Pop Culture, Queer History & Community Storytelling Through a Black Latinx Queer Lens
Horacio: Long story short, the quarantine made our March 21st date impossible so the day that the stay at home order was enacted in Philly (March 17th) we got a call from the chapel offering to sign our marriage license that day so it wouldn’t expire. We like to think of this “time off” as our honeymoon.
Besides binging televisions shows and desperately trying to come up with recipes that accomadte to our limited knowledge cooking, we’ve embarrassingly enough been spending many days playing Fornite on the couch without cat and dog. We introduced our sobrinos to it (yeah, not the other way around) and since then we’ve been playing together over the phone and it’s been a cute bonding experience since we can’t go visit them at the moment. When we need a little movement we switch to Just Dance or go for a little walk when it’s nice out. We also got to volunteer for Prevention Point here in Philly by helping put together bags of clean syringes and other sanitary measures for the community. When I told mom I had to reassure her we were more than six feet apart in a big room with masks gloves on. We’ve perfected the deep clean, our bathtub and stove have never been shinier. We’ve also become each others personal barber and our hair has changed color like three times. We’re homebodies to begin with so staying at home hasn’t been too strange but we do miss our friends.
Eddie: During quarantine, I have learned that in life, you just don’t have control over the situation that happens around you. What you do have control is how you chose to respond to it. That there is a difference between staying home voluntarily and staying home involuntarily. I like one but not the other. I’ve also learned that I’m much less of a introvert that I thought I was. We’ve both been missing hanging out with friends and being social. Also that Hori and I can sleep a lot haha. But I could probably become completely nocturnal if left unchecked.
Horacio: Personally, I’ve learned to be less serious. I’m the dramatic one and Eddie is the level headed peacekeeper if you will. When I found out we both wouldn’t be working, it stressed us both out but his way of conquering stress is contagious. Of course there are moments of tension when we’re not on the same page, and I’ve learned to detect when those moments are coming and diffuse them by clearing the air before we grow silent. Mostly, I’ve learned that I really have married my best friend and that our connection is genuine and I’m lucky to be able to spend this historical moment with him.
Horacio & Eddie (He/Him/His)
Philadelphia, PA
interviewed (yesterday)& photographed (a few months ago) by: louie a. ortiz-fonseca
I wasn’t around when AIDS was known as GRID (gay related immunodeficiency). I wasn’t around when hospitals were stacked with sick and dying bodies because no one knew what to do. When the president at the time chose to ignore how this epidemic was effecting a particular demographic of this country.
I live in a time where PrEP and PEP make HIV not a big deal. Where random hookups are okay and my sexuality and identity as a gay man can fly freely. Where I am not tending to a dying loved one with lesions all over their body.
We are liable to forget this history because of our privilege. Today is not just a day to promote HIV testing and “remember” the ones who have died. Today is a day to remember that people were here and gone too soon. That people fought even when they were too weak to live. That the gay community was left to die and that people (gay and straight) fought back.
Today we remember those that have passed and we recognize them and the fact that their stories ended before they ever got a chance to start. We remember those who fought for the right to give us a fighting chance. We celebrate that we did not let them put us back in a closet. We appreciate the medical advancements and the lives it has saved. And we work so that we don’t ever have this kind of loss again.
To my generation and the generations to follow, please do not forget. This is a part of our rich and powerful history.
i imagined myself whole until i was whole or somewhere close to it. i imagined myself surrounded by love until i was. i imagined feeling worthy until i believed it. imagination is its own form of courage. to dream up a life and reality that the world tells you that you do not deserve is it’s own kind of prayer.
in 1988, my mother moved her and her four sons into a bedroom in an abandoned house. we had two beds, one chair, a radio and a kerosene heater. we kept our food in a milk crate that we tied and hung outside our window. these things did not make me feel shame or even less-than. it was the way others looked at me and my brothers. it was the way family members talked about my mother in front of her kids. those were things that taught me shame and threatened to rob me of my humanity. but they didn’t because i imagined that i would be something special when i got older. my mother and brothers imagined that i was going to be magical. we imagined ourselves surviving. and we did, together, for quite a while.
what i did not imagine was that my mother and my brother nicholas would not survive with me forever. however, what has endured are the dreams they had for me. i am everything they imagined.
so as i celebrate the 2nd anniversary of my 40th birthday, i celebrate my mother’s spirit. the woman who despite EVERY FUCKIN’ THING made sure i found a way off the block. i celebrate my brother nicholas who struggled to read but still read my poems to me.
i am here because they once were.
today and everyday, is about celebration because of effective treatment and support, i have lived longer than most. it’s not science fiction - it’s fuckin’ reality.
