1. What is Truth. Be. Told.?
Truth. Be. Told. is an episodic TV series documenting the lives of Queer Black Visionaries. Each half-hour episode features an intimate conversation with a noteworthy interviewee as they discuss their lives, loves, and personal callings, as well as the experiences, realities, and identities that fuel them. 

To date more than 50 people have committed to being interviewed. Confirmed participants include: Emil Wilbekin, Editor-at-Large for Essence magazine; Dr. Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Co-Creator of the Mobile Homecoming Project; Patrik-Ian Polk, Creator of Logo TV’s Noah’s Arc; and Dr. Kortney Ryan Ziegler, Filmmaker & Transgender Activist.

Executive Producers for Truth. Be. Told. include Carol Ann Shine, who produced Noah’s Arc for Logo TV as well as the feature film Noah’s Arc: Jumping the Broom, and Jennifer MacArthur, National Engagement Consultant for Independent Television Service (ITVS) and former Director of TV & Digital Media Engagement for the National Center for Media Engagement (NCME).

I direct and produce Truth. Be. Told. I am also an instructor at the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University. Peace Process, an award-winning film that I made about transforming youth violence, airs regularly on The Documentary Channel.

2. How did the project start? What inspired you to make this documentary series?
Truth. Be. Told. is an outgrowth of my experiences while working at the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) as a Communications Strategist. There, my primary objective was to create visibility for Black LGBT issues in mainstream media. When I began at GLAAD, there were only a handful of Black LGBT people who were willing to speak publicly – and intelligently – about our issues. Over the years, I logged thousands of miles spokesperson-training more than 500 Black LGBT issue experts in New York; Washington, DC; Atlanta; etc. In the process, I came to know intimately the network of courageous pioneers who have chosen authenticity over fear, and met many of the bold young people who are poised to take us into the future.

Now, 8 years later, I can see the impact of the work that I did in conjunction with a few other pioneering communications strategists – holding editorial board meetings that pushed major media outlets to be more inclusive of LGBT people, empowering local community groups to pitch and tell their stories to area press outlets, and fostering opportunities for national media exposure with The Oprah Winfrey Show, CNN, etc. But we have only scratched the surface when it comes to visibility for Black LGBTQ people. While our stories are told more frequently than they used to be, our lives are shared in sound bites, book-ended by the editorializing of journalists. We don’t get enough prime time real estate (in media or in formal community spaces) to engage in full dialogues about who we are and what we stand for.

Truth. Be. Told. tells our stories of transcendence and triumph by positioning the cultivation of personal identity and transformation as a mark of innovation.

3. What makes this project so necessary right now?
Clearly, Black LGBTQ people need the space to tell their stories – and we’ve needed it for some time. I can’t possibly sit on or sit through another panel, over-crowded by LGBT issue experts of every persuasion, who have been given the task of summarizing all of our collective issues in 90 minutes or less, i.e., coming out, homophobia in black churches, transphobia, Black LGBT images in media, the impact of HIV/AIDS on Black gay men, bullying, gay as the new black, etc. I’m tired of Black people being blanketly characterized as homophobic, whenever marriage equality gets major media heat. The nuanced and explorative conversations that so many of us have with our loved ones deserve elevated visibility so that others who don’t have immediate access to our circles of influence can be included. And we deserve to be strengthened by a show that captures our resilience, our complexity, and our commitment to change.

4. How do you define “Queer Black Visionary”?
For the purposes of Truth. Be. Told., a Queer Black Visionary is someone noteworthy, but not necessarily famous, who has a compelling personal story to tell. Per the life experience of each person interviewed, the testimonies cover a broad range of topics, but generally center around the interviewee’s journey towards self-discovery; important moments that defined them; love lessons they received; how they came into their vocation(s); exploring, naming and elevating cultural/spiritual practices; and navigating bias – all against the backdrop of the community, family, and friends who support them.

We use the word “Queer” to describe the plethora of gender identities and sexual orientations represented by those who’ve agreed to be interviewed; however, within each interview, participants are encouraged to use the self-identifiers with which they feel most comfortable. Those identifiers may include: queer, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, genderqueer, same gender loving, two spirited, intersex, cisgender, etc.

