Issue 9 LGBTQI Afro-caribbean by Q-zine

Issue 10, June 2014

Afro caribbean LGBTQI Lives, ARt & Cultures 3

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Co-Edition with

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Editor’s Letter

THE PERSONAL IS POLITICAL

Europe-based Cases Rebelles is a collective of black, African and Afro-Caribbean women and men who came together to reclaim the struggles, histories and cultures of black people. Cases Rebelles was launched in 2010 by a collective text entitled “We Are” as a shout of protest and frustration – it became the source of our first web-radio program and later, our manifesto. Through this manifesto, we voiced our revolt against eurocentric spaces where the complexity of our identities and aspirations were continuously trampled by the dominant voices. We Are became the affirmation for an assertive and autonomous approach to re-connect, celebrate and amplify black experiences throughout the world. At first we didn’t know how we wanted Cases Rebelles to evolve; one thing was sure, we were envisioning a less virtual space than an online radio. But everything fell into place: portraits of activists, musical trends, revolts, daily experiences of resistance, fictions … Cases Rebelles quickly became to us the mean for a shared self-education and the platform to affirm our multi-facets cultural heritages. Our platform is exclusively for people of black ancestry, their artistic and cultural productions and achievements. Not out of a desire for purity or radicalism but because to us it places a priority on how black people see and tell about ourselves. We stand to break away from the traditional portrayals by explorers, columnists, travellers, sociologists or academics. We also seek to keep a collective identity. The vast majority of our work is signed by the collective or at most, by initials. We did not want a space that emphases individualism - the ego boosting and attention seeking encouraged by social media leaves us quite bewildered. 6

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

To cha l l e nge t he nar r at ive for mat , we t r y not to e ng age i nto he ro - worsh ipi ng . But we d o st r ive not to shy aw ay f rom any qu e st i on s i nc e b e c om i ng f re e re qu i re s an atte nt i on to a l l st r u g g l e s . Music has its own place in our programs. As other artistic means of expression, music helps share a subtle and thought-provoking blend of love, reflection and strength, which is much needed in our communities. Yes, love is definitely one of our major concerns. To give one another love and benevolence in learning who we are, were and will be. To give black communities love. To greet, to acknowledge, to gather. Today, our main activities are a web-radio program and articles, and we collaborate with other collectives – this is the case in this issue with Q-zine. We’d been enthusiastic readers of Q-zine until Mariam encouraged us to cross the line and come together on this joint issue. It has been with the greatest of pleasure to collaborate on this issue – with an altogether different approach, Q-zine pursues the same objectives. The very existence of such a project as Q-zine makes ours at Cases Rebelles more meaningful. That’s why this issue is all about sharing experiences, skills and, it goes without saying, Love!

Cases Rebelles

Issue 9, June 2014

=Coverpage Nhojj - Photo by Rod Patrick Risbook

Cases Rebelles Website: www.cases-rebelles.org Contact:contact@cases-rebelles.org Twitter: @casesrebelles Q-zine Website: www.q-zine.org Twitter: @q_zine Issuu:www.issuu.com/q-zine Contact:contact@qayn-center.org

Lead editor John McAllister (Botswana)

Managing Editor Mariam Armisen (Burkina Faso)

Layout Mariam Armisen (Burkina Faso)

Editorial team Abdou Bakah Nana Aichatou (Niger) Philippe MenkouĂŠ (Cameroon) Alice Vrinat (France/Belgium) Brian Doe (USA/Senegal) Joshep (Morocco/Spain) Michael KĂŠmiargola (France) Anthony Sedibo Phaladi (Botswana/China) Patrice L. (France) 7

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Love as Revolutionary Practice Call for Submissions A Q-zine & OurSpaceIsLove Special Issue Q-zine is the first pan-African, bilingual art and culture LGBTQI magazine. In the next edition Q-zine collaborates with OurSpaceIsLove for a special issue exploring the politics and practice of love as a revolutionary force. OurSpaceIsLove (www. ourspaceislove.tumblr.com) is an online community platform created by two African feminist friends in order to quench poetic, revolutionary and questioning thirsts. As African women and as feminists, we look to an understanding of love that recognizes the intentional act of embracing people who may be different from us but share the fact of being human. When we say ‘love’ we are talking about a concept beyond romance. We are talking about the feeling emanating from our hearts that seeks to instigate liberation in all that we do - individually and collectively. We are talking about love that inspires the desire to create spaces of peace for people harassed by discrimination and violence. We are talking about a love that motivates us to give, share, risk and speak up in the name of our collective happiness. Recognizing love as revolutionary and as the guiding principle of our feminist practice and the principle upon

which we build our communities, we are interested in exploring what it means for Africans to be connected both in the spirit and practice of ‘revolutionary love.’ We are interested in hearing reflections by Africans scattered across the continent and diaspora who share this ‘revolutionary love’ with and for each other and for the struggle for social transformation. In this Q-zine special issue, we invite Africans on the continent and in the diaspora to submit opinions, essays, reviews, literature, fashion, art, poems, short stories and audio-visual contributions that explore the theme of ‘Love as Revolutionary Practice.’ As stimulation, submissions could explore: • How a politics of love inspires your activism or art as Queer Africans / on your work on LGBTI and human rights for all; • How varied understandings of love shape your relationships, politics and practice; • Stories of African queer love, from history, the present and your imaginations; • Expressions of revolutionary love in building community and working for social justice.

Co-Editors Amina Doherty is a young Nigerian feminist and activist living in Kingston, Jamaica. A ‘curious creative mind’ and ‘restless nomad soul’, Amina brings to her activism a passion for music, art, and poetry. Jessica Horn is a feminist writer, poet and women’s rights activist with roots in Uganda. Her life’s work focuses on questions of sexuality, health, violence, and embodied liberations.

Please send your submissions to the co-editors, Amina Doherty, Jessica Horn and Q-zine at: OurSpaceIsLove@ gmail.com and/or contact@qayn-center.org

Deadline: August 10 8

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Photo: Brian Doe Issue 9, June 2014

Leslie the Lesbian Doll: Traditional Mas’ & Contestations of Sexuality Stephanie Leitch

Painting the Spectrum, Guyana LGBTI Film Festival – Cases Rebelles

Diamond Infinity: Fashion Show – Guyana Trans United

Q&A 19

You are not Alone – Cases Rebelles

On Love Songs, a Conversation with Nhojj – Cases Rebelles

Be in the Moment – Cases Rebelles

Opinion 92

Belize’s Virtual Protest – Caleb Orozco

Photography 51

Priscila and Camila, an Intimate Portrait of Love – Ulelli Verbeke

Snaps of Brazil – Ulelli Verbeke

Through a Lens – Ulelli Verbeke

INSIDE THIS ISSUE

Feature

Poem 24

New Dawn – Gladys Bedminster

Oval Splendor – Gladys Bedminster

I will never Know Why – Résilience

Maroon – Résilience

Domino – Gladys Bedminster

Portrait 71

Kouraj – Cases Rebelles

Tjenbé Red! – Cases Rebelles

I am a Masisi – Cases Rebelles

Short-Story 84

A Fleeting Moment that lasts Forever – Moun Difè

Incomplete – Résilience

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Photo by Résilience

Issue 9, June 2014

Photo by Ulelli Verbeke

Contributors Stephanie Leitch

Ulelli Verbeke

Stephanie Leitch is a social activist and conceptual artist and has recently been embracing the title artivist. Also known as Barefoot Contessa, Stephanie produces the series Barefoot Trails on the premiere Caribbean art magazine ARC. Her on-going projects include the portrayal of the traditional masâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; character Baby Doll at various cultural events.

Ulelli Verbeke is an independent photographer, a videographer, editor and artist. She employs her photo-artistry as forms of visual advocacy and activism. Her current exhibitions include SASOD at 10; Guy-Braz Photographic Exhibition and Conference, Guyana, Brazil and De-colonization ; Stand Against Transphobia ; and a project entitled Envisioning Global Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) Human Rights.â&#x20AC;?

thank you all from...

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Gladys Bedminster Born in 1975 in Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe, Gladys Bedminster writes novels, short stories and poems since the age of nine. Her poetry collection “Oval splendor” received an award by the International Academy of Lutece.

Résilience Résilience is Guadeloupean, lesbian, writer, poet and photographer. She is interested in the representation of homosexuality in the West Indies and tries to interpret it through poetry.

Caleb Orozco Caleb Orozco is an advocate, health educator, researcher, and activist with two decades of experience in the human development sector. Through legislative analysis, litigation, and public education, Caleb advocates for the elimination of discriminatory laws that impact LGBT communities in the Caribbean.

Photo by Résilience

Moun Difè

Guyana Trans United

Moun Difè is a poet, writer, filmmaker, who worships Erzulie Dantor, and in life tries to master the art of being where she/he is not expected.

GTU was founded in 2012 in Georgetown, Guyana, by 13 trans people activists to empower, educate, stimulate and support members of the Trans Community.

thank you all from...

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Feature

Leslie The Lesbian Doll Traditional Masâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; & Contestations of Sexuality By Stephanie Leitch, Photos by Candace Moses and Austin Agho

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

rinidad Carnival is the greatest show on earth. And I say this not because I am Trinidadian but because I cannot tell a lie, Pierrot Granade1 style.

The commercial promotion of the two main days of mas’ (masquerade), prior to the Catholic observance of Ash Wednesday, has taken precedence in popular discourse and consciousness around the event and served as the template for Caribbean Diasporic celebrations around the world. Carnival, however is much more than the stereotypical ‘bikini & beads’ and can boast of a rich cultural history that the elders have maintained, with the support of the government and younger generations who want to see the traditions kept alive. What happens then when you play Carnival in a non-traditional way … Ole mas’ of course! But this is provided you know your ole mas’ characters. Some of the more popular ones are the Midnight Robber, Jab Jab, Blue Devil and Pierrot Grenade. Less popular, but making a steady come back is the Baby Doll. This childlike character that carries a baby is desperate to find her child’s father. She is dressed in similar fashion to the dolls you played with as a child, complete with frilly dress, socks and bonnet, made up with white face and large rosy cheeks. Her performance like many of the other traditional characters is highly interactive, as she scans the crowd accusing various men of possessing similar features to her child and demanding that they claim paternity and hand over the money due to her with signature refrain, “Where the money fah de child milk?”

