A Playlist to End The Longest Black History Month EVER. Let’s Party.

There’s been versions of this joke circling around on Twitter. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but there are a lot of folks who are prepared to call 2019 The WORST Black History Month Ever.

I mean the last 28 days alone have seen: luxury designer brands like Gucci, Prada, and Burberry thinking it’s OK to design sweaters that look resemble blackface and send nooses down their runway (what??); the Virginia Governor’s past forays into actual literal blackface (oh and his wife, the First Lady of Virginia? She gave out cotton to African American students during a tour of the Governor’s Mansion) (HOW?); there was that one time when Liam Neeson thought about killing a black guy; and – whatever my personal feelings on the matter – I literally cannot say another word about Jussie Smollett even if I tried. Oh and this is comparatively small, but then Green Book won Best Picture at the Academy Awards! Spike Lee almost walked out of the ceremony. I have never felt more in tune with his spirit.

There’s been a petition to just pack up this February all together and move this year’s Black History Month celebrations to July. I’m sure you can understand why.

That’s not to say it was all bad. There was some good in there, too: Ruth E. Carter and Hannah Beachler broke records by becoming the first black women to win in their respective Oscar categories (Costume Design and Production Design) – they also became only two out of three black women to EVER win outside of an acting category. And they did it within 10 minutes of each other! Regina King? Now also an Oscar winner. And perhaps you heard the good news but it looks like R. Kelly may spend the next 70+ years in jail for his decades of statutory rape and molestation of black girls. 🙏🏾

I’m really proud of all our Black History Month work at Autostraddle this month. We questioned the rumors of Josephine Baker and Frida Kahlo’s love affair. We highlighted black femmes who are often forgotten. We learned more about the closeted black lesbian political great Barbara Jordan. We re-imagined ourselves in classic films and in cosplay. Sometimes it felt like the world was imploding around us, but we dug our heels in deep. We celebrated each other, our queer and trans siblings, and those who came before. It’s a journey that I’ve been humbled to walk.

But now, I AM TIRED – and I bet a lot of y’all are too. I’m ready to kiss the last hours of the longest 28 days on record away with a fucking party!

I’ve been listening to this list nonstop for 24 hours. I promise it’s full of cross-generational bangers. Hope you enjoy. Remember – celebrating blackness doesn’t end in February. Take this list with you year-round. I believe in being 365 BLACK at all times. Stay black. Stay beautiful. Stay proud. ✊🏾😘

THE PLAYLIST

If you have Apple Music instead of Spotify, no worries I have you covered.

THE TRACK LIST

1. Jamilah Woods — “Blk Girl Soilder”
2. Labelle – “Lady Marmalade”
3. Betty Davis – “They Say I’m Different”
4. Jill Scott and the Roots – “You Got Me” (LIVE)
5. Vickie Anderson — “Message from the Soul Sisters”
6. Queen Latifah feat. Monie Love — “Ladies First”
7. Janelle Monáe – “Django Jane”
8. The Internet – “Gabby”
9. Mary J Blige – “My Life”
10. Whitney Houston – “You Give Good Love”
11. Anita Baker – “Giving You The Best that I Got”
12. Prince – “The Beautiful Ones”
13. Lauryn Hill – “Everything is Everything”
14. Meshell Ndegeocello – “Fool of Me”
15. Tracy Chapman – “Fast Car”
16. Kehlani – “Honey”
17. Stevie Wonder – “As”
18. Notorious BIG – “Juicy”
19. Lil’ Kim, Da Brat, Angie Martinez, Lisa Left Eye Lopes, Missy Elliott – “Not Tonight (Ladies Night remix)”
20. Donna Summer – “Hot Stuff”
21. Tina Turner — “What’s Love Got To Do With It”
22. Aretha Franklin – “Rolling in the Deep” (YOU WANT TO HEAR THIS ONE)
23. TLC – “What About Your Friends”
24. Diana Ross – “I’m Coming Out”
25. Patti LaBelle – “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” (LIVE)
26. Chaka Khan — “Sweet Thing” (LIVE)
27. Roberta Flack — “Killing Me Softly”
28. The Fugees — “Killing Me Softly” (Yes, you must listen to them back-to-back. I don’t make the rules of blackness. Thank you.)
29. Missy Elliott — “Work It”
30. Minnie Riperton — “Lovin’ You”
31. Solange – “F.U.B.U.”
32. The Carters – Black Effect
33. Kendrick Lamar – “Alright”
34. Donny Hathaway – “Someday We’ll All Be Free”
35. Big Freedia feat Lizzo – “Karaoke”

* BONUS TRACK, because Queen Bey don’t believe in nobody’s Spotify: Beyoncé — “Freedom” (“Lift Every Voice” Remix from Coachella ’18)  *

Proudly Black, Fat, Queer and Making a Home for Myself in Cosplay

I often tell people that I have the geekiest love story ever told. I pretend to be embarrassed by it but, in reality, I think it’s pretty frickin’ adorable — don’t tell my partner, though, cuz I’ll never hear the end of it. The two of us met writing fanfiction back in 2001, a time where sex scenes were labeled as lemons and our favorite Gundam pilots were labeled by numbers instead of character names. In 2002, we met in person at Anime Central, me decked out in Gundam Wing merch and her rocking a hand-sewn outfit to become one of her favorite anime characters.

She’d go on to explain the concept of cosplay to me, and unbeknownst to the both of us, it would become a big part of our lives together.

I remember feeling completely relaxed around her. More importantly, I remember feeling at ease as we held hands and walked the convention halls together. I never had a moment where I worried about someone starting some homophobic nonsense just because some folks feel the need to clutch their grandmother’s pearls when they encounter two ladies in love.

For three days, at the Hyatt Regency in Rosemont, Illinois, I felt like I could be myself.

This is why I’m so protective of the geek community. It’s a space that embraced me as I was taking baby steps out of the closet. I saw folks using LGBTQ+ flags as capes and others who cosplayed, drew, and wrote queerness into the fandoms that I loved. Honestly, it was probably one of the best places to explore my sexuality and go from assumed straightness, to assumed lesbianism, to most definite bisexuality.

But with my love comes a critical eye.

At 18, I clung to any bit of reassurance I could find. At 35? I’m more cautious about who I let into my circle. My acceptance is valuable. I’ve learned that it’s something that folks need to earn versus me trying to fit into someone else’s box.

If I had to pinpoint when my new way of thinking started to brew, I’d say it was back in 2013. Originally I’d thought I had to find a character who looked exactly like me in order to partake in cosplay. Spoiler: you’d be hard pressed to find many fat, black women in the media — let alone in geekdom. But by 2013 I’d been cosplaying on and off since 2004. My partner had become my seamstress. We’d go to two or three conventions a year. We would usually wear one costume, on Saturday, and be content with that.

One day, I’d gotten some pretty nasty comments about my cosplay. I’d love to say that it was a dark and stormy night to build suspense, but women who look like me deal with discrimination even on the brightest of Tuesdays. The comments ranged from whale comparisons to suggesting that I indulge in crispily fried birds — chicken, to be exact. In all honesty, it was the type of playground level commentary you’d expect from someone who could hide behind a Tumblr username.

Long story short: I didn’t take that shit lying down. I ended up gaining an online following over the very thing I was being made fun of for: being a fat, black, queer woman.

I spent the next couple of years upgrading my status as — gasp, a SJW — branding myself as a slayer of Internet nonsense because, seriously, what even IS a lesbian bed death? (Disclaimer: I know what it is, I just had to look it up.) My cosplay evolved from having my partner make exact replicas of character outfits to designing looks I was comfortable in. Styles she’d make that represented the character and me as a person. I could show my love for a character with my fat, black body, because at the end of the day, I was the only person who could cosplay a character my way. My conventions expanded from two a year to damn near two a month, and I’d rock a different look every day instead of just once.

Along the way, I’d continue to try my best to inspire those who knew me online or from cons to love themselves despite what random Twitter-User-With-Two-Bot-Followers said to them. I became more vocal about the issues that were important to me, namely, the interlocked oppressions and struggles of fat folks, black folks, queer folks — in an always necessary word: intersectionality.

Which brings me back to that critical eye.

I didn’t want to comment on it at first, because I didn’t want folks to think I was ungrateful for their support. These were people who had been there for me from the beginning of my fandom journey. They cheered for me as I dealt with a whole host of commenters who felt more like those random monster encounters in RPGs. We had history together. There was this fear that lingered in the back of my mind that people would think I didn’t appreciate them. But I realized that some were forgetting the and in my character bio. I’m black and queer and fat and a woman. There were those who were separating each of those labels.

Sure, some people were all smiles and you’re such an inspiration when I told off some jerk online who criticized my weight, but those same folks were suddenly uneasy when I brought up race. Even positive, uplifting hashtags like #28DaysOfBlackCosplay were met with, “Um, excuse me, I’m curious about what you’d think if I started 28 Days of WHITE Cosplay.”

I’m exaggerating. It was definitely less civil than that.

If you’re unfamiliar with the hashtag, #28DaysofBlackCosplay was created in order to shine a light on black cosplayers, a group who’s prone to discrimination and/or being treated like some rare trading card because wow I didn’t know black people were into that! Chaka Cumberbatch-Tinsley’s digital movement is celebrating it’s 5^th anniversary this year and addresses a serious issue of exclusion within the geek community while giving black cosplayers visibility and a sense of community. But, as is often the case with anything with the word black in the title — folks took offense, even if they’d had my back before, even if there’s nothing negative about the hashtag.

This happened from all angles, too. I’d get virtual hugs about women’s issues, but head-scratching over whether or not the characters in my book had to be queer — “NOT THAT I HAVE ISSUES WITH GAY PEOPLE REPRESENTATION MATTERS I JUST THINK INSERTING AN ALL MIGHT SIZED FIST IN MY MOUTH IS A GOOD LIFE CHOICE.”

Sorry not sorry for the My Hero Academia reference.

The worst (and most awkward) case scenario? Having a clash of the identities when one was propped up over or against another. “Black people should protest peacefully, like queer people” is a thing I’ve heard people say with their whole entire chest. I’d kindly point out how Stonewall was, in fact, a riot, and that they were asking a black queer woman to separate her identities because one was, supposedly, better than the other.

As the eldest Brady Bunch daughter once said: “Sure Jan.”

The whole enterprise was awkward, infuriating, and exhausting. I could wear my giant Rainbow Brite ballgown to Pride and get all the love, then have a white woman badmouth Black Lives Matter to my face. Yes. This happened. Truth be told the ability to simultaneously compliment and insult is quite common in identity division. We convince ourselves — hey, at least she liked my giant, ruffled rainbows, right? At least she was at Pride and here for the LGBTQ+ community, right?

But is it really support if my and is purposely being ignored? Insulted?

People don’t realize how damaging it is to only acknowledge a part of someone instead of their entire being, especially if you’re gonna badmouth one aspect of a person’s identity, but praise, support, or comfort the other. I don’t expect an immediate understanding of my fat, black, queer experience, but I would — at the very least — want some compassion.

I still adore the geek community. I always look forward to going to conventions, playing elaborate games of dress up, reuniting with friends, and meeting new people. I don’t think I’d be as open as I am if I hadn’t found this space with its black celebratory hashtags, it’s rise of queer-friendly merch in artist allies, and its cosplay is for everyone mantras. That doesn’t mean the community is without its flaws.

It’s OK to question the things you love. It’s OK to point out the problems and ask for folks to do better by you. It doesn’t mean you love it any less, it just means that you know that you deserve better.

The Black Lesbian Movie Project

Hey, hello, what’s up!

As we know, I’m a huge fan of black culture. I also think that almost anything can be made better if it were gayer, so Autostraddle (bless their hearts) is giving me the chance to be the change that I want to see in the world. Allow me to butch up our favorite black movies, thereby even making them even MORE fantastic than they already are!

Coming to America

Original Stars: Eddie Murphy, Arsenio Hall
Original Plot: Eddie Murphy stars as the Prince of Zamunda, who convinces his father, James Earl Jones, to allow him to leave home for the first time to look for his true love.

Now, Let’s Make it Gay: Lena Waithe, Tessa Thompson, Gina Yashere

THIS IS PRIME LESBIAN MATERIAL. I mean, everything is if you try hard enough, but imagine it: Lena Waithe – faced with the possibility of an unwanted arranged royal marriage in Zamunda – leaves her black ass country to come to black ass QUEENS, NEW YORK with her black ass best friend, Gina Yashere, to look for and fall in love with her black ass QUEEN, Tessa Thompson!

Bonus: John Amos, returning in his 1980s role as the love interest’s father, still suddenly turns nice and tries to kiss up once he finds out Lena is royalty, but James Earl Jones pulls a Mufasa on his ass and scares the shit out of him once he finds out John Amos DARED to treat his daughter as if she wasn’t good enough for Tessa Thompson. Because you see in Zamunda, where they are lightyears ahead of us, gay is not just good – that shit is fucking stellar!

Eve’s Bayou

Original Stars: June Smollett-Bell, Lynn Whitfield, Samuel L. Jackson
Original Plot: Eve Batiste (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) is a young girl living in 1960s Louisiana when she finds out terrible secrets that can tear her family apart. Samuel L. Jackson plays the cheating husband, Louis. Lynn Whitfield is Roz, his wife, a black woman who has put up with a man’s bullshit for way too long. As Eve takes matters into her own hands, she learns that messing with spiritual magic affects more than just the one you cast your spell at.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Viola Davis

I AM HERE TO REPAIR ROZ BATISTE’S HEART AND I AM WILLING TO IMPOSE EVERY KIND OF MAGIC TO DO IT. Samuel L. Jackson is cheating on my girl and the whole Louisiana bayou knows it! I will not stand for it! So, when Roz and her sister-in-law Mozelle (Debbie Morgan) go out to the market and agree to get their fortunes told by a very-in-touch-with-her-easily-scares-children-side Voudou Priestess Diahann Caroll, imagine Roz’s surprise when Lady Diahann tells her that she’ll run into an answer that will solve all her problems later that very same day.

Who does my homie run into? NONE OTHER THAN VIOLA DAVIS, who smiles at Roz as they reach for the same vegetable. Roz is instantly smitten.

Friday

Original Stars: Ice Cube, Chris Tucker, Nia Long
Original Plot: Ice Cube and Chris Tucker are best friends who are hanging out and getting high on a Friday. After losing his job, Craig (Ice Cube) spends the day sitting on his porch with Smokey (Tucker). They’re trying to figure out what to do with the rest of their day, when trouble comes along and decides for them.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Starring ME!

I’m not going to tell you that I pitched this post solely so all my favorite movies could have black lesbian leads and sidekicks.That is not why this came about at all. But, in this very movie, I will be the star because in my heart of hearts I believe that in some form of SOME UNIVERSE I’m destined to be with Nia Long.

You’ll see me in this movie shooting the shit with Smokey while we’re sitting on my porch, trying to figure out how not to get my shit wrecked by Big Worm and Deebo, and finally standing up to the neighborhood bullies instead of running away because HOW DARE DEEBO PUT HIS HANDS ON DEBBIE. Oh, and in the end? I get the girl.

Soul Food

Original Stars: Irma P. Hall, Vivica A. Fox, Vanessa Williams, Nia Long
Original Plot: Every Sunday, a black family gets together for family dinner. The three sisters: Teri (Vanessa Williams), Maxine (Vivica A. Fox) and Bird (Nia Long) struggle with loving each other through the pain as they cope with the possible loss of the foundation of their family, Mama Joe otherwise known as Big Mama.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: CCH Pounder and Wanda Sykes for a special guest appearance

Maxine’s son, Ahmad, who looks up to Big Mama and is one of her closest confidants, is given an important truth one day. When he sneaks into Big Mama’s hospital room, he asks her why she always keeps an open chair at the table every Sunday. He’s expecting the same old story of how the chair is supposed to be a reminder that those they love are always welcome to join them even if they can’t always find their way back home. (Yo, sorry, not to hype myself up but that was a LINE! I got skills!) It’s the story that Mama’s girls have always recited with fondness as they think about their father.

This time, though, Mama Joe explains that it was for the woman she met at the grocery store fourteen years ago. Deborah (played by CCH Pounder). With a light in her eyes that Ahmad hasn’t seen before, Big Mama talks about the one who checked in on her nearly every day after she found her once tearing up in the vegetable department. The woman who came over when the rest of the family was busy at work or fighting or maybe even a mixture of both. The woman tried to get Mama Joe to worry a little less and laugh a little more. She saved the seat for the woman who pulled her from the kitchen to dance in the living room, all smiles, reminding Big Mama in that sing-song voice, “You weren’t born to stay in that kitchen all your life.” She saved the seat for the woman who knew after their dance was over, Big Ma would still go back and finish cooking. Because she knew cooking sprinkled itself into everything and everyone she loved.

At the end of the movie, Ahmad doesn’t just invite Faith – the cousin who only appears when she needs something and is misdirected as fuck, especially when she directs herself into her cousin-in-law’s pants – to the table. He invites Deborah, too. When everyone asks who she is, Deborah smiles and Ahmad says, “This is the woman that loved Big Mama in the way she deserved.”

(PS: Teri could have a girlfriend at a drop of a hat if she just chilled a bit. I’m imagining Bette Porter. Of course, because I still haven’t finished The L Word and I don’t know whatever possible true love Bette is supposed to have. But Jennifer Beals and Vanessa Williams ending up together as a badass hot lawyer dream team? It’s what we deserve.)

Also, Wanda Sykes NEVER comes to these family dinners and has no real role in the movie, but she happens to stop by for a quick second at the exact perfect time and everything is worth it ’cause she makes this face:

right when Vanessa Williams says the iconic line: “Faith fucked my husband!”

The Wood

Original Stars: Taye Diggs, Richard T. Jones, Omar Epps
Original Plot: Two stories wrapped in one, a man gets pre-wedding nerves and his best friends have to get him back on track before the big ceremony. As they do so, they reminisce over their friendship and how they fell in lust and in love back when they were just three black boys in the late 80s making a bet to see who could lose their virginity first.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Janelle Monáe, Samira Wiley, Danielle Brooks

This is going to be the same tale of three black women that are trying to get to one of their gay weddings on time, but keep fucking shit up as the bride-to-be questions whether or not she can stay with one person forever. As they go through their day – running to exes for help, fucking up their outfits and generally just being self-imposing hurricanes of chaos – they reminisce about the bet they made as teenagers as to who could lose their virginity first.

Now, you may think, mmm okay, that’s cool whatever – but think about it: We’re talking about three black girls deciding to lose their virginity to other girls. In the 80s. In black ass Inglewood, California. This is the best movie you will ever see because who even has the range, the nuance, the depth, THE COURAGE to tell a funny ass story where three black girls are ON A MISSION TO LOSE THEIR VIRGINITY ON THEIR OWN TERMS AND THEY END UP HAPPY AS SHIT??? Get Ava DuVernay and Dee Rees in here, this needs to happen immediately.

Love & Basketball

Original Stars: Sanaa Lathan, Omar Epps, Gabrielle Union
Original Plot: Quincy (Omar Epps) and Monica (Sanaa Lathan) are two neighbors that love two things: basketball and each other. The movie follows them through childhood and early adulthood as they work through family troubles, relationships, and staying true to their greatest love: basketball.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Let’s keep Sanaa Lathan and Gabrielle Union and get rid of Omar Epps!

You and I both knew this was coming.

Let us remember the small, but important mean girl part played by Gabrielle Union. In the second quarter of the movie, Quincy and Monica have not gotten together yet and Quincy decides to date Shawnee (Gabrielle Union) since Monica can’t give him a straight answer about whether she likes him or not. Shawnee’s  real pretty and loves to remind Monica that she’s not the kind of girl Quincy should be with. Because Monica is the type of girl that should be with Shawnee.

