Translation Section

Abstract

The following three short pieces, translated from the German, emerged from the efforts of activists in the Initiative Schwarze Menschen in Deutschland (Initiative of Black People in Germany). Each of these short essays was published in Spiegelblicke: Perspektiven Schwarzer Bewegung in Deutschland (Looks in the Mirror: Perspectives of the Black Movement in Germany; Ridha et al. 2016).Spiegelblicke, as described in the words of its editors,is a book of essays, portraits, analytical texts, storytelling, and photo reports. The collection opens access to the history of Black people and their movement in Germany. In this volume, fifty Black authors, historical witnesses, and portrait-subjects describe and analyze racist structures in private and public spaces. They document stages in their search for identity and so-called empowerment. The volume is about their experiences during the Nazi era; the history of colonialism and its reach into the present (for example, in the education and legal systems); about empowering interventions by parents, teachers, artists, or people in the media; and about the everyday life stories of Black people in Germany. It deals with topics such as racial profiling, the role of human rights, and refugee activism. Also, dimensions of discrimination such as audism (discrimination against deaf people) that have rarely been discussed so far are rendered visible in the book. Along with the question of what it means to be Black and queer, feminist and lesbian, it introduces intersectional perspectives onto Black life. The views of various generations and voices are mirrored and reflected. They emphasize how even those spaces in which people seek refuge from daily discrimination can be dangerous spaces—that there too, it's about questions of openness. Thirty years after the release of the still path-breaking book Farbe bekennen. Afrodeutsche Frauen auf den Spuren ihrer Geschichte edited by May Ayim, Katharina Oguntoye, and Dagmar Schultz (Showing Our Colors: Afro-German Women Speak Out, translated into English by Anne V. Adams with a foreword by Audre Lorde), the editors of Spiegelblicke present a volume that illustrates the processes of development, debate, and definition of the Black movement in Germany until today. Their goal: creating a lasting artifact that is easily accessible and addresses a wide audience, a book that is meant to encourage, inspire, and intrigue. (Orlanda Verlag 2016)In the English translations below, words are italicized under two circumstances: (1) if the word in the original text was already an English loan word, such as community, safe space, othering, or awareness; or (2) if the German word is retained in the translation so as to specify a concept that would otherwise be obscured in translation. (Note that queer is not generally italicized here, as it has long since become a standard, mainstream German adjective. In contrast, the use of the English loan word community in the original texts signals an intentional elision of, and an alternative vision to, the German counterpart concept Gemeinschaft, which still today carries Nazi overtones.)I am a trans* man. I kept my distance from Black communities until after my transition. There were two reasons for this. One reason was that I felt uncomfortable as a person, in that I was experiencing an existential conflict between bodily disposition and gender identity, which led me to live in isolation. The second reason was that I was afraid to be confronted with hostility in the Black community. I'd already had my fill from white, heteronormative dominant society. I did not want to suffer that yet again among my Black sisters and brothers.Back then, in the company of my fellow African compatriots, an outspoken animosity prevailed toward those who identified as queer or LGBT in the Western world. That came to be the case primarily thanks to colonial history, and through white and Christian influences (see below). To be labeled a trans* person was indeed dangerous. At the very least it carried a sense of ostracism. Today, however, the situation has relaxed. It is still wearisome that most of the African LGBTIQ* people I know either keep a distance from their countrymen or lead a stressful double life. So I have oriented myself quite carefully in my search for a black community.Once I had survived my transition, I drove to the Bundestreffen, or “federal meeting,” and I was very happy to arrive into a Black community, but I kept my trans* identity a secret. At the Bundestreffen this was all too appropriate because I was able to observe homophobic discrimination and even attacks occurring. How hostile would the reactions have been toward a trans* man? The sacrifice of not unveiling myself in the community was painful, tied as it was to the fear of being accidentally outed against one's will, losing my Black community as a result.A few years ago, I finally felt secure enough to show myself as a trans* man at the Bundestreffen, and it was not a problem because in the last ten years a profound transformation has taken hold within the ISD [Initiative of Black People in Germany]. At least among the active members of ISD, the task was establishing an awareness that our community is made up of people with different experiences and living environments, people who are rich or poor, people who never graduated from school or those with a higher education, those that identify as German or do not, those who are physically and mentally in line with the social norm, those who love the