Gay black prison
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Being Jet and from Phoenix, Arizona, I wasn’t afforded the same opportunities as other kids.
I was born and raised in south main Phoenix, surrounded by a vibrant Black community. But the area, in my experience, was heavily influenced by homophobia within churches, which were pillars in preserving strong Black families.
My family attended Pilgrim Recover Baptist Church, and as a kid I was sent to a youth summer camp where the pastor told me I was possessed with demons and then put his hands on me to “release” me from the “curse” of homosexuality.
I was told I was abnormal. I was going to hell. My dad said I would not be anything but a “fag.” And, in turn, that meant to me that I was unloved and unworthy. So for the greater part of my life, I have been engaged in a war within and against myself.
I have been suicidal since I was 12 years old, and have struggled with low self-esteem and severe depression. And after m
6 facts about the mass incarceration of LGBTQ+ people
For Pride Month, we gathered a few of the most striking proof about the criminalization of queer youth and adults.
by Wanda Bertram, June 4, 2024
As we’ve reported in the past, LGBTQ+ people are overrepresented throughout the criminal legal system, from their tall rates of juvenile justice involvement to the distant sentences they often acquire as adults. While small government data exists about the over-incarceration of this group, research is tediously emerging that shows how a multitude of forces push LGBTQ people into jails and prisons at highly disproportionate rates. This year, for Pride Month, we gather a not many of the most impressive facts about the criminalization of queer youth and adults.
- Lesbian, gay, and bisexual people are more than twice as likely to be arrested as straight people — and lesbian and bisexual women, specifically, are more than four times as likely to be arrested as straight women. Scant analyze exists about the causes of these disparities, but it’s likely that drug law enforcement, laws against sex work, and the criminalization of homelessness are largely to blame.
- 40%
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I’ve always been gay, but I’ve never been overtly effeminate. Coming from a family of several positive male role models, I never had to hide who I was, so I never did.
Like everyone, I had heard the stories about men being “turned out” in prison. As I was being booked into Orleans Parish Prison in November of 2004, I realized I was a target.
During the processing I was placed in a holding cell with nearly fifty other prisoners.
I was terrified going into the cell. So I found a quiet identify on the floor in the corner. I sat with my knees in and my arms folded with my head down, so I’m not sure how they knew I was gay. Still, a man sat next to me and put his arm around me. I attempted to spring up but another man stood over me and forcefully pushed me back down by my shoulders.
“You ain’t fighting back, is you, sweetness?” he said. I looked at him in horror as tears welled up in my eyes. The man who was standing exposed himself while the other aggressively forced me to give his friend oral sex. Out of fear, I performed oral sex on them both. Even with several people in the cell, no one said or did anything. I don’t know why I expected them to do anything.
I
The Life of an Incarcerated Black, Gay Male
When I first entered jail, I was painfully aware of my gayness. I was told this environment operated 20 to 30 years in the past – not a safe place for a Black homosexual male.
Of course, this dread was not exactly recent. Everyone in the Diverse community, out or not, lives with an acute awareness of our universe in relation to the spaces we occupy. As a teen, I wrestled with my sexuality and endured both taunts and assaults from those who often just assumed I was gay. In response to the external, as well as internal, pressure, I worked hard to conform, as if I could “pray” away my real identity.
So, since I was already adept at suppression, I entered the DC jail prepared to blend in and glide under the radar. Although I didn’t have any tattoos, didn’t speak the dominant slang and walked without “swag,” I hoped that over time, I’d internalize the mannerisms and cadence of those who fit in. I was silent and observed closely. But it wasn’t until I was moved into the “general population” of the jail that I fully grasped my modern normal.
The new normal
Jail is a space that is saturated in toxic masculinity and phobic reactions. The need
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