In a book called The Jazz Story (Prentice Hall, 1964), the author, Dave Dexter, Jr., had this to say about the music of [jazz bassist] Charles Mingus: "[He] composes and plays music that is often understandable to no one but himself."
Such music, you would think, would be difficult if not impossible to choreograph to. But Loris Anthony Beckles of the one-year-old Blue Mercury Dancing Company has managed to do just that. The 12-member multi-ethnic group performed these, and other works, at the Theatre of the Riverside Church on April 22, 24, and 26 [1987]. The program was in tribute to what would have been Mingus's 65th birthday (he died in 1979).
The longest of these pieces, "Eclipse," ran about 30 minutes. It featured a series of solos by the dancers using a lot of abstract movements and patterns beginning with the dancers parading around the stage backwards with their arms folded across their eyes. All of this movement is accompanied by polyrhythmic drumbeats. In this piece, the dancers put on a great display of energy and agility.
Like all of the Beckles choreography performed at TRC, there is the absence of a storyline: the audience must be willing to bring its imagination to the theatre. Beckles prefers this. "I'm not interested in telling a story," says the 33-year-old native of Guyana. Dance, he continues, can be enjoyed for the beauty of the movement and its celebration of the human form.
One of the most strikingly beautiful dances created by Beckles is "SheKing," inspired by Coretta Scott King, who represents "an elegant black woman in bereavement." The six women, in black gowns that seemed to float in the air with every movement, were placed in my mind in some ancient civilization, perhaps Egypt. Leonora Stapleton, who has a solo here, exhibited a queenly presence.
The only piece that had a more clearcut storyline is Michael Vernon's somewhat erotic but memorable "Changing Opinion," with haunting music by Philip Glass. Two males (Beckles and Tyrone Aiken) and a female (Stapleton) are cast. It is the tale of a romantic triangle in which one of the males emerges victorious. Much of the action takes place on a wooden bench with the female situated symbolically at the center. The men, especially Aiken, gave a strong performance. Stapleton, on the other hand, came off rather nonchalant.
Ray Tadio's "The Moon in Libra" and "Dear Giovanni" I found uninteresting, except for the solo jazz piano scores that accompany each dance.
Although these young dancers were a bit awkward at times, they nevertheless deserve high marks for having the guts and stamina to take on the demanding task of dancing to Mingus's cerebral music.
This article was originally published in the New York Amsterdam News (May 23, 1987).
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
Fighting Homophobia Within Law Enforcement
In 1983 the Gay Officers Action League (GOAL) was twice turned down for membership by the New York Police Department-sponsored Police Groups's Brotherhood-in-Action, a fraternal law enforcement umbrella organization. It was later disbanded by then-police commissioner Benjamin Ward because of its rejection of GOAL on the basis of sexual orientation.
Most recently, GOAL has encountered similar bigotry in its attempt to join the five-year-old Committee of Police Societies (COPS), made up of 21 ethnic, religious, and honor groups.
Although GOAL has traditionally been supported in its membership efforts by the Guardians Association (African-American officers) and the Hispanic Society, three other COPS groups have joined the cause: the Viking Association (Nordic officers), the Policewomen's Endowment Association, and the Shomrim Society (Jewish officers). All five have threatened to drop out of COPS if GOAL is rejected.
Said one source, a member of one of the affiliated organizations, to New York Newsday: "Every society in COPS has gay members. They don't want their membership money spent on a group that discriminates against some of their members."
Although it's "great" having allies, admits GOAL co-founder and executive director Sam Ciccone, "that's not going to determine what our action is going to be. We're taking this on. We're not asking anybody else to take it on with us."
As things stand now, GOAL is "waiting for a response from [COPS]," says Ciccone. "We have requested application last year [November 1989] and still have not been accepted. But they haven't refused us yet."
COPS, founded in 1985, was set up to provide members with a forum to discuss job-related issues as well as to promote brotherhood and understanding.
