It was the end of my innocence when I realized that being Black or being Queer in this country could get you killed. This was the time before Hurricane Katrina, before 9/11, before Ferguson. Before. Before. Before.
He shouted “Repent” since the sign was not sufficient, I guess. I found myself going up to him while topless Amazons danced in his face. I found myself going up to him to say this: “I love you. I have nothing but love for you.” I couldn’t help myself.
You wanted queer comics by queer people? You wanted comics about people of color by people of color? Well, today I’ve got both those things, and they’re not just that, they’re awesome, they’re beautiful and well written and amazing in every way.
Rainbow stickers on one car does not make the NYPD and the areas it patrols safe for all queer people, especially those of us who are the most vulnerable members of the community.
It felt important for us to have a voice somewhere, so we’ve gathered a few of the Black queer voices and put them together here. We want to offer this as a place of healing for QTPOC in this time of tragedy.
Escúchame for Orlando is “a place for queer Latinxs to come together and let our voices be heard about the massacre in the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. This is an anonymous space because whether you’re out to the whole world, or just to yourself, you deserve to be heard.”
“The morning after the horrific shooting, and the days that followed, I understood part of my father’s fear. Animosity towards LGBTQ people has not gone the way of black and white T.V. sets, phone booths, or travel by horse and carriage. It was and is very much alive.”
Here are just a few of the many, many LGBTQ Latinxs in our community who are speaking up and speaking out to make sure that queer Latinxs are not erased.
If we allow gun violence to continue blighting communities of color, we have failed. But if we enact gun control measures that aid the police state in criminalizing Black and brown bodies, we have also failed.
Now, more than ever, in the climate we’re in, our stories need to be told. And our stories include loving, joy, revolution, dancing, crying, raging, surviving, and so, so much more. We have so much to tell, and it’s so important that we do.
“Sidetrack is a show largely about my life and my experiences, because after years of watching so much television that erased me, I just wanted to write myself in.”
Musician Sean Desiree — who alone makes up all parts of the indie band bell’s roar — explains how they juggle being a musician by day with running a furniture-making business by night, how they learned to deal with rejection, and what’s it’s like being a queer person of colour in an industry and genre dominated by straight white men.
There’s a new queer-lady-friendly space in town called Qulture Collective. It’s a combination of cafe, workspace, gallery, retail store, and event space and it is really, truly, rad.
As an anti-oppression activist, I’m uncomfortable with the extent to which “outsourcing” often feels to me like a euphemism for “moving our problems onto people with less systematic power.”
Travelogue feels comfortable, it feels cozy, it feels like a story you’re hearing from your great auntie, the one in the family who knows all the history and all the good secrets.
In a multigenerational, transcontinental tale, Bright Lines weaves together issues of gender and sexuality across cultures, migration, in/dependence, family secrets, conflict and tragedy, and well, botany.
This isn’t just exhausting. This is intergenerational trauma, oppression, and maybe even genocide. This violence is specifically targeted against black and brown women, gender non-conforming folks, and especially trans women of color.
The videos each demonstrate the love, support and willingness of APIA parents to publicly speak about their LGBT children.
So your white gf used a grossly inaccurate stereotype about your entire ethnicity/race to make a point? COOL. Let’s talk about it.
“Dating broken white women became a way to reprise a powerlessness that years of sexual abuse and generations of blackphobia had tricked me into believing in. I drowned this feeling of powerlessness in weed and seeking out relationships in which I could engage in yet remain completely hidden from view.”