The Importance of Being Out

A Coming Out Story

The room had a capacity of 250 and before long there was hardly room to stand. Many people, including faculty members, literally sat on the floors of the aisles. Two entire classes were in attendance and many students were given extra credit points for attending. Security guars were situated at both entrances. The event was filmed by the campus television station and covered by the local and campus newspapers.

Students were coming together to address issues that were considered taboo to address amongst a young an racially diverse crowd. With a crowd whose attitude range from the militant, “shut em down!” and la raza to the feel good, “can’t we all just get along?” anticipated a Jerry Springer type showdown.

My general impression of Chaffey College’s campus in 1994 was that the student body appeared to be self-segregated. I ha to plan something that would bring our segregated student body together. This ha to be an event that would show all skeptics that we could come together under a common cause. I planned an open forum. Utilizing the inner-club counsel, I arranged for two representatives, one male and one female, from each racial, ethnic, or otherwise historically marginal group to appear on a panel of no more then twelve participants total. The panel would address issues of race, stereotypes, and discrimination.

As I grew excited over the idea and discussed it with my academic advisor and the director of student activities there were no doubts in my mind that Lambda, the gay and lesbian student union, would also participate in the forum. It was one thing to discuss issues of racism in a group setting, discrimination and stereotyping based upon race could be an agreed upon discussion. Sexual orientation was a different matter. Many people were offended by the participation of gays within this forum, their reflected in various statements heard and over heard, “how dare they compare their lives or struggles with ours.” many felt that Lambda’s involvement would somehow (unfairly) strengthen Lambda’s “agenda” and in the process devalue other panel members valid “concerns” by association. Members of Mecha, the Black Student Union, Campus Crusade for Christ, and the Muslim Association were protesting Lambda’s participation on the panel. My biggest concern was to appear unbiased. As moderator and advocate for this “open” forum I had to keep it as inclusive as possible.

As the clock dragged towards the noon hour and the panel and audience situated themselves. Questions remained, would there be rioting or fighting, could I handle it? The energy within the room rose from simmer to boil as I addressed the panel. I encouraged the sharing of all points of view. I adamantly demanded respect and courtesy from all and towards all. “We are here to share,” I would remind all participants when hostility appeared to erupt, “we are coming from the perspective of I’m ok/you’re okay.”

The audience was fired up and as I had suspected the members of the audience representing racial groups spoke the most. From the pan to the fire is the best way of describing Lindsey and Robert, the representatives from Lambda. They were seared by the audience that at best were indifferent and at worst without compassion. Robert represented Lambda as best he could yet the audience wouldn’t give him a chance to respond to any questions or comments and any response Robert offered was cut to the quick by contempt and hostility. This blatant display of disrespect only fueled my frustration.

Robert put up a brave fight but it was clear that he had given up. Lindsey’s response of “finding a good lay” to my question of what was most difficult for her about being openly gay, gave me clear indication of where she was headed within this forum. Lindsey simply didn’t take any of seriously and her flippancy alienated many.

Something had to be done. Gay people had to be effectively represented. As moderator, I did my best to raise issues of stereotyping and discrimination regarding gays and lesbians but Robert and Lindsey could not maintain my momentum. In a crowd of 250+ there had to have been other gays and lesbians in attendance but it seemed none wanted to speak out. As moderator I kept reminding myself to remain neutral regarding both as a black gay male. My patience finally blew when, as usual in this type of forum, someone made the comment that someone always delivers in a moment of well meaning sincerity. “Why should our differences matter? We are all a part of one race- the human race.” I could no longer stand it. In what I will always remember fondly as a moment of truth for me, I countered that welling meaning statement. “yes, we are all apart of the human race. I am also an individual of many different facets. I am black, I am young and from the “hood,” I am male and I am gay. I am not feared because I am a human being, I am not a potential suspect because I’m a human being and I don’t risk being bashed for being openly human. Unfortunately, our differences matter.”

What I learned about that experience is personal accountability. You’ve got to represent. No matter what you may think of the Roberts and Lindsey’s of any marginal group, the key to combating stereotypes and intolerance is your personal responsibility in taking a stand. You have to add your unique flavor to the mix, which I discovered is the importance of being out.

Clutter

God Said NO

I asked God to take away my habit. God said, no. It is not for me to take away, but for you to give up.

I asked God to make my handicapped child whole. God said, no. His spirit is whole, his body is only temporary.

I asked God to grant me patience. God said, no. Patience is a byproduct of tribulations; it is not granted, it is learned.

