The Gran Varones is a legacy project that uses stories for Latino & Afro-Latino Gay and Queer* men
so when we first heard of eva langoria’s whack ass idea #BrownRibbonCampaign, asking oscar goers to wear brown ribbons to show support and shine light on the
lack of latino representation in hollywood, we thought she would be the
dope of the day. turns out that this jose antonio vargas would steal
that prize in the 11th hour by tweeting this bullshit.
seriously!? this dude expects black people to do all of the heavy
lifting while he just lifts his phone to tweet some whack shit? yo, eva
and jose, were y'all mad last year about the lack of latino
representation at the oscars? or were y'all just waiting for black
people to do the work so that y'all slip in and say “mira! us too tho!
say something!” mind you, you are not directing that question to the
oscars or hollywood but to black people!
boricua jesus, take the wheel, please! LMAO
yes, hollywood continues to fail to see us in all of our glory and
magic but we cannot allow white supremacy to CONTINUE to scare and trick
us into directing our frustrations to black people, a community who is
always courageously leading revolutions that we DIRECTLY benefit from.
ribbons won’t free us and tweeting bullshit expectations that others do our work will mos def not provide us freedom
if that means having to read every
op-ed posted on facebook written by mostly grad school
educated folks who use words that i have to google,
then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means that my real life
experiences will be reduced to particles if my responses to said articles do not meet the king’s english then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means having to explain, demonstrate and prove the pain of hiv positive latino gay men who are still forced again and again to live in secrecy, while processing that shame in
secrecy, then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means that i have to burn sage
over lighting blunts, or sipping wine instead of long island
iced teas to heal, to chill or to fill a space in me that continues to be peeled away by
ridicule, then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means that i can’t sing along at the top of my fuckin’ lungs as i hit the quan then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means that i have to disregard and pick apart varones who are not always equipped or have the words to articulate their contribution to the revolution because breathing and surviving oppressive institutions isn’t impressive for some of us, then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means that i have to recite
quotes and passages from books celebrated and hailed by the
“movement” over my ability to quote and spit
lyrics from my fave mariah and nicki song, then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means having to choose my politics over sucking dick and having to present as masculine then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means using “movement” terms only to prove that i have learned that words matter only when popping
off or creating a spectacle but NOT being impeccable with my
word. then yes, maybe i am not woke as
fuck.
if it means just speaking about
social justice action but never following it up with
action beyond the traction of my finger
tips on keyboards to eloquently write out my thesis
for freedom that my mother cannot read, then yes, maybe i am not woke as
fuck.
if it means that my ego is the only
fragile thing that matters over safer spaces used as bait to
shatter the teeth of those who are tricked into the belief that a college degree will add weight to the very
necessary things that should be spoken, then maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means only feeling comfortable
sitting on panels because i can’t handle sitting on
porches and stoops because of how i speak the “truth” stopped being accessible to folks i “speak” for but not speak
to, then nah, maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means that i have to police
the grammar of the same people i fight for and
write for just so academics can celebrate my
work – then nah, maybe i am not woke as
fuck.
if it means celebrating those who
have chosen to get arrested while shaming those of us who live in
arrested development because of the complexities of our
trauma isn’t as beautiful and dutiful as a five-noun political identity then, maybe, i am not woke as fuck.
if it means having to choose between raising my fists over raising my kids, because loving son my with all i have isn’t a trending hashtag, then no, maybe i am not woke as fuck.
if it means overthinking until i am on the brink of losing
connections from the people who provide me
oxygen, then nah, maybe i am not woke as
fuck.
if it means that being a leader requires me to be a constant bleeder
teetering on the edge of insanity to
prove to the next “woke as fuck”
muthafucker that i myself am woke, then nah, maybe i am not woke as
fuck.
so i traveled to philly this past weekend to 1. meet up with a few varones as our project is still based there and 2. to dance my ass off at a 90’s party that was going down. as soon as i get off the train, i hear noise, white noise to be exact. i come up the stairs and i am blinded by the color green and i think to myself “fuck! it’s st. patrick’s day weekend!” so after rolling my eyes, i took a deep breath and prayed that not a single one of those fools curved their thin lips to scream in my face or say some shit that would get their faces smacked.