However, brotherhood and understanding become empty words when it comes to the immediate admission of GOAL into the fold. Art Strier, COPS's attorney, in comments to Newsday, has gone so far as to call into question GOAL's legitimacy as an "organized, recognized fraternal" organization in the eyes of the NYPD.
Sam Ciccone fires back: "That's bullshit!" It's COPS, not GOAL, that is not recognized by the department. He also asserts that the NYPD "doesn't have any regulations as to what is a group or not." Despite Strier's comments, the department records do indicate that GOAL (with its 300-plus membership) is recognized by the NYPD and has been since 1983, one year after its founding by Charles Cochran and Ciccone, both now retired. As far as Ciccone is concerned, it comes down to one thing: many of the members of COPS are "bigots."
According to GOAL and NYPD estimates, between 2,800 and 3,000 officers on the New York police force are gay or lesbian.
Says Ciccone of GOAL: "We're a very unique fraternal organization. We span every culture, every race, every gender. How could we not?"
This article was originally published in the Philadelphia Gay News (December 21, 1990).
Most recently, GOAL has encountered similar bigotry in its attempt to join the five-year-old Committee of Police Societies (COPS), made up of 21 ethnic, religious, and honor groups.
Although GOAL has traditionally been supported in its membership efforts by the Guardians Association (African-American officers) and the Hispanic Society, three other COPS groups have joined the cause: the Viking Association (Nordic officers), the Policewomen's Endowment Association, and the Shomrim Society (Jewish officers). All five have threatened to drop out of COPS if GOAL is rejected.
Said one source, a member of one of the affiliated organizations, to New York Newsday: "Every society in COPS has gay members. They don't want their membership money spent on a group that discriminates against some of their members."
Although it's "great" having allies, admits GOAL co-founder and executive director Sam Ciccone, "that's not going to determine what our action is going to be. We're taking this on. We're not asking anybody else to take it on with us."
As things stand now, GOAL is "waiting for a response from [COPS]," says Ciccone. "We have requested application last year [November 1989] and still have not been accepted. But they haven't refused us yet."
COPS, founded in 1985, was set up to provide members with a forum to discuss job-related issues as well as to promote brotherhood and understanding.
However, brotherhood and understanding become empty words when it comes to the immediate admission of GOAL into the fold. Art Strier, COPS's attorney, in comments to Newsday, has gone so far as to call into question GOAL's legitimacy as an "organized, recognized fraternal" organization in the eyes of the NYPD.
Sam Ciccone fires back: "That's bullshit!" It's COPS, not GOAL, that is not recognized by the department. He also asserts that the NYPD "doesn't have any regulations as to what is a group or not." Despite Strier's comments, the department records do indicate that GOAL (with its 300-plus membership) is recognized by the NYPD and has been since 1983, one year after its founding by Charles Cochran and Ciccone, both now retired. As far as Ciccone is concerned, it comes down to one thing: many of the members of COPS are "bigots."
According to GOAL and NYPD estimates, between 2,800 and 3,000 officers on the New York police force are gay or lesbian.
Says Ciccone of GOAL: "We're a very unique fraternal organization. We span every culture, every race, every gender. How could we not?"
This article was originally published in the Philadelphia Gay News (December 21, 1990).
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Gays Are Black, Too
In the black community, homosexuality is a very controversial subject. So much so that the thought of having a relaxed and meaningful conversation with a gay person is as unthinkable as shaking hands with the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan.
Writes Shelby Sankore: in Players magazine: "Homosexuality of any kind seems to find less acceptance among Afro-Americans than other groups in this country." This negative attitude is largely based on a host of myths and stereotypes that have been perpetuated for decades.
Because of this attitude, the gay black youths I spoke with have not revealed their gayness to their families. (I've been told of cases where kids have been thrown out of the house after announcing to their parents their feelings for members of their own sex.)
A 20-year-old male college student told me, "I've never mentioned it to my mother because I have an uncle who's gay and my mother doesn't like him at all. She's turned off by it. But I don't fear being thrown out. She's very attached to me. That's why I know she would never throw me out. She would worry too much. But she would make my life miserable if I were to tell her."