Within recent years the baby doll has been used as an advocacy tool by Trinbigonian2 cultural activist Eintou Springer and performance artist Michelle Isava, among others outside of the Carnival arena to carry specific messages already associated with the character.

1 [1] The Pierrot Granade is the supreme jester in the Trinidad carnival. He is a “scholar” who boasts of deep learning and delights in the display of his wide knowledge. The cream of his scholarship is to spell any word, however long, in his inimitable style. “And I cannot tell a lie!” is the signature refrain of Felix Edinborough, who has played and developed the character of the Pierrot Grenade for the past 34 years. 14

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

The Baby doll conventionally provides commentary on teen-pregnancy and responsible fathering and can easily be extended to other related issues such as breast-feeding and child rights. At the competition level, baby dolls tend to use current social and political events making their speeches relevant, witty and sometimes controversial. This however did not prevent the looks of slight shock and discomfort I received back stage after telling two of the other “dolls” that I would be looking for my child mother – not father this time around. I guess some things remain taboo despite our Carnival’s history. Carnival was never meant to be a literal display (heterosexuality can be read as literal) but a mockery of what we are not. This is why the Dame Lorraine, originally played by men, remains our first historic memory of cross dressing. “It was a continuation of the mockery of the slave master by the enslaved, which had begun on the estates prior to the period of apprenticeship, 1834 to 1838. This performance in two acts was a burlesque satire of the manners of the eighteenth century French plantocracy. This Dame Lorraine performance “formalized this practice into public theatre for a paying audience”3 and lasted till dawn when the heavily costumed performers and their audience would filter onto the street to begin the masquerade on [Carnival] Monday morning. An early version of jouvay.” [Taken from The Jouvay Popular Theatre Process: From the Street to the Stage (Jouvay Poetics) by Tony Hall] 4. In this year’s competition a man played both the Dame Lorraine and Jammet 5 and not only did he out wine the other female participants but gyrated his inflated buttocks over the head of a man in the audience. This display was only acceptable within the specific context of the masquerade. We can also see how various characters interact and mimic the social reality of a particular time. Even today baby dolls seek out white fathers for their babies, a tradition carried on from the legacy of bastard children that many of the American sailors left behind post US occupation of Trinidad in the 1940s. This relationship between sailors, women, prostitution, abandoned children and the like was well documented by many Calypsonians of the time including

[2] Trinbigonian is a short hand term for a person from Trinidad and Tobago; a twin-island Republic. [3] Quote taken from: Hill: 1972: The Trinidad Carnival: Mandate for a National Theatre, Chap. 5 Pg. 40 [4] See full text here: http://jouvayinstitute.blogspot. com/2012/12/the-jouvay-popular-theatre-process-from.html [5] Jammet refers to a prostitute or a woman of lowly class and behaviour. Issue 9, June 2014

the famous Jean and Dinah, by the Mighty Sparrow but was most poignantly captured in Brown Skin Girl by the Mighty Terror, which was later popularized internationally by Harry Belafonte. The nuclear family as taught and celebrated is a myth that has been perpetuated in the Caribbean, working against the reality of a very diverse set of familial networks including single parenthood as the baby doll highlights and same sex partnerships.It was important for me to show the intersection of these issues outside of the intellectual and private sphere in a way that was non-confrontational and palatable to an audience in the form of entertainment. The way that LGBT issues have been framed in public discourse allows the same actors to give voice to

repetitive and antiquated rhetoric while dissenting voices are silenced. Having seen this first-hand, with the unceremonious firing of former Minister of Gender, Verna St Rose-Greaves for her advocacy around the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;controversialâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; issues of gay rights and abortion, the modus operandi of our government is clear.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

The character of Leslie is indeed political but also an attempt to humanize the problems that arise from discrimination and how harmful it can be to relationships where there is a commitment to love and family. Issue 9, June 2014

Monologue Ah lookin’ for Nick Ent you know who’s nick? Noo not Nicholas… Nikki Ya aint see she? Why yuh lookin so surprise? AA Iz de 21st century And allya still feel woman need man to make baby … Doh mind de govahment does make it hard fah we And LGBTs still doh have rights or a gender policy While Kamla writing letters privately talking bout’ an end to discrimination & equality But shhhhhhhhh doh say I say Cuz as soon as she reach back in Trini iz fus’ she does shame we! So we does find we own way to make baby Anyway, anybody see Nikki The baby look jus’ like she But why allya laughing? Why the baby cyah look like she? You feel iz only DNA dat does make famlee How much woman out dere trying to tief up man head and telling dem de baby does look like he Look at those eyes And tell me you cyah see Nicky (sways baby) 16

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

I thought we woulda be happy Me and ya mummy She full up meh head with all kinna sweet talk Bout how she go convert spare room to nursery And “awww”-ing at every baby she see So foolish me tek meh farseness And carry chile fuh she.. Now I under real stress I cya go to no court house and file for child support cheque No kinna redress But why she leave me Me and we brand new baby? I wonder if she step father did get to she He did always hate me Calling up my phone and threatening me Saying how I bring disgrace to he family Talking bout he go send police for me … (laughs) … I feel is that scyamp Lerry He did always promise to marrid she But she was not the one with the swell belly So why she had to worry I waz the one barefoot and pregnant How could she be suffering from cold feet Issue 9, June 2014

I not saying I ent want meh chile I is still she mudda But I woulda do tings different If I did know iz all dis effin drama But so it does go when ya living this life child or no child But I want the same things as any other mother To find meh partner and de money fah mih chile milk So tell meh, where de money fah de chile milk? Where de money fah de chile milk?

Over the past five years, Baby doll has been my character of choice and I enjoy the opportunity each year to re-invent myself and my message. Despite even my own nerves, the performance was well received by the audience and judges and I was awarded third place for my performance. There is room within our traditions to challenge the parallel and in many ways paradoxical tradition of silence and shame around sexuality and I intend to fully explore these possibilities in ways that develop my and othersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; recalling and scope of cultural memories and methods of retention.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

In Red (IN ORDER): Eintou: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3paQrXSeHQ Michelle: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zk6vNvxzvB4 Wine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlc0QfBY7a4 Jean and Dinah: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnvzMxGsXeE Brown Skin Girl: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4No8NlbZfw Private letter: http://ttnewsflash.com/?p=14376

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Q&A

You are not Alone Interview by Cases Rebelles, Photos by Antoine Craigwell, Ocean Morisset Photography & Sevelco Photography

In 2012 Antoine B. Craigwell produced the documentary “You are not Alone”, focus and alarm call on psychological distress among gay black men. Based on powerful testimonies of men suffering depression or having dealt with depression, and interviews with experts in mental health, the film expresses a suffering endured in silence, invibilized in families, in the gay community, and the gear that can lead to risky behavior (drugs, unsafe sex) and even suicide. There is urgency, says the documentary, to talk about, to break the solitudes – to love oneself and to share this love with family and the community – to fight homophobia and all the violence it causes.  Originally from Guyana, now based in New York, Antoine B. Craigwell is a journalist, the President and CEO of the organization DBGM (Depressed Black Gay Men – on organization providing essential, daily support and prevention services to men of all ages and their families, specifically their mothers).  Here is an interview with a bold activist, in which he discusses the genesis of the project “You are not alone”, DBGM work, and his activism back in Guyana.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Where were you born, where did you grow up? I was born in New Amsterdam, in the county of Berbice, in Guyana. It used to be a part of the Dutch colony. And the country I was born in is the location of one of the most famous black slave revolt led in 1763 by a slave by a name of Kofi (Cufy). According to historians, Kofi overthrew several plantations owners, the white Dutch plantation owners. By that time in 1763, the Dutch gave Berbice county to the British. So he overthrew a lot of white plantation owners and held a lot of the plantations together – they actually survived as a commune, as a cooperative, as villages for 2 to 3 years before the British was able to send reinforcements and he was betrayed by another slave who enabled the British to capture and kill him. That’s a brief history of the county where I was born. I came to the US as an adult. I lived most of my life Guyana.

How did the idea of the film come to you? I’m originally a journalist – that’s where my specialty is – but I came across the idea of doing a book about depressed black gay men after hearing stories from other black gay men about where they were in their lives and how they felt stuck and unable to move forward, and not quite knowing why it is they were unable to move forward with their lives. After hearing the stories and having done some study in psychology – because I have a double degree in journalism and psychology – I recognized that under the surface, many of these men were actually dealing with depression. And when I started to investigate and ask questions, some of them knew they were depressed and they had been seeing therapists, others knew that they had dealt with depression and had seen therapists but they no longer see therapists, and there were others who were not aware that they were dealing with depression although theirs behaviors, theirs attitudes, their actions were reflection of people who have dealt with, were dealing with depression or having experience of depression. So I started to write a book, which I’m still trying to find a publisher – or an agent to help me find a publisher. I interviewed 40 black gay men from United States, the Caribbean and Africa, mental health professionals, and religious leaders including Christians and Islamic leaders. And because I couldn’t find a publisher I decided that since people respond more to visual images, then I 20

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Our mothers are the ones who help us, help our men to form their masculinity,determine their manhood and more important their sexual identity. So we focus now on mothers. should do a documentary. So I asked some of the guys I interviewed for the book if they’d be willing to sit in front of a camera and tell their stories, and they were like, “Yeah, certainly”. So we decided to film a lot of the interviews, and then we hired a director who wrote a script based on the interviews, and he did the casting and the sets and the studios and all that kind of stuff, and we reenacted some of the stories that were told in the interviews. One has to go back and look at the underlined psycho-social or socio-economic or socio-cultural factors in a person’s life to understand what’s going on, what contributed to their descent into depression. And depression is just one step away from someone wanting to commit suicide. And so the ultimate objective is to prevent a black gay man from committing suicide at all cost. Out of the book at least 5 distinct themes emerged: 1) was sexual identity and sexual orientation and gender expression; 2) sexual abuse and trauma; 3) HIV and dealing with HIV; 4) the effect of religion on someone’s sexuality and homophobia and bigotry that religion brings that cause someone to descending into depression; 5) what it was like for someone who’s growing old, as an older black gay man, to live in today’s youth obsessed society and deal with the loneliness, the abandonment and health issues and reduced income and shrunken network of friends and, possible estrangement from family.

