SEPTEMBER 1997
 |
|
Their literary efforts have been ground breaking, their
literary worlds have been visionary. The characters that people, the settings
that color and the conflicts, situations, desires, losses and triumphs that
fuel their narratives have the feel of the real thing when it comes to black
gay folks in love. In little over 5 years, E. Lynn Harris and James
Earl Hardy have taken black-on-black love out of the revolutionary
stigma promoted by media hell bent on objectifying black same-gender
loving Americans and co-signed by an earlier generation of white-approved
and white-approval-seeking black gay writers, and have lit the sparks that
show the way of real black-on-black love. Not as a revolutionary act, but
as an act of God, an act of nature, an act of coming to terms with
oneself within the beauty of the black community, where heterosexuals and
homosexuals have always co-existed, sometimes uneasily, often condescendingly,
routinelyclandestine,but always as family.
E. Lynn Harris is the nationís best-selling openly gay novelist,
black or white, and certainly not because of the white gay community who
find no self-interest served in rapturous, positive and complex tales of
black men who love black men. Harrisí men are masculine, beautiful,
successful, jet-setting Africentrics who are also serious-minded,
complex, political, well-educated, socially-conscious and spiritual. These
are men proud of and comfortable with their blackness, even if some
of them struggle at times with their sexual nature, but through four novels----Invisible
Life, Just As I Am, And This Too Shall Pass, and his newest,
If This World Were Mine---the Harris menís transition from self-loathing
to self-acceptance have paralleled the life of their creator, a man who
knew the cold, damp dark of the closet and now knows the clear blue skies
of self-love, knowing that only through self-love can one find true love
with someone else.
His largest reader base? Black heterosexual women. The Terry McMillan/Tina
McElroy Ansa crowd. A close second? Black homosexual men.
James Earl Hardy, through his novels B-Boy Blues, 2nd Time Around
and his current If Only For One Night , is the undisputedcreator of a bold
new genre: The Africentric homosexual hip-hop love story. This bodacious
New York man of letters dares to write about the love we love most, the
love we lust most. Forgive my genera
ization, but most every same-gender loving black man has a slight
touch of ëRaheemí-itis. Now for all of you brothers who know
Santa Monica Boulevard better than Crenshaw Boulevard, who stud out
to the stud-seekers mesmerized by the myths, who are still putting folks
through the brown paper bag test, who, in this day and age, still
use terms like ëgood hairí and wear blue contact lenses, and
to all of you white gay dudes jungle-fevered beyond redemption (and
can we blame you?) but still white enough to be in fear of the black BLACK,
Raheem is that phine-assed B-boy loverman with his pants down to here and
his attitude up to there, not so much because of misplaced arrogance, but
because of the knowledge that he was born not from caves but from kings.
A black prince with an inbred princely stance. So how do you enslave a prince?
You donít. For the most part, he is willing to dive off the side
of the slave ship rather than succumb, like the stooped over, get-along
house negroes, to the mammyisms that guarantee nothing but bad dreams and
a life in fear of the mirror.
Hardyís work, more than any other, opened up the way for such
stories as ìConfessions of A Gay Rapperî, and the general exploration
of same-gender love, not among the polished elite of the black bourgeoisie,
although Raheemís love mate and Hardyís narrator, Mitchell
ìLittle Bitî Crawford, could certainly fit the mode, though
he, the character, would fiercely disagree and most likely be turned off
by the bourgeoisie moniker, but the exploration of same-gender love
alive and well in the ëhood. James Earl Hardy is the proud literary
father of the Homeboy Homosexual.
The most fascinating thing about both Harris and Hardy is how accurately
they document the reality of the black community---homosexual
and heterosexual. Throughout their pages youíll always find the folks
we know; the wise grandmother, the fun loving uncles, the sassy aunts, the
quiet fathers who take a little longer to understand, the fabulous queens,
the beautiful B-boy/banjee lovers, the Adonis jocks, the intellectuals,
the angels, the assholes, the divas and the bitches---both men and women---the
doctors, the lawyers, the preachers, the punks and the church organist---all
in service to their community---the children that go to DC Black Gay Pride
Celebrations and The ATB Malibu Beach Party every year. The pissed-off
Sistahs who canít get a taste and donít understand why, and
the by-yoí-side Sistahs who understand that great friendship ainít
always a dick thing.