This article is intended to encourage, in the words of Dr. June Dobbs Butts, an assistant professor of psychiatry at the Howard University College of Medicine, the emergence in the black community of "men and women who respect one another for the ways in which we are alike as well as the ways in which we are different. Only then will we understand that our sexual similarities outweigh our sexual differences." (The emphasis is hers) For the record, Dr. Butts identifies herself as heterosexual.
Above all else, gays are part of the human family. Whether we agree with their lifestyle is unimportant. We should concern ourselves with the content of the person's character, not what he or she does in the bedroom--and with whom.
To paraphrase a National Gay Task Force pamphlet, if the person is loving and responsible today, he'll be that way tomorrow. His gayness changes nothing, except perhaps our attitude toward him.
I'm not saying I have no misgivings about some aspects of the gay lifestyle. I do. But so do the young gays I spoke with. For example, they disapprove of those gays who are into sado-machischism. They disapprove of man/boy relationships. One of them is totally opposed to cruising and prefers "a monogamous relationship. One to one."
The point is, we should be willing to allow people the freedom to choose how they will live their lives--without fear of slurs, violence, and discrimination. So long as they are forcing their lifestyle on others, why should we care?
It should be acknowledged that none of us can say for certain whether we would ever engage in a homosexual affair, just as none of us could say for certain whether we would resort to cannibalism if we found ourselves stranded in some frozen wasteland with no other food source.
Says Truman Capote, "People are whatever they are under different circumstances, under whatever particular pressures there are."
Dr. Dorothy Harris of Penn State echoes Capote's sentiments: "Circumstances and basic human need have a lot to do with your behavior at a particular time."
It is estimated that gays represent anywhere from 10 to 13 percent of the population. No one can be sure since there are gay people who have escaped detection by masquerading as straight people. But what if we discovered that a close friend was gay. In what ways would this alter the friendship? Would it make Jenny or Joe any less the person we've come to know and trust? Think about it.
And while you're thinking, consider this thought from Dr. Butts: "...Our minds cannot function when we are gripped by fear." Once we overcome this fear and see others as people first--be they homosexual , heterosexual, bisexual, or celibate--it will go a long way toward breaking down barriers to communication.
This article was originally published in the Oregon Journal in Portland (August 15, 1981).
Note: It was syndicated nationally by the Los Angeles Times to replace Andrew Young's column. Young had to give up his column when he ran for mayor of Atlanta. The L.A. Times editor was initially reluctant (homophobic?) to send this column out because Andrew Young never wrote about homosexuality in the black community in any of his columns.
Writes Shelby Sankore: in Players magazine: "Homosexuality of any kind seems to find less acceptance among Afro-Americans than other groups in this country." This negative attitude is largely based on a host of myths and stereotypes that have been perpetuated for decades.
Because of this attitude, the gay black youths I spoke with have not revealed their gayness to their families. (I've been told of cases where kids have been thrown out of the house after announcing to their parents their feelings for members of their own sex.)
A 20-year-old male college student told me, "I've never mentioned it to my mother because I have an uncle who's gay and my mother doesn't like him at all. She's turned off by it. But I don't fear being thrown out. She's very attached to me. That's why I know she would never throw me out. She would worry too much. But she would make my life miserable if I were to tell her."
This article is intended to encourage, in the words of Dr. June Dobbs Butts, an assistant professor of psychiatry at the Howard University College of Medicine, the emergence in the black community of "men and women who respect one another for the ways in which we are alike as well as the ways in which we are different. Only then will we understand that our sexual similarities outweigh our sexual differences." (The emphasis is hers) For the record, Dr. Butts identifies herself as heterosexual.
Above all else, gays are part of the human family. Whether we agree with their lifestyle is unimportant. We should concern ourselves with the content of the person's character, not what he or she does in the bedroom--and with whom.
To paraphrase a National Gay Task Force pamphlet, if the person is loving and responsible today, he'll be that way tomorrow. His gayness changes nothing, except perhaps our attitude toward him.
