Happy Endings Anyone?

This is a crazy world

These are such lonely days... -some song at the end of "Prayers For Bobby"

I don't even know how to begin to say what I'd like to say. I'm too emotional -have been for a while now- to utter any coherent words beyond a stammered "thank-you..." To the boihood for everything that they do to affirm us and hold us down with their positive representation of queerness & masculinity. To my new found friends abroad and here at home who have been accepting and awesome and truthful and supportive etc...

But before that. There's been a greater urge within me -suppressed like nothing you can ever imagine- to scream "HELP!" So I guess this is it. This is me succumbing to the basic human need to enlist the assistance of your fellow people in trying to stay afloat. In trying to survive. Survive what? Fuck you talking about? Yes; I hear you asking the questions. Impatient, ready to walk away before you get sucked into some lunatics ramblings about something that probably has nothing to do with you in the first place. And maybe it doesn't. Maybe there's nothing you can do to help me. But maybe...

Maybe you know of someone or are someone who understands the desperation I am about to describe here.

I guess I should start by letting it be known that I am chastising myself -right now- for watching far too many "sad" queer films. You know, Boys Don't Cry, What Makes a Family, The Laramie Project (a doccie-type film about Mathew Shepard), Soldier's Girl etc. All of which have very painful undertones and don't cast a very "light" light on what it means to be queer in the world today. For the most part these films seem to be the only type of movies out there for people who would like to watch serious gay/lesbian/transgender/bisexual films and not gay porn. I have noticed however that there is a kind of commonality in these films and that is their "based-on-a-true-story" ness. 

Because I'd sort of like to know what I'm up against.

And I guess that is the problem. Sorry for getting to the point in such a round about way -but this is just how my thought-processes pan out sometimes. I get so immersed in all of these really bleak, really depressing stories about queer people and their lives that it's hard to imagine any kind of happy ending for my own journey. Now I know I'm probably a lil too young to be contemplating any kind of "end" to my "journey" here on earth but the truth of the matter is I've been thinking obsessively about there being an end to my journey/life for years. Please, don't be alarmed though; I'm leaning towards a much more optimistic outlook most of the time so I won't be doing anything uh...stupid. 

But that doesn't mean it's easy.

I think I internalize shit far too much. The hatred so many people feel towards anyone who is "other" out in the world is one I have had to work incredibly hard not to turn in on myself. And I've felt it on a lot more fronts than just that which is pertinent to my being queer. I feel it when people show hatred of black people. I feel it when people show hatred of female people. I feel it when people show hatred of masculine-identified female people, or black female people. It's real. And I feel it. And for a very long time feeling it was enough to make me want to be done with the world and life. Feeling it was enough to make me want to be dead. And as I continue to watch these films and think about what the world likely has in store for me as a black queer masculine-identified female person...I feel that hatred more than ever. 

But I don't want to die. Really I don't. I would like to feel less alone in this though. I would like to know that yes it does get better and be told exactly how it gets better and how I can make sure it gets better for myself. I try so very hard to be brave daily. To forget that I have a parent -the only one I acknowledge as such- who would very quickly disown me if she ever found out I was queer. I try hard to pretend that it doesn't not sit well with me that everything that I am; everything that I love about being who I am is seen as sinful and "wrong" in the eyes of a community of people I've grown up with my entire life. I don't even identify as christian; yet years of indoctrination -continuing indoctrination- have culminated into this internal cess pool of shame, shame, shame.

And this hurts me. It causes me so much pain to wake up everyday and feel shame about the people I fantasize about or have been in love with; to feel a sick mixture of self-love and shame every time I bind or wear my pants low or lower my voice or stare at another beautiful boi and/or want to touch them... I don't know how much longer I can go on dealing with the shame and facing the world with this internal battle waged against my sense of self-worth. It's fucked up that in any situation where I am called upon to give my opinion about a bigot's comments about queer people in general; I am able to cut that person down to shreds...but I STILL walk away with a bit of whatever hatred the bigot sent out into the air. A part of me still feels like absolute crap for being who I am.

I dunno. I guess I just need to stay focused right? Think of all the awesome queer people I am going to meet and love and live among one day and not care that that life of happiness might just cost me the love of a parent and an entire community of people...