Instead of Quincy and Monica falling in love, Monica mistakes her feelings for Quincy as wanting to be with Quincy when she really wants to be like Quincy and date girls. This isn’t too much of a reach, Monica needs a treasure map and several compasses to acknowledge her feelings even though she’s always in them. Think about this, I really believe Monica usually forgets that emotions exist?? Like she can ball so hard motherfuckers wanna fine her, but does she know she’s also allowed to check in with her heart and be like “we doing okay in there, buddy?” Of course she doesn’t! And who better to remind Monica that she’s allowed to feel shit than the girl who gets a rise out of her the most?

Girl’s Trip

Original Stars: Regina Hall, Queen Latifah, Jada Pinkett Smith, Tiffany Haddish
Original Plot: Regina Hall stars as Ryan Pierce, a highly successful businesswoman, wife, and “next coming of Oprah” who decides to reunite with her college best friends at the Essence Music Festival. As she comes to terms with her failing marriage, she’ll need her friends now more than ever.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Still Regina Hall and Queen Latifah!

I have a 2,000+ word document on Girls’ Trip because THEY ALREADY COULD’VE MADE THIS GAY AND THEY ROBBED US. Ryan and Sasha (Queen Latifah) were most definitely together in college when Ryan got cold feet about coming out and instead started dating the football players because it was safer. She left Sasha and all her dreams in the dust. That’s already in the story, so all I’m asking for is the explicit declarations!!!

Show me where Ryan tries to talk to Sasha, but messes up all her words because she’s still supposed to be in love with her husband, except that’s not going well and Sasha is right here and she never thought she’d get to see her again. Has she gotten even prettier? Is that even possible? Is her smile even brighter? Ryan wonders to herself, “why have I been with that dude when I’ve only been reunited with Sasha for one day and already feel more at home than I have in years?”

I DEMAND to see Sasha pulling away from Ryan after Ryan refuses to open up to her out of fear of vulnerability. I want to hear Sasha tell her, “You hurt me. We were supposed to be IN LOVE together.” I want the heartache of watching Ryan recoil when she thinks one of those famous people at the festival can hear them. I need Ryan to tell Sasha how she really feels. In the closing scene of the movie, when Ryan gives that big motivational speech to all the black women in attendance that they deserve good love, the best love – I want for her to say she’s found that love in her best friend and for that cheating fuckface of her husband to walk on stage right when Ryan goes, “Like I’ve found in Sasha. Like I still do everyday.” CAUSE IM A CHEESEBALL AND I WANT IT.

Do The Right Thing

Original Stars: Spike Lee, Rosie Perez
Original Plot: It’s a hot summer day in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn as Mookie (Spike Lee) goes to work at Sal’s Pizzeria. As he makes deliveries, racism shows its face at just about every corner and the mostly black and brown neighborhood deals with subtle and overt violence.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Regina King

T H I S IS M Y S H I T. Regina King is taking over Spike Lee’s role as Mookie, the pizza delivery person who works at Sal’s and is the audience’s guide to the neighborhood. Sure, I want Regina King to be in this because I love her and I just think she and Rosie Perez would be good together, but there’s an even deeper reason I need this to happen. Aaron McGruder’s The Boondocks is one of my favorite comics and one of my favorite TV shows AND IN THE TELEVISION SHOW REGINA KING VOICES BOTH BROTHERS AND HAS NEVER BEEN PROPERLY RECOGNIZED FOR THAT. How will this movie change that? I don’t know, but what I’m saying is Regina King contains multitudes, her multitudes contain multitudes, and she’d be perfect in this. Then one of my favorite movies would be EVEN MORE PERFECT and we could add another classic to her already beyond amazing thirty year (and counting!) career.

The Best Man

Original Stars: Harold Perrineau, Morris Chestnut, Taye Diggs, Terrence Howard, Sanaa Lathan, Regina Hall, Nia Long
Original Plot: Harper (Taye Diggs) is a new writer that, thanks to being picked by the Oprah Book Club, is about to blow up. But as he joins his college friends for his best friend’s wedding weekend, his book digs up years old drama in the crew. Important for our needs is Murch (Harold Perrineau), the nerdy friend in the bunch who’s in a loveless long-term relationship with the gold digging Shelby.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Gabrielle Union, and still… Nia Long!

Literally everything in this movie stays exactly the same except for two things:

1. Murch is now played by Gabrielle Union. She gets Candice (Regina Hall) to fall for her after reciting an Audre Lorde quote to her at the bachelor party where Candi is dancing. Yes, that really is a plot point from the movie.

2. Jordan (Nia Long) has most definitely been trying to figure out her sexuality. As soon as she sees Robin (Sanaa Lathan) at the church, she’s like “Oh shit.” Is it my life’s goal to make Sanaa Lathan and Nia Long play more lesbian parts? Of fucking course! That would be magical, like imagine if we had a bunch of our favorite actresses decide to do more woman-loving parts? We deserve this.

House Party

Original Stars: Kid ‘N Play, AJ Johnson, Tisha Campbell
Original Plot: As Kid dodges bullies, cops, and gunshots to get to his friend’s house party, he tries to get the girl of his dreams and make a name for himself as one of the best rappers in his school – all before his dad figures out he snuck out. There’s lots of 90s dancing.

Now, Let’s Make It Gay: Zazie Beetz, Teyana Taylor, Nafessa Williams, Karrueche Tran

Zazie Beetz is Kid, a young, mostly dorky girl in that “everyone wants to date her sort of way.” She gets suspended from school and needs to keep her dad from finding out before her best friend’s party starts. After trying to stay ahead of a bunch of Mean Girl style bullies and outsmarting cops all night, the party officially begins when Kid walks in. Teyana Taylor is Play, who’s hosting the party and trying to keep the shenanigans to a minimum ’cause “ain’t nobody fucking up my mama’s house.” Kid ‘N Play both have their eyes set on Karreuche Tran and Nafessa Williams, Sydney and Sharane respectively, the prettiest and most popular girls in school.

Guys, I only know for sure for sure that Teyana Taylor can dance her ass off, but I’ve been laughing at this set up all night. Please watch Claws and tell me Karrueche wouldn’t be funny as SHIT in this movie. As soon as some shit pop off, imagine her calm distant demeanor VANISHING as she moves people out of her friends’ way with a deep ass “MOVE, BITCH!” (of course Ludacris’ instrumental version of the song plays in the background). Try to tell me that Zazie wouldn’t play it really cool for like .25 seconds before finding out Nafessa has a crush on her. You tell me that Teyana Taylor wouldn’t look amazing slow dancing with Karreuche. (I’ve GOT EVIDENCE YOU’RE WRONG)

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And here’s further evidence Teyana would play a great lesbian.

Look me in my eyes and try to LIE TO MY FACE.

Young, Gifted, Black, and Closeted: Barbara Jordan’s Political Rise in a Country Not Yet Ready For Her

Early in 1974, the House Judiciary Committee began an impeachment inquiry into the President of the United States over the Watergate scandal. A bulk of the investigative work would be handled by an army of lawyers — including a recent Yale graduate named Hillary Rodham — but eventually, the task of moving impeachment proceedings forward fell to the committee’s 38 members. Still a freshman congresswoman, Barbara Jordan sat through opening statements from the committee’s senior members before she had an opportunity to address the nation in prime time on July 25, 1974.

The words? Eloquent. Her statement is universally considered to be one of the greatest speeches in American history. The voice, though? The voice, it was magical. Her contemporaries, including fellow Congressman Andrew Young, Molly Ivins and Bob Woodward, said she had the voice of God. She said, in part:

Earlier today, we heard the beginning of the Preamble to the Constitution of the United States: “We, the people.” It’s a very eloquent beginning. But when that document was completed on the seventeenth of September in 1787, I was not included in that “We, the people.” I felt somehow for many years that George Washington and Alexander Hamilton just left me out by mistake. But through the process of amendment, interpretation, and court decision, I have finally been included in “We, the people.”

Today I am an inquisitor. An hyperbole would not be fictional and would not overstate the solemnness that I feel right now. My faith in the Constitution is whole; it is complete; it is total. And I am not going to sit here and be an idle spectator to the diminution, the subversion, the destruction, of the Constitution.

The nation had watched the Watergate hearings for months — 71% of households told Gallup that they’d watched the hearings live — and while that’d had a deteriorative effect on Nixon’s poll numbers, most Americans didn’t believe it warranted his removal from office. Jordan’s opening statement on the Articles of Impeachment changed that. In her allotted time, she was part professor, explaining to the public the president’s obligations under the Constitution, and part prosecutor, clearly laying out the evidence to prove wrongdoing. There was never a moment where the viewer was left thinking that Jordan’s aims were partisan in nature; instead, Americans were convinced of Jordan’s fidelity to our nation’s values and ideals.

“What Barbara Jordan did [in] that appearance, she articulated the thoughts of so many Americans. Frankly, when she ended it, it was no doubt in my mind that we’d have a Senate investigation and that the president might very well be impeached or have to resign,” longtime CBS newsman Dan Rather once said.

Following Jordan’s statement, public opinion turned firmly against the president. For the first time, a majority of Americans thought Nixon’s actions warranted removal from office. Two weeks later, the president would resign, in disgrace; Jordan — the “big and fat and black and ugly” girl from Houston’s segregated Fifth Ward — had brought down the president.

Those 15 minutes would ultimately define Barbara Jordan’s life. She became a household name: universally adored by folks on the right and the left, among black and white households. She got fan mail at her Congressional office by the truckload. One supporter took out billboards all across Houston that said, “Thank you, Barbara Jordan, for explaining the Constitution to us.” Her high profile earned her the keynote speaking slot at the 1976 Democratic National Convention. On the day she spoke — giving another one of the most celebrated pieces of political rhetoric in history — her star eclipsed everyone. She was, perhaps until Barack Obama, the most universally beloved black political figure in American history.

But those 15 minutes also created a mythology around Barbara Jordan that is a bit deceiving. It’s a kindness that is, usually, only extended to men. The kindness that allows the most notable thing they ever did to cloak everything else, including the negative things. As altruistic as Barbara Jordan may have been in that moment, that was not representative of the entirety of her career. The full story of Barbara Jordan is one far more complicated than history seems invested in telling.

“I think the interesting thing about Barbara that is seldom said… very few people really realize that Barbara Jordan was a good politician. She said, ‘I am not a female politician. I am not a black politician. I am a politician and I am good at it,'” Gov. Ann Richards once said about her good friend Barbara. “Barbara was criticized a great deal during her life because she was not ‘militant enough,’ because Barbara had no patience for symbolism. She had no interest in being a symbol. She had interest only in proving herself by her effectiveness and leaving a legacy of what she had done, not just what she had said.”

The history that Jordan was making wasn’t of much interest to her, change was. She became an institutionalist — a firm believer in the necessity to make change from within — even as Civil Rights activism, which championed external pressure on the system, exploded across the nation, particularly, in the South. She ran for public office twice, losing both times, before the Supreme Court case, Reynolds v. Sims forced Texas to equalize the population across legislative districts. The third time was, indeed, the charm and Jordan became the first black person to serve in the Texas Senate since 1882 and its first black woman ever.

Jordan stepped into the Senate and, immediately, set to figure out how things worked. She studied all the technical aspects of her job, most notably developing an encyclopedic recall of parliamentary procedure — but she also found her way into the backrooms where drinks are spilled and deals are made. She stepped into this room of all white men, some racist, and charmed them all. She played the guitar. She told jokes and, probably more importantly, let them tell their jokes, even if they were sexist and racist. She challenged their stereotypes about black folks by just being herself, and never called out her colleagues for their missteps.

Richards recalled, “If you are a Texan and you’re in public office or you’re running for public office, it’s necessary that you kill something. And if you’re not a good shot or you can’t kill a bird, you still have to show up at the hunt… because the newspaper’s gonna take a picture and you can’t be absent. So Barbara was on a quail hunt one year with a bunch of good ol’ boys and you can imagine how much training she had in bird shooting in the Fifth Ward of Houston, Texas. But before the evening was over, Barbara had a buncha white good ol’ boy rednecks singing ‘We Shall Overcome’ and it was that facility, that ability, that she had… in a personable way into the power structure, that’s what made Barbara Jordan so successful.”

To her credit, her membership in the good ol’ boys club won her some substantial legislative victories — on extending the minimum wage to cover non-unionized farmworkers and domestics, the Equal Rights Amendment, fair labor practices and preventing voter suppression — and earned her the respect of her peers. After just one session in the Senate, her colleagues unanimously recognized her with a resolution of appreciation, calling Jordan a “credit to her State as well as her race.” Her colleagues would elevate her to president pro tempore, allowing her to serve as Governor for Day, before she left Austin for greener pastures. Among the friends Barbara Jordan would make in Texas? The future president, Lyndon Baines Johnson. LBJ saw in Jordan a kindred spirit — someone with his capacity for deal-making, someone invested in protecting his Great Society programs and, perhaps most importantly, someone who remained loyal — so he opened a lot of doors for her. He introduced her to folks that would fund her Congressional run and, once she was elected, he got her that prized seat on the Judiciary Committee.

But Jordan’s style didn’t appeal to everyone, particularly Civil Rights activists who thought her too cozy with the white establishment. Curtis Graves, an activist that’d been elected to the Texas House at the same time as Jordan, was particularly critical. When Jordan announced her candidacy for the US House, Graves assumed that she would help maintain the Texas Senate seat for Houston and when she didn’t, he lodged a primary challenge. Graves didn’t have the money or the institutional support so, instead, he attacked Jordan mercilessly. She was called a “tool,” bought and paid for by the white establishment. He questioned her blackness and his supporters spread rumors about her sexuality.

Jordan never confirmed her sexuality publicly, not once. It wasn’t until her obituary ran in the Houston Chronicle in 1996 was there any public acknowledgement of her longtime partner, Nancy Earl. Their relationship — which included Earl saving Jordan’s life after a near drowning incident at the house they shared — wasn’t a secret to close friends and family; it just wasn’t fodder for public consumption. Jordan treated her sexuality like she treated her race, gender and health: she didn’t want to be pigeonholed or have anything obstructing her path to gaining more power.

She was ambitious, unapologetically so, and, as ambitious people in politics are wont to do, once she’d mastered her role in the House (including passing the 1975 Voting Rights Act over the objections of her home state leaders), she wanted to do more. But the system that never imagined a place for Barbara Jordan from its inception could not find a place for her then. Despite being floated as a potential vice presidential candidate in 1976, Jimmy Carter extended no offer to Jordan to join his cabinet. She made no public statements about why she was leaving Congress after just six years to return to teach at the University of Texas, but told MS. Magazine, “I did know that in Congress one chips away, one does not make shots, one does not make bold strokes. After six years I had wearied of the little chips that I could put on a woodpile.”

She’d venture in and out of public life after that: working for a free South Africa with the Kaiser Foundation, testifying against the confirmation of Robert Bork in 1987, giving the keynote at the 1992 Democratic National Convention, chairing the Commission on Immigration Reform and collecting the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1994. Bill Clinton wanted to nominate her to the Supreme Court — for what would become Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s seat — but by then, her health was failing.

Barbara Jordan died on January 17, 1996; she was just 59 years old. In news reports across the country, her 15-minute statement at the Watergate hearings was part of the lede of her obituary. Maybe she would’ve wanted it that way. But it’s also important to remember that her contribution to public life was more than just those 15 minutes — that girl from the Fifth Ward had made a way out of no way.

23 Black Queer and Trans Femmes to Follow on Instagram This Black History Month

We need more truth and love and joy for black femmes in the LGBT community. I made this list to call that in. Every day, my existence is made better by the efforts of beautiful black femme souls working to make this world a better, safer, more inclusive place. Still, our moments of celebration can feel few and far in-between. Our advocacy and hard work in shaping resistance movements go unseen. I’m more likely to see the news that one of my trans sisters was murdered or abused than hear about their accomplishments and the light they’re bringing to our lives. It has to stop.

These are 23 of the black, queer and trans femme women and non-binary people that make me feel overwhelmingly seen and loved on social media. Every person on this list deserves their own celebration – or at minimum your follows and likes to amplify their voices. Following their accounts has been a balm for my soul. I know it will be for yours, too.

This Black History Month we are supporting the black femmes currently making history. Get ready and if you aren’t already, I suggest you sit down before reading this list, cause honey these glorious embodiments of black femme magic are sure to sweep you off your feet.

All images are from each person’s personal Instagram.

Nay Bever

Nay pretty much does it all. She’s an LA based artist (find her work @gaudylosangeles) and model who has worked with prominent creators in the body positivity world such as Gabi Fresh, Shooglet, and Adipositivity. She’s also co-host of the podcast “Attack of the Queerwolf!” When she isn’t doing all that, she’s on IG doing the advocating against fatphobia and giving us the unapologetic “not here to please you” black girl content we all need. Follow her here.

Munroe Bergdorf

The intense levels of public scrutiny Munroe Bergdorf has faced the last couple years – especially in the wake of calling out L’oreal for their racism – hasn’t slowed this model and activist down one bit. If anything, it’s encouraged her to proudly double down on her activism. Munroe is the first of many people on this list fighting for inclusivity and equality in the fashion industry and world at large. One look at her IG page full of fierce femme looks and words of encouragement will it make it clear why she stays booked, and she always will, despite the haters. Follow her here.

Reneice Charles

My editor gave me permission to shamelessly promote myself, so of course I’m taking her up on that. Hello, I’m Reneice! I’m one of the few black, fat, queer, women food writers around. I write a baking column called Femme Brûlée right here on Autostraddle.com! I’m also an MSW, activist, body positive life coach, and lover of plus size swimsuits. My Instagram is where all these skills intersect. I live for swim photoshoots, post often about food in my stories, and denounce all the ‘isms and ‘phobias I can through writing, food, modeling, body positivity and self love. Follow me here.

Kiersey Clemons

If Kiersey Clemons isn’t already on your out, queer actress to watch list, go ahead and add her right now. Her talents on screen can were most recently seen in RENT Live, as well as indie film favorites Hearts Beat Loud, Dope, and Netflix’s Easy. All queer roles! Her talents on IG include incredible fashion posts, advocacy from the heart, and selfies that should be next to the definition of “Black Girl Glow”. Follow her here.

Cora Harrington

Cora Harrington is the founder and Editor in Chief of the blog The Lingerie Addict, the world’s largest lingerie blog. Everything I know about intimate apparel I learned from Cora and her new book In Intimate Detail, which is available for purchase now. The Lingerie Addict was the first place I ever saw that bodies like mine and high quality lingerie meet. I came for the inclusivity and stayed for the in-depth knowledge of the lingerie world and the breathtaking photoshoots Cora posts of herself modeling the latest fashions. It’s content that’ll make you blush in all the best ways. Follow her here.

Laverne Cox

Laverne Cox is a force and a vision. She’s an Emmy winning television producer, Emmy nominated actress, model, and LGBT advocate. She is the first ever trans woman to star (and slay) on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine. She also continues the trend of being an impressively talented black woman who somehow still finds time in her schedule to educate, support and uplift our community. Follow her on IG for all these accomplishments, and because no one works a fan or red carpet like Laverne Cox – her insta stories will remind you of that almost daily. Follow her here.

Erika Hart

There is no one, NO ONE in my online world that does as much activism and education around black AND disabled AND queer AND fat lives as Erika Hart. She’s a sexuality educator, activist, performer and cancer warrior who proudly went topless at Afropunk following her double mastectomy so that she could help dismantle the lack of visibility of black and brown bodies. I feel centered by Erika and her Instagram, and am stronger because of it. Follow her here.

Briq House

Briq House’s burlesque performances are refreshingly unique and overwhelmingly sexy. They changed my life. They also earned her the much deserved bragging rights of one of the Top 50 Most Influential Burlesque Industry figures of 2018. She is also Executive Producer of Seattle’s Sunday Night Shuga Shaq, the only all-POC Burlesque Review in the Pacific Northwest. Briq’s Instagram will have you fanning yourself and reaching for water to quench your level 10 thirst. Her page is an altar to black femme sexuality, a reminder that sex work is absolutely real work, and radiates with the kind of infectious confidence that will have you taking an impromptu solo boudoir shoot like the goddess you are. Follow her here.

