“Chapter 1. More Than Gay: Intersecting Identities and Nuanced Lives” in “From Jesus to J-Setting”
Intersecting Identities and Nuanced Lives
What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and grieves to bear. What a privilege to carry, everything to God in prayer. These lyrics raced through Jason’s memory just above his friends’ banter.
“Man, I can’t believe that’s your favorite song,” one friend chuckled.
“That’s an old people’s song,” another friend chimed in.
Jason just smiled at their good-humored comments. “I don’t care what you say. Like me, my musical tastes are broad. I defy boxes and expectations. I like a mixture of stuff! Yeah, I love listening to The Weeknd’s “Out of Time” and Normani’s “Wild Side”. “I Got It” by Pastor Mike and Tasha Leonard’s, “In Spite of Me” have gotten me through some rough times . . . but my grandma taught me “What a Friend” a long time ago. It speaks to who I am.”
Just as specific songs, scriptures, and rituals are part and parcel of the identity of the Black Church, and particular dance moves, chants, and events are associated with the J-Setting community,1 understanding identity development among young Blacks with fluid sexual identities is crucial to considering whether and how religion and spirituality influence them. Like Jason in the above scenario, boundaries are less relevant than authenticity and memory. Each a social construct, the Black Church, J-setters, and individuals’ social identities in this study are changing and adapting in light of various ecologies such as the Black community, both the Black and White LGBTQIA communities, and the broader society. These spaces influence this research population, yet these individuals are not automatons merely responding to outside forces; they proactively cultivate both collective and individual identities authentic to their lives. And just as Black Church cultural tools are forged during trials and triumphs, so is identity develop among young Blacks in the LGBTQIA community. This chapter focuses on dimensions of identity development, including how individuals understand their various identities, possible influences of religion/spirituality, associated challenges and personal victories, as well as whether and how an identity formation measure can inform this overall process.
Identity Development among Young Black People with Fluid Sexual Identities: Challenges, Capacities, and Cultural Tools
The Black Church is culturally diverse. However, a set of cultural tools associated with its development and maintenance as a religious entity has been documented in scholarship and summarized in the introduction. In like fashion, Queer of Color (QOC) scholarship summarizes the long-standing chasm between religion and homosexuality where this social identity is often explained based on one of three major controlling ideologies—as a sinful transgression against God, congenital physical disorder, or psychological pathology. In the former case, gay men have only themselves to blame.2 Moreover, unlike other “sins,” the totalizing nature of homosexuality seems to render redemption and inclusion impossible, and it stands in stark contrast to the call for total acceptance that dates back to the protest for inclusivity and dignity at Stonewall and the Statement of Purpose—Gay Liberation Front.3 Literature considers ways that the LGBTQIA community, broadly defined, understands themselves, as well as how structural, group, and individual-level impediments affect their lives.
Most of the research on sexual identity development in the LGBTQIA community focuses on the White experience; studies on young Black members of the LGBTQIA community, particularly males, tend to center on HIV/AIDS. Yet an increasing number of scholars are focusing attention on the latter group beyond health challenges. Several concepts and challenges have emerged to suggest that their racial and sexual identity development are intertwined, largely due to conflict around simultaneously being Black, male, and gay (Crawford et al., 2002; Hunter, 2010). For some individuals the intersectional nature of their identities may manifest in gendered self-presentations that are nontraditional, nonconforming, or transgressive. For each presentation type, normative, binary conceptualizations and presentations of gender and sexuality relate to one’s often marginalized racial identity. Yet nontraditional and nonconforming identity expressions have been historically considered not “Black enough” because “queer” is often associated with whiteness (Phillips & Stewart, 2008).4 Yet the juncture between sexuality, masculinity, and homophobia can result in gender role strain that often takes one of three presentation types: trauma strain, discrepancy strain, or dysfunction strain.5 Particularly germane to identity development is concern that racial group membership can be compromised if one’s identity as a man who has sex with men is disclosed. This latter finding raises questions about the inefficacy of disclosure for Black sexual minorities who may anticipate stigmatization of their sexuality as well as discrimination. Internalized heterosexism can result.
ADAPTING TO STIGMA AND MULTIPLE IDENTITIES
No matter how adaptive and resilient they are, stigma can have ruinous effects on LGBTQIA persons. Although its effects are shaped by one’s identities, internalized stigma, like internalized homophobia, can result in mental distress for young Black persons who embrace varied sexual identities (Arnold et al., 2014; Arscott et al., 2020; Boone et al., 2016; Calabrese et al., 2018). Further complicating this dynamic is the “unequal distribution of stigma that is contingent upon the role played in sex” for certain Black males (McCune, 2014, p. 108), such as whether one is a “top” or “bottom.”6 Evident in the literature is both the protective strategies used by some persons to ward off internalized homophobia and stigma as well as the persistence of negative outside forces in exacerbating depression, anxiety, and interpersonal sensitivity (Boone et al., 2016; Malebranche et al., 2007). Scholars consider identity acceptance a barrier to HIV-related risky behavior, substance abuse, condomless anal sex, purity/cleanliness tropes, and psychological distress that ultimately helps persons establish a positive sense of self (Henny et al., 2018; McCune, 2014). Individuals may also engage in oppositional identity work to transform their stigmatized identities into valorized or heroized ones. A strategy called “covering” may be part of this process. Unlike masking, more common among bisexual Black men, covering does not mask a stigmatized identity entirely but attempts to minimize an identity deemed undesirable by the dominant group (Moore, 2010.7
Another framework suggests that many Black gay men espouse one of three strategies to negotiate their multiple identities; interlocking, up-down, and public-private. Interlocking reflects relatively integrated racial and sexual identities; an up-down identity establishes hierarchical self-awareness of being “Black-then-gay” or vice versa. And a public-private identity suggests that the public visibility of race tends to dominate the comparative invisibility of homosexuality. Particularly germane here, “Black-then-gay” negotiation means Black gay persons search for safe spaces where their gay identity is affirmed. Additionally, the expression of Black-then-gay or gay-then-Black is related to the social stigmas persons consider most salient; public-private and up-down identities also underscore the attentiveness that certain Black gay men carry into public spaces (Hunter, 2010).8 Moreover, persons may espouse one of the following four modes to navigate their dual racial/ethnic and sexual identities: assimilation or low sexual identification and high racial/ethnic identification; integration or high sexual identification and high ethnic-racial identification; separation or high sexual identification and low ethnic-racial identification; or marginalization or low identification with both the Black and gay communities (Crawford et al., 2002).9 It has been suggested that individuals at the integration stage experience higher self-esteem, higher HIV prevention self-efficacy, stronger social support networks, greater levels of life satisfaction, lower levels of male gender-role expectations, and lower psychosocial distress as compared to their peers in other stages (Crawford et al., 2002). The question remains whether there are possible differences in these experiential modes for younger members of this same population and for their peers who are LGBTQIA.
Sensitivity to racial and sexual spatialization can reveal the shifting nature of gay or homosexual identity categories, especially for persons in or bound for college. Particularly germane here is research about the missed opportunities of historically Black universities (HBCUs) as safe spaces due to the prevailing influence of Christianity, Black Church conservatism, the politics of respectability often associated with the South, and celebrations of traditional femininity and masculinity (Lenning, 2017).10 Yet many persons who are Black and gay undergraduates at predominantly White institutions do not engage in masking because they may encounter more racial than sexual marginalization (Strayhorn & Tillman-Kelly, 2013).11 For example, this means that regardless of the college setting, young BMSM in particular may experience a “triple negation” of identities as Black, gay, and feminine men (Lenning, 2017; Strayhorn & Tillman-Kelly, 2013). Yet some undergraduates recognize heterosexist Black masculinity as a byproduct of both anti-Black racism in the gay community and homophobia largely due to religiosity in the Black community. These reflections can help prepare them to better navigate society.
