The Problem With the Zuckerberg Analogy for Youth of Color

Originally posted on Model View Culture

The next Mark Zuckerberg. Where is he?

Many in Silicon Valley are looking for him at coding bootcamps, Hackathons, and similar STEM programs aimed at young people, hoping to discover the wunderkind of color that will follow Zuckerberg’s path of tech royalty and represent the racial progress of an industry dominated by young white men.

As someone who believes in the possibilities of technology in uplifting our most marginalized populations, I too want to see the industry grow in ways that celebrate the brilliance of underrepresented youth. But there is something deeply pernicious about the Zuckerberg analogy that hurts more than helps when encouraging youth of color to be their greatest selves – and its not just its sexist undertones that minimize the contributions of women and girls to the coding landscape. The real problem involved in “looking” for the next Zuckerberg is the underlying assumption that once we find him, all will be right in the “diversity in tech” world… ultimately placing a large burden on youth of color to be exceptional in the face of adversity as proof of racial progress.

Promoting exceptionalism to encourage success is not new to people of color. We have historically struggled in a dominant culture that upholds a bootstrap narrative which says you can rise above structural inequalities, only if you work hard enough to do so. Those who do overcome to achieve some semblance of success are considered exceptional and as Imani Perry notes, become false symbols of “evidence that racial inequality doesn’t exist.”

While “exceptional” individuals enjoy unprecedented levels of access and privilege, their visibility does little to dismantle systemic barriers that prohibit other people of color from achieving the same. Furthermore, their presence as one of few reduces the reality of discrimination to the fault of its victims and not the result of actual racial disparities that limit the socioeconomic mobility of African Americans and Latinos. In other words, a brown Mark Zuckerberg is not going to change the fact that kids of color continue to be underrepresented in STEM — not because they aren’t brilliant enough, but because they have not been given the same amount of opportunity, access, wealth and individual room to fail, unlike the privileged Facebook founder they are told to aspire towards. Without an honest conversation of how privilege and power function in regards to race, the image of a singular white male as emblematic of tech success can foster a competitive environment amongst youth of color who already have to compete for basic educational resources that remain unequally distributed.

Essentially, it is the absence of a critique of white privilege embedded in the Zuckerberg analogy that reveals its contentious relationship with meritocracy — a concept that a tech culture concerned with rewards and perks for those that are considered more deserving than others, is no stranger to.

In writing about meritocracy in tech, Ashe Dryden argues that the consequence of an industry based on “merit” is the reproduction of oppressive hierarchies where “some of those at the top or striving to at least be above other people have been guilty of using their power for bullying, harassment, and sexist/racist/*ist language that they use against others directly and indirectly.” In such situations where power results in abuse, women of all races are the most vulnerable and can endure career threatening “punishment” when addressed, thus maintaining a heterosexist social order that benefits white masculinity and subordinates other identities.

Considering then how “meritocratic” spaces can marginalize individuals at risk, its reinforcement has multiple implications for youth of color, primarily in relation to gender and sexuality. Take for example the population of LGBT youth who make up a significant portion of the ”next Zuckerberg cohort” but whose presence in tech comes along with the fact of cyberbullying – affecting the community at almost twice the rate of their peers. Since these students already deal with the external discourses of meritocracy that dismisses their harassment as a queer rite of passage because, supposedly, “it gets better,” the celebration of white masculinity can further justify feelings of inferiority and perceptions of abnormality from their peers… unwittingly creating a new barrier of adversity that implicates all youth of color to transcend a set of social prejudices that they might not be equipped to.

Beyond promoting the idea of exceptionalism based on merit, the widely used Zuckerberg analogy marginalizes the contributions of young people of color that have already made history in STEM but receive little recognition for their efforts. For instance, Luis Roberto Ramirez is an 11 year old who studies quantum physics at Harvard; Anala Beevers was invited to join MENSA at just four years old; and Jaylen Bledsoe, who in his early teens, runs his own multimillion dollar global IT company, Bledsoe Technologies. These children are not exceptions, rather they are perfect examples of the abundance of brilliance that thrives in communities of color in spite of existing systems that attempt to destroy it or claim that it doesn’t exist. What would the tech industry look like if these types of stories were championed over that of young white men?

