Internalizing the Lesbian of Color Body*

By Jamie Lee Evans

As published in Sinster Wisdom 49, Spring/Summer 1993

I wonder if one reason that more lesbians of color didn't submit their work on the lesbian body issue is that when anything owned by lesbians is up for discussion, our first thoughts go to the white lesbian, not to ourselves. Think about it, just for a moment, lesbian community, lesbian culture, lesbian bars ... who do you see?

On TV's 20/20 Barbara Walters recently showed us the infotainment version of the 90's lesbian: baby birthing, rolls royce driving, coupled white lesbians who are just sooo sweet. Although most of my friends and I guffawed at the depiction of what is supposed to be our community, it probably wasn't too far from what we really think of when we think of the north american lesbian.

How do we come to this conclusion? Remember back to the last womyn's music festival you went to? Now think of the last lesbian poetry reading, the last lesbian play, the last lesbian softball game, the last lesbian panel at the conference you last attended. What comes to mind? Although there are lesbian of color communities flourishing around the world, I think most lesbians, of color or not, have internalized racism so deeply that when we think of anything representing us as lesbians (community, culture, body, etc.) we still see white and color becomes invisible, even to ourselves. We blend into the [white] scene, just like that ole melting pot metaphor, and with deadly consequence: we cease to exist.

The consequences of this invisibility are multiple and far ranging. Not existing in the lesbian community means when a lesbian of color considers writing about the lesbian world, she thinks of herself as an afterthought. Another consequence is that in order to feel at home in lesbian institutions, she may forget who she is and where she came from.

One night my roommate and I were driving into East Oakland in search of a renowned taco made by a Mexican-owned restaurant that closes at 8 because of the crime in their neighborhood. As we were driving further and further, close to 90 blocks out of the way (the restaurant was on 14th Street and we found ourselves on 98th!), we began to feel less and less safe. The area was not familiar to us, liquor and gun stores became more frequent and masses of young males began appearing at each stoplight. Finally we decided to turn around and head towards home, and began joking to take the edge off the tension and fear that had built up in the car during our journey. Remembering that my roommate's car had a reputation for breaking down, I joked, "this would not be a good neighborhood for a butch lesbian to be found in." She nodded her head and nervously laughed. We traveled in silence for a few minutes. Then we looked at each other and blurted out, "whoa, that's deep."

Two lesbians of color, Black and Asian, had seemingly forgotten lesbians are everywhere, and come from everywhere. We did gut checks on who we were thinking of when we thought of lesbians in East Oakland. We were thinking of dykes like the ones on 20/20: white, middle-class and definitely out of place in the inner city. We did find the Mexican restaurant, barely before 8, but they let us in and we ate while they closed up. While eating my taco, I watched the owners turn away customers who arrived after the hour.

Closing early, too dangerous to stay open past dusk.

I kept thinking about what I had said, what I had thought. I felt ashamed. Who wanted me to think that the likes of me couldn't be found in a neighborhood much like the Los Angeles city I had grown up in? It was that brutalizing and very alive force that declares only one race, class, only one type of person is okay, the rest of us are superfluous. Lesbians are everywhere I repeated again and again on our way back home. I felt close to tears. What does it mean that I call the "lesbian community" home, but do not see myself or other sisters like me living in that home? How many east Oakland dykes did I make invisible by my earlier statement? Was I thinking about the theft and violence that comes out of communities of poverty and imagining that lesbians are never thieves or never involved in violence? Was I remembering my own tough youth and how I knew that to be lesbian (or more accurately be caught lesbian) meant certain cruelty and attacks, even possibly murder? Maybe ... maybe, but probably it was more like I was thinking that "lesbians" wouldn't be in east Oakland, because they are safer, smarter, richer and whiter than residents of this area. Honestly and painfully I acknowledged to myself that I internally read lesbian as white lesbian.

Consider how many times you have heard a speaker talk generally about "lesbians," and then add lesbians of color, disabled lesbians, poor lesbians, etc. to the end of the sentence. For example, a teacher saying, "Lesbian communities and lesbian of color communities ..." implying that the lesbian of color is not an authentic lesbian, but a special sub-set of the larger [white] lesbian set. Webster defines sub as "lower than or to a lesser degree than."

If the lesbian community were talked about in a way that included all lesbians and didn't disregard difference we would mention both white and of color. Similarly we would not say things like, "the lesbian body and the disabled lesbian body," or "lesbian culture and black lesbian culture." All lesbians make up all bodies, cultures, and communities. This is a simple formula actually, lesbians + lesbians = lesbians; or black lesbian culture + Asian lesbian culture = lesbian culture; or Jewish lesbian literature + Latina lesbian literature = lesbian literature. This doesn't mean that we don't acknowledge the differences that exist between us. It does not mean that we are all the same, one big homogeneous group of women loving women. What it does mean is that we are more careful in our language and declarations of who we actually value as the real and who we are otherizing as those to a "lesser degree."

We take positions and privileges even when we're not aware we're doing it. Besides internalized oppression harming lesbians of color, some white lesbians, though committed to social justice, do not realize how deeply racism has burrowed into their consciousness. While considering the lesbian body and my body as a fat semi-able-bodied mixed-blood Asian lesbian of color and again reminding myself that lesbians are as diverse as all women are, I thought back to the first women's music festival I attended this summer in Georgia. I had heard this was one of the friendlier and fun festivals and for the most part I agreed. I especially liked the free way women were moving about the land with no shirts on. Appreciative of seeing unclothed lesbian bodies, on the second day it occured to me I was mostly seeing white lesbian breasts and bodies. Do other lesbians of color know what I mean when I say I was severely disappointed to realize that I was once again in the minority? It took me nearly two days to locate mother Asian woman in the 1500 festie goers, and I counted less than thirty visible women of color in the festival as a whole. Again I asked myself why I keep putting myself in the position of being one of a tiny minority of women of color? Why pay to be a part of an institution that isn't reaching more women like me? I didn't want to discount my enjoyment of seeing any sisters naked and free but I couldn't fight that gut feeling that once again something was very wrong with this picture. I pay a price struggling with white women and feminists who I love when most of their gatherings do not include more women like me.

Communing with, working with and loving lesbians of color has served as an antidote to the suffering I experience as a lesbian invisible in the white lesbian community. I have torn off the chains of racism more than once in gatherings of lesbians of color. I actively devote time to my sisters of color - I seek them out - at poetry readings, conferences and concerts. I remember the events that are diverse, I go back to them. I ensure my life is filled with lesbians of color and I fight the power of internalized oppression and dance a victory dance of acknowledgement and self-love. I listen to other lesbians of color who see themselves in community and I study their self-confidence and sheer lesbian strength. I look at their lesbian bodies. I am a lesbian body and my lesbian body is distinct and special, not lesser than or in opposition to a norm. My voluptuous folds, angled brown eyes, thick black/stick straight hair, short legs, small feet, hairless arms and round face make up one lesbian body. I am not a subset. You are not a sub-set. We together are parts of the whole.

*For Beverly, with dedication to our friendship and self-discoveries.