In a time where queer people of color are in more danger than ever, BGD Blog showed you can give the status quo a middle finger and create a megaphone to speak out and thrive.By Latonya Pennington On July 31, the website BGD came to an end after five and half years of publishing content. Established in Dec. 2011 by Black lesbian writer Mia Mckenzie, the site was a valuable space dedicated to uplifting the voices and experiences of queer people of color. In addition to being a blog, the site also served as a publishing press for anthologies and books by queer people of color. Before I discovered BGD, I felt like I was too Black and nerdy for queer culture and too queer and Black for nerd culture. While I had come to associate queer culture with gay nightclubs and glittery drag queens, nerd culture felt like the domain of white cis-het dudes. Although I found some solace in spaces like the site Black Girl Nerds, I wanted a space where I could be nerdy, Black, and queer all at once. Things started to change when I witnessed the Twitter hashtag #GayMediaSoWhite go viral last March. After seeing think pieces that assumed the hashtag was only about gay men of color, I decided to write a piece that discussed my frustration with the lack of representation in queer media. While looking for places to submit, I stumbled on the site BGD.
My habit of showing my humanity via having feelings, is routinely used by white people as ammunition to discredit anything I have to say.By Shannon Barber Don't call me angry when what you mean to say is: this Black person has full human emotions and I'm uncomfortable. Or if you mean: I feel personally slighted by a generalized statement because who is this Negro is telling me what to do. Don’t dehumanize me because you are uncomfortable with what I have to say. Before we go further, for the official record, this is not me angry. I am sad. I am exhausted. I am not angry. One of the downsides to being a writer in the age of the internet are reader comments and being accessible when someone feels some type of way. The function of this type of entitlement is that I am expected to give my time and energy freely, be nice, and show only the face of a Strong Black woman. Any sign of humanity, of emotions, or even simply saying, “no I don’t want to talk to you/further engage” enrages people who exercise this type of entitlement. There is a mix of righteous indignation that I have not made myself available that is mixed with disbelief and dismissal. Often, people will go out of their way to find me, send me a private message where they explain to me what I've already said, explain how I've experienced my life experiences incorrectly, explain to me that my anger and aggression are too scary to be given space, how I personally am responsible for racism and sexism still existing – these are just a few of the nicer things. I won’t repeat the rape and death threats verbatim, nobody needs to see that.