Tenecia

There are her eyes

alluring and penetrating at once

a gaze that is the abyss

of attention or intention

She 

protects others

as surely as she protects

her self.

And then there is her smile

cuts like wind

through mountain

howl that lands as a whisper

then a song

a most melodic lullaby

so it rises and sticks

like dew to feet.

There is her skin

rich and chocolate

a reminder-in-progress

that black is proud

to be beautiful

she carries

locs that measure wisdom

in her questions

is most at peace

living with unknowns

trusting the universe

And then

there is her dance

not cerebral at all

maybe even a tad hood

full of funk and spirit

if cloaked in bourgie boho

because when she dances

ain't nothing left to do 

but own

we is skin

we is smile

we is eyes

and this earth is God's house

and we is still here

to bear witness.

Why I'm with Teach For America

Geographically, I come from a space between the crude reality of homelessness and dreaming. Among my earliest memories is the move from my birthplace of Cincinnati to Dallas, TX. There was the shifting from project to project until home held little meaning beyond the walk between one site of eviction and the next. Rigging furnaces for winter heat, the kind of shame that carries the stench of poverty on your clothes, and mom’s tightening countenance before pulling out food stamps in front of judgmental eyes, marked my early childhood. I knew the world wasn’t fair.

In my first year of school in Little Rock, Arkansas, I went to 3 or 4 different kindergartens. I was afraid to make friends, if unafraid to fight. I stuttered. I fought as much as I stuttered: soft heart, hard knuckles. I was great at boxing, but enjoyed reading books more. My dad praised the former and said the latter was for “sissies”. Born Timothy, my mother, not college-educated but smart, knew that getting me to buy the sticks-and-stones lie would buy enough time to build resilience for its failure. Don’t sweat the mocking: Tim and M, then Tim’m. It was okay. I learned that words did hurt: the “n” word, the “f” word. One I heard in elementary school in the “gifted and talented” classes from white kids, distanced from peers who looked like me. The adjective “smart” said alongside the “n” word, didn’t soften its sting. The “f” word I heard at home from a touch and go dad whose hypermasculine militarism and religiosity defined the order of things. Geographically I come from a place at the intersection of survival and unsafe spaces. Home was as volatile as the houses in which we lived.

My community was defined by intense poverty. I made the newspaper as a kid: front page of Arkansas Gazette or Democrat for my dad’s fuss about the dilapidated home in which we lived. Thinking back, he probably wouldn’t have made the rent anyway. For all their learning-as-they-go parenting, my folks did value their kids getting a good education. My mother always checked our homework and would threaten to call the school or teacher if we reported not having any. These simple gestures, years later, made a difference in my own value for education. A mama’s boy, I never wanted to disappoint her. I come from a community of black boys where if you were smart, you’d better hide your report card, or get jumped. White people were smart. Black boys were cool. It wasn’t cool to be smart. I mitigated the aftermath of smarts by developing a stout athleticism and cosmopolitan cool. When I graduated salutatorian from High School or got into Ivys or West Point, it was a bit of a surprise for some of my peers. My friends who had fewer options available to them were especially proud of me. They made me promise to write books and talk about them. I have.

I came out to myself in college, and with uncertainty about what I could do professionally that wouldn’t force me to go back in the closet. I was a strong gay Black Student Alliance president, praised for my leadership, but pretty much banned from black frats. It was the first time in my life I’d faced crude rejection from black men and made to feel less than a man for my attraction to men. I avoided the suicidal ideation I experienced as a high school teen by connecting to whoever would accept me as is: some where white, some were women, some were even straight men who dared to challenge the norms by being my friends and allies. I learned there that there are safe spaces in the world. They happen when you are brave enough to share the real ugly stuff, and open yourself to the beautiful people who gravitate to it.

I come to this work with 25 years of activism in LGBTQ communities, and about 15 years of teaching.  I taught as an OUT black gay man, without any template for how to navigate naysayers and haters, because I was gifted at teaching. There was nothing I wanted to do more. I also believe that life on the margin of the margins centered my empathy, my compassion, my drive for making life better to those I taught. Of the hundreds of youth and young adults I have taught, they all knew they were loved. That understanding enabled my efficacy and made them eager to never disappoint. I suppose I got that honest. Love is such an amazing motivator for excellence.