The intersectional nature of stigma, discrimination, and other structural dynamics can also influence whether and how persons embrace social identities. For example, hegemonic spaces that foster compulsory heterosexuality may cause Black members of the LGBTQIA community to exhibit a homophobic stance for survival and belonging as a form of impression management.12 These self-regulatory behaviors often overshadow their authentic identities (Ford, 2011). Moreover, such depersonalization can become a discursive tactic to ward off negative attention. In addition, individuals may be behaviorally bisexual (Fields et al., 2015), yet non-gay-identified (NGI) due to anxieties for the safety of themselves and their partners as well as fear about being exposed, stigmatized, and ostracized (Benoit et al., 2012). Even if young Black members of the LGBTQIA population do not claim an identity label for their sexuality, it is likely that one will be imposed upon them.13 Yet the role of cultural geography, particularly visibility of the Black gay community, is beneficial for identity formation because persons may not feel the need to downplay or mask their gay identities (Henny et al., 2018; Moore et al., 2019).
This literature summary illustrates potential impediments and mechanisms used by young Black people with fluid sexual identities, in general, and BMSM, in particular, to cultivate their own sense of “self” (for example, acceptance, masking, or covering). Research underscores the possible negative effects of dynamics such as gender role strain, homophobia, heterosexism, and compulsive heterosexuality (Arnold et al., 2014; Barnes, 2009a, 2010; Fullilove & Fullilove, 1999; Hightow-Weidman et al., 2017; Jones et al., 2010; Majied, 2010); many of these same studies show how individuals are pushing back against these challenges.14 Whether one embraces labels such as gay, transgender, female, bisexual, queer, male, nonbinary, gender nonconforming, fluid, or human—or rejects categorizations in general—identity formation for many persons here is an ongoing process affected by beliefs and priorities concerning race, class, gender, sexuality, and, for many, religion and spirituality.
BEYOND THE SPECTER OF HIV AND AIDS: STUDY PROFILES
Although this book examines the experiences of a broad array of young Black people with diverse sexual identities, this section documents the research emphasis on BMSM and health disparities. Of the 37,832 people in the United States diagnosed with human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) in 2018, BMSM experienced a greater burden of HIV diagnoses (37 percent, n=9,756) than MSM from all other racial and ethnic groups (CDC, 2020). Although the rates of diagnoses among young BMSM ages 13 to 24 years old declined by 11 percent, diagnoses among BMSM ages 25 to 34 years old increased by 42 percent during this same period. Persons 18–24 years old are the focus of this study.15 These disparate health patterns are consistently linked to structural dynamics and, to a lesser degree, individual choices. These statistics are informative, but BMSM here consistently describe themselves as “more than gay” and “more than HIV.” Moreover, they reject the tendency to associate their lives with deficit models that reduce them to cases and diagnoses. Like other participants in this study, part of these counternarratives include understanding their profiles and daily experiences as well as whether and how religion and spiritualty influence them.
TABLE 1.1
Demographics for IAM! Program (Cycles 1–21) by Education Level, 2022
KEY: Column percentages for each variable across education level are provided (totaling 100 percent except for the race/ethnicity variable). However, for race/ethnicity, individuals who identified as biracial or multiracial could select multiple racial and/or ethnic options; 47 percent of persons (n = 103) self-identify as Latinx/Hispanic. Thus, column totals for the race/ethnicity variable do not sum to 100 percent. The following variables had missing responses at the time of survey completion: age (n = 39), gender (n = 21), sexual orientation (n = 15), relationship status (n = 34), education level (n = 19), housing (n = 29), and income (n = 41). N = 236.
Table 1.1 summarizes key profile indicators by education level for all 236 persons who participated in the prevention program during the five years. These descriptions will help contextualize their voices as documented in subsequent sections. As expected, the vast majority of persons (n=215, or 96 percent) self-identify as Black or African American. Yet a noticeable portion of individuals (n=103, or 47 percent) also consider themselves Latinx/Hispanic. Most are under the age of 26 years old (85 percent) and self-identify as male (n=198, or 92 percent). However, about 5 percent of persons consider themselves transgender. Response patterns for sexual orientation illustrate the comfort among individuals in deciding their own sexual identities. For example, 222 persons provide their sexual identity/orientation as follows: 101 self-identify as gay (45 percent), 38 are bisexual (17 percent), 11 preferred not to say (5 percent), 7 are unsure (3 percent) and 4 self-identify as other (2 percent). The group is also unique because a substantial number (n=61, or 27 percent) self-identity as heterosexual. Given their relatively younger ages, most persons are unmarried; employed either full-or part-time; live in a home, apartment, or on a college campus; and earn less than $50,000 annually. It is important to consider these types of demographic characteristics during the identity development process.
“NO MORE BOXES AND CHAINS”: QUEERING SOCIAL IDENTITIES
Identity development is an ongoing process for most individuals who shared their stories. Part of often being on society’s margins is the development of unique knowledge and discernment about one’s self, Black sexual minorities in general, other social groups such as heterosexuals with whom they interact, and society in general.16 Capacities such as subjugated knowledges (Collins, 1990) help individuals understand and navigate society as well as consider their social identities that are linked to factors such as race, gender, and sexuality. Moreover, grappling with religious identities can mean resurrecting challenging church experiences and queering (as noted earlier, this verb means to question) those same encounters as they continue to cultivate more authentic selves. Representative themes and concepts emerge that illustrate commonalities among members of the Black LGBTQIA community, in general. Longer narratives are also provided here to illustrate the complex ways identity formation can manifest.
Navigating societal quagmires around homophobia, racism, classism, ageism, stigma, and stereotypes means recognizing the perks and penalties associated with embracing certain role expectations.17 Yet it is common for persons to challenge, and in many instances reject, dichotomies, categories, or other efforts to essentialize their diverse social identities. Exhibiting agency means deciding one’s own sexual, racial, gender, and religious and/or spiritual identities. During this process, diversity and ambiguity are common—and welcomed, particularly around race and gender.18 Considering religious and spiritual experiences add yet another dimension to this period of self-discovery. The voices of Jamie, Mannie, and Maddie illustrate the queering theme, how identity development can be nuanced, and how religion and spirituality can influence such processes.
Jamie’s Voice: “Now That I’m Older, I Can Come to Terms With It”
Jamie is a 28-year-old, queer, Black/African American medical school student who earned a bachelor’s degree in the sciences from an HBCU in Georgia. Courses in psychology and sociology and his own personal journey have made Jamie introspective and discerning about Black LGBTQIA experiences. Originally from New York, he was raised by a line of Baptist ministers in a Black Baptist church:
To me, it was the traditional Black household. We went to church. We grew up in the Baptist church. My father was a minister, my mom was a Sunday school teacher. My grandfather was a pastor. So, I had a lot of positions in the church, whether it was related to choir or stuff with Sunday school. My grandfather would give money to kids who did the attendance. I was responsible for handling the money. It was really, really good leader positions I acquired. I did devotion and all that.
