In a scintillating BMX-NY dialogue between same-gender-loving women and men about Building a Same-Gender-Loving Liberation Movement, participants addressed the following questions:

Are there fundamental human rights that we are still deprived of in our community? If so, what are they?

• “Tolerance… Just having the right to do what we want to do…”
• “The right of liberty… to be free… that we’re not enslaved… to [be able to] talk to our parents about who we are… to talk on the job about who we are… in church…”
• “That’s something I’m going through now. I’m in therapy. For me, it’s a fear… [I’m] seeing someone… I’m dating… [And, around] public displays of affection [it’s scary]. If I want to kiss my boyfriend in front of [hetero Black folk]… How will they react? My fear is [of] being looked at differently. Feeling free to fully express myself [is a fundamental human right I am still deprived of].”

The facilitator remarked, “Yes, there is a connection between risk and rights. Risk-taking is scary. Is the freedom to express ourselves fully a human right? As long as it doesn’t infringe on others’ rights, I think so. I’ve been in a quandary about whether or not I infringed on my own freedom in a work context. Team-teaching a leadership training workshop in a high school a couple of weeks ago, my partner asked the students if they had any questions for us. One asked what we did outside of the context within which we engage with them. When it was my turn, I spoke of my work as a theatre practitioner and singer and mentioned that I run a Black men’s empowerment organization, leaving out the same-gender-loving part of that description, which I typically cite. I wondered if I hadn’t backslid into an old shame-based or fear-based relationship with my same-gender-lovingness… or rather, if I wasn’t operating within some constraint… or perceived constraint within the job context—either the Dept. of Ed. or the agency I’m working with the DOE for.”

The co-facilitator responded, “I know exactly what you’re talking about. I’m a sixth-grade teacher. I see our young blood grappling [with their budding sexuality]. I am constrained by law. I’m not free to see youth struggling and go to them and say, ‘I see you, and there is nothing wrong with what you feel,’ without risking being accused of trying to produce homosexuals.”

Participants shared their experiences of limited freedom, such as:

• “At work or at school, as a teacher [acknowledging my sexuality] would be grounds for my dismissal.”
• “I feel free now in college. I write short stories about gay relationships to break down stigma. In one, a male character looks into another male character’s eyes and says, ‘I think I’m falling in love with you.’ [But] my classmates said, ‘That doesn’t happen. All gay people think about is sex.’”
• “I was raised in a strict Pentecostal home. My husband and I, ordained elders, had a commitment ceremony, and then got married. At some point, I decided I was tired of hiding and lying to myself.”

The dialogue also addressed the challenges of visibility and activism in the community: