From a QWOC in Japan: “I have learned that I cannot do it on my own and that as much as I perhaps took credit for what I knew and what I learned, I realize that I always had a constant source of support to fall back on. Now that these friends – my family – are many miles away, I am left to navigate this world, for the first time, as a true outsider.”
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All’s Fair in Love and Activism
Posted By Erika Turner on July 7th, 2010
You ever had those days where you really just cannot get out of bed? Where you’d rather sleep from 8in the afternoon until 8, 9, or 10 in the morning, rather than do anything productive? Or those times when you’ve only slept for four hours, because there just seems to be something on your mind, something that just won’t let you be…
Have you ever been in those times when you’re counting down the minutes until you can be by yourself again, because being ‘on’ around people requires too much effort? And they’ve started to see see that you’re tired, regardless of how much you’ve slept; they see your weak smile, or your distant gaze, and they try to encourage you, tell you it’ll be better; they try to tell you that things won’t suck this much in the future. And you believe them, sure. Problem is, things sort of suck right now, and that’s what’s bringing you down.
You know, activism is a lot like love – and stay with me, now, because I’m surely talking about one just as much as the other. You put your whole heart and devotion towards a cause; you put your trust in people, and empower them with your belief that this something is worth fighting for, because you know it can change the world for the better – whether it’s your world or someone else’s.
And at first, it feels amazing — like a high you just can’t get enough of, this fighting, this pushing. It feels like you’re doing something productive with your time, maybe for once. It feels like every moment is one step toward something greater, something bigger than you’ve ever imagined. Sure, there are small setbacks sometimes – things are moving slower than you thought they would or moving faster into a direction you didn’t expect it to go. Still, all things considered, it seems that your efforts are really taking you somewhere.
Then you hit a wall. Or, more specifically, you feel as if, out of nowhere, you’ve gone from speeding at an exhilarating 50 mph down an empty highway to 100 mph full of nothing but cars, trees, and poles, and you can’t stop no matter how badly you want to. And you’re also somewhat intoxicated. And maybe high. And you have no seatbelt or airbag. And then bam! – right through a steel-enforced wall. Does this sound like anyone’s love life? Or the fight we lost to Prop 8?
The change happens so suddenly and the impact is so hard that you have no idea what the hell just happened, but you know that it hurts – a lot.
For me, this painful change generally happens when I feel like I’ve met someone who completely understands where I’m coming from, has claimed numerous times that they get me and my struggle, and that they’re totally 1000% behind my cause.
Then, I turn around, and I’ve found that they’ve run far, far away – generally into the “Wish I could be an ally, but I’d actually prefer to not hear about your people’s problems all the damn time” camp or, my favorite, “Can’t we all just get along because race doesn’t matter” camp.
I can’t apologize for the fact that my race/sexuality/socio-economic issues affect my life everyday or ignore the fact that other people are constantly and consistently ignoring those issues. And, of course, my race does matter. I have a cultural history that still means something to me even if doesn’t to you. Not judging someone based on their ethnic background is not the same thing as ignoring it.
There are the people who I’d just like to stuff some sense into. The people who can’t pretend to understand, because not only do they not want to, they also don’t feel like they should. These are the people you bite your tongue at and walk away from because, as one of my favorite band’s, Incubus, says: “Blood in my mouth beats blood on the ground.” Unfortunately, these are the kinds of people that can affect you the most, the ones that make you second-guess what your fighting for. “If there are people like that who exist, people like that who will always exist, what am I doing this for?”
And the thing is, the people that seem out to get you don’t always come in the form of far-right-wing crazies spewing hate on television or even in the form of your super-conservative, never-gonna-change-no-matter-what-you-say parents, grandparents, cousins, or siblings. Sometimes, it’s the people closest to you — the people who should understand the most.
Sometimes, it’s your (ex)girlfriend. Sometimes, it’s your own mother.
You think the people closest to you will understand what you’re fighting for the most – and generally they do – but it hurts to know what they really think; that what you’re doing will never be enough or as significant as you’d like it to be.
All of a sudden you find yourself thinking: “What if what I’m doing isn’t enough? What if they’re right, and what I’m fighting for isn’t as important to the world as I think it is?”
Recently, the people who have thrown me off course are the fellow queers who think fighting for LGBT equality is good, but don’t understand why I feel the need to “focus” on women of color. They think that my joining a QWOC-oriented group is nice, quaint even – but it’s not going to do too much in the long run.
What they’re really saying, of course, is “You don’t really matter,” and “You’re not good enough.” And sometimes, they don’t even realize it.
They don’t care to realize it, of course, or even stop to consider the absurdity and hurtful nature of their words. The important thing to them is not that they have clearly explained themselves. The important thing to them is that they’ve said what they’ve felt like saying, and you’re listening. And you’re being affected. And they’re going on about their day while you stand shell-shocked and second-guess everything you’ve ever fought for, wondering “What am I doing wrong?”