Although not originally from the South, Jamie’s childhood was immersed in the Black Church where children’s participation is modeled by parents (Billingsley, 1992; Lincoln & Mamiya, 1990). He notes mainstay Black Church cultural tools such as preaching, Sunday school, devotion, and administrative training central to youth socialization (Barnes & Wimberly, 2016; Pattillo-McCoy, 1998; Streaty-Wimberly, 2005; Streaty-Wimberly et al., 2013). Several major disruptions alter Jamie’s household and contextualize his early musings about religion and sexuality:
It wasn’t until 2006 when my parents separated, and I moved from New York down to Georgia to be with my family on my mom’s side . . . We had a whole culture shock coming from up north to down south. But, also, too, dealing with my father . . . My mom and dad separated, but in actuality, my dad just left. So, I think me being a 13-year-old and trying to understand what that means . . . and one of the primary things in my childhood was trying to . . . understand my identity, and trying to understand—where do I fit in? Does this [his attraction to males] actually fall into the guidelines of religion? I grew up battling that a lot, and that led to depression and a lot of stigma and doing risky behaviors. Either acting out, trying to get attention, or literally just trying to release anger.
According to the above reflection, as a committed, young Christian Jamie grappled with prevailing religious tenets about sexuality and an emerging sexual attraction to males. The absence of his father—a primary Christian and male role model—and relocation to the Bible Belt exacerbated Jamie’s tensions and resulted in negative outcomes noted in literature among this group (i.e., depression, risky actions, stigma, anger) (Barnes, 2010; Bennett, 2013; Childs et al., 2010; Choi et al., 2011; Hunter et al., 2010; Johnson, 2008; Millet, et al., 2012; Toomey et al., 2016).19 The transition from a relatively cosmopolitan area to a space steeped in tacit segregation and semi-involuntariness—the latter meant increased emphasis on heterosexism at church—resulted in internalized homophobia (Ellison & Sherkat, 1995; Johnson, 2008).
That was also another part that I just had to cope with—my father, he also abused drugs, and so I know that was one of the contributing factors as to why he left. My mom, like the resilient Black woman, said, “I don’t want this. I don’t want this as part of my life.” . . . Another thing, too, thinking about [Bible] teachings, in reality it was a huge contradiction. It made me think a lot about who I was, just thinking about my identity. It was a blessing in disguise because it was like, how do I practice religion in a healthy way? But also [it made me] consider the fact that people who are religious leaders will do human things. When I was younger, I could not understand that, but now that I’m older I can come to terms with it.
Like Jamie, scholars suggest that life on the margins often means facing societal contradictions; the ability to identify, understand, and reconcile these issues influences the ability to forge positive identities and lives.20 Contradictions around mental health (i.e., his father’s drug addiction), gender roles (i.e., his mother’s dual-parent role), and conservative biblical teaching about sexuality, while painful, helped him develop capacities to wholeheartedly embrace both his sexual and religious identities—and forgive Christians from his past who could not do the same (Battle et al., 2017; James & Moore, 2005; Johnson, 2008). Jamie attributes formal education in college and informal education from an older Black gay mentor for providing crucial socialization: “I knew that I had feelings. I had urges. But I couldn’t articulate them, and I wasn’t able to express it. It wasn’t until I went to college. I actually met an older gay male . . . I guess he was, quote-unquote, my gay father. He taught me the ropes and everything. At that point, I became more in terms with my identity.” Now confident in his multiple identities, Jamie still recognizes their socially constructed nature:21
I’m a cis male. I define myself as an unapologetic queer. I will say I’m in the MSM community. Yeah, I would say gay, but as far as me being attracted to males, it doesn’t matter if that person is of the cis or trans experience. I just like masculine bodies. So, that’s how I identify. . . . I think gender is a social construct. . . . when it comes to maleness and masculinity, I think it depends on the individual, and I’m a person who believes in balance of self. I think of it as energies. I think that having a healthy balance of masculine and feminine energies is what makes an actualized human being. . . . it’s all a social construct. Race is a social construct. Gender is a social construct.
Socialization and, in some instances, resocialization mean that Jamie has developed an enhanced cultural tool kit to queer existing efforts to essentialize his identities. Because Jamie recognizes that social identities like race and gender are “created” he feels empowered to both choose his sexual identity (i.e., queer and gay) and embrace a nuanced self (i.e., masculine and feminine energies) (Crawford et al., 2002; Hunter, 2010). The pros and cons of embracing ambiguity are recognized in QOC literature:
As some queer theorists and activists call for the destruction of stable sexual categories, for example, moving instead toward a more fluid understanding of sexual behavior, left unspoken is the class privilege which allows for such fluidity. . . . Queer theorizing which calls for the elimination of fixed categories of sexual identity seems to ignore the ways in which some traditional social identities and communal ties can, in fact, be important to one’s survival. Further, a queer politics which demonizes all heterosexuals discounts the relationships—especially those based on shared experiences of marginalization—that exist between gays and straights, particularly in communities of color. (Cohen, 2005, p. 450)
Finally, Jamie’s own inclusive identities inform his views about next steps for the Black Church:
I need for a minister, a religious leader, to stand up and say homosexuality is not wrong. Trans issues are not wrong. I feel like, as far as publicly saying it, and telling people, “Hey, if you do not agree with what I’m saying, please feel free to leave.” And having that inclusive space . . . inviting MSM and queer folks in and providing spiritual guidance. Honestly, healing, too. I think that’s essentially what it is. It’s the first step to anything . . . being accountable. “We did y’all wrong. Y’know? We failed.” I think it would be very beneficial to the community as a whole if we heard that.
Jamie provides clear strategies for reconciliation between the Black Church and the LGBTQIA community. Practitioners of healing science offer strategies not far removed from his suggestion:
What are these other fundamental dimensions of being human needed for healing . . . they are the emotions of love and fear—or more precisely, how we experience and manage them. How and what we love is intimately tied to our ability to find deep meaning and stimulate healing. The flip side of love is not hate; it is fear. (Jonas, 2018, p. 143)
Following this edict means fear among Christians about homosexuality must be supplanted by love in ways that would be transformative for gay and straight persons alike. Jamie self-identifies as Christian (i.e., religious) and spiritual but has no interest in participating in Black churches that are not inclusive and affirming.22 However, Jamie does not discount a possible future as a minister, like his grandfather and father before him.
Jamie’s maturation has resulted in a certain degree of identity synthesis, transparency, personal resolve, and comfort in his own skin (Crawford et al., 2002; Fields et al., 2015; Hunter, 2010; Icard, 1986; Phillips & Stewart, 2008). His narrative includes key people (i.e., parents, ministers, and secular mentors), groups (i.e., church congregants), places (i.e., life in New York versus the Bible Belt), and institutions (i.e., Black churches, HBCUs) that were instrumental in developing his cultural tool kit as a Black, queer, Christian man. Young persons like Jamie suggest that experiences and education are important capacities for recognizing and understanding the socially constructed nature of identities and to question efforts to force them into “boxes and categories” they don’t embrace (Barnes, 2020a). Mannie and Maddie also describe experiences that enable them to better understand their multiple identities, including religiosity.
Mannie’s Voice: “It’s Kind of Hard to Find the Truth Sometimes”
Identity formation involves searching for the truth about oneself and truth telling about the results. Mannie rejects boxes and chains on his search for truth, but for a different reason. A 21-year-old junior psychology major from Georgia, he was behaviorally bisexual for a year in college but now identities as straight. He describes his vacillating sexual identity and ongoing discovery process:23
There was a time when I was straight and then I went from straight to bisexual. But now I’m back straight. It was the experience. Because as a child [at 5 years old], I had an experience with a boy. I was also confused. And, you know, sometimes my parents would tell me the whole gay thing—‘Oh, you know, gay is a sin, and stuff.’ That’s why I was always scared to pursue it. Then, when I got to college, I was like, you know what, I only live once. So, I want to at least say that I did it to get the experience and now that I’ve done it, I’m glad I did it, but it’s out of my system now. That’s not really what I am now. So, now I’m back straight. . . . It took a lot to find myself.