twenty years ago, the only conversation around gay rappers centered around rumors who was “DL” and how coming out would destroy a successful career. sadly, this was pretty this was a complete truth. in 2011, things sorta began to shift. in the 2011 article “are you ready for a gay rapper?” in the november issue of vibe magazine, featured quotes by fat joe from a vlad interview. “i’m pretty sure i’ve done songs with gay rappers. i’m pretty sure of that.” he even offered “advice” to rappers who may be closeted, “like, be real. ‘yo’ i’m gay what the fuck! fuck it if people don’t like it.”
in 2018, the visibility of queer rappers has increased in ways that i could have never dreamed. loco ninja, mykki blanco, ab soto, young m.a. and cakes da killa have all changed and continue to change the game. you can add rob. b to that list.
after creating a buzz two years ago with his debut ep, “eleven eleven”, the california native is back with the bouncy “el cucuy (freestyle 666).” the tune is accompanied by a stunning visual.
the direct translation for “el cucuy” is “the monster.” i asked rob what inspired the song.
“the track is a reflection of being made a monster. Its an evolution from my ep “eleven eleven” which was made with a more innocent view of the music industry and my optimism.”
rob. b has been recording for as part of a duo 10 years ago before going solo. after taking a break from music due the death of his mother 6 years ago, rob. b returned to music and began released material that created a buzz. but his new material is harder, more confident and unapologetic.
i had to become a more aggressive hip hop artist in order to navigate the negativity that comes with being a gay artist in genre that’s still very homophobic.
while queer hip-hop artists continue to edge out a space for themselves, they are often met with great resistance. but artists like rob. b are up for the challenge.
you check out rob. b’s dope as visual for “el cucuy (freestyle)”, on youtube @heartthrobrobb.
I wonder if people directing these comments to me know that I don’t have to be reminded of this. I am a survivor of these ongoing systems of oppression.
When H&M was called out for their “Coolest Monkey in the Jungle” fiasco in January 2018, a boycott was immediately trending throughout social media. I fully supported this form of protest, posting several thoughts about how everyone should join the boycott and not give them their money. I was quick to shame others on social media who didn’t support the boycott. “You can’t shop there, they’re racist AF!” “Ugh you’re shopping there? How could you?” “No! Why would you do that knowing what they did!?” Soon after, a friend messaged me and shared that they work at H&M, and feel guilty after reading my posts. They mentioned that even though they were employed by the clothing store, they would still shop there because it’s affordable (especially with their discount) and meets their needs/wants holistically. It’s also a part of their self-care, since the clothing store carries clothes that affirm their gender expression. And here I am, another Queer Afro-Latinx, hearing all of this from my friend who asks me to sit with my discomfort and challenge my own perspective. They asked me, “When does the harm you experience justify the harm you cause?”
This becomes a challenge when my community members are the ones making me feel unsafe, often not welcomed, within our community. If I don’t co-sign someone’s call to action, if I don’t opt-in to someone’s movement, if I don’t submit to the opinions of a self-fulfilling individual within our movement, I’m “Cancelled”. I’m trash. I’m shamed, my identity minimized, my autonomy within social justice movements questioned. This is the problem that I have with the policing of my life. When my own community members begin to judge my decisions and choices, I feel like I’m experiencing violence from them the way a survivor does from their abusive partner. They are “Gaslighting” me; I am questioning my own proximity within my culture, within our community, forcing me to restrict my access to what I may or may not enjoy. This IS violence to me, because as a Queer Afro-Latinx, I am ALREADY limited in access to safe spaces where I can indulge and practice self-care however that may be. On top of that, I live with anxiety and depression, which also limits my access to resources I feel personally comfortable engaging with, because my mental health may be at stake.
Something as simple as a chick-fil-a sandwich, a live streaming of Beyoncé’s Coachella concert or a Starbucks Frappuccino shouldn’t be the difference between adhering to my emotional/mental wellness, and access to my own community and culture. Yes, I am fully aware that these entities have history of causing harm to People of Color, and LGBTQ and HIV-affected communities. I don’t have to be reminded of where my identities intersect within systems of oppression. There’s a lot of calling out and activism, and not enough calling in and mindfulness. Intent doesn’t always equal impact… and “Gatekeepers” are the ones who get to choose who has access to a healing or harmful response to our internalized trauma.
Through social justice movements, especially on social media, we will encounter many gatekeepers, people invested with a certain amount of power and/or privilege, who can grant or refuse you access to something you need or desire. These aren’t your typical Cisgender White folk with institutional power, no these are people from your own community. Folks who experience oppression, and acquire tools of oppression used against them, only to rebrand them as tools used against their own community members. For whatever reason the gatekeeper was not being reasonable nor rational; obstacles that one must confront, ignore, or submit to. In fact, you’ll often find these same gatekeepers dismiss practicing what they preach, fully aware (often emboldened) of/by the option to pick and choose their own actions and behaviors.