I'm not saying I have no misgivings about some aspects of the gay lifestyle. I do. But so do the young gays I spoke with. For example, they disapprove of those gays who are into sado-machischism. They disapprove of man/boy relationships. One of them is totally opposed to cruising and prefers "a monogamous relationship. One to one."
The point is, we should be willing to allow people the freedom to choose how they will live their lives--without fear of slurs, violence, and discrimination. So long as they are forcing their lifestyle on others, why should we care?
It should be acknowledged that none of us can say for certain whether we would ever engage in a homosexual affair, just as none of us could say for certain whether we would resort to cannibalism if we found ourselves stranded in some frozen wasteland with no other food source.
Says Truman Capote, "People are whatever they are under different circumstances, under whatever particular pressures there are."
Dr. Dorothy Harris of Penn State echoes Capote's sentiments: "Circumstances and basic human need have a lot to do with your behavior at a particular time."
It is estimated that gays represent anywhere from 10 to 13 percent of the population. No one can be sure since there are gay people who have escaped detection by masquerading as straight people. But what if we discovered that a close friend was gay. In what ways would this alter the friendship? Would it make Jenny or Joe any less the person we've come to know and trust? Think about it.
And while you're thinking, consider this thought from Dr. Butts: "...Our minds cannot function when we are gripped by fear." Once we overcome this fear and see others as people first--be they homosexual , heterosexual, bisexual, or celibate--it will go a long way toward breaking down barriers to communication.
This article was originally published in the Oregon Journal in Portland (August 15, 1981).
Note: It was syndicated nationally by the Los Angeles Times to replace Andrew Young's column. Young had to give up his column when he ran for mayor of Atlanta. The L.A. Times editor was initially reluctant (homophobic?) to send this column out because Andrew Young never wrote about homosexuality in the black community in any of his columns.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
A Young Brooklyn Choreographer Has His Say
"I'm dancing," says Brendan Upson, a Brooklyn-based dancer/choreographer, "because I have something to say."
Recently [in 1987], in the "New Territory" performance series at BACA/Downtown in Brooklyn, he got the opportunity to have his "say." Two of the three pieces that night had definite social messages.
The first of the dances, "Stay Here and Keep Watch With Me," a male solo (Upson), is about a man's spiritual awakening. At one point, as he sits down in a metal folding chair, he mocks religion by lip syncing the soprano chanter on the soundtrack. But after life's adversities have beaten him down, he sees that the last laugh is on him. It is a very compelling piece, energetically performed.
The second work, an improvisation called "Energy Spot," showcased a group of teens from the El Puente Community Center in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. The press release describes "Energy Spot" as depicting "how an individual is blocked from attaining her true potential because of the fears which bind her." However, I came away with the impression that these 11 bodies represented atoms interacting with one another. The El Puente dancers have great potential, although I would like to see the females shed a few pounds; the added weight breaks the flow of movement. I didn't particularly like this work. The dancers crisscrossed the performance space numerous times, making no clear statement. It became so tedious that I was glad when it ended.
Upson was wise to save the best for last. "Delirium Tremens," a satirical piece for four people, good-naturedly explores alcoholism. Upson, displaying a comedic talent, was cast as the alcoholic husband and father. As the lights went up, his head was resting on a portable TV dinner tray, shot glass nearby. His family vainly attempted to rouse him from a drunken stupor. Eventually his dependence on alcohol causes him to wind up in a detox unit. While there he encounters the dreaded "pink elephants," a sign that he is having the D.T.s [convulsions and hallucinations]. The other three dancers, who played his family members, were also the pink elephants, dressed humorously in pink and gray costumes, sunglasses, and elephant trunks. Leslie Arlette Boyce gave a standout performance as Upson's no-nonsense wife.
The piece is appropriately accompanied by New Orleans honky-tonk style music. Although the piece at times can be stereotypical in its portrayal of alcoholic behavior, Upson should be commended for dealing with such a serious subject, the comic touches notwithstanding. Fortunately, Upson knows how far to go. Those comic touches do not turn into slapstick. I was not, sad to say, clear on whether the Upson character licked his problem.