5. Why are images and representations of Black and Queer people so important to you?
There was a time when I felt so isolated that I considered taking my life, when it was easier to be a drug addict than it was to be me. I was clueless about how to be an out, queer Black woman. I believe that my coming out experience might have been less chaotic and self-destructive if I had seen more people who looked like me, who thought like me, or who had healed enough to serve as a living example of the possibilities that were ahead of me. I want to widen the path for those who have already come out, who are in the process of coming out, who are friends and family of those who are LGBTQ, and in order to do that, we need to see affirming images of Queer Black people. By telling our stories, we create spaces where more of us can bring all of who we are, wherever we go, all the time.

6. What is your wildest dream for Truth. Be. Told.?
I plan for Truth. Be. Told. to go 5 seasons. I want to create 122 episodes in collaboration with 122 Queer Black people who have done the work to show up as authentic in their own lives and the lives of their loved ones. We plan to distribute the show via a major network like Showtime, BET, or TVOne, and to reach people through digital platforms like Hulu Plus, Netflix, and iTunes.

7. How can people get involved?
Currently, we are on a mission to raise $10,000 by 11:59pm, PST on Wednesday, April 17 to fund a pilot episode, which will be used to:

• Secure a world premiere at the OUTFest Film Festival in Los Angeles (July 2013). OUTFest is the oldest LGBT film festival in America, having screened over 20,000 films and having reached over 1 million people in its 31-year history;
• Secure digital platform distribution via HuluPlus, Netflix, iTunes, and Amazon Video on Demand;
• Secure network distribution via either Logo, Showtime, BET, or TVOne;
• Screen at pride festivals, film festivals, fundraisers, and LGBT events throughout Fall 2013.

Donations start at $5. Perks include digital downloads of the pilot, postcard sets, signed posters, and producer credit. To view more info about the Truth. Be. Told. IndieGoGo campaign visit: http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/truth-be-told-pilot-fundraiser-take-two

8. What’s next for you?
For the next few years, I will be landing this mother ship known as Truth. Be. Told. By the end of summer, Lord willing/Creek don’t rise, the first season will be fully-funded with distribution deals in place for network TV and digital platforms. Getting there is a process and a serious commitment. First, we have to get the pilot cut and out into the world so that people can see just how fly the show is. Then there’s raising the money. And once we have the money, there’s production, editing, and finally distribution and marketing. It’s a process, but it’s so worth it. This series will be one for the books. Legendary, I tell you.

9. What truths do you tell through the work that you do?
Most of my work is about the healing powers of love, self-care, self-reclamation, compassion, and forgiveness. I believe in others the way I believe in myself.

Three essential themes in my work:
1) Your search proves your love.
2) People grow and people change.
3) Talking is loving.

On March 26^th, 2013 in Sapele, the Delta State of Nigeria, Pastor Henry Enuta was physically stripped and humiliated in public because he is an intersex person.  According to news reports, he was almost killed by a lynch mob before being taken into custody by police.  Most of the headlines covering this story grossly refer to Mr. Enuta as a “hermaphrodite” because he has genitals that are characteristically male and female.  To sensationalize this story and humiliate Mr. Enuta even more, media outlets have published pictures of him bare chested and with torn clothes, holding onto his dignity while passers-by capture pictures of him with their mobile phones.

When I saw this story, I was horrified at how Mr. Enuta’s humanity was reduced to a mockery simply because his body did not conform to narrow standards of what a man’s body should be.  For him to be forcibly stripped with no one to offer him clothes or rescue was atrocious.  I was doubly astounded at how members of his community sought to kill him for the mere fact that he was different and considered some kind of freak. Nevertheless, given that this incident has taken place in Nigeria, I want to be very aware of my position as an African American queer intersex man living in the United States.  People with intersex conditions living in the United States are just as vulnerable as intersex people living abroad.  The medicalized and state sanctioned violence that impacts intersex people living in the United States is a pervasive, isolating, and silencing kind of violence that recreates stigma and shame.

In speaking out against this act, my goal is not to impose a critical, patronizing gaze on how people in Nigeria should respond to queerness or difference.  Considering how the United States and Europe have responded to legislation that seeks to punish, kill, and “reform” queer people in Uganda, for example, I find myself both wanting to fight for the sovereignty of Black African nations and also asking those same nations to uphold the humanity and dignity of their queer and sexually differentiated citizens.  Those of us committed to the upholding the dignity and respect of intersex people around the world must be willing to do the hard work of both checking our biases and privileges while also continuing to advocate for justice wherever injustice occurs.

