I'll Tumble For Ya or A Ball + Wounded Knee

After an extraordinarily fun evening at Black Pride, I find myself today thinking about how affection can result in affectation.

As a Southerner, I often find myself enjoying the company of Black folks. Maybe it’s that soul food has its earliest roots in the South, maybe it’s that Black culture has a decidedly Southern component to it…I’m not sure. All I know is that even though my skin is closer in color to Wednesday Addams, sometimes my soul feels more closely drawn to Oleta Adams.

An Angry Black Bitch is understandably concerned today by somebody operating under the name LuluLogCabina posting some trifling comments riddled with affected phonetic ebonics. I would be equally dismayed if some fool started talking Granny Clampett style on this blog.

I, myself, love ebonics – because there’s a great similarity between ebonics and the hillbilly holler accent that I grew up with speaking in my childhood. When I turned 13, I joined the speech and debate team and had my accent removed by some very deliberate vocal and speech training. As a result, I don’t have a voice that is truly my own. In fact, I tend to be a mimic and pick up accents and turns of speech depending on the company I keep.

Considering that my first few years here in St. Louis were spent in the company of Black drag queens, there are a few turns of phrase that roll easily off my tongue and a few of my friends have commented on my “talking Black.”

Well if talking Black means keeping it real, then I’m guilty as charged – but I will endeavor to be more conscious of my language. There’s a very fine line between racist mimicry and affectionate affectation. And while I will continue to do my best to honor the work of Angry Black Bitches, the minute I stroll into Black-faced blogging, I expect a good slap and some correction…

With that in mind, I have a few stories and photos I’d like to share from Black Pride yesterday.

I’ve heard it said by many folks, “Why does there need to be a Black Pride? We already have one Pride in June...”

Well, as someone who has been to both events, consistently, for YEARS -- I can tell you this – Black Pride is more fun, the folks are more relaxed, the crowd is better dressed and the music is enjoyable.

I suppose I have a great deal of empathy for the folks who organize Black Pride because I’ve seen rampant racism in this city. I’ve especially seen it in the gay community here in St. Louis. I understand what it’s like to walk into a party or a club and feel judged and unwelcome. Gay men, especially some white gay men, can be evil, judgmental and unwelcoming bitches. I’ve experienced it myself numerous times – and I imagine that I will continue to do so as long as I refuse to defer to the pack mentality that seems to rule white, gay culture. I do not blame the organizers of Black Pride for wanting to have their own party, on their own terms.

The day was warm, but we had a breeze, some Gatorade and some inexpensive, tasty treats to nibble on. And I will say this for the folks who come to Black Pride – there were outfits to enjoy and admire! The folks who stroll into Black Pride put some work and some pride into stepping out for a day at the park. While most outdoor gay events usually wind up with a bunch of gay fellas ripping off their shirts, the only shirtless folks I saw at Black Pride were some gay, fat, hairy white men who biked through.

Now, don’t get me wrong – there were some men and women who could have taken off their shirts and been a pleasant sight to look at, but there’s something decidedly different about Black Pride that’s very hard to explain. It seems like a gathering of friends and family rather than a commercial venture riddled with shirtless circuit boys and lesbian folk singers.

Maybe that’s judgmental on my part…but give me some house music, some fine dressed men and some ladies with cute shoes any day...

There was of course, some drama….mix too many gay folks up and there’s bound to be a scandal. Somebody got into a fight and the police showed up. With dogs. I salute the organizers for keeping their cool when the police demanded a permit for the event to occur on the main stage, which meant that somebody had to go find it. Whether it was harassment or the police doing their job – or a combination of both…I dunno. But the party didn’t stop. It just moved locations and returned to the main stage once the police were satisfied – and went well into the evening. I would like to point out one thing, though. There was no fire marshal, no First Aid tent or much of a police presence at Moonlight Ramble staging area the night before.

Three things stand out for me about my day and evening at Black Pride.

1. The Memphis Elite.
These guys rocked the house! Physically fit and dressed in orange spangled jumpsuits with white fringe, they performed an extraordinary dance routine that was simply mesmerizing. Their routine combined feminine and masculine energies in a way that I am still trying to understand and explain. I’ll have to get back to you on that some day in the future.

2. Camille Simpson.
My clumsy ass fell off a four foot tall stone wall trying to get a picture of her. My knee and elbow are a mess - swollen, bruised and cut-up -- but there’s nothing that I won’t do to show some love to glitter, sparkle, makeup and magic. I know I was a sight, though – sitting down afterwards, with my Dixie Cup filled with ice, trying to control the swelling and bruising.

3. Having A Ball.
I didn’t care if my knee was sore – when I saw that my favorite DJ, Kevin Brock, was playing the music for the after-party and Ball. Paris is still burning, honey...and I knew I would be sticking around to see trophies handed out in various categories. The fierce competition, outfits and dance moves that the participants displayed were a joy for me to behold. The athleticism and skill displayed last night reminded me that I just need to kick harder, dance better and be more confident the next time I go out and about in the world to do my thing.

Perhaps that’s what I love most about Black Pride. There is no pretense that everything is alright and okay with this world. There is no sense that there’s only one acceptable way to be gay. The one word I kept hearing over and over yesterday was respect. Respect yourself. And respect others.

And respect is quite different from pride.