“Black masculinity and respectability are not synonymous, nor do we need/want them to be,” writes the Crunk Feminist Collective
Earlier this year, NBA free agent Jason Collins made history when he broke his silence by Collins was the first active player to ever declare his homosexuality in the Big Three U.S. sports leagues.
He was praised by teammates, officials in the league and the general population, but still remains unemployed.
But now just for being himself, after a career as the epitome of a “team player”, he has been labeled “a distraction” and finds himself on the outside looking in at the start of the NBA season. I attempted to reach out to Jason Collins and ask him about his status as a man without a team, but, as I heard from several people close to the veteran seven-footer, he is not talking.
Two requests: 1. Forgive me for writing about basketball two weeks in a row, and 2. Allow me to wonder aloud for a bit.
I was wrong. Really wrong. Wrong as LL and Brad Paisley’s solution for solving racism (aka Obama’s Race Speech: The Musical). Wrong as my desire to hear Stacey Dash on that remix. I got it wrong. Really wrong. Last year around this time, I predicted that Notre Dame’s Skylar Diggins would more than likely be the face of the WNBA. I suggested that the comparatively more traditionally feminine Diggins would prove a more desireable and sellable image for the WNBA than Baylor’s Brittney Griner, whose height, natural hair, voice, and sexuality might prove less tenable for a league aiming for a bigger piece of the sports watching pie, even though I can unequivocally confirm that WNBA games are in some ways more entertaining than NBA contests.
I swung. I missed.
Black gay youth face a unique set of challenges in coming out to family and friends, according to a recent study.
The report – authored by Michael C. LaSala, director of the Master of Social Work program at Rutgers University School of Social Work – asserts that these young men face rigid and exaggerated conceptions of masculinity, making it more difficult for them to find acceptance or accept themselves.
Furthermore, black gay men face a myriad of intersecting oppressions (i.e. racism, homophobia, sexism), and elicit a particular kind of disdain and worry from within their communities and families.
The conscious humyn evaluates and integrates various influences of style regardless of race, gender or and social divisions. If “male” has a significance, you could receive the conscious male and his personality as influenced by Sade or Nina Simone. He, or better the humyn, could express a masculinity/femininity that is too distinct for either/or. Manifesting the Sade in him, he’s not afraid to express his experience of the sweetest taboo. Nothing’s loss of his power to create in the world, though he may tell you that he wants to feel an intense love like no other.
Hailing from Chicago’s South Side, 13 year-old rapper Lil’ Mouse’s music video “Get Smoked” has racked up nearly half a million views on youtube.
But his profanity-laced gangsta rap lyrics – rife with references to drugs, sex, and guns – has sparked outrage on and offline.
Many are pointing to the song’s content, it’s writer’s age, and the surging murder rate in his hometown as serious cause for alarm. But in an interview with NewsOne, P. Noble – the video’s producer – argues Mouse is simply “keeping it real;” detailing the goings on in his community, while making a little money in the process.
Since when has skateboarding become a standard by which we judge black masculinity? Prior to Lupe Fiasco and Pharrell Williams, you would not see skate culture—promotion of local skate shops, perfection of kick flips and ollies, etc.—in music videos. Back then, the culture had an explicit expression whether it was Mr. “Skateboard P” himself or Lupe’s “Kick, Push” video—featuring a series of images of Chicago’s skate spots.