About us
Every day, because of misogyny, racism, homophobia, and transphobia, queer and trans people of color feel the sting of rejection to the point that many of us have become numb to it. Instead of succumbing to an existence that takes up less space, we have become louder and prouder in our fight: not only for ourselves, but for other queer folks and people of color. One of the ways queer and trans people of color have responded is by expressing ourselves creatively. We have done this throughout history using mediums such as literature, art, music, poetry, fashion, and film to explore themes of social justice. Whether a safe space was formed inadvertently from this creative expression, or whether it was intentional, it is clear that these spaces are imperative to protecting our humanity.
Because many queer spaces are consistently occupied by white and cis people, being involved in these homogenized spaces is challenging, to say the least. To combat this discomfort, we are faced with two choices — either find “our people,” and stay in a circle of familiarity within the larger gathering, or mingle with the majority and feel the pressure of having to put on a facade or put up a protective wall. Both of these options, while they may be the safest under the circumstances, cultivate feelings of repression and inferiority.
Being queer or transgender does not in and of itself make someone privy to understanding the experiences of other marginalized groups. White members of the LGBTQ community who don’t understand this simply cannot empathize and often mistakenly attempt to compare all oppressions to each other. When it comes to the ignorance of another marginalized communities, defending ourselves can be exhausting. Writer Ashleigh Shackelford expresses this sentiment best when she says “...it wasn’t worth educating these particular white queer folks because it was labor that came at the cost of my mental health.” Marginalization is multifaceted and complex, therefore white LGBTQ communities are rarely equipped to handle matters of race.
This lack of attention can also be witnessed in Black cishet spaces. Sharing the background of being Black in a world controlled by white supremacy isn’t enough to foster a collective connection when discussions of race don’t simultaneously address gender, sexual orientation, and other intersections. With such limitations, Black queer and trans people’s identities are invalidated and we are forced to censor who we are. We need unique spaces for those at multiple identity intersections because spaces that are not explicitly attentive to queer and trans communities of color can be an assault on our emotional well-being.
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