Silence is sometimes not golden

Shhhhh! The sound is undeniable. It's the earmark noise for silence. To be quiet. To not utter a word. I had been silent for more than twenty years. I was silent when my mother and two brothers died from the AIDS virus. I was silent after being molested by a male next door neighbor. Even though I told the adults what happened to me, and I never saw my molester again, no one said anything to me. It was as if it never happened.

When I began to question my sexuality, I did what I had been doing for so long, I became silent. I didn't dare utter the unmentionable words "gay," "fag," or "homosexual." Those words did not fit in my vocabulary. They are words rarely discussed openly in the black community. There is no dialogue or conversation around the power of those words, the power of what they do to a young person, and the blow they deliver. To be on the receiving end of that right jab to the gut, it knocks you out. One, two, three...and then the referee yells, "Ten! You're out."

Unfortunately I was not out. I wanted to be. I desired to be out. But something about living in my sacred and secure world of the down low kept me from being authentic, true and honest.

In my memoir, Hiding In Hip Hop, I speak of the fear that kept me in silence. It was killing me and causing me more pain than I ever imagined. And, yes, it was imagined pain. Like so many young people struggling with their sexuality, I did not have the resources or mental capabilities to decipher how to manage my feelings.

I also speak of how this fear keeps the black community in silence. We are afraid to address the serious issues - sexism, homophobia, misogyny, and their place in Hip Hop.

So many men living on the down low are forced to feel that they have to hide their sexuality. We are made to feel less than, inadequate, lacking something - that masculine gene to make us manly men. Men who have no problem slaying women, leaving babies along the way, refusing to accept responsibility, and take accountability of our lives.

Because of the taboo associated with homosexuality and sex, the black gay community lacked a role model with whom I could identify. There was no gay Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., or Harriett Tubman to come and save me, rush me out of my enslaved mentality, and lead me to a place where freedom was abound.

In my memoir, Hiding In Hip Hop, I explain what it means for many men who are struggling with their sexuality, especially in Hip Hop - the most homophobic environment I'd ever encountered, but also the most homo-erotic of environments. Men posturing and boasting of their sexual conquests. Men with worked-out bodies, indulging in drugs and sex, always searching to fill the void - the need to be loved. Yes, I was part of that scene. The scene where men longed for acceptance and desirability. Many were like me. Hell, they were me. The mirror image was often scary.

Because we live in a homophobic society where homosexuality is taboo, down low men wear bravado and machismo like badges of honor. Prison terms revel. Body counts are like counting the members of your family. Hustlers are commonplace and the more weight you sold, the bigger your status. Your manhood is as equal to the crotch grabbing antics many artists do on stage. Bigger is always better.

I challenge all of that in my memoir. I call upon all people in our society to step forward and launch an important dialogue - to speak about sex and sexuality in our community.

"Hip Hop is a male-dominated culture with lots of machismo, testosterone, and ego. The more hetero a person is, the more accepted he is.

It is a world dominated by money, power, thugs, wannabe thugs, so-called gangsters, bling-bling, and video vixens. It is an environment filled with hard-core young men overcoming a life of struggle and obstacles to make it to the top as the ultimate hustler.

In Hip Hop, being macho and masculine is the image. Nothing about a man can appear soft. Men in Hip Hop don't socialize with homosexuals. To them, they are better than gays. They are men and gays are not.

The same can also be found in ethnic communities. White is better than black. Black is better than Asian. Asian is better than Hispanic. And so on and so on. We find it necessary to make other ethnic communities feel inferior and less than.

All the young men involved in this business have is their ego, pride, street credibility, and manhood. You can take their material things, but they will not have those other things compromised or threatened. If a group of people is oppressed, they generally take their anger, frustration, hatred, and oppression out on another group of people, and in Hip Hop, it just so happens to be the gay community and women who get the brunt of it.

When the rappers rap about the hatred they have of homosexuals, I know it's because many of them are struggling with their own issues of sexuality. They hate what they are and in turn spew their hatred toward men who are reflections of themselves."

Gay men are also part of Hip Hop. Bold. Courageous. Unyielding. Fearless. They must encourage and uplift the communities of color. They must educate, teach tolerance and first, and foremost, love themselves. Love one another.

We must all stand together in the black community, despite our differences, to move forward and let go of the silence. Be not afraid to speak up and speak out about the epidemic of HIV/AIDS in our community. We must speak to the youth about the rise of teenage pregnancy. We must join forces, old school and new school.

Until we can unite and become unafraid to speak of the homophobia and sexism in Hip Hop, then change will never take place. Unconsciously, many gay men are still sitting at the back of the bus. They are afraid to sit at the lunch counters and be served. They don't share in the contributions of this culture - this phenomenon we created called Hip Hop. They are afraid to be noticed, and for that, I say no more. I am tired. I'm tired of being in the back. Tired of letting others degrade, dehumanize, and demean me. I am just plain ole' Rosa Parks tired.

I am taking my place right up front, center stage with the rest of them, pushing through the crowd, my chest puffed out, my rugged hands raised to the heavens. "Present," I yell. "I Am Here! Right Here" And, I dare the rest of the black community to join me.