Even if unintended, the Zuckerberg analogy avoids the looming issue of systemic discrimination and limits paradigm-shifting conversations that can change how we discuss race and access in tech. If we continue to use it in the context of educating youth of color, we must do so in a way that also helps them to develop a critical lens with which to view social disparity. The industry needs it and the youth deserve it.

Four ways trans people are changing the gender/tech debate

Originally posted on Venture Beat

In most conversations of tech diversity, many point out the lack of women in the industry as a major problem — and rightfully so, considering that women continue to be outnumbered by their male counterparts in many sectors, especially women of color.
Unfortunately, these conversations favor cisgender women as the critical component of true gender diversity, leaving trans and gender-nonconforming people completely out of the equation.

Whether you know it or not, trans people are very present in tech and utilize the medium to insert themselves into larger discussions of gender and diversity. From making videos to making video games, here are four ways transgender people are expanding the concept of diversity in technology:

Empowering videos and hashtags
YouTube is filled with trans people of all ages, backgrounds, and geographical locations, sharing their stories of transition and have been since the birth of the site in 2005. With the advent of Twitter, trans people have a new way of connecting and thanks to author and award-winning activist Janet Mock, can do so using the Twitter hashtag #girlslikeus. Mock states that she created the hashtag for trans women that were “looking for role models, becoming role models, wanting to be heard and hoping to make a difference.”
Since it’s first use by Mock, the hashtag has been adopted by numbers of trans women across the globe as an empowering source of community building. Other hashtag creators have followed suit and have created terms such as #tgirlsrock and the controversial but nonetheless unifying, #fuckcispeople.

Personalized gaming
Not just consumers of tech, trans people are visible creators who are producing projects that showcase tech savvy and a deep-seated interest in gender justice. Indie game developer and critic Mattie Brice, for example, created Mainichi, an RPG game based on her experiences of being a trans woman. When playing Mainichi, you are offered a glimpse into the life of a trans woman as you play as Mattie, and have to address questions such as, “Is she a boy or a girl?” from strangers on the street. Brice’s work is part of a bigger community of queer gamers who present a different voice in the gender diversity debate. Many who can be heard at the upcoming Queerness and Games Conference, where Brice is one of the organizers.

Voices like Brice’s are needed in the gaming industry where trans women are subjected to harassment and discrimination just as non trans women are. The recent public misgendering of Laura Kate Dale at Eurogamer illuminates this point as she received death and rape threats after taking to Twitter to share her story — an unfortunate experience other women in tech have undergone for simply standing up.

Collective hacking
Transgender developers are also producing projects meant for real-life usability, such as TransResource.us, a web and mobile app that searches for transgender services according to zip code, and Dottify.me, a social media application for trans and gender-variant people that visually maps the community while protecting privacy. Both game changing projects were recently created at last month’s inaugural Trans*H4CK, a hackathon for transgender empowerment.

The success of Trans*H4CK demonstrated an urgency of tech based initiatives designed to better the trans community as well as exposed a previously overlooked market of trans consumers who want accessible products that speak to their lives. Trans*H4CK plans to tour nationally in 2014 starting with a stop in New York City.

Business ownership
Although many in the tech industry argue that entrepreneurship is one way to encourage economic mobility, myself included, there aren’t yet many trans-led tech based businesses or startups; but the ones that do exist are making important waves in the tech industry. Take PalominoDB for example, a database architect firm founded by trans entrepreneur Laine Campbell. Under Campbell’s leadership, PalominoDB has successfully managed the databases of a number of prestigious clients and was most recently in charge of running the front-end databases of President Obama’s reelection campaign. Campbell was also recognized as a Female Founder to Watch by Forbes Magazine.