Samantha Irby

Samantha Irby is the  New York Times best selling author of We Are Never Meeting Again. She writes the hugely popular blog Bitches Gotta Eat, which is full of the funniest and most heartfelt writing I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. She has published two other books, Meaty and New Year, Same Trash. Her Instagram is full of hilariously relatable content and expert memes as well as incredible book recommendations, top notch food content, and adorable cat photos. Follow her here.

Fatima Jamal

Fatima Jamal, also known as @fatfemme online, is an incredibly talented artist, writer, and public speaker whose work centers and explores themes related to the body. She’s also a fierce fashionista and plus size model who slays the gram flawlessly while advocating for unapologetic self-love. It’s no wonder she was named one of the coolest queers on the internet by Teen Vogue, and I have to agree. Her presence on my timeline is always a gift! Follow her here.

Jazzmyne Jay

BuzzFeed producer and bodacious babe Jazzmyne Jay really knows how to give good ‘gram. She’s a style icon, so the outfits are always on point, and I’ve fallen into every single one of her thirst traps. Plus, you’re likely to leave her page uplifted as she’s also an advocate for body positivity. Follow her here.

Jari Jones

Trans model and activist Jari Jones could teach one master class in Slaying The Gram and another in changing the face of the historically racist, transphobic, and fatphobic fashion and beauty industries at the same damn time. She holds brands accountable and looks damn good doing it. Jari’s IG feed is bound to give you closet envy and her smile is one of the brightest around. Follow her here.

Kelela

Kelela is a contemporary R&B artist with a voice like honey who’s open about her sexuality in an industry that’s still far too silencing of queer love. Her music is turn the lights down sensual, her style is eye catching, and you can experience it all on her IG. Follow her here.

Lizzo

If you haven’t had a solo dance party to one of Lizzo’s confident, affirming, catchy as fuck tracks yet, then do yourself a favor and get on that. Her songs are the uplifting powerful bops every black queer femme deserves and her music is a major element to maintaining my glow. You might wanna get on her Instagram, too. It’s full of the juicy thirst traps and her signature videos of twerking while playing the flute (like the multi-talented diva she is). Follow her here.

Kim Milan

Kim milan is an award winning writer, educator and activist whose work and excellence is internationally recognized. Her racial justice trainings are some of the best available worldwide. She also teaches yoga classes with her precious daughter in tow. Talk about goals! Kim is an incredible role model for black queer parenting and entrepreneurship. One look at her Instagram shows that Kim’s love for her family, herself, her work, and the community are fierce. Plus, all those baby smiles are bound to give you the warm fuzzies. Follow her here.

Janelle Monáe

There is SO much to say about Janelle Monáe that I’m just going to say: If you aren’t yet following her IG for her Afrofuturist award winning music, or her award winning career as an actress, then please follow for the way Janelle wears her looks and the way it makes you feel. Her outfits on Instagram make me scream daily. Her music has been fuel to my black resistance for years and will be for years to come. Follow her here.

Jasika Nicole

If you search Jasika’s name on Autostraddle.com it’ll be made clear pretty quickly that our love for her runs deep here. Along with being an award winning actress (Danger & Eggs, Suicide Kale, Underground, Scandal, Fringe, and many more) Jasika is an expert seamstress. Follow her on insta for incredible DIY sewing inspiration, adorable spontaneous dance breaks and my personal favorite, couch karaoke. Follow her here.

Aaron Philip

Aaron is a disabled, gender non-conforming, femme tearing down the walls of ableism in the fashion industry. This bright beautiful star is working to increase visibility and accessibility for black, queer, disabled fashionistas everywhere. Her presence, work, voice, and style are flawless and so needed. Especially for the millions of people worldwide who had never seen anyone that resembles them in high fashion until Aaron. Find her on IG for all the looks, all the equality work, and such expert level smizing I’m sure Tyra is proud. Follow her here.

Ali Simon

Doing the good work of decolonizing the world of health and wellness, Ali Simon is a body positive yoga instructor with one of the most popular and inclusive classes in Los Angeles, CA. You can imagine then that her Instagram is a source of uplifting, affirming love and care content for all bodies, especially marginalized ones. Follow and get your flow on.

Jessamyn Stanley

Jessamyn Stanley makes defying stereotypes look like art. She’s a yoga teacher for bodies of all sizes and abilities, a body positivity advocate, and writer. Carving out space in the yoga industry for fat, queer, black bodies is no small feat, but Jessamyn does it with a smile on her face and a hand out to pull as many people into the light as she can. I can’t get enough. Follow her here.

Portia Wilson

Portia Wilson is the founder of Deeper Genius Acupuncture & Healing Arts in Los Angeles, CA. Through her practice of acupuncture she works to dissolve the barrier between black women and wellness/preventative health. I’ve had the pleasure of being treated by Portia and it was by far the best experience I’ve ever had with a physician. If I’d known a healthcare experience could go so well, I’d have a completely different relationship with the industry, and that is exactly the magic and importance of Portia’s work. Follow her to see how good the present and future of healthcare can be.

Tessa Thompson

If you’ve seen Tessa Thompson in literally anything she’s done (there’s SO much), but especially for the purposes of this site, Janelle Monáe’s Pynk  music video, then you know why she’s on this list. You can also watch her on TV in Westworld, in the movies Selma, Dear White People, the Creed series, Sorry to Bother You, and Thor: Ragnarok (Valkyrie! That bodysuit!). Then follow her on Instagram and swoon at literally everything she wears and every time she and Janelle bless us by being in the same place at the same time. Follow her here.

Indya Moore

Afro-Latina trans model and actress Indya Moore stepped on the MainStage with year with F/X’s Pose and she has no intention of stopping any time soon. Did we mention that she just landed an entire Louis Vuitton campaign!! She serves looks like they are breakfast, but it’s her advocacy and constant genuine care for trans and queer communities of color that will keep you coming back for more. Follow her here.

The Rumors Were Enough: Josephine Baker, Frida Kahlo, Their Romance and Me

The first time I discovered that Josephine Baker and Frida Kahlo maybe fucked each other, it was the middle of the night.

I was caught in a Google-loop during an insomnia spiral. There was a blog post that was only a few sentences long. I tried to find it recently and couldn’t. There wasn’t much to go on (there still isn’t), but even the whisper of a love affair between the infamous Mexican feminist artist and the African American dancer in Paris set my heart beating overtime.

It was one of those moments where everything I thought I knew to be true was maybe also a lie, like the first time you find out your mom had this whole other life before you were born. I’d grown up learning about Josephine Baker. She was a very in vogue Black History Month figure when I was a kid, there were posters of her in my school library. Dancer, American expat living in Paris, secret spy of the Parisian military – I always thought she was glamorous. I was the kind of kid who knew I was “girly” long before I had any queer language to call myself “femme.” Josephine Baker kicked ass in diamonds and gowns, flawless make up. She was my personal hero. No one ever bothered to say she was bisexual.

According to her biographer and son Jean-Claude Baker, it’s likely Josephine Baker had affairs with many women. Clara Smith, a successful blues singer who worked with Louis Armstrong. Mildred Smallwood, the first African American woman to appear in American Dance magazine. Bessie Buchanan, the first African American woman to have a seat in the New York State Legislature. The famous bisexual author Colette. So, why not Frida Kahlo?

Frida, after all, was much more open about her sexuality, even back then. She had rumored relationships with fellow artists Georgia O’Keeffe and Jaqueline Lamba, along with actresses Dolores del Rio and Paulette Goddard. She was comfortable playing with her gender presentation, dressing in turn as butch and femme. In 1939 Frida Kahlo, recently separated from her husband Diego Rivera, traveled to Paris for an exhibition of her work. The showcase was hosted in part by the Lourve, with Kahlo’s “The Frame” becoming the first painting by a 20^th century Mexican artist to be purchased by the museum. At the time, Josephine was working for French military intelligence.

There’s this photo. One single photo. That’s all the proof we have that these two bisexual women of color shared space with each other. It’s a photo that’s spawned what can feel like a thousand loosely held together rumors. Some believe that Kahlo seduced Josephine that same night, others have Josephine making the first move and the affair taking place over several months. In the 2002 movie Frida, the two are depicted as meeting at a nightclub after one of Baker’s performances and implied to have fallen into a relationship for the duration of the artist’s time in the French capital.

This is also where everything falls apart at the seams. Josephine Baker, noted black bisexual artist, and Frida Kahlo, noted Latinx bisexual artist, shared one room together one time. To the best of any documented knowledge, everything that happens after that point is fiction or internet rumor. There are those who’d then argue that we shouldn’t give the rumors much weight or publicity. Lots of people share rooms with each other, it doesn’t mean they ran upstairs to have sex right after.

And yes, there is comfort in cold, hard facts. But when has queerness ever been left in fact? Here’s another set of facts: Josephine Baker and Frida Kahlo are, separately, two icons that meant a lot to me in my black Latina youth. I was in my early 20s before I ever heard that either was queer. What would it have meant for me to have bisexual role models who looked like me when I was 12 instead of 22? What would it have looked like to take seriously that Kahlo and Baker, if not lovers, could have certainly at least been queer family to one another. That there’s another path for kinship between queer women of color that dates back to the early 20^th century and across national borders. What if there’s – gasp! – an Afro-Latinx Power Couple that eludes us right at our fingertips.

Documenting queer history is difficult. It’s nearly impossible to navigate. Early 20^th century queerness is not legible in ways that you or I understand as “lesbian” or “bisexual” from our viewpoint in 2019. It’s much more fleeting. If we’re honest with ourselves, it still is. There’s what we assume or accept as fact, then, just like in life, there’s the messiness of what we can possibly never know for sure. We often make concessions for our historic queer icons, because sometimes the other choice is never seeing ourselves in a timeline beyond our own lifespan.

That’s the thing. For all of the historic queer women couples we know, painfully few of them are between two women of color. If there’s a crop of rumors surrounding Frida and Josephine, there’s a reason. I understand it intimately. It’s a desire to be seen, to imagine that there’s a you before the you that you are now. That she, too, could have found love.

Searching for confirmation if Josephine Baker and Frida Kahlo were ever lovers is maddening and fruitless. Ultimately, it even misses the point. It matters less if they slept together. It matters more, so much more, that perhaps they even could.

Black Queer Resiliency Will Guide Us Through Black History Month

I had an entire other plan for how to open our Black History Month series. It’s my favorite holiday. Maybe it sounds strange to you to call Black History Month a holiday. After all, there’s no Santa Claus coming down the tree or an Easter Bunny bringing baskets. No “day after” sale on candy. No rainbow colored balloon arches like the kind that adorn gayborhoods every June. In fact, Black History Month is probably thought of as stodgy – tired black and white photographs of Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Jackie Robinson.

Here’s the secret about Black History Month: few people know how to celebrate the way black people know how to celebrate. And we celebrate this month FOR US. We don’t look towards white eyes or ask for white approval. The morning of February 1^st social media streams are filled with gifs and memes, well-timed quotes and inside jokes, words of affirmation. Black churches host banquets. Community centers put up billboards draped in red, black, and green. There are talent shows and pageants where little black girls are forced on stage in itchy thick white cotton tights to recite Maya Angelou’s “Phenomenal Woman” and “Still I Rise.” Our littlest ones fumble through the words of the black national anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” There are dozens of these traditions happening all across the country this month, and I love each and every one of them. At the 2017 Emmys, actress Issa Rae told a reporter, “I’m Rooting For Everybody Black” and even though it wasn’t technically Black History Month when she said it – nothing better captures the attitude. 28 days that are unapologetically For The Culture.^TM

So yes, there’s another version of this post, existing in another timeline of our universe, where I shouted from the rooftops about BLACK EXCELLENCE AND BLACK JOY. For sure those are going to be reoccurring themes in the pieces we’ve curated for Autostraddle’s Black History Month series. But then this week happened, and I scrapped it.

On Tuesday morning, Jussie Smollett, one of the most famous young black gay men in the country, was viciously beaten in a racist, homophobic hate crime in Chicago. He was called a nigger and a faggot. He was left with a noose around his neck. In the days that followed, there was a hollow echo in my chest that I couldn’t shake – something inside of me was cold, broken. Many of our black queer writers were scrambling to make deadlines and put together this series that you’re going to read all month, but we had to stop. We had to hold each other. We had to be angry. We had to mourn.

It’s not solely about Jussie Smollett (it never was; he’s been the first to say that himself). It’s about what’s happening to so many of our sisters, brothers, and gender non-conforming siblings. It’s about black trans women who face violence daily and it goes unchecked. It’s about being afraid to walk your dog at night, dress how you feel most comfortable, or hold your lover’s hand. It’s about how our visibility won’t protect us. It makes us a target, and knowing that but being brave enough to stay visible anyway. It’s about white supremacy that’s alive in 2019 the way it was alive in 1969 or 1869. It’s about the ways that white supremacy is a twin ideology with homophobia. Both exist to rob black queer communities of our very ability to feel safe in our skin. And it’s about how we grab ahold of each other and fight back.

It’s almost cliché, a queer women’s magazine opening its Black History Month series with a meditation on Audre Lorde. Lorde is also my favorite writer, so perhaps it’s most cliché coming from me. (What could be more cliché than a black queer girl with an Afro and big earrings and a back tattoo walking around quoting Audre Lorde? Nothing, I suppose.) Still, when I could no longer feel inside of myself – when everything went numb from anger and grief – this is what snapped back into my clearest focus: “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.”

I am deliberate and afraid of nothing. The first time I read those words, I’m sure I was in a place in my life where I felt safe. Now I’m constantly terrified. I think it’s because it’s the same fight, always the same fight. Hatred is before us, unvarnished and bare. I don’t know how to be “afraid of nothing” when all I can feel is fear about everything. But, I do know how to be deliberate. I know what it means to deliberately get out of bed after spending full day alone under the covers. I know what it means to deliberately force myself to laugh. To brush my teeth and wash my face and walk out of my front door. To love.

It is that resiliency that has seen black queer people through – and it’s that deliberate, stubborn black queer resiliency that I am holding on to with my knuckles and blind faith. This month we’re going to highlight black femmes you can follow, and re-imagine classic black love films with a lesbian lead. We’re going to fantasize about ourselves in superhero and Disney Princess cosplay. There will be space for thoughtful meditation on what it means to be someone like Barbara Jordan, the most famous black woman politician in history, and still struggle with your sexuality in the closet. We are going to talk about food and poetry. Us black queer folk? We’re gonna beat our faces or polish our kicks until we can see ourselves smiling back in them. We’re going to hold on tight and put one foot in front of the other. Nothing pisses the racist homophobes off more.

This morning, on the first day of Black History Month, Jussie Smollett released a public statement: “During times of trauma, grief and pain, there is still a responsibility to lead with love. It’s all I know. And that can’t be kicked out of me.”

If you are looking for actionable ways to help in the fight, consider donating to Affinity Community Services, which serves Chicago’s black LGBTQ community and has a focus on black women. Until then, we’ll be back on Monday with more of our Black History Month content. ✊🏾

“Little Leaders: Bold Women in Black History” by Vashti Harrison Is the Black Herstory I Needed as a Child

Representation matters because representation births belief in self, and belief is the magic ingredient that spins dreams into realities. It allows little girls playing with medical kits and dressed as ballerinas to answer with faith and assurance rather than doubt when asked what they want to be when they grow up. It allows women who think the time to pursue their passions has passed to realize there’s no such thing as too late.

Of course, some go through life with far more representation than others. They see their likeness portrayed far and wide from birth to death, and as a result question their abilities and potential, or that there is a path for achievement for them, less. This is not the case for black people, and especially black women. We are vastly overlooked, which is why we’re presently still witnessing first time achievements of black women in fields and categories for which their white and/or male counterparts have enjoyed awards and accolades for decades. Not for lack of talent or skill, but lack of support, access and representation. Close your eyes and imagine for one moment a world where little black girls spend their entire childhoods seeing women like the ones they will become in just as many books, television shows, awards ceremonies, universities, political offices, magazines, advertisements and leadership positions as their white peers do. Really picture it, and then ask yourself: what would that future look like? With her book Little Leaders: Bold Women in Black History, author and illustrator Vashti Harrison takes a beautiful and deeply needed step toward making that future of equality in representation a reality.

Little Leaders is an illustrated book ideal for children ages 8 to 12 that explores the lives and achievements of 40 African American women who forged paths in the face of adversity, fought for equality and made history through their efforts. Each woman is beautifully drawn in full color next to a mini biography; they’re all depicted as a little girl smiling sweetly, eyes closed, almost as if she’s dreaming or making a wish. Another sweet touch in the illustrations is that the girl’s face remains the same throughout the book to make it easier for readers picture themselves as any Little Leader they relate to.

When I asked about her inspiration for creating Little Leaders, Vashti explained:

“The initial project began on Instagram; I was inspired by other monthly drawing challenges like ‘Mer-May’ and ‘Ink-tober’ so I created a challenge for myself to draw a woman every day for Black History Month 2017. When Carter G. Woodson started Negro History Week in 1926 he wanted to celebrate the stories that were often neglected. I felt inspired to use it as an opportunity to focus on black women specifically, whose stories have been doubly neglected through history. I wanted to learn more about famous and lesser-known figures and share their stories with others. I didn’t expect when I started the project how deeply connected I would feel to their stories — stories of hard work, dedication, courage through adversity, love for craft and love for family. Many of these women didn’t have a choice but to be bold, and I just felt overwhelmingly thankful for them paving the way for others and for me.”

I also found myself overwhelmed with thanks on my first read through Little Leaders, and by the third bio I was in tears. Most of my tears came from a place of joy. I was in awe of the powerful legacies these women left behind and overwhelmed with happiness that this resource that I longed for and would have cherished as a young girl now exists for children today. Some tears flowed heavily from frustration though, because there were so many women in that book that I met for the first time when I read it. It really shocked me. It was a strong reminder of just how lacking my black history education (especially regarding women) as a child in a predominantly white school was, and how sparse the recounting of black women’s history can still be in adulthood. I know I’m not alone in this. Yes, I was taught about Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks and Sojourner Truth and loved learning about them — but black women who made herstory as writers, artists, engineers and doctors were left out of my school books. Fortunately they are not left out of Little Leaders. Harrison included many of the greats that are near and dear to our hearts like those I mentioned above — along with a few queer pioneers like Audre Lorde and Octavia E. Butler — but also made space for lesser-known women in black history — like poet Phyllis Wheatley, teacher and painter Alma Woodsey Thomas and engineer, physician and astronaut Dr. Mae Jemison too.

I’d like to think my personal path to life as a creative would have benefited greatly from having some of these lesser-known women as northern stars in my childhood. Harrison speaks to this feeling as well in her explanation of why she chose the women she did for the book, telling me: “I was careful to choose a diverse list to show to children that there are many opportunities, careers, and paths out there. My background is in film, and at graduate school I worked at a community arts partnership teaching filmmaking to high school students. I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had known about filmmaking at their age. Would I have struggled so much? I just want to make children aware of the possibilities that are out there for them, regardless of whether they already know what they love or haven’t found it yet.”

Vashti Harrison has done something incredibly special with Little Leaders and I am so, so grateful that it exists. I cannot recommend this book highly enough, so if you’re going to read one thing this Black History Month, let it be Little Leaders. I also encourage you to buy it for every child (or child at heart) you know, regardless of race or gender, because everyone can benefit from both learning about black women’s contributions to history and learning to truly see black women as a crucial part of the past, present and future narrative.

Vashti Harrison earned her MFA in Film/Video from CalArts and BA from the University of Virginia. Her experimental films and documentaries have shown around the world at film festivals. After a brief stint in television as a production coordinator, she is now a freelance graphic designer and a picture-book illustrator. She lives in Brooklyn, NY. We welcome you to visit Vashti at vashtiharrison.com, Twitter and Instagram.

Black History Month Roundtable: Imagining Our Bright, Bold Black Queer Futures

This is the second and final installment of Autostraddle’s Black History Month Roundtable series, where some of black writers on staff have gotten together to explore what this month means to us as queer and trans black people.