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

An important point is that the film talks about and to multi-generations... We always talk about the previous, the upcoming generation, since the dawn of time, we look at the next generation that doesn’t know anything – and as a matter of fact the generations before us probably thought the same thing about us and probably still do. What is important I think is for the younger generation to understand is that if they live long now, that these are some of the issues that they will be faced with, as they get older, and for those who are not quite as old, these are also some issues that will be fast approaching. Our message really to the younger generations is really simple, if you feel that you’re going through some issues and you have issues that you’re dealing with, don’t keep them inside, talk to someone, find someone you trust and talk to that person – because the person will realize that he is not alone, that he is not the only person experiencing this. We always tell ourselves no one can understand what we’re going through, no one can understand what is happening to us, but the actual fact we will discover if we talk about it that there are a whole lot of people around us who had similar experiences, and this is what the film is intending to do.

How did the interviewees receive the film? They were very all happy, they were glad with the way that it turned out, they felt really good, they felt very proud when it was premiered in November 2013 here in NY at a gala that my organization had – so they were able to see it and a lot of people were proud of it, they were happy to see what they said was captured. One of the guy in the documentary passed away before it could have been finished, he died in June 2011, he was interviewed in about January 2011 and he died in June 2011, so he did not get a chance to see the film.

What is the story of DBGM?

masculinity, determine their manhood and more important their sexual identity. So we focus now on mothers. Helping them to heal so that they don’t feel that they are to be blame, that they are failures, not worthy of being mothers, so that they can heal and bring their family back together – and that they would be able to reach out to other mothers who may have sons that are gay but are still not accepting those sons.

What are your connections with Caribbean organizations? I am connected to SASOD, which is a LGBT organization in Guyana. The film was shown as part of SASOD film festival in Georgetown last June and, in August the film was one of the selections that the government of Guyana submitted to CariFest, which took place in Surinam. Carifest is a Caribbean arts festival. I am connected to a number of different Caribbean organizations here in United States; just last Friday night together with the Caribbean Alliance Equality, which is an organization in Philadelphia, we had a screening of the documentary.

How was the film received in Guyana? It was very well received – I skyped-in for the screening followed by a discussion at the SASOD’s Film Festival; there were quite a number of people who attended. A catholic bishop of Georgetown also attended the screening and saw the film and after the film while I was still on skype, I could hear what he was saying and his responses to questions from the audience. After the discussion was over he and I had a conversation over Skype and I asked him why he bothered to come, to participate in this, and he said that as a new bishop in Georgetown he felt it was necessary to understand the different dynamics, the different groups that exist and he wanted to understand what is going on with the black gay community, or the LGBT community in Guyana. So he accepted the invitation to be part of a panel after the film show in Guyana, so that he can see the film and discuss it – and I think that maybe that was a significant step forward.

DBGM was found as an extension of the documentary to raise awareness around depressed black gay men; it was part of the process. This year alone, the organization is about to launch 2 new programs here in NY City: one is a support group for mothers whose sons have committed suicide and, the second one is a support group for young black gay men whose mothers have not accepted them for who they are. One of the things we discovered, not limited to the research for the documentary, the book or the interviews, is that we recognize that our mothers are the catalyst – our mothers are the ones who help us, help our men to form their 22

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Anthurium verts, Painting by Gladys Bedminster

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Painting & Poem

New Dawn Poem & Painting by Gladys Bedminster

I love the curve of your hips The water from your mouth And the heat of your hands I love it when you scream again You donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want me to express my love Of your breasts I know intimately Of your hips I only know their motion You tell me to stay there To which I respond come here I love your eyes and their oval splendor The smoothness of your hands The silkiness of your skin I want to drink you to the last drop Tonight I love you More than ever.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Feature

PAINTING THE SPECTRUM LGBTI Film Festival, a Signature Cultural Event by the Society Against Sexual Orientation Discrimination â&#x20AC;&#x201C; SASOD An excerpt of a conversation with SASOD Co-Chairs, Joel Simpson and Ulelli Verbeke Photos by Ulelli Verbeke

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

oel Simpson: In 2003, the Guyana Parliament was considering whether or not to include sexual orientation as a ground for discrimination in our Constitution. Myself and a group of like-minded students decided to formed a student lobby group to advocate for the passage of the amendment that would outlaw discrimination based on sexual orientation in Guyana’s constitution, because it meant that there would be legal protection from discrimination for homosexuals and bisexuals – and heterosexuals alike – in the Constitution. We weren’t successful in getting that amendment passed simply because the parliament didn’t vote on it when it came up for debate. They just kind of shelved it. We decided that we would continue our efforts to advocate, especially for legal protections for LGBT people in Guyana.

It was a big year for us since we were celebrating SASOD’s 10th Anniversary. In addition to the Film Festival we had a photo exhibition, a documentary launch and we had Nhojj headling our “SASOD at 10” concert at the Sidewalk Café, along with other local artistes.

I started SASOD when I was in a second-year university student in 2003; and in 2004 I graduated and a few of the initial people involved, and still remain involved, also graduated that same year by 20042005. So we were no longer students, but we were still organizing under the SASOD banner, and we decided to re-name from Students Against Sexual Orientation Discrimination, to Society Against Sexual Orientation Discrimination (SASOD). Our initial focus was community mobilization, getting people to come out and speak out about LGBT rights in Guyana, kind of like of challenging that stigma. So we organized support groups and discussion meetings, just to get people comfortable with talking with each other – as LGBT people and friends, relatives and allies of LGBT people. After that, we decided that we wanted to do more public education. So in 2005, we decided to host the first LGBT Film Festival in the English-speaking Caribbean and in October of that year, we had the first festival, Painting the Spectrum here in Georgetown. This festival is our signature calendar event that goes on every June – it has been a staple on SASOD’s calendar at a point where SASOD is turning 11 and the Film Festival is in its 10th year. Our first venue for the Film Festival was at a place called Sidewalk Café, in Georgetown. Every June for the past 9 years, we host the Film Festival with screening a couple times a week. At the Film Festival, what we do love is to have discussions after the screenings so that people get to interact, and we get to learn how they are thinking. We will lead discussions, ask what they thought about the films; sometime attendees will share personal stories as well. Last year we had the Producer of the documentary “You Are Not Alone,” Guyanese-American Antoine Craigwell join a post-screening panel with the head of the Roman Catholic Church in Guyana, Bishop Francis Alleyne, and with Guyanese-born singer, Nhojj. 28

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

lelli Verbeke: With regard to curating films, we read reviews and we also review movies ourselves. We try to do documentaries, mainstream movies, small budget movies… It’s hard to source movies, but we do our best. Before all movies are shown we review them or ask people to review or ask their suggestions, ask what they would like to see. The atmosphere at the Festival has changed; in the beginning there was a lot of curiosity, people will come, not being sure – or coming but not telling their friends that they were coming to or bringing friends – afraid of the ridicule. At one time, we had spectators from sections of the religious community who attended the Festival and tried to say it was wrong. Now it is more festive, more celebratory. More young people coming out – I don’t know how it’s going be this year. We don’t know yet where we will host the Festival; for the past 9 years it was at the Sidewalk Café. Sidewalk might not be available this year because their circumstances have changed. We are trying to get a nice venue because this year is the 10th annual Painting the Spectrum, which is quite a milestone. This year, the plan is to take the Film Festival out of Georgetown, again, to other locations across the country later in the year, if we have the resources to do it.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Paintings by Gladys Bedminster

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Painting & Poem

OVAL SPLENDOR Painting and Poem by Gladys Bedminster The following texts are taken from a collection titled “L’Ovale splendeur” (Oval Splendor) In the Oval Splendor, published in 2013, I wanted to explore another dimension of femininity. It is a unique body in my bibliography. It also the singular expression of rare and happy moments. The collection’ s themes are certainly classical but also found in works from other genres. The pursuit of and attempt to understand the other person remains the basis of all relationships; as for understanding my wound, it originated from long ago, probably from childhood.

TWO HANDS There are hands that don’t know how to love or how to caress Lost in a maze of doubts, of “how do we do it?” These hands don’t know how to give And they receive with an embarrassed smile, choked gratitude These are hands that remain cold Even when beaten by passion They look at it sheepish, awkward and limp Useless next to their amputated body In opening our eyes we realize That they are the wings of birds coated in oily film/ oil-covered birds/oiled birds Glued down by doubts Suffocating in abandoned desires If I caressed your face and body It’s because life never left mine I know now that it is too late Your hands have long died

AN HIBISCUS A golden hibiscus lives in my soul It is Guadeloupe under the spell Of a shoeless little princess Who never lost her shimmer

OUR LOVE Our love was a fleeting mirror It went lost into the ice

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Q&A

BE IN THE MOMENT From Martinique to Paris - an interview with the composer, singer and songwriter Ozeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;N By Cases Rebelles Photos by GPhotography

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

an you introduce yourself and tell us more about your musical background?

I’m a composer, singer and songwriter. I’m a bit of an introvert which led me to write down what I felt, things about my life, my relationships by and large - I think it was innate in me. I didn’t try to make music; some friends of mine offered me a notebook and that’s how it got started, writing and writing, adding up in it little by little. And then in 2012 I came to France again, met people and was given the opportunity to go on stage – since then, I’ve been on and off stage for over the past two years. It’s not a kind of music that is trendy in Martinique. I play what is referred to as “world music” not to be labeled or boxed in a given style. Music-wise, I’m some sort of Jack-of-all-trades. My various influences make me evade categorization. I belong to the indie scene and I’d like it to remain like that because I think we enjoy more freedom. I prefer making music for music’s sake in order to express myself. Besides, I think it more worthwhile than pre-made music some sell like hotcakes.

