Conference quark::human_relations-v1

507.0. "Article: Racism and Homophobia" by DSSDEV::FISHER (Work that dream and love your life.) Fri Apr 29 1988 12:54

From "The New Current"
April, 1987
[An Amherst, MA area college publication]


...In...Out
By Angela N. Traylor

Well, I went to another Black Student Association (BSA) party last
weekend.  Every time I go to one of those things I swear to myself
I'll never go again.  It's always the same old scene, ya know?  Me
subtly avoiding guys...I have to do this (or rather, I _feel_ like I
have to do this) for several reasons.  In the past, if I socialized
with guys, people who knew me either hoped that I'd changed my ways or
thought that I was trying to con those who didn't know me into
thinking I was something I'm not.  I goto BSA parties knowing that a
lot of the people there realize that I'm a lesbian.  However, I can't
do anything that will reflect lesbian behavior while I'm there.  No
overtly turning guys down, no bringing my lovers (who are usually
white) to the party with me.  At the same time, to display
heterosexual behavior would be seen as deceitful or giving people a
false hope that I've "changed."  Dancing with guys or even talking to
guys I don't know very well could make people think that I enjoy
leading guys on.  Once when I was talking to this guy I know somewhat,
a group of Smith women started to laugh, commenting, "Yeah, he thinks
he's gonna get some tonight..." 

After the party I thought about the last LA dance I attended.  Being 
the only Black woman there--I did the same thing I had done at the BSA 
party.  I brought with me the only part of me that the women attending 
the party could deal with.  I only let a minimum of the Black in me 
into the LA party.  My color calls enough attention to me, so when I 
dance too "ethnically," I get the feeling that the women are staring 
at me.  Not because they think I'm dancing well or acting cool, but 
because I dare to demonstrate my "difference."  They give me this look 
that says, "How dare you act differently or dance differently than the 
rest of us?  Can't you just be a _normal_ lesbian?"  When I feel such 
pressure--which has come even from lovers--I either chill out or 
leave.  The music is never that hot anyway.

All this reflection on parties of the past prompts me to think about 
my life in general and the way I interact with my friends.  I realize 
now that I have been two people for such a long time that I don't even 
know exactly when the division happened.  I know why it happened 
though.  I simply can't behave in certain ways around certain people.  
My Black friends for the most part are not going to treat my 
lesbianism casually.  Most of them do not accept it, especially since 
I look and act "normally" otherwise.  They can't understand, and most 
of them refuse to talk about it.  Once a Black friend of mine got so 
upset when I was telling her about the problems I was having with a 
lover that she started screaming at me.  She said that she couldn't 
stand that aspect of me and that if we were to be friends, I could not 
talk about my sexuality with her.  I was shocked, but since then I've 
been careful to separate my lsebianism from my Blackness, unless a 
certain degree of tolerance has been expressed.  Carefully, for the 
benefit of others, I have cut myself into separate, "normal" pieces.

The Black community is generally homophobic.  When they discover that 
I'm gay, most Black people prefer to think that I've been brainwashed 
by white lesbians.  Lesbianism is considered to be a white disease.  
In order to avoid becoming spokeswoman for the entire Black lesbian 
species, I avoid this subject.

There is always some issue of controversy in the lesbian community.  
Blackness gets shoved into this set of "issues," as though my being 
Black is a controversy which lesbians can resolve in a meeting.  They 
end up talking about what blackness (with a little "b") means to them 
as white lesbians, because they can deal with my color as long as it 
relates to them.  But what if that color drags in behavior that 
doesn't have anything to do with them...?  Certain issues...?  Then 
they can't deal.  Between meetings, the community feels that it can 
treat me and other "controversial" lesbians as though our 
"afflictions" don't exist.  Being Black is treated like a disease or a 
"sensitive issue" that might disappear if it is carefully ignored.  Or 
worse, the lesbian community acts as if being Black means my 
lesbianism is suspect.

Why is it so hard for me to prove that my Blackness is genuine and so 
is my lesbianism?  Being both simultaneously--and I should not have to 
be either separately.  Doesn't that make sense?  And are we not 
sisters?  I wonder sometimes.  The way I act should not be painful to 
me.  The way I am should not be suppressed.   Do you get my point?  I'm 
tired of being two halves.  I'm not just a Black woman.  I'm not just 
lesbian.  I am a black lesbian.


			*       *      *

To Myself:

Okay, let's chat.  You have been bothering me for some time now, and I 
want to know why.  Why do all of these things keep running through my 
head, screaming and yelling, when I know that I can't do this paper 
and pen any justice?  (Trees are dying for this.)  Fine.  Let's talk 
about where I am at now.  Physically, I am home for the first time in 
months, and being here makes me think of being at Smith.  As to the 
rest of me...well, I have been reading a lot of Black, feminist 
literature this year, and I find it all to much to take in at once.  
There are other Black women in the world who think the way I do.  This 
is great.  I was beginning to think I was going crazy.  Oh, you think 
that's funny!  You try coming out to the Mighty White Institution of 
Smith College when you just happened to be a poor Black child from 
Ohio (not conducive to sanity, let me tell you).  Let's talk about 
just a few of the problems I have had to deal with in my first two 
years at Smith.  Between my first lover, who was incredibly 
homophobic, and the Radicalfeministlesbians, who only want to be near 
you because it's "politically correct," and the Black women who kow 
that you are gay but think that it's okay as long as you don't talk 
about it, and the people at home who just think that you are trying to 
act white, not to mention classes and adjusting to being away from 
home, it's a miracle that I didn't just go insane.

_To_anyone_who_wants_to_listen_in_:

Well, you say, it's difficult for everyone in the beginning...but wait 
until you get into a good relationship.  Well, I am in a good one now, 
and I tell you it ain't all roses.  Besides the usual conflicts that 
you're going to have between two people, Black women have to deal with 
the fact that their lover is probably going to be white.  That is 
always going to be a cultural, emotional and societal 
barrier...however you want to interpret it.  How to be free and open 
with someone that, by all rights, you're supposed to hate...Let's face 
it, all Black people have an inbred hatred for all that is white.  I 
know it's scary, but would you, for one moment, put yourself in any 
Black woman's shoes?  Imagine having your existence negated for all of 
your life and being told, subconsciously of course, that there is 
something wrong with you because you are not a particular color.  Now 
you might be able to begin to comprehend the vastness and the depth 
of the gap between you and me.

I didn't mean to address the white community at Smith in particular, 
or even white people in general.  But I realized as I thought about it 
that these are things I didn't want to keep to myself because so many 
other people need to deal with them.  None of what I've said is likely 
to change anything, nor is it likely to stop me from being me.  It 
does, however, communicate to those who want to hear what I've got to 
say.  That is all that I've ever wanted to do.  Besides, as a friend 
of mine said, "F*ck the trees."