I asked God to give me happiness. God said, no. I give you blessings; happiness is up to you.

I asked God to spare me pain. God said, no. Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and brings you closer to me.

I asked God to make my spirit grow. God said, no. You must grow on your own, but I will prune you to make you fruitful.

I asked God for all things, that I might enjoy life. God said, no. I will give you life, so that you may enjoy all things.

I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me... God said...Ahhhh, finally you have the idea.

Thanks 4 sharing this with me Julie! I especially like, "I give you blessings; happiness is up to you."

We can choose happiness at any time. Its "clutter" that often distracts us from happiness. I use the term clutter purposely. No matter how we define and label our distractions, in the "mind of God" or the grand scheme of the universe, all of our issues, challenges, fears, are but clutter. According to A Course In Miracles, the only thing that's real is God and God is love, everything else is an illusion. Therefore, if it ain't God its an illusion. If it ain't love, it's an illusion. A Course In Miracle further asserts, there are only two emotions- love and fear. If we're not loving, we are oprating from fearing. A mind consumed with fear is a cluttered mind.

Clutter encompasses so very much, looking for love, loss of love, fear of love, fear of not being loved, addictions, hatreds, phobias and a multitude of isms, financial concerns, career concerns, as well demons from past, present, and anticipated. A cluttered mind is an unhappy mind preoccupied with illusions. An unhappy mind creates unhappiness. Unhappiness attracts unhappy people, places, themes and situations. A life consumed by unhappy people, places, themes and situations is the unhappy life defined. Happy people strive to face, manage, and transcend the clutter of our minds and lives. Simply put a happy mind chooses happiness. Therefore, happiness is indeed a choice.

Hark! The buppies are coming the buppies are coming!!!

An appreciation, tongue-in-cheek response to Trey Ellis' marvelous essay, "The New Black Aesthetic."

(Thanks Trey)