Caster Semenya winning second place in the women’s 800-meter final during the IAAF World Athletics Championship in South Korea in 2011 (Stu Forster / Getty Images)

We have witnessed a hazing similar to Henry Enuta’s experience on an international stage before with Olympic runner, Caster Semenya.  A gold and silver medalist hailing from South Africa, Caster’s glory was shrouded by “genetic testing” to prove whether she was a “man” or a “woman,” since having XY chromosomes as a female athlete would give her an “unfair” advantage.  Although we as a society should have used Ms. Semenya’s experience as an opportunity for education and reflection about gender identity and sexual differentiation in human beings, we instead responded with slander and ignorance toward a young Black South African whose goal was to compete in an international arena.  What does Caster Semenya have to do with Henry Enuta? Simply put, both of their experiences reflect two cases of intersex African people whose reception in the media did nothing but reinforce our perceptions of intersex people as “freaks” and as “other.”  I also bring Caster Semenya into this conversation because this freakish display and exploitation of African bodies is not unlike the colonial exploitation of Sarah Baartman, also known as the “Hottentot Venus,” a Khoi woman from Southern Africa who was toured around Europe as a spectacle because of her “enlarged” labia and “oversized” buttocks. Just as Sarah Baartman did not deserve this violation, neither do Caster Semenya or Henry Enuta deserve to be so unfairly and violently treated. It is critical that those of us fighting for intersex rights speak out against the public humiliation and violence perpetrated against these individuals.

In light of the U.N. Report on Torture in Health Care that includes intersex infants as a vulnerable population, I ask that we as a global community respect and uphold the integrity of intersex people wherever they work, live, play, and worship.  I also ask that we continue to examine how racism and other forms of oppression lend themselves to the way we depict intersex people of color in the media.  Given those requests, I hope that those responsible for the ill treatment of Mr. Enuta are held accountable by their community members and that future coverage of this case respects Mr. Enuta’s dignity and person.  As members of the movement to end violence and stigmatization of intersex people we must continue to stand united against injustice, while also moving forward in creating a world safe for all people.

In that piece, over two years ago, I argued:

via Clutch Magazine

I know from that experience that I touched a real nerve. That’s why it’s been two full years since I have returned to this conversation. Take a look at the comments section (but only if you are brave, prayed up, and have some sage at the house.)

What I saw in those comments was fear. Fear of offending God and bringing God’s wrath. In fact, I spent a whole weekend on Crunkadelic’s couch trying to make sense of the backlash (turns out Church folks can be really vicious, especially when they think they are doing it for God).  But mostly I was disappointed at this unhealthy relationship that Black women have to our theology.

How have we come to think our desires have no place in the Kingdom of God? If that is true, how is the Kingdom of God any different than say, American Slavery, which taught us that we were first and foremost the property of someone else, to be used for their pleasure, our sexual needs and desires totally both subordinate to and in service of someone else’s needs and wishes.

I absolutely understand the conservative evangelical church’s teaching about being in total submission to God’s will, trying to conform our desires to God’s desires, and trusting that God’s plan is better than ours. Yet, God is a relational God to me,  not a dictator who sits on high meting out rules and punishments.

No, I don’t have all these deep theological and philosophical questions figured out.  I am not a theologian. What I am is a person who deeply loves God and who God has been to me. What I know is that that God has invited me to ask my questions, to get honest, and to struggle in the community of faith over what it means to be a fully grown Black woman.

As a Black feminist, I know that as we attempt to create a new politics of pleasure in Black feminism, we must address the role of religion and spirit in that process. The politics of respectability is so deeply bound up with Christian theology, that “de-tangling” these interconnected strands will be a freeing project for us all, even those who don’t identify as Christian.

So this post is the prelude to getting that conversation started.

Tomorrow night, Friday, March 15, 2013, at 9:05 pm, we are going to host a live Google Hangout on this topic.

I’ll be chatting with three fierce, progressive, feminist ministering women who can give some critical perspective on these issues.

Rev. Theresa Thames

Theresa serves as an Associate Pastor at a progressive and reconciling United Methodist Church in Washington, DC. Growing up on the Mississippi Gulf Coast gave her an appreciation for music, art, culture, and theology. Theresa attended Howard University and continued her studies at Duke Divinity School. Theresa’s areas of interest are intersections of theology, sociology, and organizational systems.