What are your musical influences and do they include Caribbean music? It depends on the songs. You mention Caribbean influences but it didn’t matter that much to me. I believe, as black people, our roots are not really in the West Indies because we are not West Indians. West Indians are originally the Arawaks, unlike us who were taken from Africa. For sure there’s such a thing as a West Indian cultural identity, but I think our real identity lies in the Afro culture itself as it emerged from slavery in the US for instance. That’s the kind of Afro-American culture I was rather attracted to because it was closer to my roots. I tapped into this culture, listening to soul, blues, jazz, and it was hard enough a stance to take among young people who were more drawn to dancehall. Some people criticize me for, “not playing zouk because you are West Indian after all...” Well, no, it’s not as simple as that. Just because I’m West Indian, it doesn’t imply that I’m going to make dancehall or zouk music. Same with my hair – sporting dreadlocks doesn’t mean I’m gonna play reggae. I’ve tried to keep prejudices away and forced myself to flee preconceptions. Likewise, I tend not to pay too much attention to the musical directions I’m given. This is how I nurture my own influences. So I would listen to Tracy Chapman or Annie Di Franco who deeply, deeply moved me. I still enjoy her sounds and the way she composes is brilliant. I’m short of words to tell how much I admire her!Should I meet her someday, I’d get the kick of my life. But there are also Salif Keita or Bobby Womack. 34

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

I listen to more recent artists as well like Irma or Asha. Surprisingly enough, I also listen to dub music with artists like Skrillex. These are kind of crazy sounds but I really like to spice up my music with a little craziness here and there – you know, like funk, ragga or reggae when it blends nicely. But when it comes to Caribbean sounds I rather stick to the oldies than recent stuff. When I was young at home we used to listen to Teri Moise, Tracy Chapman, Francis Cabrel but also classical music.

You mentioned Annie Di Franco who sometimes played music with a rather poetic or spoken-word ring to it. Does this evoke anything to you? Slam poetry, yeah, is really something I’m interested in. I did some and wrote a few of them. I attended a slam poetry workshop for a short while and I do pay extra attention to rhymes. Even in English I try to make it rhyme and conjure images because I think they convey meaning in a more beautiful way than plainly stating things as they are. I use images because it enables direct access to what is meant. But when I’m writing I cannot say to myself, “Well, now I’m going to write a song.” Either it flows naturally or it doesn’t come at all. I don’t like to overdo it or rush things. It has to come naturally. I like simple things. Kind of a, “it had to happen and that’s the way it is,” period, without over processing it, or else it’s no longer pleasurable but rather done out of necessity.

You sing in English and in French. Which language do you feel most comfortable with? In English because I mainly listen to songs in English and I appreciate the musicality of the language. Plus, singing in a foreign language is a way to protect myself because I think people won’t necessarily catch the meaning. Thus they won’t read into me like an open book. Singing in French, I sometimes get the feeling I’m telling too much too fast about myself. When singing in English I’m hiding away a little. It’s my last refuge in a way. That’s something people criticize me for – since I mostly perform in France, they say, “but still, sometimes we don’t get what you mean.” So, maybe I should write in French even though it doesn’t come to me naturally. I’m Francophone but I prefer singing in English.

We got to see you on stage for the first time last night. You were the first to get on stage, you were by yourself and the audience was seated quite a distance from you but it wasn’t long before you established a bond. You seemed rather comfortable for “an introvert” as you put it.

Issue 9, June 2014

Just because I’m West Indian, it doesn’t imply that I’m going to make dancehall or zouk. Same with my hair – sporting dreadlocks doesn’t mean I’m gonna play reggae.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

I may seem comfortable on stage, but, really, I’m not. I don’t know how people take in what I sing or how it gets across. And once my song’s over, there’s always a short silence and I feel like saying, “Hey guys, the song’s over now!” (Laughter) So, I’m not sure I should take it as a good or a bad thing; I dunno. As this silence is lasting, I usually wonder, “Maybe they share the silence I experienced while writing the song,” but at times I think, “Maybe they didn’t get my point at all.” (Laughter) So, What am I supposed to do? Explain things? It’s always the same situation when I try to explain. I’ve got a problem with words – I can’t find the right ones, except in songs. So saying what I meant in a given song is sometimes tricky. Last night a guy came to me after the gig and told me he felt carried away as you were saying. That’s when it has a therapeutic effect: realizing that some people can bond over a song. Sometimes it feels good not to be alone on your own trip. That’s what’s interesting and the beauty of it all. I think listening to music for music’s sake only, being carried away and being in the moment, that’s the real experience! It means sharing emotions, stories, truths and commitments and that’s what it’s all about to me.

And what about the future? To play as much music as possible, to record a short EP and hopefully things will move smoothly from there. It’s cool to let things out in a recording studio, you know, it frees up my mind. I’ve been performing on and off for two years, so now I really intend to do it more and more, to get together with people. I’ve found a bass guitarist. It’s not that easy to find musicians with whom it clicks right away, with whom you share the same musical philosophy – as well as sound-wise, and also open-minded enough when it comes to sexuality. I mean, some people pretend they don’t get you’re gay and once they’ve realized it they go, “My oh my” and without telling you straight away they pull the rug from under your feet, telling you, “I can’t rehearse today”, “oh no it won’t work out like that” and in the end “you should pay me for this because... you know...

Singing in French, I sometimes get the feeling I’m telling too much too fast about myself. When singing in English I’m hiding away a little. It’s my last refuge in a way.

I didn’t know you were gay,” like, “That’s shocking!” Sometimes you come across people who are OK with it but lacking in skills or inspiration. But I’m not in a perpetual fight to “be accepted, tolerated or respected.” I’m just as I am, just like others happen to be heterosexual, except I make music. Why then my being gay is that big a deal? Because we live in a society where this kind of difference is wildly overrated but it actually doesn’t mean much. As an artist you must manage to be judged solely as such and not as an artist who’s gay. 37

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Sliding Puzzle-piece Artwork

Theme: Abstracted Female Love Scenes for more, visit Art by Kawira Mwirichia http://kawiramwirichia.wordpress.com 38

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Poem

I will Never Know Why By RĂŠsilience I will never know why My lips came close to your wrists My endless, restless nights without you My hands caressing your breast wrapped in the beats of your heart I will never knowâ&#x20AC;Ś No An idealist, probably Pink glasses on my nose No I will never know Why I cried When I saw you Your moans breaking the silence of the night Those hands on this breast that was mine Those lips on the wrists I so adored Those endless, restless nights without you I will never know Why me.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Photography

PRISCILA & CAMILA AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF LOVE Text and Photos By Ulelli Verbeke

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Camila is the daughter of Priscila, we were on the waterfront somewhere on our last day of our trip in Brazil when I took the photos of them.

The last day she would see her mother before we travelled back to Guyana. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve always felt very privilege to be able to take photos of them; they have very beautiful chemistry together. 43

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Short-story

A FLEETING MOMENT THAT LASTS FOREVER This same summer I will have my first outing in a nightclub. Located on the beach and called Mandinka Paradise, it has a reputation as being gay – the owners – the staff – the clients. Dedicated to Résilience, Sony and Joao By Moun Difè Photos by Bawa

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

he town of B. Guadeloupe. 1986. I’m 13 years old, on vacation and having the time of my life.An incredibly deep experience. Though at the same time, incredibly brutal. This was adolescence after all and it was making my head explode. Tonight, the night is heavy and full of stars. The sounds of crickets seem to echo the excitement in our steps. Jokes are flying out all around. There are cries. Tonight I’m going to a zouk party with my cousins and some other friends. These are the high years of Kassav. One of my cousins and I are devoted groupies of Patrick St. Eloi and his way of singing about love, with that voice that is at once sensual, forceful and fragile. I’m having a rollercoaster experience. Sometime ago, I shut myself away in my family’s home for a week. An older girl kissed me without my permission, and in front of many witnesses. It was my first kiss. I was shocked. Wounded. *** This evening I think back of all the wild reinventions of this vacation. Once again I have a feverish longing of Zouks: to find love again. To flirt. But on my own terms. On those Zouks nights, the most important attention was in attires. It was mandatory to show the highest level of elegance. Class. Also originality. We spent an incredible amount of time in trying outfits, to then impeccably iron THE outfit. This evening my cousin Sony is wearing make-up. A lot of make-up. As soon as we are out on the main boulevard where our family home is, I ask him why. I insist on knowing. Forcefully. I’m the person that pushes the question the most and he responds, out of bravado, that he is a “Cream” and “there’s nothing wrong with that.” A “Cream” is one of the many derogative words for gays in Guadeloupe. I insist. I laugh, like an idiot. I love my cousin Sony but this evening he makes me uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable in part because everyone else seems so indifferent, like this is just one acceptable option amongst many. As if it was completely ordinary, which troubled me the most. But everyone is focused on their own particular priorities: the high stakes of teenagers’ summer evening, filled with desire, hope, self-consciousness and a sense of immortality.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Located on the beach and called Mandinka Paradise, it has a reputation as being gay – the owners – the staff – the clients. Homophobic rumors had been swirling linking homosexuality to harassment by white male bosses. I heard them all and I believe them. Paradoxically, this is where I will have my first experience in a nightclub. In a gay nightclub in Guadeloupe. I heard about homosexuality a long time ago, in very clear terms – from my father. My father is a white, Frenchman born in France where my parents first met. At a very young age he told us, to my brother and I, that if he ever had a gay son he would kill him. That is how I first found out about homosexuality. As if it was some kind of fatal disease I could catch. And my father would kill me if I caught it. It was terrifying. My father wasn’t around often at our home in France, where I grew up. And at some point he wasn’t around anymore. We, my brother and I, were raised by a black mother from the Caribbean who was a very thoughtful woman and had spent the first twenty years of her life in Guadeloupe. I spent a lot of time with her, playing sports and other activities. We talked a lot – of love, friendship, life in general. We cleaned the house and did the ironing together. But my favorite thing to do with her was going shopping in discount clothing stores. She would try on all sorts of outfits, always asking my opinion. Usually it would be on a Saturday afternoon –maybe, or so I tell myself now – that we were running after a new life through those new clothes. Then again our family already had a love for clothes, fashion and style. My grandmother in Guadeloupe was a seamstress. My mother sewed as well. Even my brother could stitch some amazing things with a needle. As for myself, even if I was fascinated by fashion, I never really felt I had the fortitude do anything Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

other than help put together outfits – to observe, in short, being like a style expert – as useless as that really is. Very quickly, after the premature death of my mother, I found myself many female friends with whom I could continue to shop for women’s clothes. This was before discovering or understanding, which came later, that I was actually longing to buy these clothes – for myself. *** Games with my father, when he was still around, were filled with violence and epic fighting that usually ended badly. My father would often make comments about the type of education my mother was giving me – always in the look out for any sign of “femininity”, of “homosexuality”. If I did something that wasn’t sufficiently masculine, he would turn my name into a girl’s name – or just because he felt like it. One day he asked my brother, who was only 11 at the time, if he was thinking of “switching team” when my mother bought him a purple trousers. I remember a particular Sunday. He was no longer living with us. I had spent the better part of the evening wearing a Caribbean dress that my mother had. I loved 47

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

this dress. Wearing it made me feel, I thought, like some African royalty. I did like some of her things, while others I found a bit too old fashioned, or too Western, or sometimes with my racial uneasiness at that time I found them to look too “migrant” or just off beat. Alone, I often went in her room,I will open her closet and I look. I was in search of what I could wear without betraying my assigned gender. I will leave empty-handed, puzzled. After my father left her, my mother continued to date white men. And my father found a woman just like himself : stupid, white, racist sexist and homophobic. *** A friend of my mother, who was white and bisexual, later told me that one night, in a nightclub somewhere in a French countryside, the two of them had pretended to be a couple – that was at the end of the 80s.They wanted to disturb the white regulars who were already annoyed by the presence of a beautiful black woman in the club. Maybe it helped that night to keep everybody else, especially guys, out of their little world and the particular bond they shared – my mother and her friend just wanted a place to dance and the only possible option was this redneck club.