Social justice movements, in my case within the Queer/Trans People of Color (QTPOC) community, are full of all kinds of gatekeepers. Within our revolution against systems of oppression, one’s power can be measured by their access to the knowledge and tools they acquire, or their ability to grant or deny access to some one or some thing. We see this often in the policing of Gender Expression within our own collectives; how often many community members are shamed/invalidated due to their outwardly appearance, completely disassociated from their autonomy. We also see this in the “callout” culture of social media, where the moment someone within our community doesn’t opt-in to a movement, they are socially shamed/stigmatized by their own community members. A person’s impact is judged heavily without questioning their intent. One’s autonomy is minimized when a gatekeeper’s activism doesn’t include education.
I present to you my definition of Gatekeeping within our community: The policing of community members who choose to (or do not have the capacity to) co-sign someone’s personal agenda; The warping of facts, enactment of private agendas, and irrational judgments that occur when a person feels entitled/emboldened to place themselves in charge of who is/is not welcomed within the safe space we try to sustain within our community.
We hear this quote often in the media: “Who died and made you king?” I ask this instead: What gives you the right to repurpose the tools you use towards our oppressors, and use them on your own community members? How entitled must you feel to think that your path towards social justice is more valid than mine? Who are you to police the lives and experiences of your own community members? Does the harm you cause your own community members help you feel validated, when these tools don’t always work the way you want them to towards Cisgender YT People? How do we as a collective, hold these individuals accountable, without igniting the cycle of violence that we’ve all been forced into by these systems of oppression? The problem with gatekeepers is that they are in a position to complicate or derail your life, often minimizing your truth or invalidating your identity (or claim to the culture), including any personal goals or opportunities surrounding your self-care and sustainability.
I remind myself everyday: Living within my Truth. Living my Personal Legend. I live to inspire those around me to do the same, and remind them of their resilience and autonomy to do everything in their autonomy to find their trust happiness and freedom. Especially when engaging with my community members who are active within social justice movements, I remind these warriors and witches and healers to practice self-care and sustainability. The Revolution can pause the beat, put your oxygen mask on first.
“Leaders who do not act dialogically, but insist on imposing their decisions, do not organize the people–they manipulate them. They do not liberate, nor are they liberated: they oppress.” - Paulo Freire
Raffy Regulus (Pronouns They/Them/Theirs) is Queer Afro-Latinx, and has served the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Queer (LGBTQ) and HIV-Affected communities for about 10 years. Raffy currently works as a Counselor/Advocate with the New York City Anti-Violence Project, where they focus on supporting survivors of violence with counseling and advocacy services. Raffy also Co-Facilitates a Trans/Gender Non-Conforming Youth Support Group with the Adolescent AIDS Program in the Bronx, referring LGBTQ youth to medical and counseling services. Raffy continues to engage with their community and focuses on building relationships that will bring visibility to LGBTQ youth in need of shelter, leadership development, and other supportive services. Follow them on Twitter @Raffy_Regulus
they called her “the lady in red.” i cannot remember why but i do remember her loving it. whenever she was drunk she would scream, “i am the lady in red!” maybe her favorite color was red. perhaps she loved the chris de burgh song of the same title. i cannot remember.
my mother, rosa m. ortiz-fonseca, seldom ever got “dressed” up. well not so much in my teen years at least. she would only throw on a dress (which usually was some skimpy ass dress that i bought from the avenue) and decorate her lips whenever her birthday and mother’s day rolled around. not because there was a major celebration. we didn’t attend family parties to the celebrate these days. we never even had birthday parties. she, like the rest of the residents on our small block in the heart of north philly, got “dressed” as way to communicate to the universe “today, i am feeling good!”
this picture was taken on january 13, 1994. her 36th birthday. like all other birthdays, she threw on a lip. lawd knows my mother loved a burgundy lip. she wore the earrings we bought while food shopping on the avenue. she wore her red tights because she was “the lady in red.”
the neighborhood drug dealers, all of whom she worked with, loved my mother. mainly because they thought she was a bruja. why? because EVERY TIME there was a police raid, my mother, by coincidence, was never there. NEVER. maybe that’s why they called her the lady in red. i don’t actually know what that means, but work with me here. lol
anywho, on this day, they all surprised her with red roses and not just one - but two cakes! i remember her being so excited. in fact, she gave me money to run to the drug store (that’s what we used to call pharmacies before they were all rite aid) to buy a disposable camera. she posed with the roses on someone’s wicker chair. she posed with the cakes (as seen here) and posed with many of the men that surprised her. many of them have been jailed and/ or killed since.
this was the last time her birthday was celebrated like this. i still have many of the photos from this day. some bring great smiles and some usher in great pain. some make hard for me to call her name but i have them locked away in bedroom.
