During the Spring 2020 semester of college, which will now forever be known as the “COVID Semester”, I had the privilege and opportunity to be apart of the first ever Black Queer Politics class at Howard University. This class was taught by Chair of the Political Science department Dr. Ravi Perry. In this class, Dr. Perry pushed us to sharpen our writing skills exponentially, while taking a deep dive into the complexity of our personal identities. Some of the essays I submitted in this course are some of my proudest works.
Over the past week, I’ve had a tough time finding the words to describe my feelings towards everything going on in the world. I’ve been angry. I’ve been sad. I’ve felt hopeless. I’ve felt inadequate. Throughout this revolving door of emotions, I’ve realized that now, more than ever, how important it is to recognize and affirm Pride Month during a time where we are reminded that protests are vital in shaping any institutional change. Where the freedoms gained from protests or riots are a reminder of what we, as a nation, can fight for and attain. Institutions in our country will not acknowledge our rights or existence as human beings without a fight. Being a Black Queer person, I have to live every day with an understanding that my skin or my sexuality could cost me my life. We have continued to witness senseless police brutality that is taking the lives of countless individuals who should be alive today. George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and many others who have been failed by our country. I am thankful for the work spearheaded at the Stonewall riots by Black Trans women like Marsha P. Johnson & Sylvia Rivera. I am thankful that I have gained the confidence in being myself, unapologetically. I am thankful that I can publish this piece and feel at ease with myself. I am thankful that I remain motivated and able to continue this fight for our lives. I will continue my duty at my intersections during Pride Month as a unicorn with glitter because it’s what needs to be done.
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People like Janet Stovall are not common in the field of Speechwriting. She is both Black and Woman, and she often says she is a unicorn within the industry. As I began spending time with speechwriters, I was provided an opportunity to present in front of a room full of speechwriters, and Janet inspired the beginning of my remarks, “Janet always says she’s a Unicorn. Well, I’m a Unicorn with Glitter because I’m Black and Gay!” The remark received claps and chuckles, but sometimes insecurity and internal fears of my own identity causes me second-guess the positivity of those responses when the majority of the audience is a crowd of cisgender heterosexual white men. However, over those claps and chuckles was a black queer woman, Cheril Clarke, who yelled “THERE’S TWO OF US!”
Public speaking has always held an important role in my life. Being in front of audiences has provided me with ample opportunities to speak before audiences of various backgrounds who are not in tune with the experiences I face due to the various facets of my identity. My identities create an opportunity to leverage who I am to create a better world for people who share components of my identity. Speaking has taught me a lot about advocating for myself, and using my voice as a tool to represent myself in a variety of different arenas. Learning how to speak and advocate for myself became the glue of how I began to understand myself. By articulating who I am to others, I was able to understand more about who I am and how my identity can establish and represent itself as an empowering entity for myself and others.
Being this unicorn with glitter, I think it’s best that I tell this story through three anecdotes. First, I will reflect on my childhood experience of watching and supporting people who look like me, and living life as a baby unicorn. Next, I will describe the learning experience as I grew up and began to understand the intersections of advocacy and my individual agency. Finally, I’m going to sprinkle a bit of glitter as I grow much more comfortable with my queerness, and understanding the importance of being visibly queer to have a positive impact for others.
Growing up, I was taught early on that there was a kinship amongst people who have similar identities. As a child, I often pondered why that might be. Sometimes, it would be my grandmother telling me to root for the Black person while we’re watching Wheel of Fortune. Sometimes it would be the excitement in discovering another Black family on the 1880 census with my grandmother as we conducted research on Ancestry.com. Sometimes, the kinship could be like the experience I had with Cheril, being the only two people from Black & Queer intersections in a room filled to the brim with people. When I read Group Membership, Group Identity, and Group Consciousness: Measures of Racial Identity in American Politics by Paula McClain, McClain provided a unique articulation and difference between two concepts that she defined as group consciousness and group identification. McClain defines Group Consciousness as “in-group identification politicized by a set of ideological beliefs about one group’s social standing.” In contrast, McClain defines Group Identification as “a psychological sense of belonging or attachment to a social group.” McClain’s interpretations helped me understand that there are levels to this shit, that there are definitive terms that provide context to the phrase “all skinfolk ain’t kinfolk”. Initially, I comprehended McClain’s interpretations in a manner that would invalidate both of my familial examples as solely being group identification because the examples lacked politicized consciousness. However, when I further synthesized the information regarding the definitions and my experiences, I came to the conclusion that the identification came from a political consciousness my grandmother held about the support of Black people. I believe that my grandmother holds a politicized view towards Black people, and that inherently gave a deeper meaning to the need for our household rooting for the Black contestant on Wheel of Fortune. While I hold the belief that this type of affinity is politicized, McClain’s interpretation for Group Consciousness emphasizes that the political beliefs within one’s consciousness, “takes the form of a feeling of solidarity among group members”. The people on Wheel of Fortune are people I would never meet, and were not people that we personally knew as a family. However, there was a feeling of community through the TV screen simply because they were Black. Having this unconsciously instilled in me throughout my upbringing presented the opportunity for me to fall in love with the habit of feeling ok with supporting people who looked like me because we might face maltreatment in society simply due to the identity that was inscribed upon our skin.