-medusa

 

Mercy Medusa Minah is a 20 year old, 2^nd year Law student currently based in South Africa, Johannesburg. I identify as queer, go by female pronouns and I also identify as a feminist/womanist/humanist. I sing and write, act and draw and I read more than I breathe. I work part-time as a Math and English tutor for kids from the ages 4 to 18; some with learning difficulties and others who come from rough backgrounds. I also continue to work at GALA (Gay and Lesbian Memory in Action) and am an internet-hog.

Facebook: http://www. facebook.com/mercymedusaminah | Twitter: @blacqqueer black queer artiste | My blog:http://www.medusaprose.wordpress.com | Email: blacqqueer@gmail.com

Attention! The Bois seek an intern

The bois are seeking an intern for Fall/Winter!!

No, actually wait. Scratch that.

{The bois are seeking an incredibly driven, multi-talented, boi or boi-affirming intern to set the tone for interns from now until forever.}

*About the bois* We are a collective of artists and social entrepreneurs. bklyn boihood is becoming a space that supports bois of color through special events like parties, workshops, collaborations, and speaking engagements. We manage a robust interactive social media platform that impacts thousands of unique users (members of our community) a day. Our reach has grown from a few blocks around Nostrand Ave. to over 50 countries and every state.

We meet weekly (sometimes more, sometimes less) + work daily. Sometimes it's fun; sometimes it's tedious.

*About you* Our intern from 9/15-1/31/13. Prepare to learn a lot, work a lot, play a lot. Be great at receiving feedback and taking self-direction. We all get coffee and snacks for each other so prepare to pick up tasks like that without a second thought. We don't get paid so neither will you. But we are willing to offer college credit. Additionally, we will cover your transportation, feed you and make sure you have a good time.

Our ideal intern:

• Is a queer POC. (We'd especially love to work with bois who fit inside our mission.)

• Is at least 18 years of age, willing to be photographed/recorded

• Works hard, plays hard.

• Is in or near Bklyn, NY & able to commit 8-10 hrs/week through January 31^st.

• Is really good or getting really good at AT LEAST one of these things: writing, graphic design, database management, merchandising and design, website management, fundraising, policy organizing, facilitation...or if you have a particular skill that isn't named but you think is valuable, tell us!

• Is willing to speak on behalf of/represent bklyn boihood

Send us your resume (which should always include a cover letter) & something else that illustrates you. Anything else. Make it fun or funky...or serious.

<3, the bois

Deadline: September 10th 2012.

Send info to: info@bklynboihood.com

Subjectline: Intern!

South Africa and Queerness, Affirmation and My Glass Closet

South Africa is a beautiful place. Not just aesthetically -with lush rolling hills in the Western, Eastern Capes; flowing from behind new-born concrete jungles in Gauteng and Mpumalanga, beautiful beaches and oceans in the Capes, thick forests in the Northern Cape and even vast formidable deserts in the Sahara- but also in its rich culture, diversity and the warmth of its people. But there is also a very sinister side to the country which is what I am going to be speaking a lot about here.

I remember being in matric (my final year of High School) and feeling that, as a queer black kid in a catholic School and from a staunchly Christian and homophobic household, I hungered for people to look up to. I needed to know somehow that I wasn't the only queer person in the world which -in spite of knowing and being friends with the only other three lesbians in my school- is what it often felt like because of the media's sparse portrayal of queer people. Ellen DeGeneres for all her adorableness simply wasn't enough. And quite frankly she was just too far removed from me -not just geographically but also in terms of my not being able to identify with her (I'm black and she isn't; I'm intensely political and she played it safe) - for me to be able to find any comfort in the fact that she was as famous as she was in spite of being queer. So I decided to do a Google search for "famous South African Lesbians". I really did just need someone closer to home.

