Black LGBTQ+ people and resistance have always existed in America, though we were rarely given safe spaces to fully live as ourselves. Throughout history, we have had to claim our queerness and take up space—or risk being swallowed by silence and harm.
In 1802, the Mississippi Territory criminalized homosexual activity and imposed the death penalty as punishment. At the same time, white male plantation owners across the South were notoriously known for sexually abusing enslaved Black men to assert dominance and inflict humiliation.
In the autobiography Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl by Harriet Jacobs, the account of a man identified as Luke illustrates the constant physical violence and sexual abuse he endured at the hands of a white enslaver. This included being enchained, flogged, forced into submission, and subjected to “[acts] of a nature too filthy to be repeated.”
And in The Routledge History of Queer America by Clare Sears, in 1812, an enslaved Black woman named Minty was put on trial after escaping with British troops during the War of 1812. A witness testified that Minty adopted the surname Caden after leaving her husband and entering a same-sex relationship with another Black woman. Even while enslaved, Minty bravely lived in her truth and fought for her freedom.
Historically, enslaved people were denied autonomy over their lives and bodies, and this denial was even more pronounced for those who would now be understood as LGBTQ+ individuals. Although they were labeled unorthodox at the time, some courageously lived in nonconforming truths about gender identity and sexual orientation. Still, they were often met with abuse, disrespect, and ostracism.
Black queer resistance—simply being one’s authentic self—has always come at a steep cost. Which is why we should never shy away from shining bright and taking up space.
Living ‘stealth’ and surviving false labels
Because of that volatility, many Black LGBTQ+ people felt compelled to live “stealth” lives, suppressing or concealing their gender identity or sexual orientation from public view.
In 1952, the first edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) was published. Homosexuality was classified as a “sociopathic personality disturbance” under the subcategory of sexual deviance, which also pathologized trans experiences.
Throughout the 1970s, gay rights activists, advocates, some psychiatrists, and former American Psychiatric Association Vice President Judd Marmor pushed for change. In 1973, the American Psychiatric Association reclassified homosexuality, removing it as a sexual deviance and declaring it no longer a mental disorder. However, it was not until 2013, with the publication of the DSM-5, that “gender identity disorder” was replaced with “gender dysphoria.”
Black queerness is not a monolith – it never was
Courageous people like Jim McHarris, a Southern Black trans man, lived in their truth despite immense societal pressure. Born in 1924 in Meridian, Mississippi, McHarris transitioned as a young teenager. He later moved to Kosciusko, where he attended True Tabernacle Church and worked as a short-order cook and gas station clerk.
Throughout his life, McHarris relocated to several cities and states in pursuit of living fully as himself. This is what Black queer resistance looks like.
Monica Roberts, founder of TransGriot and an award-winning trans human rights advocate, wrote that McHarris was raised by two sets of foster parents and “exhibited a distaste for all things feminine except dating the ladies,” adding that longtime friend Bishop Smiley Jones recalled that McHarris not only was attracted to women but also preferred men’s clothing and living as a man.
Pioneers of resistance
Other Black queer pioneers include William Dorsey Swann, Frances Thompson, Bayard Rustin, and James Baldwin, among many others whose lives and contributions shaped a lasting legacy of resistance and liberation.
Swann was the first person in the United States known to lead a gay resistance group and self-identified as a “queen of drag.” Thompson was a formerly enslaved Black trans woman and anti-rape activist. Both were born into slavery, where their identities made them targets for brutal and potentially fatal violence.
During the 1866 Memphis Massacre, a white mob raped Thompson and her friend Lucy Smith. According to the Human Rights Campaign, Thompson bravely testified about the massacre and was “one of the linchpins in getting the political will together to pass legislation to protect the civil rights of newly emancipated Black people.”
In Washington, D.C., Swann hosted queer gatherings for Black men—and occasionally white men—that featured singing, dancing, and cakewalks. These celebrations were frequently met with police harassment, culminating in his arrest and a 10-month sentence.
Swann later petitioned President Grover Cleveland for a pardon, advocating for his release. The request was denied. Even so, Black queer resistance has always been both social and political.
Black queer resistance and liberation in art and community
Queer movements and organizations such as Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR), founded by Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson; Third World Gay Revolution; Salsa Soul Sisters; Association of Black Gays; and Sapphire Sapphos have long advocated for the health, dignity, and liberation of Black and Brown queer communities.
Queerness exists within Black America because we have always been positioned as the “other.” Yet from that imposed marginalization, we have forged culture, community, and resistance.
Artists such as Sylvester, Bessie Smith, and Ma Rainey boldly asserted their queerness. Filmmakers like the late Marlon Riggs explored the many dimensions of Blackness and queerness through works such as Black Is… Black Ain’t, Affirmations, and Tongues Untied.
Today, we continue this legacy by supporting movements and organizations such as Open to All (OTA), House of GG, Black Trans Travel Fund, BlackRemoteShe, TS Madison Starter House, Let’s Address It podcast, and FQCrazySexyCool.
The courage to be fully seen
As Black queer people, taking ownership of our minds, bodies, and spiritual selves allows us to accept who we are while honoring others for who they are.
In a scene from his 1989 documentary Tongues Untied, Riggs gave voice to gay Black men choosing to live in their truth in a world that would rather silence them: “I’ve learned that there is no tender mercy for men of color, for sons who love men like me. Do not feel shame for how I live. I chose this tribe of warriors and outlaws. Do not feel you failed some test of motherhood, my life has borne fruit no woman could have given me anyway.”