Issue 9, June 2014

I’d been, I think, long attracted to men. To my white classmates. That was obvious to me. Though growing up in an era that was extremely racist and in the most marginalized corners of France, to acknowledge this attraction to them would have been an act of pure masochism.

I was a homophobe for a long time, too long in fact for my own mental health and I am still undoubtedly too transphobic for my own good. In debates, on social medias, at conferences, I must repeatedly listen to people, sometimes black people, “lecture” on black homophobia, black sexism, west-indian sexism, etc.

Black men were more complicated since they weren’t so many of them where I grew up. Very early on I was ob*** sessed with black men – I searched them out wherever I How worthy is my own experience? could. On the television. In the streets. I was fascinated My cousin. by their bodies, etc. This was really a quest for a role model, for sure. Some fresh air of negritude in this hostile and white world. And also out of desire, which took me a while, a long while, to admit to myself.

My brother, with whom I shared the same education and yet accepts without any judgment that I dress in women’s clothes without knowing how far I can take it. He sharesfreely his own attraction to other men.

Then when I moved in the city and began meeting more black men, and it was always in contexts that were extremely masculine and heterosexual, except for the usual and acceptable homeopathic dose of “homo-socializing”.

My old west-indian aunt in a Parisian suburb, who despite a lifetime of anti-gay and anti-trans indoctrination, now is a spokesperson for gay and trans rights, and who believes that what matters is self-acceptance above all else. When I visit her, I must watch with her, awful reality shows filled with tearful coming out stories.

I have always lived my love life as a straight man and it is still the case today. I learned after a lot of shed tears and a lot of denial, to finally accept that I desired men and to embrace this desire.

My lesbian cousin in Guadeloupe. Whom I adore. Through her experience, even if I wanted, I couldn’t ignore the bigotry against lesbians and gays there. When she hears my troubles and my questions, she tells

The rest of the story…. I cross-dress regularly, but it’s neither for fun nor entertainment. Very often it turns into an obsessive habit of wanting to transition. And then into despair in realizing how old I already am to do so. And I’m disheartened by all the time it took me to accept that I’m half white. I grew up in France, raised by a black Caribbean mother who paid a high price for the illusion that the white French patriarchy was somehow better than the west-indian patriarchy. My emotional and physical development was sabotaged by attacks from my father’s notions of race and gender. My WHITE. FRENCH father. In the white society where I grew up. 48

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

that she’d often thought that I was gay and says that if I decide to transition, I could come join her in the camp of outcasts of our Caribbean family. She says it with laughter. She hopes for it too. I know that the isolation makes her suffer. ***

Issue 9, June 2014

I have a white side of the family too, a half-sister even. People to whom I will never share my discomfort of being in the - man, heterosexual- boxes.

My father didn’t civilize or awaken my mother. He abused her. Totally deceived her. She remained a courageous black woman who made some mistakes.

As of the white LGBT spaces I’ve tried to mix with, I left them fleeing in tears, unable to stomach the racism and their exoticization of who I am.

I was almost relieved when the white homophobe hoards of the Manif Pour Tous in France finally exposed themselves, as some sort of a symbolic acknowledgment that my father wasn’t the only one. Symbolic because he was at that point long dead.

My support network, that place where I could bring sexuality and gender questioning, I got it from Carribeans and other Blacks communities. The homophobic death threat, the brutal sexist attacks came from my father, from this white family. I did most of my schooling in white establishments where racism and violent homophobia went hand in hand. I once saw my brother threatening a boy about 4 years older than me because he called me Snow White. My lack of what is considered virility; my lack of interest in traditional masculine activities was compensated by the virility projected on me by racist whites. I was one of the few blacks in my school so it wasn’t too hard to keep up some level of street cred there… *** I know Guadeloupe pretty well. I went there fairly regularly since I was a kid. However I do not pretend to comprehend the level of homophobia there and can neither deny the reality of it nor quantify it. All I can tell you about is this little microcosm of my own family here, living in the diaspora. 49

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

When I hear, again and again, people talk about black or west-indian homophobia I think back to us- to our family. To my cousin Sony too. Destiny hasn’t been kind to him and he now lives a reclusive life, a shut-in due to illness. But when I think of him, I always see him elsewhere. Free. *** It’s 1986 in a hot, heavy night in Guadeloupe. He’s never-endingly walking up the boulevard and his steps barely touch the ground. He’s floating. Far above my nervous laughter. Above my father. Above all stereotypes on black people and homophobia. His resplendent doll up face is lightening by an aura of total freedom. A fleeting moment that lasts forever.

Issue 9, June 2014

Khanga Design Motif

Translation of Kiswahili text: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Love does not need to be understood. It needs only to be shownâ&#x20AC;? for more information or to purchase the print, visit Art by Kawira Mwirichia http://kawiramwirichia.wordpress.com 50

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Q&A

On Love Songs A Conversation with Nhojj, Singer and Songwriter from Guyana By Cases Rebelles, Photos by Jerry James, Rod Patrick Risbook Nhojj is an out and proud Singer and Songwriter originally from Guyana but now based in the U.S. In 2009, Nhojj became the first black person to win the Out Music Awards, which he went on to win several times further afterward. His music celebrates love in all its forms and in his own words, â&#x20AC;&#x153;I believe that regardless where love shows up, love is right, love is good and love is beautiful.â&#x20AC;? Cases Rebelles sat down with him via skype for a long conversation. This is an excerpt of the interview.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Cases Rebelles: First, I would like to talk about positivity and love in your music. Where and how do you find the strength to share, to give so much through your music? Where does all this inspiration and love come from? Nhojj: Wow (laughter), that’s a good question. I think it come from… I think we all have love, we all have big, huge capacity for love and as artists and creative people, what we do is that we type into that, we connect to it – I think that where my source comes from. I think there is a world of love, of, you know, an ideal. With music I get to type into that ideal and I get to share it. I think we all have access to it – I think as creative people, we are more tuned into it, (laughter). I think…

CR: I assume there are some times where you are filled with anger or fear, all these bad- negative emotions, how are you able to overcome these and experience love? Nhojj: Yay, that’s a biggy. I absolutely feel (experience) fear, I feel hate, I feel anger – and I think part of my (creative) process is to acknowledge all feelings – to embrace all feelings and part of what I do is that I journal a lot. I write my feelings out in a diary, and that for me really helps in getting it off my chest. To acknowledge these feelings and the experience that kinda brings them up. I found that when I journal or when I acknowledge the feeling of anger, the feeling of fear – the acknowledgement of these feelings, I get to pass (get) through them. I get to reach a level of contentment. Sooner or later -it doesn’t always happen right away, but sooner or later, when I acknowledge all feelings, I get to a place where I can reach love.

CR: I remember a beautiful text you wrote where you talked about “burying “your” head under the sand and wasting away precious years”. How was your childhood in Georgetown? Nhojji: I grew up in Georgetown – you know Georgetown is beautiful – the weather is warm, the people are warm, for the most part. I remember we had tonne of fruit trees in our yard. That part of my life, the kind of organic nature of life there, I really liked. In terms of my sexuality, that part was just nonexistent because I really never saw anyone like me. It’s different now – when I was there in June 2013, we went on the radio and we did interviews. SASOD had done a great job at raising the visibility of LGBT people. However when I was growing up, there was none of that;

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

I felt completely isolated and confused. I knew I was different but I didn’t really know what that meant, so it was very confusing for me – and painful too. I didn’t play sport, I was always soft so I got teased a lot and called all kind of names. (I’m) Thankful that was all it was – I didn’t get beat up but emotionally, yay, it was tough.

CR: Can you tell me the importance of religious and faith in your art? How did your faith evolve through the years considering that your father was a Minister? As a child what was the place of religious and faith and what is their place today? Nhojj: So that was… So I grew up in a church –my process, my journey it wasn’t easy for me. There were a lot of confusion growing up because I was hearing things at church that didn’t resonate with me, Issue 9, June 2014

it was a way of using music to say that our love is beautiful, our love is poetic, our love is sexy, our love is rich, our love is everything that we could imagine it to be â&#x20AC;&#x201C; and to just use music as another way of saying this, of affirming who we are, and the way we love and who we love.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

with who I was. I was hearing that being gay is wrong, you know – that you will go to hell, you have to repent – you know all these stories. So for me growing up I have to turn my back on religious, ignore all of it. And then, gradually, overtime, I started finding new ways of spirituality. I stumbled across some books on meditation, yoga and just those types of concepts where we are all one, we are all connected to the universe, we all have our unique path to follow. That type of spirituality connected with who I was – that was a way for me to reconnect with God, to kind of recapture my spirituality. But it took a lot time- I still read a lot, I meditate. That nourishes the spiritual aspect of my life.

