Jason Collins; Not LIke Those Other Gay People

 

Photo, courtesy of Derrick Watkins. All rights reserved.

y of him was on the campus of Morgan State University, circa 1995. He wore shoulder-length, braided extensions, colorful shirts and blue jeans, usually cinched with a thin belt. I remember how happy he seemed, and I remember how much I hated him for it.

And his creative spirit and brilliant ideas, those made me hate him too. He had "sugar in his tank," and his self-acceptance sickened me to the point of taunting him.

He'd glide over the bridge where the popular students congregated to pick up, be picked up, or simply to be seen. Dudes from New York, Baltimore, and DC, hawk spat vulgarity in his direction, while female students hid their mouths behind their hands in efforts to somehow disengage, and I never defended him even though we were of the same flock.

Purposefully, he just kept on keeping on, moving forward seemingly shielded from all judgment; never a whence of hurt, nor a single explanation as to why he was who he was; unaffected, leaving a trail of surety like fresh lavender behind him.

This experience, though nearly 20 years old, resurfaced in my mind a few weeks back when the very jersey of manhood, as we desire to believe it to be, had, yet again, become unwoven at the seams from a tender tug on another of its inconspicuously hanging strings.

Professional basketball player Jason Collins, announced through Sports Illustrated, "I'm a 34-year-old NBA center, I'm Black, and I'm gay."

In a single moment, one man's journey toward self-actualization as a black, gay man had rattled the very foundation of "manhood" for many straight folks, likely causing brow-raising paranoia in locker rooms; likely inclining some straight males to wade in the possibility that Jason may merely be one of many having infiltrated their exclusive bands of brothers bound by the kind of athleticism sworn, on The Book of Leviticus, to be reserved for straight dudes.

Surely professional athletes couldn't be gay while actively playing, right? I mean, we had two, black NFL players, Wade Davis and Kwame Harris, that came out "after" leaving professional football, both sharing stories of inner-turmoil from denying themselves; both wishing they had done so sooner; both facing resentment. One even facing public taunts by a former teammate.

But as news of the Jason’s "coming out" spread, a unique, seemingly exclusive phenomenon became manifest, one that will surely make considering owning one’s reality much easier for other (black, male) professional athletes in the immediate and distant future. A Tsunami of support towards his decision to openly admit that he will likely spend the rest of his life loving another man flooded the states, transcending race, superseding social status, and even penetrating sexual orientation.

First Lady Michelle Obama tweeted that she was proud of Jason, writing, "We have your back."

Kobe Bryant, even after having aggressively used "gay" as a negative taunt toward a referee during a 2011 game (for which he was fined $100, 000), tweeted words of support to Jason, ironically encouraging him not to suffocate because of the ignorance of others. 

Photo, courtesy of Derrick Watkins. All rights reserved.

But the cream in my coffee was that the head honcho, President Barak Obama himself, took the time to personally call Jason. "I told him I couldn't be prouder of him," POTUS told reporters during a press conference.

Now, I'm no hater, but here is where I become conflicted. I genuinely admire Jason's courageous decision to love himself out loud, embracing his race—which is still important, even in 2013—and his sexuality. Like many, I relate to the difficulty we face in navigating life’s “tedious journey” as men loving men (and women loving women). It took me forever to believe that I was gay, and years longer to accept it. Hell, some of us (yup, I did too) have even attempted or succeeded suicide, believing that heaven had to be a better place than our icy  homes, unpredictable work places, and even in our damning places of worship.

In many circles, particularly black, religious ones, we were taught at early ages that “gay” was the very worst thing we could ever "choose" to be, like it was really a choice. And like we all got $25,000 and a 2013 Altima for "choosing" to be gay.  We were encouraged to lay our burdens at the altar—right between murder and adultery—trusting Jesus for deliverance, while enduring churchy side-eyes and whispers of disgust. Even our gay pastors, that "hanged" in clubs or with their partners in other cities during the weekends, wouldn't admit that they are gay, despite weekly teachings that God ordered our steps and knew us before we were formed in our mother's wombs.

So, as Jason's story unfolded, garnering insurmountable support and catapulting him to hero status among men, women, and children, I remained conflicted in my spirit.

