Love the One You're With (12 page)

Since then he's worked to raise the morale of the rank and file, not to mention the group's profile (and, in the process, his own). Because just about all of us were born in, raised in, and still reside in a Black community, Ras felt the only way to ensure that our communities can know us, respect us, and love us as ourselves is if they
see
us. And the best way to show we are not only a part of the community but that we
are
the community was to represent at citywide functions and events, such as the African-American Day Parade, held each September in Harlem. As you can imagine, there was a
lot
of resistance to this. Unlike others apprehensive about joining the contingent, my biggest fear wasn't being verbally or physically assaulted by other marchers or the public (although that
was
a concern given that no openly gay group had marched in the parade before)—it was Pooquie. Since he and his family live in Harlem, he was convinced someone would see me and his cover would be blown. Naturally, he didn't want me to march and gave me the silent treatment—verbally and physically—when I refused to drop out of it (it lasted six days).

But Pooquie had nothing to worry about (if I was spotted by anyone, they haven't spilled the beans), and neither did the eighteen other members who decided to march. Although we did receive a few quizzical stares, our participation was welcomed (one woman, who had set up a little barbecue hut in front of her brownstone, gave all of us free dinners for our courage; turned out she had recently lost her son to AIDS). We also signed on nine new members. It was a jood lesson for all of us: Don't underestimate your own people.

Ras also moved the meetings from the gay and lesbian community center in the Vill to the Marcus Garvey House in Harlem; had a bylaw passed banning white men from meetings and running for office (a couple of Caucasians have threatened to sue for “reverse discrimination,” but since the group is a private organization, they wouldn't prevail in a court of law); and got rid of the Brotherhood symbol—a rainbow flag in the shape of Africa—and changed it to a black-and-white profile of two brothers in silhouette, locked in an embrace. This new Afrikan-centered shift has strained our relations with other groups. The Brotherhood and the multiracial, multiethnic Color Blind Queers (CBQ) used to be “sister” organizations (an alliance that, to some observers, made the Brotherhood more of an extension of CBQ than a group with its own identity, particularly given that some white CBQers felt they had the “right” to participate), but that all changed when they asked us to join a “boycott” of a bar called Wing Dixie because of their racist “carding” of Black clientele (while whites are granted automatic entry, we're expected to produce anywhere from one to four pieces of identification, depending on the mood of the doorman that night). Ras laughed in their faces (“We have more important things to fight for than the right to have access to the playpens of white gay men to be their toys”), arguing that the real problem is not getting into white establishments but how we are treated inside (and outside) of them. As he stated in an article about the bar's unspoken but well-known policy that ran in
The Rainbow Times
, a weekly lesbigay newspaper in the city: “Why is it that a white gay man who sits at a bar alone is a paying customer but a Black Same Gender Loving man is a customer who wants to be paid—as in
hustler
? It is insane for any Black man to
beg
Caucasian queers to take our money so they can either exoticize or criminalize us.” After rebuffing their call for support and dismissing their efforts in print, CBQ (which Ras often refers to as the ABSQ—the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Snow Queens) has been more than cool toward us (which suits him just fine).

And now, with Ahmad's visit, the Brotherhood would receive the type of validation Ras had been chanting for (he's a Buddhist). The group had never hosted such a “mainstream” (i.e., Black heterosexual) figure in its eight-year history, and it was somewhat historic—reporters from the New York
Amsterdam News
and the
Village Voice
were in the house. Ras hopes the exposure will encourage other Black leaders to open up and nurture a dialogue with Same Gender Loving people (and he's already laid the groundwork for that by inviting the Reverend Al Sharpton to be on a panel to discuss that very topic in April).