I believe that we rob society of some of its best, most courageous and brilliant teachers when we suggest that LGBTQ educators are fine, just as long as they don’t talk about it and just do their job. I’m most challenged by this norm because of what we are teaching our kids in the process: that dignity is a privilege for some, and shame, the default especially for those at the intersection of poverty and queer identities. We do our students a disservice if we perpetuate the notion that not having a strong and positive sense of identity has no bearing on the kind of future one can have. I’d like to think that educators cultivate, not just healthy minds, but healthy spirits. I joined this movement because I almost didn’t make it. Mouth full and choking on aspirin at 16: a lame overdose that was not as strong as my body’s rejection. I didn’t really want to die. I wanted to be accepted for something I could not change, after fasts and prayers, self-badgering, and compulsory experiments with heterosexuality.

I joined this movement because I almost didn’t teach: feeling that being exposed as a “gay” teacher would land me in jail or vilified. Unfortunately, even in 2014, many who feel called to teach worry about the same thing. I joined this movement because there’s someone who will have a positive impact on lots of kids’ lives and who deserves an opportunity to make it too. I’m happy that Teach For America sees value in having an Initiative that truly says all our low-income students deserve better. Yes, even the “gay” ones.

A Saving Grace

“A Saving Grace”

Published by The Ladder: Storytelling Across The Curriclum (Fall 2012)

By Tim’m T. West

I encounter them more and more these days as a college admissions evaluator—heartfelt, brave stories by high school seniors who “come out” in their personal statements. The frequency of “coming  out” essays or Gay/Straight Alliance mentions in extracurricular profiles, are a promising indicator that schools are creating environments in which LGBT youth are nurtured and thrive. Still, these are perhaps the fortunate students. As an educator and youth advocate still very much attuned to challenges to serving LGBT students, I am aware that many environments still choose to relegate the topic to silence or worse seek to “ban” same-sex attraction or social activity. While I celebrate the trends of more tolerance and affirmation in the United States, I don’t wish to undermine the critical work that school districts and teachers are still doing to create “safe spaces” for LGBT youth. There is empathetic value in offering an experience-based testimony of my own struggles as a young student in Public Schools; and the various saviors who prevented the kind of hopeless, down-spiraling dejection that can lead to LGBT teen suicide. Sharing stories is one way to broach a difficult topic with complex solutions-in-the-making.

I had a very early awareness of my sexuality—a point that is no doubt disputed by adults and some professionals who negate the emergence of “sexuality” for kids under the age of consent. It is double-standard “awareness” when it’s common for teachers and staff to make reference to kid-crushes between opposite-sex children, without being able to imagine the viability that some young people experience same-sex attraction as early as elementary or middle school. There is the “heteronormative” assumption that “playing house” is innocent modeling of a healthy sexuality; while any same-sex “play” is resulting, not from any difference in orientation, but some perversion of normal sexuality. In elementary school, I had crushes on boys and girls—imagined a future where love with either could result in a life together. However, I was quickly and frequently informed that there was only one way to make family; and that my perceived liberty to think otherwise would surely lead me to hell or a miserable existence of silence and torment. It is no wonder that I turned to school as an obsessive attachment to avoid discomfort with a natural option denied me.

I grew up a very masculine-identified boy. Little league football quarterbacking and being a kid-boxer were among the ways I avoided some of the bullying and taunting subject to more effeminate males my age. I enjoyed sports. I did not however enjoy the notion that reading books or enjoying arts made me less of a boy. I did not enjoy the peer to peer gay bullying I witnessed; and was disturbed even more by the all too frequent cases of teachers and faculty reinforcing the gender and sexuality norms that tormented many of my peers who presented as different. Some of the most insidious, homophobic bullying I witnessed in school came from adults charged with making school a safe space, not other students.

Each time I saw someone thought to be gay or lesbian bullied, I felt an enormous sense of guilt for being able to “pass”. This guilt turned into bouts of anger that seemed to come from nowhere, but that were an emotional response to a life where I reprimanded myself for my silence. While I avoided some of the ridicule by being gender normative, the feelings of dejection and confusion were all the more buried. There was no language to discuss how masculine-identified boy could reconcile feelings of homosexuality; especially in a home where a minister, coach, and former military man was the head of household who defined hypermasculinity as the only way. Images in the media then only depicted gays as frivolous spectacles of ridicule or carriers of AIDS who deserved to die. With so few positive images to identify with, I poured myself into books and became an exemplary student, a good athlete, and the ultimate student leader—thinking perhaps that if I were “perfect”, and my being gay was discovered, I would have already overcompensated for the “weakness”. I graduated a popular and promising honor student … with severe ulcer issues, clinical depression, and a failed suicide attempt. Interviewing at West Point, they asked, I told; not of any sexual relations with men, for I hadn’t had any; but I did admit to the mere thoughts about attraction to men. In the military of 1989, so a man thinketh…so is he. But I was proud of my integrity. It was the honesty befitting of a soldier. This marked the beginning of a life walking in the light of my truth. I believed as my grandmother taught that the truth will set you free.

