, , , , , , , , , , ,

“What’s the difference between being a black gay person and a gay black person? How do I know which identity to put first, and put the most energy into? If I’m a queer activist, I am turning my back on my race, and if I am a black activist, I’m turning my back on my sexuality. Both communities make me feel like I have to pick one or the other, and I don’t know which one to choose.”

- Question submitted by Anonymous and answered by Cassidy Hill as part of Everyone Is Gay: Second Opinions

Cassidy Says:

There’s a lovely little term I’m going to share with you, anon: intersectionality. (In the bootleg Wikipedia definition, intersectionality is the “study of intersections between forms or systems of oppression, domination, or discrimination.”) Intersectionality acknowledges that many forms of discrimination overlap and occur simultaneously. For me, a queer black woman, I can be subjected to discrimination based on my race, my gender, and my sexuality.

It’s true that both communities have plenty of overlap when it comes to discrimination. Both communities also have a long way to go in terms of overcoming oppression. But arguing that you can’t fight for one community without abandoning the other is not the way to go. If I march with the Black Lives Matter movement, I’m not abandoning the LGBT community. If I dress up and go to a Queer Prom benefit, I’m not turning my back on black people. If I felt guilt over feelings of abandonment with every bit of activist work I did, I’d start to feel exhausted. Chances are I’d go to fewer and fewer events. Think of it this way: let’s say I’m at a barbeque, and I decide to have a (veggie) hot dog instead of a (veggie) burger. I’d still consider myself both a burger and a hot dog fan; I wouldn’t be abandoning burgers. Maybe I’ll have enough room for a burger later. Maybe I’ll be super pumped to have a burger tomorrow! Being a part of both communities doesn’t mean that I have to pick one or the other—it means that I just have more to fight for (and more people to fight with).

There is an amazing slam poetry performance I’d like to share with you. The scene: two women, one gay, one black, argue about which group has had it worse. They’re passionate, they’re angry, and they ache for change. In the end, they realize that arguing with each other does nothing; they team up and finish the poem together. It gives me chills every time.

It makes me both sad and frustrated that you feel as if you can’t be a part of both communities simultaneously, because honestly, you’re experiencing both forms of oppression/discrimination simultaneously. The Patriarchy isn’t going to pick and choose which ways it will discriminate against me, so why would I? Yes, the world can sometimes feel a little bleak when you look at it this way, but it also means that I can connect with many different types of people—people who understand my struggle as a black person, a queer person, and/or as a woman.

*Puts on Morpheus sunglasses* What if I told you that there are places, special places that would never, ever make you feel like you had to choose or forfeit a part of your identity? That’s right; you can also involve yourself in intersectional activism! There are spaces for queer people of color (places like Brooklyn Boyhood in NY and Brown Boi Project in San Francisco) where you can organize against oppression without feeling the need to choose which part of yourself to fight for. Even within these organizations, you’re not limited by just “queer” or “person of color.” Brown Boi project, for example, also fights for gender justice; they’re working toward creating a world where femininity isn’t devalued and degraded. Brooklyn Boihood looks to redefine what’s classified as “masculinity.” Within organizations like these, you’ll find people who’ve made it a point to create a safe space for people who experience discrimination on multiple levels. How amazing is that!?

I’d also like to point out that activist work isn’t necessarily dictated by your identity (or vice versa). There are plenty of non-queer/non-black people fighting the good fight against oppression. Many thanks to those people! And many thanks to the people brave enough to fight on their own behalf as well!

***

Love Cassidy’s work? She is a volunteer contributor! Support her on PayPal!

Click through to read more about Cassidy and our other Second Opinions Panelists!

07.14.2015
Ask A Question
share:

, , , , , , , , , , ,

“I am a lesbian living in a small town. I’m kind of "out” on a need-to-know basis, but I also fear that being out to the whole town will change how they treat me. I love my town for a million reasons, but I often wonder what living in a big city with a larger LGBTQ community would be like for me. I don’t want to leave my town, but are there better things out there for me? What should I do?"

- Question submitted by Anonymous and answered by Cassidy Hill as part of Everyone Is Gay: Second Opinions.

Cassidy Says:

I feel like there are two distinct parts to this question. You are a) interested inbecoming part of a community where you can be your authentic, gay self, and b) comfortable living in a small town and worry about big city life.

I can’t and definitely don’t want to make this decision for you. Judging from your question, though, I’m assuming that you’re already really considering life in the big city, but you’re nervous about what that might mean for you, a girl with some small town roots.

I would like to point out that, while big cities do often have pockets of really accepting people, they’re not necessarily exclusively “better” than small towns. Everyone’s story is different, and a great emigration of LGBTQ people out of small towns and into cities isn’t necessarily a “solution” to homophobia. Society as a whole is constantly growing and becoming more queer friendly, but small towns will be left in the dust if everyone leaves, thinking that they’ll only find sanctuary in the city. Both homophobia and sanctuary can be found wherever you are.

I didn’t grow up in a small town, but I definitely spent a good chunk of my life living in one. When I was in high school, I moved from the Baltimore suburbs to a verrry small town in Central Florida. Maybe it was because I didn’t grow up in that world, but small town life did not suit me; I didn’t come out until ages after I left. It also didn’t help that the only two (out) queer people in town weren’t treated super well. It wasn’t a dangerous/miserable existence for them or anything, but they were definitely subjected to your typical small town malarkey—gossip, speculation, unsavory jokes, etc. I’m guessing these are the types of things you worry might happen to you.