On one hand, I believed his public proclamation to be integral towards dispelling myths that all gay dudes are one-dimensional, sexually irresponsible males desiring to be gorgeous females that lip-sync Whitney Houston songs or that we long to convert straight dudes into queers.

One the other hand, The Jason Experience reveals a sad and ugly reality that, in my opinion, perpetuates marginalization towards the strongest, most under-celebrated population of gays; a group of gays even discriminated against among other gays; feminine males, masculine females, and transgenders.

I wonder if Jason were a professional dancer, would the world’s response have been so charged up.

What if he had "come out" as transgender or as a flaming queen; would Kobe have tweeted the same words of encouragement?

I can't help but believe that Jason's masculinity and profession made accepting his sexuality “safe” for many of his supporters, including the gay ones. That's certainly not to imply that he didn't deserve it, because indeed he did, but for some reason, gays and straights alike, find openly gay, comfortable or flamboyant queers difficult to “accept”. I know, because I have a history of doing so myself.

Living a self-actualized, gay life just ain't a new phenomenon, as conveyed in the opening anecdote about my college friend (who has since become one of my very best friends, despite my poor treatment to him). As such, embracing Jason's cushioned public reception without acknowledging the countless brothers and sisters who, before him, trudged America’s most volatile avenues, roads, aisles, alleys, schools, and other dwellings, enduring undeserved taunts and beat downs rather than living unauthentic lives, is something “I” simply do not feel comfortable doing.

Photo, courtesy of Derrick Watkins. All rights reserved.

I must acknowledge those gay Christians whose unshakeable commitment to The Creator yields them powerful enough to sift through poisonous messages of condemnation to discover lessons for them and their families; these brothers and sisters get no supportive tweets.

What about the rising crusade of youth using YouTube and other social media as platforms to self-actualize as young, gay people before the world, risking personal safety, judgment from peers and family, and humiliation, all in the name of self-acceptance. These young, braves don’t get celebrated on The Oprah show; they just don’t.

Finally, let’s consider the thousands of gay parents that have been forced into ugly custody battles, lasting years on end, just to prove that they didn’t somehow become bad parents on the day they finally decided to accept their nature as gay people; There are no parades for them. 

 

Jason Collins’  "coming out" is undeniably an added profundity in the fight for (black) gay self-acceptance, but so are the efforts of the mighty bands of black, gay brothers and sisters that pioneered this journey; those having chartered frontiers for brothers like Jason to follow toward their personal freedoms. Many of them even sacrificed their lives and families in the process, and they never received such accolades.

Daily, there are teenage boys and girls bullied at school or disowned by their families JUST because they are gay. But something within them simply will not allow them to deny themselves; and they too are pioneers.

In my humblest opinion and with absolute respect for Jason, America’s outcry of support of him is safer than supporting a full-fledged, flamboyant, gay brother. Jason; HE’S NOT LIKE THOSE OTHER GAY PEOPLE.

So today, I submit this article to serve as a universal high-five to all human beings choosing or considering choosing to love everything about themselves out loud, not giving a damn what the public thinks.

I submit this, too, as a personal apology to every gay young person I shunned or ignored because of my own shame and insecurity, rendering myself unable to affirm your greatness or to be your example, I am so sorry.  

…to GB, who later became the first openly gay, non-Greek affiliated title holder at our school; who never took my lashings out personally and knew me more than I new myself, “You Are My Friend!”

I know that despite how much I hated acknowledging my attraction toward men, and despite the lashings out I committed against gay people during my insecure youth, I am who I am because of their efforts and love. I recognize how powerful gay frontiersmen (including women) of all cultures are to the universal embrace of all of humanity as self appointed martyrs when it was less easy to be so than it is today.

Those frontiersmen are the original heroes, making Jason’s journey a little less tedious.

So, congratulations to Jason, Kwame Harris, Frank Ocean, Wade Davis for finding the strength to love your entire selves out loud!

But, the most special thanks to you; James Baldwin, Langston Hughes, Alice Walker, Don Lemon, Meshell Ndegegeocello, Essex Hemphill, Wanda Sykes, Bishop Carl Bean, Rupaul Andre Charles, Alvin Ailey, E. Lynn Harris, Keith Boykin, Tim-m West, Carlton Smith, Angela Davis, Uni-Q Mical, and the millions of nameless gay folks deciding every day that all life is worth living to its fullest!