Yet, for Mannie, identity development is still in flux:
I mean, honestly. I’m kind of at peace with it now. . . . And [pauses], I’m not going to sit here and say that I don’t still look at other people [males], but if I do, I just keep it to myself. I don’t come on to anybody or engage in anything else. If there’s a time where I might switch back, then yes, but it probably won’t happen anytime soon. But, then again, life is full of surprises. I can say that right now—I know where I’m at. Wind blows, go there. Wind blows, go here. So, I can’t really say that’s set in stone. As of right now, as a junior, I’m straight. . . . that kind of happened for a whole year. I really just transitioned back to being straight, really, this month. I was a year doing that and having my fun, getting it out of the way. But now . . . we’re back straight now, until further notice.
A childhood sexual encounter coupled with biblical indictments against homosexuality by his parents left Mannie confused and unable to pursue his curiosity.24 Yet, being away from parental purview provided an opportunity to “get the experience . . . out of my system.” Mannie contends that he has found peace but admits to lingering attraction to men. Moreover, the symbolism and tentativeness in his narrative suggests the possibility of sex with men in the future (i.e., comparing potential decisions to the ephemeral nature of the wind and use of words such as “kind of,” “might,” “probably,” and “can’t really say”). And Mannie is hesitant about revealing his behavioral bisexuality:25
People don’t know it . . . I could say the whole bisexual thing. Like, a lot of people didn’t know that, and honestly, I didn’t want nobody to know that because I feel like that’s no one’s business. I already had to deal with that. . . . Growing up, a lot of people were like, “Oh, I’m gay.” So, when I did do what I did, I want to keep that to myself because I didn’t want to make it seem like I was letting people in the past who had these titles for me to feel like, “I was right the whole time. I knew he was like that. It was only a matter of time.” . . . That’s one thing people don’t know about me, that I did go through that phase.
Unlike most individuals here, Mannie considers his past relationships with men to be “a phase” he enjoyed but has exited (Moore, 2010). Yet like other persons, a fluid sexual identity allows for such transitions when desired. Fear that he will again experience stigma means Mannie sees no need to disclose this behavior. Yet Mannie’s contradictions about his sexuality do not translate to his racial identity, which he values despite racism in society:
I know to be Black is a privilege. It’s not easy. . . . I’m born with all types of things that are going to be used against me because people know that I’m a threat because of my skin. I know where I came from. We came from the greatest kings and queens, but to them, they see me as a threat and that’s fine. I know that my people come from great things, and they’re not going to dehumanize me and put their own perception on me.
Mannie’s sense of agency to decide his own sexual identity translates to his views about the increased salience of his racial identity. Yet he speaks much more definitively about his racial identity in ways that parallel existing studies about the conflict of simultaneously being Black and gay (Crawford et al., 2002; Hunter, 2010). He also queers certain elements of his religious upbringing:
Yes, I believe in God. But I’m still trying to, I guess, trying to get everything together so that I know exactly what I’m dealing with, so I know the truth. But it’s kind of hard to find the truth sometimes. You got people who say this, but studies say that. So, it’s like, who do I trust? The people that I love, what they say, or what does science say?
Just as Mannie is in process sexually, he is also in process relative to religiosity. Mannie’s uncertainty and concerns reflect the long-standing tensions between the authority of science versus religion (Haraway, 1991; Lincoln & Mamiya, 1990). In the comment below he critiques church cultural rituals such as prayer that he believes prevent his mother from proactively addressing problems but still looks to older Black males for guidance and support:
I’m close to my mom and to my dad. They both are married and live in the same house. I’m fortunate to have been raised by both parents. . . . My mother . . . she’s one of those people where, she’ll just pray on it. Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands. . . . Sometimes I go to my father. . . . I really rely on the old heads, as some people call them. The elders. Because they always have more wisdom and more experience.
Whether his refusal to embrace a particular sexual identity is transgressive or indicative of internalized stigma (Boone et al., 2016; Phillips & Stewart, 2008), Mannie’s search for the truth is ongoing and likely informed by the developmental processes common among many late adolescents (Berk, 2018; Bolton & MacEachron, 1988; Brooks-Gunn & Fustenberg, 1989; White & DeBlassie, 1992). Race, sexuality, and religion influence his tensions and queries (Brooms, 2018; Coleman et al., 2020; Goodwill et al., 2018; Hunter et al., 2010; Rutledge et al., 2018; Smallwood et al., 2015; Strayhorn & Tillman-Kelly, 2013). Like Jamie, he reflects on his mother’s religious involvement, questions Church dictates, and relies on guidance from older Black men as he confronts common negative tropes around masculinity and race. Most individuals here can choose to be sexually and religiously anonymous; racial anonymity is usually impossible and influences identity salience and choices around the development of their multiple identities (Hunter, 2010; Icard, 1986). But does identity development differ for Black transgender persons and, if so, how?
Maddie’s Voice: “I Was Assigned Male at Birth”
Many of the young persons in this study have spent an inordinate amount of time reflecting on who they are juxtaposed against, who society says they are, or should be. Quite likely some of the most in-depth contemplation takes place for transgender persons, as they consider gender identity, sexual orientation, and their intersection, as well as other facets of self that defy boxes and chains in some of the most transgressive ways (Phillips & Stewart, 2008). Maddie, a 23-year-old transgender female youth worker mentors LGBTQIA high school students. Maddie uses both her formal education via a bachelor’s degree and unique resocialization process to provide social support. She is intentional about the specific concepts used to describe her past, present, and future:
When it comes to sex, I was assigned male at birth, but I don’t necessarily think about it in that way. . . . I think about myself more so continually as woman, as female. . . . when I was born, people assigned me as male and I was specifically chosen to do things as a male, to do things that are stereotypically male. But how I understood myself, even when I was younger up until now, is that I really wasn’t male at that time. . . . I see myself more as queer generally.
Maddie now considers herself queer, but her identity didn’t start that way. The above comment is a reminder of the indelible influence of social norms, science, and the medical arena to ascribe gender at birth that reflect “the power invested in certain identity categories and the idea that bounded categories are not to be transgressed that serve as the basis of domination and control” (Cohen, 2005, p. 81). Like most children, Maddie was placed in a gendered box, followed by concerted efforts by adults to socialize her as male—despite her own confidence that she was not. Her internal reality continually conflicted with other people’s views about her gender assignment. With adulthood came self-determination to reject stigma, navigate role strain, and embrace the designations “queer” and “female” that best reflect her sense of self.26 Yet even her identity classifications and relationships are nonconforming:27
In that understanding of my own self, I sometimes tend to have different preferences. I’ve always noticed that’s very cyclical. . . . Depending on who the main romantic partner that I have is, I tend to be interested in people that look like that person. So, it kind of always varies. There are different parts that become very distinct and always remain the same, but it always comes into a little cycle. And in terms of gender identity, I identify as a transwoman. . . . I work with LGBTQ youth of color. Basically, it’s a positive youth development program, and I am going to different high schools and help young people formulate parts of themselves and help them to set and share space with them. To really get how they feel out.
