Black, Gay Group Bridging Divide

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Michelle Obama received loads of praise last month when, at an event for gay Democrats, the potential first lady said, “We are all only here because of those who marched and bled and died, from Selma to Stonewall, in the pursuit of a more perfect union.”

The “Selma” of which Mrs. Obama spoke refers to a 1965 march in Selma, Alabama, when police beat back civil rights activists trying to march to Montgomery as a protest to a black teenager’s shooting. The event immediately became known as Bloody Sunday. The “Stonewall” of which Mrs Obama spoke, of course, refers to the Stonewall Rebellion of 1969, widely seen as the launch of the contemporary gay rights movement. With that geographical reference, Obama sought to – and succeeded in – linking the civil and gay rights movements. The crowd – and the press – went wild, but not everyone agrees with Obama’s optimism.

Racism and homophobia, some believe, are so completely and utterly different that drawing a comparison between the two amounts to a mortal political sin. That’s a perfectly reasonable argument. Race and sexuality have exceedingly divergent histories in the United States, and thus result in entirely different emotional experiences. White people can’t understand anti-black sentiment anymore than straight people can comprehend homophobia.

Black, gay people have felt both, of course, which puts the National Black Justice Coalition in a precarious position.

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[Gay and civil rights activists have both come to blows with coppers.]
Straddling the civil and gay divide, the DC-based non-profit hopes to bridge the divide between the respective rights movements. And, in many ways, they are succeeding. In the mere four years since its founding, the NBJC has collaborated with big-wig groups like the NAACP, HRC, the Gay and Lesbian Task Force, dozens of churches and the Congressional Black Caucus. Despite these successes, the NBJC’s evolution hasn’t been without its hiccups, says Executive Director H. Alexander Robinson, “I think that our inability or our unwillingness to compartmentalize our experience as African-Americans from our experience as gay and lesbian people has caused some tension.” If those tensions can be eased, however, the NBJC and its allies could change the face of the American political landscape.

The National Black Justice Coalition’s seeds took root in those fearsome years leading up to the 2004 presidential election, a time when anti-gay wedge politics dominated the national agenda. Marriage became the hot button topic and everyone seemed to have an opinion on the matter, but not everyone was getting equal time. Frustrated by the dearth of gay, black representation in the arena – and even more so by conservative black churches’ collusion with the right wing – a group of dedicated activists, led by journalist Keith Boykin, came together to discuss their mutual challenges. And, as Robinson explains, the meeting put a daunting task into even greater relief.

At the time, it was really more of an initiative than an organization – an initiative to put forth a greater voice and visibility. It became very clear once it started that there were a wide range of issues that needed to be addressed. Establishing the organization was a way of accomplishing those tasks.

The nascent NBJC’s scope couldn’t simply cover marriage rights, nor were religious debates sufficient – although there would be plenty of both. They needed a wider net. Hate crimes, racism, homophobia, trans rights – all and more must be addressed. These issues of course required specific – and timely – actions, but the group also adopted a more universal, historically successful approach to opposition.

Of all the group’s leaders, it is perhaps religious outreach and constituency director Sylvia Rhue who most concisely articulates the NBJC’s core philosophy. Rhue, who traces her activist roots back to a chance encounter with Martin Luther King, Jr, explains:

We’re always reaching out to people who may not be on our side culturally or theologically. A persuasive argument has to come from the heart. It has to be spontaneous, because then it’s more authentic. We just talk about the truth of our lives and that’s really profound enough sometimes. Your personal experience can’t be refuted.

Nor can reality. And the reality of their situation – and resources – required the National Black Justice Coalition to live up to the latter part of their name, a task easier said than done.

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Regardless of race, gay marriage activists want the same thing: a white wedding.
While there were certainly black and gay activists who had no problem understanding the NBJC’s mission, others weren’t so in-tune. Many of the group’s presumed allies scoffed at their inclusive objective. Not surprisingly, some black organizations wondered why race couldn’t be the sole activist focus, while gays failed to grasp NBJC’s issue advocacy and racialized centrality. These conflicts are most evident, says Robinson, in the NBJC’s fights against hate crimes, which come in myriad shapes and colors:

When we have focused on issues that take a particularly racial angle, for example, our work on hate crimes and biased crimes – they can hate crimes about race, or issues around the criminal justice system – we have been pushed from activists in the gay community, saying “Well, you’re supposed to be a gay organization, these aren’t black, gay issues,” insisting that we are sister or ally groups. Many of these issues to them are not “gay.”

