When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer late last year, Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin joined the 280,000 Black men annually identified with the disease. It’s so common, studies show, that 1 in 6 Black men will develop it during their lifetime.
On November 12, 2017, at 6:49 pm, I received a text that read: “Antron has transitioned.”
The official cause of death was cancer, but HIV was the cause. I’ve never written that publicly before, although it’s true. Antron-Reshaud Olukayode was a poet, artist, and community activist, but more importantly, he was my friend.
2017 was an important year for me as a creative. In retrospect, it’s hard to wrap my head around just how much work I was able to curate. I produced podcasts and multiple live events, shot countless photoshoots, produced a music video, co-curated an art display at the National Center for Civil and Human Rights, and even won an award.
The sexual currency and experiences associated with Black men are rarely discussed at length or with nuance. While that lack of nuance does not absolve men of their privilege, the topic does require perspective and compassion. Let us examine how the objectification of Black male bodies shows up not only in porn but also in history and our romantic experiences.
The objectification of Black men is not a recent phenomenon but extends back to chattel slavery. In a popular YouTube video, anti-racism educator Jane Elliot injects her blue eye/brown eye experiment onto a predominantly white college campus. By doing so, Elliott triggers a young white female student who temporarily derails the experiment by abruptly exiting.
“You just exercised freedom that none of these people of color have. When these people of color get tired of racism, they just can’t walk out, because there is no place in this country where they aren’t going to be exposed to racism. They can’t even stay in their homes and not be exposed to racism if they turn on the television,” said Elliott.
