10 Years After Pulse, Black Queer Joy Is Still a Sacred Act of Defiance

(Op-ED) It's hard to believe that today marks a decade since the devastating shooting at Pulse nightclub that claimed 49 innocent queer lives.

I’ll never forget waking up to an emotional text from a dear friend who alerted me to the tragedy and made it clear that her allyship was nonnegotiable.

What resonated most with me from that exchange was her urging me to continue leaning into queer joy despite what lay ahead, both personally and societally. While I was — and still am — grateful for such care, admittedly, I was an inexperienced 22-year-old who had just graduated from college and was still figuring out my own journey as a Black queer man.

It took a decade of finding myself and experiencing the peaks and valleys that come with being unapologetically queer for those words to truly sink in.

Ten years later, I’m reminded that the same Black queer joy my homegirl inspired me to embrace is the same joy that has sustained our community and will continue to serve as a form of resistance against a world committed to seeing us shrink.

It’s why I take Pride Month so seriously, particularly when it comes to the representation of Black LGBTQIA+ voices taking up the space we deserve. In a world that would rather enact violence upon us for simply existing — whether it’s the murder of O’Shae Sibley in broad daylight or the transphobic attacks directed toward Dominique Morgan — the ultimate form of rebellion is, quite literally, our joy.

When we are regarded as target practice or find ourselves on the receiving end of queerphobic dogpiling, it puts into perspective just how important it is that we celebrate our lives just as much as the world attempts to denigrate them.

When I see our heterosexual counterparts regurgitate the same exhausting and poorly crafted talking points, year after year, from podcast to podcast, centered on dismantling our self-love, I become peeved. How dare anyone who hasn’t lived on the margins in the ways many of us have suggest that we are undeserving of the same celebratory practices they partake in regularly? What they fail to realize is that our bliss is an inheritance worth protecting and fighting for every day.

A few days ago, I found myself scrolling on Facebook — I told y’all, I’m Unc! — and saw a post from a high school classmate of mine laced with poor grammar and Bible verses that he likely doesn’t even live by. The post in question? A dissertation-length rant demonizing the queer folks on his timeline who dared to celebrate Pride Month.

Transparently, I was enraged, but I quickly remembered the literacy crisis facing this country and decided to self-reflect. What my ignorant classmate and his bigoted peers fail to realize is that we never needed their permission to love ourselves or rejoice in the beauty that is both Black and queer.

The unmitigated gall to condemn someone for celebrating something as precious as life while scolding them for living in their truth? Imagine that. Unfortunately, such is life for many of us.

This journey we walk, defined by our individual experiences in a country that preaches tolerance and solidarity while often failing to practice either, is still a special one. As we find ourselves rapidly approaching the end of Pride Month, I hope we continue to honor the lives of our queer family members who didn’t make it.

Whether you take the time to commemorate the memories of the Pulse nightclub victims or honor the generations of Black queer elders who have passed on, know that our joy is the ultimate form of resistance. In the words of the fabulous and legendary prophetess Shereé Whitfield, “Who gon’ check us, boo?”