Jasper Hendricks, who heads NBJC’s political arm, echoed Robinson’s remarks, specifically citing the shooting death of Sean Bell, a black man shot down by New York City police the night before his wedding. NBJC joined other black rights groups in pushing for prosecution. The cops were eventually acquitted.

Robinson also lamented an apparent preference among gay rights coverage, specifically with regard to the deaths of Lawrence King and Simmie Williams, Jr. The former was shot in school, while Williams, black and dressed in drag, died on the street. Both were shot, yet the lighter-skinned King’s slaying took the national spotlight. Those stories, however gruesome, are only a drop in the bucket – and most go unnoticed, says Robinson. When asked whether he felt racism influenced gay groups and media’s energies, Robinson replies, “Racism exists,” but later offers further explanation:

There certainly were instances where we felt that there was a lack of recognition for the need of the organization or the differences we had on policies – no, on priorities and cultural messaging. I think more so than outright racism, there were racial disparities, whether you’re talking about issues around funding or efforts to help us on issues pertaining gay and lesbian people of color. All of that makes being able to grow a sustainable effort in the community a challenge.

Despite the various challenges, NBJC grew at an exceptional rate, forming alliances with groups on both sides of the perceived racial divide, such as HRC, the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, queer inclusive Metropolitan Community Church, the Black Justice Forum, and the NAACP. Meanwhile, in terms of religious outreach, Rhue has built sustainable bridged between MCC, Unity Forum and other religious organizations, including polytheistic groups, like Buddhist and Hindu organizations.

As mentioned above, the group has also formed a political arm, the NBJC Action Fund. Realizing their limitations – they’ve only got about 15,000 members and an annual budget of about $400,000, a little less than half the NBJC’s – the Fund works largely at the local level distributing legislative alerts, insuring voters have proper identification on election day and, also, have set up an online voter registration. They’ve also endorsed Keisha Waites, who’s running for a Congressional seat in Georgia.


[The late great Marlon Riggs’ 1989 movie Tongues Untied was meant to, he said, “shatter the nation’s brutalizing silence on matters of sexual and racial difference.”]
While one would assume the NBJC would back Barack Obama, the first black man with a real shot at the White House, the group refuses to make a presidential endorsement. Communications director Herndon Davis explains, “You tend to box yourself in one corner if you endorse someone over someone else. I think remaining neutral brings more bargaining power, rather than if you endorse one candidate over another.” They have, however, been in communication with all the campaigns, including the independent candidates, but Hendricks wouldn’t give any details on their communications.

Robinson, who once worked on Hillary Clinton‘s LGBT team, did offer some thoughts on Obama, with whom Robinson spoke after the Donnie McClurkin scandal. You’ll recall that the Obama campaign came under serious fire last fall when they invited anti-gay McClurkin to appear on the Senator’s gospel tour. Robinson – and many, many others – weren’t impressed and asked Obama to rescind the invitation. The candidate did not, instead asking a gay preacher man to join the fun and later talking gay rights with the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, the same church Dr. King once attended.

The activists definitely didn’t approve of Obama’s McClurkin decision, even Robinson’s derision contains admiration:

Strategically, when it came to that particular incident, we had a disagreement on the way in which the choices that he made, but I agree that tactically we have to listen to both sides and have conversations with those who vehemently disagree with us, because it is only through our willingness to have those conversations that we’re going to make a change.

Though inherently different, when boiled down to the nitty-gritty, race and sexuality are essentially the same: they’re social categories, one of mankind’s most enduring traditions. Thus, the NBJC doesn’t simply want to fight racism and homophobia. It wants to erase them entirely. Said the Action Fund’s Hendricks, “Once we eliminate racism and homophobia, there will be no need for these categories. Our goal is to eliminate those things entirely.”

Sure, progress comes one step at a time, but can come a whole lot faster when we’re all stepping together, whether it be in Selma, on Christopher Street or in your own back yard – although all those feet would be hell on your grass. But, you know, we all have to make sacrifices.

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