Transgender people are making incredible waves in tech because of their presence and work that disrupts gender binaries. Bottom line: If tech diversity enthusiasts want to continue to expand the gender divide, then we have to begin to look towards the trans community as necessary investments in the broadest sense of the term. This will provide a new set of tools, skill sets, and perspectives on gender that both the tech industry and the world needs.

Orange is The New Black and its New Black Trans Narrative

Trans narratives are hot.

Across the globe, media makers are turning to the transgender community for fodder for films, photo exhibits, stage plays, magazine articles, etc. In fact, if you aren’t talking about trans people, then you are missing out on what is an incredibly powerful media moment where our lives have become the catalyst for mainstream discussions of gender, sexuality, and even race.

Riding the wave of this trans trend is the new Netflix series, Orange is The New Black. Based on the book of the same name, the show tells the story of Piper Kerman and the colorful inmates she meets during her one year sentence at a women’s prison. Written and directed by women with a majority women cast, OITNB is breaking new ground in a number of ways but is mainly doing so by ushering in a new and powerful representation of black trans identity through the character of Sophia Burset.

Although OITNB treads the line of racial stereotype, the show is redeemed by the ways in which it depicts female sexuality. For the most part, all of the women in the prison are represented as having control of their sexuality despite their reality of incarceration. Whether they are sneaking into chapels to fuck, risking solitary confinement for a mind shattering screwdriver induced orgasm, or rejecting the advances of lovestruck but dangerous cellmates, the women are consistently shown with some semblance of sexual agency. The character of Sophia is no different.

For instance, in a predictable “trans” moment from the series, Sophia is advised to offer sexual favors to a sexually abusive guard in return for him sneaking in her life saving hormones. Though she briefly considers the exchange in a well written moment of desperation that toys with audience expectations, Sophia ultimately rejects the offer to seek out alternative means of trans survival. This powerful plot twist is extremely notable in a climate that assumes that trans women of color are innately prone to sex work as the only avenue of survival.

Sophia’s choice to rely on strategy and intellect instead of her body to get what she needs, is not the limit of her sexual agency. As a trans woman who is married to a cisgender woman, the portrayal of their relationship explodes overarching myths that have positioned trans women of color as sexually undesirable outside of pornographic imagery. At the same time, their union also calls attention to the nuances of marriage equality in relation to trans individuals who are victims of the prison industrial complex–an issue that has yet to gain traction in the marriage equality debate.

Perhaps the most compelling act that the presence of Sophia’s wife performs, is a challenge to the widespread notion that black people are more homophobic and transphobic than any other racial group. While we know this isn’t true, it is unfortunately rare to see mainstream images of black queerness based on acceptance and tolerance. Even the black inmates housed with Sophia, fully recognize and respect her as a woman and are shown supporting her hair salon or voting for her to become block president. This might seem as a minor plot point to some but to witness black cis women and trans women support one another is indeed a radical representation of the possibilities of black solidarity. And it is amazing.

Carrying the burden of representation as being the first show to include a black transgender actor as a cast lead does not make OITNB cutting edge. No.
What makes it work–what makes it memorable–what makes it powerful, is that, it offers an image of black trans womanhood that is complex, messy, imperfect and, above all, human. Hopefully, work by allies who are fascinated by the trans narrative, will follow suit.

Trans March 2013 Keynote Speech by DRKRZ

If we look at where we were ten years ago to where we are now, we have a lot to celebrate. In this past decade, we’ve taken on visible roles across the world showing the brilliance, complexity and humanity that is the trans community. We’ve written ourselves into books. Shot ourselves into films. And spoken ourselves into a global conversation of trans resistance and justice.
And we have done so without shame.

In these past ten years, our tenacity for equality has transformed policies that discriminate into policies that empower. Leaving us the gift of cliche, as we’ve proven that history is indeed written by the victors.

In this past decade, we’ve built a community of allies through the simple and genuine act of being our authentic selves. We have transformed their hate into love, their misunderstanding into compassion and have shown them that the ability to express gender, in all of its fullness, messiness and beauty, is the ultimate revolution.