DC oftentimes feels too busy and noisy, so in order to feel at home, Theresa spends her time connecting with people through music and storytelling. When she’s not teaching a class or thinking about organizational systems and development, Theresa enjoys listening to music (she has close to 5,000 songs on her iPod) dancing, listening to podcasts and reading. However, her most important and most fulfilling role is being AuntieMommie to her 10 year old nephew.

Rev. Arabella Littlepage

 

Rev. Arabella Littlepage was born and raised in Huntsville, AL and now resides in the Washington, DC metropolitan area.  She earned a B.A. in Political Science from Howard University in 2003.  She was ordained a Baptist Minister in 2010 after earning a Master’s of Theological Studies from Wesley Theological Seminary in May of that year.  She currently serves as an Associate Minister at a local Baptist Church in the DC metro area.  Her ministry interests include equipping people to think constructively about one’s life with God in community, studying and teaching contemplative spiritual practices, and facilitating retreats.  In addition to her work in ministry, Arabella is an avid knitter and scrapbooker.

 

 

Dr. Candi Dugas

Dr. Candi Dugas is an award-winning writer and practical theologian whose progressive insights challenge how we think about faith, freedom, and justice. Author of two published books and more than 20 regionally produced stageplays and skits, Candi’s latest projects include her most recent book, Who Told You That You Were Naked? Black Women Reclaiming Sexual and Spiritual Goodness and her first screenplay, Desire’s Kiss, which celebrates feminine sexuality in the context of faith.

A graduate of Columbia Theological Seminary (Decatur, GA) with a D.Min. in Christian Spirituality, Candi also holds a M.Div. in Homiletics/Worship and Hebrew Bible from Gammon Seminary/ Interdenominational Theological Center (Atlanta, GA) and a B.S. in Public Relations from the University of Florida (Gainesville, FL) – GO GATORS! She is a member of the Dramatists Guild, Working Title Playwrights, Atlanta Screenwriters Group, the Church Within A Church Movement, and the Interfaith Community Initiatives.

One of the few Atlanta natives left, Candi enjoys hanging out with friends and family, especially her daughter, Jordan — along with mountain vacations, dancing, and driving sports cars. She dreams of opening retreat houses that create physically safe spaces for possibilities, peace, rest, revelation, thought, truth, healing, and wholeness.

 

Time: 9:05-10:05 pm EST

Place: The conversation will stream live at  http://www.youtube.com/user/CrunkFeminists

Date: Friday, March 15, 2013 — Be there!

Tweet us: @crunkfeminists

Post questions:  Facebook, here in the comments section, or on Youtube during the convo.

Update, March 15, 2013 — Click here for the permanent link for the Single, Saved, and Sexin Conversation.

 

 

They say eating pineapples makes your juices taste good.

Lately, I find myself ordering lots of fruit salads, tryin’ to guarantee that my juices keep her coming back for more.

She doesn’t know this of course.

I mean, I know she loves me and I know she loves my goodies but still … I’m trying to lock this one DOWN.

I’m not sure how she does it.

Again and again.

Well maybe, I do.

It’s the way she looks in those boxers I selfishly buy “for” her.

Her soft skin on mine.

The way all her juices penetrate my lips.

It’s the fact that she makes each night feel like I’m at a Maxwell concert.

The screams always surprises me.

Always.

I never have enough time to grab that pillow.

What must the new neighbors think?

I have spent this Valentine’s Day season wrapped in the loving embrace of feminist friends and family who have expressed their care and affection through thoughtful cards, shared meals, and copious amounts of cocktails. I have been reminded numerous times how bootleg a holiday is that celebrates heterosexual coupledom at the expense of all other kinds of love, and I have felt blessed to be reminded of all the other kinds of love and care I experience routinely.

But can I talk about how sometimes a sister just wants to get laid?

I mention this not because it goes against all that I laid out at the start of this post, but because, for me, the love I get from friendship and family has not coincided with anything approaching a vibrant sex life and, if I can keep it 100, that’s not something I feel great about. Real talk, this year I have felt my lack of sexual intimacy more keenly than I have for a while. For a long time, I felt like I could go on forever being celibate, but now I’m not so sure.

Was that a tumbleweed going past my vagina?