If you’re like me, you could stop focusing on the blog post you’re supposed to finish within the next few hours. You stop paying attention to all the work you’ve been doing. At 7:00 pm, you shut your lap top, turn off the lights, and go to sleep. Or you try. And even if you can’t sleep, there is nothing on this earth that will move you to get up – because what’s the point? It hurts too much to move, anyway.
If you’re like me, you could spend the next few days or weeks ignoring the outside world, sorta-kinda hating the outside world, and instead cry into your cereal bowl, with cereal that’s been soggy for at least an hour, and listen to Kelly Clarkson er – I mean someone cool and worldly like Bob Marley – lament your woes on blast.
But if you’re like me, when you realize you’ve run out Milk and you’re kind of sick of sitting on your ass all day and you’d really like to enjoy your cereal, you’ll decide to get up and do something. Even if it’s something small and inconsequential (like having no milk), you’ll realize it’s worth it to you to get up and go to CVS to replenish what you’ve lost, because it’s something you want.
Get up and do something, even if it seems small and inconsequential, because it’s worth it to you and it’s something you want.
Repeat.
Activism, like love, is hard, because it throws you for a loop sometimes. Even when you feel great, like you’re on top of the world, there are times when you feel like you’ve fallen beneath the weight of it. There are times when it just feels so utterly pointless, like you’re wasting time. Sometimes, the actual act of activism, planning, rallying, what have you, can make you burnt out. Other times, it’s the people you encounter that can make you want to scream and hide beneath a rock until life seems better again.
It’s in those moments when you realize the only actions, thoughts, and reactions you can control are your own. It’s in those moments when you have to realize or re-evaluate what is most important to you – and you alone. When you’ve done that, when you recognize for yourself that you’re doing is enough and is important, then it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or does. You can only satisfy yourself – you can only make yourself happy – not the world.
It takes a while to recuperate from a nasty blow to the heart and I can’t tell you when or how exactly that will happen. I can’t tell you when the pain will have dissipated enough for you to resume a normal, functional state of mind. I’m still working on that, myself. But I can tell you that, sometime soon, it will happen.
What your doing does matter and what you’re fighting for is worth it. And you’ll be okay. I promise.
(Erika’s Blog) Undercover Intern: Up, Close, and Personal with QWOC Week Organizers
Posted By Erika Turner on June 25th, 2010
As is the case with most organizations, fans, supporters, and enthusiasts of QWOC+ Boston mainly get to experience the front-end of the organizing work — the endless fliers that are handed out at different events, the limitless Facebook posts and updates detailing future plans, etc.
Maybe you’re one of the readers of their weekly summer newsletter, or a past attendee of a thought-provoking Diversity Speaks discussion. Perhaps you’ve run into one of the organizers in passing – a panel, a party, a potlock? The fact is, however long you’ve known of QWOC+ Boston (and its organizers), many of you have only gotten to experience the sustained final outcome, a wide array of diverse events – which is great! It means they’re doing a great job. But, QWOC+ Boston isn’t just about cranking events and calling it a job well done; you’ll need to get to know the organizers to realize that there’s far more to it than that.
As the summer intern, I have a little bit more of an insider’s perspective. After all, I get to write the meeting minutes every week – Wednesdays, Emerson College Multicultural Center at 6:30. You should come! – manage our social media profiles, and help create (and facilitate) the buzz around ideas and events and I love every minute of it. But the fact that I’m enjoying myself stems from something much deeper than my tasks and responsibilities; I get to be part of a group of really amazing and innovative women.
Personality Typing is the New HR
Did you know that QWOC+ Boston manages volunteers via personality typing? Every new organizer is sent a “motivational style” personality quiz, which lets the organizers know what motivates and demotivates you — it varies depending on if you’re a “Champion,” a “Director,” a “Chief,” a “Relater,” a “Visionary,” to name a few. Uniquely, this organization cares about the individual personalities of its volunteers and will adjust to them as reasonably as possible in order to create a truly inspiring, collaborative environment.
For instance, according to the quiz, I’m a “Chief” — I like special privileges and structuring my environment to my liking. I dislike perceived rigidity, inefficient systems and ineffective people. Well… I’ve been given a platform to host my own blog (special privilege) and Adaora generally lets me work wherever I can plug in a computer (structuring environment to my liking). And let’s not forget that I get to work with QWOC+ Boston — a group of practical and efficient idealists — which handles all the rest. I’m still here, and loving my job. So there’s a method to their madness. (Hey, wait a minute I want my free will back!)
Meet the QWOC+ Boston Organizers
When you first walk into a QWOC+ open meeting – and you’re on time – you’ll be greeted by three or four organizers and a few volunteers. Most likely, you’ll come in with a hesitant smile – you’ll be hoping you’re welcomed, hoping you get something out of this meeting, hoping that the members of QWOC+ — this organization you’ve come to love and admire enough to want to volunteer for – are actually human, in spite of all the work they do, and that you’ll be able to keep up.
