Spectra Speaks

I’ve been mulling over the gay zulu wedding fiasco over the past few weeks. I was excited to see it, but something left me unsettled. Here are my thoughts, inspired by a TEDTalk by one of my favorite writers, Chimamanda Adichie, “The Danger of a Single Story.”

Excerpt:

In light of the struggles of LGBTI Africans, the desire to celebrate any kind of progress – especially when it comes in the form of a gleeful Zulu wedding – is understandable; the vibrant ceremony presented a sharp contrast to the media’s grim and, at times, gruesome depiction of violent homophobia on the African continent. However, it is dangerous to assign wide-sweeping gains to all LGBTI Africansbased on the perceived victory of a few. 

What of gay Africans who view marriage as the least of their problems – young people, for instance, who have been disowned by their families and, above all, seek a stable alternative to homelessness? What about transgender women who experience rejection (and violence) from both gay and straight communities alike? And lesbians–forced to live in fear of so-called “corrective rape”–will marriage mean social acceptance for them, too?

If we’ve learned anything from criticism of the same sex marriage equality movement in the U.S., it’s that too much emphasis on marriage as a pathway to acceptance could only end up benefiting a small segment of the LGBTI community (e.g. gay men, or members of the middle class–while the groups most at-risk e.g. women, youth, transgender people, etc.–are likely to go unheard, and even unfunded.”

Read the rest here: http://www.spectraspeaks.com/2013/04/gay-zulu-wedding-and-the-danger-of-a-single-lgbt-african-story-media-activism/

Excerpt from, What Kind of African Doesn’t Speak Any African Languages? Me by Spectra Speaks

As someone who isn’t fluent in her mother tongue, I can relate heavily to parts of this article although my story is a little different as I only spent a limited time of my upbringing in Nigeria and went to boarding school in a different country.

I also encounter this form of alienation and hostility from other Africans, of all ages, who attempt to devalue my identity as both a Nigerian and an African (as though they have the right in the first place) because I am not fluent in an African language. It’s a pity that some people are hellbent on policing other people’s identities when so many of these factors are, or were, beyond our control.

(via dynamicafrica)

THANKS SO MUCH TO DYNAMIC AFRICA FOR SHARING MY PIECE! Meanwhile, hostility and aggressive invalidation of my identity as an African from other Africans (especially from other Africans) is an ongoing thing I’ve learn to shake my head at, then move on. In this piece, it’s about language, but queerness is also used to jab at my identity as well (cause *real* Africans aren’t LGBTI. Never). 

From my latest piece, “What Kind of African Doesn’t Speak Any African Languages? Me.”

”My purpose isn’t to debate who is more African than whom based on language fluency (or even geopolitical circumstance). On the contrary: I don’t understand how anyone can cherry pick a single aspect of our culture as the arbiter of “authentic” African identity: Language. For sure, it’s important. But so is indigenous spirituality, traditional garb, family values, the arts. Culture comprises many elements, thus it makes no sense to police cultural belonging– cling to such a divisive hierarchy, based on the single factor of language, especially considering the lasting effects of our colonial history, and the impact of globalization on contemporary African culture.

There are a myriad of other identity markers that reveal the extent of both our sameness and uniqueness and make up the diverse African cultures that span the globe. Africa is complex–Africans, even moreso. Let’s not trade in our shared heritage for the exclusivity of an unjust social hierarchy. Let’s not , as our colonizers did, draw borders around poorly constructed monoliths. Our just protest for an Africa with linguistic agency must not turn us into the same masters of imperialist dogma we’re still yet to hold accountable.”

PHOTO: “My mother tongue is my childhood, my land and country.” - Artist Unknown, Source.

“You’ve got rules telling me what to do
But is there anybody checkin’ up on you?”

Award-winning acoustic soul artist, Shishani, has just released the music video for her latest single titled, “Minority”, a catchy, upbeat, acoustic track that calls for freedom and equality for all people despite perceived differences.

Shishani got her big break when she performed at the 2011 Namibian Annual Music Awards in the capital city of Windhoek, where it’s still illegal to be gay. And though, she says, she’s made no real attempts to hide her sexuality, she hasn’t come out as an “out lesbian artist” till now.

“I wanted people to get to know my music,” she says, “Sexuality doesn’t matter. It’s like pasta — asking if you prefer spaghetti or macaroni. It just doesn’t matter… I’m an artist first, before being a gay artist.”