In part one of the series, we discussed how we were taught black history as children, along with brainstorming new ways that approaches to the study of black history and the celebration of Black History Month could be more inclusive of QTPOC black people.

Now we are ready to look forward. We’re asking ourselves, what are our hopes for black queer futures? What steps can we and our allies take in helping those hopes and dreams become reality?

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Neesha, Staff Writer

I want Black trans, non-binary, and queer folks to have the freedom and resources to do what the hell we want with our futures. My ancestors labored for white people in this country for free. My wife’s ancestors’ land in Rwanda was colonized by both Belgium and Germany. Our ancestors have already paid our debts with their blood, sweat, and tears—we shouldn’t have to work as hard as we do just to survive. Both of us have struggled for jobs and housing because we live in a white supremacist heteropatriarchal society. Both of us have been unjustly impacted by the Prison Industrial Complex, and our communities are facing unprecedented violence. Instead of these circumstances, we deserve futures that include reparations and abundance. This is the vision I’m constantly working towards in both my community organizing and my writing.

For Black trans, non-binary, and queer futures to be bright, we need our cisgender and heterosexual Black peers to treat us more humanely. No more making us the butt of your jokes. We need them to know that being trans and/or queer has never been just “a white thing.” Furthermore, the lives of Marsha, Audre, and Bayard prove that we’ve been leading Black liberation movements in the United States for at least a century. I want my people to recognize that ALL Black lives matter, not just cishet ones.

We need non-Black people of color to actively challenge anti-Blackness within their communities and to refrain from co-opting our struggles. The same goes for white people, but in addition, we also need them to redistribute their unearned positions and resources. Black trans and queer futures depend on white people recognizing that white privilege is real and then actually doing something about it.

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Alexis, Staff Writer

At some point, as a community, we will look at each other and say, “We are enough.”

We will be invited to the white tables and we won’t settle for them. We won’t rejoice with a “Finally!” that we never needed. We will let the invitation get lost in the mail because we have moved beyond whatever scraps they tell us is a banquet. There will still be a hatred towards us, of course, if they don’t do the work to unlearn it, but we won’t have to worry or crumble under the weight of their ignorance.

We will defend one another and keep each other safe and if this world refuses to rise to the occasion, we will build a new one and rise to the occasion ourselves. We will be able to tell our children the stories of how we were stolen, on the receiving end of the worst of human cruelty. Then our children will look at their present — with the safety and knowledge that they are worthy, that we have always been worthy of good things, and they will be able to tell themselves the story of our people, of how we survived and made ourselves stronger, even when so many were against us living as ourselves, when so many were against us even making it this far.

They’ll hear of the days we were terrified to leave our houses, but we did it anyway. Not every day, but enough to make sure we did not turn ourselves ghost, turn ourselves invisible, turn ourselves into fear walking. They will know that we fought and that it was not always enough. They will hear how the only thing that sustained us was that which was in us all along, that the only way we were able to move forward was together, to make sure no one was left behind.

The problem with small steps is that sometimes I just want to already be at the destination. I want to already be at the place where we don’t fear for our lives and we’re able to live and that be enough. But, I know that just saying that it out loud doesn’t move us any closer towards our freedom. So. This is for white people: Listen. Learn to be a guest. Instead of forcing yourselves into our community, wait for an invitation. If no invitation comes, accept that gracefully, and live your own life in a way that doesn’t harm others, that doesn’t harm us, and isn’t solely focused on revenge. Listen. Listen. Listen. If we don’t ask for your opinion, do not offer it up. Learn that the world is big enough for all of us and that you do not need to be the center of ours just for us to see you. Don’t just speak about it, be about it. Do the work.

For non-black people of color, stop kicking us down to put yourselves ahead. Remember that we are not each other’s enemy. That fighting for ourselves absolutely doesn’t mean we’re fighting against you. That we all have things we need to learn and unlearn. We cannot hate each other for that.

For black (cis/ straight) people, stop trying to make us “black enough”. Queer black people are black enough even if we exist in a way you refuse to understand. Learn that we are fully cognizant of what it means to be black and queer, we don’t need your lessons in how to make ourselves smaller to survive. We’ve lived that life long enough and don’t need the people who are supposed to love us, hurting us instead. If you cannot love us, do not pretend that you can “someday”. To quote Toni Morrison, “Love is or isn’t. Thin love ain’t love at all”. If you cannot love us, do some work and figure out why and fix it. We all have work to do, and black queer people are doing our part, don’t leave us to suffer because you refuse to do your own. If you cannot love us, let us go find the ones who can and will.

Queer black people, please stay with us. Please learn to leave the table when love is no longer being served. Please know you are allowed to be full and loved in a way that does not destroy you. Please grow and continue to be your best selves. Please reach out and understand that you are worth every good thing. You deserve to be here and you deserve community that loves you, especially in a ways that help you become a better person. You deserve to live. You deserve good love. We are here and we are waiting to love you full if you are ready.

I don’t remember this every day and that is okay. I learn to let the good love leak in a little more as much as I can. It’s okay if you cannot do this all at once. We are not meant to do this all at once. But if you have space to let yourself love a little more, be loved a little more, stay present a little longer, please do it. The steps are small but they keep you growing, they keep you going and any movement forward is better than none at all. I love you very much.

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Reneice, Staff Writer

My hope and dream is simply that our existence and right to live and love stop being challenged, ignored, and taken away. How sad that my wildest hope is something others already enjoy.

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Abeni, Staff Writer

I just want Black people to be able to be Black people. Not Black in relation to a context of whiteness and white supremacy. Not Black in relation to the stereotypes and tropes and media portrayals of us. Not in relation to colonization and slavery. Mainstream global understandings of Blackness have always been comparative— we’ve always been defined in relation to others. In America, we’ve always been the most non-white of all the non-white people. Black men have been told that they’re the most savage, compared to the white gentleman. Black women are described as the most licentious, compared to the white pure chaste feminine ideal. What I’m saying is Black people have always been queer; we’ve always been outsiders. But, so often we fight for assimilation, saying “we’re just like white people.” We aren’t and we don’t have to be. Let us be Black!

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Carmen, Staff Writer

First thing out of the way, I want us to live. That’s my baseline hope and dream for the future, that we are here to see it. This Black History Month alone, we have already lost two black trans sisters to violence, and black trans women and trans women of color remain the largest targeted group of anti-LGBT hate crimes in this country. If my sisters can’t walk home at night without feeling safe in this world, we are not free. Recent studies find that roughly 43% of black LGBT youth have thought about suicide. So my first dream is that we keep surviving; it’s cliché, but I do believe in Martin Luther King’s axiom that as long as we keep working towards it, “the arc of the moral universe is long, but bends toward justice”. I want us here to see it. We deserve to be here to see it.

I also want for us to have financial security, social and legal equality. I want for us to no longer be subjected to a second-class citizenship in this country. Ok, so those necessities out of the way (because I’m just getting started). What’s my next, biggest, wildest dream?

I want a black lesbian pop star. I want a bisexual Serena Williams. A black, queer, feminist Supreme Court Justice. I want to see us reflected in at every level, in every color of the sun. You know the scene in The Lion King where Mufasa tells Simba that everything the light touches will be his? I want THAT. I want everything that has ever been given to a mediocre straight white man for just waking up in the morning. I’m here for taking it all.

Maybe that all sounds over the top, but I’m ready to dream past our survival. I’m ready to imaging our thriving. I’m ready for our unbridled joy, for our laughter, for our love. While we’re at it, I’m here for black queer and trans folks to have some really, really good sex. And delicious food! Finger-licking good food. Everyday. I want for us to have the best of what life has to offer.

When it comes to people who aren’t QTPOC black folks, and how they can help us turn our dreams into reality, I think that starts with recognizing our everyday humanity. It’s a much bigger deal than it seems. If you aren’t black, you shouldn’t only think about black people during February, or when a police officer shoots someone unarmed. If you’re a cis or heterosexual black person, even one who considers yourself our ally, you shouldn’t only think about queer or trans black people when Laverne Cox gets a magazine cover. We don’t have to exceptional to be seen. We don’t just exist on specially marked calendar days or only to be honored after our death. We are just here on a random Tuesday, living our lives. We are funny and sexy and a lot of times we are just average. We’re boring. Seeing us for the full, mundane picture— I think that’s where understanding and acceptance starts. That’s where we can build allyship from.

Last thing, for my black, queer, trans and non-binary family, I love you. I love you without seeing you. I’m rooting for you, and for us. Take solace in my love. Imagine I just gave you a hug— if that’s your thing— or offered you a chocolate chip cookie. Your hair looks awesome today. I love that outfit you put together! It’s hard out there, I know. But that’s OK. Take care of yourself. Tomorrow I want you to wake up, go out there, and shine some more.

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Natalie, Staff Writer

What are my hopes for our black queer futures? Simply, that the history we learn every Black History Month be just that— history— and for our present selves to be busy engaged in fashioning a future that showcases the full splendor of black and queer people.

I just want for us to have gotten to Dr. King’s mountaintop and have that be the end of it. The fight to be finished, consigned to the history books. But instead, so much of our energy is consumed having to fight battles that should’ve already been won.

I want to spend my time deciding between which candidate would create the best world for me and my family, without jumping over a dozen hurdles to cast my ballot or having that ballot weakened by political and racial gerrymandering. That was supposed to be history.

I want to spend my time finding a career that I love that allows me to be my whole self without fear of discrimination. That was supposed to be history.

I want to build a home in a great community without fear that I’ll be tossed out by my landlord or have the neighbors call the cops on me for entering my own home. That was supposed to be history.

I want black children— perhaps, one day, my own— to have access to fully funded, quality schools without having to leave our own communities. That was supposed to be history.

It was all supposed to be history. It was supposed to be this thing we talked about once a year, in February— a reflection of how far we’d come. But, as William Faulkner once wrote, “the past isn’t dead, it isn’t even past.”

Back in 2015, following the murders of nine black people in Charleston, SC by a white supremacist, Bree Newsome and a group of activists gathered in Charlotte, NC to talk about protest actions. The group, compromised of “both black and white, who represented various walks of life, spiritual beliefs, gender identities and sexual orientations,” had already toyed with the idea of taking down the Confederate flag that flew over the South Carolina capital. On that day, they started to develop a more concrete plan. Bree would be the person to scale the pole and take it down, but Jason Tyson helped her get there— from practicing with her on the light post at his farm, to acting as her safety as she climbed on the day of the action.

Jason Tyson could’ve scaled that pole just as easily, but he didn’t. Instead, he empowered a black woman to bring down this symbol “of systemic oppression and racial subjugation.” He used his privilege to support her voice, not supplant it. At that moment, he was the perfect embodiment of the type of allyship we should all model ourselves after.

Be the person who is not content to be woke on the sidelines. Be the person that shares their knowledge and empowers others with it. Be the person who gives up their space so that others get a seat at the table. Be the person that recognizes the difference between being silenced and choosing to be silent. Be the person who uses their privilege to ensure the safety of those who lack both. Help us all get free.

Black History Month Roundtable: What Does Queering Black History Mean To You?

Black History Month 2018 is in full swing! Some of black writers on staff at Autostraddle decided to get together and ask, what does this month mean to us as queer and trans black people?

Our resulting conversation was incredibly fruitful, so we turned it into a special edition roundtable series that we are very excited to share with you! For Part One, we focused on the ways we were taught black history as children, how we interact with that history now as adults, and overall asking ourselves, “What does it mean to ‘queer Black History Month’ and our engagement with it”? The second installment of the series, looking at our hopes for black queer futures, will be published later in February.

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Neesha, Staff Writer

While I celebrate Black History 24-7/ 365 now, I had much less Black Pride as a child. I was surrounded by white kids in my gifted classes, so I became extremely whitewashed. Since I didn’t see myself reflected in these classes, I thought perhaps Blackness didn’t measure up to whiteness. As an adult, I learned that this Black erasure was because of the pervasive institutional racism in my Coastal Georgia hometown, where the Old South was glorified. My white best friend’s dad had an entire room dedicated to the Confederacy, complete with Gone with the Wind paraphernalia.

Today, most people would describe me as Blackity Black Black because I’m vocal about being Black and proud as a longtime community organizer and activist for racial justice. On my left forearm, I bear a Red, Black, and Green tattoo that I rarely get to show off because I live in forever rainy Seattle.

I’m blessed to celebrate Black History Month with my partner, who’s an awe-inspiring Rwandese immigrant femme. Our cultures are the same but different, which I find really beautiful. Black History Month is a chance for me to investigate my own anti-Blackness because, yes, Black folks can still perpetuate anti-Blackness. I’m reminded during this month to actively mitigate the privileges that I have within Black spaces, such as being college-educated and lighter-skinned.

I’m ⅓ of High Femme Podcast, and our January episode, recorded on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, is dedicated to three amazing Black LGBTQ ancestors: Marsha P. Johnson, Audre Lorde, and Bayard Rustin. We lifted them up during our regular “Black Queerstory” segment. In the past, I’ve shared the stories of Pauli Murray and the Combahee River Collective on this segment. As a bonafide history nerd, I shout out Black trans and queer history whenever I can. This is what queering Black History Month looks like for me.

We should at least have a holiday to honor Black LGBTQ heroes specifically. We deserve this type of representation. We need more trans, non-binary, and queer Black archivists documenting our past and present. I’d love to see even more efforts to ensure that our histories are being preserved online and offline for future generations. Black trans and queer kids often grow up feeling alone and unseen with so few historical figures to model themselves after. Uncovering Black LGBTQ history saves lives.

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Alexis, Staff Writer

Every time I think of Black History Month, I think of that one episode of The Proud Family where Oscar Proud is in the kitchen wearing kente cloth, trying to get his family hyped for the month:

before doing an aside to the audience:

Celebrating black history feels like existing in the only community that can really understand me and taking pride in them. It’s like when Black Twitter does the Thanksgiving hashtag — I understand all the jokes and remember my childhood in a way I couldn’t in high school, a predominantly white girls’ school. It’s an extended feeling of livetweeting Black Lightning and screaming about Black Panther months before it even comes out. It feels like when I go see a black movie at midnight with an all black audience and the feeling of “this is right” I get. It feels like home.

Queering Black History Month means being more public and more intentional about our history. Growing up, I knew of like one or two famous queer black people, and even that information was nothing more than a footnote or a caption under a little photograph. Now I know how to better look for the information about our history that people have tried to bury. The internet is amazing for this; it makes our history more accessible. Spaces like Twitter allow me to find other people, people who know more about the information I lack and are generously willing to teach others. Queering black history also means elevating those voices who are making queer black history now. We must keep that mantra of “if I get over, we all gettin’ over” at the forefront of our work.

My hopes for queer black lives is that we’re safe, we’re no longer forced to live in fear, and we’re able to live our lives so fully that it continues to burst at the seams nearly every moment. I want us to be able to focus on our community, instead of walking around on eggshells knowing white people are looking at us.

I want for us to live by what Toni Morrison said years ago:

“The function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language and you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn’t shaped properly so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of this is necessary. There will always be one more thing.”

We will fight ’til we are free and we will find freedom and we will stay in its good graces.

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Abeni, Staff Writer

My relationship with Black History Month changed a lot once I became a middle school teacher.

I grew up in a town with no black people other than my father. So the only knowledge of Black history came from him or from school, which had one or two other mixed black kids and that was it. And my dad wasn’t like, super into it — I remember when I learned about Kwanzaa, he scoffed. I used to think he was kind of an Uncle Tom.

I learned later that, because he was born in 1951 and grew up during the civil rights era, he had a very nuanced perspective on the movement. His uncle was Eldridge Cleaver. The increasing “militancy” of certain extended family members created still-unresolved rifts in the family. For my father, success on his own terms meant being self-sufficient, and having the freedom to be himself. That underpinned his understanding of civil rights and liberation — so I guess I understand his perspective a lot more now.

I remember as a student learning about slavery, then that Abraham Lincoln was our savior. Those lessons were followed by Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, and not much else. According to school, my people emerged on the world stage with slavery, and then we were emancipated and basically immediately integrated into American society. It was much later before I learned what chattel slavery actually entailed, or about Reconstruction and Jim Crow, or that “miscegenation” (interracial relationships) was illegal in most of this country until 1979, the same year my dad married his first wife.

When I became a teacher, I realized I wanted to expand my students’ understandings of Black history. I always did a lesson called “We Didn’t Start with Slavery.” I went deeper into our precolonial history — highlighting many of the African inventions that we now take for granted, like math, or “modern” medicine techniques such as surgery and vaccination. I discussed the major accomplishments of all of the pre-colonial African civilizations. All the stuff I never learned in school. I also collaborated on a lesson with a Latinx co-worker. We went in-depth about the connections between Black folks and Latinx folks. These lessons were particularly important as the majority of my students were Black and Latinx.

One thing about studying pre-colonial Africa, and including that in Black history, is exploring how queer it is. Looking at African politics today, it’s easy for folks to claim that we’re “more homophobic”  than white people. However, if you do like five seconds of research, white Western values such as homophobia and transphobia were largely forced upon Africa from their colonizers. I love reading studies that make this plain. Black people have always been “queer” under the white gaze!

As a teacher, I also highlighted a wider variety of civil rights era leaders. I wanted my students to move beyond MLK, but also re-contextualize him, as he’s been completely sanitized, to focus on groups like the Black Panthers (especially since I was teaching in Oakland). I wanted my students to know about people like Kwame Ture, along with queer folks like Bayard Rustin, Marsha P. Johnson, and according to a lot of the latest research, maybe even Malcolm X.

I feel like in school we learned about 10% of Black history during Black history month. The whole reason I became a teacher was to “correct the record,” so to speak — to shift the narrative, to provide more context. Through this, I ended up learning so much Black history that I would have never known if I hadn’t done all of the research and work on my own. Black history will always be relevant in schools as long as we’re still a white supremacist culture. Schools are never going to voluntarily teach us our own history. It’s too empowering.

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Carmen, Staff Writer

I have always loved Black History Month. I deeply love my blackness and I deeply love black people. I’m not saying that as a unique badge of honor; it’s not like I was given a choice. My parents prioritized that I grow up in environments where blackness was highlighted and reinforced. I was taught to see the beauty in our perseverance, in our shared struggle. I was still a black girl in America, so I received my fair share of subtle (and not-so-subtle) messaging that being black made me inferior. But, in my little pocket of the world I was beautiful, smart, strong, and safe. I was raised to be purposefully, happily, unapologetically black.

Those feelings always become amplified for me in February. It’s trendy in the last few years to write about black accomplishments as “magic” — I mean, hello #blackgirlmagic, right? One secret we don’t share is that our magic was paid for by our ancestors. It came at the price of their blood, their sweat. I think of Black History Month as calling them back into our space. It’s a meditation that because of them, we can. February reminds me to celebrate; it also asks that I stay purposeful, driven, and strive to make good on the sacrifices that those who came before me were forced to make.

As much as I was taught to revere my blackness and honor black history, there were no such messaging about queerness. I had to learn that on my own. I was a freshman in college before I knew that Langston Hughes or James Baldwin were gay, even though I read both writers throughout my childhood. I remember once seeing a poster at some community center; it had pictures of Langston Hughes, Bessie Smith, along with Eleanor Roosevelt, Virginia Wolf, and others underneath the slogan “Sometimes History Sets The Record A Little Too Straight.” The play on words has always stuck with me. The same can be said about blackness — sometimes we like to keep it a ‘lil (or a lot) too straight.

Along the way of my life, I internalized that being gay was for white people. I was a proud black, Afro-Latina woman. I was out in the world, busy kicking ass and taking names; I didn’t believe I could be that and also be gay.

For me, queering Black History Month is about making sure that future generations don’t feel the same pressure to choose between their blackness and their sexuality that I once did. It’s about leaving space to be all of yourself, at once. That starts with re-learning our history and allowing for that history to be messy instead of in neat, separated boxes.