Chances are you’ll be introduced to the other members present and conversations will begin around you. In fact, someone will take it upon themselves to actually include you. You’ll feel antsy, a little nervous – wondering when things will really begin.
The first person to greet you will most likely be Yari or Nathalie – the “relaters” of the group; the “people” persons. While Yari is far more “zen” than anyone in the group, both of them are the ones who don’t mind having long conversations with strangers – the kind of people who are eager to make you feel comfortable in potentially uncomfortable situations, like your first QWOC Week planning meeting, or being a newbie to a group of seasoned activists. (Clearly, I am still deeply entrenched in this stage.)
You’ll be put at ease awhile, though things won’t have quite begun, of course, because we’ll be waiting for someone — and that someone will most likely be Adaora: QWOC+ Boston Organizer extraordinaire. And when Adaora arrives, headphones-in-ears, hands most likely full with some type of take out – that’s when the fun begins.
Yes, planning meetings are actually fun. If it were Adaora’s way, we would be running down the agenda in as little time as possible, with clear and concise decisions about what needs to be done when and by whom. But, since no one ever listens to Adaora (her claim, not mine) we tend to get sidetracked — there’s laughing at each other, ranting about day jobs, singing (yes, “we are the world” almost happened one day), cheering on good weather, and well, planning more meetings of the social kind to foster team spirit.
Don’t get it twisted though – we do get shit done. Adaora’s driving project-management approach to planning our purple festival won’t let side-tracks last for long; her firm steering is complemented by every organizer’s enthusiasm and energy in dedication to QWOC+ and QWOC Week. But don’t picture us sitting around like business women drafting a million dollar deal (The truth is most of the time we’re trying to avoid anything that requires too much money, or time-consuming fuss).
Not surprisingly, most of our personality profiles will tell you that none of us are huge fans of strict or rigid work environments. We all like to be inspired, challenged, and recognized for our hard work and it’s evident in the way we work together. So here’s the final word: If you’re neither laughing nor feeling very productive, you must’ve found your way to the wrong meeting. Overly formal ways of interacting have no place here; bureaucracy takes a back seat to pushing the envelope via new ideas, getting to know each other as people, and appreciating each other as leaders.
QWOC+ Boston’s Family of Personalities
If you couldn’t guess, Adaora’s motivational style is the “Champion” – task oriented, with eyes on the prize. She refers to herself as an afrofeminist warrior woman – and that description, in my opinion, is actually an understatement. She’s the type of person whose respect you aim for.
Then there’s Tikesha – easily the warmest person you’ll ever meet. Tikesha will be the first to make you laugh with her no-bs-no-mess attitude (handy at the door during events!) and her constant lobbying for a masquerade ball. She’s the “Director” – give her a green light, then consider it done by the next meeting. Ana is the most low-key of the group; she generally doesn’t talk much during the meetings. But, if you happen to pay attention to the agenda, you’ll see she’s got her hands in everything. Quiet, yet not to be overlooked – she’s “the visionary.”
See, when I say that personality is important to QWOC+ Boston, I’m wrong. What I mean to say is that people are important to QWOC+. You’re not just an organizer or a volunteer; an activist or a party-goer; a Champion or a Director, even. You’re a person and they’re interested in who you are and what you have to say – even if it’s to refute claims of Lady Gaga’s brilliance. Sure, during the meetings, we have things to get done and we try to stay focused. But before that, after that, even amongst that, what’s most important is you. Or, all of us, really. All the queer women of color in Boston and those who care about us (+). Our name says it all.
When I applied to be an intern for QWOC+ Boston, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. How could I have known that one of the organizers (*cough* Yari) owned every season of Sailor Moon, the one cartoon show I’ve loved since elementary school? How could I have anticipated meeting several women who readily refer themselves as my “aunts” and buy me food on a weekly basis?
You know, I really love surprises – as long as they don’t disappoint me. And this surprise is greater than anything I could’ve hoped for this summer. So, when I send out those five million and one e-mail blasts and attack your Facebook and Twitter inboxes with endless pleas to join our organizing efforts and attend meetings – it’s not just because that’s part of my job. It’s because I genuinely want you to be there. We genuinely want you to be there. We want to meet you, we want to hear what you have to say, we want you to experience what we get to experience almost every day; fun, inspiration, support, community, and family.
(Erika’s Blog) Damn, It Feels Good to Be Me — QWOC Pride
Posted By Erika Turner on June 17th, 2010
In the short blurb beneath my Facebook profile picture, I have a line quoted from Tracy Chapman’s song, “Fast Car.” It reads: “Me,myself, I got nothing to prove.” I chose the line because it embodies how I know I want to feel all the time – like myself. I want to feel as if I can always just be me, regardless of anyone else’s standards or expectations.