opposite sex or same sex or those who are asexual, those who identify within binary gender roles or do not. A commonality we share is living the life of a Black person. And one of our duties is to create space for ourselves in which we can, as complete persons, contribute to the Black community in Germany.The establishment of the LGBTIQ* Working Group (of nonheterosexual-loving and/or non-gender-binary-compliant-living people) in the ISD in 2014 was an important step for me. Within the working group I have a safe space to discuss my needs and to develop and manifest the networking and protection of queer Black people. I hope that we create a place for Black LGBTIQ*s who often live in isolation outside ISD, a place where they are a respected part of a lively Black community.What can queer people, with their diverse life experiences and discourses, contribute to issues of concern to Black people in Germany? First and foremost, there needs to be an understanding that very different people and living environments come together in communities that actually only converge along one singular experience or common interest—in our case, being Black in a white-dominated society. As well as the knowledge of the urgent need to address all the difference and diversities within a community, openly and respectfully. Ultimately, queer Black communities will be able to break up the violent domination of white discourse around queerness, feminism, racism, and decolonization in this society; take these topics on as our own; and in doing so expedite changes to our society and work toward a possible nondiscriminatory way of living together from a Black perspective.When I first imagined the substance of this piece, I envisioned a huge table of queer people, exchanging perceptions, identities, experiences, orientations, lifestyles, and perspectives. For me, the only task left would be merely to put on paper what had been discussed and—voilà!—a survey of thirty years of queer Black history would be recorded.This image is just as lovely as it is unrealistic. People are not, nor have they been, in quite this sort a position to share their experiences. I cannot reach everyone, and not everyone wants to participate. And I alone can't—and don't wish to—represent all queer people in the new Black movement. My perspective is vague and above all: mine. So I created a questionnaire concerning the topic “Black and queer.” Sixteen people have responded, and most of the quotations here are taken from it. Most participants asked to remain anonymous. Instead of their name, only their sexual orientation and gender identification will be mentioned. What follows is a fragmented view on perspectives of the past, present, and future.For many people of color, to be in the presence of other nonwhite individuals signifies a sense of relaxation, arrival, or homecoming. The knowledge of shared experiences and topics, of not having to step out from behind the veil of “otherness.” The shared point of reference and the identity fulcrum of Blackness allow people to feel free to be individuals. To be themselves and not a delegate or class representative.But what is it like when another fulcrum of identification or identity is added within the Black community, namely: queerness in its broadest sense?“Lonely,” writes a queer cis-gendered woman. Another says, “Black communities are not safe spaces for the LGBTQ person. Hetero- and cis-sexism are just as likely to occur there as in mainstream society. Thus I am just as on guard there with my sexual identity.”Tsepo Bollwinkel, a queer transgender man, adds, “At the very least a queer person is able to be an equally valued member of the ISD community. Still, the particular concerns of queer individuals are of no notable significance.”So we are here, but still invisible? A gay cis-gendered man wrote the following beautiful sentence: “Both in the queer community and in the Black community, only one part of my soul is caressed. Only rarely am I perceived in full.”ADEFRA [Schwarze Frauen in Deutschland, or Black Women in Germany], a sociopolitical collective of Black women founded thirty years ago, is considered an enclave among women of color, where nonheterosexually positioned women have been and are perceived in the wholeness of their identity. Stated rather crudely by a queer cis-gendered woman, “ADEFRA? A lesbian wonderland!”ADEFRA and the women organized through ADEFRA, including lesbians, are considered by many as catalysts for the founding of the younger Black movement. Without the ADEFRA women, we would definitely not be as far along as we are today.Thanks to Audre Lorde—a lesbian cis-gendered woman herself—the first Black communities were founded, and the first research was conducted on Black history in Germany. The first books were published, and the first networks were formed. From the beginning, then, these discourses and developments were coconstructed by queer women. But is this fact well known? Most responses to the questionnaire say it is indeed known, but that “more queer perspectives are lacking. There should be a heterogeneous pool of perspectives, meaning: voices from different generations, lifestyles, and political perspectives.”On this point, a queer, cis-gendered woman comments, “No, the fact that these people are queer does not mean the same as representation. It brings awareness to the community, but there is so much more to us.”For male-identified individuals, there has been no enclave [such as the ADEFRA] thus far.For one gay, cis-gendered man, the many queer