Racing My Weekend (Con’t.)
Before I get started, I have to pose a rhetorical question that popped up upon adding a couple of Gregory Peck flicks to my Netflix queue: Its vast database has for some reason recommended that I add "Sex and the City" to my list.
Why would they do that to me? I left off my last post discussing my weekend, one that was chock full of attending events that represented race in one way or another. I already discussed my visit to the International Center of Photography to see the White: Whiteness and Race in Contemporary Art exhibit.
The next day would bring contrasting exercises in academia and theatre -- two things which could be considered the same thing. On Saturday afternoon, I attended a panel discussion at NYU entitled "Dancing the Down Low: Blackness, Queerness, and the 'Next' Generation." The panel included academics, writers, performers and activists.
It was good. Unfortunately, there was little time for discussion, which was disappointing, because many issues were raised that I had much to say about. Although the term "down low" (a term used to describe black men who have sex with men, but who don't identify as gay...there's more to it, but that's the basics) was in the title, the discussion mainly centered around blackness within the gay community.Or is that queerness within the black community? It has to be both. Femininity and masculinity among black gay men; femininity among black gay women (there were no "masculine" women on the panel; only two femme-identified). As usual, when issues of race and sexuality are raised, and class, which one pointed out, I can't help but to personalize it. I was afraid to go for a couple of reasons. There were writers who were writing. I imagined I would feel ill-suited to attend, because I am a writer who doesn't write. They all said things I have felt to the bone, but have been heretofore unable to articulate in a suitable-to-myself way. They use language outside of convention. I remain stuck within the confines of convention. Why?
Another reason I was afraid to attend was the race issue. I have color on my skin but it's not black. It's nothing, because I don't know what to call it. I persist on a safe plane just above the sensitive point, because if I dip down low enough, I become overwhelmed by the unknowingness of my roots. Sometimes.