Unfortunately, the truth of the matter, of course, is that I don’t always feel that way. In fact, most of the time, I’m fighting to prove to other people that I have nothing to prove, whether it’s in defense of my race, my sexuality, or my endless love for Sailor Moon. And, after a while, it becomes less of a fight to prove I have nothing to prove and more of just a fight – period. In my desire to be free and limitless, I become limited – because I’m always on defense. I’m always finding some news article that proves my theory of why people in general tend to suck. I’m always anticipating an offensive comment or action to counter -comment on or take action against. I can write ten different blogs about how, basically, we have the right to be who we are and how anyone who disagrees can just shove it.
But, at what point do we get to stop defending our right to be ourselves, and start enjoying our right to be ourselves? At one point do I stop proving to people that I love who I am and start actually experiencing that love?
Well, pride was a good time to start — I remembered how much I love being a queer woman of color. I love being me and I love living my life. That’s why I fight for the right to live it. When someone asks me about my love life or what I did Saturday night and they seem generally unfazed by my lovely queerness, I’m not psyched because they’re “political allies” and they may, in some small way, understand my struggle – although that is a bonus. I’m excited because I get to talk about the beautiful woman I met or tell them about the cute old couple I saw dancing their asses off at a queer party I went to. I’m excited because, when you love something, you can’t help but talk about it, and, when they ask, I get to talk about who I am and what I’m doing with my life. I get to feel like a whole person, who has activities, and knows people.
I know we’re all out here fighting for something or being a part of some struggle, even if the struggle isn’t visible to everyone. But as you sweat, bleed, cry, and crawl – as you go through your day to day life, shoving roadblocks out of the way and forging your own path – remember what you’re doing it for. We’re not doing it for some vague sense of accomplishment, or community, or even “equality.” Remember, we’re fighting because we love what we’re fighting for — ourselves.
I think there’s a misconception, sometimes, about racial and sexual minorities. Even the most well-meaning ally can mistakenly assume that, in a perfect world, we wish we could be straight and white too and, since we’re not, we’re fighting to at least have the same benefits. We’re “working with what we were given.”
Truly, there are some people for which that statement is true. But make no mistake – it does not suck to be a minority in any sense of the word. It sucks to be treated as if you were “less than” and it sucks that, often times, the minority status is what leads to this sort of treatment. But I love being black. I love being gay. I love women and I love loving women.
For those of you who missed PRIDE last week, particularly OPTIONZ and ROOTS – I’ll let it slide this once. You were busy, your Aunt Sally from Nova Scotia came to town, you were hiding from the IRS – I get it. But next time, if you get the chance, come out. (Literally.) There is no feeling more beautiful than realizing how happy you are with yourself and when I was out there on the dance floor with so many queer people of color – people like myself and yet so diverse and multifaceted – I felt truly, genuinely happy. When I go out with the QWOC+ organizers and volunteers or with my close friends and we get to laugh and talk loudly about queer things – because we are queer – and laugh and talk loudly about our cultures – because these are our cultures – I’m happy.
This week, when you’re out there fighting the man, your boss, your Evangelist grandparents, or your best-but-still-frustratingly-offensive friends, remember to take a break, take a breath, and recognize: “Damn, it feels good to be me.” Because if you don’t – well then what are you fighting for?
Do Ask, Don’t Tell Me What I Should Feel about the Military
Posted By Erika Turner on June 11th, 2010
As women of color, most of us are very used to asserting part(s) of ourselves that seem easily forgotten or ignored by others. For example, if we’re in a group of ethnically similar peoples, we want our sexuality to be recognized. Likewise, if we’re in a group of LGBT people, we usually want out cultural backgrounds to be recognized.
For me, and for most of us, there is a constant desire to be looked at as a whole. I always find myself repeating “My race is not the only part of me. My sexuality is not the only part of me. My taste in music does not define me. My clothing does not define me.” We constantly run into people who take stock of one aspect of our appearance or personality and immediately feel that they know everything about us. It’s a part of human ignorance that seems most prevalent and I know that everyone one of us struggles with it daily.
Yet, as much as we may hate the ignorance, we are not exempt from it. We may be better than others at keeping our judgments to ourselves, but in some cases, we’re just as bad, if not worse, than the people who do it to us.
I was schooled on this a few days ago when I was talking to a close friend of mine about the military. If you remember, we reposted an article from Politics Daily on the blog that details a USA Today survey, revealing the disproportionate number of women and minorities that are greatly affected by Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. (DADT is a 1993 military policy that restricts LGBT people from being “out.”) When I read this article, I was completely disgusted but not entirely shocked. I figured that this was what the military was about – bias and homogeneity.
My friend – a Queer Woman of Color – is a former member of ROTC (we’ll call her Liz) and her partner is currently in training; her partner will be deployed sometime in the near future. I figured Liz was someone I could talk to “on the inside,” and I wanted to know her opinion on the survey results and, ultimately, gain some insight on why any LGBT person would want to serve in a system that completely alienates them.