members of the founding generation are inspiring, but he wishes for more gay role models.At various points in time within the gay community, groups of men of color have attempted to establish a small enclave. Although in the Black community in the 1980s and 1990s, they held back in organizing such groups in the wake of verbal and physical aggressions. Queer-phobic currents further produced exclusions that especially affect genderqueer and trans* men and women to this day.Noah Hofmann, a heteroflexible-to-pansexual cis-gendered man, adds, “I think it definitely helped that the young Black movement has been shaped by many queer individuals, even though it has not raised awareness/sensitivity to the level it actually should have. For example, instead of ‘only’ being perceived as Black activists, Angela Davis, Audre Lorde, and Fatima El-Tayeb should also more consistently be named Black queer activists and be recognized for their queer impact and influences.”The Black community in Germany is very heterogeneous. Perhaps this is due to the short length of the Black movement's existence in Germany, or thanks to those who, in the past, continuously made an effort to emphasize equality, or at least likeness. So as, on the one hand, to counter “othering” by mainstream society—the isolating categorization of something or someone as “other” and/or “foreign”—and, on the other hand, due to a general wish—in at least one context—to not have to argue and fight.But the most various of individuals with the most various of backgrounds and perspectives do not feel they are being recognized within this context. A queer cis-gendered woman explains, “I think our community is largely influenced by the middle class, the privileged Afro-German perspective. As an African woman of color, I often feel marginalized. Sometimes I experience rejection within the community. There is a surprising amount of cultural prejudice against my perspective.”She writes further, “As a cis-gendered woman I have to be very, very careful to recognize and respect the experience of everybody else. Sometimes I feel as though my position, especially as a mother, is not seen as part of queerness.” Also, those who do not clearly identify along the gender binary, who don't perform their social gender traditionally (that is to say, they don't appear as typically “male” or “female”)—for example, polyamorous-living/loving individuals, people who do not identify according to Western categories, people with disabilities, asexuals, femmes, butches, bears, and others—are part of the Black communities and the Black queer communities, overlapping in their identities and concepts of life.Meanwhile, there have been new, and sometimes revived, subgroupings within the Black movement that are working to make their own realities, wishes, and needs visible. But such a trend needs to be desired and made possible by all parties involved. It is not just about forging space. Space must also be given.This is why queer collectives, study groups for people of color, and parent and child groups have emerged, especially over the last five to ten years. Through the connectivity and access of the Internet, celebrities such as Janet Mock and Laverne Cox are now well-known trans*-idols in Germany as well. On the Internet, the Swiss musician* Msoke is just as visible to trans*-people living in Germany as Diana Hartman is as a lesbian intersex*-woman.Similarly, it is now possible to follow Fatima El-Tayeb's research, to dance to Titica's and Le1f's music, to be delighted by Mykki Blanco's genderplay, or to order for the Black Queer Anthology from the United States and Queer Africa through online bookstores.A queer person in the Black community, a queer cis-gendered woman, describes her perceptions as follows: “In Berlin it's all right, but at the Bundestreffen, or federal meeting, it can be difficult . . . .In the community worldwide—especially in the United States, it's frightening . . . Gazi Kondo, for example, a gay, Black YouTuber fraternizes_sororizes with people who, on the one hand, think he's great because he is radical, yet actually would like to slit his throat because he is gay. It's crazy.”“It's slowly getting better, but largely thanks to individual battles, self-segregating groups, and Web 2.0. . . . Trans*-people, in particular, mostly live rather hidden in the community, which is just such a shame.” On this point, it is also easy to recognize how intercontinental connections are important and available to be experienced. Indeed, they seem to be formative experiences for queers in today's world.Even with the permeability of information currents through the Internet, it is still important to experience these visible differences locally, in our own groups. When an unspoken norm is not questioned, the images of cis-gendered, heterosexual people are not challenged and remain the only visible lifestyle. As a result, people's fears and anxieties about fully revealing their identity, along with the sense that they and their realities and concerns are not represented—indeed, nonexistent—these will also persist.In that regard, it is worth noting that a gay cis-gendered man has, in the last few years, endeavored to establish a gay network, based in the wish to connect, exchange views, and meet up with more African men who have sex with men. He reports a sense of acceptance and joy, as they all stepped out of their perceived isolation and were able to enjoy pleasant times with one another.ADEFRA is still active and continues to be an important place for women in