But the most powerful representation of our progress within this time–a mere ten years–is that we’ve begun to understand the urgency of advocating for trans equality across racial lines. In true subversive form, we’ve seen trans people of color take on leadership roles locally and across the country. A gesture of equipoise to other movements that have so fiercely denied us this right. My presence on this stage, as a visible and unforgivingly black trans man, speaks volumes to this work.

But we still have far to go.
In this space of honor and tolerance of all identities that is Trans March, we take to the streets to acknowledge the battles we continue to fight and we do so with undaunted dignity.

We march to honor trans women who have the audacity to stand up against hate only to pay for it with their freedom and sometimes their lives.
We march to pay homage to our trans brothers and sisters that cannot find jobs or lost one because of who they are and not how they performed.
We march for the little girls, the little boys and the children who don’t feel like either, whose courage to live openly about who they are, have revealed the immaturity of adults, who, at their age should know better.
We march for members of our community who live without the privilege of a home. Who live without the privilege of being able to eat. Who live without the privilege of being healthy. But have the privilege of hope that our love generates for them.
We march for our lovers, friends and family members who might not understand who we are completely but have never stopped loving us fully.
We march for our transcestors who did not live to become our trans elders but whose spirit and energy serve as the fuel to keep ourselves alive during moments when it can seem the most difficult to do so.

Finally, we march for us.
For all of us in this crowd who dare to be different and do so with verve and humility.
For all of us in this crowd who fuck with ideas of masculinity, femininity, maleness, femaleness, boy, girl, man, woman, sir, madam, Mr., Mrs., and Ms.–and look incredibly sexy while doing it.
We march for all of us who wake up everyday, staring the threat of being misgendered, of being racially profiled, of being sexually harassed, of being kicked out, fired, clocked, beat, bullied, and badgered, until there is nothing left to do but march.

I’d like to end with a quote from trans pioneer Sylvia Rivera, who in an essay before her passing wrote, “Before I die, I will see our community given the respect we deserve. I’ll be damned if I’m going to my grave without having this respect [and] I want to go wherever I go with that in my soul and peacefully say I’ve finally overcome.”

As we step our anxious feet into these historical streets of San Francisco with our minds, bodies and hearts on display, let us do so knowing that although we’re not always respected by the world, we must continue to hold one another in the highest regard because it is the benevolence of our love for one another, and only love, is what will allow us all to overcome.

Thank You

On Being a Good Black Man

Last night I attended a networking event hosted by a major tech company based in San Francisco. The mixer was held at a popular downtown Oakland coffeehouse, which has become a symbol of the city’s gentrifying landscape complete with high priced items and well dressed hip patrons who willingly pay for them.

I arrived at the crowded cafe with my business partner and an employee from the host tech company who had personally reserved our tickets making sure that we would attend. While waiting to sign my name tag, I scanned the room and noticed that it was no different than most small business events that focus on technology that I’ve attended–the large cafe was filled with young, primarily white men, of a similar age and class demographic, who excitedly exchanged business cards of the newly founded startups they proudly worked for.

Caught up in sizing up the crowd, I realized that I was blocking the doorway and stepped aside to let a group of people standing behind me check in. As I moved, I felt a strong yank on my arm that turned me around to meet the face of a young Asian woman who sternly yelled, “This is a private event!” The loudness of her voice stopped the conversations around us and the room of white faces stood by–with locally sourced beer in hand–to watch a perhaps foreign to them moment of racism between two “people of color” unfold.

With the young woman still gripping my arm, I pulled my ticket out of my pocket and angrily tossed it on the registration table and walked out the door. Feeling completely embarrassed, my initial reaction was to step away from the situation but my wounded ego pushed me to prove to the woman that she was wrong about me. Before I could speak, she blamed the misrecognition of me on the “stress” associated with organizing the event. She said that she was “tired and overwhelmed” and that the daily activities of checking name badges and packaging gift-bags were the reasons why she made such a “big mistake.” I said there was no excuse for her racism. I told her that she stopped me because I was not like the young white men in the room that wore flannel shirts, had scruffy beards and donned dark rimmed glasses. I said that she was wrong to treat me as if I was going to rob the place and that she humiliated me in front of my colleagues. She tried to intervene but I wouldn’t let her speak. All that I could say was: “I am a Dr. I am a business owner. I am not like the other black men you see around here. I belong here. You are wrong. I belong here.”