The release of “Minority” is timely; January is the month in which outspoken Ugandan LGBT activist, David Kato was bludgeoned to death in an anti-gay attack three years ago, sparking an outcry from fellow African human rights activists. January is also the month in which people in the U.S.–perhaps even all over the world–celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a powerful civil rights leader and icon. His call for freedom and equality of all people has been taken up by activists all over the world, including Shishani, whose lyrics echo his principles of love and unity.

“Homophobia all over the world comes from the same place; colonialism, apartheid, racial segregation. All our struggles are connected.”

Read the rest of the article here.

girljanitor:

[excerpts; the whole article is awesome]

As a group that is routinely judged, shunned, and fighting for acceptance, we as LGBTI (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex) people are often pigeon-holed into playing the role of educator to the people that inflict the most pain on us, however inadvertently by our friends and family members (who some, or even most of the time really do mean well).

Given how heavily politicized LGBTI identities are (ie: constantly in the news as an issue for political debate) it’s challenging for our loved ones to get to know us as individual people versus some issue they’re not well-versed on or quite sure when and how to speak about.

Our suffering decreases our emotional capacity to offer straight people the space and time through which they can explore their own feelings, and get their questions answered, a stalemate. But it doesn’t always have to be that way.

[…]

I quickly learned that forcing people to confront the elephant in the room (and there were many — more masculine clothing, a crazy frohawk, new friends, a compulsive habit of pointing out which well-liked celebrities were gay/lesbian/bi) wasn’t going to bridge the divide I felt growing between me and my siblings, or my parents. I couldn’t sacrifice my mental health for their education about who I was; I needed someone or something else to do the job.

Back then (early 2000s), I didn’t have much to work with; most of the LGBTI films on Netflix, including the L Word featured mainly white privileged characters. But then, I discovered Saving Face, a film drama-comedy about two lesbian Chinese-American girls navigating family expectations about career and marriage. That film was the closest I had to reflecting the complexities of my identity as a queer person of color who was also an immigrant — another narrative that is also missing from mainstream media.

There’s something about media that lowers our defenses and makes it easier for us to learn, to accept, to connect. Yet, when we talk about “pushing for change”, we often leave out how much media and pop culture–and the narratives they depict we can relate to–humanize issues, and ultimately influence the people we love (and hope to be loved by).

In a recent study on the effects of fiction (storytelling), researchers assessed the mood and self-identification of readers before and after popular fiction novels, and found that the overall empathy i.e. ability to relate to (and, in fact, see themselves as) one of the characters, significantly increased.

What does this mean for queer people of color? Our friends and our families are more likely to relate to who we are through a novel, a film, a song than they are a blog post titled, “How to Be an LGBT Ally.” It doesn’t mean that non-fiction articles, political campaigns, blog post “call outs”, and legal advocacy, are less important strategies, but I dare say they may not be as relevant around the average holiday dinner table.

In the face of funding cuts for the arts, and the constant (and annoying) trivialization of media as a tool for advocacy by LGBTI activists, it’s easy to dismiss personal storytelling, fiction, film, even music as powerful tools to invoke empathy and not just “social change”, but the stronger, closer interpersonal relationships that bring about this change. Still, we owe it to ourselves to invest in the relationships that matter to us the most by daring to facilitate critical conversations (in plain language!) about who we really are. So why not give your relationships a fighting chance and give the gift of media this holiday season?

Surviving the Holidays as Queer POC (spectra)

 Had no idea this many people were reblogging my article on Tumblr. Cool. :)

(via voguedissent)

This is why we still need #WomensDay in South Africa, Women’s Month everywhere, Women’s Studies, Women’s everything… for all the reasons we’re oppressed, and for the reasons we’re still oppressing each other. 

VIDEO: Upcoming “Untitled” Queer Brown Erotic Poetry Chapbook from Spectra Speaks.

Uganda’s first gay pride has been hailed as a triumph for LGBTIAfrica. 

But is there ever triumph without steadfast resistance? More importantly, what exactly is triumph to queer African people whose lives and humanity exist in the every day, and not just within the 5 minute scan of the latest sensationalized news story?

How often do we hear stories about two African lesbians falling in love, not as part of a political debate, but as idle banter over fish and chips? When was the last time we heard about a group of LGBT Africans partying just because – and not necessarily tied to a social cause?

When people think about queer African people, how often do they imagine them as happy, empowered, and even ordinary? Can we really only picture their liberation as a photo of a scantily clad African man wearing a fusion of traditional garb and rainbow colors, an imported western symbol of gay pride?