What I found would turn out to be what I always use now as a justification for my strong need to be an activist. A queer-rights activist. The first 20 or so links Google showed me after my search were ALL articles about slain lesbians in my country. Now, don't get me wrong, sheltered as I was from the outside world I had always known that queer people were "not liked" in SA. That was clear for me when in the 8th Grade I was involved in a 22 against 10 debate about whether the government had done the right thing by legalizing same-sex marriages in the country. I knew it when my mother came home after weeks of marching and campaigning with her church for the Civil Union Act not to be passed, looking defeated and crestfallen about the government's decision. I saw it in the way people just reacted to anyone perceived as queer, with dislike, derision and mild hostility. All of this was clear to me years before I even knew that I was “one of them.”

But this level of hostility? The hatred feuling the brutal killing of human beings because of who they loved?

This was not something that I had anticipated.

It shocked me into an awareness of the place I called home which didn't cast a very positive light on how I perceived my fellow South Africans. In spite of this hideous revelation, I was still in many parts very sheltered from the full reality of what it meant to be queer in this country. I think I got a better understanding of the bigger picture when I started varsity.

Upon arriving in the liberated (and enlightened) space that is University I did a quick search of safe spaces in the form of societies and clubs run by and for queer people. I discovered the University's LGBTQIA society, ACTIVATE and signed up for it shortly afterwards. By now I had already come out to a lot of the people I had lectures with and had received mixed reactions to my identity. Some people were cool, "oh wow, nice. I have a friend back home who's gay and I'm chilled with it," while others were down-right ugly, "you need to sleep with a man in order to find out how sex is done properly." I wasn't deterred however. I had gotten enough bullshit from my high school class mates and teachers to know that becoming an activist for myself and others who identified as queer like me was not going to be easy. And I sort of felt -more than a lot of people- that in the face of the hate crimes and the inadequacy in how they were handled legally and politically I had a responsibility to use my voice -my hands, my legs, and my mind- to contribute in making a difference. So I went to the queer parties and spoke (and spoke and spoke some more) about my identity and why there was nothing wrong with it to anyone who would listen. However I still hungered for something more. More affirmation. My appetite for queerness was insatiable. It wasn't enough for me to sit around with other good-looking queer people, get into relationships and get drunk with them.

I was thus referred to a place which I now call my first true "home."

GALA –Gay and Lesbian memory in Action (formerly Gay and Lesbian Archives)- was introduced to me as “the gay library.” And that, it was. But I soon discovered that it was a whole lot more. Outside of housing the biggest queer-based library in the continent (a 6 by 8 space with two decent-sized shelves) it was also the home of archival material which documented the experiences of queer people in the history of Africa. In short: heaven. I spent every free hour I had in that library, so much so that they eventually approached me about a volunteering position in the library which would entail being allowed to take books and DVD’s out for free in exchange for about six hours a week of cataloguing books into their computer system and signing new members up in the library. Obviously I replied with a huge “YES!” and let them know that they would not be getting rid of me any time soon.

Through GALA I learned that queerness was not always abhorred and that queer people throughout the continent engaged in PRIDE marches and celebrations to show the world that they were not going to be silent about their existence. Every day at GALA taught me to appreciate my queerness and led to my coming into myself in a way that no romantic relationship or hungrily devoured article about Ellen D had done before. I was suddenly in a space that allowed me to be me, no questions asked.

Working for GALA allowed me to interact with and meet people who challenged me to be a better person. People who affirmed my identity and were also just completely accepting of who I was and the changes I went through in the 2.5 years they'd known me. A steady flow of activists and artists and intellectuals/academics forever filled the library with a vibrant and learning-conducive atmosphere. They played a huge role in creating my deep-seated admiration for people who dedicated their lives to fighting the Good [Queer] fight. (This admiration would later lead me to discover the sheer perfection that is bklyn boihood).

But…

I still had to go home with my mother every day. Anything that I did in relation to GALA always remained a closely kept and fiercely guarded secret, the first year I was there. My siblings were the only people in the household whom I had come out to and they were amazing; supportive and forever interested in the stories I had to tell them about my relationships and GALA. Conversations held in hushed tones and whenever my mother wasn’t around. To say that my mother would not be accepting of my identity would be to make the biggest understatement of the millennium. If you’ve seen Pariah, you’ve seen my story (pre-coming out, though I know without a doubt that the end result would be identical in my own life). In that first year of varsity it was virtually easy to lead a double life. I had had to keep many parts of my identity secret before that; I could never express my dubiousness with the hypocrisy in the charismatic churches we went to; never express my anger about patriarchy and the way the women around me felt it was okay to let men treat them.