You know the India Arie anthem “I Am Not My Hair”? Well, as it turns out, the military is not DADT to every LGBTQ person. According to Liz, the military is “nurturing. It’s more like a family.”
She went on to discuss her and her partner’s reasons for getting involved, reminding me that not everyone views their sexuality the same way. “People are coming from different places and different things are important to them; everyone compromises on something every day – you don’t have to tell that cab driver everything.”
For me, that was the most important thing to hear – to realize that military appeals to different parts of people’s personality and identities. Like Liz said, “for somebody who’s single and young, it seems like a good idea. Traveling and making some money – sounds like a good gig, for anybody, regardless of whether you’re gay or straight.”
When I was in my sophomore year of high school, my friends and I (which consisted of a straight woman, a lesbian woman, a gay man, and, at the time, a questioning bisexual man) were sitting around the journalism room, attempting to be uber-intellectuals and talking about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. At one point, a girl came up to us and asked why a gay man would want to join the military, as if he were too weak to undertake such a mission. I responded, “Um, because he wants to protect his country?” Like, duh. Yet, several years later, here I was, sitting around, asking myself why any self-respecting LGBTQI person would want to sacrifice their right to be open about who they loved. Yes, the reason behind my wonder may have been different, but the effect is still the same – I was ignorantly discounting the fact that people are more than what I think they are.
The most important thing I’ve realized is that the military doesn’t exist primarily to disadvantage the queers. As Liz commented, “LGBT people…believe that the military is always talking about gay people, always talking about DADT. The vast majority aren’t talking … about who’s gay. People generally have better things to do with their lives.” Being open to her perspective made me realize that while I may feel like the military is horrendously biased, others — who actually serve in the military — may not share that view; I needed to take a step back and realize I was being a little biased myself.
Incidentally, the only time I ever hear about the military is generally in regards to issues that I disagree with, such as the current war or the current policies. But most of those military voices I’ve heard (in the media) are of those people who have been unfairly discharged – hence, it makes sense that they’re probably emotionally driven to highlight more of their negative experiences than their positive ones. Yet, I’m inclined to wonder… if these recently discharged men and women didn’t like the military, would they be fighting for the right to be open and honest within it? They’d be fighting against the military, not fighting to be (out and accepted) within it. So, it seems this is where DADT and the military are divided – to fight the policy is not to fight the regime.
Before I talked to Liz, I would stare blankly at the television whenever a military commercial would profess that I could “be all that I can be,” and then burst out laughing. You must’ve seen one of their intense, operatic TV spots — some guy climbing up some mountain to reach a helping hand, or “engineering” an escape route from behind a a computer. They’d come on often in the movie theater, right before the feature, blaring “honor” and “courage” from the loudspeakers. I couldn’t help it. I always laughed. It was all so funny to me – to see advertisements for people to basically die for a system that treated them like expendable cattle.
But then Liz shared this with me:
“There’s a community in the military in a lot of ways. I heard about army strong or being the best you can be…’I think I can handle it. I want to challenge myself and I want to understand my girlfriend when she says her military jargon.’ I wanted to jog half a mile without dying. I enjoyed a lot of my experiences so much…”
She talked to me about the burden she felt of having to constantly defend the military – a community she feels a part of, and is a part of her – from folks in the LGBTQ community. There were a lot of things that I didn’t know or understand. Yet, I’d been judging every gay person in the military by this uninformed viewpoint. Make no mistake, Liz and I both agree that DADT is an awful policy and we both hope, along with most LGBTQI people, that it gets repealed. But, the lesson I’ve learned here, and what I hope you’ve taken away from this blog, is that knowing a few details about something doesn’t give us the right to judge it as a whole. And damn, shouldn’t we, as QWOC, know that better than anyone?
(Erika’s Blog) Coming Out to Cab Drivers — A Necessary Risk
Posted By Erika Turner on June 4th, 2010
Several days ago, I found myself on a taxi ride home, engaging in conversation with the driver about blacks and education. He asked whether or not I was in college; I told him I was and he proceeded to clap, thanking me for doing something for blacks “across the world.” He was a Native Haitian and had apparently seen his share of racial inequalities, stemming from poor education and lack of opportunities. As we continued to talk, he told me of his own children and their educational accomplishments, explaining to me that I had a responsibility to both my parents and my race to make something of myself.
This was, of course, a conversation I was used to and therefore allowed the man to preach to me (he was kind enough) and occasionally inserted my own brief and supplementary comments to his diatribe. Yet, in my own mind, I was awed at how quickly his confidence in my contribution would most likely subside if he knew I was not, as he most likely assumed, heterosexual.
During my high school years, I attended several conferences and scholarship ceremonies for black students, where the presenters immediately dove into discussions about God and somewhere along the line ended up speaking about how black men needed to treat black women with more respect and how black women needed to be there for their black men. What should have been an arena to recognize our achievements inevitably became a series of soapbox opportunities to discuss “issues within the black community” that we, the young people, needed to fix.