CR: Let’s discuss your musical influences. Growing up, you were into Gospel. Did you listen to Caribbean music and what are you listening these days? Nhojj: Growing up I heard lot of Socca, Bob Marley, Reggae, Marcel Mantaneau. I loved that music, you know, it’s great. Even now I still listen to Socca and Reggae. I also listen to Gospel and church music – I remember I had this record, my parents spent sometime in the U.S studying before moving back to Guyana. While they were here, they ended up in a church. They had this one Gospel record, which I found when 54

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

we moved back in Guyana and was a little bit older. I would play it all the time; it was just, you know – just like the church choir, like they had just made this record. I always loved the energy and the passion of Gospel music. My parents, not soo much, but I always loved it. What I listen to now – I listen to a variety of things. The artist I’m in love right now, and I’m going to mess up her name – is Laura Mvula. I loved her. I always loved India Arie and Sade, and Cassandra Wilson. I’m a huge, huge, Cassandra Wilson fan.

CR: Your new album just came out. Can you tell me a little more about it? It covers love songs and came out on Valentine Day. How did you feel about the album? Nhojj: Yay, it’s been kinda of the biggest project I worked on. We had a lot of incredible musicians on, a lot of accomplished musicians. And, so yes, it was a lot of work, but I felt it was an important album to make, an important project for me because – I don’t hear songs, love songs or any other type of songs that have the same gender and I would love to hear more songs like that. I think, I always believed that if there is something that I want to see or hear in the world, but I don’t see or hear in the world, I get to create Issue 9, June 2014

it and place it into the world. So that is what this project was about – it was a way of using music to say that our love is beautiful, our love is poetic, our love is sexy, our love is rich, our love is everything that we could imagine it to be – and to just use music as another way of saying this, of affirming who we are, and the way we love and who we love.

CR: Since you began, how have you evolved in terms of your music, how you write – what are you doing differently? Are you writing differently, playing differently? Nhojj: Yay – it’s all like a growing, learning process for me. Let’s see, how to articulate that? It feels – especially playing and performing – I think that because I’m singing experiences that are really closer to my heart, experiences that I really know of – especially in a song like “He Heals Me”, or He and Him”, or “Bromance”. I think it comes from a deeper place within me. For me it’s very liberating, very freeing. That’s what I’m reaching for, I’m reaching for more honesty, even more freedom, even more clarity – and exploring different ways of expressing myself, expressing our reality here on earth.

CR: How does it feels to receive an award for your musical contributions? Nhojj: Personally, it’s a nice affirmation, it’s good to hear from my peers that they respect the work I’m doing, that they respect the music I’m creating. It’s really encouraging. You know, creating things is sometimes scary – because I never know what the reaction will be, I always hope to that people like what I do, but I’m never really sure. So to get awards is really encouraging, it encourages me to continue on. And I think for others, for younger musicians, I think it. And I think for others, for younger musicians, I think it is inspiring for them to know that we can be honored for setting out, for creating work that is honest and true to our experiences. I think that’s important – I think that artists are really important in changing people perceptions. I think that the political activity is vital, because that changes the laws, makes our lives legal in a way – it provides the framework. But it’s the artists, the people who get married, who live together, they add the coloring, they give the details to the framework – they give it life, they it give a meaning. And I think that’s important.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Feature

Diamond Infinity Fashion show By Guyana Trans United Photos by Ulelli Verbeke

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Guyana Trans United first Fashion Gala, Diamond infinity, took place in November 2013 to showcase the talents of transgender people as performing artists and fashion designers.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

In the Caribbean there is a deep level of discrimination towards trans people in every aspect of society.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

The fashion gala doubled as an advocacy event to test peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s attitude toward transgender people â&#x20AC;&#x201C; in general, society is always supportive of artistic performance, regardless of who the performers are.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

At GTU, we wanted to see this same level of support would be there for our community. Over 100 people attended the event.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Poem

MAROON By Résilience, Photo G. Casas

Maroon, black, chabine, arched in a sensually biting stature Surrendered to you and your bittersweet words Lover and victim I’m to you an exotic fantasy. Is it my skin or my words that tempt you? Words that lost their meaning as your eyes sultrily caress me with their glaze. Shut them down, I say. But then your hands brush my skin and color me A dash of blood red on my wrists The print of your lips A trace of dark blue on my neck Your waterproof mascara A splendid rainbow As our garments merge on the floor You and I and the sunset This memory of us Maroon, black, curved in a sensual stature A holiday picture and nothing else This ring you are wearing This kissing that’s no longer mine This palette of color flowing on the floor Black swallowed by white Blood red Maroon, black, chabine, arched in a sensually biting stature? 70

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Portrait

KOURAJ A Cases Rebelles’ conversation with Charlot Jeudy, President, Executive Committee of Kouraj (Haiti) - Photos by Lorenzo Tassone and Kouraj

“To be gay in this country requires guts and courage” 71

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

e live as the unwelcomed in most places since normally to go to the beach where other men might know your sexual orientation must immediately make you unwelcome ; in restaurants, bars and most other places we do not belong. This was the start of our own “ghettoization”. It was necessary for us to ghettotize ourselves off because when it was just us we could be free spirits, where there weren’t any worries or judgment. Judgment between us was non-existent. We could speak inside the group freely and if someone said something no one gave it a second thought.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

This led to the formation in 2009 of Ami-ami (FriendFriend), the first organization. Previously I had already been involved in numerous organizations in my neighborhood, but I understood that when it came to gay identity it was a non-starter to organize around even if there were many others who would have wanted to participate with me, who would have liked to have me join their causes but held back, they didn’t say as much but their reticence showed clearly there was a problem. Some used to tell me: “Charlot, you are our Masisi.” And then they would go: “You know we don’t like dealing with Masisis, but we know you, you are our

Issue 9, June 2014

Masisi – the Masisi of our neighborhood.” So I grew up and told myself it was time to force the conversation on this problem. One evening at the birthday celebration of one of our friends named Jean-Andre, we were all together and having a good time in the Bolosse neighborhood. We were having an amazing time and we all knew it was amazing- we had no worries because we were together and we danced. The only chance that we ever had to feel like that was when we created our own space for it, and it was obvious we needed to keep creating these spaces, and this led to the creation of Ami-Ami, and we started with some first gatherings – “Back to School”, “Homo”, “Homonaval”. There were loads of cultural events happening but we’d always stayed under quiet. We had to create our own space within them. Ami-Ami was this space and with a mission to acknowledge and promote the cultural values of the LGBT community, the M community as we say - Masisi (gay), Madivin (lesbian), Makomé (transgender) and Miks (bisexual).

Those in the camps were being heavily persecuted and forced to leave to find shelter elsewhere due to what was coming from these preachers (saying they were sinners, etc.). More and more of these kinds of attacks were happening and so we changed AmiAmi to “Kouraj to protect human rights”, then we launched ourselves into a new direction to fight sexual and gender identity discrimination in all forms. And I am someone who believes wholeheartedly in the value of human rights and that the only thing that will ultimately change this country is a different politic. I was actually so willing to stay in my country, invest in the future and make a progress, but being gay in this country… I remember when I was in 9th grade and I wrote in my notebook “to be gay in this country requires guts and courage”. And some years after that, I created - with some friends of course - an organization we called Kouraj. It’s like a dream I’m living, but this is what I wrote 7 or 8 years ago. Because no one I met would ever have believed that, would ever have lived as they really were, stayed themselves, you understand. Yet there are a lot of things spoken about the M community which are lies and those attacked and those targeted must stay and spread the truth. None of us alone holds the complete truth but we and all the others each have one part of the truth which we can represent completely if stuck together. This is our only chance of moving forward.

After we were in 2010, with the massive earthquake that struck the country and brought destruction on all of us. And we saw a large number of Western evangelicals, especially from the United States, arrive under the pretext of preaching the gospel and the return of Christ. This soon became preaching homophobia and hate towards our community M, blaming the earthquake that had struck the country on sex between men, between women. Don’t forget that 65% of the country was illiterate and didn’t have any deep un- I think it’s necessary that I make my own contriderstanding behind the cause of seismic movements. bution, assume my responsibility and give back to Haiti what Haiti has given me over 29 years. Personally during that time, I tried to contact my Some people say that I’m offensive. Then I tell friends to know if they were alive, because after you them that they have been offending me for 29 years checked on your own family and loved ones you had now. I can’t give back what I have never received. to then see if your friends and neighbors were alright, I have only received offenses. But I think at that time it you know, considering the earthquake wreaked havoc was kind of understandable — people had been afflicton everything everyone remained shocked for a long ed and frustrated for very long, and such frustration time. As a member of the community I had to do my is now emerging, as when we say that the truth comes part after the 12th January, to pull dead bodies out out like oil on water. Violent behaviors hurt me or othinto the streets, look for help, for NGOs, try to help ers. Not only were homosexuals and lesbians the vicsolve problems and find the lost. Many other friends tims of violence, but also the overall population, espefound themselves in the camps for 2 or 3 months af- cially in tough neighborhoods. But, let’s not overlook ter the earthquakes and in them our Republic became the many other problems caused by political leaders more of a theocracy run by the religious. Everyone with regards to human rights abuse, including the was preaching and the preachers were foremost attack- abuses of women and child rights. Countless other ising gays and transsexuals. When I had finally located sues pop in mind – such as food shortage and housing the others I told myself “well Charlot, we need Ami- problems, etc.But for the M community, no one was Ami to become KOURAJ (COURAGE)” to fight these up to address the issue; I thought we would be helpnasty rumors that were circulating the camps, so I got ful if we all got engaged in our fight for LGBT rights. some of our group together that were living in the camps. These difficulties affect us day after day. And it

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

doesn’t quite look like the situation will make a turn in 2014. Rather, our society is still in crisis. *** As I see it, the good formula doesn’t lie on the hands of only one person but the hands of us all. It is necessary that we look at Haiti’s formula and turn a blind eye to certain things — because, otherwise, in our attempt to carry on, we will not be able to be united. It’s said that we should make a change together, we are all on the same path, even if, once there, once the deadlock is overcome, I will step down and you take my place. Let’s get together to break this deadlock. That’s essential to me. That’s how I see it, that’s how I live my life.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

But, let’s not overlook the many other problems caused by political leaders with regards to human rights abuse, including the abuses of women and child rights. Countless other issues pop in mind – such as food shortage and housing problems, etc.

