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"LGBTQ evacuees and their families, many of whom
are now internally displaced, faced all kinds of
discrimination at the hands of many of the faith-based
relief agencies—due to their sexual orientation,
gender identity or HIV status."
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It
has been over a decade now since Hurricane Katrina barreled through New
Orleans (NO). Today, much of the Big Easy has gotten its groove back.
But the residents of the Lower Ninth Ward, the largest of seventeen
wards of New Orleans—and predominately African American—has not. The
demographic group that unfortunately has been, and continues to be,
invisible in this story of recovery is its African American LGBTQ
community.
While many of NO’s gay bars and enclaves were not devastated by
Katrina—dis-proving the conservative religious vitriol that the
hurricane was finally God’s divine retribution for the city’s then
upcoming annual LGBTQ Southern Decadence festival—many of NO’s African
American LGBTQ communities are not patrons of its white gay bars, or
residents in those communities.
Sadly, the hurricane exposed not only race and class fault lines, but
so, too, the odious fault lines of heterosexism and faith-based
privilege. LGBTQ evacuees and their families, many of whom are now
internally displaced, faced all kinds of discrimination at the hands of
many of the faith-based relief agencies—due to their sexual
orientation, gender identity or HIV status.
With most of the evacuees being African American—and the fact that
sexual orientation is on the “down-low” in much of the African-American
community—many African American LGBTQ evacuees experienced
discrimination from both their communities and black faith-based
institutions.
“The Superdome was no place to be an out black <gay> couple,”
Jeremiah Leblanc told me in 2005, who then moved to Shreveport, La. "We
got lots of stares and all kinds of looks. What were we thinking? But
my partner and I were in a panic and didn't know what to do when we had
to leave our home."
George W. Bush’s faith-based organizations fronted themselves as
"armies of compassion" on his behalf. And with black churches
conducting a large part of the relief effort, African-American LGBTQ
evacuees and their families had neither a chance nor a prayer for
assistance.
"When we were all forced to leave the dome, we were gathered like
cattle into school buses," said Leblanc. "[My partner] Le Paul and I
both needed our meds, clothes, and a way to find permanent shelter
after the storm, but we knew to stay the hell away from the black
churches offering help. We couldn't tell anyone we were sick and
HIV-positive. And when we got to Houston, we saw the Salvation Army,
but Le Paul and I knew to stay the hell away from that too."
The Salvation Army delivered no salvation to a lot LGBTQ families. On
its Web site, the Salvation Army states: "Scripture forbids sexual
intimacy between members of the same sex. The Salvation Army believes,
therefore, that Christians whose sexual orientation is primarily or
exclusively same-sex are called upon to embrace celibacy as a way of
life. There is no scriptural support for same-sex unions as equal to,
or as an alternative to, heterosexual marriage."
With an administration that believed that restoring a spiritual
foundation to American public life had less to do with government
involvement and more to do with the participation of faith-based
groups, Bush slashed needed government programs by calling on churches
and faith-based agencies, at taxpayers' expense, to provide essential
social services that would also impact the lives and well-being of its
LGBT citizens.
"Tragedy does not discriminate and neither should relief agencies,"
stated Kevin Cathcart, executive director of Lambda Legal, in a news
release. "In our experience during the aftermath of Sept. 11, LGBT
people face compounded difficulties because on top of the disaster they
face discrimination when it comes to recognizing their relationships,
leading to even more hardship at the worst moment imaginable.”
Many of the LGBTQ families worried about being separated from each
other—since Louisiana, at the time, did not recognize same-sex unions.
Leblanc’s partner, who was in the last stages of full-blown AIDS, died
two weeks after Katrina. Not legally married, Leblanc was not eligible
for surviving-spouse Social Security benefits. Because he is gay, he is
also not eligible for any of the faith-based relief assistance to help
him get his life back in order.
I’ve been searching for Leblanc for several years, wondering if he had
returned to New Orleans. The city still does not have good nor accurate
records of its evacuees. Small and marginalized communities, however,
keep oral records and memories of their denizens, and Leblanc and Le
Paul, I was told, were known among its patrons of Club Fusions, a
nationally renown African American gay and transgender nightclub.
But now the nightclub is gone. It just recently and mysteriously went up in flames in the wee hours of August 31.
“To see our home like this, a lot of people called this home, where we
feel comfortable, we can be ourselves here, a lot of people gotta hide
being gay,” Lateasha Clark told the Times-Picayune. Clark has
visited the club since she was 18, but didn’t give her age. “This bar
has history, way long ago before Katrina and everything, so everyone
knows about this spot, and the alternative lifestyle people.”
Captain Edwin Holmes of the New Orleans Fire Department told WVUE Fox 8
the building is a “total loss.” He reported “the cause was not
imitatively clear” and the fire was under investigation.
I wished the same due diligence could be applied in finding
LeBlanc, and recovering some of what the LGBTQ black community of NO
lost a decade ago.
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BlackCommentator.com Editorial Board member and Columnist, The Rev. Irene Monroe, is a religion columnist, theologian, and public speaker. She is the Coordinator of the African-American Roundtable of the Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry (CLGS) at the Pacific School of Religion. A
native of Brooklyn, Rev. Monroe is a graduate from Wellesley College
and Union Theological Seminary at Columbia University, and served as a
pastor at an African-American church before coming to Harvard Divinity
School for her doctorate as a Ford Fellow. She was recently named to
MSNBC’s list of 10 Black Women You Should Know. Reverend Monroe is the author of Let Your Light Shine Like a Rainbow Always: Meditations on Bible Prayers for Not’So’Everyday Moments. As an African-American feminist theologian, she speaks for a sector of society that is frequently invisible. Her website is irenemonroe.com. Contact the Rev. Monroe and BC.
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is published every Thursday |
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