Maddie’s work with youth of color mimics her own personal journey of discovery in which her attractions and preferences for partners vacillate. For her, creating safe spaces where youth of color can identify, acknowledge, and unpack their diverse and potentially variable identities may enable them to avoid some of the challenges and pains she experienced. Similarly, she is only interested in attending safe religious spaces:
I don’t attend church as often as I used to, but that’s also because I don’t have a car. There’s a church I could go to, but it’s like a 20-minute walk, and when it comes to early Sunday morning, I don’t know if I got time to do that! [Laughs.] But even with that . . . I would still want to feel out . . . because I don’t want to commit to a place that I feel like can’t fully commit to me. . . . I would say I’m a little bit of both [religious and spiritual], but more so still very religious. I don’t keep the same ritual of prayers I grew up with, but I still do feel that power internally, and I still feel that respect internally. And so, I still feel like the importance of prayer, especially for when people are praying, to be respectful of that, it becomes something that’s really powerful to me. . . . They don’t have to be Christian, but when there’s prayer going on, you have to be respectful of that. That’s their time to commune.
Although logistics prevent Maddie from attending church regularly, she still acknowledges the benefits of participation in religion and respects that part of her history. Moreover, she continues to embrace her religious identity, refuses to attend a nonaffirming, exclusive congregation, but recognizes the salience of prayer as a Black Church cultural tool.28 Maddie’s journey illustrates a pattern among many individuals in this study of continued, albeit partial, involvement in Black religious life, but on her own terms.29
Jamie, Mannie, and Maddie posit that the socially constructed nature of identities means choosing how they define and understand themselves, no matter the names, categories, and identities outsiders attempt to impose upon them. This stance also includes questioning people and processes (Benoit et al., 2012; English et al., 2020; Hunter, 2010). These three narratives focus on identity emergence—proactively and intentionally breaking chains and exiting boxes are central to the process. Self-definitions can be variable and diverse; having agency to do so confers power. Additionally, as recognized in QOC literature, their narratives challenge society to consider the “polymorphous network of perversions that contradicted notions of decency and American citizenship” as sites of knowledge, deep insights, and possible systemic transformation (Ferguson, 2004, p. viii). Their voices also connect identity development with a sense of belonging and community building around common attitudes and actions salient to them. In this way, identity and intimacy can coalesce in nonreligious and religious ways.
CULTURAL TOOLS, IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT, AND SYNTHESIS
According to cultural theory, if you want to learn about a group, examine its cultural tool kit (Bolman & Deal, 1991; Goffman, 1974; Snow et al., 1986; Swidler, 1986, 1995). As described in the introduction, all social groups possess a cultural repertoire that provides meaning and fosters solidarity and resource mobilization. This same tool kit lays bare aspects of a group’s identity. The Black Church is no different, and its cultural tools reflect tangible and intangible practices, artifacts, theologies, and events that shape its ethos and work in the world. Specific Black Church cultural components such as scripture, song, prayers, and sermons have been linked to both group identity and community activism (Barnes, 2005; Pattillo-McCoy, 1998). Scholarship suggests that Black Christians are influenced by these cultural tools in their religious identity development. In this way, church involvement among young Black sexual minorities may affect the development of multiple social identities. But how and why? Are certain cultural tools more impactful than others? More negative than positive? Moreover, how do individuals attempt to affirm and synthesize their social identities? Dameon, Marlon, and Bertram share their experiences.
Dameon’s Voice: “You Can Be Gay Because God Loves Everybody”
According to Dameon, a 22-year-old male dance coach who identifies as gay, both dancing and the Deity are salient. Dameon is an avid J-Setter. As described in the introduction, this dance phenomenon is growing in participation and support among young Black members of the LGBTQIA community. J-Setting is also considered a counternarrative against heteronormativity and homophobia. It represents cultural work that fosters authenticity, agency, community building, joy, creativity, and, “counterpublics” in the Black gay community that influences entertainment and culture in the wider society (Alvarez, 2013; Cohen, 2005; Daniels, 2015; DeFrantz, 2017; Loyd-Sims, 2014; McKindra, 2019; The Prancing Elites Project, 2015; Taylor & Khadra, 2020; Wicks, 2013). Dameon’s past experiences in the Black Church and more recent ones J-Setting offer an insightful framework to challenge notions of sacredness as well as how cultural tools can be forged in unexpected spaces. Dameon defines this cultural expression:
J-Setting is basically a style of dance. It’s like majorette in a male way. It’s for the gay community. And if you look it up on YouTube, you’re mainly going to see gay men doing this style of dance. It’s competitive. They have competitions. They participate in parades and special performances, all of that.
Daemon speaks with great pride and animation as he describes both choreographing and participating in J-Setting over the past few years. He contends that the music, dancing, call-and-response, clapping, and cheering during J-Setting bouts are becoming a growing part of the cultural traditions in this community. Although J-Setting is a relatively new part of his lifestyle, Dameon has a longer history in the Black Church:
I’ve been in a church plenty of times. People be knowing that I was gay. But you never know who your audience is, but for that day, for some reason, the preacher is gawking down upon gays. . . . That puts people in a bad place. That makes people be like, “Okay, I’m not going to come out to my parents now. Oh, now I’m not going to do this, I’m not going to do that.” But behind closed doors they’re doing it. And they’re not going to church because they feel like they’re not welcome. If my first time going to church—and I’m freshly gay—I am thinking about telling my mom, but the only thing they’re talking about is gay. The first day that I’m there, and they’re talking about homosexual stuff, I’m going to be like, “Okay, well, that’s going to push me back farther than going to church and being yourself.”
Dameon is critical of church cultural tools like sermons that correlate sin with homosexuality and that shame and stigmatize sexual minorities. Rather than being a safe haven, to him, such congregations tacitly encourage clandestine behavior and squelch self-discovery, particularly for young gay men searching for answers about their sexual identities.30 Familiar himself with seminal scripture, Dameon recognizes that biblical interpretations that foster homophobia and heterosexism don’t overshadow the overarching theme on which the Bible is formulated about God’s unconditional love for humanity.31 He paraphrases I John 4:19 below:32
You can be gay because God loves everybody. You can be gay, but you’re not supposed to, from what the preacher says, you’re not supposed to act upon it. But love is love, and you really can’t control that, you know. I love somebody or I want to be with somebody for the rest of my life.
In his remark, Dameon questions human interpretations that place conditions on who and how people can love (i.e., “love is love”). For him, foundational biblical principles affirm his identity and provide religious evidence of the sacredness of being gay (this topic is discussed in more detail in chapter 4). Moreover, just as God’s love for humanity is everlasting and enduring, Dameon suggests that love in the LGBTQIA community can be similarly expressed. Thus, one’s sexual and religious identities do not have to compete for salience.33 God’s love for him, like participating in J-Setting, has resulted in increased confidence:
Actually, dancing helps you with your confidence. It also plays a part in what people think about you. Because when you’re dancing, you’re scared to wear that. You’re scared to have this color on, you’re scared to look like this. But eventually—whatever. And then there’s going into the gay community. So, my first time with gay people, I was really shy. I didn’t speak to anybody. Now, I could talk to just about anybody.