Issue 9, June 2014

Photography

SNAPS OF BRAZIL By Ulelli Verbeke

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

The pictures of graffiti are a few excerpts I displayed from my first photo exhibition, Guy-Braz Photographic Exhibition and Conference Guyana, Brazil and De colonization, coordinated and presented by Priscila F. Pascoal. I had traveled to Brazil from Guyana with my partner Priscila in January of 2013 to visit her family and friends in Brasilia; it took us almost 2 weeks to get there. We had taken the journey over land travelling the Amazon River on the last boat of the year, that itself took us 6 days, with us both getting ill on the way. One of the things that stood out for me was the graffiti. In every town I visited graffiti was never absent. Even Darcy Ribeiro Campus - University of Brasilia graffiti is ever present. The Pussy Riot and Tamo Por Favor and many others (not in this album) are a feminist protest campaign against gender based violence, these were done by a group of young diverse feminist women in Brasília. Priscila was part of the planning of this project and she took me, in all of our tiredness, to the tunnel one night to see the work that was done there, she had said, “it’s not a safe place to be”. I remember us laughing at the thrill of it all as we ran back to the safety of the car after. The other photos of graffiti were taken in Riacho Fundo, Brasilia.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Portrait

Tjenbé Red! Text and Photos by Cases Rebelles

Gwladys Pallas was born in Guadeloupe. She was 20 years old when came in France. She’s now President of the organization Tjenbé Red! Prevention “which fights against racisms, homophobias and HIV, for LGBT people coming from the Overseas and Africa”.

Tjenbé Red! I am president of Tjenbé Red! for 5 years. Our core membership is about 2,500 members who are for the most part Afro-Caribbean, with about 15 active supporters. Tjenbé Red!’s primary mission is to take on everything that affects LGBT people - and now we are adding an X to represent all the other identities out there! Through Total Respect, we focus on a dvocacy, with a particular attention to issues of racism. We’ve created a committee specifically for music which is working alongside the English-speaking association Stop Murder Music. We took part in debates for gay marriage. Within the area of youth education we partner with an organization called Contact and meet with school-aged youth, typically in high school, to broach the subject of racism, homosexuality and to generally talk about the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases and AIDS within this group. Currently I’m collaborating with Afrique Avenir (a Cameroonian human rights organization) which works with the French campaign against AIDS, SIDACTION (AIDS-ACTION), to bring awareness and training to the Afro-Caribbean community and specifically into community meeting places where we engage directly with vulnerable people andgive them contraceptives to protect themselves. Essentially our mission is to try to be out in front of people. . 84

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Tjenbe Red! is headquartered in Martinique but isn’t a functioning office there anymore since the founder passed away. In French Guyana the office also doesn’t function practically but there are some advocates engaging people in these issues. With Brazil nearby, there idea of Gay Pride has received some support and has been earlier more acceptable to the public than the question of gay marriage. There has been some progress on these issues in the French West Indies but people there still fear they will become the subject of public ridicule or talk. Here in Paris, even on the subject of universal marriage, when we first marched in the streets only a few showed up but we were eventually able to gain the support of the public. At the start we were maybe five or six in the organization, followed by many who showed up hiding behind masks, who still feared the judgment of their parents.

A Place to Gather When I left West Indies I was 20 years old and still pretty young. I lived with a sense of recklessness and it was a time before, I think, I had taken on any serious issues at all. Around the age of 18-20 I had my first relationship with a woman and I didn’t tell my parents at first. It was a new discovery completely for myself and I couldn’t talk about something like this without being sure what is was exactly. I felt a person needs to understand something for themselves before they can be able to speak about it and ultimately make others around them understand. At the time there were some gay parties going on which I had always been aware of. They took place in secret Issue 9, June 2014

locations hidden away and admission was by invitation only. You would have had to be in the know to go to them, and you would have had to be connected to even be invited. It required total discretion but the parties had always existed and so we went to them. It was nice and we could actually have a really good time. In 2006 I began to organize some gay-friendly gatherings myself for the Afro-Caribbean community living in Paris. Back then there was already a club, which is still active, in the Chatelet area that wasn’t gay specifically but would host a gay night on Saturdays. But as there had never really been a place for gay Afro-Caribbeans in the capital, mostly because in the capital our type of music wasn’t very popular generally, an idea came to me to create one. We hoped for a new place. So I launched my idea and in the end it worked out very well. After three years, though still a bit quiet and I do other things on the side, and now there are other peple who But I’m proud to be able to say that there is a gay venue for Afro-Caribbeans in Paris. Not only that, but it was created and founded by us from the West Indies. They say an idea that is not killed will take life. Today I’m also working at the Caffé Creole which is a restaurant that openly welcomes all types of people. When I first began hosting gatherings we were really working at the most basic level - just Sunday afternoons from noon to midnight, and serving just coconut sorbet and grilled chicken - all held in a garden surrounded by a sheet metal wall. And I was surprised, I was afraid then that people wouldn’t even come to Sarcelles where it was because… whether or not because of Sarcelles but also because we were all LGBT after all and we have a style of our own… And in those gardens over there it might not have been really prudent, but these first gatherings started up and they were a hit. One year later I begun to organize the parties in Paris, an indeed my clientele of maybe a hundred quickly became around 500 and I was serving a full house. In 2010 for our last Gay Pride we had about 800 people, and today the few parties we host are still strong. Even better, the big “Yes” has passed and so people generally are actually feeling a bit more liberated. Sometimes I hit up hetero nights out, like dance-hall parties for example, and I find there are a lot of lesbians out now, a lot and they don’t hide anymore from people or feel ashamed of being openly lesbian. The same with bisexuals and even, though not as many, out gay men who sometimes hit on the Rastas - which actually works out somehow and they get along.

People love all of them because they are a group that loves to party and that gets respect in this community. So things are changing for the better. Though even where I used to work, at the Mangrove, people knew I was a lesbian and I was always bringing in gays and lesbians and it was no big deal. I never really had any problems in that respect. With our organization, and with the parties we hosted, we could really bring a lot of people together and in 2009 we participated in our first Gay Pride. We also started organizing some cultural events, inviting Black artists to debut their works. We hosted people like Maik Darah (known for dubbing Whoopi Goldberg’s voice) for example. Another important attendee was the Martinican author Jean-Claude Janvier-Modeste who is also now one of our supporters. Modeste wrote the three volume work A Different Son which recounts his own life journey, and as he is 50 years old so it is of a time when a gay man could not live his identity openly, and when we would have hid ourselves from our parents not daring to behave with the same boldness out in the open. It was a much different experience than mine. In the works now I am starting a new protect hoping to honor audacious women of action.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Les marchandes îliennes, Gladys Bedminster

Painting & Poem

DOMINO Poem and Painting by Gladys Bedminster Cesaire was the first black author that I ever read and remains my literary role model. I am drawn to authors who keep their style quirky and different from the mainstream, among contemporary authors I would cite Pennac and Nothomb. Among black authors, Senghor and Césaire are still geniuses to me. Looking further back I would include Baudelaire andMaupassant as well as the absurdists Ionesco and Camus. “Ferrements” by Césaire and “Les Fleurs du Mal” by Baudelaire have permanent place on my night stand. My roots are the color of my pen. I became aware of my country at a very young age and take all of my inspiration from it- Guadeloupe is an emerald which I hold closely to my heart. Creole is used to transmit traditions that are fading nowadays.During my years in university, I was fortunate to learn to write it, and though I’ve never published in Creole, it’s a work under way. The following is an unpublished text. 86

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

DOMINO Ki non ou pé ba on pitit Ki anmitan doub blan é doub sis ? Sa pa on ras : métis ! Ou pé pa déklaré’y lapolis ! Lè ti moun an nou lót bó dlo Yo pa sav si rasin a yo an nèj ou en koko Yo konnèt péy la yenki an foto Ou té ké di mémwa a yo an zo...

DOMINO What name can we give to a child Who lies between a pair of whites and a pair of sixes? It is not a race: Mixed! We don’t even know how to categorize him on his identity card (to the police)! Once our children have crossed the ocean They don’t even know if their roots lie in the snow or the coconut They only know their homeland through photos Their memory no more than a sack of bones.

Eventails, Gladys Bedminster

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Portrait

I AM A MASISI An excerpt from Cases Rebelles’ interview with Charlot Jeudy Photos Lorenzo Tassone

I’m a masisi as I like to say. Since I was young sent to school, I received an education. This I’ve had feelings for boys but it’s something gave me a great sense of responsibility in a sevthat’s always tough to say to those closest to you. eral areas and pushed me into social organizing. For a while I played the make-believe. By make-believe I mean hetero-normativity imposed by society, and that I myself as a masisi, a homosexual, I had points of comparison and thus I moved to fit in at least in the pretente of a straight life. Whenever out in the open in my community I played this role, but at home I actually behaved quite feminine, I would clean the house - though it was never a big deal. But with my friends however it was always, “come on my dear, you really need to act like a boy. Why can’t you walk like a man? You aren’t some little girl and you shouldn’t sit around playing jacks, playing jwet kay, you shouldn’t play jwet pench, play hopscotch and skipping rope…. It’s not right!” I knew how to play all those games, that was how I occupied my time. Afterwards though I started playing soccer with the other boys, I took my place in the comedy even if I then snuck off and played jacks with the girls on the roof so as not to be seen. But in the open I played soccer to prove that I was in fact a young boy.

I always ensured that I cultivated good relationships with those around me - it helped me hugely. Even if I couldn’t get close to someone, I would make sure that I at least understood him or her. To be able to evolve in the environment in which I was born. I came to feel that I inherited a neighborhood, a community that had been rundown by a lot of violence and conflict. I saw that there wasn’t any interest in…. well, I witnessed too much violence and too many victims of that violence. And it created in me a belief in living together, a sense of solidarity that could create unity among people. And in my neighborhood everyone know who I am. I never denied my homosexuality in my neighborhood, at home, in my family. That was never a problem. I remember at 18 years old I went to see my mother and I told her that I liked boys ; my mother just responded: “the most important thing, Charlot, is that you stay in school.” I was always educated thanks to my mother, father, sisters and brothers. That’s how I was raised and it instilled in me confidence. It is the thing that allowed for self-confidence, self-assurance and a sense of selfworth in me. I was a lucky kid in this sense since I was shielded from the horrible things that my gay friends experience or went through in the past. I was kept secured this way. And as I wanted to be an artist, a leader and that I would needed to gain certain skills, certain qualities as a person to be those, there was no place to be shy, I needed to be able to conquer people, and these desires ultimately gave me even more confidence.

