Coming Out When You're Not Gay?

“Are your parents coming to the show?”

 

Someone needs to write a book on how to come out when you’re not gay.  The catalog of books for White folks interested in promoting racial justice grows each day, and there are a some titles geared toward men committed to gender equality.  But where’s the how-to manual for heterosexual people who desire to be allies to LGBTQI community? Such a field guide would’ve come in handy when I served as the dramaturge for Pandora’s, the multimedia off-Broadway show produced by my company Sister Outsider Entertainment.

 

An ambitious production that intersperses ten monologues with seven documentary shorts, Pandora’s sought to bring a higher and more complex visibility to queer Latinas than you might see on, say, The L-Word. The show is the brainchild of its creative director Elisha Miranda who also happens to be my business partner. But E’s also my sister warrior, road dawg, ace coom boom.  In other words, she always has my back, and I always have hers. 

 

 

 

 

When Elisha told me years ago that she wanted to produce a multimedia show about the Latina queer experience and asked if I were dramaturge the monologues, I didn’t hesitate.  If anything, I was honored.  There were several more experienced and critically acclaimed playwrights she could have approached who would’ve jumped at the chance to work with her on Pandora’s (E be magnetic like that.) And that’s why when she asked me if my parents were coming to see Pandora’s when it premiered at Theater Row last month, the simple question reduced me to tears.

 

I hadn’t even told them about the show.

 

One reason I had not told them about Pandora’s is because, in explaining to them why Sister Outsider was “doing a gay show,” I would have to out Elisha.  My parents have come to love Elisha and her husband Alex as if they were their own children.  Although Elisha is openly bisexual and a relentless activist for queer issues, being married to a man often thwarts any consideration that she might not be heterosexual. As open as Elisha is about her sexuality, around certain folks like my parents, Don’t ask, don’t tell was in full effect, and I didn’t feel it was my place to announce her sexual orientation to anyone.

 

I explained this to her when she called and asked if my parents were coming to the Pandora’s premiere.  “Well, girl, you know, I haven’t said anything,” I said while standing in the shoe aisle at the Bruckner Boulevard K-Mart.  “’Cause, like, I’ve noticed in the past that you’ve kinda held back about talking about that when they’re around.”  Like the time we both stayed with my parents at their home in Puerto Rico. While there Elisha was finishing her novella for Juicy Mangos, the erotica anthology we were both writing for at the time.  Hers was about a lesbian who’s haunted by her first kiss. I noticed that when my parents were in earshot, Elisha censored the way she talked about her story, and I took that as a cue that she wasn’t ready for them to discover that aspect of her identity. Indeed, it would be like coming out to her own mother (who I affectionately call Mom2) all over again.

 

 

 

But when I explained this to her, Elisha surprised me by saying, “You know, girl, I know this must be hard on you because you’re single and after what your cousin did to you… I’ve seen how you get targeted in different ways so whatever you decide to do, I’m cool with it.   I support you.” 

 

When we ended our call, I sat there staring at it for a moment, thinking When did this become about me?   I walked shell-shocked out of the K-Mart, leaving behind those cute sandals I had been eyeing.  As I started on my way home, knowing that I would find my father nestled in the living room recliner and switching back and forth between the Yankee game and a Law & Order rerun, the truth hits. 

 

It was about me. 

 

When you’re a perpetually single, unapologetic feminist with a queer best friend (and therefore, run with more lesbians than the average heterosexual, single gal), queer and straight folks alike keep trying to yank you out of a closet you’ve never been in. Sometimes it can be flattering, a sign that you’re walking your anti-heterosexist talk. You’ve succeeded in communicating to queer folks not just with your words but through your actions You’re safe with me.

