my new friend
APPEARED IN MRR #312 MAY 2009
February 14th 2009 was all about my girlfriend not being able to get the weekend off from work to come visit me so I ended up at an anti-Valentine's Day dance party at the Girl Cave with my homegirls instead. The dance party was a benefit for Girls Rock! DC and when we got there, it was pretty packed and some raw-ass reggaeton was moving bodies on the dance floor. I showed up with my friend Bea who was in town from Oakland and her old friend from college, Griffin. A tiny group of black queers rolling only three deep but feeling a million strong.
I was hyped up that night and ready to have a blast no matter what. But as soon as we walked in there, Bea started grumbling about how white the party was. It reminded her of her days at Oberlin College in Ohio. Now, Bea's not a punk but she's no mainstreamer either. She's all decked out in a million bright colors acting all crazy. She's one of the most critical minds I know. She's a dancer. She wants to make music but she's got some kind of block that I hope she gets over someday. She is so much fun and we are in absolute friend-love with each other. People like her make the world a livable place for people like me.
So Bea is trippin about being surrounded by whitey and I understand why, to some extent. DC is a majority black city. Why do all these little worlds and scenes have to be so segregated? On the other hand, I've made my peace with all of this racial business to a large extent. I am a woman, I play music and I support other women and girls who play music. I know that a Girls Rock! DC benefit house party is exactly where I belong even if I do wish, at the same time, that there were more brown faces right there with me in that sweaty living room.
The night wore on, we danced & danced and I started working the crowd, walking up to the few random black people at the party and introducing myself. I met a girl with dreads named Ebony who's a dj and who looked really gay although I could be wrong; a cute shy boy named John with some dope glasses on that had white & black checkerboard pattern on the sides; and another a true gem of a girl named Zachari. Zachari ended up dancing with me, Bea & Griffin for the rest of the night. She was so cool! She knew how to vogue! That was only my second time seeing someone vogue in real life. (And if you think I'm talking about Madonna's total rip-off dance moves from the 90s, yr a damn fool.)
After the party, we went to Ben's Chili Bowl, the oldest Black business in DC, and ate some chili cheese fries. Total gut bomb. I shoved fries covered in nacho cheese sauce into my mouth while I listened to Zachari talk about her favorite books by Octavia Butler and her upcoming trip to Brazil. Who was this cool girl and how did we find her? We all exchanged numbers and promised to get in touch soon.
On the rare occasions that I meet other black folks who I have a lot in common with because we're queer, feminist, punk, artists/musicians, or all of the above, I get so excited! It's definitely not something I can take for granted. In the past, I've put way too many expectations on the beginnings of these friendships, but I've learned not to do that anymore. I know that nothing's perfect and I've learned over time to just wait and see how things turn out. Life isn't that formulaic. You can never say "Well this person has a, b and c characteristics and I have them too and so we're going to be great friends."
February 14th 2009 was all about my girlfriend not being able to get the weekend off from work to come visit me so I ended up at an anti-Valentine's Day dance party at the Girl Cave with my homegirls instead. The dance party was a benefit for Girls Rock! DC and when we got there, it was pretty packed and some raw-ass reggaeton was moving bodies on the dance floor. I showed up with my friend Bea who was in town from Oakland and her old friend from college, Griffin. A tiny group of black queers rolling only three deep but feeling a million strong.
I was hyped up that night and ready to have a blast no matter what. But as soon as we walked in there, Bea started grumbling about how white the party was. It reminded her of her days at Oberlin College in Ohio. Now, Bea's not a punk but she's no mainstreamer either. She's all decked out in a million bright colors acting all crazy. She's one of the most critical minds I know. She's a dancer. She wants to make music but she's got some kind of block that I hope she gets over someday. She is so much fun and we are in absolute friend-love with each other. People like her make the world a livable place for people like me.
So Bea is trippin about being surrounded by whitey and I understand why, to some extent. DC is a majority black city. Why do all these little worlds and scenes have to be so segregated? On the other hand, I've made my peace with all of this racial business to a large extent. I am a woman, I play music and I support other women and girls who play music. I know that a Girls Rock! DC benefit house party is exactly where I belong even if I do wish, at the same time, that there were more brown faces right there with me in that sweaty living room.
The night wore on, we danced & danced and I started working the crowd, walking up to the few random black people at the party and introducing myself. I met a girl with dreads named Ebony who's a dj and who looked really gay although I could be wrong; a cute shy boy named John with some dope glasses on that had white & black checkerboard pattern on the sides; and another a true gem of a girl named Zachari. Zachari ended up dancing with me, Bea & Griffin for the rest of the night. She was so cool! She knew how to vogue! That was only my second time seeing someone vogue in real life. (And if you think I'm talking about Madonna's total rip-off dance moves from the 90s, yr a damn fool.)
After the party, we went to Ben's Chili Bowl, the oldest Black business in DC, and ate some chili cheese fries. Total gut bomb. I shoved fries covered in nacho cheese sauce into my mouth while I listened to Zachari talk about her favorite books by Octavia Butler and her upcoming trip to Brazil. Who was this cool girl and how did we find her? We all exchanged numbers and promised to get in touch soon.
On the rare occasions that I meet other black folks who I have a lot in common with because we're queer, feminist, punk, artists/musicians, or all of the above, I get so excited! It's definitely not something I can take for granted. In the past, I've put way too many expectations on the beginnings of these friendships, but I've learned not to do that anymore. I know that nothing's perfect and I've learned over time to just wait and see how things turn out. Life isn't that formulaic. You can never say "Well this person has a, b and c characteristics and I have them too and so we're going to be great friends."