Courtesy of James Earl Hardy and E. Lynn Harrisí unapologetically
africentric imagination we are whisked off into a cultured, crazy,
cool, kick-ass world of blackness. South of Wilshire in L.A. where
the black gay Hollywood children play, the big Apple blackufied where
too-phine blue-black B-boys fall in love with community conscious journalist
and live happily ever after, Hotlanta where Big 10 jocks play hard
on the field and play soft in the arms of the man of their dreams, and Chicago,
where political and economical power is the golden ring sought by strong
black couples working in concert, in a proud, collaborative life, no longer
invisible.
Because of E. Lynn Harris and James Earl Hardy, the door has been
opened for new voices determined to document black-on-black same-gender
love as something as normal and familiar as hot biscuits and butter.
The opportunity to bring these two vital community artistic
contributors together in dialogue was irresistible. The following dialogue
is the first part of a two part glimpse into the minds of two who beat the
drums boldly...word for word.
---SBC
JAMES EARL HARDY: You've said in the past that "Writing saved my
life." Has it also given you a life you never thought possible, one
you could have only dreamed of living?
E. LYNN HARRIS: Oh yes, most definitely. Because when you talk about
having it 'save your life,' that sounds full of despair which was definitely
the case. But now when I look on my life now, it definitely granted me a
new one. Sometimes I just couldn't have imagined what has happened, all
that has happened being possible. And, I guess with the new life, you have
to be careful what you pray for. For, right now, the only problems in my
life -- and they aren't really problems -- are the fears of having too much
too fast, what have I done to deserve this, and how do I stay on top.
Those are gnawing things in the background.
JEH: Is it that you don't know why it has happened to you and not
someone else?
ELH: In a way, yes. You always wonder why things happen to you, whether
good or bad, in life. Life is an unpredictable thing; it always has surprises
waiting for you and this was certainly a big surprise. Not to mention a
blessing.
JEH: So, would you consider what has happened to you a "calling"?
ELH: Maybe. But I don't want to make it sound like some spiritual thing.
But I do believe it is part of the reason why I am still here, and part
of the way I've fallen into this new life, to come out of that despair and
leave those worries of working in a job that I didn't like or having financial
concerns or restraints, or not coming to terms with who I am.
JEH: Because of your stature as a Black gay author, do some people want
you to be an activist?
ELH: Yeah, but I won't do that. I am a writer and to me, being gay is
not a political statement, it is my life.
JEH: Well, what about the argument that the personal is very political.
We live in a society where who we are as Black men, as gay men, as Black
gay men, can affect how, where, even if we live.
ELH: Well, if I wanted to make my life the issue, I would've become a
politician. I may be an activist in the sense that I support organizations
and groups that advocate rights for lesbians and gays and donate money to
AIDS charities and the like. And my success as a writer has enabled me to
do those things. But I am not an activist in the sense that I am fighting
the fight on a political plane. I would be willing to accept that I
may be wrong about this because I have been approached before
about this, but this is what I feel in my heart, this is what God has placed
in my heart, to tell the stories I am telling, and who am I to go
out and tell folks that this is the way they should live, you must believe
us, you straight people must accept us. You've got to respect us, but you
don't have to accept us. Sometimes I think activists feel they are in a
position to tell others how they should live their lives and that there
is only one way to view our lives. And sure enough, when it comes to gay
political activism, it is more about what the white community can benefit
from than you and I.
JEH: Then, would you say that Black artists have a responsibility to
be spokespersons or role models for their people?