so it’s about 12.15pm and i walked through about 30 screaming students who are dressed in green and obviously drunk. now this is happening in an Amtrak train station that on any day is swarming with police - ya know, for security reasons. to my shock, i look to see if they are any police around and of course there weren’t any. sadly, i was both relieved and horrified. white drunk people scare me. so i watch these white kids continue to scream and take up so much space and NO ONE bats an eye. why? cuz it’s st. patrick’s day and white kids just wanna have fun.
on the real, i wanted to capture it for my snapchat story but legitimately was afraid that they would perform so i decided against pulling out my phone.
why is this especially problematic? because philly’s new mayor, the one that even black and browns folks praised as the second coming of the messiah, has broken his promise to fight the racist “stop & frisk” policy. a policy that gives the monsters in blue to stop and frisk anyone without probable cause. obviously, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a policy that is used to dehumanize black and latinos in philadelphia, was not used at all during this “festive” weekend.
now, i don’t know about y'all but drunk white people scare me. they do! their behavior is really no different from the behavior of trump supporters. it’s as if being pissy ass drunk gives them wings to say and do shit they wouldn’t “normally” do. and much like trump supporters, they apologize when they are caught. “oh my, i am so sorry. i don’t know what came over me.” this is why drunk white people are scary to me but not to philly police. nope. not them. drunk white people don’t scare them. sober, empowered and politically driven black and brown folks who scream “black lives matter” are what scares them.
salute to everyone on mass transit during rush hour who pull out
their phones to take a selfie! mad love to everyone who snap their
beautiful faces while walking down the street, sitting at your desks at
work, laying up in the emergency room, posing on your bed or flexin’ at
the damn club. there ain’t no shame in feeling yourself in a world that
attempts to trick you into hiding from yourself. don’t let anyone shame
you because your phone is filled with pictures of your lovely face.
celebrate that shit!
happy friday, varones! be beautiful and capture it in a selfie!
the ones on the way wide surviving life marginalized the ones who celebrate their GEDs and the ones hanging up PHDs who stay giving me the side eye. i am here for them too.
i am here for the ones living with HIV and beautifully thriving i am here for the ones who stay stigmatizing but even don’t know it. i am here for all of them.
i am here for the ones who can read and the ones who read. i am here for the ones that heal and the ones that continue to make us bleed gawd dammit, i am here for them too.
the ones who are undocumented and go on unaccounted for in pride parades the ones who are not afraid to parade up and down hood streets daring and threatening to beat any muthafucker who tries it i am here for them.
i am here for the ones who only speak and dream in spanish and those who have not mastered the language but still understand it. the ones who can’t roll an “R” but can the roll the hell out a blunt, i am here for them too.
who am i here for? varones! all of them.
i am here for the ones who raise their fists as an act of resistance and the ones who use their public assistance to feed more just their kids, more than just themselves i am here for them.
the ones that come in peace and that are in pieces of rage the ones that have been taught to deny pleasure and desire and so they sex shame i am here for the ones who get to workin’ by posting their pretty asses on backpage i am here for all them.
i am here for the ones who under and over achieve the ones who are so willing to love with their hearts on their sleeves i am here for tending to battle scars who stand on constant guard because life as a varon has made them hard, i am here for them.
the ones who are at close proximity to war and grief, the ones who are standing in possibility and the ones who can’t make believe to believe in the make believe because dreams were not made for all us. i am here for them because gawd dammit, they have been there for me.
ok, so admittedly these kinds of list often times makes me wanna
literally roll my eyes by snatching them from out of my face and rolling
across my office floor. why you ask? well because they are often times
generic, i mean really generic and they seldom, if almost NEVER mention
the institutional systems that socialize us into hating ourselves.
does this list have things that are useful? sure, but you can find
these “tips” in any inspirational mariah carey song. hey mimi, you know i
love you gurl! so read the article because it does provide some surface
shit and sometimes we need that. no judgement. however, i don’t believe
that anyone’s unhappiness is entirely because of “simple” reasons. so
here is our list:
1. systematic homophobia: we live in a
world that teaches us every gawd damn minute that there is something
wrong with us and that our pleasures and desire for each other is a sin.
we as gay and queer men have to intentionally work to unlearn that shit
- and it ain’t easy. it is a lifetime of work that can be fuckin’
exhausting. so much so that we sometimes do not have the energy to
simply be “happy.” we are “simply” trying to sustain a small piece of
happy.