Today it is said that “it gets better” for LGBT teens. I am grateful for many saving graces who offered hope and understanding amidst such painful and confusing years. There was an instance when a biology teacher reprimanded a student for making jokes about “nasty people with AIDS”. There was an insightful English teacher who asked if I’d read Walt Whitman and James Baldwin—men who I came to understand were gay also famous and writers. I came to believe that I didn’t have to die and that there might be something to live for. Twenty some-odd years later, I’ve become a beacon of light for others through the books I’ve published, songs I’ve written and performed, and speeches and lectures I’ve given. The climate is a bit more promising today—but not without conversation between educators, not on how to compromise morals or religious beliefs, but how to remain committed to ensuring that ALL children feel safe, loved, and affirmed in our schools. An educator myself, I’m happy to have been that saving grace for students who are sorting through a range of issues, around sexuality and beyond. There’s so much our young people can accomplish when they are, first, certain that they are cared for and loved.

(photo of Anthology "For Colored Boys". I am fortunate to be a contributor)

Good day, Brotha Frank Ocean

I am a member and founder of the now-defunct Deep Dickollective referenced in the NY Times piece written by James C. McKinley, Jr. and published on my 40th birthday. We achieved a great deal of critical success in the 10 years we moved crowds Bay-area and beyond; and those years offered a platform for continued work as an openly gay-identified solo artist. It was refreshing to be honored for perhaps being a stepping stone in creating a world where you could reveal yourself with a great deal more support than the forced invisibility so many talented gay and bisexual artists have been met with. You present an opportunity to be a game-changer when many have sought a formula for acceptance.

I can't honestly say that I was familiar with your body of work, prior to your coming out letter. Many people assumed that I knew you but I won't front. I should be familiar with you, based on your talent alone, but as an indie artist with little hope that the market will ever honor the "real" of how black men live and breathe beyond the often hyperbolic, braggadocio-filled caricatures we see in media, I'd pretty much tuned out. Still, I can say that I'm proud of you. Your letter alone made me a fan; but on the eve of your highly anticipated release I felt I'd be remiss not to offer my support for the cultural impact your disclosure may have on the youth cultures shaped largely by Hip-Hop & Soul music. 

I am writing namely to congratulate you for your courage to "let people in" rather than the "coming out" many call it. "Coming out" makes such a spectacle of the simple truth about what love can move one to do. Your letter and your loving are simply the "real" so often referenced in a Hip-Hop that seems to be more committed to swag than seriousness. My good friend Karamo Brown once challenged me to see self-revelation about sexuality, not as "coming out" of hiding, but "letting others in" to your truth. The former is so often associated with shame and secrecy, that I've grown to appreciate the distinction. My reaction to your letter and the responses that it has generated (many affirming) is probably more ambivalent than some might expect. It has become trendy for people to support being real in Hip-Hop about homosexuality, even when little support and resources are put in the service of elevating LGBT artists or supporting a world where they can be heard. Being an ally doesn't mean you don't join the mob who decides to beat the gay down. It's the more active fight, before the fight, that honors human dignity enough to keep the mob from even forming.

Remember that your triumph is personal. You capture the poetry inherent in "the love that dare not speak its name" when you courageously decide to sing it. Understand this: Those who take issue with your sexuality? They have the issue. Please don't confuse other people's "baggage" with your clarity of feeling-- beautifully executed in the letter-gone-public originally written in December 2011. Feel no pressure to "represent" anything beyond a brotha who has decided to huMAN up and honor the volition of his heart. Your loving is political because it shouldn't have to be. You describe feelings similar to my 20 year search to find the life-partner I'm convinced I'll grow old with. Remember that as a lover of music, and songwriter, you have the ability, freedom, and platform to represent a range of human emotions and experiences. That said, as much as the market will try to shape who you are into a product, never betray your process. Continue to "keep it real" in ways many who criticize you would have never been able to do. Hold those accountable who say they have your back to put their money where their mouth is: market success requires support I believe you already have and will continue to have. It's great timing. With the President's recent endorsement of Gay Marriage, many are being asked to declare where they stand. Stand for something, brother.