At the same time, maybe you understand what it's like to embody certain identities that seem incongruent, identities that very few other people embody. In most people's minds, being black and being punk don't really match up. Adding queerness to the mix can make life even more challenging, if not also more fabulous. Socially, you're in a tough spot. Ultimately, my interests, particularly my love of punk rock and feminism, lead me to the scenes and social circles I am in today. Unfortunately, pursuing my interests means that I have to deal with being isolated on the basis of race.
In the end, I've chosen to follow my passions and I know I owe a lot to punk rock. It's the only arena in which people actually appreciate the kind of art and music I know how to make. At the same time, being isolated in a white scene, being The Only One so often, is a huge sacrifice on my part, and on the part of every brown kid who is isolated in small punk scenes in the towns they live in. Being constantly outnumbered, especially in communities where white people freely discuss their own oppressions based on class, gender, size or sexuality, is in itself oppressive.
For me, being a Black Punk is about constantly trying to achieve balance, socially and otherwise. Because punk is a white scene by default, I have to constantly be mindful of including brown people in my life since it's not something that I can count on to happen naturally. Over the years, through moving around, going on tour, and writing letters & zines, I've slowly built a small body of punks of color around me. When I say "around me," I don't necessarily mean that in the physical sense. All of them live spread out over these 50 states (a couple are in Canada & Europe, even!) but it's a community to me, nevertheless.
As amazing and fulfilling as my experience has been, the unfairness of it all still gets to me. My friend Jacob, from Michigan called me up last night. He's seven years younger than me and asks me for advice a lot. He's just starting off with his art and his music and he's looking for a good place to move where his interests would be nurtured. He's torn. Jacob is a beautiful black, talented punk rock feminist fag who would love to take advantage of the cheap rent and young art kid communities in a place like Portland except he's so afraid of being racially isolated there. He's been in similar situations before, and has no desire to go back. He's thinking about New York, on the other hand, because it is more racially diverse, but the cost of living there will break your back. Also, I'm not sure if the same DIY, riot girl-inspired scene exists in NYC the way it does in Portland. If Jacob were a white kid, I'd say "Move to Portland! It'll be perfect for you." But it won't be perfect for Jacob. It sucks that he has this one extra thing to consider. It's unfortunate that at times, it feels like we have to decide which of our identities to prioritize.
In the last few years, I've become stubbornly opposed to making such a decision. I'm not choosing which side of myself to prioritize and I'm not about to give anything up. I am black, I am queer, I am a feminist, I am a diy punk, I am a musician, and I am all of those things all of the time. Furthermore, I will look underneath every rock, searching for people who are like me who make me feel normal, at peace, and at home.
After my recent move from Portland to DC, a friend, a fellow black queer punk wrote me, "With you and a couple other folks gone, Portland has started to feel super white again and I feel like I stand out now more than ever..." When yr a black punk in an overwhelmingly white scene, that's how much just one or two people can change your entire reality. The upside to that, is when you find those one or two people, your connections run deep and you treasure them. You treat them like gold.
In the end, I've chosen to follow my passions and I know I owe a lot to punk rock. It's the only arena in which people actually appreciate the kind of art and music I know how to make. At the same time, being isolated in a white scene, being The Only One so often, is a huge sacrifice on my part, and on the part of every brown kid who is isolated in small punk scenes in the towns they live in. Being constantly outnumbered, especially in communities where white people freely discuss their own oppressions based on class, gender, size or sexuality, is in itself oppressive.
For me, being a Black Punk is about constantly trying to achieve balance, socially and otherwise. Because punk is a white scene by default, I have to constantly be mindful of including brown people in my life since it's not something that I can count on to happen naturally. Over the years, through moving around, going on tour, and writing letters & zines, I've slowly built a small body of punks of color around me. When I say "around me," I don't necessarily mean that in the physical sense. All of them live spread out over these 50 states (a couple are in Canada & Europe, even!) but it's a community to me, nevertheless.
As amazing and fulfilling as my experience has been, the unfairness of it all still gets to me. My friend Jacob, from Michigan called me up last night. He's seven years younger than me and asks me for advice a lot. He's just starting off with his art and his music and he's looking for a good place to move where his interests would be nurtured. He's torn. Jacob is a beautiful black, talented punk rock feminist fag who would love to take advantage of the cheap rent and young art kid communities in a place like Portland except he's so afraid of being racially isolated there. He's been in similar situations before, and has no desire to go back. He's thinking about New York, on the other hand, because it is more racially diverse, but the cost of living there will break your back. Also, I'm not sure if the same DIY, riot girl-inspired scene exists in NYC the way it does in Portland. If Jacob were a white kid, I'd say "Move to Portland! It'll be perfect for you." But it won't be perfect for Jacob. It sucks that he has this one extra thing to consider. It's unfortunate that at times, it feels like we have to decide which of our identities to prioritize.
In the last few years, I've become stubbornly opposed to making such a decision. I'm not choosing which side of myself to prioritize and I'm not about to give anything up. I am black, I am queer, I am a feminist, I am a diy punk, I am a musician, and I am all of those things all of the time. Furthermore, I will look underneath every rock, searching for people who are like me who make me feel normal, at peace, and at home.
After my recent move from Portland to DC, a friend, a fellow black queer punk wrote me, "With you and a couple other folks gone, Portland has started to feel super white again and I feel like I stand out now more than ever..." When yr a black punk in an overwhelmingly white scene, that's how much just one or two people can change your entire reality. The upside to that, is when you find those one or two people, your connections run deep and you treasure them. You treat them like gold.
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