I would never claim that I was bullied I had a quite a big frame and I think people were intimated by my size. Eventually this would lead to people teasing me, but it never escalated further than that. I wasn’t convincing myself or anyone else. To start with, this facade drew people in, but long-term I couldn’t keep up the act – I didn’t like girls, football or any of the other things your average, straight teenager would. This basically involved me pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I remember thinking of ways in which I could ‘reinvent’ myself, and make myself ‘cool’. I was living a lie, and people were becoming suspicious.Įvery year, the students in our class would change, and it was a new opportunity for me to meet other pupils. My straight, black friends started to think I was ‘uncool’ – they dubbed me ‘Mr Nice Guy’ or ‘The Friendly Giant’ (nicknames insinuating weakness), because I could talk the talk (although it wasn’t genuine), but I couldn’t walk the walk. The more I rejected my true self, the more I became an outsider. As I got older I started to feel isolated, and found that I could not build social circles like my counterparts could. I also started to develop interests that could be associated with being gay (I loved Britney Spears for example) and I couldn’t share this side of my personality with my straight friends. This affected my ability to make meaningful friendships and find my niche within the gay community. I found it hard to externally live up to the ‘black man’ stereotype, while internally wanting to embrace my homosexuality. This convoluted self-identity started to have its implications. In attempt to fit in with my classmates, I would openly sing along with these songs and call things/people gay in a derogatory manner. I struggled to find relatable personas within the Caribbean culture too. Hearing the words ‘chi-chi man’ or ‘batty man’ in Jamaican reggae or hip hop songs, or hearing people use the word ‘gay’ as an insult or put-down, made me shy away from my sexuality even further. I searched for a gay role model that looked and acted similar to myself, but had no luck finding one. As a black, gay man I suffered an identity crisis. However, this mentality directly opposes the general stereotype of homosexuals, as people who embrace their femininity. Maybe this is down to a long history of mistreatment and repression maybe we feel there is a need to assert our strength and authority in a world that has constantly tried to pit us as unequal. I think that black men especially, have always felt the need to act manly, dominant and sometimes even, aggressive. Not only was I not white, I also didn’t possess the effeminate and ‘camp’ mannerisms that the men on these shows displayed, and were so loved for. Any feminine qualities I once possessed, I had been taught to hide. I had nothing in common with the gay men represented in mainstream media. Most were depicted as overtly feminine, white males and I just couldn’t relate to these personas. I remember my parents once saying that they liked ‘gay, white men’, (having seen and embraced these token comedic characters on tv) but ‘felt sick’ at the idea of a gay, black man.
What I knew of gay culture, growing up, came from homosexual characters featured in British television sitcoms. Growing up I often questioned my sexuality although I recognised and accepted my attraction to men, I knew from a young age, that there would come a time when my parents would discover I was gay, and that this would be a significant and extremely difficult moment in my life. Jamel on his experience as a gay, black manĪs a homosexual man of British-Caribbean decent, I have struggled my entire life to satisfy the expectations of the black community, while still staying true to my gay self.