Three years ago I was invited to present my work to a community of scholars in San Antonio, TX. I had just begun to physically pass as male and had a brand new license with my correct gender marker on hand to prove it to airport security. Before boarding the plane I showed my anxiety of traveling to a “red state” with a sarcastic tweet that mentioned Texas better not mess with me–an arguably witty retort to the popular “Don’t Mess With Texas” slogan. I planned to stay at the loft of a colleague of mine who would arrive to the same space later on that night. We communicated through text about how to take a taxi from the airport to the loft and where to find the key that she had left for me under a rock.

That night I set out to explore the historic city of San Antonio and after having dinner with a friend, I returned to the loft to prepare for my presentation that was early the next morning. While I was unpacking and chatting on the phone, the downstairs neighbor, a young Latina woman, walked upstairs to the loft, took one look at me and said, “You’re not supposed to be here!” She ran back downstairs and I ran after her saying yelling, “this is my friends house. Please, don’t run away. I’m supposed to be here.”

Within minutes of returning back to the loft, I was surrounded by police officers with guns drawn yelling at me to “get the fuck down.” In complete shock, I managed to kneel as one officer pushed me down and nestled his gun in the back on my head. Another shoved his knees into my spine while shouting at me to reveal who “the fuck” I was and why was I there. Like the moment in the coffeeshop that would happen years later, all that I could say was that, “I’m a Ph.D! I’m a filmmaker! I’m a scholar! People know who I am. I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be here.”

I was searched, handcuffed and placed in the backseat of the police car where I cried like I had never heard myself cry before. With every whimper, cough, and sniffle, my body shifted and forced the handcuffs to dig deeper into my wrists and provided an excuse for the officers to threaten me with imprisonment. “Shut the fuck up!” the white officer said. “Or I’ll take you downtown and book you. Is that what the fuck you want? Haven’t you been arrested before? Don’t you know you have to shut the fuck up?”
I held my breath to stop crying and said nothing.

Eventually, contact was made with the family of my colleague who explained my presence. I was released form the handcuffs and told to “stay out of trouble” by the same white cop who had threatened to jail me for crying. As a masculine symbol of apology, he patted me on my chest that carried fresh surgical wounds, smiled and told me that I could legally return to the loft. As I made my way back, the young woman called the police softly grabbed my arm, looked directly into my eyes and said, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to protect us. I didn’t know.”

I withheld the rage I felt welling deep inside my gut that could only muster out a “fuck you.” I swallowed the humiliation that exuded from the judgmental eyes of neighbors who emerged from their homes to to watch the police catch the black criminal in their nice neighborhood. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that they were wrong–How could they not see that I am not like those other black men. How could they not see that I belonged there? I pulled my arm away and silently walked back upstairs to the loft.

We live in a world that assumes the worst of young black masculinity to the point in which it causes concerned citizens–even those of color–to act as race vigilantes who enforce preventative measures with the hopes of keeping black men from acting out our criminal nature. The absurdity of the policing of black male violence by “good racists” lies in the reality that violence itself is used and celebrated as the preferred tactic of approach. Ultimately relaying a message that black men and boys are fair game for public scrutiny–even to the extent of annihilation. The murder of Trayvon Martin and the subsequent violent posturing of his life as an acceptable defense for his death is a perfect example.

Last night while laying in bed, I reflected on how these experiences have shaped my own performance of “good racism.” In both situations, I felt that my only defense was to demoralize the behavior of my “bad” brothers by showing that I was an exception to their brutality. I wanted to prove that unlike them, I have integrity, goals, and aspirations to be good–I am good.