 

But more times than not, it stings of the homophobia that LGBTQI people have to endure every day.  For example, it becomes an  “explanation” why I go for long periods of time without a relationship (because, you know, it couldn’t possibly be that I have enough self-awareness and esteem to stay single than settle for any man just to be able to prove I can nab one.) For patriarchal men and women alike, it becomes an opportunity to dismiss my feminist ideals as well as a rationale for queer folks whose internalized homophobia is so deep, that despite their demands that straight people get over themselves, acknowledge their heterosexual privilege and become allies, they cannot fathom that someone is genuinely trying to step up and heed their call. 

 

No way.  She must be a closet case. 

 

I’m proud to say that most days I take these incidents in stride.  I understand the ignorance and fear in which they are rooted, and I know who I am as do the people who truly matter.  That’s a’ight. Go ‘head and do me like that. You’re saying way more about yourself than you are about me.  Having had considerable practice, I easily resist inclinations to assert my heterosexuality as doing so only perpetuates the homophobic thinking and behavior I have committed myself to challenging.  But I’m only human, and there are days when I particularly feel vulnerable and cower behind my heterosexuality, especially when it strikes close to home, and you don’t get much closer to home than with family. 

 

A few weeks before Pandora’s premiered, my own cousin targeted me this way. She was angry with me over something too petty to mention. Rather than contact me and discuss the matter, she wrote a blog where she stated that if I’m a lesbian why don’t I “quit with the bitch-assness” and “come out already, damn!!!”  Mind you, this same cousin fancies herself a queer ally because she never misses an episode of her favorite show The L-Word.



I didn’t realize how much that blog impacted me until Elisha asked me if my parents were coming to see Pandora’s and I had to admit that I hadn’t even invited them.  At first, I didn’t even think my cousin was referring to me when she wrote that blog, and my primary contention was not with the homophobic allegation disguised ironically as an anti-heterosexist demand to keep it real.  It was that she chose such a juvenile way to express her anger with me. And I believed that was all there was to it, especially when I confronted my cousin and never mentioned the suggestion that I was a closeted lesbian. 

 

But when I reflected on my conversation with Elisha as I walked home from K-Mart, I had to confront myself.  For all my talk, I could no longer deny that another reason why I had not even mentioned Pandora’s to my parents was because I was afraid that they, too, might think (and worry and fear) that I was a lesbian. This is what brought me to tears: the realization that I wasn’t the ally I prided myself on being and had failed my best friend, my homegirl, my camarada who never thinks twice about standing up for me.

 

I walked for several blocks, sniffling to myself, Bitch, you ain’t shit.

 

What I needed to do was instantaneously obvious, too. I had to invite my parents to Pandora’s.  The sudden buzzing in my stomach at the thought confirmed that “outing” myself as a queer ally and dealing with the repercussions whatever they may be was the right thing to do. 

 

So when I got home, I settled in besides my father in the living room.  “Look, Elisha and I are doing this off-Broadway show, and I’d like you and Ma to come,” I began after some baseball chit-chat. “The thing is you should know that it’s a gay show.”  I give Pa all the reasons why producing a project like Pandora’s is important to me, all of them boiling down to the same fact: it reflects who I am and what I stand for as a person. Then I confess, “And the reason why I haven’t said anything until now was because I was afraid that you might think I was gay.”



Pa and I end up talking for about three hours, from the personal (all the gay people he admires like “Pompa” who works hard and is a great son) to the political (“It is kinda messed up that they can serve in the military but can’t get married so the wife or husband won’t get their benefits if they die at war.”) Now let’s not get it twisted.  I went to Pa because he’s unusually open-minded for a person of his kind – a working-class Puerto Rican man who came to the United States in ’52. That’s why I often describe myself as my father’s daughter (with not a small hint of braggadocio), we are the best of friends, and all my friends want to adopt him. 

 

But he’s still very much, well, a Puerto Rican man who came to the United States in ’52. Hence, there are some things he just can’t grasp, sometimes out of sheer unwillingness.  Pa Dukes doesn’t “get” bisexuality, definitely belonging to the “pick a team” school of thought on that one but, in his defense, so do many gay people) so forget about breaking down what it means to be transgendered.