Above all else, Ras would finally get to present to an audience of his peers (well, I'm sure we're viewed more like his pupils) the man whose political leanings and cultural ideals helped fashion his own. And to prove just how special this evening was, he didn't show up in one of his usual revolutionary war T-shirts (i.e., free mumia, free geronimo pratt, i demand my 40 acres & a mule) and blue jeans but a maroon turtleneck, black pleated corduroy pants, and black leather monkstraps. And the silver hoop he often wears in his left ear was gone (this fashion decision no doubt influenced by Ahmad, who frowns down on men and women adorning themselves with jewelry). After preliminary announcements, Ras took the floor—and was he in his glory. We knew what was coming first: “We are very luck' to have with us tonight the
honorable
Brother Ahmad Khan …” And then, he went on for almost five minutes, recounting how he came across Ahmad's work and how it has changed his life (as if ninety-five percent of the people in the room didn't already know). Gushing and grinning as if Ahmad were a movie star, he stepped aside and took a seat not three feet away from him, his eyes glued to him during the entire presentation.

For a forty-eight-year-old, Ahmad is very well preserved. He favors Keith David, the actor: tall, thick, bald-headed, and incredibly sexy. His advice on how we can claim our own throne really came down to common sense: have faith in a Higher Power; respect yourself and your brethren (and sistren); keep those around you who feed your mind and spirit; know and celebrate your people's history so you can truly create and live your own. He used his own life as an example, tracking his journey to self-discovery. He didn't recount the harassment and violence he encountered as a Black Panther from the government, nor his being railroaded by the system (he was framed by white policemen, had a district attorney try him who was more concerned with being reelected than with seeking justice, was represented by an ineffective white defense lawyer, convicted by a white jury, and sentenced by a white judge), with any bitterness. He couldn't denounce all white folks: he has a few to thank for his being released (a team of lawyers raised the funds to get a DNA test done and it cleared him).

However, he did warn us about falling for the white man's game—and the white man himself, calling an attraction to Caucasians “unhealthy and unnatural.” While I would be the
last
person to support Black men and white men being together, I don't think desire is something you can will or wish into being; it just is. While it can be impacted by different factors (and there is a difference between being attracted to a person and having a fetish for the group they belong to), it is more internal than external. For Ahmad, though, it's not the attraction itself that is dangerous but the “delusion of inclusion” we as Black folks too readily accept, thinking the white people we have relationships with couldn't possibly harbor white-supremacist tendencies. As he put it, “So long as people who call themself white have white-skin privilege, they cannot be allowed the privilege of sampling us.”

Yeah, this went over well with the audience, especially Ras, who threw his hands up as if to say
Amen
. He's convinced that if you find
any
white person attractive, you have accepted, as Meshell NdegoOcello would put it, “the white racist standard of beauty.” I think his obsessive preoccupation with not seeing Black men with white men (he's gone so far as to answer personal ads placed by brothers looking for white men, “pass” as white, and, when he met them in person, blast them for being so self-hating) might have something to do with his nonrelationship with his own father. When asked about him, he gave an answer that closed the door on the subject forever: “He's white. He lives in Chicago. And I haven't spoken to him in eight years.” I've wondered why he disowned him—or whether that shoe is on the other foot (he's the youngest of five and Daddy might not like his only son being a homo). Ras didn't appreciate my being so inquisitive (it's the reporter in me) about the basis of his theory but decided not to attack me to my face. I'm sure he's the one who started the rumor that I have or am presently dating a white man (it ain't none of these folks' business who I was or am seeing and I tell them so—but in a polite way). You ask a question and you're suddenly sleeping with the enemy …