I couldn’t even speak about how I was becoming a little queer writer (GALA had accepted a short story I’d written for an anthology they were publishing). I had to celebrate this feat on my own.

But, as anyone who has ever had to be closeted will know; this double life soon became debilitating for me. I was depressed; I hated the clothes I had to wear, the conversations about marriage -and children being popped out of my body- I had to endure. And most of all I began to hate my silence.

Very soon, my closet became a glass closet. I ditched my pumps for converse sneakers and boots, sheared my hair off and made bow-ties out of old t-shirts I no longer wore. In little ways I started showing everybody –mom included and to her chagrin- who and what I was. I’ve even told her about GALA, calling it the Human Rights library. And while she has made her stance very clear about homosexuality and how much of a terrible sin she believes it is; I am learning daily that in the face of her prejudice and my country’s sinister ignorance, the only way I am going to make any kind of difference is if I live fully and fearlessly as my true self.

Love and Light

-Medusa

Facebook: http://www. facebook.com/mercymedusaminah

Twitter: @blacqqueer black queer artiste

My blog: http://www.medusaprose.wordpress.com

Email: blacqqueer@gmail.com

Mercy Medusa Minah is a 20 year old, 2^nd year Law student currently based in South Africa, Johannesburg. I identify as queer, go by female pronouns and I also identify as a feminist/womanist/humanist. I sing and write, act and draw and I read more than I breathe. I work part-time as a Math and English tutor for kids from the ages 4 to 18; some with learning difficulties and others who come from rough backgrounds. I also continue to work at GALA and am an internet-hog. 

The Bad Gay Corrects You.

Excuse me? Hi. You're wrong. Or rude. Either way, I'm pulling cards.

Lesbians are awesome. First of all, you need to get your life together. I should just stop there, but I won't. I want to be useful. I swear I'm going off on the next queer who disrespects the language of someone's identity and makes some sour face at the notion of the word 'lesbian'. There is nothing antiquated or problematic about a woman loving another woman and identifying as such. Why queerness is trying to gentrify the language of sexuality is beyond me. FYI: Everything you do that is queer is not because of the glory of the anonymous Internet, or the new school androgynous stylings of youth, or the on-the-books repealing of DOMA (cause you can't repeal ignorance...sadly), or the wonderful stylings of Ellen Degeneres and Erick McCormack on prime time television at the turn of the century. Everything—and you should remember this because it should FOREVER inform the humility you bring to your community—is made entirely possible by dykes and butches and lesbians and homosexuals and bisexuals who lived before you and continue to live today. See the real issue is that for all the annoyance you feel for the word 'lesbian' I bet you'd be hard pressed to name 10 'lesbians' who were instrumental in the detangling of your human rights* socially or legislatively. If that's too labor intensive a thought, how about this: instead of focusing on how the word doesn't fit you, focus on how you missed the lesson that there is no room to do to the world what has been done to you. Undo the inclination to scoff at your roots.

 

The balance of masculinity and femininity in a queer/homo relationship is actually quite lovely. I need you to immediately cease-fire on what are being reductively called 'hetero-normative' relationships. I need you to understand that some people like that shit and ain't nothing wrong with them. I need you to give permission to your community to behave in a way that is true to themselves, even if what they want is a daddy-mommy house, two.5 kids, a dog named Bobo and the full directTV NFL package. That sounds terribly boring but you get my point. I need you to understand that for many bois, there is no greater compliment to our whole everything than a brilliant, amazing femme. There is no one I'd rather be loved by, no one I'd rather dance with, no one I'd rather fuck, no one I'd rather make a life with. The nuances of my yin to her yang (or vice versa) are none of your business. And I can't understand why you, dear queer, ever think that they are. Your mistake is oppressive. If seeing that dynamic stresses you out; if it makes you uncomfortable or feel stunted...take some deep breaths and understand it isn't your dynamic to stress about. Patriarchy, misogyny, racism, sexual harassment, domestic violence—let's talk about and conscientiously attack those things. But not how I love opening her car door and she loves it too. That doesn't fit into the box you are trying to place it in.

