About a month ago, in a fit of internal rage and frustration, I quit my job. I was working as a cook in a small tourist city where the manager was a gay white teenage boy with a blaccent, and the head chef was a white Chicano eager to tell me about how he had a “head full of dreads” a few years back. Because, when you’re the only Black person in a professional work space, it’s likely that your coworkers will try to appease you by mimicking Black culture. It’s micro aggressive, dehumanizing, and embarrassing to watch.

Often, I meet white people and get the sense they’ve never had a Black friend before. This sense was deeply affirmed by a 2014 study that discovered “75% of white Americans have entirely white social networks without any minority presence.” This Washington Post article verifies that a huge percentage of white Americans are unfamiliar with relating to, befriending, and creating authentic connections with Black and non-Black people of color.

To be frank, it’s white supremacy. It’s this subconscious disease that pushes white people to center themselves, and other white people, based on a racial construct that has never been real. It was made up to wield power, and disenfranchise BIPOC, and working/poor communities. This imaginary thing, with deadly consequences is passed from generation to generation, like a baton from one white person to the next as they upkeep systems of oppression that harm more than they have ever helped.

I’m caught between absurdities- I want to laugh, or vomit, or both. I’m sure that somewhere out there, a white person is using my name to justify that they “do have Black friends,” “don’t see color,” “have never been racist” meanwhile, ignoring the necessary and daily work it takes to detangle ourselves from colonized actions, mindsets, and ways of being together.

I am a Black person. I am a lesbian. I am an immigrant. And I don’t trust white people, because quite honestly, I haven’t been given any reason to. I don’t have white lovers or white friends. Okay. One. I do have one white friend, who at this point I consider us family.

We were colleagues and activists attending a Building People Power conference. We got along well. I always liked their wild humor, bold fashion, and general friendliness. And, as an introvert, I especially appreciated that they were willing to carry conversations in group spaces- as I took each opportunity to melt away into my body.

The conference was soon ending, so a group of us went out to karaoke. It was a diverse, punk crowd. I was sitting, sipping my drink, when a white woman sauntered up from across the room to touch my hair. My friend jumped out of their seat, immediately confronted this person, and moved between us. This woman started to cry and play the victim, as if she didn’t just cross my physical boundaries. Inwardly, I was rolling my eyes so hard. Outwardly, I de-escalated and sent the racist on her fragile way.

The best part of that night was getting to see my friend’s ethics in motion. It was nice. I’m drawn to passionate people, and I felt a mutual loyalty freshly cementing. Isn’t sapphic friendship healing? The same passion, romance, and understanding we bring to our partners, we can’t help but bring into every other connection we create. We were the only lesbians on the team, and it informed so much of how we took up space. Our willingness to go toe-to-toe with men, our desire to include femme and nonbinary thought/intelligence/creativity, our courage to be so tremendously gay out loud.

Racism, patriarchal and transphobic ideology walk hand in hand. They are tightly woven into each other, and work collaboratively. It tells us that the safest place is in proximity to power- is in connection to men. Double points if they’re white, triple points if they’re wealthy. It convinces us to find refuge anywhere but ourselves, or with community. And it is such a brave, and rewarding act to resist, and make home elsewhere. My queer worlds with my queer friends makes me strong enough to face “white supremacist capitalist patriarchy" (as bell hooks refers to it as) with grace, precision, and confidence, even at times where it is very difficult. It makes me hopeful.

May we each be empowered by the belief that we are worthy, and our freeness is interconnected will set us aflame to speak up in, or outright leave where our dignities are challenged. This is my ode to Black Trans pleasure, Black Trans joy, Black Trans madness, Black Trans silence, Black Trans eroticism, Black Trans brilliance, Black Trans domesticity. My deepest love and honor to the queer allies who devote their time, effort, and energy to transform our conditions so that we can all take breath.

---

sparrow Gore (they/them) is reimagining a softer planet. sparrow Gore is a lesbian Sudanese-American farmer, abolitionist and writer. sparrow’s work is informed by Black feminist tradition, and liberationists Audre Lorde, Nikki Giovanna, bell hooks, and Octavia Butler ; who moved forward a sociopolitical movement that challenged the intersecting oppression and tactics of racial capitalism. sparrow seeks to make portals with their language, to take us to the hearts of reality and the limitlessness of Black queer imaginations.