The issue, of course, with this presumed solidarity is the fact that, however unintentionally, it ignores the diversity that existed within our so-called community and potentially alienated those who did not necessarily identify with the presented issues. I cannot recall the amount of times I cringed when, at a scholarship ceremony sponsored by a black sorority, we (the young women) were encouraged to, in essence, keep our legs closed and focus on our studies, “no matter how cute that boy is.”
But what could’ve been done? Should I have stood up and 
announced to the auditorium that, contrary to popular belief, not everyone at the ceremony was heterosexual? Should I have told that taxi driver that I was a lesbian, just to clear up any misconceptions that he might have had?
Perhaps. Of course, the taxi driver didn’t ask or say anything in regards to my sexuality that would necessarily warrant a revelation about who I dated or slept with. There’s a good chance that he would have been confused as to why I brought it up, since it would have had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Yet, due to previous experience, I couldn’t help but wonder. Indeed, it would have been encouraging if indifference were his response. But, what if it weren’t? What then?
So here’s the topic of the week: risks. The surpassing of “what if’s” for the satisfaction of an actual answer. The reason I didn’t inform the man of my sexuality, despite my curiosity toward his response, was not because it was none of his business. Indeed, I’m sure most of us justify the omission of that tidbit of information by saying that it “didn’t need to be said.” But let’s be honest: I didn’t bring it up because I was afraid to. Go ahead. Admit it. You were afraid too.
Many people are afraid to be honest with other people about who they are. This is no surprise and yes, I know, I’m preaching to the choir. But the problem is that a lot of people won’t admit that they’re afraid. Many people will simply say that they prefer to keep their personal lives private – which is fine. Many heterosexual people are the same way. Yet, what defines “personal” and “private?” A straight friend of mine may not want to give me the details of her relationship; maybe she doesn’t even like talking about her boyfriend or the guy she’s dating. But, I still know it’s a male. I’ve still gleaned from whatever little information she’s given me that she’s, if not straight, at least bi. That information isn’t “personal.” As we young kids like to say, “it’s whatever.” However, a queer person is far more likely to do back flips trying to avoid using gender-specific terms or even mentioning that they’re dating someone, for fear that it will give information as to their sexuality and invite unwanted questions, attention, personal attacks, or discomfort for both parties.
Nevertheless, I’ve realized that some risks can be good, whether helpful or simply liberating. In the case of the taxi driver, I could have risked our pleasant conversation for the sake of being true to myself. Though the man could have very well been indifferent, there’s a chance that he could also have simply grown silent. His praise toward my “accomplishments for the black community” (which is a personal issue that I will perhaps discuss later), he could have stopped talking, which would have made for a very unwelcoming atmosphere and a very uncomfortable ride home. But, so what? Just as he would have had the right to mention his wife in passing, so do I reserve the right to use the terms “she” and “her” and “my girlfriend” in everyday conversation without another person batting an eyelid. I would have risked the man’s respect for the right to be recognized for all of me, as opposed to part of me.
Of course, some would say it’s an unnecessary risk. Why bring it up at all? Why make a comfortable conversation uncomfortable? Why not just let it go? Well, because. You know, as well as I do, that no matter how comfortable the conversation may be, there’s a part of you that’s a little angry, a little sad, a little hurt, a little irritated, every time the other person mentions their significant other, or an ex, or a fling, and you just nod, smile, and change the subject. Yes, you may be out to a lot of people but, say this person is a business associate, or the deacon of your mother’s church. You don’t want to start “unnecessary conflict” just to be true to yourself, just so you can have the right to be equally open, honest, and comfortable. Right?
Well…I think we all know the answer to that. Yes, some situations may not be the safest, and I would advise against doing anything that makes you hyperventilate – but sometimes, it is okay to spice things up a bit. I say, next time your boss or associate or acquaintance mentions something cute and funny that his or her spouse did, follow up with an adorable story about your partner. Maybe they don’t want to hear about your “personal” life, but, you know what? Maybe you don’t want to hear about theirs either.
A Warm Welcome to Our Summer Intern, Erika Turner!
Posted By QWOC+ Boston on May 26th, 2010
Erika Turner, Crazy Social Media Intern
It is with great excitement that we welcome Erika Turner to the QWOC+ Boston family this summer as our first “Social Media” intern! Yes, we’ve gone 2.0 (it’s official when you get a specialist intern, right?) — or at least plan to, and Erika is going to help us get there.
This summer, Erika will have her hands full helping us get organized for QWOC Week, writing our newsletters, planning a few events of her own, and most importantly, blogging, tweeting, and facebooking about anything and everything QWOC! We’re looking forward to providing her with a platform to share her ideas, views, and perspectives — and encourage you all to join the conversation — so we hope you’re just as excited as we are.
