Nou la e nou fye
There’s never been a time that I can remember that I wasn’t proud to be Haitian. And why wouldn’t I be? We are the first Black republic, we came together as different tribes and people and sent the French packing. Our music is DOPE. Our food is DOPE.
We’re resilient as fuck. As a friend of mine likes to say, “Haitians have sauce.” We always have and always will.
Try as they might, the western world has never been able to snuff out the flame within us. I know that this is the power and strength that flows through my veins and makes me who I am. I wave the banner high and I will until I die.
That being said as a Queer person that pride gets complicated. Because not all my people fuck with me like I fuck with us.
The image at the beginning of this says “nou la e nou fyè” Which translates to we’re here and we’re proud. Cause whether some folks like it or not, LGBTQ+ folks have always been part of the Haitian story.
Ain’t nothing new under the sun. We’re just using new language for old shit. And though many of us are considered the oddities or dirty little secrets of our homes, churches and extended families, it doesn’t change that we’re here, we’re Queer and we’re Haitian AF.
Pride month started this week and a Haitian blogger @shirleydor_ tweeted “It’s #Pride month and none of the Haitian platforms are talking about”
It was reposted by @haitianswhoblog tonight and as I read the comments below the post I was hit not by the folks who were talking out of their ass being ignorant, but at the folks who were content to stay on the sidelines.
“it’s a preference…as long as they don’t bash and stay neutral.”
“it’s just not an Haitian thing… “
“We ain’t ready for all that mess.”
When the reality is that even in our diasporic homelands 40% — 60% of homeless youth are LGBTQ and Queer youth who grow up in church are more likely to be suicidal, that mindset cannot stand.
Church and Family are the cornerstones of our communities. These stats should grieve us but also lead us to question if our Queer Haitian siblings are hurting and dying in America and Canada, how many more back home? How can we talk about justice and pride but not honour and protect our own?
I am more than aware of the complexities and power dynamics that come with me saying this from the safety and the privilege of my home here in Canada.
But I also know that as I have processed my own journey in gender and sexuality, it has only been in the last few years that I have had the space, freedom and ability to see the Queer parts of me that were always there.
My therapist asked me today what I thought delayed my unveiling and I can’t separate the fact that I grew up in a proud Haitian home from that answer.
I remember growing up hearing gran moun whisper about so and so’s son or question why cousin so and so never had a girlfriend. The implication, subtle as it may have been, was always there.
I remember “Masisi” was used as an insult amongst kids and grown-ups alike.
There was nothing to be proud of in being “gay”. It might be tolerated, but it wouldn’t be celebrated. There was a way to be a “man” and a “woman”, even in my oft feminist and matriarchal home. I was in many ways always aware of how I didn’t live up to that standard.
A few years ago a good friend of mine came out as gay and when Haitian auntie that I had known all my life heard about it she proclaimed “His poor parents, I can’t think of anything worse happening to a child.”
I remember thinking… “ANYTHING! NAME ANYTHING! DEATH?! CANCER?! Shit, the list is straight-up endless.”
Remembering this today, I have so much grace for my younger self who had no conscious clue who she was. Between Jesus, family, and the pressures of being the oldest in a single-parent immigrant home, there was no room for self-exploration, questioning, flourishing, or self-actualisation.
I have come to peace with that. It is what it is and I don’t begrudge it at all.
That was then and this is now and though I don’t think it’s a secret, I also haven’t been shouting it from the rooftops. Maybe because coming out is a very western thing and doesn’t fit easily in my reality like so many other POC, immigrants, and diasporic folks. Maybe because I still feel the weight of having to make my mother proud, of being a “good Haitian girl”, of not “bringing shame” to my family that has fought so hard to give us a better future.
Maybe, maybe maybe.
But what I do know is that seeing others who look, sound, and breathe like you stand tall and live their truth always gives hope. And maybe me shouting my shit, though not necessary, will save a life.
Maybe another “good Haitian girl” will realise that it’s okay that she’s gay gay. Maybe somebody’s son will have the strength to hold out for another day, cause loves, it doesn’t have to be a tragic tale. It doesn’t have to be a curse.
I would never trade my Haitianness for anything. Same goes for my Queerness. It is who I am. Haitian AND Queer. And in those intersections, there is such power, history, joy, loss, and strength. What a heritage to carry. What a cloud of witnesses that I have the privilege of standing with.
So whether you’re Masisi, Madivin, Monkonpè, Makomè, or Mix, we’re here and we’re proud. Proud to be Haitian, Proud to love who we love, #Proud to be exactly who we want to be.
Fanmi mwen, kenbe fò. We gon’ be alright.