I’ve been a black man for less than five years and can only imagine what its like for men my age who have lived their whole lives as victims of peer led policing. I wonder if any of them have successfully found a way to prove their “goodness” without defaulting to language that reinforces the idea that some of us are worthy of the surveillance we experience.

As I dozed off and my brain began to slip into a sleep far away from the harshness of this unkind world, I thought about my chosen path of black masculinity and wondered will it forever prohibit people from acknowledging the kindness of my spirit, the generosity of my heart, my humanity and my desire to show love in all of its manifestations. I asked aloud as if the whole population of black men could hear me from my bed: will people ever see us as good?

Not wanting to deal with the reality of the answer to this question, I simply hugged my body tight and whispered softly, “I belong here. We all belong here. And we are all good.”

Why LGBT Organizations Need to Embrace Hackathons

Hackathons are all the rage.

From birthing some of the most well known startups to utilizing government data to encourage civic engagement, these time intensive marathon sessions bring together a diverse group of people (tech advantaged or not) who are interested in harnessing the power of technology to offer creative solutions to real world problems. This year alone, socially driven causes have taken the concept of the hackathon to new levels by focusing on sustainable solutions that strive to end homelessness, provide access to clean water, and offer solutions to curb domestic violence. With new social themed hackathons emerging across the world everyday, there has yet to be a cause that has shown itself to be “unhackable.”

Despite this rapidly growing use of hackathons to solve social problems, the LGBT movement hasn’t taken serious advantage of its benefits, leaving a rich source of unlimited possibility for social change untapped. With the need to advent new technologies that prioritize the queer community, it is important for LGBT advocacy organizations to stake a claim in this growing culture and embrace hackathons for several reasons:

Strengthens Tech Infrastructure
Without a doubt, LGBT advocacy organizations need the support of technology to advance their mission and extend the impact of their work. However, many lack the capacity-financially and physically-to seek out or take advantage of new technologies that can better engage constituents or streamline programmatic work.

Hosting a hackathon can leverage the specific insights and talents of community members invested in LGBT equality by generating ideas that your organization normally wouldn’t. Think of potential participants as a temporary “think tank” comprised of dedicated volunteers of the cause. It is inevitable that the amount of passion each hacker brings to the table, will produce amazing tech based projects that can help make the lives of activists and the community that we serve a little easier. Plus, the bonus of working in a collaborative environment that values the input of each team member creates a sense of collective responsibility and comfort in which the learning of new tech skills is possible.

Creates new ways to distribute LGBT data
Like the majority of non-profits, LGBT advocacy organizations rely on the production of research reports as part of their efforts to effect policy change and solicit funding. The down side of this is that much of this data circulates only within the boundaries of fellow advocacy organizations, therefore excluding the general public from accessing such important information.

A core value of hackathon culture is about bringing awareness to the values and utility of open data. Because of this, hackathons are a perfect forum to brainstorm ideas on translating research data into engaging forms that can be understood and utilized by individuals outside of the non-profit industry. Think of the potential involved in creating transparency between institutions that do the research and the community members that fill the pages of their reports.

Hackathons are fun!
Employees of LGBT organizations deal with the stresses of serving a community that consistently deals with real life trauma. This can take a heavy toll on our health and sometimes leave us feeling overwhelmed and pessimistic about the reach and impact of our work.

Throwing a hackathon can help boost the morale of employees because it provides opportunities for creative input that privileges experimentation without the worry of failure. The added benefits of meeting new people with the intention of positive collaboration, especially within a supportive environment, restores a sense of worth in ourselves and our work that many of us tend to forget about in our daily activist practices.

In short, hackathons can do a lot for LGBT advocates by moving us to think differently about the utility of technology. They also help push us beyond our usual limits of creativity and production so that we can be the innovative leaders that our movement needs.

Happy Hacking!

Dr. Ziegler is currently organizing the first hackathon for transgender advocacy, Trans*H4CK: Hacking for Transgender Empowerment. Visit transhack.org to find out more about the event and how you can support.