Lastly, when love knocks on your door again, remember: It's not about Hip-Hop, or "realness", or Gay Marriage platforms, or the 2012 election; provided it's even a male who you decide to share your love with. Your song is a truth that, like opening your heart to love, quite simply takes your breath away. At 40 I'm embracing that feeling like I never have before. Beyond beats and rhymes, there is the breath, once broken and labored, that sustains you. Breathe easy knowing you've already arrived and worked hard for the success you'll receive. Nothing can be further from your truth.

Props and Congratulations.

Tim'm T. West

Day 2: Mpowered beyond measure

Day 2 of the Mpowerment Summit surpassed my greatest expectations. For all that I gained from presentations about Program Implementation or Sustainability or the implication and impact of our National AIDS Strategy, it was the passion and sense of purpose of Summit participants that most struck me-- a kind of egalitarian connection to the promise of the intervention by everyone from its developers to outreach coordinators. We did a lot of affirming and huggin. It was strangely welcomed given my experiences of detachment and disconnect with the reasons we convene to talk about prevention in the first place: a belief that death by AIDS is preventable.

In the breaths between  program rhetoric is when this becomes most obvious; a level of engagement that I haven't really seen around HIV prevention in quite some time. The young men we serve are colorful, creative, vulnerable, hopeful, and yes... sexual beings. There's a rather insidious way that behavioral science makes of young men of color, their breath, pulse, and desire-ability, a thing to be measured-- something catastrophically determinable and formulaic-- in an effort to manage its mortality: Center for Disease Control, to be sure, a self-fulfilling prophecy embodied by many dying to stay alive. Ironic that some wonder why the most human some young brothas feel is when they are in throws of passion, touched by something fleshy and visceral, unbridled by devices of protection and fear. What, in the loving between men, can be measured? Can we accept whatever it is about spirit that is immeasurable? If there was no money to save us, would we save ourselves?

Today, between presentations and lively discussion, I received a few logos developed by young men in the Prodigies of Pride CORE group-- designs  I believe capture the hope and promise of a burgeoning community who truly believes they are on the verge of something truly groundbreaking. They are not exhausted or disillusioned for all their impatience for magic. They are more interested in joy than prevention. I also received a picture of them today that mirrored this potentiality. For all branding their brilliance could conjure, there will be no greater branding for me than their smiles. Brothas who extend arms to hold each other up never let each other down. This picture captured this hopefulness between young men who were, just weeks ago, not-so-distant strangers.

I believe that Mpowement's recipe for success is nothing at all if not capturing the imaginations and dreams of young men who shape it as superheroes defying the nihilism and apathy HIV statistics would suggest. I get to work on behalf of brave souls who remind be that it's okay to believe again, be angered by the injustice of of a system's disregard and neglect, who remind me that it's cool to hope for a dance...especially with another, to find associate no shame with my lovemaking capacity. Sometimes, consumed by metrics and scopes, I forget. The young men I work with don't let me...most often by example of their shameless living and loving. Prevention is pretty simple for young men always preparing for their next flirt. They deserve the protection of that joy. I simply offer a few safe options. They get to decide: agency

I often feel that many in ASOs serving gay men have become long-term survivors, not of AIDS itself, but a infrastructure that has sought to manage a disease still infused with heteronormative shame. They struggle against a burden of proof that "gays", still disproportionately affected by HIV in the United States, are worth saving. Mpowerment is an intervention with a foundation, not in explicit testing and condom distribution, but the bold notion that young men who love themselves and affirm their manner of loving, will care enough to protect themselves and those they care about. I heard a song and a poem over the past two days that offered some of the more incredible prevention messages I have experineced... en joy!

Still, spirit is not a deliverable. Joy cannot be quantified. For all our song and spirit, we are stubbornly hopeful if believing that anything beyond numbers will satisfy this burden of proof that gay men are more than HIV risks or sex that so simplistically defines us. For many risings numbers are simply a indicator of the pathology as hypothesis. Our young men are all too often faces, interchangeable and transitory, able to hold the wait of a time when AIDS is a thing of the past. But until then there is the weight of our frustration. We have to prove, mostly to ourselves, that we are worth saving at all.

