An open call to include black queer history in the National Museum of African-American History and Culture

It’s pride month everybody. Happy pride … I guess.

To be honest, it is hard to celebrate anything these days with the country being quite literally on fire, but I would be remiss if I did not thank the likes of Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Riveira for helping to spark a global revolution that has resulted in scores of countries codifying human rights for their lgbtqi+ communities.

Even if those rights are unevenly distributed and disproportionately benefit cis-gendered, wealthy white gay men in America.

That is another topic for another day.

I would instead like to focus what little energy I have left to discuss the demonstrable absence of queer black history at the Smithsonians’ National Museum of African-American History and Culture.

Like most black folks, I could not properly articulate the sheer joy I felt at beholding a national monument dedicated to our history. Everything from its’ prime location adjacent to the national mall, to the imposing size of the edifice to the richness of the collections held within. This was a labor of love.

So I’m sure you, the reader, can imagine all of my black boy joy as I gleefully skipped inside the building, drinking in all of the knowledge and unabashedly weeping as I saw my forefathers lovingly depicted despite the irrefutably ugly history of America’s mistreatment of blacks.

I started at the bottom and wound my way around the buildings innumerable exhibits until I made it to the top floor. And I searched. And then I made it to the end but I searched again.

And I found Rupaul and a newspaper clipping about a gay couple.

To my knowledge, this is the entire representation of queer black America in this museum.

Rupaul.

Now as much as she’s done for the culture, Rupaul does not even begin to scratch the surface of queer black America.

And in one fell swoop, I was deflated. I was looking forward to seeing a reflection of myself in the museum. I got pieces - but who wants to look at a broken mirror?

I told myself that I probably missed something. I was lying to myself. Queer culture is not only popular culture, but the culture of revolution. How could the museum discuss the civil rights movement and not talk about Stonewall … a veritable revolution led by drag queens and transgender POC’s? What about the current tragedy of our trans brothers and sisters being murdered in cold blood with no hope of justice seeing the light of day? How does one talk about the Harlem Renaissance and not talk about queer identity? To me … it seemed academically dishonest but I promised myself to return to the museum and hunt for what I most likely missed the first time

So I went back … to only have my heart broken again.

Is there not enough space? Were queer curators of color unavailable? Or was this a choice?

I’ve had this conversation before and it always goes a little something like this: this museum is just a start. Queer folks will one day get their day in the light … just be patient.

But I ask you … when have the oppressed ever been given anything without demanding it first … and repeatedly … and often? How many times are we told to hold our peace? Why are black folk raging in the streets today?

Queer black history is black history and it is a part of the canon of knowledge that should be learned and revered - politics and religious ideologies be damned.

I am sure that I am not the first, but let me lend my voice to the chorus of folks demanding a seat at our own damn table. Representation matters. Queer black history is black history.

Happy pride!

the trendy one …