This article was originally published in the New York Amsterdam News (February 20, 1988).
Recently [in 1987], in the "New Territory" performance series at BACA/Downtown in Brooklyn, he got the opportunity to have his "say." Two of the three pieces that night had definite social messages.
The first of the dances, "Stay Here and Keep Watch With Me," a male solo (Upson), is about a man's spiritual awakening. At one point, as he sits down in a metal folding chair, he mocks religion by lip syncing the soprano chanter on the soundtrack. But after life's adversities have beaten him down, he sees that the last laugh is on him. It is a very compelling piece, energetically performed.
The second work, an improvisation called "Energy Spot," showcased a group of teens from the El Puente Community Center in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. The press release describes "Energy Spot" as depicting "how an individual is blocked from attaining her true potential because of the fears which bind her." However, I came away with the impression that these 11 bodies represented atoms interacting with one another. The El Puente dancers have great potential, although I would like to see the females shed a few pounds; the added weight breaks the flow of movement. I didn't particularly like this work. The dancers crisscrossed the performance space numerous times, making no clear statement. It became so tedious that I was glad when it ended.
Upson was wise to save the best for last. "Delirium Tremens," a satirical piece for four people, good-naturedly explores alcoholism. Upson, displaying a comedic talent, was cast as the alcoholic husband and father. As the lights went up, his head was resting on a portable TV dinner tray, shot glass nearby. His family vainly attempted to rouse him from a drunken stupor. Eventually his dependence on alcohol causes him to wind up in a detox unit. While there he encounters the dreaded "pink elephants," a sign that he is having the D.T.s [convulsions and hallucinations]. The other three dancers, who played his family members, were also the pink elephants, dressed humorously in pink and gray costumes, sunglasses, and elephant trunks. Leslie Arlette Boyce gave a standout performance as Upson's no-nonsense wife.
The piece is appropriately accompanied by New Orleans honky-tonk style music. Although the piece at times can be stereotypical in its portrayal of alcoholic behavior, Upson should be commended for dealing with such a serious subject, the comic touches notwithstanding. Fortunately, Upson knows how far to go. Those comic touches do not turn into slapstick. I was not, sad to say, clear on whether the Upson character licked his problem.
This article was originally published in the New York Amsterdam News (February 20, 1988).
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
From Haiti To New York: An Interview With Assotto Saint
At the age of 26, Yves Francois Lubin, known in the theatre as Assotto Saint, is a man blessed with many artistic gifts. He writes plays or what he prefers to call "theatre pieces," sculpts, paints, dances, and sings.
It's his belief that "art can transform people," that "art has to be political...that the artist has to be an activist, politician, preacher."
He has written, thus far, three plays. One of them, Risin' to the Love We Need was reviewed by the Amsterdam News critic Lionel Mitchell. "This is a play," wrote Mitchell, "about black gay men and aside from its obvious roughness, it pulls no punches." Another critic, Robert Chesley of the New York Native, had this to say: Lubin "uses language that is frequently very beautiful, and there are some very moving moments in the play."
Lubin came to this country in 1970 with his mother from his native Haiti. He is the product of a well-educated, upper middle class family. While his mother was living in Europe, Lubin was being raised by his grandparents and aunts. "From a very early age,"he says, "I liked boys. I was surrounded by macho men all over and nobody tried to change me.I don't know why. I have so many cousins. About 25, 26 cousins, and we used to play together. I used to always be the bride. I always wanted it. I give my family credit that they let me become who I was. [His family may have been tolerant of his effeminacy, but neighborhood kids were not. They would often call him "massici," the Creole word for "sissy." Even today, Lubin admits to having "effeminate ways."]
Lubin is light-skinned, has a small, well-trimmed mustache, and wears his hair moderately short. Despite his 13 years in America, he still speaks with a heavy Haitian accent.
Charles Michael Smith: You call your plays theatre pieces. What is the difference?