When I see pictures of the young men I serve each day, it's one of those moments when the numbers become lite and insignificant in the face of hopefulness I aim to nurture. How amazing it is to have found, not a job, but a movement that is a mirror for this journey I continue to stumble into. God always seems to catch me, pick me up when I forget that dying is an option I relinquished because I wanted, more, to live. I go to work, facing metrics and overly-ambitious targets and all, because I feel so incredibly human trying to be superhuman. Sometimes the young brothas I wake to serve remember to bring parts of my confidence with them by admitting they don't know how and expecting me to show them. They simply believe I have something to offer... and so I approximate the dexterity and bravery they expect. It's hopelessness backfiring into hopefulness.

Back in Chicago, I refuel by smiles. I re-energize when I transform anger into action. I get beyond the what-had-happened-was with the what-we-gonna-do-about-it-is... And so we do.

Why it's Personal: Day 1 Mpowerment Summit Blog.

There's sometimes an expectation when you do social services, education, or non-profit youth advocacy that you maintain an (un)safe distance between the services and assistance you provide, and the YOU who is providing the services. Client-centered. Detach. De-personalize. Don't deauthorize. Catch phrases that are the tightrope the more passionate of us walk daily. I am fortunate to work at a Center where I bring all of me, each day. I am also a seasoned non-profit professional who has learned to discipline my passion in order to preserve its benefits while tempering the excesses. The blessing to do the work can become all too burdensome when you don't leave concern about the young men you work with and their issues at your physical work space. The work my team does, not being easy with the emphasis on scopes and program objectives, there are moments that (re)humanize the work you do, not as just labor OR love, but a balanced labor of love.

During one recent meeting, celebrating recent program successes with the impending program evaluation and site visits, my purpose became clearer to me. Many moons ago, I was a young, black, bisexual, ambitious, creative young man with lots of information about safer sex and self-esteem, but no roadmap. At the intersection of SEARCHING and HOME, I found that I was lost. I began to discover myself when the reality of living was illuminated by the prospect of certain death. Late-June. Gay Pride. Almost 27. Still young. HIV positive now. Expected? HIV diagnosis isn't and shouldn't be the expectation; and this is why I get excited about the work I do, the reason why stresses never overshadow the successes.

Each day I come to work, and most of the days I don't, I get to help guide beautiful, creative, dynamic, and conscientious young men of color into leadership and greater self-efficacy. On Saturday, March 24, 2012, I was proud beyond belief of the diverse young leaders of Mpowerment: Prodigies of Pride leading clear, candid, sensitive, intelligent, provocative discussions about their lives, loving, sexing, stereotype-fighting, and winning. Their "5 guys, 5 clips" dialogue utilized brief social media clips from Youtube to forge intimate revelations about their own experiences and that sparked some great conversations about everything from dating and sex in the age of HIV to disgruntlement with our two-party political system. Tired and exhausted, I beamed with pride at their success, with just a few days advance notice to work some magic. So yes, this work is personal! I see aspects and parts of myself in each of the young men I work with. A bit of a papa bear, I sometimes want to "save" them in ways I didn't have a toolkit for to "save" myself at their age: lost and too prideful to ask for directions. Sometimes the more you know the more people expect you to know better. But being high-functioning and intelligent are little defense against feelings of rejection and loneliness.

Even I seek help in better serving the young men I work with. I've arrived in San Francisco at the mPowerment Summit and Training to gain some tools I can use in helping direct their respective journeys. At my best, the work doesn't require that I distance myself from the work, but to more passionately understand and affirm my connection to the work. I enjoy being happy. I enjoy being successful. I most enjoy seeing the young men I work with being happy and successful. I am angered when people devalue and stereotype young  Black and Latino men who show daily evidence that they are more that "grave" statistics that so often define them. I get excited about seeing the potential of a diverse community of young men of color helping each other find each other at lost and lonely intersections.

The programs and interventions we work through are simply maps to a number sound paths to health and happiness. At the root of my interest in being a better youth advocate is my desire to be a better human being.  I hope to leave San Francisco on Friday-- this metropolis where I, some 13 years ago, discovered just how precious my life is-- all the more committed to be an example reflecting all the promise of shine a diamond in the rough can hold. mPowered young men know, without fail, that they are loved and valued; these Prodigies of Pride I seek to guide, never lost... as long as I and others remain committed to finding them...wherever they are.

(photo with Jason Black, former mentee and co-worker, now Prevention Program Manager at Legacy in Houston. Very proud of him!!!).

To Be A Man

Featured on The Story with Dick Gordon

To Be A Man