Central to this narrative are discussions about what constitutes sacred texts and sacredness (Barnes, 2009a; McQueen & Barnes, 2017). For Dameon and young people like him, passages that describe and confirm God’s unconditional love for everyone—including sexual minorities—are sacred and discount human efforts to suggest otherwise. He contends that such texts should make his counterparts confident about their place in the world. J-Setting is similarly valuable by helping overcome personal challenges (for him, shyness) during identity development. QOC theory recognizes tensions between structural forces such as organized religion, broader cultural dictates, and emergent cultural dynamics in the Black LGBTQIA community. For example, Almaguer (1991) questions, “How does socialization in these different sexual systems shape the crystallization of their sexual identities and the meaning they give to their homosexuality?” (p. 256).34 Yet emphasizing broad biblical themes of love and acceptance enable Dameon to avoid role strain and internalized stigma as well as to foster a positive self-image (Boone et al., 2016; Fields et al., 2015; Henny et al., 2018).
Marlon’s Voice: “You Can’t Pray It Away”
Growing up in the Bible Belt has resulted in exposure to church culture, including the prayer ritual, for many individuals here. This southern ecology often means Christianity is embedded in many arenas of daily life (Johnson, 2008). The extent and effects of that exposure are influenced by factors such as family type, parental involvement in church, and denominational affiliation. But what are some of the contemporary implications of such historic tools for LGBTQIA people? Like many of his peers, 24-year-old social work major Marlon has a history of church involvement:
I was 14 years old. I came out as gay and, of course, I knew people were going to say stuff because I remember hearing stuff about gay people before from church people. . . . I was sitting in church and after a lot of different services and different messages and seeing people talk, just remember sitting and thinking one day, “Okay, you can’t pray it away. You can’t baptize it out of you. You can’t do all of that stuff. That doesn’t work.” Checked that off my list. Okay, you can do all these kinds of things, but I realized I got to a point where I realized who I am is just who I’m going to always be.
Marlon’s earliest exposure to antigay sentiments consisted of whispers across pews, punitive preaching from the pulpit, and resulting role strain and internalized stigma.35 After years of self-reflection and despite what seemed like relentless shaming, Marlon realized that common Black Church cultural tools such as prayer and baptism could not alter his reality as a Black gay man:
I continued to go to church knowing that, and I remember hearing all the hate and the different messages that just made me think that, well, if I’ve done my homework and I know that who I am is just who I am, then I can’t be wrong because nobody can tell me I’m wrong about what’s between me and my soul and my feelings, or my thought processes. Nobody knows that better than me. So, if I know I’ve done everything I can to check these boxes off and I know that this is just who I’m going to be, then nothing that nobody can tell me, whether a preacher or not, can tell me that I’m a wrong being or I was a mistake or that I’m evil.
According to his above memory, Marlon continued to attend church. Yet his intersecting identities as a gay Christian man outpaced the antiquated theology to which he was exposed. He describes an onslaught of efforts designed to convince him of his unworthiness as a child of God. However, personal resolve enabled Marlon to avoid both masking or covering his identities in ways succinctly shown in Mumford’s (2019) Not Straight, Not White, “my gay brothers and sisters . . . you are loved by God because you were called into existence by God” (p. 119). His current self-awareness and unconditional self-love are indomitable (i.e., the certainty in his “soul”).36 Now Marlon questions the relevance of the contemporary Black Church for young Black people like himself:37
The Church isn’t realistic. For example, we all know that there wasn’t a super, large church-attending Christian population even in the United States until we got into it with Russia, with the whole Red Scare. People like using church to feel like they need community, to be a community, to build rules and morals and to teach kids discipline and structure, which is all good, but I think we are living in a more progressive time where people are realizing who they are as Black people. People are realizing who they are as gay, trans, and queer people. People are realizing who they are as women. People are realizing who they are. People are realizing the world they live in . . . we also live in a world now where our president is a TV star, an Internet troll. All of these things have shattered this ideal, traditional “Make America Great Again” thing that we were raised on. I think people are realizing that we’re not running away from something that . . . is starting to get called out and realized . . . what isn’t good.
Marlon’s negative experiences inside and outside church walls have shaped how he understands identity development based on dynamics such as race, sexual orientation, gender, political persuasion, and civil religion.38 Although he considers certain aspects of youth socialization in churches productive, Marlon suggests that these cultural processes tend to squelch personal empowerment, knowledge of U.S. religious history, and broader societal attitudes and behaviors in ways that are unhealthy and antithetical to common humanness and common Americanness.39 By specifically referencing politicians and a political culture he considers dangerous and damaging, Marlon tacitly indicts religious collectives like the Black Church for failing to mobilize in prophetic ways against these deleterious forces.40
A long-standing Black Church anecdote suggests that “prayer changes things.” Yet for Marlon and his peers in the LGBTQIA community, prayer alone is not enough. Without dismissing the value of this cultural tool, he concludes that Blacks today must practice what they pray and preach about because the current U.S. climate necessitates systemic transformation in the spirit of queer activism—in which his generation is presently engaged: “there are lessons to be learned from queer activism that can help us construct a new politics. . . . where the nonnormative and marginal position of punks, bulldaggers, and welfare queens . . . as the basis for progressive transformative collation work . . . to create a space in opposition to dominant norms, a space where transformational political work can begin” (Cohen, 2005, p. 438). And according to this same QOC scholar, the assumption that stable collective identities are necessary for collective action is turned on its head by queerness—inside and outside congregational spaces. Ultimately for Marlon, inappropriate political ties to Christianity, generational gaps, failure to acknowledge and appreciate diversity, and hypocrisy have rendered today’s Church largely obsolete.41
Bertram’s Voice: “You Cannot Bring Sin to Church”
Although some young Black people with diverse sexual identities traverse along commonly documented paths toward identity acceptance or synthesis (Brady, 1998; Brady & Busse, 1994; Cass, 1979; Martinez & Sullivan, 1998), their narratives tend to focus on authenticity rather than some prescribed notion of completion. Bertram’s story provides one example of this gradated process. A 20-year-old seminary student, avid J-Setter, and Christian from Tennessee, Bertram plans to become an entrepreneur. Although unapologetically Black, his narrative illustrates internal tensions seemingly common among some of his peers in the earlier phases of understanding their identities. Self-identified as bisexual, Bertram expresses clarity around both his racial and sexual selves. Because both identities are salient, he questions why others find them problematic:
Being Black means that I’m a human being. I have a free mind. I have a free spirit. I have the power to think for myself, speak for myself, without being judged or criticized. That’s what I feel like it’s supposed to mean. But, at the same time, the world tries to limit my power to identify. . . . You know, being able to speak up. And being yourself is hard. . . . being Black or even identifying as bisexual. Some people don’t feel like you can be that . . . date a girl or go back to guys.
Bertram’s remarks associate specific liberties with race and sexuality (i.e., being human, free, and empowered) that he acknowledges and readily embraces. Despite outside forces that attempt to constrain his agency, Bertram refuses to concede the freedom to embrace behavior that may be considered nontraditional, nonconforming, and/or transgressive.42 However, his next thought introduces common religious dictates used to denigrate the LGBTQIA community:
Growing up a Christian and knowing that homosexuality is wrong, that’s how I was brought up. I was at church a lot and I heard things like that. I had to recognize that everybody in life had something that they had to overcome. Something they want to be better at, but it’s hard. You have to know that no matter what, God loves you.