I will absolutely say that living somewhere with a large LGBTQ community has amazing benefits—benefits that I can’t imagine living without. When I first started coming out, I had already been living in Orlando for a year. Once I felt comfortable enough, I joined a social group at the local LGBTQ center. I had a lovely group of queer people (queerple?) help me navigate all those tricky stops along the coming out path. When I came out to my parents, my queerple were there to celebrate with me. I went to Pride for the first time. Never had I seen so many rainbow-sporting queer and trans people at once. The aptly named parade had done its job: for the first time ever, I felt proud. Actually proud.

If you’re super duper nervous about uprooting yourself for the city life, I recommend trying to find an LGBTQ center in the closest “big” city nearby. (Hopefully you’re not more than an hour or two away from one). Find out when they’re having a meeting or event, grab a friend, and make a mini-road trip night out of it. If you like it, keep going! (Well…as much as you can, obviously). Ask the locals about nightlife, places to live, what have you. You can build a social niche for yourself for if/when you ever decide to take big city leap.

You might decide not take that leap, and that’s okay! I hope you still manage to branch out and find that LGBTQ group. In all honesty, being a part of a queer group was what helped me through that tough coming out period—not necessarily a big city in general. You might try out the city life and decide that it’s not for you, and that’s okay too! The great thing is: you’ll most likely find yourself equipped with a new sense of confidence. My parents still live in that same town, and I feel less and less closeted each time I go back to visit them. Being around a group of accepting people really does help bring out the “I’m here, I’m queer” in all of us.

I totally get loving your town. Small towns are cozy, friendly, traffic-free, and definitely less stressful than the big city. Plus, you’re surrounded by friends and family members who know you better than anyone. Of course you’d want to preserve that familiarity. The great thing is that nothing is set in stone. You don’t have an obligation to leave; you don’t have an obligation to stay. Just remember: wherever you are, you get to be you—which is awesome. There’s nothing but new experience ahead of you, and that’s pretty exciting.

Good luck in your gayventures! I hope everything works out and that you get the chance to feel out and comfortable no matter where you are.

***

Love Cassidy’s work? She is a volunteer contributor! Support her on PayPal!

Click through to read more about Cassidy and our other Second Opinions Panelists!

04.7.2015
Ask A Question
share:

, , , , , , , , , , ,

"I am a musician, and I identify as queer to my friends and family… but not publicly. I am worried that if I come out publicly, it will close doors to me as I move forward in my career. I don’t want to be a ‘lesbian singer-songwriter’… I just want to be a musician. Is that bad?"

- Question submitted by Anonymous and answered by Cassidy Hill as part of Everyone Is Gay: Second Opinions.

Cassidy says:

The Short Answer: No, it’s not bad. Being visible in your music career has everything to do with your specific situation, your target audience, etc. There’s no obligation for you to be a “lesbian singer-songwriter.” It’s all about doing what’s right for you.

The LONG Answer: Coming out is a process that never, ever (EVER) ends, and in This Business of Art (shout out to Tegan & Sara’s second album!), it can be especially tricky. I’ve definitely struggled with it, and I continue to do so. There are times when I think to myself, “Oooh, same sex marriage is now legal in Florida! Should I post about it on my site?” Or “I really like this new song I’m writing, but should I say ‘she’ in this verse?” I’m working on my first music video, and I ultimately made the decision to write in a female love interest (AND I’M TRYING REALLY HARD NOT TO FREAK OUT ABOUT IT ON AN HOURLY BASIS). It can even be something dumb like, “Will I look too gay if I wear this vest on stage?” I’m literally worried that what I WEAR can make people like my music less. My music doesn’t even wear clothes! How on earth is that fair?

HOWEVER, I strongly prefer being out. When I was first starting, I wasn’t really out out. Friends and family knew, but it made me angry that I HAD to come out at all. “My music doesn’t have a sexuality,” as Sara Quin often says. I just wanted to write some songs, play them for people, pack up my guitar, and then go home and do gay stuff. But then: the music stopped coming. I went through a horrible writer’s block that lasted for-frickin-EVER. The efforts of keeping sexuality a secret became overwhelming and my songwritin’ hand became paralyzed with fear. My music might not have a sexuality, but I do. I couldn’t separate the two.

But hey, that might just be my style of songwriting! Maybe you’re much better at compartmentalizing. Maybe you’re starting your music career in a less liberal location than I. Maybe you’d like to keep your music and sexuality separate while you gain a following and establish yourself. Like I said, it’s all about doing what’s right for YOU.

In my situation, I really like the musical community that surrounds me—it’s full of people at every point along the gender/sexuality/ethnicity/etc spectrums. It also helps having role models like Tegan & Sara, Mary Lambert, Jenny Owen Youngs et cetera. I thought to myself, “I want to be that for other people.” Being visible became bigger than just avoiding writers block. Suddenly, being a “lesbian singer-songwriter” just FELT right; it felt like the thing to do. It might not feel right for you, and that’s okay.

I can’t pretend that coming out publicly will have zero effect on what kind of audience you attract, though I definitely believe that the world is constantly changing and improving for the LGBTQ peeps in this country. If you eventually decide that being visible is what you want to do, I think you might be pleasantly surprised by some very welcoming arms.

Good luck in your music! I hope everything works out for the best!

P.S. Tegan and Sara’s episode of the Nerdist podcast was really awesome to listen to. They talk a lot about what being visible in the music industry is like. They’re also funny and adorable and always worth listening to regardless. I also recommend reading Chely Wright’s book, Like Me and/or watching her documentary Wish Me Away on Netflix. She had a hard time staying closeted within the extremely conservative country music industry, but I find her story so incredible.

***

Click through to read more about Cassidy and our other Second Opinions Panelists!

01.13.2015
Ask A Question
share: