©  Breeze Vincinz

Breeze_vincinzWhen I was younger, my mom and I would watch the “Eyes on the Prize” documentaries every Tuesday during Black History month. For those of you not in the know, “Eyes on the Prize” is probably the most well publicized and thorough examination of the civil rights movement in America. We would order pizza and be enveloped in a history that was a bittersweet chronicle for her and a fascinating bullet to put in my arsenal.

I remember one episode that detailed the deaths of Malcolm X, John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. The civil rights movement seemed to slowly deflate afterwards. It really hasn’t been inflated sense. It’s just not fashionable to be black and give a shit nowadays. The code for modern soul brothers is on the line of getting as much money, pussy and clothes as possible and often times, in accordance with our Caucasian counterparts, obtaining them in the name of God.

I remember after watching one particularly emotional episode, going to my room and looking out over the stars that hung above my projects. I wanted to help so bad. Every fiber of my teenage body felt electric and anxious to contribute to the social equality of all Americans; to have my blood spill upon this soil and have it be joined with the countless other soldiers who have done their part to keep things going above ground. I felt America, particularly, black people, needed just a little jolt, a little flash to remind everybody that… hey, we just got the right to vote in 1965 and it is not cool to be a nigger… with or without attitude. I wanted to be the obligatory hero that Tina Turner so loudly proclaimed that we did not need. And I was ready for the platform until it hit me, what if Farrakhan finds out that I’m gay? What if Al Sharpton pulls the entrance records of the bathhouse I go to and finds out I’m a frequent flyer? Would I really be able to spearhead a constituency to reestablish SNCC if they knew that every once in awhile… I liked to get smacked on the ass? The thought scares me, it did then and it does now. I imagine it to be the main cause of the masochistic slant a lot of my writings have, I would rather be the first to call myself a faggot before anyone else has that chance; to put my own shit on front street before the Enquirer does. This way, Al Sharpton doesn’t have to break the news of my bathhouse doings, you can read all about it here, complete with full color illustrations and interviews with the broods of brothers that I have let run trains on me.

I imagine it to be the plight women have in trying to be taken seriously. You are this well educated, highly qualified woman who can perform a particular job but when the men look at you, all they can think of is, “Whoa, big tits, I wonder if she gives head.” It’s the same thing, I’m this half way educated brother with this intrinsic love for my people who wants to contribute to the brotherhood of man but once that brotherhood finds out that I’m gay,  the only thing they can think of is, “Whoa, dick sucking faggot.” In order for us to be taken seriously as gays and women, it seems as if we have to push away the dreams of oral copulation that pop up in the heads of our heterosexual/male counterparts (while still keeping in mind, however, there is nothing better than a nice piece of dick).

My adolescent mind could not wrap itself around the idea that a homosexual could indeed be the voice of reason to a people that have been so disrespected and maligned for so long.

Then Rev. Willie Wilson, the pastor of the Union Temple Church in Washington D.C. and the executive director of the Millions More Movement gave a sermon in which he claimed lesbianism to be an epidemic that threatens the black family. The reasoning being that his son could not find a date because all of the girls in his class were gay except for two and they were “ugly”. He went on to say that, “It ain’t natural, anytime somebody got to slap some grease on your behind to stick something in you, there’s something wrong with that. Your butt ain’t made for that. You got blood vessels and membranes in your behind  and if you put something unnatural in there it breaks them all up, no wonder your behind is bleeding.”

So, you know, I’m waiting. I’m waiting for Farrakahn to step up and say that bigotry is bigotry and “faggot” is no worse than “nigger”. I’m waiting for Al Sharpton to speak up and say, “Dude, the entire female population of your son’s class is gay? You honestly think that’s why he can’t get a date?” I’m waiting for Jesse Jackson to go, “Willie, dog, ‘blood vessels and membranes and bleeding booties?’ This is a church, not a bar.”

Nobody did, aside from Rev. Dyan Abena McCray, pastor at Unity Fellowship Church in D.C. who wrote an opinion column criticizing Wilson that was published in the Blade magazine.  She subsequently received a brick through her car window and several threatening phone calls and emails. One such call said, “One who ministers to lesbians and punks should watch their backs.” Another, “Your voice needs to be shut up.”

And it brings up the age old debate of whether the gay movement can be fairly compared to the civil rights movement. In my eyes, I never saw the difference. To me Rev. Willie Wilson is no different than Jim Crow. We’re being lynched, we’re being beat, we’re having people throw bricks through our windows, derogatory comments spray painted on our walls… I know of this woman who quipped, “Don’t give me that gay rights is the same as civil rights bullshit, they are two separate things, you don’t have a choice being black, you can’t change that, you can’t hide that you’re black.” But we can, and we have and there are tens of thousands of Mulattos who took the road of passing for white. Much like there are countless numbers of gay men passing for straight. The question is, why should either have to pass for anything than what they really are. Matthew Shepard was kidnapped, beaten and tied to a fence to be left for dead. I’m wondering if it would take nothing less than to have a homosexual kidnapped,  lynched then hung from a tree for black people to realize the similarities between homophobia and racism and realize how counter-revolutionary it is, how un-American it is, how un-Godlike it is. How the same “Eyes on the Prize” footage of white children declaring they don’t want niggers in their neighborhood because they’re dirty and burning crosses on their lawn could be completely interchangeable if a gay couple moved next door to Rev. Willie Wilson and other members of the African American Magna Cum Laude bourgeoisie clique.

I don’t think I have a pulse on what’s going on with African American youth. I don’t think I have an extended knowledge of homosexuals and the homosexual agenda. I would love to be an orator on the lines of Malcolm X who could speak eloquently to the brothers on the street and the suits in the courtroom. I would love to speak about homosexuality to the Nation of Islam and African American representation to the  West Hollywood city council but alas, my own personal agenda is askew from both camps, though I am trying to bridge those gaps and am willing to lend a hand wherever I can. At this point, I am fully aware that a homosexual can lead African Americans to the promised land. When you think about it, s/he’s probably the most qualified.

Editor’s NoteThe writer lives in Los Angeles and can be reached via his website at www.breezevz.com.