When designing this roundtable, I thought a lot about renowned black lesbian political scientist and activist Cathy Cohen. She’s argued that the word “queerness” is about more than who you sleep with; it’s about creating “a space in opposition to dominant norms.” These new spaces can and should uplift “community as paths to survival, using shared experiences of oppression and resistance to build indigenous resources, shape consciousness, and act collectively.” When it comes to queering Black History Month, upending expected norms and instead making space for community as a resource to our resistance, well you know, that sounds like a pretty good place to start for me.

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Natalie, Staff Writer

I was in fourth grade when my frustration with my school’s Black History Month activities reached its peak. After being handed the same handouts about the same people that I’d been given for years, after being recruited to deliver the same portion of Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech that I’d done the last two years, I’d had enough. I complained to the teacher — why do we just keep learning about the same people, I lamented — to no avail. It wasn’t a political awakening. It wasn’t the moment nine-year-old Natalie became woke. I was just bored. Even then, I knew there had to be more to Black History than handful of (mostly male) voices we were exposed to every February.

Many years later, those same feelings persist. To be clear, my misgivings about Black History Month have more to do with the practice of it than its existence. I still firmly believe that communities of color need space carved out for their histories to be celebrated. I’d love to imagine that a world in which the stories of people of color are fully integrated into the story we tell about America, but nothing about the story of America suggests that faith would be warranted. If we’ve failed to teach more than 8% of U.S. high school seniors that slavery was the reason the South seceded from the Union, the problem isn’t that Black History Month exists. The problem is that we’re not giving students the full breadth of the black experience in America.

The way we practice Black History Month, particularly in our public schools, can and should change. On a national level, I’m hoping that the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC) can begin to shape a more robust curriculum around Black History Month. Using their exhibitions as a guide, the NMAAHC can curate a set of resources for schools that can expose children to the totality of Black History, rather than just the select few heroes that I was taught growing up. Our ancestors are so much more than they’ve ever been given credit for being.

Involving the NMAAHC also ensures that LGBT African-Americans get incorporated into Black History Month narratives; the museum’s been intentional about ensuring our place in African-American history. The museum highlights contributions from Bayard Rustin, Lorraine Hansberry, James Baldwin and Barbara Jordan. It’s also looking to expand its collection to include, among others, Marsha P. Johnson, the Stonewall Riots, and LGBT life during the Harlem Renaissance, which would highlight folks like Ma Rainey, Angelina Weld Grimké and Alice Dunbar-Nelson. The queering of black history has already happened, we just have to find a sustainable way to get the word out.

Technology stands out as one of the best way to democratize Black History Month, both in terms of who gets represented and ease of consumption. Projects like Mic’s newly launched “The Black Monuments Project,” provides an opportunity to learn about black history in your backyard without much effort, but those projects don’t come to fruition without a substantial commitment of time and resources. While a direct investment in black and queer archivists would be ideal, it’s also important to push existing institutions — including black-focused and LGBT-focused spaces — to be intentional about incorporating the stories of QTPOC into their narratives.

On a local level, I’d like to see more people seek out and embrace the black history that lives all around them. What if, instead of being handed another worksheet about George Washington Carver and his many uses of peanuts, my fourth grade teacher had taken our class to what remained of Saint Agnes Hospital, which served for nearly half a century as the only hospital and training school for African Americans between Atlanta and Washington, DC? What about visiting St. Paul AME Church, whose founders were enslaved people, and where the Freedman Convention of 1865 was held? Both locations were a short distance from my classroom, but remained mysteries to me until I grew older.

Admittedly, living in the South — and in North Carolina, in particular —means you’re never too far from a lot of black history, but it really does exist everywhere. Where was your city’s Black Main Street? What were the names of the first black students to integrate your college or university? How many years after Brown v. Board of Education did it take for the schools in your community actually desegregate? It’s liberating to know that the ground you walk on everyday was once touched by your community’s history and I’m remiss that more people (including the 4th grade version of myself) don’t get a chance to experience it.

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Reneice, Staff Writer

I’ve never thought about my feelings around Black History Month before and now as I try to, I’m realizing that they constantly change. As a child I loved learning about the black people that went unaddressed the rest of the year, but hated the eyes on me, usually the only black kid in class. As a young adult I’d felt that Black History Month was an all out unapologetic celebration of black beauty and experience and excellence. These were my first years having finally escaped WASP territory. I went natural, started to embrace my curves, accept my sexuality, and process all that I’d endured as a minority in white spaces. My feelings have changed with my experience, understanding of myself, and my personal climate.

I still see Black History Month as a celebration, but also a revolution. It’s a protest. It’s a sadly still necessary time to shout, to lift every voice and sing that our lives matter, as much as we can, in as many ways as we can, during the shortest month of the year. To remind the oppressors and the privileged that there is no American History without Black History.

In terms of queering Black History and changing how it’s taught — first and foremost the control of literature and resources used to teach Black History needs to be taken out of the hands of those who are outside of our community. Black history taught from the view of white people is not authentic or acceptable. We already see that in textbooks referring to slaves as happy volunteers; we see that in the way that American children aren’t taught about the Haitian revolution or the culture and current political status of African countries. We see it in the daily rising death toll of Black people, boys who are killed for playing with toys or eating skittles while mobs of unafraid white people can trash an entire city in celebration of a football game and then go home after for a good night’s rest. We need to wash the white influence off our stories and begin again in truth.

Now about queerness; the black community struggles to acknowledge and accept queerness, but so does society at large. It needs to change. Just as black people have always been intertwined to, but left out of American History — queer black people have always been a part of black history. We don’t need to queer black history, it’s already queer because I exist, we exist, and have always existed. Black history is innately queer AF. What we need to do is kick the patriarchy out of the club and it’s far right conservative views handed down to us by slave masters. They can’t dance with us.

Black Queer Music History, Pt. 4 (1990s-Present)

Today, more than ever before, Black queer musicians are a huge part of mainstream music and culture. From Le1f to Syd tha Kid to Brittany Howard (of Alabama Shakes), these musicians are collaborating with artists like Beyoncé and are winning awards on their own. Not to say that we’re taking over, but we’re taking over y’all. Our style is varied – from hip-hop to dance to Americana – we are dipping our toes into every genre and we’re blowing people away. These artists are proudly queer, and wildly varied. They’ve had careers as Disney stars, been innovators in entire genres of music, and are almost always politically outspoken about issues involving QTPOC. They are our strongest advocates, and they’re leading the revolution with singing and dancing.

“Hold On”, Alabama Shakes

“Real Real”, Meshell Ndegeocello

“Rage”, Le1f

“Lift Dat Leg Up”, Big Freedia

“That’s So Raven”, Raven-Symone

“I’m Gon Win”, Dej Loaf

“Deliver Me”, Rahsaan Patterson

“Highschool Never Ends”, Mykki Blanco

“Pyramids”, Frank Ocean

“YOU’RE THE ONE”, KAYTRANADA, ft. Syd

“Twerk”, Basement Jaxx

“Matters of The Heart” Shaun J. Wright

“Battle Cry,” Angel Haze

“Snakes”, Shannon Funchess

“Respect”, Frenchie Davis

“New Phone (Who Dis)”, Cakes da Killa

“Ima Read”, Zebra Katz

“I Am Her”, Shea Diamond

“Three Minutes”, Brittani Nichols

“HennyNHoes”, Young M.a.

https://open.spotify.com/user/1229950546/playlist/0FI6gRpo0SuM2wP13aiVkd

Black Queer Music History, Pt. 3 (1970s-1990s)

We have finally made it into the funky music y’all! It’s the years of disco and electronic music and black queer musicians were into it! If you watched Netflix’s series The Get Down, you know that queer folks were hugely instrumental in the spread of disco. We see it in the 70s with Sylvester and RuPaul takes over for him in the 80s and 90s as the genre changes. Over in the UK, Labi Siffre was playing with reggae sounds. Black queer women musicians were using this period of time to dig back into their blues and Americana roots to come up with some gorgeous soundscapes as well. Me’shell Ndegeocello (heart eye emoji), Tracy Chapman, Gaye Adegbalola and others were leaning into that older sound and making it fresh again, and this time, their queerness wasn’t implied, it was outright. Queer musicians have always had music in the mainstream, but what’s exciting about this time is that people were able to be out during their careers. Black queer babes growing up during this time got to see someone with the same identity as them who looked like them gain fame and acclaim. Representation matters y’all. These artists normalized being out, and their dedication to their craft made it possible our favorite artists of the 20th century to be who they are! This is my favorite era because the variety we hear during this time period is something like never before. Finally, queer black folks get to individually express their identities and aesthetics!

You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real), Sylvester

Bitter, Me’shell Ndegeocello

Give Me One Reason, Tracy Chapman

Party Train, RuPaul

Prove It On Me Blues, Gaye Adegbalola

You’ve Got a Hold On Me, Labi Siffre

Do You Wanna Funk, Sylvester

Fast Car, Tracy Chapman

Step Into the Projects, Me’shell Ndegeocello

Over and Over, Sylvester

Fool of Me, Me’shell Ndegeocello

She Just Wants to Dance, Gaye Adegbalola

U.N.I.T.Y, Queen Latifah*

Material World, Tracy Chapman

I Need Somebody to Love Tonight, Sylvester

Need A Little Sugar In My Bowl, Gaye Adegbalola

If That’s Your Boyfriend [He Wasn’t Last Night], Me’shell Ndegeocello

Summer is Coming, Labi Siffre

Big Ovaries, Baby, Gaye Adegbalola

Talkin’ Bout A Revolution, Tracy Chapman

Children of Children, Labi Siffre

Make Me Wanna Holler, Me’shell Ndegeocello

Woman’s Work, Tracy Chapman

https://open.spotify.com/user/1229950546/playlist/6X4aqqFH25Pxg6DICcnQXH

*Sure, okay fine. “But Alaina,” you say, “Queen Latifah has never come out!!” But we all know. so she gets at least one song.

Playlist: Black Queer Music History, Pt. 2 (1930s-1960s)

While the Harlem Renaissance made queerness a little more acceptable, the Great Depression stopped that in its tracks. The 1930s-1960s were a rocky time for everyone; the economy had tanked, then there was a war, and then the post-war era was all about rebuilding America (kinda feels similar to right now). Rebuilding America meant stricter gender roles, and a baby boom that felt almost compulsory. On top of this, Black queer folks were still very much so dealing with Jim Crow laws and overt racism in both the north and the south. There was also the whole McCarthy scandal going on where anyone seen as “unamerican” (aka not a Christian white dude) became a communist which was Not Good. Being out was not safe. But some artists still resisted. They used their musical performances and their fame to be able to have a little more freedom to play around. They were innovators in rock, soul, R&B, and jazz. Even before the civil rights movements of the ’60s and radical free love, these folks were practicing it.

Lush Life – Billy Strayhorn
Tutti Frutti – Little Richard*
Hound Dog – Big Mama Thornton
Boo-Wah Boo-Wah – Cab Calloway
The Joy of Loving You – Johnny Mathis
Chelsea Bridge – Billy Strayhorn
Oh Happy Day – Big Mama Thornton
Good Golly Miss Molly – Little Richard
Rock Me Baby – Big Mama Thornton
Who’s Yehoodi – Cab Calloway
Everything’s Coming Up Roses – Johnny Mathis
A Flower is a Lovesome Thing – Billy Strayhorn
Mixed Up Feeling – Big Mama Thornton
Born on the Bayou – Little Richard
Big Mama Swings – Big Mama Thornton
It Ain’t Necessarily So – Cab Calloway
In a Blue Summer Garden – Billy Strayhorn
Jail – Big Mama Thornton
Jump for Joy – Johnny Mathis
Big Mama’s New Love – Big Mama Thornton
Autumn in New York – Johnny Mathis

https://open.spotify.com/user/1229950546/playlist/05Au5um3CH2hCKz5Hxqeku

*Little Richard has had a back and forth relationship with ID-ing as gay. He now has a more liberal view about his sexuality, but it’s still kinda weird.

Playlist: Black Queer Music History Pt. 1 (Early 20th Century)

It’s the best month of the year! In the US it’s Black History Month and in the UK it’s LGBT History Month, which means that all over the world it’s Black Queer History Month! Black queer folks have been and are continuously contributing important things to Western culture; that’s been true for as long as we’ve been a part of it. Particularly, Black queer folks have carved out a niche in the music industry. During the early twentieth century, with the rise of vaudeville shows, music was one of the few places it was okay to be a little raunchy. Coming out of a strict Victorian era, culture as a whole still stayed away from non-normative performances of gender and sexuality; but particularly in the theatre, there was space for play. For Black performers, blues became one of the mediums for this playfulness. In the early twentieth century part of what made blues “authentic” was its inherent theatricality (for more on theatricalism and the blues, check out Paige McGinley’s book, Staging the Blues: From Tent Shows to Tourism). Performers like Gladys Bently, Ma Rainey, and Bessie Smith became characters when they were singing. The separation of these performers from the music they were singing allowed them to explore their sexuality while still maintaining distance from queerness in their everyday lives, for survival purposes.

The blues allowed these queer women and others to be private in public and acted as resistance to a culture of censorship. Their music was raunchy, sexual and it made folks want to dance. It was revolutionary. And it inspired queer artists, playwrights, poets, and future queer musicians to live their truths as well. When you listen to this playlist, let it fill you with the revolutionary spirit of these talented and subversive queer artists. And then come back next week for more!

“Prove It On Me Blues” by Ma Rainey

“Empty Bed Blues, Pt. 1” by Bessie Smith

“You Got To Wet It” by Frankie “Half-Pint” Jaxon

“Embraceable You” by Billie Holiday

“B.D. Woman’s Blues” by Lucille Bogan

“My Handy Man Ain’t Handy No More” by Alberta Hunter

“Red Beans and Rice” by Gladys Bentley

“Bésame Much” by Josephine Baker

“Shave ‘Em Dry II” by Lucille Bogan

“Booze and Blues” by Ma Rainey

“I Ain’t Gonna Sin No More” by Ethel Waters

“Don’t Touch My Tomatoes” by Josephine Baker

“You Know Jam Don’t Shake” by Frankie “Half-Pint” Jaxon

“Explaining the Blues” by Ma Rainey

“How Long How Long Blues” by Gladys Bentley

“Little Black Sheep” by Ethel Waters

“Nobody Knows When You’re Down and Out” by Bessie Smith

“All of Me” by Billie Holiday

“Spank It” by Frankie “Half-Pint” Jaxon

“Sloppy Drunk Blues” by Lucille Bogan

https://open.spotify.com/user/1229950546/playlist/0cXlNUaXiJQtfw55OVtP7C

Call For Submissions: “Renaissance,” Personal Essays From Black LGBT Women

Once, I heard Dee Rees talking about Pariah on the radio and she said to Elvis Mitchell, “Everyone has to shed their costumes in order to be happy.” I realized how infrequently I found myself listening to black women, let alone queer black artists, talk about the creative process. I started to cry.

The other night I went to the video store and got a movie called The Fits and it was outrageously sweet to watch it dawn on this little black protagonist that she wanted to dance. And to see two little girls just be little. Dancing out of sync and running around, giggling in gold costumes in a boxing gym; the discipline and effort of their training. It reminded me of when I was a nine-year-old gymnast working my ass off five days a week so that I could learn to launch my small, chalk-covered body into the air.

And remember how those first few images of Solange’s “Cranes in the Sky” brought to mind the photographs of Lorna Simpson? And she danced like a gold, shimmering bird? Remember how it felt to watch the last few scenes in Moonlight? How you were buzzing?

I read once that the painter Jean Michel Basquiat was obsessed with a book called Flash of the Spirit by Robert Farris Thompson, who studied the relationship between African and African American art. In the attempt to describe how the Yoruba relate to creativity, Thompson relays the following sentiment: “As we become noble, fully realizing the spark of creative goodness God endowed us with, the shining ororo bird of thought and aspiration, we find the confidence to cope with all kinds of situations. This is ashe. This is character. This is mystic coolness.” THIS IS MYSTIC COOLNESS. Whether it’s the blues or a flash, there is this tradition of alchemy. Using art to turn suffering to light.

I don’t know if this is a tangent or if it is my entire point, but: remember the audition scene in Flashdance?

I hunger for black art these days. And I don’t mean opinion pieces—I want to crawl into people’s imaginations Being-John-Malkovich-style while they dream and sing and move through the world. Because you know what? Black artists are on fire right now. It’s not just the Knowles sisters—just ask Morgan Parker. We’re in the middle of another, quiet renaissance, and I have the sneaking suspicion that you are part of it.

Who am I? I am Aisha, and I like to read and write and teach about art. This month I’ll be curating this series. Specifically, I am looking for personal essays about how your black queer life has been saved or influenced by art in all forms, including art categorized as “pop culture.” How do you craft and cope? What was it like the first time you realized Nina Simone was (is) trying to get your attention when she sang To Be Young, Gifted and Black? Who are your poets? Where are your choreographers? Who draws your comics? Can we come with you to a museum or a movie?

We are offering $100 per personal essay. Alternately, if you’re planning to attend A-Camp in May (registration opens January 31st), you have the option of taking $100 cash or $200 credit towards your A-Camp tuition. (The A-Camp option is not transferrable, you can only use it for yourself.) Essays should be at least 2,000 words long, but there is no word count maximum.

The deadline is February 6th, but we encourage you to submit as soon as you’re ready!

You can submit your work here. Select “Renaissance – Black History Month Essay Series” from the drop-down. If you are a queer black illustrator who’d like to collaborate on imagery for the series, please email laneia [at] autostraddle [dot] com, who will pass your information on to me.

Below, find some essays from our archives that are similar to what we’re looking for if you need some guidance:

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/i-am-alike-a-nigerian-bois-reflection-on-pariah-126198/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/one-american-goes-to-see-30-americans-320779/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/mama-outsider-reminder-notes-to-a-dancing-girl-349017/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/by-the-light-of-moonlight-how-i-saw-myself-in-male-intimacy-363608/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/digital-mixtapes-and-protests-oh-to-be-a-queer-black-millennial-348765/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/a-road-trip-with-your-father-in-honor-of-his-74th-birthday-in-playlist-form-341177/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/i-demand-to-be-sexualized-317273/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/salsa-y-la-naturaleza-how-a-willie-colon-song-taught-me-about-queerness-and-love-282625/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/of-a-swamp-witch-and-a-rural-queer-209160/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/the-book-of-life-gave-me-my-anything-more-262154/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/when-real-lifes-getting-more-like-fiction-each-day-324488/

https://autostraddle-develop.go-vip.net/the-same-difference-breaks-down-all-the-rules-of-being-butch-299138/

50+ LGBTQ Black Women You Need To Know Because We Are Awesome

Black queer women are magical. We’re innovators of style, technology, science, art, music, and all other sorts of badassery. Two years ago Riese put together a list of 100 LGBTQ Black Women You Should Know. This year for Black History Month, we’ve included another 50 Black trans and queer women that you absolutely must know about. These women are athletes, actors, musicians, pop culture icons, activists, scientists, doctors, clergy members, and so much more. They showcase just how different and unique trans and queer Black women can be.

Obviously, this list isn’t exhaustive. There are more Black queer and trans women doing amazing things in the world than we could ever hope to categorize in one post. This list is the start of a conversation! Did you learn about someone cool? Who did we miss? Do you just want to talk about how amazing Black women are? Get in those comments!

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Women in Activism/Politics

April Parker, Lead Organizer of the Queer People of Color Collective

April Parker has been working the the Greensboro, NC local activist community for over five years. She is the lead organizer of the Queer People of Color Collective in the city and is working on getting a femme-centric clothing line called “Them Femmes” started.

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Elle Hearns, Activist

Elle Hearns is the Central Region Field Coordinator for GetEQUAL. According to her bio she is a, “black, trans, freedom fighter” who is leading “international conversations centered on the importance of black trans women leading their own causes and using their own voices”.

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Katrina Goodlett, Blogger, Activist

Katrina Goodlett is a trans activist, artist and blogger. She hosts and executive produces a popular web radio series, the Kitty Bella Show, where she highlights the voices of trans women of color. She created the #tgirlsrock campaign, which empowers trans people through clothing. Katrina was also one of 2015’s Trans 100.

