Straight, gay or bi, Odell Beckham Jr. is living his life, and it’s time
for Beckham’s homophobic critics to get on with their lives. In a few
days, we’ll begin the year 2016, and my wish for my people in the new
year is that we finally catch up with the calendar.
Even with an African-American president and a few highly successful
black actors, Hollywood and America have a long way to go to reflect a
more accurate representation of who we are as a people. For one thing,
it would be a welcome sign if we could actually get through an
introduction of non-white actors into a legacy action hero or comic book
series on film without a controversy.
The party that spent the past seven years demonizing President Obama as a
socialist, Muslim, Kenyan outsider may not have created Donald Trump,
but they certainly created the conditions that allowed him to flourish.
And any Black leader who sells out his community for thirty pieces of
Donald Trump’s silver will bear just as much blame.
When Bayard Rustin,
a draft-resisting communist and Black gay man, arrived in Montgomery for the bus boycott in
February 1956, his presence sparked immediate controversy, as David Garrow recounts in his Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Bearing the Cross: Martin Luther King Jr. and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.
“It was the feeling of this group that Bayard should be urged to leave
Alabama and return to New York,” one leading activist wrote at the time.
Today, the Black Lives Matter movement, which was founded by three Black women — Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors and Opal Tometi — including two queer women, is often represented by several Black gay men, includingDarnell MooreandDeray McKesson,
among others. This new, more diverse image of Black leadership looks
dramatically different from the days when Montgomery organizers wrestled
with the question of what to do about Rustin.
In the past week, since the terrorist attack on Paris, we’ve seen the
resurgence of the Ebola hype in the form of shameful political
demagoguery misguidedly directed at Syrian refugees.
The point of the story is that students have power. Students of color
have power. Disenfranchised people have power. Black people have power.
All of us have power to create change — if we use it. As the anthropologist Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a
small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world;
indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”
The resignation of University of Missouri President Tim Wolfe reminds me that disenfranchised people have much more power than we realize if we’re willing to use it.
For the life of me, I’ve never understood why Black gay men continue
to worship at churches that disrespect them. When I’ve asked this
question to black gay men in the past, I’ve heard unconvincing answers.
“Pastor doesn’t talk about homosexuality all the time,” some explain. Or “pastor doesn’t claim homosexuality is the only sin,” others say.
But Holler If You Hear Me helps to answer part of my
longstanding question. For many black gay men influenced by the church,
they still believe homosexuality is a sin. If they go to the gay club on
Saturday and then go to the anti-gay church on Sunday, it seems to be a
way of repenting against the demons they think are inside of them.