 

But I did try, and that in and of itself is no small victory.  My parents didn’t go to Pandora’s, and to be totally honest, I didn’t approach Ma for reasons other than (but not excluding) residual homophobia.  But she did know that Sister Outsider was putting on a show (even if she remained unaware of its content), and when I would come home, Pa would smile and ask, “How’s it going?” genuinely interested in the backstage lore (OK, gossip.)

 

Just when I thought it wasn’t possible, Pa and I are even tighter because no part of who I am or what I believe is hidden from him. It truly paid off to feel the fear and do it anyway.  Hopefully, I’ll be an even better ally now that I have personally experienced an inkling of what it must be like to come out.  In fact, maybe I’ll evolve into a better activist overall, recalling this feeling the next time I’m in a cynical funk and smirk at a man who claims to be a feminist or a White person who describes him/herself as anti-racist.

 

In addition to being evidence of one of the feminist movement’s most insightful contributions to social justice of all kinds – the notion that the personal is political –  “coming out” as a queer ally to my father has proven to be a multifaceted blessing.

 

 

Meet Me & Support the Hip Hop Theater Festival

The Hip Hop Theater Theater Festival hosts a book fair at the Court Street Barnes Noble in Brooklyn on Friday, August 22nd from 7:00 - 8:30 PM.


Join me as I read from PICTURE ME ROLLIN' in support of HTTF so it can continue to invigorate the fields of theater and Hip-Hop by: nurturing the creation of innovative work within the Hip-Hop aesthetic; presenting and touring American and international artists whose work addresses the issues relevant to the Hip-Hop generation; and serving young, urban communities through outreach and education that celebrates contemporary language and culture.



At the book fair, the HHTF will distribute vouchers so that a portion of your purchases benefit the organization to keep in the necessary business of finding, developing and introducing to the public new artistic creations from a diversity of cultures and points of view and bringing new, younger audiences to the theater in large numbers.



The event is at the Barnes & Noble at 106 Court Street in Brooklyn which is just south of the Boro Hall subway hub. See you there on the 22nd at 7 PM.

For more information, hit up:
http://www.hiphoptheaterfest.com
718-497-4282

Till the Break of Dawn

In celebration of my birthday, some friends and I went to see a preview of the play Till the Break of Dawn written and directed by Danny Hoch, I'm a big fan of Danny's work both artistically and politically, and I had the privilege of hearing an earlier version of this work several years ago. When I found out that he was finally bringing the production to the stage this year around my birthday, I knew going to see it with a group of close friends who would appreciate it as much as I would would make for a fantastic evening. This was especially true to because -- and I'm proud to say that I knew and in some capacity have worked with some members of the cast including Jaymes Jorsling, pattydukes and Flaco Navaja as well as Danny. What a joy to be able to support and be inspired by such talented folks who are following their artistic while staying true to their views of social justice.

For those of you who don't know, Danny Hoch is a trailblazer in the world of theater due to his consistent efforts to create stage productions that resonate with the hip hop generation i.e. hip hop theatre. Among many accomplishments and contributions, he is the founder of The Hip Hop Theater Festival whose vision is at once simple yet profound: to tell the untold stories of the Hip-Hop Generation. Now that's pretty downright revolutionary when you consider several things. One, despite the fact that for as long as there have been humans, there has been some form of theater, it should yet has failed to be the most democratic of the arts. Two b-boys battling it out on a street corner for a spontaneous audience is not only hip hop, at its essence, it is also theater. We don't recognize that, however, because with the institutionalization of theater has also come much its un-democratization. Whether we consider ourselves theater buffs or not, we pretty much buy into the limited notion that theater is a live performance of drama for which you pay to see in a darkened hall with a roomful of strangers.