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Cherno Biko, Activist

Cherno Biko is a human rights activist and highly sought after public speaker. She’s been named to the Trans 100 and is being highlighted this month as part of #NBCBLK28 for her achievements.

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A. Breeze Harper, Diversity Strategist, Critical Theorist, Public Speaker and Author

Dr. Amie Breeze Harper is the founder of the Sistah Vegan Project, a writer, speaker, and diversity consultant at Critical Diversity Solutions. In 2014, her most recent novel Scars: A Black Lesbian Experience in Rural White New England was published.

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Patrisse Cullors, Alicia Garza, and Opal Tometi, Co-founders of Black Lives Matter

These three black women created #BlackLivesMatter together. While the work of these three women is often ignored, Alicia Garza wrote a herstory of the movement to make sure their work is acknowledged and documented.

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Brittany Ferrell, Activist

Ferrell is a founding member of Millennial Activists United and was active in Ferguson over the summer. Ferrell actually married co-founder of MAU, Alexis Templeton in 2014!

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Phyll Opoku-Gyimah, UK Activist

Phyll Opoku0-Gyimah is a co-founder of UK Black Pride. She recently made news by turning down an MBE, saying that she couldn’t accept the award as long as, “LGBTQI people are still being persecuted, tortured and even killed” because of laws put in place by British colonialism.

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Janet Mock, Author, Advocate, TV Host

Janet Mock is a writer, trans activist, and television host. Her new show So Popular! on MSNBC takes a look at culture “in an effort to expand the idea of what is considered political and worthy of analysis.” Her book Redefining Realness is a New York Times Bestseller.

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Kim Katrin Milan, Educator, Writer, Artist

Kim Katrin Milan is an artist, educator, and writer. She grounds her work in equity, human rights and justice. She speaks at various universities and conferences across the United States and regularly updates her blog and website with up to date information about her new work. She has contributed work to Autostraddle in the past.

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Actors/Musicians/Pop Culture Icons

Samira Wiley, actor

Samira Wiley is most well known for her role as Poussey on the Netflix series Orange is the New Black. Her exciting life, which is well documented on her Instagram, has earned her a spot on a few No Filter posts.

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Look Alive, actor, rapper

Look Alive was well known for her role as Rae on the web series Between Women which she revived last year for the show’s third and final season. She also has a rap career; her most recent single, “Divorce” came out in September 2015.

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Tona Brown, classical soprano and violinist

Tona Brown was the first trans woman to give a concert at Carnegie Hall. She is a mezzo soprano and skilled violinist who has trained and competed since age 10. Her career brings her around all of North America and Europe.

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Laverne Cox, actor

Laverne Cox gained fame as the first “trans woman of color to have a leading role on a mainstream scripted television show” for her portrayal of Sophia on Orange is the New Black. She is the executive producer of Free CeCe a documentary about CeCe McDonald set to be released this year.

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Lena Waithe, actor, screenwriter

Most recently, Lena Waithe can be seen on Netflix playing Aziz Ansari’s best friend Denise in the show Master of None. The actor/screenwriter is also currently working on a pilot for Showtime with Common.

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Amandla Stenberg, actor

Amandla Stenberg is a 17 year old came to the public’s attention for playing Rue in The Hunger Games. After a YouTube video called “Don’t Cash Crop on My Cornrows” she also became known as quite the activist. The teen feminist recently came out as bisexual on Snapchat saying, “It’s a really, really hard thing to be silenced and it’s deeply bruising to fight against your identity and to mold yourselves into shapes that you just shouldn’t be in.”

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Brittani Nichols, comedian, actor

Brittani Nichols is Autostraddle’s own special treasure. This past year, she finished work on Suicide Kale (directed by Carly Usdin) and she’s currently doing a podcast about the new musical Hamilton called Hamilton the Podcast. She is constantly being hilarious on Twitter. You can also see her this year at A-Camp!

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Jasika Nicole, actor

Jasika Nicole does everything. She makes her own clothes and her own furniture and was in Fringe and is in Scandal. This year she worked on the film Suicide Kale, also starring Brittani Nichols, she’s done voice over work for the podcast Welcome to Nightvale, and she’s in an original new web series called Send Me. Also, right this moment you can learn how to sew with her on Autostraddle in her new series Sew You Want to Know How to Sew.

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Katey Red, New Orleans Bounce musician

Katey Red was the first queer bounce rapper, ever. She performs all over New Orleans, and appeared on Fuse TV’s reality show Big Freedia: Queen of Bounce with her friend and longtime collaborator Big Freedia.

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Djuan Trent, former Miss Kentucky, A-Camp celebrity

Djuan Trent was Miss Kentucky in 2010. After coming out in 2014, she was the first openly queer beauty pageant contestant. She is known as a speaker, writer, advocate, and singer, amongst other things. Last year at A-Camp, Trent performed to a sold-out crowd with the A-Camp Family Band.

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Frenchie Davis, singer, actor

Frenchie Davis came to fame competing in American Idol, but the singer has had a long career on the stage as well. She is an out bisexual woman who also devotes her time to activism, most recently around the Black Lives Matter movement. Last year she recorded an acoustic version of Fetty Wap’s “Trap Queen” for the YouTube channel Hip Hop Musicals.

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Crissle West, blogger, podcast co-host

Crissle co-hosts the weekly podcast The Read with Kid Fury where together they discuss pop culture, offer advice, and deliver a weekly read. She also hosts hour-long music blocks on Beats 1 Radio as a part of Apple Music. Occasionally, Crissle also appears on television and panels to discuss race relations and Black identity.

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Women in STEM

Aisha and Danielle Moodie-Mills, Politini Media

This power couple is “catalyzing culture, capital, and community through media, policy, and advocacy”. Together, they run Politini Media, which includes a website, blog, and political podcast and talk show.

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Courtney Wilburn, web app developer

Courtney Wilburn is a web app developer for O3 World. Last summer, she was awarded one of the White House’s LGBTQ Tech and Innovation Fellows. She will present a project her and her team have been working on, the GreenBook App, later this month at the Lesbians Who Tech Summit.

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Kiva Wilson, diversity program manager at Facebook

Kiva Wilson develops “strategic outreach and recruitment strategies” for Facebook to help the company find, grow, and keep “historically under-represented talent.” Discussing how to make the tech industry as a whole more inclusive for queer and trans folks, Wilson said, “I think if the tech industry, as a whole, makes a conscious decision to build a work environment and industry policies that support our trans family members we’ll be stronger for it.”

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Morgen Bromell, CEO/Founder of Thurst

In 2015, Morgen Bromell launched Thurst, “a dating app for queer people of all gender identifications.” She recently made a post about the importance of Black people and Black queer people’s involvement in technology, saying, “I firmly believe that a better tomorrow can only be envisioned by black minds, survivors of the waves of a slow and systematic genocide, but also fundamentally gifted with the blueprint for global liberation.”

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Krys Freeman, Founder of Hella Rides

Krys Freeman is a rising entrepreneur and sees technology as “a vehicle for radical change.” Krys sees technology as a way to connect communities, and has used that philosophy as a means to get Krys’s startup Hella Rides, a carpooling app, off the ground.

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Allie Esslinger, Founder of Section II

Allie Esslinger is the founder of Section II, an “online community focusing on connecting Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender, and Questioning (LGBTQ) stories and audiences.” She also set up Olive Juice Films in 2011 as a production services company, and to do digital marketing and strategy consulting work for other independent content creators.

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Kronda Adair, freelance web developer

Kronda Adair is a WordPress consultant and developer. She founded Karvel Digital in 2014, which focuses on web development and WordPress consultancy, and speaks nationally about diversity in technology.

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Tiffany Dockery, Senior Product Manager at Amazon

Tiffany Dockery works at Amazon as a Senior Product Manager. Dockery will be speaking this month at the Lesbians Who Tech Summit. She has a passion for running, cooking, travel and social justice “and the potential for technology and technologists to close persistent opportunity gaps in our society.”

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Hanifah Walidah, Open Source advocate

Hanifah Walidah explores the intersections of technology and music with her electro-soul band St. Lô. She is credited as creating the first online hip hop Magazine Guillotine in 1993.

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Maureen Erokwu, Founder of Vosmap

Maureen Erokwu is the founder and CEO of MapMersion and is a member of the Google Maps Business View Team. She was listed as one of Inc‘s “9 Awesome Women Black Tech Founders to Watch” in 2014. Erokwu will be speaking at this year’s Lesbians Who Tech Summit in San Francisco later this month.

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Writers/Artists/Photographers

Shantell Martin, multimedia artist

Shantell Martin’s work “bridges fine art, commercial and the everyday experience.” Her signature trademark of black ink on white surfaces has been featured internationally in magazines, galleries, and even television. She is currently a visiting artist at MIT Media lab and is on adjunct faculty at ITP and NYU.

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Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs, writer, educator

Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs calls herself a “queer black troublemaker” and a “Black feminist love evangelist.” She runs the MobileHomecoming Project where she travels around to connect queer folks with their queer ancestors. Her work also includes The Eternal Summer of the Black Feminist Mind, a “multi-mediated community school based in Durham North Carolina and active in 143 countries around the world.”

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Samiya Bashir, writer

Samiya Bashir describes herself on her website as a maker, sharer, and human. Her poetry has been featured in Poetry Magazine, Ecotone Magazine, The Normal School, and Hoax in the past year. She’s written two books of poetry, and is working on her third, Field Theories.

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Zanele Muholi, photographer, visual activist

Zanele Muholi is a South African artist currently living in Johannesburg. She was awarded the 2016 Infinity Award for Documentary and Photojournalism and her work is currently being exhibited at the Gallatin Galleries at New York University throughout February. In 2009, she founded Inkanyiso, a “forum for queer and visual (activist) media.” According to her, Muholi’s mission is “‘to re-write a black queer and trans visual history of South Africa for the world to know of our resistance and existence at the height of hate crimes in SA and beyond.”

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Mia McKenzie, writer, creator of Black Girl Dangerous

Mia McKenzie is a queer, black feminist writer and the founder of Black Girl Dangerous Media. Her first novel The Summer We Got Free won the 2013 Lambda Literary Award for debut fiction. McKenzie’s work has been published all over the web, including The Guardian and Colorlines.

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Roxane Gay, Author

Roxane Gay’s writing has appeared throughout the internet and in multiple anthologies over the years. She is well known for her book Bad Feminist, published in 2014. She maintains an active presence on social media through her Twitter and tumblr use. Gay has a forthcoming novel called Hunger which will be published by Harper this year.

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Kai Davis, poet, spoken word performer

Kai Davis writes poetry and performs her poetry all over America. She is the artistic director of the Babel Poetry Collective. Her work deals with her life as a queer woman of color and explores themes of race, gender, and sexuality and how they affect “who we are and how we love.”

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Monica Roberts, writer, blogger

Monica Roberts is a GLAAD award nominated blogger, a writer, and a trans human rights activist and advocate. She is the founder and editor of TransGriot, a blog for “news, opinions, commentary, history and a little creative writing from a proud African-American transwoman about the world around her.” Recently, she was honored by receiving the Virginia Prince Transgender Pioneer Award.

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Reina Gosset, filmmaker

Reina Gossett is a filmmaker, a speaker and trainer, and the Activist Fellow at Barnard College’s Center for Research on Women. In 2015, she was able to raise funds to finish production on Happy Birthday, Marsha! a film about Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera’s friendship and “the bold everyday decisions they made that helped spark the 1969 Stonewall riots.”

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Juliana Huxtable, poet, artist, model

Juliana Huxtable is an artist, poet, model, and DJ living in New York. Huxtable uses herself and her body as the primary subject in her photography and draws from the Nuwaubian movement, among others, for inspiration. She frequently collaborates with other queer New York performance artists DJs, and rappers.

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Sara Geffrard, style blogger

Sara is the CEO and founding editor of A Dapper Chick, a leading menswear website that has received national recognition in news and style outlets. She is a GQ Insider and a founding member of the Dapper Chicks of New York, a group of female menswear influencers who “stand in style” for causes, such as autism, women’s equality, breast cancer, and anti-bullying.

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Danielle Cooper, style blogger

Danielle is the CEO and founding editor of She’s A Gent, a top style website that celebrates menswear for all genders. She has been featured in Mic, Stuff, dapperQ and other news and style websites. Danielle is a also a member of the Dapper Chicks of New York.

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Debbie-jean Lemonte, photographer, style blogger

Debbie-jean Lemonte of DAG IMAGES is a Jamaican-born New York-based photographer who specializes in portraits and family events. She has photographed leading queer style influencers, such as Danielle Cooper, Sara Geffrard, Pamela Kaupinen, and The Dapper Chicks of New York. Debbie has an impressive portfolio, with her images being featured on BuzzFeed, Timberland, Mic, dapperQ, Sprezza Box, and other reputable media and designer websites. She also runs a beauty, fashion and lifestyle blog called The Loc’d Bella.

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Athletes/Everybody Else

Sandra Lawson, rabbi

Sandra Lawson is hoping to be one of Judaism’s first Black and openly lesbian rabbis. Formerly a military police officer and a personal trainer, Lawson was attracted to Judaism because of it’s traditions and commitments to liberation.

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Caster Semenya, distance runner

Caster Semenya is a South African world champion distance runner. Despite being subjected to racist and transphobic gender tests in 2009, her running career has taken off. She won the Bronze Order of Ikhamanga in 2014, and in 2015 married her longtime girlfriend in a traditional wedding ceremony.

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Sean Desiree, furniture maker, musician

Autostraddle interviewed Sean Desiree last year about how she juggled her career making furniture with her band bell’s roar. Talking about being a performer she said, “I seek to perform in spaces that support LGBTQGNC people. I find it important to connect with my community through my music.” Her band bell’s roar released an album, Second Chances Vol. 1 in November.

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Seimone Augustus, basketball player for Minnesota Lynx

Seimone Augustus is a WNBA guard/forward for the Minnesota Lynx. Augustus has played over 250 games during her career in the league and averages over 20 points a game. Last year she married her fiancée of five years, LaTaya Varner.

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Da Vita McCallister, clergy

Rev. Da Vita “Day” McCallister is the Associate Conference Minister for Leadership Development and Congregational Vitality for the Connecticut Conference United Church of Christ. She works closely with youth and young adult ministries in the conference.

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Darlene Garner, clergy

Darlene Garner is an ordained MCC minister, LGBTQ activist, and co-founder of the National Coalition of Black Lesbians and Gays. She’s been married for five years to Rev. Candy Holmes, a musician in the MCC.

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Jade Faletto, cheerleader

Jade Faletto is a competitive cheerleader. In addition to her cheering, she does work with improving trans visibility in sports.

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Violet Palmer, basketball referee

Violet Palmer was the first woman official at an NBA playoff game. In 2014, she married her girlfriend of 20 years, stylist Tanya Stine. In 2015, she became the coordinator of women’s basketball officials for the Western Athletic Conference.

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Tori Sisson and Shanté Wolfe, first couple to get married in Montgomery, AL

These two lovebirds were the first same-sex couple to get married in Montgomery, Alabama. Sisson, an HRC field organizer and Wolfe camped outside the Montgomery courthouse twice in a month in order to be the first couple to marry in the state’s capital.

So You Wanna Write the Divine: Black LGBTQ Artists Talk Spiritual Practices of Community Building

Playwright Shirlene Holmes calls theater “a place to do divine things.” In that same vein, Holmes, who has authored the work A Lady and A Woman, strongly believes in the theater’s capacity to produce social change. During Brown University’s “Black Lavender Experience,” a week long festival that began on April 7th and ended on April 12th, Black LGBTQ artists gathered to perform and discuss their work with students, residents, and festival participants in Providence, Rhode Island. Holmes and a number of queer Black playwrights and filmmakers took the time to sit down with students and talked about the divine nature of their writing for marginalized communities.

For Yoruba Richen, the filmmaker and producer behind the documentary The New Black, social justice and creativity are ingrained within her. From her academic pursuits to her creative expression, Richen’s work exists to engage and impact her audience. Although she began her performance work in the theater, she found film work while she was studying urban planning in graduate school. Film provided her with an outlet, not only to communicate her own experiences or to tell stories she found interesting, but also to speak with marginalized communities and seek justice for those whose stories often go unheard. She explained that film requires her to think about how people will use and receive her work, demonstrating how as a queer Black artist, she has used work like The New Black to serve various communities that she belongs to. For artists like Richen, community uplift does not only complement the pieces they produce, but rather is very inherent to their work.

Likewise Dr. Charles Mulekwa views theatrical work as an opportunity to create new knowledge, benefiting marginalized communities by telling stories that have not been told at all. For example, the Ugandan playwright reflected on a controversial piece he had written in his home country. He described how in spite of some of the public criticisms that insisted that Mulekwa wrote about a taboo topic, privately some people would offer him perspectives that he had not realized before. Mulekwa asserts that a part of a writer’s obligation — if that writer wants to write to uplift oppressed communities or groups — is an understanding that the writer must be willing to take risks and even to fail. The objections and criticisms Mulekwa faced are all a part of a playwright’s experience. Mulekwa encourages young writers to keep perspective and to constantly legitimize themselves. “You have as much right as any [“famous”] writer to write a play,” he maintained, remembering his own intimidation when he read works by people now hailed as classical writers. He believes that we all have a story to tell.

It was fascinating for me to hear how many of these artists connected the community building and social justice efforts of their plays and films to the spiritual realm. Sharon Bridgforth, author of River See, the bull-jean stories, and dyke/warrior-prayers, uses her work to “serve the ancestors, who are also the future.” She describes her spiritual practice with respect to playwriting as a “theatrical jazz aesthetic” (which, in case y’all were wondering who came up with that bomb ass term, apparently traces back to Aishah Rahman). Bridgforth broke it down for us, explaining that this theatrical jazz aesthetic means that in her writing and acting, she focuses on working as a collective or as a gathering with her cast and audience, while being present (or serving) as she performs or writes the performance. (It’s kinda like what jazz musicians do when they’re jamming out.) Her work is beautiful, fluid, and incorporates a mysticism that somehow speaks to a multitude of experiences while never explicitly saying whose experiences its meant to represent.

You are more than just yourself when you write, these Black LGBTQ artists seemed to agree. Holmes summarized her feelings about writing for her various communities, stating, “It’s not your role to write something and keep it [for yourself]”. As a daily practice, she plugs herself into the Divine, which for Holmes is the god of her understanding. She advises young Black, LGBTQ and Black LGBTQ writers to find their own divinity as they seek to use their writing to not only reflect their personal experiences, but also to reach out and touch the experiences of others. “We make simplicity so deep when it can just be simple,” Holmes explained about divinity seeking. “Plugging into the divine can be drinking water, calling an ancestor’s name, … [it] can even be admitting that you don’t want to write today.”

These Black LGBTQ artists dedicate their work to sharing stories and also to engaging with various communities, whether that engagement means establishing a common ground for mutual understanding or airing out the “dirty laundry” that hinders a group from moving forward. They politicize their experiences and breathe life into the tragedies, victories, sorrows, and quotidian experiences of people of color and LGBTQ communities. Although none of these artists claim to speak the realities of all members of the communities or groups they belong to, they work through the divine and sacred spaces they create within themselves and their work to affect social change and uplift.

100+ LGBTQ Black Women You Should Know: The Epic Black History Month Megapost

Black lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer and transgender women represent a vibrant and visible portion of the LGBTQ community. In addition to the legends of the Harlem Renaissance and the decades of groundbreaking activism spearheaded by women like Audre Lorde, Barbara Smith and Angela Davis, many of the most prominent coming out stories of the past two years have been black women like Brittney Griner, Raven-Symonè, Diana King and Robin Roberts. Meanwhile, Laverne Cox and Janet Mock have become the most visible transgender women in media.

So, in honor of Black History Month, below you’ll find over 100 lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer and transgender women you should know about. If she was still alive, the oldest person in this list would be 189 years old. The youngest person on this list is a mere 21 years of age. Like all our lists of this sort, this post aims to contain a wide variety of humans of all ages and backgrounds, from reality TV show stars (despite its numerous failings, Reality TV has been a major mainstream source of LGBTQ visibility dating back to the early ’90s) to State Representatives to actresses to game-changing activists.

