiosyncrasies that exist in same sex relationships are unique. The fact that we live in a world dominated by gender roles makes it can make it difficult for two men to coexist. There is this unconscious or maybe conscious thought that someone has to assume a less dominate role in the relationship, and this can sometimes act as a road block in finding and establishing long lasting relationships.
The Salt-n-Peppa /En Vogue collaboration that created the song “What a Man, What a Mighty Good Man” became an anthem of sorts for black women celebrating their men. The thing that I loved about the song was that each woman celebrated the individual uniqueness of what made their man good for them. It seems to me that we are all looking for a prototype – the perfect man, as opposed to honoring what it is that we really want, and even better, what we need in a man. At the end of the day we will need more than abs and biceps to sustain something real. My intent is not to debase anyone for their personal preference, as we all have them, but rather, to remind us to give serious consideration to the possibilities that exist beyond the margins of our list. Good black men are out there. They exist in various sizes, hues of brown and professions – and there is one out there for all of us.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

He Ain't Heavy... He's My Brother

“I must believe, I must believe, that the heavy grace of God, which has brought me to this place, is all that can carry me out of it.” James Baldwin

The bond of brotherhood is formed in a number of different ways. For some of us it was created in dorm rooms over cups of ramen noodles as we discussed sports, girls and a plethora of other random bull-shit. For some, it happened on football fields, in locker-rooms and better still on neighborhood blocks where we cracked on each others mothers, lied about when we lost our virginity and spent summers shooting hoops well into twilight. For others, true brotherhood made its presence known in our allegiances to fraternal organization. And sometimes it happened merely because we were the only two “brothas” who worked in a certain area of the company. As a testament to the importance of brotherhood among black men, the film industry has taken liberty to explore it in movies like “The Wood,” “Brothers” and “Get on the Bus.” “New Jack City” exemplified the “g-code” using the biblical through-line “Am I my brother's keeper” as constant reminder to have your brother's back. Despite how it happened, the thing that remains consistent in most brotherly bonds is the presence of some kind of common connection, the commitment to stick together, to fight for each other, push each other in the right direction (or perceived right direction) and always be available to lend a helping hand. Black male life is not a monolith, and to that same point black gay life does not exist in a vacuum. There will always be differences. These differences can either bond or divide. However, what happens when we allow the thing that links us as brothers, as “family,” to create division and allow for the zeitgeist of non-brotherly behavior to rear its ugly head? Does brotherhood truly exist among black gay men?
We categorize ourselves in a number of different ways – top, bottom, fem, masculine, dl, queen, t-girl, just to name a few. I question if these labels force us to segregate, and by segregating, severing the ties that bond us together as brothers. I made a recent visit to my old friend “Adam” to see what the latest offerings are in the city. In only a few clicks, I was able to view firsthand the divisiveness that exists within our community. Preference has truly run amuck. On a site where everyone is a man who has sex with other men, it is hard for me to understand from whence all the hate is derived. One can express what their likes are without bashing. If we are all meeting on the common ground of sexual affinity to men, why then is it important to pick apart a person's individual lifestyle in such a hate driven way? If we are really honest with ourselves we realize that our struggle is the same. We all face the same discrimination. We may be tolerated if our life mirror a “normalized” heterosexual lifestyle, but the fact still remains that acceptance is far from being actualized. At the heart of this is the human tendency to react in opposition to things that we do not understand. It is the “fight or flight” response – where you either fight against that thing (i.e. feminine men, trans-gender men, men who are out of the closet) with every ounce of your being or avoid it as if it were the plague. Instead we should seek to find understanding. I made a personal vow with myself some years ago to not speak publicly with disdain about another brother (or sister). By doing this it allowed for me to place a greater focus on myself and find that the flaws I so readily pointed out in other people had more to do with personal insecurities than anything else. My hope is not some utopia where we all hug and sing “flower child” songs from the sixties, but rather that we adhere to the standards of brotherhood.
Donnie Hathaway's remake of the Hollies 1969 hit song “He ain't heavy, he's my brother” is a favorite on my ipod playlist because it provides me with a constant reminder to act accordingly and acknowledge the fact that I belong to an additional brotherhood of men. Though my admission into this brotherhood was not a matter of choice, I am still responsible for nurturing it. When I speak negatively about my brothers, it gives others outside the bond a false sense of entitlement to do the same. Further, we do a disservice to each other when we allow for such comments to go unchecked. Despite the gay sub-culture that I associate with most closely, I must make it my business to look out for all my brothers despite their gay sub-culture. That does not mean becoming intimately involved in the lives of every black gay man, but it does mean that there is an awareness that exist as we interact with one another. As we increase our collective camaraderie, it decreases the chances for others to attempt to divide us and use us as puns. Let us be the true embodiment of brotherhood and be advocates for each other. It's like Donnie says in the song, “His welfare is my concern. No burden is he to bear, we'll get there. For I know he would not encumber me. He ain't heavy, he's my brother.”