It’s been almost five years since I’ve dated, or kissed, or touched another person in a non- platonic way. After a bad breakup and a series of hilariously tragic dating mishaps and misadventures, I took a little hiatus.  One year became two years, two years became three years and, before I knew it, I had spent almost half a decade sleeping alone. Some of my friends wondered why I haven’t just exploded or looked for a rifle and watchtower. There are lots of reasons.

Reason #1. Oops, oh my!

I’ve also been busy getting my career together and living my life. And it’s not like my life has been sad and pitiful. Quite the contrary. Plus, loving and loving on myself is a delicious pleasure. I definitely know what I like and am more than happy to lavish myself with orgasms. But I do miss touching, kissing, and hugging another person—especially since there is so little space for such activities outside of romantic relationships.

Owning this desire has been a journey. Putting yourself out there can be scary. And with so much foolishness in the world, it can be perversely easier to pour yourself into activism or scholarship rather than working up the nerve to holler at a cutie—or maybe it’s just me?

Don’t front. I’m not the only one

The fact is, however unfeminist it may sound, after this epic dry spell, I definitely have trouble thinking of myself as someone that other people might find sexy. But, then again, I had trouble with that ish before. And, as I’ve been told time and time again, the energy you put out there is what attracts people. So, I have to feel to sexy to attract others? But feeling attractive to others makes me feel sexy. Color me confused.

Then again, I have noticed that folks who I might find busted and disgusted and that ooze negative energy, but who fit particular aspects of the beauty spectrum—thin, able-bodied, cisgender, for example—don’t necessarily have trouble getting their mack on. I’m not saying all thin, able-bodied cis folks are just fucking with reckless abandon, but I am saying that some shit matters more than others—even in so-called progressive queer spaces. Take it from someone who puts the “B” in LGBTQIA.

Still, I’m trying to make an earnest effort in pursuit of some good loving. What I do know that you have to do more than talk about it, you gotta be about it. So, excuse me while I clear out the tumbleweeds.

Have you experienced an epic (or not so epic) dry spell? What’s been your post-dry spell experience? How have you gotten back in the saddle? 

Back story: my little brother and I have the same dad but different moms. I don’t use the word “half-brother” because to me if feels like it somehow delegitimatizes our bond. Even though we grew up in different homes, we have a very strong history and have created many loving memories. Needless to say, I love my little brother very much. I am often saddened by the fact that we didn’t grow up in the same home. I think that maybe if we had, he wouldn’t put such dumb shit on a public forum like Facebook. Maybe, just maybe, he would think twice.

I wasn’t born in this country. English is not my first language. I wear a size twelve. I’m also a queer woman of color.  Clearly, I have had to develop thick skin. I’m used to seeing manifestations of intolerance everywhere – in public policy, society, at work, in the media … you get the picture. I am also very private and because of that keep my Facebook circle really small. The folks on my friends list are progressive and agree with me on the importance of silly things like social justice and equal rights. This is why this post hurt so terribly. I was being attacked on Facebook, but, most surprisingly, by my own brother. He knows that his sister is gay. It is no secret. He knows this. He also knows that his sister is smart, strong, opinionated, giving, caring,  and, most of all, human.

So why, why, why would my little brother post a homophobic comment? Why would he of ALL people promote hate and intolerance? I don’t have the answers. None of the ones I came up with seem to make much sense or make the situation any less painful.

After pulling it together, I sent my little brother a private text message asking him why he said those things and whether or not he thought those things applied to me, his gay sister.

We went back and forth for a bit. His responses were even more disheartening and basically along the lines of ‘but you’re different.” My all-time favorite response was, “If I offended you, my bad,” followed by a Facebook post of the music video “Sorry I Can’t Be Perfect.”

Really, homie?

Due to the fact that I am an educator (and I love him), I‘ve decided to use this as a teachable moment. In the future, I want him to have the proper tools when he messes up and needs to offer an apology. Feel free to use this in your own circles.

• I want to apologize for what I said/did. I didn’t think about the power of language or how my words/actions can truly affect and sometimes hurt others. I love you and would never want to (unknowingly or purposefully) hurt you. I understand that it may take some time for you to forgive me, but I hope that you can find it in your heart to do so, because I care about you and the future of this relationship. I’m sorry.

So, little bro, this is what an actual apology looks like. You are now in your 20s and, by all accounts, a grown man. It’s about time you started acting like one.

If this offends you, then, my bad.

To everyone else, Happy National Coming Out Day!