Keep in mind, there are so many more prominent black LGBT women than are represented below. This list isn’t representative or comprehensive, but I did aim to include the “big names” and beyond that, present a broad and diverse range of visible women. The hardest part of making this list was that it was originally twice as long! So please feel free to share some of your heroes in the comments and we’ll have more lists like this in the future!

If any of these pictures have been attributed incorrectly or lack proper attribution or contain misinformation, please email bren [at] autostraddle [dot] com and she will fix (or remove it) for you.

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Frances E.W. Harper (1825-1911), Abolitionist / Poet / Author

Harper published her first book of poetry at age 20 and her first novel at the age of 67. She chaired the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, helped slaves escape through the Underground Railroad, and spoke all over the country with the American Anti-Slavery Society. She helped found the National Association of Colored Women in 1894 and published in so many periodicals that she became known as the “mother of African-American journalism.” She is listed in Lesbian Lists as an “early Black Lesbian and Bisexual Writer.”

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Edmonia “Wildfire” Lewis (1844-1907), Sculptor

This African-Haitian-Ojibwe Native American sculptor was born in New York and began studying art at Oberlin in Ohio, one of the first universities to accept women and non-white people, and later began sculpting in Boston. She showed her work internationally and spent most of her career in Rome. The National Gay History Project notes that “she is considered one of a few African-American artists to develop a fan base that crossed racial, ethnic and national boundaries — and the first to develop a reputation as an acclaimed sculptor, which would later give her access to circles that generally excluded people of color and women.”

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Alice Dunbar Nelson (1875-1935), Poet / Journalist / Activist

Nelson, who allegedly separated from her first husband, poet Paul Dunbar, in 1902 because he was “disturbed” by her lesbian affairs, was an influential writer and journalist active in efforts to promote African-American and women’s rights. She was a prominent figure in the Harlem Renaissance.

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Angelina Weld Grimké (1880-1958), Journalist / Teacher / Poet / Playwright

Harlem Renaissance writer Grimké, who was biracial (her father was the second African-American to graduate from Harvard Law), was one of the first African-American women to have a play performed publicly. Of that play, The NAACP said, “This is the first attempt to use the stage for race propaganda in order to enlighten the American people relating to the lamentable condition of ten millions of Colored citizens in this free republic.” At 16, she wrote a letter to her female friend Mamie Burrile in which she declared, “I know you are too young now to become my wife, but I hope, darling, that in a few years you will come to me and be my love, my wife!” Modern literary critics who have analyzed Grimké’s work have found “strong evidence” that she was lesbian or bisexual.

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Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880-1966), Poet / Playwright

Another prominent figure in the flourishing Harlem Renaissance, Johnson grew up in Atlanta, the daughter of an African and Native American mother and an African-American and English father. In addition to writing poems and plays, she was an anti-lynching activist and hosted weekly Salons with other friends associated with the Harlem Renaissance, like Lanston Hughes and Angelina Weld Grimke. The book Lesbian Lists notes that “although her letters reveal love relationships with women, she is best known in the heterosexual world for her affair with W.E.B. DuBois.”

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Ma Rainey (1886-1939), Blues Singer

The legendary “Mother of the Blues” was one of the first blues singers to record. She toured extensively all over the country for mixed audiences and released over 94 records. Her 1928 song “Prove it On Me Blues” declared They said I do it, ain’t nobody caught me. Sure got to prove it on me. Went out last night with a crowd of my friends. They must’ve been women, cause I don’t like no men.

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Gladys Bentley (1907-1960), Blues Singer

Bentley is a legend known for her piano-playing, raunchy lyrics and her signature top hat and tuxedo, headlning gay speakeasies and Harlem’s Ubangi Club and later in Southern California. Bentley was an out lesbian from the get-go and once, dressed in “men’s clothing,” tried to marry a woman in Atlantic City. But during the McCarthy era Bentley took a turn — she married a man and wrote an article for Ebony magazine entitled “I am woman again,” about how she was “cured” of homosexuality by religion and female hormones.

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Alberta Hunter (1895-1984), Blues Singer / Songwriter / Nurse

This critically acclaimed jazz and blues recording artist started out at the prestigious Dreamland ballroom in Chicago, toured Europe, appeared in musicals in London and New York, recorded prolifically and eventually took up nursing in the ’50s and ’60s, only to return to her singing career in the ’70s, eventually touring South America and Europe, writing for film soundtracks and making television appearances. Throughout her career, Hunter kept her lesbian relationships a secret.

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Lucille Bogan (1897-1948), Blues Singer

Another early Blues Singer, music critic Ernest Borneman declared Bogan, Ma Rainey and Bessie Smith “the big three of the blues.” She’s also cited as a “dirty blues musician” for her songs about prostitution, sex and alcohol.

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Josephine Baker (1906-1975), Dancer / Singer / Actress

This American-born French performer and civil rights activist, one of the more famous people on this list, is cited as the first African-American woman to become a world-famous entertainer and the first African-American woman to star in a major motion picture.

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Bessie Smith (1894-1937), Blues Singer

“The Empress of the Blues” was one of the best-known blues singers of her time and a hugely influential jazz vocalist.

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Carmen Mercedes McRae (1920-1994), Jazz Vocalist / Actress

Another enormously influential jazz vocalist, she is remembered for her “iconic interpretations of song lyrics” and “behind-the-beat phrasing.” She was friends with and influenced by Billie Holiday, was nominated for multiple Grammy Awards, appeared in movies and on television, and all told spent fifty years touring the world and recording albums. She believed sexuality was fluid, and was often seen in public with “female companions,” having had experiences with both men and women but resisting any official label.

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Ethel Waters (1896-1977), Vocalist / Actress

Lesbian legend Ethel Waters was the second African-American to be nominated for an Academy award and the first African-American woman to be nominated for an Emmy Award. She’s also well-known for her music — the vocalist started out singing the blues and would go on to perform on Broadway and even do pop music. Despite the stigma against the behavior, Ethel Waters even lived with her girlfriend Ethel Williams at some point, which according to Ms. Magazine, “Waters managed to keep out of all 20th century biographies about her.”

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Lorraine Hansberry (1930-1965), Playwright

The inspiration for Nina Simone’s song, “To Be Young, Gifted and Black,” Hansberry’s “Raisin in the Sun” made her the first black woman to have their play performed on Broadway. She also worked as an activist, writing for the Pan-Africanist newspaper Freedom and later joining the lesbian feminist organization The Daughters of Bilitis, publishing two letters in The Ladder under her initials.

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Ruby Dandridge (1900-1987), Actress

In addition to being the mother of the legendary actress Dorothy Dandridge, bisexual actress Ruby Dandridge was a prominent radio actress, best known for her role on Amos ‘n Andy. Her “companion” Geneva Williams lived with The Dandridges after Ruby and her husband Cyril divorced.

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Angela Davis, Activist / Author / Educator

Angela Davis is one of the most important people of all time. Starting with her work in the counterculture activist movement in the 1960s, with ties to the Communist and the Black Panther Party, Angela emerged as a leading feminist voice deeply passionate about abolishing the prison-industrial complex. She’s run for office, taught and spoken at Universities all over the country and is the author of numerous books including Women, Race & Class and If They Come In the Morning: Voices of Resistance. In 1997 she came out in Out magazine as a lesbian.

Read Carmen’s Idol Worship on Angela Davis here.

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Moms Mabley (1894-1975), Comedian

Moms Mabley, billed as ‘The Funniest Woman in the World” was a game-changer for comedy, enjoying a long career that started on the “Chitlin’ circut” and eventually lead her to making a record amounts of money and appearing on The Ed Sullivan Show and The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. She was out as a lesbian from the age of 27 and recorded over 20 comedy albums, including early “lesbian stand-up” routines. Although she initially performed in androgynous clothing, she changed her stage persona as she got older and more famous, but maintained her more subversive style (and her girlfriends) offstage.

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Ruth Ellis (1899-2000), Activist

Before her death in 2000, Ruth Ellis was considered the world’s oldest surviving out lesbian. In 1937, living in Detroit with her partner Babe Franklin, Ellis became the first woman to own a printing business in the city. Her house eventually became a congregating spot for African-American gays and lesbians, and now The Ruth Ellis Center in Detroit is one of four U.S. agencies dedicated to homeless LGBT youth and teenagers.

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Alice Walker, Author / Activist

Prolific poet, author and former Ms editor Alice Walker‘s best-known book, The Color Purple, is also one of the best-known books ever, winning the National Book Award and becoming a movie and, later, a musical. She published collections of short stories and poetry, has earned every award under the sun and is very involved in anti-war, pro-Palestine and Civil Rights activism.  Walker’s website declares that “She is one of the world’s most prolific writers, yet tirelessly continues to travel the world to literally stand on the side of the poor, and the economically, spiritually and politically oppressed. She also stands, however, on the side of the revolutionaries, teachers and leaders who seek change and transformation of the world.” You can read more about The Color Purple on our list of 10 Novels & Memoirs By and About LGBQ Black Women.

Read our posts on Alice Walker here.

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Audre Lorde (1934-1992), Writer / Activist

This Carribean-American writer and civil rights activists is one of the best-known black lesbian writers of all time with books including Zami: A New Spelling of My Name and Sister Outsider. She was a prolific poet and theorist and was politically active in civil rights, anti-war and feminist movements. You can read more about Zami on our list of 10 Novels & Memoirs By and About LGBQ Black Women.

Read our posts on Audre Lorde here.

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Mabel Hampton (1902-1989), Activist / Dancer / Philanthropist

Hampton first came onto the national stage as a dancer for Harlem Renaissance “noteables,” which is how she got to know the major players of the time. Eventually she quit and started cleaning houses (eventually working for the parents of Lesbian Herstory Archives founder Joan Nestle.) She was in a relationship with Lillian Foster from 1932 until Foster died in 1978. At the 1984 New York City Gay and Lesbian Pride Parade, Hampton announced, “I, Mabel Hampton, have been a lesbian all my life, for 82 years, and I am proud of myself and my people. I would like all my people to be free in this country and all over the world, my gay people and my black people.”

Read Carmen’s Idol Worship on Mabel Hampton here.

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Marsha P Johnson (1944-1992), Activist / Artist

Marsha P. Johnson co-founded Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (S.T.A.R) with Sylvia Rivera, where she was known as the house “mother,” and was one of the leaders in clashes with police at the Stonewall Riots.

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Nell Carter (1946-2003), Singer / Actress

This actress won a Tony award for her role in the Broadway musical Ain’t Misbehavin’ and starred in the NBC Sitcom Gimme a Break!, for which she was nominated for two Emmys and two Golden Globes. Later in life, starred as Miss Hannigan in a Broadway revival of Annie and did guest spots on TV shows like Ally McBeal and Reba.

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Pat Parker (1944-1989), Poet / Activist

Parker’s activism included involvement with the Black Panther Movement, contributing to the Women’s Press Collective and serving as medical coordinator for the Oakland Feminist Women’s Health Center. Cheryl Clarke has said of Pat that she articulates “a black lesbian-feminist perspective of love between women and the circumstances that prevent our intimacy and liberation.” She toured with Varied Voices of Black Women, published multiple volumes of poetry, and, in 1980, founded the Black Woman’s Revolutionary Council.

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Barbara Jordan (1936-1996), Politician

Barbara Jordan was the first African-American woman to deliver a keynote at the Democratic National Convention, the first African-American member of the Texas Senate post-Reconstruction, the first black woman elected to the U.S. House of Representatives and, when she died, was the first African-American woman buried in the Texas State Cemetery. Jordan suffered from multiple sclerosis. Her partner of over 30 years was an educational psychologist named Nancy Earl, but Jordan remained very private about her personal life.

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Tracy Africa Norman, Model

During the peak of Norman’s modeling career in the ’70s-’80s, she was photographed for Italian Vogue by the legendary Irving Penn, worked for the third-largest modeling agency in New York, walked many runaways, did five ESSENCE Magazine shoots and earned contracts with Avon Cosmetics, Clairol and Ultra Sheen. Her American career hopes were dashed when someone revealed her trans status to ESSENCE editor Susan L. Taylor, so she went abroad, To Paris, where she did runway modeling until returning to New York, at which point she became an iconic figure in the ballroom community. (info via transgriot.)

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Danitra Vance (1954-1994), Actress/ Comedian and the first Black woman to join the cast of Saturday Night Live

Vance was the first African-American woman to join the cast of Saturday Night Live when she came on as a repertory player in 1985. She was the first cast member with a learning disability, the first lesbian cast member (Kate McKinnon is actually just the first openly lesbian cast member) and the show’s only black lesbian cast member ever. Vance eventually tired of the stereotypical roles she was given to play and left the show in 1986. She went on to a formidable career in theater and film and won an Obie Award and a NAACP Image Award for her performance in Spunk, a theatrical adaptation of Zora Neale Hurston short stories. When she died at the age of 40 from breast cancer, her obituary revealed that she’d been living with her “companion,” Mary Jones Miller.

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Margaret Sloan-Hunter (1947-2004), Writer / Activist

Sloan-Hunter joined the Congress of Racial Equality at the age of 14, jumpstarting a life of civil rights activism that would lead her to work with Martin Luther King Jr and found the National Black Feminist Organization, The Feminist School for Girls and the Berkeley Women’s Center. She was one of the early editors of Ms. Magazine, toured worldwide with Gloria Steinem and also was an advocate for disability rights.

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Octavia E. Butler (1947-2006), Author

Butler was one of the best known and most acclaimed science-fiction writers ever, receiving both the Hugo and Nebula awards, becoming the first sci-fi writer to win a MacArthur Fellowship. She described herself as “comfortably asocial—a hermit in the middle of Seattle—a pessimist if I’m not careful, a feminist, a Black, a former Baptist, an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty, and drive.”

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Barbara Smith, Writer / Activist

A hugely influential voice in black feminism and black lesbian feminism, Smith has published extensively, taught at universities all over the country, and seen her work appear in every major publication ever. Turned off by the sexism she encountered as a young adult in male-dominated Black Nationalist groups, Smith was inspired by Margaret Sloan to launch a Boston chapter of the National Black Feminist Organization, a group which eventually evolved into the groundbreaking Combahee River Collective. She founded the Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press in 1980, which published important works like Home Girls: A Black Feminist Anthology and This Bridge Called My Back with writers like Cherríe Moraga, Audre Lorde and Gloria Anzaldúa. She continues to lecture, speak and write and also has served on the New York City Council.

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Jewelle Gomez and Cheryl Clarke, Writers / Activists

Jewelle Gomez is a novelist and the author of The Gilda Stories and seven other books, having worked in public television, theatre and philanthropy. She was on the founding board of GLAAD and early boards of the Astrea Lesbian Foundation and the Open Meadows Foundation. With her partner Diane Sabin, Gomez was among the litigants suing California for the right to marry, and she continues writing about gay rights and working as Director of Grants and Community Initiatives for the Horizons Foundation. You can read more about The Gilda Stories on our list of 10 Novels & Memoirs By and About LGBQ Black Women.

Read our interview with Jewelle Gomez here.

Cheryl Clarke is a poet, having published four collections and appeared in numerous anthologies. She retired from her post on the graduate faculty of Rutgers University Department of Women and Gender Studies in 2013. She co-owns an independent bookstore, was part of the Combahee River Collective and served as an editor of lesbian feminist literary journal Conditions. Feminist Wire wrote of Clarke, “Cheryl Clarke’s life and work offer an enduring rejection of straightness and a constant reorientation to alternative space….  there may not be any pieces of a movement for liberation that we can participate in without somehow finding ourselves in the legacy of Cheryl Clarke. ”

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Sapphire, Writer

Born Ramona Lofton, Sapphire is an author and performance poet who was very involved in New York’s burgeoing Slam Poetry scene at its peak. Her first novel, Push, was made into the movie Precious in 2009.

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Dionne Brand, Poet / Novelist / Essayist / Documentarian

Critically acclaimed activist/poet Dionne Brand was named Toronto’s third Poet Laureate in September 2009. She has contributed to anthologies and writing opposing violence against black people and the inequality of Canadian’s Aboriginal women. She is widely published and anthologized and has served numerous prestigious academic positions throughout the U.S. and Canada. She is truly an amazing human being.

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Gaye Adegbalola, Blues Singer / Activist / Teacher

Born into a family of activists and artists, Adegbalola was involved in the Black Power movement from 1966-1970 and went on to make her mark as an educator, director, musician and actor. She has been a full-time blues musician since the late ’80s.

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MeShell Ndegeocello, Musician

Meshell Ndegeocello is a bisexual musician credited with sparking the “neo-soul movement” and boasts an extensive roster of hits, ten albums, and ten Grammy award nominations. Her music has appeared in films like How Stella Got Her Groove Back, Lost & Delirious, Love & Basketball, Higher Learning, Batman & Robin and Love Jones. She’s done projects with John Mellencamp and Herbie Hancock and Madonna, appeared on recordings by Basement Jaxx, Alanis Morisette, ZapMama the Indigo Girls and The Rolling Stones. Her biggest solo hit was “If That’s Your Boyfriend (He Wasn’t Last Night)” in 1994.

Read our posts on MeShell here.

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Octavia St.Laurent (1964-2009), Musician

Octavia was a transgender singer and a performer you may recognize from her appearance in the 1990 documentary Paris is Burning.

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Tracy Chapman, Musician

Tracy Chapman is a shy genius. Her 1988 debut album went multi-platinum and Chapman is credited with ushering in “a new era of singer/songwriters that lasted well into the ’90s” with “liberal politics [that] proved enormously influential on American college campuses in the late ’90s.” The album garnered four Grammys, including Best New Artist, and snagged Chapman a huge gig: performing at Nelson Mandela’s 70th birthday party. Her next big success happened in 1996 with her album New Beginning and its hit single “Give Me One Reason.”

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Donna Kate Rushin, Poet

Donna Kate Rushin is a poet whose work has been widely anthologized — including “The Bridge Poem” from This Bridge Called My Back — and also composes the book The Black Back-Ups.

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Staceyann Chin, Writer / Activist / Performing Artist

Staceyann Chin is as legendary for her prose — like her memoir The Other Side of Paradise and work published in The New York Times, The Washington Post and her pregnancy blog on The Huffington Post — as she is for her activism and her legacy as a spoken-word poet. She was a major voice at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and on Russell Simmon’s Def Poetry Jam and also appeared in her own off-Broadway one-woman shows and taught workshops worldwide. You can read more about The Other Side of Paradise on our list of 10 Novels & Memoirs By and About LGBQ Black Women.

Read our posts on Staceyann Chin here.

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Alexis Hornbuckle, WNBA Basketball Player

Basketball player Alexis Kay’ree Hornbuckle was named a WBCA All-American in high school and awarded Most Valuable Player for the 2004 WBCA High School All-America Game. She went on to graduate from the University of Tennessee, where she had played for two NCAA Championship teams, to be drafted by the Detroit Shock in 2008. She set a WNBA franchise record with seven steals in 19 minutes in her first game, and helped bring the Shock to the 2008 WNBA championships. She’s since played for The Tulsa Shock and the Minnesota Lynx and currently plays for the Phoenix Mercury.

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Aneesa Ferreira, The Real World: Chicago and Real World/Road Rules Challenges (MTV)

Ferreira was the first out lesbian woman of color on The Real World when she was cast in its 2002 season. The daughter of a Caucasian Jewish mother and an African-American Muslim father, many viewers related all-too-familiarly to Ferreira’s conflicts with her mother, who didn’t accept Ferreira’s sexuality. She also hosted an Autostraddle Pride Party with Road Rules Alum Rachel Robinson.