2. systematic racism chyle, when i was a young
queen, i got teased by all the kids in the school yard. i couldn’t wait
to grow up and be around other queens because queens wouldn’t tease each
other. i thought being with other queens would be the equalizer. chyle,
i gagged once i found out that shit isn’t true. yes, the other queens
didn’t call me “faggot” (well not in the way the school yard kids did,
anyway) but i have been called “spic,” “hood rat,” “wet back” and “cha
cha queen.” i learned early on that mainstream gay culture reinforces
the same racist and classist bullshit that is in the fabric of american
culture. calling that shit out or learning to live and “be” in spite of
that takes work. so much so that we sometimes do not have the energy to
simply be “happy.” we are “simply” trying to sustain any kind of happy.
3. AIDS stigma
although we are over 35 years into the AIDS epidemic, latino and black
gay me continue to be disproportionately impacted. of course, this is
because a myriad of reasons. but one major reason is stigma. how many of
us have had a friend, family member or human say, “cool, you’re gay? i
support you. don’t get AIDS.” this ultimately impacts how we experience
sex. so some of us become secretive about how we fuck, who we fuck and
when we fuck. so we begin to associate sex with secrecy and shame. this
is dangerous because when someone us test positive for HIV, we often
times feel like we have failed ourselves and our loved ones. they told
us to “not get AIDS” and we didn’t even listen. we internalize this
shame and it tricks us into believing that we are not good enough. so we
hide. we say mean things to keep us in hiding. some of us even say to
younger queens “don’t get AIDS.” so the shame and secrecy of AIDS
becomes stigma. it takes love, support and an entirely new internal
conversation with yourself to unlearn all of the terrible things were
are taught. so much so that we sometimes do not have the energy to
simply be “happy.” we are “simply” trying to sustain some kind of happy.
4. violence
yes, we have come a long way from where we once were. but for some of
us, walking down the street puts us at risk for getting teased, taunted
and attacked. hell, we can’t even sleep without the threat of someone
pouring hot water over our bodies. shit is beyond real and while we may
have been born this way, we live in a world that wishes that we weren’t.
man, we live in a country that experiences those of us who are queer
and undocumented as a “dangerous” combination. being prepared to defend
ourselves at any given moment is hard and taxing. so much so that we
sometimes do not have the energy to simply be “happy.” we are “simply”
trying to stay out of harm’s way.
so yeah, that is our short
list. while it is daunting this is what i know - we are magic. we are
fuckin’ magical! happiness, much like self-esteem, is always in flux.
some days are going to be easier than others. that is ok. not being able
to be or feel “happy” does not mean we have failed. we are beating the
odds every day. romanizing happiness alone will not make us happy.
happiness found in those fleeting moments when you are with your
good-good girlfriends laughing so hard that you piss on yourself. it is
found when you are going to war and find that muthafuggahs got your
back! it is found when we feel, know and believe that this world was
made for us too.
to all of the varones who once lied on hospital beds with a sinking t-cell count counting the minutes until you could hold down down your food.
to all of the varones who avoided looking into mirrors because the sunken face reflection did not reflect the beauty you behold.
to all of the varones who pieced themselves back together piece by piece after the violence of stigma left them broken and beat. to all the varones who survive life by surviving one night at a muthafuggin’ time.
we salute you.
we praise you.
because even AIDS, stigma, homophobia, racism, white supremacy, and oppression can’t keep us from rising. and when we become ancestors, we will continue rise in the voices of those who speak our names without shame.
so keep rising varones because resurrections are real.
Louie: So we have known each other for at for over 20 years.
Angel: Yeah, we are old! LOL
Louie: Almost lol What was it like for you in the 90s?
Angel: We were coming out with respect being ourselves. We had a club
called “El Bravo” and we had so much fun. Everything at that time was on
the down low; very different than how it is now. We had drag shows and
the locas were everywhere but no one fucked with us.
Louie: What is it like now?
Angel: But now we are who we are opening! Atrevido con respect. You
know what I mean? We are out and we don’t care what people say. That’s
good, right? LOL
Louie: But of course loca!
Angel: Gran Varon, I love you.
Louie: I love you too, loca!
Angel Santiago, Philadelphia
Interviewed & Photographed by: Louie A. Ortiz-Fonseca