I could also dance well. Because dancing was for me the first form of expression I ever knew and when I was dancing I could be myself. Then dancing wasn’t really even about the movements but about how I felt while dancing. I was born in Port au Prince and grew up there. I was raised in a working class neighborhood, Martissant, which was a tough environment and had about every social problem imaginable - insecurity, power cuts, dirty water, under-development problems in general. The only privilege that I had in that neigh- So I took all of this to heart to at least be able to tell borhood, that my family could afford, was that I was myself that I wasn’t any dumb masisi but one who 88

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

church to pray. I would say “Jesus! Mary! Joseph ! What is happening to me? Who am I? What am I? How did this happen to me? Samuel, what is this?” Then I would turn to the loas. I would look to my father and mother - my mother didn’t understand these things, even if my father would worship the loas. Ever since I’ve known my mother she has never once mentioned going to a voodoo dance or spoke of getting ready for one. Same with my father. As I grew up I continued to pray but at one point told myself that if I’m going to make peace with myself I need to keep religion at a distance. I did my first communion, I was baptized but I then created that distance. I used to take the host, then I stopped. It was an obligation every Sunday to go to church but I decided that if I wasn’t feeling like going or wasn’t available I didn’t go, you know. Also, I had a very good school director who told us “You are all valuable”, that was Emmanuel Buteau, former Minister of National Education, who said that we were all valuable. I am capable of conquering - I am capable of influencing. Something had clicked in my head.

*** What makes me happiest is to be able to tell society outright “stop your discrimination”. That is the pleasure I take everyday, being myself, showing the rest of society “here is my dear by my side”. Whatever they may say or do, whether it upsets them or not. went to school. This hit me like a strong stimulant and gave me the tenacity to move past all that held me down. I grew even stronger when I ultimately made other friends - Nicolas, Pouchy, Eyrol, Pierson, Richard, Rudy, Toto, Jeanjean. I had a group. A group of friends who were also gay living in this same neighborhood and so at least were never too far away. We often hung out together. And often other friends, whether we would be in Petionville, Delma, Kwadebouke, who would throw parties and gay activities. And we couldcoordinate amongst ourselves and attend together. Parties, events, beach days : we went to them all. *** I am not religious even if I was raised in a practicing Catholic family, I’m ok with voodoo but I don’t practice it on regular basis. I actually like to participate in voodoo ceremonies but I am not very adept at them. Though there were times, that to accept my homosexuality in the beginning, I would pray. I would go to 89

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Way an! (Go to hell!) For others, happiness would be to just leave. But that doesn’t interest me. I’ve had 5 exit visas and I’ve left and returned. I’m not interested in leaving. It isn’t something I strive for and packing my bags would truly be my last resort. Happiness, where I come from, are things like those neighborhood entertainment and days at the sea, those things that don’t cost a lot because otherwise we’d have had nothing. We can’t let ourselves go to a T-Vice concert that costs $200. We are content to go out and take part in an event ; some of us in trade, some working in a factory, some in a restaurant, but always coming back together to sit with our friends and have a drink among friends. We talk, etc. In a small group before heading back home. That is what makes us happiest! Do you understand?

Issue 9, June 2014

Q&A

THROUGH A LENS An excer pt of a conversation with Ulelli Verbeke, independent photographer, editor and artivist from Guyana By Cases Rebelles Photos by Ulelli Verbeke

I was interested in taking photos of people at events, making a change, breaking barriers. I remember going to SASOD’s events with my very small, simple, point and shoot camera and taking pictures of people, and after a bit they would call and ask me to come and take their pictures. Sometime after, Joel asked me if I would like to go to a photography class and I jumped on the chance ; SASOD covered the expense for the classes. It was very hard to take the classes because I did not have a professional camera, so understanding changing of shutter speed and aperture was difficult. But before the end of training, I was able to have my own camera with the help of my teacher and one of my massage clients. I don’t really have a known photographer as an inspirational model but I do look at other photographers’ work. I just do what I see. I don’t know, I just think I view things differently ; I see art in almost anything. I once told a friend that I wished that we

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

had some sort of sophisticated camera in our eyes so that as soon as you see something you want to take a photo of, you just blink and you can have it! Because, you really cannot recreate everything, once you see something at that moment, that’s it! Last year in April I had my first photo exhibition here at Georgetown and also for SASOD’s 10th Anniversary photo exhibition. Then I traveled to Brazil where I had a photo exhibition with Priscila Pascoal : Guy-Braz Photographic Exhibition and Conference Guyana, Brazil and Decolonization. Priscila organized this conference on decolonization where she was trying to bring Guyana and Brazil together to learn from each other. My next exhibition will be on my work with the transgender community here in Guyana. In June this year, I will be involved in another exhibition in Canada for Pride. The exhibition will focus on immigrants from the Caribbean who are living in Canada.

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Opinion

Belize’s Virtual Protest By Caleb Orozco, photos by San Pedro AIDS Committee, Briheda Haylock and Ms. Gay Goddess Organizers

Countries with oppressive laws call for creativity when fighting for one’s rights. Belize is no exception. Belize offers many creative spaces that allies and LGBT supporters can express their opposition to the laws. One such space it Carnival which in any Caribbean country it can be considered a form of passive aggressive protest against laws that seek to suppress human sexuality as a whole. Carnival in Belize is spectacular affair! Swarms of LGBT individuals can be found dressed in skimpy, colourful creative outfits that allow them to blend into the large crowds without fear. However, the staging of Belize Ms. Gay Godess 2013 was threatened by protest from the farright in the Northern part of country. The LGBT community persisted, organized itself and successfully held the pageant in Belize City. All this despite vocal evangelical opposition which had mobalizeded to raise funds on the island of San Pedro in a bid to hinder the pageant. Electro-dance music (EDM) for years was considered as gay music, but times change, not too long ago, I saw students and adults rocking to electro-dance. I thought belonged to the LGBT community. A friend recently observed, “I am very happy to hear EDM playing so much on our local radio. I remember when we were outcasts in the 90’s for loving techno...people use to watch us funny in high school. Now EDM has taken the world by storm...even at the Heineken Bram dis past weekend in Boom when “Hey Brother” came on...the crowd gone off!...people are def loving it!” Music, then unites, bridges our differences, promotes emotional security and reminds citizens what they have in common. Music, EDM is a social statement that comes gradually reassuresing individuals that we are more alike than different and helps to erode fear.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Music should however be complemented by political and legal engagement that is currently occurring around section 53 of the criminal code. The case is a challenge to our sodomy law and is now in the Belize Supreme Court awaiting decision. We have turned to social media to build our communication infrastructure and a virtual support base. I have seen allies and LGBT community members using facebook to share supportive imagery, publicly wearing 1800 wristbands with the slogan, ”We are One!” or “Embrace Yourself! In Dignity and Rights.” A not only symbolic, but a morale boosting moment that was politically and psychologically transforming in garnering public support. There were no street fights and conflicts but just wristbands that forced a conversation at every dinner, among opponents in government and members of the community alike. The wristbands were an example of quiet social action used to express a political and social statement for to engage dialogue, it was passive protests that mattered simply because it raised the profile of human rights. I’ve handed out the wristbands at dinners, LGBT social events, while having breakfast by total strangers who simply wanted the last one to wear. I was told later that even certain government officers wore the bands in support! Supporters continue to advance our online campaign called F*ck !53 with various forms of imagery, including example of a person going underwater to take his photograph of support with him wearing the T-shirt. Social media offers supporters and allies a safe space to debate, learn from each other and refine tactical strategies. Social media gives visibility while protecting persons from physical harm. It is the “coming out the closet” for LGBT, abortion and human rights supporters. It is a cheap and efficient way to express support without incurring additional expenses for both the organization and individuals alike. It supports community mobilisation in seconds rather than hours and it cuts operational budget for small organizations, while giving national coverage to constituents-base. Done right, it offers free technical support in public relations, back room negotiations and awareness raising. It is quite diplomacy virtually. Virtual and cultural forms of activism tend to be non-destructive, informative and constructive. It offers knowledge acquisition at the speed of light or entertainment that can leave us in awe or laughter. It becomes, historical documentation of the past, but allows for gradual social integration in the present in a non-threatening way which bonds the emotional needs of people. This has been some of Belize’s strategy in advancing LGBT Advocacy work. The struggle will continue with the need to advance formal protection, informal dialogue and greater visibility.

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

Short-Story

INCOMPLETE By Résilience, Photo by Q-zine I found out that writing is easier than speaking. Once more, I feel useless, desperate. And yet, I despise myself for feeling this way. So much unhappiness in this world, and I deeply know this suffering is not only mine. Once more, morbid thoughts wash over me, overwhelmingly. I try to bury them deep, I try to forget them but I can’t. Unkind words forcefully push their way inside and there’s nothing I can do. Such tiny whirlwind strips my body apart as if it was nothing. I’m hurt. I cry for my mom, or the one who will see the truth behind my eyes, the one who will love me. And more and more I think that one doesn’t exist. No one will ever want to have me. And I’m tormented when I think of my lonely prospects. After all, what are success, wealth, family and recognition if they come without you, who don’t exist… I don’t think I will ever get to feel complete without my other half. Those who say that this is not a priority are just lying. I could die tomorrow, in ten minutes, in one second… and money would never make up for such emptiness, such feeling of not having lived fully. Is it too much to ask not to be this lonely? To not feel this emptiness again? Is it too much? I’m a drug addict in the need for my fixe; yet, I never met my drug. Or, it has strangled me, since I knew what the word love means. I’m waiting, patiently. Is it a woman? Is it a man? What if this was not important? Go tell it to society! This society that is suffocating me with its rules and expectations. And I keep waiting, in vain. I know why I can’t find you. You are hidden behind those tears I swept over my sexuality, behind an upset mother. Your hand plays on me as in a broken violin. Yes I seek you, and I know you wait for me, behind those walls. Woman! I shout Woman. Yet nothing but your gender is what I have. You are still escaping…

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014

www.cases-rebelles.org

www.q-zine.org

LGBTQI Afro-Caribbean

Issue 9, June 2014