Bertram speaks matter-of-factly about early exposure to homophobia in church. Equally troubling, his comment alludes to emotional tensions that may have resulted in internalized homophobia (i.e., “everybody . . . had something . . . to overcome”) that was reconciled by the reassurance of God’s unconditional love.43
Yet certain Black liberation theologists question whether God’s love is enough. For example, Sneed (2010) argues, “the body of Black gay men is a problem . . . wherein a nebulous ‘God’ at best ‘loves them’ but does little else to work on their behalf” (p. 157). For Sneed and other QOC scholars, the lack of tangible next steps toward redress means intrinsic ideological support palls in comparison to the requisite extrinsic practical provisions Black sexual minorities need to improve their life chances and quality of life. The gap between ideal and real support means persons like Bertram look elsewhere for sanctuary. For him, J-Setting provides a respite: “I am a big dancer. I am on a J-Setting team. I’m a very great dancer. Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve been dancing for seven years now. And I’ve gotten better . . . I became a lot better.” Bertram is clearly confident about his J-Setting abilities and the positive reinforcement this cultural group provides:
It’s a majorette male team. We dance around different state competitions. I’ve been on this team for a year now. But the team has been created for over thirty years. It’s a legendary thing, but it’s really hard to get on. It used to be in colleges and stuff, but then they started branching out into the community now. It’s very hard to get on some teams. I was very surprised that I made this one. . . . I dance my heart out. J-Setting helps me relax. The consistent moving and the ability to express myself.
Beyond a summary on J-Setting, the above remark describes the competitiveness, mainstream exposure, skills, and preparation needed to participate as well as the emotional and psychological benefits involvement affords. And he continues to be ensconced in the Black Church:
I believe in God. I believe in Him because He woke me up this morning and I believe that He’s the only one that does that. I was brought up that way. That’s the way I was raised. I’m a Christian. Sometimes I go to different churches and visit. I also go to a Baptist college. . . . [Explaining dechurching among his peers] The phones have overloaded their minds. They think they can watch church on TV. They took church out of schools. People don’t learn about it. People are walking on a side of the world that is blind right now, not spreading the Good News.
Despite homophobic church experiences during his youth, Bertram continues to embrace belief in God and Christianity; he is enhancing his religious capacities via seminary. Both socialization and personal exposure to an omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient God (i.e., “He’s the only one that does that”) inform his concerns about the negative effects of social media, technology, secularization, dechurching, and the unchurched in his generation. Yet Bertram’s final reflection illustrates a complicated socio-psychological process where Christian tenets shape his stance on homosexuality.
The Black Church can’t do nothing to help Black men sleeping with men. I honestly believe you cannot bring sin to church. If you feel sin, that is something you do outside of church. You do not bring that into church. It’s for you to cope with your sin and ask for forgiveness to get away from them, but you never bring sin into church. Yes, I do believe that Black men sleeping with men are committing a sin. Yes, ma’am. And I believe that because of what I was raised. That’s all. I read in the Bible about it. It’s the way that I interpret the message, that’s the way I feel about it. But it also doesn’t dispute that I commit sin. That’s up to me if I commit that sin. You know what I mean?
His remark may be alarming to some readers, but it reflects an attempt to reconcile church socialization about homosexuality during his youth and his own behavioral bisexuality. Whether considered a sign of internalized homophobia or personal agency, Bertram’s belief illustrates the ineffaceability of religious socialization and church cultural tools like scripture for some persons, particularly during the formative developmental years (Berk, 2018; Bolton & MacEachron, 1988; Brooks-Gunn & Fustenberg, 1989; White & DeBlassie, 1992).44 The following observation and strategy in Spirited: Affirming the Soul And Black Gay/Lesbian Identity may prove informational:
We believe what we are told. As a result we become conditioned to beliefs. These beliefs bring about stereotyping, phobias and even hatred for whatever has been taught to be evil. A few scriptures are given, and entire sets of values are based upon them. We believe these “minister-given” values without question and live our lives accordingly. . . . I found myself living in polarity. God hated homosexuals and homosexuality yet I believed John 3:16. . . . I believed God. How was this to be? He loved me and hated me? I loved myself and hated myself. This is prevalent with many Christian homosexuals. They love God but hate themselves. . . . Rid yourself of Gospel Psychological Chains of Homosexual Enslavement. Love yourself so that you will be able to love someone else. . . . break the chain. (James & Moore, 2005, pp. 145, 149)
Bertram does not appear to consider homosexuality totalizing but rather one of many “sins” reflective of human frailty that can be reconciled through forgiveness. However, it remains unclear whether and how his stance will have a long-term effect on him.45
Dameon, Marlon, and Bertram offer insights as they search for identity, religion, and spirituality. Each was socialized in church during their youth; each continues to believe in God and God’s unconditional love for them as an abiding church cultural tool. Dameon and Bertram experience affirmation via J-Setting. Only Bertram continues to actively participate in organized religion where he is exposed to church cultural tools that criticize his bisexuality. Although Dameon and Marlon refuse to conform to biblical dictates about homosexuality, Bertram embraces more traditional views about sexuality. Overall, tensions between processes of identity development and religion are common in these and other narratives and illustrate how many young Black sexual minorities are still “in process” as sexual beings.
Identity by the Numbers: The Gay Identity Questionnaire
According to Queer People of Color, “same-sex, gender, non-conformity and queer identity are intensely personal and often dependent on self-identification. Sexual identity is not necessarily determined by sexual or romantic partners but on how an identity based on these attractions and behaviors is developed” (Harris et al., 2018, p. 9). What does this assessment mean when considered specifically? Individuals candidly share experiences, positive and negative, about identity development in prior sections. They describe multiple ways to understand self. Can more be gleaned about this process?46 Seventy-five persons in this study completed the Gay Identity Questionnaire (GIQ) to potentially understand other aspects of the identity formation process.47
This well-known questionnaire, which was derived from features of the six-stage Homosexual Identity Formation (HIF) model presented by Cass (1979), is used to broadly identify the developmental stages of “coming out” (Brady, 1998; Brady & Busse, 1994; Cass, 1979; Martinez & Sullivan, 1998). The HIF suggests the importance of identity synthesis during which one’s identity is not defined based on a gay-heterosexual dichotomy. Yet, as Martinez and Sullivan (1998) stress, Cass’s model—and its suggestion that identity synthesis represents both the most desirous and healthiest outcome—is based on findings from majority White cohorts and does not account for the complexities of gay identity formation among Blacks. Instead, the latter group may experience marginalization twofold, first from racism from the LGBTQIA community and second from disapproval of homosexuality in the Black community. In this instance, the language of “coming out” inaccurately presupposes a monolithic coming-of-age process for all sexual minorities. Other factors including race, gender expression, class membership, and religion can impact the decisions of Black members of the LGBTQIA community to disclose their sexual identities and/or behavior. Particularly germane in this study, fervent religiosity and heterosexist norms around Black masculinity in pockets of the Black community may cause fear, shame, and internalized heterosexism (Arnold et al., 2014; Barnes, 2009a, 2010; Jones et al., 2010; Mays et al., 2004; Quinn et al., 2019, 2020).48 Given these limitations, can the GIQ be used to better understand sexual identity development?
Based on responses to 45 true or false questions, individuals can be grouped in one of the following six stages—Confusion, Comparison, Tolerance, Acceptance, Pride, or Synthesis—suggested to indicate their stage in the coming out process.49 Sample questions include:
•Stage 1 (Confusion)—I doubt that I am homosexual, but still am confused about what I am sexually.
•Stage 2 (Comparison)—I probably am sexually attracted equally to men and women.
•Stage 3 (Tolerance)—I feel accepted by homosexual friends and acquaintances, even though I’m not sure I’m homosexual.
•Stage 4 (Acceptance)—Even though I am definitely homosexual, I have not told my family.
•Stage 5 (Pride)—I am very proud to be gay and make it known to everyone around me.
•Stage 6 (Synthesis)—I am openly gay with everyone, but it doesn’t make me feel all that different from heterosexuals.