Given the viral sharing of the photo of gay Africans participating in their first gay pride in Uganda (a country described by BBC as “the worst place to be gay”), my guess is that the west has succeeded in painting the faces of LGBT Africans as sad, helpless victims by default, rendering testaments to the opposite surprising, an exception that warrants mass (international) celebration.

I have witnessed the daily grind of empowerment of black South African lesbians, watched them sink and wade through the cultural stigma that surrounds them like a mist, clouding the world’s perception of their lives as ordinarily human.

Thus, I have come to re-affirm my belief that we must also celebrate our proud perseverance, our steady survival, just as fervently as we do big, bold acts of bravery. 

FULL POST

africansforafrica:

Came across this article today tweeted by @InnovateAfrica. It’s great to see so much creativity and tech innovation coming out of the continent.

I’m excited to see how this boom will impact/influence the NGO sector; many of the apps being designed by Young Africans are solving real problems with minimal resources, and online fundraising may very soon have to reckon with the mobile banking boom.

With Africans being able to send and receive money via mobile, will the large, western foundations that drive the non profit industrial complex (and neo-imperialism in Africa) conform to this new standard or still their old ways of directing grantees to seek western donors (for their credit card donations)? 

I’m determined to do my part to help us get to even asking this question. 

Read More

(Source: BBC)

I almost flew to London for a weekend, just to see this; not because I have $ like that, but because I’m starved of theater that brings the lived experiences of the queer diaspora to light. I’m so proud of this undertaking, and can’t wait to see it. 

sheroxlox:

This is a spectacular piece of African Theatre. Everyone must see it. You must. 

ZHE: is the true story of two British Africans living at the intersection of culture, nationality, gender and sexuality. To learn more about Collective Artistes and ZHE: visit: www.collectiveartistes.co.uk/current-productions 

The Fairer Leaders, by Dayo Olopade 

(Source: The New York Times)

africansforafrica:

This is going on my #AfricansforAfrica playlist.

“So many wars, settling scores
Bringing us promises, leaving us poor
I heard them say ‘love is the way’
‘Love is the answer,’ that’s what they say

But look how they treat us, make us believers
We fight their battles, then they deceive us
Try to control us, they couldn’t hold us
‘Cause we just move forward like Buffalo Soldiers”

Bad Advocacy = This is What We Should Do

Good Advocacy = This is What THEY Would Like Us To Do.

Got it? It’s not rocket science. Ask what people need before you give, or you become bothersome. #LessonsfromKony2012

I write to know myself, to remind myself that I am beautiful, that I am strong, and that my voice matters.

Why do you write?

(Source: spectraspeaks.com)

newwavefeminism:

I definitely respect Racialicious for doing what the world should have immediately done before going into a frenzy about IC’s viral video campaign: actually looking into the opinions of experts actually native to that part of the world. Click the link to see these 5 women (who i will be adding to my list of favorite scholars)

From Racialicious:

Almost overnight, the web was flooded with so much commentary from western media on the erasure of African voices that it became challenging for me to even locate perspectives from fellow Africans; ironically, African voices weren’t initially just being drowned out by the success of IC’s viral campaign, but by western voices sharing their own take. Fortunately, African voices stepped up to the  plate, offering a wide range of perspectives; you can find a compilation of African responses to the campaign here, and a more general roundup of the Kony2012 issue here.

Nevertheless, I’m (as always) acutely aware of the amplification of male voices on the Kony 2012 campaign. Hence — and in the spirit of women’s history month — I’d like to highlight African women’s voices. The 5 women below aren’t just adding to the conversation, but inspiring critical thinking about how we can be more conscious about the media we consume, more humble in our efforts to provide support to fellow global citizens, and mindful of the gift social media has given us. Africans now have the power to combat harmful narratives about Africa simply by telling our own.

Loving that this is going around. Not loving that yet again African women’s agency is being erased by incorrectly crediting Racialicious for our own initiative bringing our voices to light. While I kept pointing out that no one was actually seeking African voices on Kony 2012 — just taking up space ranting about how IC didn’t seek input from Africans — no one listened; so I created the post my damn self.

Ultimately, as the popularity of this post proves, no can help Africa “raise our voices” but us; and in this instance, African women did just that. The women I highlighted have already been working on various African initiatives, already writing; as a media activist I did my part to consolidate so that we could hold people accountable — so no one can say African women aren’t speaking, or are ‘waiting’ to be noticed, published etc. 

Much love and gratitude to everyone sharing the post (including Racialicious who I’ve written for) but let’s not get ahead of ourselves; let’s not credit others for our own initiative (and work) speaking up, writing, amplifying our own voices.

Respect our agency. Thank you.