Yves Francois Lubin: They don't necessarily have a beginning, middle or ending. They don't have to have a structure. They're broader.
CMS: Do all of your plays--or theatre pieces--deal with being gay?
YFL: Especially with being black and gay in America in 1983. Certain people in my family felt I was limiting my talent to work only with gay art.
CMS: Do you write for a specific audience?
YFL: I write for everybody. I deal with black gay issues because my art right now is an answer back. It's a reaction. The world is still fucked up and why not have it coming from a different perspective and see it from there?
CMS: What do you draw on for your characters?
YFL: From my fantasies, from people I've known. Mostly all my characters are composites of friends. My "Miss Thing" [an excerpt from Risin', published in Blackheart 1: Yemonja] was definitely based on a real person, Marcia Johnson, a [black] transvestite who used to be very active in the gay movement.
CMS: What writers influenced you?
YFL: James Baldwin used to be a big influence in my life. Pablo Neruda nurtured me, really nurtured me. Anne Sexton also. I'm one of those confessional [writers], letting it all out there, bleeding, very melodramatic. I wish I could restrain myself. I'm one of those people who are sometimes too open for their own good. Sometimes you have to leave a little bit for the imagination, a little bit for suspense.
One of the things I realize, especially from gay writers, is that we have to stop dealing with cock and cocksucking and deal with other issues that may not be fashionable for gay writers to deal with, like the nuclear issue. People feel that when a black leader like Jesse Jackson speaks, he has to deal only with civil rights. Bullshit. You're a human being, you're living in 1983, in the United States. You're paying taxes. You should involve yourself in all kinds of issues.
CMS: I am told that Haiti is a playground for American gay men. How much difference is there between Haitian gay life and American gay life?
YFL: It's night and day. Most Haitians you see who are gay in Haiti are prostitutes, though there is a Haitian gay life. There are celebrated artists who are gay. But gays have no power in Haiti--although I've been told that there are a few highly positioned gays in this present [Baby Doc's] government. I don't know. Whenever I go to Haiti, I go there to relax and to just lay down from all that's happening in New York.
If you're an American going to Haiti, you will not have problems. But if you're gay [and Haitian] in Haiti, you will have problems. American money is being sold in Haiti. Being an American is being a god; it means money. You can do whatever you want, whether you're gay or not. But if you're gay and Haitian, that's different: there's homophobia you have to deal with. You're a pariah in that society.
This article is an excerpt from an interview that was published in the New York Native in 1984. The interview took place in his apartment in the Chelsea section of Manhattan.
It's his belief that "art can transform people," that "art has to be political...that the artist has to be an activist, politician, preacher."
He has written, thus far, three plays. One of them, Risin' to the Love We Need was reviewed by the Amsterdam News critic Lionel Mitchell. "This is a play," wrote Mitchell, "about black gay men and aside from its obvious roughness, it pulls no punches." Another critic, Robert Chesley of the New York Native, had this to say: Lubin "uses language that is frequently very beautiful, and there are some very moving moments in the play."
Lubin came to this country in 1970 with his mother from his native Haiti. He is the product of a well-educated, upper middle class family. While his mother was living in Europe, Lubin was being raised by his grandparents and aunts. "From a very early age,"he says, "I liked boys. I was surrounded by macho men all over and nobody tried to change me.I don't know why. I have so many cousins. About 25, 26 cousins, and we used to play together. I used to always be the bride. I always wanted it. I give my family credit that they let me become who I was. [His family may have been tolerant of his effeminacy, but neighborhood kids were not. They would often call him "massici," the Creole word for "sissy." Even today, Lubin admits to having "effeminate ways."]
Lubin is light-skinned, has a small, well-trimmed mustache, and wears his hair moderately short. Despite his 13 years in America, he still speaks with a heavy Haitian accent.
Charles Michael Smith: You call your plays theatre pieces. What is the difference?
Yves Francois Lubin: They don't necessarily have a beginning, middle or ending. They don't have to have a structure. They're broader.