Readers should not consider the GIQ sacrosanct as a measure of identity formation (for example, some of the wording is a bit antiquated) nor the following outcomes definitive identity stages for Black sexual minorities, but rather it is another way individuals may learn about this complex process. Findings in table 1.2 supplement earlier narratives in this chapter and include average GIQ results. Each person identified their gender (i.e., male or transgender/binary) and sexual orientation (i.e., straight/heterosexual, bisexual, gay, or other) during participation in the prevention program; these categories were subsequently matched to their GIQ scores. Although scores for individuals across the six stages are not statistically different when gender is considered, differences are apparent based on sexual orientation.50
For example, Black persons here who identify as straight/heterosexual score significantly higher on the Confusion stage of the scale than those who identify as gay/homosexual. As might be anticipated, persons who identify as bisexual score significantly higher on the Comparison stage of the scale than persons who identify as gay/homosexual. Additionally, individuals who identify as gay/homosexual score significantly higher on the Pride stage of the scale than their peers who consider themselves straight/heterosexual. Moreover, persons who identify as gay/homosexual score significantly lower on the Synthesis stage of the scale than persons who identify as straight/heterosexual or bisexual. Lastly, persons who identify as straight/heterosexual score significantly higher on the Synthesis stage of the scale than their peers who identify as other (i.e., individuals who prefer not to identify their sexual orientation or who are unsure about it).
A broad review suggests that, for Black sexual minorities, the GIQ can be helpful in classifying sexual identity development at the extreme stages (i.e., Confusion and Comparison on one end of the spectrum and Pride and Synthesis on the other end) more than the two middle stages (i.e., Tolerance and Acceptance). This means that, although some individuals reject labels and classifications, early stages of coming out when persons are grappling with formation, as well as later stages when they have largely embraced their sexuality, may be empirically captured by a tool like the GIQ. Equally important, as noted in scholarship, persons who seem most able to navigate negative tensions between the Black and gay communities, society in general, and other related challenges are those who seem more likely to form a more integrated identity in a way that is authentic to them (Crawford et al., 2002; Hunter, 2010; Icard, 1986). Beyond mere statistics, GIQ results here augment the stories provided by Jamie, Mannie, and Maddie about the possible place of religious identity in the daily lives of young Blacks. Although Dameon and Bertram both participate in J-Setting, their disparate views about sexual identity parallel some of the GIQ findings. Yet Marlon’s experiences place him closer to the Pride and Synthesis domains. And for Jason, acknowledging and appreciating nuances in music, and identities, can enhance one’s daily life.
TABLE 1.2
Gay Identity Scale Mean Scores and Standard Deviations Based on Gender and Sexual Orientation, 2022
KEY: N = 75: *p<.05, **p<.01, ***p<.001. Mean (standard deviation) are provided in each cell. Findings are based on the Gay Identity Questionnaire used to identify the developmental stages of coming out, which was derived from features of the Homosexual Identity Formation (HIF) model (Cass 1979; Brady 1998; Brady & Busse, 1994). Transgender/Nonbinary includes one person self-identified as female. Straight = straight/heterosexual. Gay = gay/homosexual. Other includes five persons who prefer not to say or are unsure about their sexual orientation. Post hoc tests that compare mean scores for the six possible stage combinations follow (F = F test and df = degrees of freedom):
A. Persons who identify as straight/heterosexual scored significantly higher than persons who identified as gay/homosexual on the Confusion Stage of the scale (F = 4.681; df 71, 3l; p<.01).
B. Persons who identify as straight/heterosexual scored significantly lower than persons who identify as Other on the Synthesis Stage of the scale (F = 16.82; df 70, 3; p<.05).
C. Persons who identify as bisexual scored significantly higher scale than persons who identify as gay on the Comparison Stage of the scale (F = 4.685; df 71, 3; p<.05).
D. Persons who identify as gay scored significantly higher than persons who identify as straight/heterosexual on the Pride Stage of the scale (F = 4.891; df 71, 3; p<.01).
E. Persons who identify as gay scored significantly higher than persons who identify as straight/heterosexual and persons who identify as bisexual on the Synthesis Stage of the scale (F = 16.82; df 70, 3; p<.0001).
Conclusion
It may not be a surprise that many young Black persons in this study who were raised or now primarily live in the South believe in God. However, beyond this common belief, other sentiments are more varied. Moreover, belief in an all-powerful God does not necessarily translate into belief in organized religion. Even persons who consider God an immutable reality also acknowledge the social construction of most of the cultural tools surrounding this Deity. Scripture, song, rituals, and other Black Church cultural tools have been created to document, acknowledge, understand, and explain God’s engagement with humanity across time and place (Barnes, 2004, 2005, 2009a, 2011; Billingsley 1992, 1999; Cavendish, 2001; Costen, 1993; Du Bois, 1953/1996, 1903/2003; Ellison & Sherkat, 1995; Frazier, 1964; Gilkes, 1998; Lincoln & Mamiya, 1990; Mays & Nicholson, 1933; Nelson, 2005; Pattillo-McCoy, 1998; Tucker, 2011; Streaty-Wimberly, 2005; West, 1993; Wilmore, 1994). Individuals recall that many of the same cultural tools have been used to stigmatize them and, in some instances, call into question their very existence. To them, God and God’s plan often become diminished when people get involved. Yet for others, belief in God and a religious life are a source of personal uplift and strength.
Many persons here reject individuals and groups that attempt to “put them in a box” by reducing them to sexual outcomes. Such efforts are considered controlling and fail to acknowledge or appreciate the ongoing, evolving nature of self-discovery. In addition, because such identities are socially constructed, young persons are agentic in their continued efforts to both “name” themselves and push back against names that stigmatize and marginalize them. Yet, for many, and as suggested in scholarship, negotiating society often results in prioritizing certain social identities over others (Crawford, et al. 2002; Hunter, 2010). Additionally, navigating the margins has resulted in a unique perspective about identity development for many individuals here. Some appear to have integrated social identities; others are in process. For other people this is not a goal. And others don’t feel compelled to identify at all. And still others seem to compartmentalize episodic homosexual behavior as their identities remain in flux. Moreover, few describe concerns about southern spaces specifically but discuss experiences broadly to suggest, as noted in Johnson’s (2008) analysis of gay men in the South, that most of their challenges, “might not be just a southern thing . . . [but] a human thing” (p. 229).
As illustrated in this chapter, religious identity formation does not escape the queering process. Whether they are referred to as gay, nonbinary, queer, or some other descriptive, individuals in this book have embarked upon a period of self-discovery that includes, among other objectives, self-definition. From one perspective, names provide a practical way to categorize things; unfortunately for historically marginalized groups, when majority members “named” them, such descriptions were usually subjectively reductionist and/or tied to stereotypes, stigma, and pejorative beliefs and processes (Coates, 2015; West, 1993). This chapter summarizes some of these experiences among a group of young Blacks with fluid sexual identities. Personal narratives as well as empirical results such as the Gay Identity Questionnaire inform their experiences. Individuals also discuss exposure to Black Church cultural tools, particularly during their youth, that undergird emerging cultural tools in the Black LGBTQIA community that are being used to dismantle negative, incorrect, and incomplete socially constructed definitions, images, and expectations about them. Religious and nonreligious cultural lenses are invaluable as individuals discuss their lives, challenges, contributions, and survival strategies—and critique society. Just as social identities are constructed and persons search for authentic self-expressions, they recognize that most religious dictates are also socially constructed and result in similar pursuits.
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