I've seen folks reminding White queer people who are critiquing rioters that our Pride movement and celebrations started as a riot led by Black and Brown transwomen (Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera). I think the intent, at the very least, is to get those critics to keep their unproductive thoughts to themselves. I get it, but this message not only lets them off the hook, but it allows them to think that white supremacy, especially through police brutality, is something that happens "over there". So I'm making this post to remind y'all queer white people that my Black body doesn't feel safe in your gayborhood either.
Hopefully, you know y'all have work to do as individuals and a collective, so I use this post to briefly recount an interaction with police I had in Boystown, Chicago. However, if you need a reminder of the anti-racist work to be done by you...
I don't feel safe in your bars...
I don't feel safe in your leagues..
Like the time I heard a ref during our CMSA coin toss comment how the football blended with my hand and wouldn't be able to see it. Met with silence of the other refs and captains around,
I don't feel safe in your orgs...
I don't feel safe at your prides...
White supremacy and racism is systemic, insidious, and pervasive. You are not immune.
Still, I called this meeting to remind you of the threat of police brutality in the gayborhood from my own experience. I'm not going to get into it too much, because frankly I'm exhausted. I have locked away this experience deep inside a vault so that I can function. And just like many other marginalized folks who open up their wounds to teach White folks about the real effects of white supremacy, doing so tears the scab off.
One night in Boystown, I was out with a group of friends of all races and we were waiting in line. It was a rare nice night out in the bleak winter of Chicago so there were long lines and crowds to get in everywhere. I'm really big on respecting people's physical boundary so I did my best to shrink myself and respect the personal space of the strangers in front of me as my friends were behind me. Yet, because of spatial limitations it was almost impossible to do. Due to the close proximity the plainly dressed man in front of my got upset and cursed at me. I replied and asked him, what he wanted me to do given the limits of space. At this time he started to talking down to me, became agitated, and cursed at me more. At this point my friends had started to take notice and were watching as we were closer to the entrance. The man's agitation with me was met by my frustration. And thats when he revealed to me that he was an undercover police officer and threatened to "beat my ass." Luckily, my Black friends who were present, unfortunately, recognized the situation, separated me, followed me, and comforted me as I walked away crying, angry, upset and mostly disappointed. That experience is why I was happy to kick off Pride Month by protesting the murders of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd and white supremacy as a whole in Boystown. Participating in the peaceful protest was a way for me to be empowered in my own healing of this specific wound of white supremacy.