CMS: Do all of your plays--or theatre pieces--deal with being gay?
YFL: Especially with being black and gay in America in 1983. Certain people in my family felt I was limiting my talent to work only with gay art.
CMS: Do you write for a specific audience?
YFL: I write for everybody. I deal with black gay issues because my art right now is an answer back. It's a reaction. The world is still fucked up and why not have it coming from a different perspective and see it from there?
CMS: What do you draw on for your characters?
YFL: From my fantasies, from people I've known. Mostly all my characters are composites of friends. My "Miss Thing" [an excerpt from Risin', published in Blackheart 1: Yemonja] was definitely based on a real person, Marcia Johnson, a [black] transvestite who used to be very active in the gay movement.
CMS: What writers influenced you?
YFL: James Baldwin used to be a big influence in my life. Pablo Neruda nurtured me, really nurtured me. Anne Sexton also. I'm one of those confessional [writers], letting it all out there, bleeding, very melodramatic. I wish I could restrain myself. I'm one of those people who are sometimes too open for their own good. Sometimes you have to leave a little bit for the imagination, a little bit for suspense.
One of the things I realize, especially from gay writers, is that we have to stop dealing with cock and cocksucking and deal with other issues that may not be fashionable for gay writers to deal with, like the nuclear issue. People feel that when a black leader like Jesse Jackson speaks, he has to deal only with civil rights. Bullshit. You're a human being, you're living in 1983, in the United States. You're paying taxes. You should involve yourself in all kinds of issues.
CMS: I am told that Haiti is a playground for American gay men. How much difference is there between Haitian gay life and American gay life?
YFL: It's night and day. Most Haitians you see who are gay in Haiti are prostitutes, though there is a Haitian gay life. There are celebrated artists who are gay. But gays have no power in Haiti--although I've been told that there are a few highly positioned gays in this present [Baby Doc's] government. I don't know. Whenever I go to Haiti, I go there to relax and to just lay down from all that's happening in New York.
If you're an American going to Haiti, you will not have problems. But if you're gay [and Haitian] in Haiti, you will have problems. American money is being sold in Haiti. Being an American is being a god; it means money. You can do whatever you want, whether you're gay or not. But if you're gay and Haitian, that's different: there's homophobia you have to deal with. You're a pariah in that society.
This article is an excerpt from an interview that was published in the New York Native in 1984. The interview took place in his apartment in the Chelsea section of Manhattan.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Surviving The Trauma Of Foster Care
About Courage by Mickey C. Fleming (Holloway House, Paper)
In his autobiography, About Courage, Mickey C. Fleming, a black gay man from Washington, D.C., relates the story of the evening he sat in a friend's home and revealed, over a glass of Riunite wine, his childhood experiences while in foster care. His friend exclaimed: "You have a great story to tell. You should write a book!" Fleming, at first rebuffed the idea with the remark: "I'm not a celebrity."
It's true , 99 percent of the autobiographies and biographies published each year are by or about the famous. To be quite honest, if this book had not been sent to me for review, I probably would have given it scant, if any, attention. Not because it dealt with foster care--an important and timely subject--but because its author, an unknown, was dropped in our midst without any introduction. After all, it's asking a lot to expect people to plunk down $2.95, plus tax, to read the life story, or confessions, of someone you never heard of.
In fact, while reading About Courage, I kept wishing that Fleming, who spent virtually all of his childhood in foster care, had introduced himself in the pages of a magazine, say Essence magazine's annual men's issue, rather than in a 224-page book. Despite all of the ups and downs in his 33 years, there still isn't enough compelling material here to warrant a lengthy retelling. A 2,000-word magazine piece would have been more fitting. His life as an absurd, self-hating, confused, and rebellious gay adolescent isn't really all that remarkable. Aside from giving current foster kids the feeling that they too can rise above their situation as well as providing them with a resilient role model (he goes on to college, later landing a job as an electrical draftsman), About Courage otherwise doesn't offer any profound insights into the foster care system or the foster child. As a reader, it stirred no outrage in me. In fact, it would have been better if he had written about the Washington, D.C.-based orphanage, Junior Village, where he had spent some time as a child. (It was closed in 1973, after 26 years in existence, writes Fleming, "because of an alleged history of abuse of the very children it was designed to help.") All we're offered really is a succession of horror stories: his sexual victimization by the older boys at the orphanage, the on-the-job harassment of him by male co-workers because of his sexuality, his reunion with his mentally ill mother (strangely this episode is twice recounted--in Chapters 1 and 17, in almost identical words), his eviction from an apartment he shared with a resentful, irresponsible heterosexual couple who misuse the rent money he's given them.