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AZ Marie Livingston, Model

Born in Louisiana, Ashley Marie Livingston grew up in Minneapolis with her mother and her gay father, who were divorced but “best friends.”  Growing up, Livingston was teased for being a tomboy. On a trip to Los Angeles with her Dad at age nine, she got interested in modeling, and would eventually drop out after three semesters at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater to move to Los Angeles and pursue her dreams. From 2009 to 2011, she worked as a runway model in LA and New York, appearing on BET’s Rip the Runway and in London Fashion Week. She appeared in the film Precious and The Jacksons: A Family Dynasty. But it’s likely you know AZMarie from her 2012 stint on America’s Next Top Model: British Invasion, and her subsequent role on the homolicious teevee show DTLA.

Read our posts on AZ Marie here.

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Cheryl Dunye, Filmmaker

Cheryl Dunye is “the lesbian Spike Lee,” according to Newsday, and she’s also “a big fucking deal” according to anybody who knows anything about queer cinema. She’s had an extensive career as a filmmaker and within academia. She’s taught at UCLA, Pomona, The New School, California Institute of the Arts and Temple. She’s also the woman behind the groundbreaking lesbian film The Watermelon Woman, which snagged best feature at film festivals including L.A’s Outfest. She’s released four feature films, won numerous awards and prestigious grants, and seen her work screened at festivals internationally. She’s directed 13 films, including the 2012 epic queer porn flick Mommy is Coming and a story in 2013′s Valencia: The Movie, based on the book by Michelle Tea.

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Darlene Garner, Clergyperson / Activist

The co-founder of the National Black Coalition of Lesbians & Gays, Garner speaks nationally on LGBT religious issues and was ordained as Metropolitan Community Church clergy in 1988. She and her partner Candy Holmes were married in the Human Rights Campaign building in Washington DC in 2010.

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Coral Smith, The Real World: Back to New York & RW/RR Challenges (MTV)

After her appearance on The Real World, during which she and housemate Malik Cooper engaged in really challenging dialogue with her ignorant racist roommate ‘The Miz,” Coral went to work at a rape crisis center. She appeared in a number of Road Rules/Real World Challenges over the next several years, as well as Battle of the Network Reality Stars and Camp Reality. Smith was not out while on The Real World, but in a 2007 interview with OUTlook magazine, she said she was “venturing toward my lesbian qualities. It’s been a long time coming.” In 2013 she had a daughter, Charlie Beatrice. According to Coral’s Twitter, she is “down with gay Pride, Animal Activism, Reality TV and The Truth.” She tumbles at thatcoral.tumblr.com.

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E. Denise Simmons, Politician & Activist

In 2008, E. Denise Simmons became the first openly lesbian African-American mayor in the United States when she took the helm in Cambridge, Massachusetts. She is currently serving her seventh two-year term on the Cambridge City Council.

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Ebony Haith, Model

Haith appeared in the first season of America’s Next Top Model, becoming that show’s first openly gay contestant. She has continued modeling since her appearance on the show. In 2007, she showed up in Esquire Magazine as “Hostess of the Year” while working at Los Dados in New York. In 2012, she told Mz Mahogany Chic, “Once I saw myself on the show, I knew I was present. It was no longer that no one could see me. There’s no way you can’t see this 5 foot 10 bald black girl walking down the street. I no longer had to fight to be seen. It didn’t matter what my opinions were of Tyra or the show, I felt so proud that I was chosen as a black woman to represent New York on the show.”

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Felicia “Snoop” Pearson, Actress / Author / Rapper

Felicia “Snoop” Pearson is best known for her role as Felicia “Snoop” Pearson in The Wire. She’s the author of a memoir, Grace After Midnight, and was featured on the song “It’s a Stick Up” with Tony Yayo and Mazardi Fox.

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Fiona Zedde, Writer

Zedde is a Jamaican-born writer nominated for a 2005 Lambda Award for her debut novel, Bliss.

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Gloria Bigelow, Comedian

As described on globigelow.com, “Gloria Bigelow is a refreshing new comic who doses out humor in bite sized chunks—easy for the listener to swallow but realness nonetheless.” Furthermore, “With issues of sexuality, race, and gender at the forefront of her work she has become a favorite and a “one to watch” on the national comedy scene.” She has performed her stand-up worldwide, all over the television, was recently featured in Wanda Sykes’ HERLARIOUS and was a cast member of AfterEllen’s “Cherry Bomb.”

Gloria was in Autostraddle’s It Gets Better Video!

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HIT UP PAGE TWO FOR SO MANY MORE LGBTQ BLACK WOMEN YOU SHOULD KNOW!

The Radtastic Black Lesbians Who Changed LGBT History and Our Lives

Black History Month started in 1926 as “Negro History Week,” centered around the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass, and then expanded into Black History Month 50 years later during the nation’s bicentennial. Black History Month speaks to our need to preserve the lived realities, achievements and culture of black people in the United States who have seen our humanity obliterated by white supremacy for generations. This month, we seek to restore self-value and pride to oppressed communities while also hoping to correct some distorted histories.

When President Gerald Ford officially recognized the month of February as Black History Month in 1976, he encouraged Americans to “seize the opportunity to honor the too-often neglected accomplishments of black Americans in every area of endeavor throughout our history.” But all areas within that culture have not been covered equally by the dominant culture. And because historically marginalized communities often imitate the same hierarchies in dominant cultures, so despite Black leaders championed the cause of uplifting Black communities through retellings of our experiences, the holiday legitimized the experiences and realities of the most socially acceptable members of African American communities — like those of Black cis-hetero men — while silencing other narratives. And of course said dominant culture does the same, and always has.

Often excluded from Black History? Black lesbians, womanists and lesbian-feminists. Obviously I’d say these lesbians were important to Black History simply because I think lesbians are always important, but my personal bias aside, these women provided serious contributions to political liberation movements and ideology. Understanding and respecting black history means examining these Black lesbians’ political and community work. So without further ado, let’s meet some bomb-ass Black lesbians and their organizations.

The Combahee River Collective

In 1974, a group of Black lesbian-feminists in Boston, Massachusetts gathered together to form a seriously queer union of women dedicated to challenging systems of oppression in a multifaceted way. They named themselves the Combahee River Collective after Harriet Tubman’s military campaign where she freed over 750 enslaved people. (Notably, this 1863 Combahee River Raid was the only military campaign designed and executed by a woman in US history.)

The Combahee River Collective set out to dismantle sexism, racism, heterosexism (or the privileging of heterosexual relations, behaviors, and dynamics), and classism, employing what we can call today “intersectionality”. The historical context of this group’s formation is key to understand the members’ decision to organize themselves into a collective with certain goals in mind. The 60s and 70s saw a lot of movement and organizing within historically marginalized communities, but these communities did not always take into consideration the perspectives of members more socially disadvantaged than others. The women who ultimately participated in the Combahee River Collective were fed up with the racism in white feminist movements, the sexism in anti-racism and Black nationalist movements, and the disregard for issues related to sexual orientation and class in Black feminist movements, such as the National Black Feminist Organization (NBFO). It was at a New York regional meeting of the NBFO that author Barbara Smith and other delegates began doing the work to build Combahee, although initially their intent was just to form a Boston chapter of NBFO. But the more work they did, the more they realized the need to strike out on their own. In these women’s efforts to explore the different injustices they faced, the Combahee River Collective created an alternative space to explore what happens when you really hit the oppression jackpot. These Black lesbian-feminists got right down to business in their “consciousness raising” meetings and by April of 1977, they had published a group Statement. In their Statement, they refused to ignore the implication of their Blackness solely to gain access into white feminist movements. Here’s the first paragraph:

We are a collective of Black feminists who have been meeting together since 1974. [1] During that time we have been involved in the process of defining and clarifying our politics, while at the same time doing political work within our own group and in coalition with other progressive organizations and movements. The most general statement of our politics at the present time would be that we are actively committed to struggling against racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppression, and see as our particular task the development of integrated analysis and practice based upon the fact that the major systems of oppression are interlocking. The synthesis of these oppressions creates the conditions of our lives. As Black women we see Black feminism as the logical political movement to combat the manifold and simultaneous oppressions that all women of color face.

They also acknowledged they can and must fight alongside Black men against racism, but also challenge Black men’s misogyny and sexism without assuming some kind of guilt for “betraying” their men. Most radically, they rejected political economic systems that preserve capitalism and imperialism at the particular expense of people of color. They held retreats in the Northeast, inviting black feminists to bring “copies of any written materials relevant to Black feminism—articles, pamphlets, papers, their own creative work – to share with the group… [to] foster political stimulation and spiritual rejuvenation.” After subsequent retreats, women were encouraged to publish in journals like Heresies, Frontiers and Conditions. Famously, in 1979 a Combahee member named Chirlane McCray published an article called I Am a Lesbian in Essence Magazine — McCray is currently married to New York City mayor Bill DeBlasio (we talked a little bit more about that here).

Although the organization disbanded by 1980, in its work, The Combahee River Collective changed the game in a really important way. The Collective believed that focusing political work on Black women, especially queer Black women, was a key to social liberation because the liberation of a group so disadvantaged on multiple levels would necessitate the liberation of all peoples. This idea that multiple identities create nuances in people’s life experiences that can compound or complicate the oppression those people face helped to give birth to the way we approach identity politics today. The Collective complicated the framework for political activism in the 1960s, and a lot of modern, social justice initiatives adopt and continue to adopt the Combahee River Collective’s approach, even 40 years after the group’s formation.

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African Ancestral Lesbians United for Social Change (AALUSC)

The AALUSC began as an offshoot of an offshoot of an offshoot… of a couple more offshoots. To find the roots of this group, we must go back all the way to the Stonewall Riots in 1969. After the police raid at Stonewall Inn that sparked a number of protests in response to the persecution of LGBT folks, many advocacy groups assembled to address the needs with various LGBT communities. Only weeks after the Stonewall Riots, queer activists organized the Gay Liberation Front (GLF), a group that advocated for destroying social institutions in order to liberate queer people. Before GLF’s quick demise in 1972, members of the group split off and formed the Gay Activists Alliance (GAA), an organization that wanted to focus on the single issue of securing basic human rights, freedoms, and dignities for homosexual people. From GAA came the Black Lesbian Caucus in 1974, who again splintered and changed their name to the Salsa Soul Sisters, Third World Wimmin Inc Collective. Salsa Soul Sisters is the oldest Black lesbian organization in the US.

Until 1990, Salsa Soul Sisters invited both Black women and Latina women, but it transitioned into an exclusively Black lesbian organization. Today, the group uses the name, “African Ancestral Lesbians United for Social Change.”

The AALUSC provided an alternative for Black women (and Latinas, pre-1990) to the lesbian bar-scene that had discriminated against lesbians of color in the past. It also focused on empowering Black women through their similar experiences while also encouraging Black women to embrace their differences. Continuing its legacy of offshoots, the AALUSC has given life to new groups such as the African Ancestral Society of Butch Women, Young Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender Two-Spirit Women of Color, and Lesbian Parents. Where the Combahee River Collective influenced political rhetoric, the AALUSC touched upon the psychic and spiritual experiences of lesbians of color and tended to those community needs. The AALUSC definitely understands that spiritual uplift can facilitate a community’s ability to tackle oppression and enact social change.

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Presses and Publications

Many of these politically conscious Black lesbians understood that histories are most validated when documented. Literature and the written word are often the basis by which we define how legitimate a history is. As a result, it comes as no surprise that many of these Black lesbians assembled publishing companies and presses as a way to produce and distribute stories and memoirs that mainstream companies would not view as marketable or worthy of attention. For example, the aforementioned Salsa Soul Sisters published a quarterly periodical for Black and Latina lesbians called, “Azalea: A Magazine by Third World Lesbians.” The publication prided itself on its resistance to dominant cultures’ tendency and need to assess the worth of something through an arbitrary measurement of worth. Likewise, Salsa Soul Sisters also published “Salsa Soul Sisters/Third World Women’s Gay-zette” in the 1980s and formed another offshoot called the “Jemima Writers Collective” so that Black women could share their work with one another and negotiate damaging self-images.

Moreover, encouraged by the fabulous queer matriarch, Audre Lorde, Barbara Smith started “Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press,” which reached across nationalities, ages, sexual orientations, socioeconomic classes and racial/ethnic heritages to engage the writings of other women of color — especially queer women of color — in conversation with one another. The press managed to publish works such as This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, Home Girls: A Black Feminist Anthology. and Audre Lorde’s I Am Your Sister: Black Women Organizing Across Sexualities, which have now become important literary staples in higher education coursework. Not to mention that Kitchen Table Press became an advocacy group on top of its literary relevance!

Think back to your elementary school education during Black History Month. Did your read about Martin Luther King Jr. through the most sanitized narratives of his work? Was good ole’ Abe Lincoln a hero? Did the story ever change as the years progressed? Black History is not perfect; it often erases people and communities that are not as easily contained, explained away, or changed in an attempt to be more valid in the lens of white society. Just because Black lesbians often aren’t mentioned during Black History Month all the time does not mean that they did not influence and even transform Black and non-Black liberation practices. As this Black History Month winds down, let’s remember that reclaiming histories is not a one-shot deal. We must always work against the silencing that mainstream and dominant cultures attempt to enforce on marginalized realities. Let’s take time to be thankful for these lesbians who kept it queer and kept it real.

10 Novels & Memoirs By and About Black Lesbian, Bisexual and Queer Women

It’s Black History Month, which means there’s no better time to put together a reading list of books by black women who love women and then read all the books on that list throughout all the months of the year. Now, there are heaps of black LGBQ women renowned for their poetry (e.g., Pat Parker, Cheryl Clarke) or for fiction that doesn’t include LGBQ themes (e.g., Octavia Butler, Sapphire) but today we’re gonna look at lesbian, bisexual, queer or otherwise-identified women who wrote novels or memoirs about women who enjoy the romantic company of other women. Share your favorites in the comments!

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1. Loving Her, by Ann Allen Shockley (1974)

Jewelle Gomez has compared the experience of reading Loving Her  to “reading The Well of Loneliness for the first time as teenagers and realizing there were ‘others’ out there.” Loving Her, published in 1974 — the same year the Combahee River Collective was formed — is considered by many to be the first African-American novel containing explicitly lesbian themes. The book tells the story of Renay Lee, who leaves her alcoholic husband for a wealthy white lesbian writer named Terry. Alice Walker says Loving Her “enables us to see and understand, perhaps for the first time, the choices certain women have made about how they will live their lives, and allows us glimpses at physical intimacies between women that have been, in the past, deliberately ridiculed or obscured.”

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2. The Color Purple, by Alice Walker (1982)

Bisexual author and activist Alice Walker’s The Color Purple has become a movie, a musical, and an American legend, earning a 1983 Pultizer Prize and The National Book Award for Fiction as well as an esteemed spot on the American Library Association’s 100 Most Frequently Challenged Books of 2000-2009. The novel, told in epistolary style through the voice of the protagonist Celie, tackles all the hard stuff like rape, abuse, poverty and Southern racial politics, and also features a transformative same-sex relationship between Celie and the stunning blues singer Shug Avery.

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3. Zami, A New Spelling Of My Name, by Audre Lorde (1982)

Radical feminist Audre Lorde created the term “biomythography” to describe her 1982 book Zami, a format which “weaves autobiography, cultural history, and myth– recreating the way we experience ourselves as creatures of a living web, in a story much greater than the scope of our imagination.” Both the genre and her work has inspired countless women of color to tell their own stories. The story begins with Audre’s childhood in Harlem, eventually relocating itself throughout New York and in Mexico through a turbulent and confusing time in the LGBT, Civil Rights and feminist movements. In addition to telling a vivid and compelling story in stunning prose, Zami also provides a fascinating glimpse into the history of lesbian feminist activism in New York through the lens of a black lesbian who would eventually become one of the most influential activists of our time.

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4. The Gilda Stories: A Novel, by Jewelle Gomez (1991)

Described as “a very American odyssey,” Jewelle Gomez‘s double Lambda Award winner tells the 200-year story of Gilda, who escapes from slavery in the 1850s and is eventually inducted into a family of “benevolent vampires.” As the Lambda report wrote in 1991, “A black lesbian vampire who began life as a slave and got her education in a whorehouse is not your typical heroine.”

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5. Coffee Will Make You Black, by April Sinclair (1994)

“Bisensual” activist and author April Sinclair’s 1994 bestseller tackles a plethora of tough topics (including bisexuality and sexual fluidity) in Coffee Will Make You Black, summed up by The Los Angeles Times as the story of “a teenage girl in civil rights-era Chicago wrestl[ing] with popularity, bullies, Christian piety and a fluttering of lesbian feelings for her school nurse.” Jean “Stevie” Stevenson deals with heterosexist and racist messages that attempt to chip away at her evolving self-worth as she grows up. A biographer notes that “Sinclair’s own childhood experiences may have had an influence on the book’s themes of feminism, sexuality, and race.” Sistahs on the Shelf writes of re-reading the novel, “Sinclair has crafted a novel that 10 years later, still resonates with the little black girl in all of us.”

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6. In Another Place, Not Here, by Dionne Brand (1997)

This novel about two Caribbean women “who find brief refuge in each other on an island in the midst of political uprising” was described by Catherine Bush at The New York Times as “passionate in its attention to emotional nuance and visual detail… [it] weds beauty and a fierce intelligence in a work that offers a syncretic and multiple sense of place.” Brand, who is also a prolific poet and non-fiction writer, was honored as Toronto’s third Poet Laureate in 2009. Born in Trinidad but having lived in Canada since 1970, Brand’s work explores themes of feminism, inequality, racism and sexuality.

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7. The House You Pass Along the Way, by Jaqueline Woodson (1997)

Lesbian writer Jacqueline Woodson is an award-winning author of books for children and adolescents. The House You Pass Along the Way is the story of 14-year-old Evangeline Ian Canan, better known as “Stagerlee,” the middle of five children born to a black father and white mother. Her father’s family had disowned her family after their son married a white woman, but they return when her father’s sister dies and his other sister sends her adopted daughter, Trout, to live with the Canans for the summer. Stagerlee’s attempts to come to terms with her own sexuality and her crush on her friend Hazel are further complicated when Trout turns out to also be gay. Woodson proudly writes “about adolescents for adolescents” and is known for her optimism — she likes books that give the reader hope.

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8. The Salt Roads, by Nalo Hopkinson (2003)

Junot Diaz calls this book by Jamaican-Canadian sci-fi/fantasy writer Nalo Hopkinson, “A book of wonder, courage and magic… an electrifying bravura performance by one of our most important writers.” The novel ties together four stories of four different women, hopping through genres and time periods and consistently defying expectations of how stories are told. “There was perhaps no coherent plot arc, but with some books, it just doesn’t matter,” writes Danika at The Lesbrary. “It didn’t need one. It was about ideas, about the people. I really liked it, and I recommend it to anyone who is looking for queer literature featuring women of colour (or more accurately, literature with WoC that also has queer content).”

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9. The Other Side of Paradise, by Staceyann Chin (2009)

The memoir of renowned spoken-word artist and activist Staceyann Chin is the story of a strong, self-determined woman growing up in Jamaica and eventually leaving her home for a new life in New York City. Felicia Pride of The Root writes that the book “is harrowing and inspirational, redemptive and liberating, and it’s relayed with the same gusto, depth and sharpness that she exuded on stage that first time I saw her perform.” Nitra Wisdom of Elixher says, “It is easy to see how the issues of colorism, sexism, religious oppression and classism that showed up in her childhood shape her politics as an adult. They are the foundation on which Staceyann’s justifiable and rightly-placed anger is built.”

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10. The Summer We Got Free, by Mia McKenzie (2013)

Our reviewer Moya endorses Black Girl Dangerous founder Mia McKenzie‘s novel about a “wild young girl and a brilliant artist” whose family (and world) is rocked by a violent event, setting off a seventeen-year feud with their community, thusly: “Only a Black Queer woman could have written this book and gotten her characters free as McKenzie does. You will undoubtedly see the influence of Morrison, Butler, Bambara, Baldwin, and so many others in McKenzie’s writing style.” The Summer We Got Free was awarded the 2013 Lambda Literary Award for LGBT Debut Fiction. Dawn Robinson at the Lambda Literary Report describes the novel as “simultaneously critical social commentary, ghost story, murder mystery, and queer love story.”