Stop pretending you don't fuck men when you're in queer relationships/circles/spaces. That's cowardly and it's misleading. It doesn't have to be that you get on a bullhorn and announce the spectrum of your sexual preference—that's not what I mean. What I mean is, don't go out of your way to make sure you never own that part of your sexuality. Love who you love. The point of the world we're trying to create and live in is that it's all good, as long as you are keeping it safe and keeping it real. You can't be doing either of those things if you're being dishonest. Many of us don't care. Some of us do. Those who do deserve to be considered. This is not a mean girls lunch table (and if you feel like it is, you need better friends). You will not be banished for liking bio-dick and taco meat chest hair in addition to pussy and straps and soft cuddling. FYI.

(Most of) You are not a brand. You are a person. Probably a person who was (or is) very awkward in high school. A person who does things that, like every person, they are excited or ashamed to share with the world. You may even don a new haircut, embrace a different aesthetic, make a life-plan of action. You are probably a person who has hobbies, talents and amazing ideas right before falling asleep. Brands do not do these things. People do. The disease of branding hit us queerdos hard. People out here with tattoos the same font as the headline on their tumblr page, thinking that = something. They are an artist, I am being told. There is no portfolio. They use Instagram. Their subjects didn't realize they were “subjects” or that it was a shoot/session/cipher because they are your homies and you were out at Dallas BBQ.

I just can't anymore, y'all. I have to speak up. That's not a brand, that's called being 19 in 2012. And if you're hovering in that age range, I think that's awesome. If you're not that's okay too, I'm just trying to mirror what I see. Marinate on it. It's okay to just be...someone who enjoys making art without commodifying it or yourself right? I mean, if I'm not right and you're like, “No, TBG! I really am trying to work on building a brand, in fact, I invest hours and hours thinking about my work and how I can impact the world and that tumblr page is really real to me,” then please email me ASAP. We have work to do.

Stop trying to sleep with your friend's partners. It is not reflective of the openness of our spectrums, it is reflective of your deep and sad insecurity about being wanted, popular and loved. We all seem to have accepted that “we all sleep with each other” (a la L Word chart) and that commitment is passé and shit happens. To that I say: you're a mess and I hereby sprinkle love-yourself-better fairy dust all over you. In the name...

The fact that you don't read books is devastating. If I could squeeze my manifesto in 140-characters or one of those weird photos-of-text, I would. Cause then at least I know you'd read it. Alas, my manifesto is too long. It's too deep. (Giggity.) So I won't go into to it, except to say: I was not a child who sought refuge at the library. I was a child who sought refuge by glueing giant rocks to my teacher's desk and smoking cigarettes in the stairwell of my apartment building when I should've been in 7^th period. For years, I was sent to read as a punishment. I thought I was being cute by consciously forcing myself to enjoy it. I say that to say, I am a nerd, yes, but not one from birth. It's an effort. I know reading books can be annoying. I honestly do. When you don't do it often it puts you to sleep, it gives you headaches, somewhere around page 124 it feels like an insurmountable task and maybe a little boring. It is the antithesis of a computer, it is a lonely act. All those things are true.

But so is this: Books of consequence are powerful and worth the effort. There is a reason Ceasar got to Egypt, freaked out and burned down Alexandria (I'll let you do research on that). There is power in books. I can't overstate the truth in that. Everything about your world changes when you commit to and finish a book that strikes you.

You need an example? Audre Lorde taught me how to eat pussy. And that worked out great. 

Bam.

-TBG.

--

The Bad Gay finally has a twitter. Like, as of an hour ago. Follow the foolishness here: @the_bad_gay. Look out for a homo.

*Barbara Jordan, Countee Cullen, Mable Hampton, Chavela Vargas, Lorraine Hansberry, Gladys Bentley, Ma Rainey, Gloria Anzaldúa, Nella Larsen, Noxolo Nogwaza...get to work. 