With that it is no surprise that, two, theater in the U.S. has evolved into and largely remains a "luxury" of the White middle class. Is this how it necessarily has to be given that it we can produce theater on a street corner? No, but because of how theater is perceived, this is mostly how it stays like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Let me put it this way. When a teacher in the 'hood decides to take her class on a field trip, she is more likely to take them to the nearby multiplex to see, say, the latest Hollywood rendition of a Shakespearean play (e.g. Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet or Tim Blake Nelson's O) than to a Manhattan theatre. That would be the case even if there was a twenty-five seat makeshift theatre in the basement of a community center in Washington Heights where an all-Dominican cast was offering its updated version of Hamlet. Theater that tells stories that veer from the topic of White middle-class angst in its multiple variations remain both underrepresented and marginalized.

And that leads me to three point A and B as to why the concept of using theatre to tell the stories of the hip hop generation is a revolutionary endeavor. Ironically, almost as quickly as the global commodification of rap music popularized hip hop worldwide as a vehicle that gave visibility to the underrepresented and marginalized, it was forgotten that hip hop (a) largely began as a form of cultural resistance and, therefore, (b) was, is and can continue to take forms other than rap music. In other words, many of its biggest fans have lost sight -- if they ever even recognized - that rap music is not the only way hip hop tells stories. If they have never been educated to the power of theater, obviously they would not understand that there can exist such a thing as hip hop theatre (and it not being Scarface: The Broadway Musical. Don't let me get started on that. Thanks to last night, I'm in a great mood and would like to preserve it)

Which brings me back to Till the Break of Dawn, Danny Hoch's latest act of cultural resistance through hip hop theater. Gibran, a young brother who aspires to use hip hop to organize communities worldwide via the internet, plans a trip to Cuba with his multicultural group of activist friends to attend the island's annual Hip Hop Festival. To many activists, Cuba is upheld to be a socialist utopia where, among other things, literacy abounds and racism is nonexistent. Gibran and his crew are eager to network with hip hop heads from around the world at the festival and export la revolucion across the globe including the United States. They even aspire to politicize Big Miff, a Fat Joesque gangster rapper who has been convinced to go and perform.

Once in Havana, however, they quickly learn that their idealistic perception are only partially correct. The sociopolitical reality of being a communist nation under the embargo of a capitalist world power forces the activists' sincere yet simplistic ideas of what it takes to make meaningful social change to undergo dramatic complication. Part of that necessary complication is the painful realization of the paradox inherent in being an American citizen no matter how much they may rage against the policies of the U.S. government, both domestic and international. That is, despite the repression they may experience in the United States, they still remain and are perceived by the global community as the undeservingly privileged citizens of a world empire.

There are no sacred cows in Till the Break of Dawn which is why at many moments it is laugh-out-loud funny. And yet as the playwright, Danny offers tremendous compassion and even empathy along with the unapologetic critique of hip hop activism which in many ways has spawned a culture of its own. We especially see it in characters such as Hector, a charismatic Boricua nationalist whose militancy can be endearing and even infectious at one moment and yet the next can blind him to the humanity of others -- even willingly potential allies whose appearance or choices do not readily fit his political ideals. If you now or have ever considered yourself an activist of any stripe, you have met Hector. Shit, if you're honest with yourself, you've been Hector.

Till the Break of Dawn is a must-see for many different audiences. It's a loving tug on the coattails of hip hop activists who desperately need to rethink how to continue The Work in a post 9-11 era. The play is evidence for the skeptics who doubt there are any people in hip hop who genuinely use the culture as tool for social change. It is "edutainment" for all the hip hop heads who think that going to the theater is something that only old, White folks with money do, and it's inspiration to cultural activists across forms of creative expression trying to marry their art and politics. Finally, it's imperative that theater buffs -- especially those old, White folks with money -- to check out Till the Break of Dawn for no other reason than to familiarize themselves with the cutting-edge content and aesthetic that hip hop brings to their beloved hobby, keeping it alive and relevant.

The play runs from September 13th through October 21st at the Abron Arts Center and tickets can be purchased online at the Culture Project.