Despite a few flaws in the book, it is clear that Mickey Fleming has writing talent. It will be interesting to see what his next book, if there is to be one, will be about. I hope it won't be a sequel. I also hope he'll use his own photo for the dust jacket and not a model's. If, in the words of one of the characters in the book, he and pop singer Prince "could pass for brothers," why the subterfuge?
This article was originally published in the Chicago-based gay and lesbian publication, Outlines (February 1990).
In his autobiography, About Courage, Mickey C. Fleming, a black gay man from Washington, D.C., relates the story of the evening he sat in a friend's home and revealed, over a glass of Riunite wine, his childhood experiences while in foster care. His friend exclaimed: "You have a great story to tell. You should write a book!" Fleming, at first rebuffed the idea with the remark: "I'm not a celebrity."
It's true , 99 percent of the autobiographies and biographies published each year are by or about the famous. To be quite honest, if this book had not been sent to me for review, I probably would have given it scant, if any, attention. Not because it dealt with foster care--an important and timely subject--but because its author, an unknown, was dropped in our midst without any introduction. After all, it's asking a lot to expect people to plunk down $2.95, plus tax, to read the life story, or confessions, of someone you never heard of.
In fact, while reading About Courage, I kept wishing that Fleming, who spent virtually all of his childhood in foster care, had introduced himself in the pages of a magazine, say Essence magazine's annual men's issue, rather than in a 224-page book. Despite all of the ups and downs in his 33 years, there still isn't enough compelling material here to warrant a lengthy retelling. A 2,000-word magazine piece would have been more fitting. His life as an absurd, self-hating, confused, and rebellious gay adolescent isn't really all that remarkable. Aside from giving current foster kids the feeling that they too can rise above their situation as well as providing them with a resilient role model (he goes on to college, later landing a job as an electrical draftsman), About Courage otherwise doesn't offer any profound insights into the foster care system or the foster child. As a reader, it stirred no outrage in me. In fact, it would have been better if he had written about the Washington, D.C.-based orphanage, Junior Village, where he had spent some time as a child. (It was closed in 1973, after 26 years in existence, writes Fleming, "because of an alleged history of abuse of the very children it was designed to help.") All we're offered really is a succession of horror stories: his sexual victimization by the older boys at the orphanage, the on-the-job harassment of him by male co-workers because of his sexuality, his reunion with his mentally ill mother (strangely this episode is twice recounted--in Chapters 1 and 17, in almost identical words), his eviction from an apartment he shared with a resentful, irresponsible heterosexual couple who misuse the rent money he's given them.
Despite a few flaws in the book, it is clear that Mickey Fleming has writing talent. It will be interesting to see what his next book, if there is to be one, will be about. I hope it won't be a sequel. I also hope he'll use his own photo for the dust jacket and not a model's. If, in the words of one of the characters in the book, he and pop singer Prince "could pass for brothers," why the subterfuge?
This article was originally published in the Chicago-based gay and lesbian publication, Outlines (February 1990).
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Beautiful African Men
Anyone who doubts the beauty of the African male should check out the YouTube video Beautiful African Men which is a series of still photos of men from various African countries (Ghana, Congo, Nigeria, etc.). The photo gallery is set to an uptempo soundtrack. The only celebrities whose names I recognize are actors Boris Kodjoe and Idris Elba. But, famous or not, all the men are worthy of a look. Black is indeed beautiful.
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