To the Adults Tearing Willow Smith Down -- A Response from the Ignant Intellectual

(The following article was initially in response to this article, then I was introduced to this article. So really it’s about all articles like these!) -II

---------------

Before we get into our conversation, let’s pretend that kids are actually fully functioning humans with the ability to know (perhaps not have the language to assign to emotions and feelings) fairly mature things about themselves; like when their stomachs hurt, when they are happy or sad, when they don’t agree with an idea or concept, or when they don’t feel comfortable in socially constructed boxes such as gender expression, social norms, etc. Ok now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…

On July 1, 2012, Willow Smith, an American singer, songwriter, and actress released an official music video for her new song ‘I Am Me’ on her YouTube channel. (Way to use that privilege for good, Willow, by releasing it for free!) The video opens in what appears to be New York City with long and lanky Willow entering the frame on a skateboard in an oversized vintage button-down shirt and skinny jeans with an old keyboard in hand. There were no sparkly lights, no background singers, no glam, just Willow, her skateboard, her keyboard, and her voice. Simple, right? Not so much. Don’t let the smooth taste fool ya. The moment it hit the web, opinions went flying. The opinions offered by critics aren’t new. They’ve been around since her brother, Jaden, surfaced on the Hollywood scene as a character in The Pursuit of Happyness. These opinions include The Griot’s Kia Miakka Natisse, who wrote this article last year, and Babble’s Carolyn Castiglia, who wrote this article last week. Candidly, I was surprised to see a critique that criticized Smith on a blog that is seemingly focused on pro-family issues with tabs entitled ‘Baby’s First Year’, ‘Family Kitchen’, ‘Being Pregnant’, and ‘Family Style’ but hey, we are in a recession, get it how you live.

The two articles cited above made me feel some kinda way. From Castiglia’s opening sentence “…it’d be great if she was the coolest 11-year-old you’ve never heard of, the star of the chorus in some small town somewhere…Because a child her age should not be open to the kind of criticism a horribly ridiculous song like ‘I Am Me’ is going to expose her to’ to Natisse’s closing sentence ‘If your child has talent it is important to nurture it and help it grow, but be careful to remember they are a child — not a cash cow.” I find it senseless when folk play this insane hegemonic game where if someone is not unknown/from the hood/oppressed in some way, their contribution is not valued. I find that arguments surrounding privilege routinely stop prematurely. Let’s be clear. Privilege as a stand-alone concept is not debauched. We all have privilege, even oppressed groups. The question must then become ‘How is this privilege used?’ If it is being used as a mechanism to abuse, therein rests the problem. Rarely is privilege ruminated within the jurisdiction of being a mechanism to interrupt cycles of oppression because we are so accustomed to the ill-effects of it. My issue is not that folk don’t like the song or that critics question whether or not the limelight is best for children. The writers seem to be concerned with parents possibly using their children as propaganda—at least that is how it appears on the surface. Nope, still not my issue. My issue fundamentally lies in the fact that we can’t seem to look beneath the surface to see where our angst truly can be found—Willow does not fit neatly within the hegemonic, patriarchal, and gendered boxes that others have constructed for her. I know I know, GASP. You would never suggest such a thing. Ever. Ok, let me try again. Perhaps what you’re really saying is that, overall, society is threatened by Willow because she is young, she is powerful, she is privileged, she is using that privilege as a tool to dismantle destructive social norms, specifically the socially-required aesthetic of female-bodied persons, she is self-assured, and she is FEMALE! No? Ok maybe what you’re saying is that she is different, she is unlike the mainstream. At 11 years old, she is being vulnerable, and telling us that our validation is just not that important to her. AT THE SAME DAMN TIME!

Let’s be real, this is not about our adult concern for the welfare of children in big bad Hollywood and them being mentally and emotionally prepared for the potentially hurtful critiques of adults. The fact that these authors chose to participate in the very media negativity that they purport Willow be safeguarded against speaks to the lack of concern for Willow’s safety in that regard. And it’s not about being concerned that Will Smith could possibly be “merchandizing his kids” as suggested by Natisse, who I’m presuming hasn’t been familiarized with the term residual income, considering that Will Smith (not including the income of Jada and the kids) could stop making money today and would still be wealthy off of Fresh Prince re-runs alone. Come on people, as of 2011, his films have grossed $5.7 billion in global box office receipts. Yep, Will needs to merchandize his kids’ talents to secure food on the table. And if the issue is about the fundamental concept of building a family empire, why is there a pervasive fear about blacks leaving more than a week’s worth of savings behind when they die? God forbid my great grandkids actually being able to eat off of the money that I made yesterday!