ELH: Not necessarily spokespeople. Role models in the sense of offering
support and advice for people who come after me. Not to be put on a pedestal
as leading an exemplary life or perfect life. I think people will look at
us and say, they did it, I can do it, and what we owe them is to let them
know that yes you can and telling them what we did to get to where we are
and what the steps are they have to take to do the same thing. If
someone sends me their work, I never read it; I'll send it to someone who
can give you an honest opinion about it. I don't feel comfortable being
a literary critic and I don't have the time to really answer all those queries
like I used to. You know, you get so immersed in work and before you know
it you have dozens of folks you were supposed to get back to that you didn't.
And, because you have a spotlight on you, you are constantly approached
by folks you might not be all that interested in entertaining. For example,
the National Association of Black & White Men Together asked me to be
their keynote speaker [at their convention]...
JEH: Really?
ELH: Yeah. I'm not doing it. But I had to really question myself on why.
One of the problems was the date and the time. But there was some apprehension
at first and I discussed this with my partner. If I go to speak, can I say
that I don't necessarily agree with this? I mean, I am a romantic; I do
believe in love, and where, when and with whom you find it, if it works
for you, if it makes you happy, I'm happy for you. But sometimes I think
groups like that, people who are part of groups like that, Black men who
date white men, white men who date Black men, they do it exclusively, and
they do it, not at the detriment of others, but certainly eliminate this
group or entire groups of people from their dating circle, especially if
those people look like you. What are you saying if you're Black and you
only date white men?
So, if I go to this event, can I say what I really feel? The goal this
year was Black & White Men Together, Working Toward a Better World,
and that sounds like a great goal, I'm for that, but I'm not for someone
who excludes his own. I think there's something else going on there besides
that being your preference. I mean, I may be wrong about what their purpose
is, but I do know that in my everyday life, when I meet a Brother who dates
white men, it is often times all that they date. And their reasons: 'Oh,
Black men are difficult, Black men have so many problems.' Well, if that's
the case, so what? We still need love and we still need to be supported.
No group can offer perfection. I think you and I agree on that. Just by
reading your interviews, I see we connect on this issue.
JEH: Sure do. I point out the pathology involved in one too many so-called
interracial relations and relationships that Black and white men are in
and because I do, people think I hate white people, white men in particular,
and Brothers who date white men. But I don't hate them; I hate the subterfuge
they choose to embrace in making that choice.
ELH: Indeed.
JEH: And it's funny, though, that when we do have the chance to talk
--and given our schedules it's not easy -- we discover we see eye to eye
on many things, like this. Yet our being the most recognizable Black gay
male writers has made some view us as rivals. In fact, too many folks
have approached me with, "Oh, I like your work better than his"
-- as if that's supposed to be a compliment, and I'm supposed to be happy
about one of us being marginalized. Have you gotten this?
ELH: Oh yeah, and I feel the same way you do. You know, some folks will
approach me with, 'Well, I'm not gonna call any names, but I like you better
than you know who.' And I'm like, 'You like me? You don't even know me.'
Maybe you like my work, but not me. Maya Angelou has said that you have
to stop people when they do that because it is a marginalized compliment.
Why not just say, 'I enjoy your work'? That's a part of that pathology we
hold on to, the crabs in the barrel syndrome. They would like to see us
fighting -- and by 'they' I'm not just talking about some Black gay men
but even the white gay community. I don't really have any white gay writers
as friends so I don't know what their literary world is about, and I'm sure
that they do experience some form of forced competition, but it's a different
story when there's only two of you that people want to point to.
JEH: It's true. I was on a panel last year at the Outwrite conference
in Boston about competition. I was the only person of color on the panel
and I was the only person who stated that I don't feel I'm in competition
with any other writer including you because nobody can tell stories the
way I can and I have my own voice. And I don't believe that we have the
luxury to do that because we are trying to not only build a literary canon.
ELH: I agree. My stories are my stories and they come from within me.
And the others Brothers out here like Darieck Scott and Brian Keith Jackson,
they are doing their own thing and they should not be criticized, directly
or indirectly, for not telling stories like someone else.
