Through my work I’m exposed to a lot of different people. Intersectionality is part and parcel to everything I do. But it’s not always my first thought. Because I’m allowed to see the world through the eyes of a white, CIS gendered male, who’s middle aged.
But today, I was distinctly reminded of the fact that intersectionality is more important than ever. And the intentionality behind consciously recognizing it is a requirement. Even more so, the solidarity it takes beyond being an ally is less and less something to be ignorant of.
A young man shared his experience with me today. He’s black, 18, gay, and navigating homophobia, mental abuses, fear, mixed messages, love, care, micro-aggressions, and racism. He imagines the best and the worst for himself. And he holds people at a distance because too many times he’s been disappointed.
I’m not here to be a white savior and have the answers. I was there to listen when he chose to tell his story. And it’s heavy. It’s more burden than any 18 year old should ever be expected to carry.
I’m not sharing his story to exploit him. I’m sharing context so that all of those other queer white CIS gendered folks who might read this during pride month can get a taste of what it’s like to think greater than your personal boundaries. To know that there’s a reason for pride. But there’s also a reason for queer black pride.
Today is Juneteenth. And as this young man told me his story, there was a point where I asked if he knew what today was. That it is Juneteenth. He had never heard of it.
History was erased.
So I explained what it was. He said, “That’s a terrible name.â€
Later I asked him if he’d seen Pose on FX. He wanted to but hadn’t had time. He’s currently focused on leaving a destructive household relationship with his father and an even more destructive relationship with his mother. While he isn’t being forced out of a living situation and his basic needs are met, his emotional support appears non-existent.
He has a boyfriend. And smiles when he talks about him. And for the first time in several months he called him his boyfriend confidently.
See, he had just come out to his father for the second time. And it was “real†this time. He’s claiming what it means to be his own man. He’s navigating what it means to be a black gay man. And he currently has no other role models.
He’s got Pose in his queue. And I’m grateful. Because he’ll now see more black role models. He’s going to see queer and trans role models. He’ll see mistakes. He’ll learn about the ball scene.
He’ll know to search for a House, if he wants, and to build and call on chosen family. He’ll recognize destructive relationships. And he’ll be exposed to loving queer ones. All within a culture I can claim to be distantly related to because we have queerness in common.
Hopefully he’ll learn more about his queer history.
He and I are so very different and so very much the same. Our structures are similar. Discovery, coming out, navigating the world as a man. But our intersectionality has minor comparisons. His cultural experiences are beyond mine. His ability to navigate the world is vastly different than mine.
I don’t know if anything I’m saying is right. I don’t know if anything I’m saying will make a difference. But I do know that I can do my best to ensure that he has the emotional support he needs to carry the burdens he holds onto until he’s ready to release them.
I do know I can keep working to be an ally. I can continue to increase my solidarity in fighting the structural and institutional racism within the processes and cultural norms I am a part of. And I know that I’m a drop in the bucket. But maybe I’ll make a difference in someone’s life.
So what does all this have to do with tarot? Who knows. It’s about being a decent human being. But he does know I read tarot. Maybe he’ll want a reading some day. But right now, he needs someone to listen. So I listen.