How Thinking Like a Social Entrpreneur Can Shift the Transgender Movement

With the high rates of unemployment, homelessness and overall poverty plaguing the transgender community, it is now important more than ever for traditional non-profits to shift their sights towards a group of change makers that are the best equipped to tackle these complex problems: social entrepreneurs.

Social entrepreneurs are impact driven change agents that develop business models, products and deliver services that address the needs of the most vulnerable world citizens. Not limited by traditional funding sources, social entrepreneurs seek out support from both the public and private sector to build their enterprises. They also rely on the financial returns of their services for long-term sustainability, making it very clear the importance of profit as being key to large scale change. In a way, social entrepreneurs are committing a form of social alchemy by taking on capitalism and transforming the way it works–and they are making it work for good.

Here are four ways that non-profits focused on transgender advocacy can utilize the core of social entrepreneurial thinking to make a lasting impact for all members of the trans community:

1. Don’t just rely on asks–Finance it yourself
Like other non-profits, transgender advocacy organizations are stuck in the constant cycle of fundraising based on the form of “asks” with the hopes of meeting their yearly budgets. While some might enjoy this somewhat masochistic form of acquiring money, it limits the amount of funds available to build capacity so that you can grow. To challenge this, non-profits must take on a broader approach to financing their organizations needs by emphasizing the social impact their work makes rather than how much money they need to make a social impact. This can be done by placing a high value on earned income as a necessary part of your organizations mission, with strategic branding, for example, serving as a powerful way to generate revenue for your organization.

A perfect example of this can be seen with the Dallas based organization, Black Transmen, Inc. A resource for black trans men in the face of the dearth of services available, Black Transmen Inc., offers fee based products such as a yearly retreat, apparel, and even a Black Trans Pageantry System, which requires an affordable entry fee for contestants, to financially sustain the organization while simultaneously promoting its mission of healthy development through transition. As a social enterprise focused on transgender advocacy, Black Transmen, Inc. challenges negative assumptions that black trans people are invisible while creating a brand that represents our community as compassionate businessmen and socially driven activists.

2. Make partnerships with organizations that might not have the same mission in order to leverage their resources
Social entrepreneurs believe that without collaboration, a true lasting impact cannot be made in the world. They realize that different sorts of people offer different sources of expertise and resources that when pooled together, can strengthen areas of business that show signs of weakness. Transgender advocacy organizations must begin to look beyond the expected partnerships with other LGBT organizations and start to form strategic partnerships in alternative sectors. This can take many forms, such as seeking out corporate partnerships for funding; forging academic partnerships with local schools/colleges that can provide access to research tools; or working with public interests groups to accelerate policy change.

It can also be the simple act of banding together with organizations focused on different avenues of social change. This could mean partnering with a reproductive justice initiative or an organization focused on racial equality. Ultimately, such partnerships shift the activist narrative to recognize the multiple issues that affect trans individuals.

3. Create programs that empower
Since the goal of transgender advocacy organizations is to eliminate all types of anti-trans discrimination, than it is important for leaders to create programs that seek to empower members of the trans community, so that they can in turn become leaders themselves. For example, the trans economic empowerment fellowship program, Who We Know, works with talented trans people of color to provide them with the necessary resources to create economic opportunity for the extended community.

Other trans organizations must follow suit and develop programs that empower trans people to take initiative within their communities. This not only improves on the work that your organization does, but it also helps to impact the trans community on a wider scale.

4. Be daring
The most important factor in engaging a social entrepreneurial mindset, is to be daring and creative when it comes to solving our most difficult problems. With the growing visibility of trans people across the globe, it is now important more than ever for advocacy organizations to take the necessary risks that can innovate our activism and move us beyond outdated charitable modes of thinking as a pathway to equality. Our movement severely needs it.

Forgiving Her

Ten years ago my mother committed murder.