my mother died on monday, june 22, 2015. the day after father’s day and the day i rushed to florida to visit her one last time. the lady in red held on until i got there. we spoke of everything, mainly gossip but she knew i was moving to d.c. she saw that i was ok. she knew that, no matter what, and in spite of all that she and i survived, i would be ok. then she went to sleep.
happy birthday mom aka lady in red! i love and miss you so.
imagine that! we can tell our stories in one minute! check out julio mangual as he shares how lady labelle, philly’s legendary afro-latinx drag queen, came to be.
they called her “the lady in red.” i cannot remember why but i do remember her loving in. whenever she was drunk she would scream, “i am the lady in red!” maybe he favorite color was red. i cannot remember.
my mother, rosa m. ortiz-fonseca, seldom ever got “dressed” up. well not so much in my teen years at least. she would only throw on a dress and decorate her lips whenever her birthday and mother’s day rolled around. not because there was a major celebration. we didn’t attend family parties to the celebrate these days. we never even had birthday parties. she, like the rest of the residents on our small block in the heart of north philly, got “dressed” as way to communicate to the universe “today, i am feeling good!”
this picture was taken on january 13, 1994. her 36th birthday. like all other birthdays, she threw on a lip. lawd knows my mother loved a burgundy lip. she wore the earrings we bought while food shopping on the avenue. she wore her red tights because she was “the lady in red.”
the neighborhood drug dealers, all of whom she worked with, loved my mother. mainly because they thought she was a bruja. why? because EVERY TIME there was a police raid, my mother was never there. maybe that’s why they called her the lady in red. anywho, on this day, they all surprised her with flowers and not just one cake but two cakes! i remember her being so excited. in fact, she gave me money to run to the drug store (that’s what we used to call pharmacies) to buy a disposable camera. she posed with the roses on someone’s wicker chair. she posed with the cakes (as seen here) and posed with many of the men who surprised. most of which have been killed and jailed since.
this was the last time her birthday was celebrated like this. i still have many of the photos from this day. some bring great smiles and some usher in great pain. but i have them locked away in bedroom.
my mother died on monday, june 22, 2015. the day after father’s day and the day i rushed to florida to visit her one last time. the lady in red held on until i got there. we spoke of everything, mainly gossip but she knew i was moving to d.c. she knew that i was ok. she knew that i would be ok. then she went to sleep.
happy birthday lady in red! i love and miss you so.
sanctuary is found on the dance floor. spirits are filled and pain is paused. know that last night’s attack at pulse night club in orlando, during latino night - is an yet ANOTHER attack on all of us who have ever feared loving openly in public.
as pride month continues, remember to remember that PRIDE IS STILL POLITICAL and it is STILL NECESSARY! rage more and march harder!
we love you all so very much.
love, light and healing to everyone impacted by the pulse night club attack.
“Some of us are presently in that one in four and know first hand that the epidemic is being driven by racism, homophobia, poverty and stigma. Some of us know that we bear the great burden of HIV infection in our community. Unfortunately, only some us know that these statistics DO NOT mean that we have failed each other or that we have not been doing our best to sustain ourselves as Latino MSM. What these statistics mean is that the system and the prevention organizations charged with reaching us have failed us on many levels.”
if your skin browns
only because of the sun,
there is not a thing,
not a single one
you can tell us
about how we engage
with our blackness
or which tactics
we utilized in our fight for freedom.
them, whom i love: but the news
said… me: listen to your eyes. them, whom i love: but the law
says… me: listen to your eyes. them, whom i love: but not all… me: listen to your eyes.
or at the very least, listen to
the shackles of your chains. listen to the ache and weight of
worry you carry every day. listen to your mind, when it
says, if i “talk” white, i
will be alright. my love, listen to your eyes
idk who needs to hear this but nurses who work 16hr shifts aren’t heroes. they’re horrifically exploited workers& they don’t need thanks or applause, they need more colleagues and better labour protection
As a nurse I will say that it’s sad and has been a rude awakening to know that in times of widespread hardship, people will expect you to put your life on the line- and anyone you love and interact with- just to make up for the government and medical field’s greed. We have little staff, either because people are sick or just afraid to come in due to the fear of getting sick. We have little to no protective gear. The ONE face mask they give us per shift doesn’t do CRAP! Administration is no help for us on the actual field and these hospitals are trying to cover up new cases of COVID-19 to hide the fact that their “protection” for staff and patients is inadequate. This week alone, two of my patients have been confirmed cases and 3 medical staff have been confirmed too. It’s not heroic to see your fellow colleagues catch a deadly virus. It’s not fun to see young people my age, OR ANY AGE FOR THAT MATTER, be on a damn ventilator. IT’S TRAUMATIZING! And to think there are people who aren’t taking this seriously still!
neuroticpantomime
