Becoming a black man in America
The year was 2013. My discomfort with my assigned sex had reached a peak, and I began posting on my personal blog and Facebook page that I was considering transitioning to male. Through a lot of reading, conversations, and contemplation, I came to understand that my gender was non-binary, but my subconscious sex was male. So I pondered adopting a more (conventionally) masculine gender expression, in the hopes that I would eventually be read as male rather than female when out and about in public.
Being seen as a man on the street has its advantages, and is normally and rightfully considered to be a privilege. However, I wasn’t just becoming any man on the street; I was becoming a black man. My exploration of gender identity coincided with the start of the Black Lives Matter movement, which helped me begin to see through the lie of respectability politics I’d grown up with.
Raised as a girl by an interracial (black/white) couple, I wasn’t given “the talk” about how black folks are profiled and targeted. I wasn’t taught to regard the police with suspicion. I didn’t understand the continuing, deadly impact of systemic racism. My worldview was distorted by the fact that most of my friends and lovers were white.
I foolishly considered myself to be color-blind, and figured the black folks who got themselves into trouble simply didn’t work hard…