Here are a few words from Erika:
Hi everyone! I am a rising sophomore at Wellesley College, originally hailing from Las Vegas, NV. I am a prospective East Asian studies major, with a concentration in Japanese culture, and a prospective Women & Gender studies minor. Other than social justice and my personal relationships with friends and family, I am most passionate about writing. I have a ridiculous amount of respect for those poetic souls out there, but my main love is creative fiction and literary journalism. I love good food, good friends, and good conversation so “social” is definitely part of my definition, as is “empathetic” and, you know, “loud.” I’m extremely excited to be interning with Queer Women of Color and Friends because there’s something empowering and enlightening about realizing, as a young woman just meeting the world, that there are so many people just like you and yet so amazingly diverse as well. I’m looking forward to what I know will be an amazing experience this summer.
Please join us in giving Erika a warm welcome! *applause applause* Oh, and she’d appreciate a few words of wisdom about dealing with us purple crazies 
QWOC+ Social, End of the Year
Posted By Shakinat on December 17th, 2008
Since saying thanks, making good friends, and having meaningful goals makes you happy , it makes complete sense to love QWOC+! Last Thursday’s Social simply blew me away. So much fun! Thank you to the Empress for organizing and to all who came out (har har) to celebrate. This rounds up my inolvemente with the group these last months with a bang. Can’t complain about that.
Some things to be grateful for: An increased presence of qwoc, not only in the Boston scene, but also in entertainment: Wanda Sykes came out forcefully and television is showing quite a few qwoc characters (Hello, Callie Torres) which are surprisingly staying around their shows as other queer characters get taken off the air. (We’re taking over! Ok, maybe not. Yet.)
In politics, bad news surrounding adoptions and marriage in certain states, BUT we can celebrate President Barack Obama (of course), “I-want Joe Biden, I-need-Joe Biden” as VP, and Big Hill as Secretary of State. Woot woot.
In life: did I mention I was going to Colombia? Woohoo! More to come on the existential nature of the holidays and what it means for qwoc to step back on home-land.
In the meantime, Happy Holidays!
Posted in Shakinat
Hate and Homophobia in Manizales, Colombia
Posted By Shakinat on November 16th, 2008
This is from earlier this year… something that I find utterly sad, evidence of why some of us deal with so much crap as QWOC. I don’t particularly enjoy ragging on Colombia, but this is insane:
Translation:
Jorge Alfredo Vargas: “In an unprecedented event, a massive number of students in an all girls-school of Manizales received a couple of lesbian students in protest because they gained, through a lawsuit, the legal right to return to the institution.”
Maria Lucia Fernandez: “The two girls, to whom a spot in the school had been denied, returned to the school today to matriculate only to be received with jeers and posters. Various students affirmed that the protests were not directed against the two young women, and were rather made to defend the dignity of their school. ”
Voice Off: “The two minors were sad and disconcerted when they returned to enact the right awarded to them by the courts in a school that had, according to them, denied them a spot when they openly disclosed their condition as homosexual.”
Crowd: “We don’t want them! We don’t want them!”
V.O.: “The yells against them, repeating ‘we don’t want them,’ immediately drew tears from Maria Elena Castrillon, the defense lawyer representing the 16 and 17 year-old young women.”
M.E.Castrillon: “I find this unbelieavable. This kind of situation is unacceptable.”
V.O.: “According to one of the organizing students, howeve, the manifestation was made in an effort to defend their school’s dignity and their own dignity, not to attack the two young women.”
Student: “They’re labeling us as the school of lesbians and that’s just not the case.”
V.O.: “The girls also chanted the principal’s name, [Magola], whom they support.”
Student: “We want to clarify that we are supporting her because to us she’s a very good principal.”
V.O.: “In the afternoon the young women returned to the school and found about 400 students gathered with signs supporting the school administration, though they remained silent. The father of one the two young women who filed the suit rejected the gestures.”
Father: “This is not permissible. They have rights and no place in this nation should fail to recognze their identity.”
V.O.: “The principal, Magola Franco, finally conceded to the judge’s ruling and matriculated the students, though not without reservations.”
Magola Franco: “I felt that my authority and autonomy were violated, logically, when the lawyer Maria Elena Castrillon Valencia questions my authority for one spontaneous and occasional event occuring today with regards to the students of the Leonardo DaVinci School.”
V.O.: “The two young women immediately began the leveling(?) process guided by representatives from the Department of Education, in order to begin 10th grade next Friday in the afternoon shift.”
Jorge Alfredo Vargas: ”As a result of this controversial subject, we have contacted Marcela Sanchez, director of Colombia Diversa, one of the organizations that fights for the rights of gay and lesbian couples. Marcela, good evening, how do you find the events occured today in the city of Manizales/”
Marcela Sanches: “It’s inconcievable that some students be subjected to such public abuse for the mere attempt to defend their rights to dignity and education.”