Berlin. Similarly, the Les Migras organization works tirelessly to not only provide education on queer topics but also to provide support, consults, and group meetings.There is a trend within Black communities in Germany to create awareness of intersectionality, of the existence of various domains in life where Black people are marginalized, suppressed, and experience difficulty above and beyond their Blackness, such that these experiences often remain unnamed.What does that mean for the Black community? We probably don't even need to think through all these realities of life right from the outset. It is probably impossible to think through them all. Still, I wish spaces would be created such that there might be room for everyone and everything, so that battles for visibility, recognition, and representation might not be necessary, and that spaces rather be simply palpable/digestible in the moment when it counts; that there be more consciousness and awareness that there are people present who experience discrimination through the same structures (power and suppression); that there are people who have experiences other than mine; and, lastly, that the ostensible norm that “the World”™ presupposes does not seamlessly correspond with the realities and life truths of us all.I wish for more listening, coexistence, and openness to arguing and accompanying one another.Words such as gay, lesbian, or bisexual don't just describe object orientation through the choice of sexual and/or romantic partners (male and female alike); a word such as trans* doesn't just describe not only a specific form of physical/spiritual gender identity. Summarized in the term queerness is an understanding of identity that goes above and beyond today's norm of binary sexuality and heterosexuality.Queer, just like lesbian, gay, bisexual, or trans*, is a self-designation of recent times, established at the end of the 1960s as a result of the Stonewall riots around the Stonewall Inn in New York, during which Black trans* women and queer people of color played a significant role. At that same time, queerness has manifested itself as an identity construct, which encompasses more than a preferred sexual partner (male and female) or gender identity.Queerness understands the dominant social norms of two genders, heterosexuality, and monogamy as compulsory constructs. It challenges and contrasts this with a vision of a world in which people may live peacefully, equally, and fairly with their various different types of gender identity, sexual identity, and relationship forms. (To compare: my Black activism understands the dominant social norms of being white, of racialization and capitalism/colonialism as compulsory constructs, questions them, and contrasts it with a vision of a world in which all humans could live various models of societal and economic life peacefully, equally, and justly.)The thought that gay and lesbian people are not people who need to be treated as mentally ill perverts who must either be punished or “be healed” is relatively new in the Western world—even in the so-called advanced circles, which are not yet fifty years old. Trans* and intersex* people continue to fight for recognition as equal and nonpathologized humans. The end of the legal persecution of homosexual men, the statutory establishment of legal options for voluntary sex change (as opposed to the forced castration of trans* people in the past), the expansion of antidiscrimination laws, the registration of same-sex life partnerships—all these things are developments that have occurred in the last century against the fierce resistance of conservatives, churches, and their constituents. Antiqueer movements are however currently on the rise: the Tea Party in the United States, the antihomosexual politics of the [Vladimir] Putin dictatorship, and “concerned citizens” in Germany.On the other hand, these standards, which have only recently been achieved (and are already yet again under threat), standards of a Western approach to the equality of gays and lesbians (where trans* and intersex* people are treated as step children) and the right of bodily integrity as an inalienable mandate, are being exported into the whole of the non-Western parts of the world, the so-called global South, the (former) colonies. For example, the basic prerequisites for the distribution of “foreign development aid” is to be in compliance with the current Western norms regarding the treatment of and dealings with LGBTIQ* people.What is often neglected in this context is that non-Western colonized societies and cultures were acquainted with the most diverse ways of including same-gender-loving people as well as countergendered or other-gendered-living people, before colonialism knew about these things—and sometimes they still know them. Just as their quite culturally diverse definitions of sexuality are being ignored. This Western/white ignorance is a factor that is to a large extent concealed, but it is nevertheless an important factor when the attainment of human rights for people with nonstandard gender identity and/or sexualities is at stake.And this is where Black activists* and especially queer Black activists* from Germany, Europe, and the West are called upon to scrutinize queerness as a Western concept based on their own experiences and struggles and to build a bridge of solidarity to Black people worldwide—and right in the middle of Germany, as well, to people whose life realities are shaped by other concepts of same-gender love and/or countergender life.