Ever since the hit Netflix show Queer Eye was released on February 7th, 2018, the queer community has become louder and prouder than ever. This wholesome entertainment involves its main hosts helping people who need a “life makeover,” no matter their backgrounds. The hosts of Queer Eye include: Antoni Porowski (food), Tan France (fashion), Bobby Berk (interior design), Jonathan Van Ness (self care), and most importantly Karamo Brown (culture). Though Brown is a notorious activist for HIV stigma and mental health, it was only until recently I noticed more love within the LGBTQ+ community for people of color, including people like him.
Whether or not Netflix provided more courage to queer people of color, a new-wave over social media is currently underway: queer people from all around the world are becoming more prominent figures to the queer youth. Vivek Shraya, a visual artist and assistant professor at the University of Calgary is a transfemme author who recently published her book, “I’m Afraid of Men.” Following the publication of her book, she’s been taking Instagram by storm, speaking at colleges and shows across the continent. She and Brown represent a segment of the LGBTQ community who strive to integrate their culture and religion with the queer aspect of their beings--more often than not, these two things do not coincide.
As a person of color who considers herself particularly spiritual and religious, it was difficult for me to find peace within myself. I felt like I had to choose between being queer and my faith. I could not possibly be both. How could someone who is a part of a community that doesn’t approve of gay people actually be queer? I struggled for years--I’ve never brought up the conversation with my family because I know the consequences it entails. It was only until recently that I was able to accept myself for who I am--even though religion and queerness juxtapose each other, I know that this could never be something as simple as option A or option B. To see other people like Brown and Shraya was pivotal: it showed me that I do not and will not ever need permission from anyone to be myself.
A balance of one’s religious views as well as their identification with being queer is not something we see often. It presents itself as a choice to most: you can only choose one because we are taught within our cultures and religions (more often than not) that you will not be accepted otherwise. To see people of color advocate for being who they are--cultural, religious queers--gives the queer youth of today a sense of comfort to know that you shouldn’t feel like you have to compromise any part of yourself to be more accepted within a niche of society. It shows us that yes, being a racial minority in today’s world is its own struggle, being queer is its own struggle--but the history of our communities is what makes our own history so beautiful: what queer people of color fight for and what they stand for cannot be simplified. It cannot be defined by the labels of minorities, for minorities are so much more than something small. Through art, kindness, and recognition, people like Brown and Shraya are spearheading the movement of worldwide acceptance and love one episode and page at a time.
Whether or not Netflix provided more courage to queer people of color, a new-wave over social media is currently underway: queer people from all around the world are becoming more prominent figures to the queer youth. Vivek Shraya, a visual artist and assistant professor at the University of Calgary is a transfemme author who recently published her book, “I’m Afraid of Men.” Following the publication of her book, she’s been taking Instagram by storm, speaking at colleges and shows across the continent. She and Brown represent a segment of the LGBTQ community who strive to integrate their culture and religion with the queer aspect of their beings--more often than not, these two things do not coincide.
As a person of color who considers herself particularly spiritual and religious, it was difficult for me to find peace within myself. I felt like I had to choose between being queer and my faith. I could not possibly be both. How could someone who is a part of a community that doesn’t approve of gay people actually be queer? I struggled for years--I’ve never brought up the conversation with my family because I know the consequences it entails. It was only until recently that I was able to accept myself for who I am--even though religion and queerness juxtapose each other, I know that this could never be something as simple as option A or option B. To see other people like Brown and Shraya was pivotal: it showed me that I do not and will not ever need permission from anyone to be myself.
A balance of one’s religious views as well as their identification with being queer is not something we see often. It presents itself as a choice to most: you can only choose one because we are taught within our cultures and religions (more often than not) that you will not be accepted otherwise. To see people of color advocate for being who they are--cultural, religious queers--gives the queer youth of today a sense of comfort to know that you shouldn’t feel like you have to compromise any part of yourself to be more accepted within a niche of society. It shows us that yes, being a racial minority in today’s world is its own struggle, being queer is its own struggle--but the history of our communities is what makes our own history so beautiful: what queer people of color fight for and what they stand for cannot be simplified. It cannot be defined by the labels of minorities, for minorities are so much more than something small. Through art, kindness, and recognition, people like Brown and Shraya are spearheading the movement of worldwide acceptance and love one episode and page at a time.