Maria Lucia Fernandez: “Alright, Marcela, continuing with the conversation, were any of these young women’s rights violated?”
M.S.: “Without a doubt. I think it is the responsibility of school authorities to stop social intolerance, to stop homophobia, and to stop these manifestations of rejection. I believe what we can conclude from this is that the insitutional and educational project of peace conciliation in the Leonardo DaVinci school has failed. And this is now an issue extending beyond the legal scope; it is now a social issue which requires public reflection, not only from the educational authorities, but also the Manizales Municipal authorities.”
Posted in Shakinat
In Honor of National Coming Out Day
Posted By Shakinat on October 11th, 2008
Today you will see me celebrating in the freshman dining hall, passing out rainbow-colored cake as one of the LGBT proctors and cheering queers on. It’s the 20thanniversary of a great celebration, and I look forward to it.
That said this day should not come without a note of warning. Some within the queer community come out only to actively disdain those who don’t take the step in some or all aspects of their lives. It’s simply disrespectful, and anyone who has gone through the experience should know better. Your aunts, your uncles, your siblings, your cousins, your friends; they’re all important parts of your life, and what you share with them is more than just a choice, it is a matter of trust within a cultural setting. People’s situations are often beyond the reach of our own experience, our level of understanding, and the nuances of that context very often escape us. Sometimes the very friends or mentors of closeted queers openly reject their choices, and diminish them to fears and trepidations. After all the bullshit we have to put up with as queer people, it seems completely absurd that members within our very own community can be so self-righteous as to forget some of our own experiences and struggles, and simply, why we chose to say it loud and proud.
I’m all for it, definitely. The decision to come out has proven a challenge that strengthened my own sense of security. I’m not denying who I am to the people I care the most about, the people I want to be the most open with. I feel like a more complete person because I am able to be more open about myself with others, no matter who they are and what they might think.
But it is a work-in-progress, particularly when it comes to the slightly-more-distant family members, burrowed along the margins of the cultures I identify with. There’s plenty to juggle along the way, and in my big and loving family, I take the step to come out—or not—because I care for them.
Posted in Shakinat
On Culture and Concessions
Posted By Shakinat on September 23rd, 2008
Last Wednesday I went to a series of short films as part of The Bisexual Resource Center, Truth Serum Productions’ Cinemental and madFEMMEpride‘s 9th “Celebrate Bisexuality Day, aka BI’s Night Out.”
I want to congratulate all of the organizers for a wonderful event. The movies raised some great issues, not only about the changes in the BGLTQ movement for expansion of rights, but also about the nuances for members of the Bi & Trans communities. (For general Information about the films, see here)
“En mi piel” in particular brought out nuances about a light-skinned trans man of mixed race and his coming to terms with his multicultural identity. The man had to negotiate the fact that after transitioning, he would be seen as a white male after transitioning, and how this went at odds with his own mixed race and culture.
Coming from the southwest, where much of the Latino culture has coexisted with and (somewhat) adapted to American culture, it’s not surprising that his mother had grown up intent on assimilating, the safest way of functioning and co-existing in a white-dominated society. As a result, even though she is bilingual, the mother never tried to educate her son about his background. He never learned any Spanish because it would have been a detriment to him, evidence to the fact that yes, he is culturally distinct from his peers. As he transitioned, this chicano tried to get more in touch with his heritage, going to Mexicoand learning more about the half of him he hadn’t been able to explore. In Mexico, he wasn’t white or American; he was just Mexican. Nobody even questioned it, whereas he would always find people here questioning his own Hispanic identity. I found it impressive that his mother, who’d never been to Mexico, had, as a result of his previous voyage, decided to visit with him. Somewhere within her existed a yearning to learn about a side she had denied, but that she apparently always felt separated her from the rest.
What I find most resonating about the film is the struggle of feeling at home in a community, knowing that something does separate the way you and others see the world. It starts simply with the recognition that no matter where we go, we tend to make concessions or excuses about others’ actions. As immigrants of color, we have no choice buy to get along with others in this country: we have to give up something of ourselves not only to survive, but more importantly, to succeed. Whereas a white American (especially those not exposed to other cultures) does not question his identity and its grounding in society, I have no choice but to question my own grounding. For a long time I tried to pick and choose the parts of me that I wanted to reveal to others and I’ve finally come to the realization that if you really want me, you will need to have the whole package.
It’s tiring. I’m tired of trying to account for others’ disrespect, insensitivity or just plain failure to understand where I’m coming from. I’ve gotten so used to it, it’s almost second nature and somewhat uncomfortable to even bring up. But I have; I’ve made excuses for others over and over and over again.
I remember very clearly how much living in Colombia for a couple of months centered me in my identity. The moment I came back people all around me said I looked older, more mature, like an adult at last. For once, I felt grounded culturally, I understood why I thought about things a certain way, what it meant for me. When I was there, I didn’t really need to make excuses.
Posted in Shakinat
