On Pride

Native Atlantans know when Labor Day is approaching. Like the revived crisp of autumn, early September blows tens of thousands of Black queers into the city to celebrate what many tote to be the largest Black Gay Pride celebration in the world. If you've ever been in Atlanta during this particularly unique and special holiday weekend, you know all the tell-tale signs, too: Lenox (and now Atlantic Station -- particularly H&M) seems filled to the brim with Black gays & lesbians picking out the perfect complement to their weekend outfits -- be that a man, woman, or article of clothing; Midtown briefly sports a rich sun-kissed hue that must be the product of an instant tan; and Sunday afternoon at Piedmont Park becomes the state's largest adult-rated family reunion.

Yeah, screw Christmas -- Black Pride is the most wonderful time of the year. Where the hell is Bing Crosby with a remix to that song?!

Surely, as a very out and very active gay Black man, I have and do enjoy the celebration of community, life and (temporary) love that is Black Pride. In a world with so few spaces for Black LGBT persons to be affirmed in the beauty of our individual and collective truths, Black Pride has become a flagship festival of Black gay culture and contribution. Black Pride accepts everyone and rejects no one, refraining one from being forced to choose between one's race (as the Black community so often requires of us) and one's sexual orientation/gender expression (as the gay community so often expects of us). Black Pride allows Black queer persons to, for at least a weekend, reconcile our dichotomous identities and relish in the divinity of our unique existence and experience.

Black Pride is as important to the Black LGBT community as the 4th of July is to America -- for many of us, Labor Day weekend serves as our Independence Day.

And for everything that Black Pride is, I often find myself disenchanted and ambivalent towards the celebration. I mean, Black Pride is fine and all, but I often wonder what I'm to be proud of: How is my pride in being a good Black gay man demonstrated or symbolized in the mostly salacious, tawdry and exploitative activities that comprise the weekend? How does the propagation of internalized homophobia, heterosexism, heteronormativity, patriarchy, internalized racism and colorism, femmephobia, and dozens of other intersected oppressions speak to the ideal of who I'm supposed to be or ascribe to? While there is a lot of good and positive in the Black LGBT community to be lauded, I've often felt like that line-item report pales in comparison to the challenges we face.

So I spend Black Pride straddling the fence -- coming close enough to the flame to feel it's warmth and truly capture it's beauty, but standing far enough back to see the fire for what it is and protect myself from being burned by it's insipid heat. I think the reality boils down to something like this:

Being a gay Black man of integrity, character, and substance makes me proud -- Black Pride does not. And that's okay, because Black Pride is not for me.

I've been proud.