Pick a Side: To be Black and Gay in America

Being partially raised by my grandfather, who had more than a few run-ins with the Klan growing up in Louisiana, and being born and raised in very liberal California, home of the Panthers, it was embedded in me to be Black and proud. Better yet to be Black and fearless. I was told to always demand and fight to be heard. To defend and uplift my people. I was taught that once you get your foot in the door to hold it open and bring others with you.

My grandfather told me all about Louisiana and segregation. How fourteen-year-old Emmett Till was murdered by two white men based on a lie that a white woman told, and that all three got away with it. He told me about how people had marched, fought, and died for me to be somewhat free. I knew what white supremacy meant before the age of ten. He told me that minorities should help one another, that we all need to fight against bigotry.

My mother taught me all about Black scholars, writers, poets, and inventors. Things they never even taught me in the one month of the year that my teachers even acted like Black people existed. My mother explained that America doesn’t want Black people to know that they come from greatness, that no matter how much racism oppresses us, and try to hold us down, not only do we survive but we thrive. She explained that if too many of us Black folks realized how great we were, how if we learned of each other’s accomplishments, we would gain equal or even greater footing in this world. The one thing that racists fear the most. Gaining all this information early on was scary but gave me such pride.

“I understood at an early age that being Black came with a different set of rules and challenges. I felt like it was my turn to stand on the frontlines. It was my turn to help” 

I understood at an early age that being Black came with a different set of rules and challenges. I felt like it was my turn to stand on the frontlines. It was my turn to help. 

I was also taught at a young age by my Black community and church family that being gay was the worst thing you could ever be. Now I have read the bible, and my pastor pointed out that although the bible also said it was okay to have slaves and more than one wife (trust me I could go on), that those things could be explained away. Everything but the gay part. That was a one-way ticket to hell.  This was also reinforced by the music I loved. The words “faggot and dyke” were dropped into every other song I listened to. Always to belittle and make fun of a person. In my mind being gay was always equated with negative thoughts and feelings. I took no pride in what I was feeling, of what was in my heart. I was very much ashamed. I had to pick, so I picked being Black.

I spent much of my late teens and early 20’s lying and pretending about who I was. I stupidly put myself in all kinda dangerous situations to prove to others and to be honest, myself that I wasn’t gay. I put up with verbal, emotional, and physical abuse just to save face. I put my heart, mind, and body through hell for years. I finally hit rock bottom looking for shelters in Miami, I had moved there to be with someone who treated me like crap. I sat down and thought about my life, what it had become. I thought about how much joy and pride I took in being a Black woman. Why couldn’t I in being gay? I thought about how my grandaddy told me to always fight for minorities and against bigoty. So why was I doing this? Why way I living this way? Why wasn’t the same passion and conviction I took in being Black, applied to me being gay?

When I made my way back to California I promised to not choose anymore, because in all honesty I don’t fuckin have too. I am Black and gay. The same “by any means necessary” approach and mentality I have about my Blackness would also be applied to my homosexuality. I came out to my family and friends, and never looked back.

Fast forward to 2019, to my spouse telling me about a man named Tracy Evan being called the N-word multiple time at the brewery he worked for. I was told about how the brewery had a “white copy machine” and an “N-word copy machine”. How the employees, yes employees with an “s” were not fired for calling someone the fuckin N-word. Most importantly I watched as consumers and people within the beer community acted as if this behavior was okay. No big deal, let’s not say shit, let’s keep drinking punk ass Founders beer and lining the pockets of outed racists.

I have personally made it my mission to get the Brewers Association, and CEO Bob Pease, to make a formal, clear statement about race relations, and racism within the beer industry. I have been met with a wall of silence, finally followed by a poorly written, incomplete, and watered-down code of conduct.

More recently I have watched my spouse and other trans friends within the beer industry, be bullied, bashed, referred to as “it” or “he-shes” on social media. I’ve read numerous times “stop forcing your sexuality on us” as if just living our lives and minding our own damn business is forcing something on anyone.  When it comes to beer, I feel like they are saying a big fuck you with a smile, to both of the communities. Beer often gives little thought to either Black or queer people and are loud and disrespectful about it.

I gladly carry both the communities I belong to on my back, and dare someone to have problem with it. I am extremely confident and content with who I am. I am still learning about my LGBTQIA community, the history, and the struggle. I make it my business to learn, help, and protect as much as I can. In any way I can. I have both my feet permanently, loudly, and proudly in both worlds.

Always down to get into some good trouble.