While Wheel of Fortune was an innocuous experience that taught me how to spell, and began a habit towards supporting Black people, it wasn’t until the summer after my Sophomore year of High School that I began to understand the direct political agency my identity could manifest. While I was not comfortable or in tune with my queerness completely, I was provided with an environment that cultivated opportunities for me to gain enlightenment in regard to the fluidity, power, and importance of Blackness. Learning and understanding the tenets of fluidity and power later helped ease my process in understanding my queerness. I had the privilege of learning how one could use the agency of being Black to act in a political manner to help make an improved world for Black people.
That summer, I attended the Eddie Conway Liberation Institute (ECLI) in Baltimore, MD, and attending ECLI was a privilege in itself. The gravity of the generosity from the organizer of the program, Adam Jackson, only hit me after I graduated High School. I was a High School student who was not working, and coming from a household that was always tight on money. After a close friend attended this camp the year before, he pushed and pushed for me to attend, saying it would change my life. I looked at the price and thought there was no way I would attend, but I applied for the camp anyway. I applied for the camp and began a deep dive into finding Debate Camp scholarships (yes, they exist). I was blessed to receive the Voices Foundation scholarship, but it did not cover the entirety of the costs. My mom was fearful of me flying cross country and it seemed like that was it, I would spend another summer at home and not get to attend this life-changing camp. I received my acceptance to ECLI, but I wrote Adam informing him that I would not be able to afford the camp. He almost immediately called me and picked my brain about how much I loved debate, and he brainstormed any way that I could attend. It was on that call that Adam offered to waive the remainder of the camp’s tuition fee, and offered to fund my transportation to Baltimore, MD. Suddenly, I’m going to Debate Camp in Baltimore, and I’m about to have a life-changing experience that teaches me far more than ways to sharpen my debate skills. To this day I have so much gratitude to Adam and the Leaders of a Beautiful Struggle (LBS) organization, because they truly helped shape who I am today.
I attended ECLI the summer after Freddie Gray was murdered by Baltimore Police Officers. Growing up, I had experienced the reverberative impact of Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown being murdered by vigilantes who acted without regard for young Black life.
Being in the community that was impacted by the premature and preventable loss of one of their own put life into perspective. This could be me, my friends back home, or my family at the camp.
Before ECLI, I had participated in protests, and vividly remember a walk out in middle school wearing hoodies in support of Trayvon Martin. While I knew Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown’s deaths were wrong, unjust, and unacceptable, I had trouble articulating why their murders were so wrong. I had trouble articulating why their deaths were so heartbreaking. tragic, and infuriating to my community. ECLI taught me a praxis that helped me understand that we lived in a world that inherently normalized whiteness, while demonizing blackness. ECLI created a space that centered Black literature and Black people. ECLI taught me that my feelings of anger, hurt, and sadness were not simply visceral emotional reactions towards Black death, but rather my reactions were just, human, and right. ECLI created an environment that helped me develop an understanding of my body and identity to use it in a political manner. It was my summer experience at ECLI that taught me that my body mattered, that my agency was worthwhile, and that using my voice could positively impact countless people.
When I came out to my mother and revealed to her that I was dating my best friend, she reacted in disbelief. She first stressed her yearning for grandchildren, and then accused me of simply wanting to have unprotected sex without the risk of pregnancy. Despite this disbelief, my mother did convey that if I was happy, she would be happy, and that this would take some getting used to on her end. To this day, this reaction continues to make me hesitate at attempting to come out to the rest of my direct family back home. Do I expect a violently homophobic reaction? Absolutely not, I just think there will be negative and off the wall theories about my relationship and sexuality that I simply will not want to deal with. I may live as a fully out Pansexual Man in my personal and professional life in DC, but I am unable to fully commit myself to this lifestyle at home despite the perks of being visibly and openly queer. The perks of being openly queer have brought experiences that are priceless for me in DC. I have been openly and visibly queer, and as a result I have helped facilitate conversations about inclusivity with the university, and assisted with building a coalition of university students that actively work to support Queer students on campus. I have had students greet me telling me that I make them smile through my representation. The power of my visibility as an openly queer student leader at an HBCU is a priceless experience.
I am my own unicorn. With a dash of glitter, I am becoming an individual who is transparent, passionate, and remembering of his agency while ensuring that I continue to advocate for myself and others. Growing up, I benefited from innocent experiences of watching television with my family. As I grew, I was trained at institutions that helped me come into my own. While my growth is far from complete, I am an individual that has grown to live in a position where I can help people. I have become someone that inspires others. I have become someone who truly is an advocate.
My name is Michael Franklin, and I am a Unicorn with Glitter.
References
Mcclain, Paula D., et al. “Group Membership, Group Identity, and Group Consciousness: Measures of Racial Identity in American Politics?” Annual Review of Political Science, vol. 12, no. 1, 2009, pp. 471–485., doi:10.1146/annurev.polisci.10.072805.102452.