I am a full-time Drug & Alcohol counselor. One of the lessons I provide to my clients is called ‘The Anger Iceberg’. The theory behind this premise is that anger is a secondary emotion and only speaks to roughly 20% of what we truly feel, but because anger is socially acceptable, it’s the emotion that we typically choose to reveal more than our primary emotions. It’s the tip of the iceberg. The other 80% that is under the surface are the primary emotions; hurt, insecurity, rejection, fear, resentment, shame, inadequacy, etc. These are the emotions that truly drive our responses and the lens through which we view life. But, because expressing these emotions often earn us names like weak and fragile, we tend to operate from an anger framework. What are you talking about? Glad you asked. I often observe anger-rooted commentary surrounding Willow’s androgyny and refusal to play into a hyper-femininity and this refusal being directly connected to her sexuality. Comments found on social media spaces like Facebook and Twitter that read, “please don’t tell me she’s gay?” or “Is she a stud in the making?” and Why are her parents letting her run around looking like a little boy? They ought to be ashamed of themselves.” While, I am not a self-proclaimed feminist, I do see an angst that sweeps across a nation when a female assumes responsibility and onus around their image, their sex, their gender, specifically surrounding the aesthetics of their gender expression. This angst is almost always presented as some form of pathology in the form of a non-traditional sexuality.

What appears to happen is that adults have temper tantrums that present as being overly critical when really it's because another’s chosen form of gender expression makes adults uncomfortable. It wakes up those primary emotions underneath the iceberg that drive us to display anger and downright antagonism…resentment that I was not brave enough to just be me when I was younger…feelings of inadequacy in parenting and believing that my child being ‘different’ is a direct indication of poor parenting on my part…fears of being rejected if I walk in who I truly am…sad that I never got a skateboard…feelings of insecurity that if I quit my cu$hy job and go after my dreams that I won’t be good enough so I play-it-safe and hide behind my computer and lash out at an 11-year old who had the guts (and parental connections) to do so. Really this isn’t about Willow’s privilege because not once have we seen her abuse it. She even released this song on You Tube! FREE ass YouTube! In reading many blog posts, FB statuses, and tweets, I’m seeing at work a system of policing that attempts to control who can, when they can, at what age one can manifest their femininity/masculinity, their individuality, their politic, or their middle finger. And if they manifest it too soon, too late, too high, too low for the liking of the masses, it will be criticized. Bottom line: folk are angry, hurt, insecure, resentful, frustrated, scared, rejected, fearful…

Instead of expanding the boundaries of artistic expression and its aesthetic to include all of its nuances, we attempt to limit the spaces that make us comfortable. And what’s worse, we try to force others into those spaces to be miserable with us. I would love for the day to come when someone can operate outside of a gender presentation binary and not automatically have their sexual orientation questioned. I would love to see a moment when black female-bodied persons did not have to play into this pre-constructed societal feminine aesthetic requirement. 

To be Black, female-bodied, privileged, and socially responsible is to be a warrior. Let us pray that more of us have the courage to love ourselves wholly and be outspoken mentors even if our mentees are older than us! Keep creating Willow and don’t bend.

About The Ignant Intellectual...

The Ignant Intellectual is a New Orleans-reared writer, poet, and spoken word artist who has been writing before completely mastering the English language. From the accent to that je ne sais quoi that folk have been trying to put words to for far too long, to the curious name, The Ignant Intellectual is indeed a 'strange fruit'. I.I.'s goal in writing and performing is to deconstruct the many unconscious social constructions that guide our mental processes and ultimately our actions, to influence youth and elders to re-imagine what is, pushing/pulling the collective to our full potential. The Ignant Intellectual's vibrant, often humorous, and always though-provoking writings and performances convey that, "Life really is good enough to be true." And so it is.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ignantintellectual

Twitter: @ignantintellect

 Blog: ignantintellectual.tumblr.com

Radio Show: queer2thet.blogspot.com

Email: ignantintellectual@gmail.com