JEH: I've heard this a lot, too, and it really bothers me: Black people
are more homophobic. I believe it might be more insidious because it is
not talked about, but that doesn't make us more homophobic.
ELH: Right. I don't think we as a Black community have really discussed
it and our books are helping people discuss it. And I find that charge to
be far from the truth. But it is definitely out there and you have to be
ready for it. I visited one school where I was faced with it and I was really
unprepared. I was just going along, traveling on this merry-go-round where
everywhere I went people loved me, and then on this particular night I was
confronted with people who said, 'How dare you come to our school,' 'How
can you call yourself a Christian.' And I had never had those kinds of questions
before. The lesson I had to learn was that those were three people, I remember
those three people, I will always remember those three people, and I shouldn't
forget about those three people because that is what many of us live with
everyday.
But I also can not allow those three people or anyone else who feels
it is OK to hate us to dictate where I go, what I say, what I do in this
life. I'm sure those three people have said and will continue to say similar
things to us, and unfortunately, many of us will believe we have no place
in this world, that we can't call ourselves Christians, that our lives mean
nothing. I may have to entertain people like that in this life but I have
the power in deciding how I take what they express. It's because of people
like that that most of the people in the room that night were women and
not men, for I'm sure there were many Brothers who would have come out,
but knew coming to see me would indicate to others that they are gay or
even gay-friendly. For, after nearly five years of being on the road, that
was one of only a few confrontations I had in which I was made to feel unwelcome.
And given that almost all of my events have been majority Black, I'd say
that's a good indication that we are not as homophobic as some think we
are. And it almost always is about male posturing. They let these Brothers
come on stage to ask the questions so that everybody got to see them, make
it really grand, that what they had to say was really important and couldn't
be denied.
So, no, I don't think Black folks are more homophobic. I just don't think
many Black heterosexuals even think about our lives as lives; they
don't know or understand that our lives are not that much different and
that causes the indifference. We want the same things that they want: the
happiness, peace of mind, love, success, a career, a
livelihood that we can enjoy and that affirms us.
And the stereotypes, all the misinformation about us just doesn't affect
the way heterosexuals view us. We are no more promiscuous than heterosexuals
and if some of us are, it's probably because we are constantly told that
we are and we believe it. And, we don't have many models to point to that
promote monogamy, relationships. So I think that our books have helped people,
especially younger folks coming up who are gay, know that they are worthy
of love and to love. I didn't have that while growing up and if I did, I
might not have had to go through what I did to accept myself for who I am.
And, going back to what we discussed in the beginning, this is how writing
saved my life and can save others. We didn't have anything like what we're
writing to read when we were growing up and hopefully no other generation
coming after us will have to go through it the way we did for there will
be many more stories out there that give people the affirmation they need.
Of course, some folks will say, 'Well, of course he found love now; look
at the position he is in.' But I don't think it happened to me because of
the books because I feel very comfortable that he would still love
me if I were a ditch digger. You can meet so many other people because we
have groupies. But I had to be in a frame of mind that I deserved love and
that I was in a position to give it the way I wanted to receive it.
And a part of it is writing novels and giving it to my characters and my
finally seeing that, well, if my characters can have it, why can't I? After
I wrote Invisible Life and Just As I Am, I went on the road and I met lots
of cute guys, and if there was one wrong one in the crowd, that's
the one I met! [We laugh] And it didn't lift me up, it continued to beat
me down, for I would be like, 'Why would they treat me this way?" But
it wasn't a group of Black gay men, it was one individual. And that's the
thing. I never once said, 'Oh, well I'm gonna get me a white lover
because Black men are fill in the blank," no. I just kept telling myself,
'Lynn, you just meetin' the wrong person and when you meet the right one,
you'll know. And if you pray for it and you really believe it, you'll receive
it.' (TO BE CONTINUED IN THE OCTOBER ISSUE OF SBC)