Hear ye, Hear ye, As Trey Ellis descends upon the masses within his ivory tower and bellows black blued blood buppie bruhaha. Hark the coming of the cultural mulatto! I stare at the blank white screen of my lap- determine to unleash an acid tongue rebuttal at Harvard, Oxford or wherever this preppy frat boy hails from will have to wait. Class has ended and my hostile jab has to be placed on hold.
It is time go. Catching up with my African American literature professor, I want to continue our discussion of publishing avenues for the unpublished college student. Several students are waiting outside his office so we promise to speak further on the subject- perhaps we can have brunch over the summer, I don’t know but I’ll pose the option to him.
Annoyed with Mr. Ellis and processing his essay I know I most respond somehow. But in my current state I know I would only produce further rage at the uppity negro from upper east coast.
Normally I’d go home and vent to my domestic partner but he’s in Saigon for the next 6 months no doubt trying to flip a commitment ceremony into a wedding. I try explaining to him that I commit ceremony in front of family and friends don’t constitute a gay. Somehow my execution of this point is lost in translation cause hasn’t been trying to hear this for the past 10 months- damn, we have an anniversary coming up. I don’t maybe in his country they’ll co-sign wedding where I come from, it’s a commitment ceremony.
A Work out. Good idea. But where. I could cool off by hitting the Jacuzzi at 24hrs sports club in Rancho Cucamonga. Nah I wanna lift, not chill. Bally total fitness is next door in upland. Its nearly noon and that place is sure to be packed by lunch time crowd of yuppies and mall workers. Fontana. I’ll work out in Fontana.
In the car and turning on the ignition I’m immediately met by Mary J, no offense baby girl I need to be without you. I have words for Trey Ellis and I need to gather them.
Still steamed over the idea of an upper middle class ivy league frat boy’s nerve at sweeping social commentary of the “black” experience. As if he has a class what me and boys face living in an urban ghetto. In an effort to solidify my contempt with all of my quasi-intellectual might, I summon the spirits of bell hooks, Amiri Baraka, and Michael Foucault to help shape my fight plan against Ellis and I’m met with silence. And in futile moment of desperation I even drag out the royal corpse of Richard Wright and in the presence of sir Richard I’m once again met with silence. Finally I reach for Zora Neale Hurston in an effort to express my true and only indifference to the silver spooned upstart- “Homeboy ain’t from ma hood, though!”
Ten minutes later and I’m at my home gym in Fontana. As I enter the reception area I’m met with the image of Enrique dropping it like its hot to the new Shikira and Wyclef rap, hip-hop, salsa, skaish remix hybrid thing. I’m greeted with a broad smile by Lupe. Lupe and I are very familiar with our ritual and she gets a kick out of it. “hi. How are you? She offers in her mother tongue. Followed by an eager smirk as she awaits my reply… “muy bien bien,” I offer in my pathetic Americanized attempt at her language. Enrique laughs and chimes matching lupe’s bemused enthusiastic, replies “bien bien- you speak Spanish?” “Muy pacito.” I reply. They laugh and I deadpan, Why you clowning me, though? Tossing her back with laughter, Lupe offers a mock sympathetic “Poor Rosito!“ and Within seconds and covered hip to toe in the petite Latina. Giving me a peck on the cheek, she tells me that, Jose, my personal trainer, wants to reschedule my monyana secession.
I meet with Jose, we reschedule the appointment and he lectures me about my food intake- “I know, I know- energy in/energy out. Yadda, yadda, yadda.” On my way to the locker room I’m greeted by Zaire who compliments me on how trim and cut I’m getting. He asks if I’ve gotten the 6pack that I’m determined to get before the summer, “not yet” I inform him “I’m at a 4 pack though and working on it. When I suggest he gets some sessions, he scuffs at the idea. He replies keep up the good work, the training seems to be paying off but “do ya thing dawg, some of us ain’t able.”
Changed and ready to get started, I set my ipod soon as I place the earphone Steve Tyler and his boys are extolling the virtues and hazards of living on the edge. No I’m not in an Areosmith mood. I fast forward quickly over the metal- I mean I’m annoyed not piss. I release the button and the sweet voice of Leann Womack’s I hope you dance plays- nah, way to sweet. An hour later DMX, Digiable Planets and Ja rule- early Ja not the Hip Pop Jlo crap, has gotten me through a vigorous workout and I’m ready for round two with Ellis.
I need to deal with Tre and his cultural mulatto crap but where? Have lap top will travel- Starbucks! Of course, which one? Rialto, nah way too ghetto, kids, trash, and hip-hop blurring, I need a more sooth my simmering roar against Ellis. Claremont- the village. Way too clean, sedate and sanitized. Rancho! Why not a happy middle. Back into the car I’m greeted with greeted with Ice cube- I love his new track. However my rinky dink system can’t handle the bass so all I’m really hearing is static- hmmp, Mr Tre bougize Ellis didn’t put that in his essay did he, “what he know ‘bout that!?”
10 minutes later I’m entering Starbucks, I’m met with James Blunt’s familiar falsetto screetch/croak in the background and Skyler Blue Eyes eager to take my order. Flashing the pearly whites that would make Paul Wall’s platinum coated grill appear dull in comparison, Skyler expresses how happy he is to once again see me and ask what am I working on this time- what else? African American lit as usually. He points out my regular table and I position myself to wait for a venti- triple shot vanilla cappuccino, with an extra shot of caramel, made with low fat soy.
As I wait, I ponder what exactly annoys me about the new Blunt CD that Skyler blue eyes gushes over. Not that I’m trying to hate on blunt after all he simply another chain in a long line of middle of the road, bland, elevator music pop singers to follow in the line of Norah Jones and Diana Krawl. I mean these neuvo pop purest couldn’t hold a candle to Rick Lee Jones, Kate Bush in her prime and Tori Amos at her best or even Tracy Chapman at her worse. I won’t punk the earnest pop prince and princesses by harkening back to Billie Holiday, Joan Armastrading, or Nina Simone in terms of grit and depth. An Earnest elocution and bleeding heart lyrics doesn’t necessarily add-up to style and individuality. But who am I to piss on their 15 minutes of fame, afterall its an alternative to Britney.
These thoughts are broken by Skyler’s singsong announcement of my 6 dollar buzz. Skyler bounces to the counter flashing his American Idol smile and present my buzz as blonde highlight dance before his eyes. As usually he cups and hand and softly taps my wrists as I grab hold of the pipping hot legal crack. And I think, “is he flirting with me?” gazing into the blue eyes I remember the rainbow flag key chain hanging from his back pocket and I think, maybe he is. How cute. I think wait till my boys here about this, nah, they ain’t trying to hear this- as homophobic as they are. They only put up with me ‘cause I don’t act like it.
I don’t have time for this child. I have pressing issues to take up with Mr. Tre Ellis and cultural mulatto bullshit and how this ivy leagued, elitest frat boy has the unmitigated unabashed gall to reference me, my boys, and my hood in his propaganda. Alright Tre what is this multi-cultural mulatto bullshit me and my boys are suppose to live in?