Finding Where You Fit in the Queer Community

Where do queer black people fit in a racist and homophobic society?

A common misconception about the queer community (typically by straight people) is that we all fit together like one big happy family. To some extent, this is true.  But truth be told, the LBGTQ+ community-- like any other-- is packed full of various subcategories. There’s so many layers to queerness that may not be fully recognized by those on the outside looking in. It’s important to understand how other aspects of your identity contribute to who you become as a whole, and how it affects the way you fit into each and every social group. Oftentimes, we’re asked by society to separate the intersectional parts of ourselves-- especially in different settings. As a black, gay, femme-presenting nonbinary person, it feels like I’m only sometimes allowed to be myself to the fullest capacity. Around black people, I can be black, but rarely nonbinary, seeing that this gender identity is rarely respected and oftentimes devalued. Around other black people, I can only sometimes be outwardly queer. I’m forced to read the room; making myself smaller to avoid being misunderstood. Around nonblack queer people, I’m welcome to be gay-- but not too in touch with my blackness without noticing a disconnect between myself and my counterparts. I’m allowed to be nonbinary, but typically just in the comfort of my own home. How often are you meeting a black nonbinary person? Especially deep in the south, where I was born and raised. I feel like a rare breed, like my community is so far away. There are so many layers to community due to intersectionality. It’s important for us to acknowledge the differences in each and every one of us, and how we can help each other all belong. 

I was only around the age of twelve when I began to recognize my queerness. I can strongly say that I myself have never been ashamed of who I am, but I have been encouraged to be by those around me-- those who didn’t understand. The first people to truly make me feel seen, and understood the queer aspect of my identity were white. It wasn’t long before I found myself embedded deep in predominantly white friendships that I didn’t realize were negatively warping my brain. I was out of the closet, but I was insecure. I was the one black person sandwiched between white women. I was judged by my own community, for my gayness, and also for seemingly being “too white” for being gay (and emo/alternative, neurodivergent, and fairly articulate)-- which practically corned me into my white friendships, where I was still misunderstood, but at least I was allowed to be myself in some capacity. That was a good thing, right?

Fifteen year old me was perceivably the DUFF of my immediate friends who were two other gay-- yet white-- girls. I didn’t understand why I received so little attention and appreciation compared to them (notably by other nonblack people). It felt like a constant comparison between myself and people who I was so different from-- who the world perceived in completely different ways ,though we belonged to the same community. Of course, over time I became the out-spoken, controlling, “angry black woman” archetype in their eyes, which is a tale as old as time. It taught me that though we are the same, we’re not the same at all. My blackness was just as big of a part of my identity as my queerness, and I’d realized that I hadn’t nurtured it the same up until that point.

My first girlfriend notably changed my life, despite our exigent differences. Being in a black, lesbian relationship was such a cleansing and eye-opening experience for teenage me. It taught me so much about myself. For the first time in my life, I truly realized that I wasn’t ugly and I never was. I just wasn’t white. I wasn’t just some angry black person. Or maybe I was, but I learned it didn’t have to be such a bad thing. In a world such as this, I have a lot to be angry about. To love and be loved by someone that truly understands your place in the world shows you that you don’t have to become anything else (or anything less) just to belong. It shouldn’t feel like such a task to acquire a safe space. Even queer black friendships have opened my mind to a world of acceptance and belonging. Around those more like me, I’ve been truly recognized for all that I am. I didn’t have to fight so hard to simply have a voice. There is so much comfort in simply being seen as an equal.

Around the age of eighteen is when I truly began to resonate with gender nonconformity, and switched to the use of they/them pronouns. Truthfully, I’ve been misgendered more times than I can count, even by other members of the queer community. I feel I don’t fit exactly what the world perceives as nonbinary, especially as a black femme person. I mean, when you think of gender nonconformity, you’re oftentimes thinking of a white person with green hair cut into a mullet. The constant misgendering has caused me to question so much about myself, even to the point where I’ve wondered if I’m even what I claim to be. The amount of times that I’ve heard that nonbinary isn’t real, or that they/them pronouns don’t make sense, it’s almost as if it’s infiltrated my brain. Searching through the DFW area, it feels nearly impossible to find others who identify the way I do-- especially other black people. Have you ever been misgendered by another nonbinary person? And were they nonblack? It’s painful how much racism infiltrates the LGBTQ+ community, and forces us into different corners despite our similarities. Because, even if I’m standing directly beside a queer, nonbinary person, if they are white, the world still won’t treat us the same. What will it take for me to be truly respected and seen even in my own community? 

I’ve often been told that I made “everything about race.” It’s not an allegation I can exactly deny. As a black person though, you quickly realize that everything in the world is about race. It’s as if the world is constantly reminding you that you’re black, even if you have yet to forget. To be black and gay in a racist and homophobic world is to constantly fight the odds that are against you. Without black people, the LGBTQ+ community wouldn’t be a touch of what it is. So much of queer culture has been inspired by, and derived from, African-Americans and our culture. Black people have been the forefront of movements, marches, and revolutions, yet somehow rarely get the credit. It feels like we are constantly imitated, but never chosen to represent the movements we push. I wish that it wasn’t so hard to find a place that I fit in the world. It shouldn’t be. Where are queer, black, nonbinary people truly seen and valued? How can we create a level of understanding and belonging in communities not only across the U.S., but the world? 

The fight against racism is an endless battle that oftentimes feels impossible. Once we acknowledge the ways in which racism (even sexism and transphobia) infiltrate our communities, we will have the power to create ways to fight against it. Not to say that, if you are black, that you shouldn’t have nonblack friends or partners. I’ve written this entry to simply speak on my experience in queer, black friendships and relationships and how they have altered my life and perspective for the better. There’s something so empowering about standing beside someone and knowing that the world is not automatically perceiving you as less than. My goal is to encourage those like me that, even though it may be hard to believe, you belong everywhere. That you are everything. For decades, black people have been known and applauded for their perceived “strength” and endurance. But in the year 2023, we shouldn’t have to be so strong. We shouldn’t be forced to withstand the weight of the world. Queer black relationships have granted me the ability to be delicate-- a freedom I’d never had before. 

The search for understanding is ongoing and seemingly never complete. To be yourself and a world that supposedly only appreciates a specific type of individual requires strength. Everyday that you are true to yourself, you’ve done something to inspire those around you-- especially queer youth. Because of the internet and social media, we have access to so many like minded individuals at our fingertips. I’ve found so many people just like me online, people who have inspired me to be myself to the fullest capacity despite how the world around me reacts to it. It’s important to remember that no matter where you are, you belong there. There’s so much space for you in the world, even if you don’t have access to it right now. To those who have never been black enough, or straight enough, or nonbinary enough, there will always be someone who sees you for everything you are. Someone just like you. Never give up on trying to find where you fit.