She was 44 years old and living in a severely underfunded halfway house for mentally ill adults. I was 22 and like the rest of my family, unaware and completely disinterested in her whereabouts. Two decades of aggressive outbursts, hallucinations, long-term psych ward stays, court dates, and endless lists of medications we couldn’t name, wearied all of us and made it that much easier to pretend that my mother didn’t exist.

She was out of sight, out of mind, out of heart.

The resentment I held towards my mother started as a young child. A diagnosed schizophrenic, I spent most of my childhood watching her talk to people I couldn’t see, or cowering in corners hiding from monsters she believed wanted her dead. When she wasn’t sick at home, she was a patient in various hospitals across southern California, which I loathed visiting her in. Seeing her surrounded by adults who needed supervision was embarrassing and instilled a fear in me that I will end up just like her. I eventually stopped visiting.

As I matured her illness worsened. Completely naive of the subpar treatments she received as a patient, my family remained hopeful of a medical miracle. We grappled to understand why she failed to get better and found any excuse to blame her for her condition. Her sporadic use of drugs and alcohol, her failed marriage, even the fact that she was exceptionally brilliant–perhaps too brilliant–symbolized to us a weakness that could be fixed if only she had cooperated. Year after year, we thought of new excuses of why she remained ill and when there were no more to be made, we simply gave up.

Let her handle her own self, we said. 

The last time I saw my mother before her arrest was on my 18th birthday. She had stopped by the house for the usual routine of bickering with my grandmother over money for cigarettes. When she caught sight of me, she seemed genuinely happy but I wasn’t happy to see her. She looked disheveled in clothes that were too big for her small body and her face looked much older than I had remembered. After I sheepishly hugged her, she pulled a wrinkled birthday card out of the plastic bag she had always carried with her. I opened the card to a looped recording of her high-pitched voice singing the chorus from Stevie Wonder’s version of Happy Birthday–the song she always sang to me on birthdays she wasn’t hospitalized. I forced myself to say thank you as she smiled adoringly at her youngest child in my first day of adulthood. Never feeling a sense of closeness to my mother, her stare always felt like that of a stranger. As her eyes scanned my face I snapped and yelled, “stop looking at me!” Later that day, I threw the card in the trash.

I felt sorry for her.
Really, I felt sorry for me.

I learned of my mother’s crime less than one month after she was arrested. A random Google search of her name during a late night study session, revealed a police report detailing how she fatally assaulted an employee. I immediately felt an overwhelming sense of guilt that I didn’t know my heart could feel and all I could do was lay on the floor and sob. I cried for her safety as a patient of a flawed healthcare system and feared for her life in the hands of doctors who believe that rehabilitation comes in the form of a pill. I cried because her mother died just a month before, robbing my grandmother of the chance to see any possibility of her youngest child being able to heal. I cried because I thought of the family of the 56 year old woman whose life she took and if she had children, I wondered how they felt about losing their mother, too. 

I cried all night for her.

My mother was found not guilty by reason of insanity and will spend the rest of her days in a psychiatric hospital. Sometimes I think that if I had gotten over my resentment and instead learned to love all of her, including the sickness, I could have saved her. But like any situation in life, we cannot change the past and can only change our present selves. Learning this in my journey as an adult has allowed me to begin to love my mother completely.

Within African American culture, there is a history of silence and shame that prohibits frank discussions of mental illness. I share my story as a challenge to this and to encourage others to share theirs. I believe that when we do, we create a new black history–one that is built on having compassion and understanding towards those of our community that struggle with the disease so that we can all begin to heal.

Ten years ago my mother committed murder. At 32 years old, I am now ready to forgive her.

11 Trans Artists of Color You Should Know in 2013

Originally posted on Huffington Post.

Art has always been an important site of resistance and identity making for trans people of color. We’ve used the medium to share our stories, document our lives and express our humanity. Fortunately for us, we are living in a media moment that thirsts to understand the trans experience, and trans people of color are quenching it with their diverse artistic visions.

Here is a video collection of powerful trans artists of color who are bringing important visibility to the community through music, filmmaking, comedy and new media.