Maybe Queer Black People Shouldn’t Come Out
When I was in college, I spent days reflecting on what a queer identity meant, enjoying the company of my queer friends and in October, decorating our adorable Coming Out Day closet door in our college library’s lobby.
This year I’m wondering how useful coming out is. Of course I’m all for people living authentically and openly, expressing their sexuality and/or gender identity. Identity is important to me, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing here, but I can’t help but think that the coming out culture we’ve created puts enormous pressure on queer individuals. Sometimes it might not be in a person’s best interest, which is especially so for queer people of color who face alarmingly high rates of identity-based issues, violence and discrimination.
Laverne Cox stated in a recent interview that the transgender community is in a state of emergency and with Keisha Jenkins being the 20th trans woman we’ve lost to murder (and the 18th trans woman of color) in this year alone, there is no room for an argument. What is particularly unsettling about these deaths is that we’re still not getting mainstream coverage of this type of violence.
Queer Black youth tend to struggle with their religious upbringings, and face higher rates of mistreatment from their families if they decide to come out or are outed, and high rates of homelessness. I’ve seen countless videos and pieces featuring queer Black men dealing with low self-esteem, depression, and suicidal thoughts both before and after coming out. Queer Black women, both cis and trans, face a combination of (trans)misogyny, queerphobia, and racism that can rear its ugly hydra-like head in a multitude of ways. Folks that are nonbinary, agender, asexual, aromantic, bi or pansexual face the added difficulties of not having their identities accepted or understood by both other queer and/or Black people. All of that can really take a toll on a person. Throughout my personal journey, I’ve wondered a lot — is it all worth it?
Then I think about what’s happened in history with the intersection of blackness and queerness.
Often we don’t hear about these specific people, but we run with their contributions (rBayard Rustin and the March on Washington, the Combahee River Collective and intersectional feminism, Marsha P. Johnson and the Stonewall Riots) or we do hear about these people and their queer identities are totally swept under the rug (Langston Hughes and Bessie Smith).
And now when we see intersectional characters in the mainstream on shows like Empire or movies like Dear White People that are praised by most, one criticism still remains:
“It’s good, but there’s too much gay shit.”
So what are queer Black people actually gaining by coming out? For a lot of us, the whole process, especially at the beginning, can feel more like now I have something else to deal with rather than the now I have this weight lifted off my shoulders. It can be especially damaging to have to deal with discrimination from the multiple communities to which a person already “belongs.”
Then we have those who choose not to come out. I do believe that there can be an enormous amount of power in making that choice. But then, where does that leave the people who don’t have the option of choosing without risking their own safety?
And then there’re the people who are out in some circles, like school and work, and closeted in others, like family — constantly drifting between being open about who they are and feeling like they’re lying about their sense of selves to the people that matter most . It can be especially difficult to enjoy all of the benefits of coming out — being open and comfortable with yourself, pride in a newly confirmed identity, and having a sense of community — to have it then taken away based solely on who you’re around at the time. If these people are around others who they aren’t out to for extended periods of time, they can face the same mental health issues that came with not being out in the first place all over again.
It just feels like we’re always leaving someone behind in the process.
So where do we find the solution? Doing away with the importance of coming out is just assimilationist, but being flooded with the look at all the great things that will happen after you come out type messages just doesn’t cut it either. Shitty things happen, both before and after. And that needs to be a part the conversation.
And maybe just looking into coming out in and of itself is too small of a scope. There’s definitely plenty of deconstruction of heteronormativity, cissexism, misogyny, hypermasculinity, homophobia, transphobia and acephobia to be had here from all of us. But if we can get to a point where we realize that a person’s queerness, just like their Blackness, is a part of our nuanced personhood and really start to accept people and who they love, don’t love, fuck, don’t fuck, express and identify with, maybe coming out and living Black and queer would be a lot easier.
Until then, stay safe. Come out when you’re ready. Come out when it’s safe to do so mentally, emotionally, physically and even financially. Come out with a support system on-deck if coming out jeopardizes any of the above. Come out only to the people that you want to be out to. Come out with a plan B, just in case things don’t work out the way you want them to. And if you can’t, or can only be out to a few people in your life, that’s cool too. There is no shame in waiting until you’re ready or until your circumstances allow for it. The closet probably isn’t where you want to be right now, but you’d be amazed by how much support you can find in there.
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