When Ahmad touched on our lives as Same Gender Loving men, thank God he didn't attempt to appease us with a story about how he came across many of our kind behind bars (although I bet he had many of those stories to tell). He admitted his ignorance around issues pertaining to SGL people but a willingness to learn. And, since he wasn't very specific about it in any of his books, I looked forward to hearing his thoughts on homophobia—and I have to admit that it did surprise me when he testified it is very much alive and well in Black America. (Mind you, I didn't say
Black homophobia;
I don't believe in couching Black people in the negative, and that's what monikers such as this that purport to describe our behavior do.) Ras doesn't believe it exists
at all
. As he argued: “When was the last time you ever heard of one of us being killed by a brother or sister because of who we love?” Granted, there may not be many documented cases of it, but such crimes
have
happened. And denying that homophobia does exist in Black America and can manifest itself in a way that could lead to violence is just as dangerous as claiming, as some have, that Black people are
more
homophobic (than
whom
, no one ever says). As Ahmad expressed, the trick is getting Black heterosexuals to see how their language and behavior help sustain a culture that is heterosexist at its core and that, if left unchecked, can fuel homophobia. While Ras's body shifted a little during this part, his eyes never left Ahmad.

Overall, Ahmad was an impressive public speaker. He talks exactly the way he writes—clearly, succinctly, and without any air of pomposity or arrogance. Ras could take some cues in this area: he is very long-winded, goes off on tangents, and loves to hear the sound of his own voice.

But then, just before the discussion was opened up to us …

“This is why I encourage all of you brothers to not forget that, even if you are that way …”

Huh? Did he say what I thought he did?

“… the community needs you. While there are many in the community who would and probably have rejected you because you are that way …”

Yeah, he said it.
Twice
.

For much of the night, he used
homosexual, nonheterosexual
, even
Same Gender Loving
a few times (he must've been coached by Ras on the latter).
Gay
never crossed his lips, and Ras was probably behind that, too: since it's a white-constructed label, he strongly discourages us from using it. But
that way
? This really threw me for a loop. One could argue that it really wasn't a big deal; I mean, they're only words, right? You can't expect even the most open-minded or progressive heterosexual to know or get
everything
. But it still bothered me that he would choose such a phrase to describe us. And while I wasn't going to let something like it ruin what had been up to that moment a very positive experience, I had to know why.

Ras asked the first few questions. Given that he was on Ahmad's jock, I knew he wouldn't ask about it. I saw how others reacted to Ahmad's saying the phrase and thought one of them would address it. They didn't.

You know who had to.

I raised my hand. I guess Ras knew I was going to go there: he tried to pretend he didn't see it.

“Well, if there are no more questions …” he began, looking everywhere except in my direction.

Of course, his ignoring me puzzled just about everyone, including Ahmad, since I was seated in the center of the very first row and my hand was the
only
one raised.

“I think Brother Crawford has a question,” said Rasaad Badu, aka Preston Werner, who was seated directly behind me—in two chairs. He's just over four feet tall—and nearly four feet wide. His DSLs (that's Dick Sucking Lips) are his most attractive attributes, and I heard through the grapevyne (Rasaad is the operator on the group's main line) that Ras has been putting those lips to jood use. There are two things on this earth Ras loves—to be worshiped and high-yellow boys (when B.D. attended only his second meeting with me a few months ago, Ras walked around with the most visible hard-on for most of the night—until Babyface showed up and B.D. introduced him as his husband). So he hit the Lotto jackpot with Rasaad. But Rasaad's cultish worship of Ras is frightening. After moving to New York from Cleveland last spring, he saw Ras in action and came back the following week having adopted a variation of Ras's name and volunteering to be his personal assistant (he also started letting his hair grow natural; he wants a headful of short locks like Ras).

But he doesn't just make sure Ras's mail is opened, his schedule is organized, and his pencils are sharpened: he also finds it necessary to come to Ras's aid when others dare to challenge him. Ras can be downright rude, yet Rasaad will overlook his behavior and chastise others for throwing back at him what he dishes out (his favorite line being “That was an
un
principled attack”). He's yet to do it to me; he must know that wouldn't be wise.

Even after his cheerleader acknowledged my hand, Ras was still reluctant to call on me. He halfheartedly nodded in my direction.

I rose from my seat. I turned my attention to Ahmad. “I'd like to thank you for coming to our meeting. You've been very affirming of us as Black
men
. We usually aren't afforded that from heterosexual brothers. To be reminded that we are indeed a part of the community and that we have a rightful place in it …”