CNP mourns the recent and sudden passing of pioneering researcher Dr. John L. Peterson, a leading figure in early HIV research, and mentor too many in Atlanta’s Black gay and healthcare communities. CNP Executive Director Charles Stephens cites Peterson as an early influence on his decades-long career in advocacy and organizing on behalf of Black gay men dating back to his time as an undergraduate student at Georgia State University, where Peterson was a member of the Psychology department faculty.

We met at a friend's Super Bowl party over 10 years ago. I’m no real fan of the sport although I will check out the phyne players on either team. When it comes to the Super Bowl, I am only really down for a fabulous halftime show. In 2007, Prince did the honors and his royal badness did not let us down. I noticed this brother a few minutes before my friend introduced us. Within minutes, we found ourselves a little corner off the kitchen where we could focus without interruption. He was playful and blunt about his desires, and that turned me on. “I don’t like no bread,” he told me. “Just give me the meat.”

1981 was a magical year for me. Alexander Godunov and Judith Jamison performed “Spell” as guest performers at Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater’s opening night gala, Dream Girls was on Broadway, Diana Ross had a hit called I’m Coming Out, and Tom Browne had an R&B hit called “Thigh High” (Grip Your Hips and Move). I cheered as a University of Oklahoma Cheerleader in the Sun Bowl as Oklahoma beat the University of Houston 40–14. Life was good. I still believed in a world with endless possibilities. However, by the summer of 1981, I’d heard about an illness that was primarily affecting white and Black gay men in L.A., New York City, and San Francisco. The sickness, then called GRID (Gay-Related Immunity Deficiency Syndrome) was infecting and killing gay people. Many Black gay friends believed we had no worries if we did not sleep with white men. They were wrong.

A decade ago lesbian moms Juana Mendenhall, 44, and Angel Mendenhall, 41, were just writing their love story. They’d both ended long-term relationships, and Angel, a flight attendant based in Ft. Lauderdale was living her best life on the beach and getting paid to travel—motherhood and a life in Atlanta with Juana, a scientist and college professor was not on her to-do list. In fact, on their first date, Angel says she wasted no time making one thing clear to the beautiful stranger sitting across from her at a Midtown Thai restaurant: “I hope you know, I will never move to Atlanta because I will never commute again.”

It’s among the most iconic ‘80s film scenes and one that introduced many Black Americans to a long-taboo element of their history: After decades of torment, The Color Purple’s Celie (played by Whoopi Goldberg) blocks her abusive husband mid-blow with three outstretched fingers and the ominous, karma-filled phrase, “Everything you done to me, already done to you.”

Horrified, he stops cold, and Celie rides off into the sunset.

Last week a friend texted me to say that he’d just learned that Jimmie Scott passed away three years ago. Because this friend and I are collaborating on two community memory projects, news of Jimmie’s passing forged both an urgency and clarity around the significance of the work we are doing together, the work of Black queer remembrance.

During a time when social media and digital apps have made it easier for people to connect, many of its users report never feeling more alone. It’s a complicated dichotomy that has forced many Black gay men to make tough decisions about their future and whether it will include a romantic life partner.

Last week, Atlanta City Council member Antonio Brown announced he would enter the Mayoral race. With Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms no longer seeking re-election, the Atlanta political landscape has exploded. Council member Brown made history in 2019 by becoming the first Black LGBTQ person elected to Atlanta City Council representing District 3. Many of us wonder, will Brown make history yet again?

Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms announced last week that she would not run for reelection. As the Bottoms era comes to a close, we now grapple with its meaning. I think her legacy will be shaped in part by her willingness to grapple with and commemorate a part of our city’s past that so many of us still struggle with—the history of the Atlanta child murders.

If you spend any amount of time on social media throughout the day, your timeline has most likely been inundated with photos of smiling first-time home buyers, many of whom identify as LGBTQ+. Whether single or partnered, homeownership has become a top priority for African American millennials across the country, and Atlanta is no exception. An increase in sales fueled by the global pandemic has made the once elusive goal of owning a home a reality for many who had previously given up on this aspect of The American Dream.

It’s been 14 years since Bishop Dennis Meredith, 68, stood in the pulpit of Tabernacle Baptist Church (TBC), which he has led since 1994, and publicly disclosed that he was bisexual. On any given Sunday, the pews in this 100-year-old church formerly located on Boulevard in Atlanta’s Old Fourth Ward would be filled, and this Sunday in 2007 was no different. There had been rumblings among members of Meredith’s congregation that the charismatic pastor who was married to former First Lady Lydia Meredith for 27 years and bore three sons, was gay, or at the very least bisexual. But until the words escaped his mouth, no one expected the revered spiritual leader with everything to lose to disclose the truth about his sexuality, including Meredith himself. This moment was the culmination of a progressive shift in membership and theological approach that would spur a mass exodus for some straight and Biblically conservative members while becoming a Genesis for those who identify as LGBTQ+.

The Atlanta Police Department is asking members of Atlanta’s LGBTQ+ community to remain vigilant when using the dating app Grindr after a string of robberies have occurred since February.

Sunday, May 9 is the national observance of Mother’s Day. For people who are fortunate to still have a living mother or a mother who takes part in child-rearing, the day will be spent by pampering the woman responsible for giving life. While Mother’s Day is often a celebratory day, for many Black LGBTQ+ people, it can also be a day filled with the opposite emotion. Far too many Black LGBTQ+ people have faced rejection based upon their sexual orientation or gender identity. Those stories are real and must be acknowledged and told, if for no other reason, but to serve as a deterrent for it ever happening again.

“What happens when a Black boy puts a flower behind his ear?”

In a perfect world, free from the constraints of societal and cultural expectations, a Black queer boy would have the permission to just be. But we don’t live in a perfect world, which is why the imaginations of Keith F. Miller, Jr. and Terrance Daye, the creative forces behind the upcoming animated film “Pritty: The Animation,” have created a world that shows how life could be when Black queer boys have the freedom to love, play, and heal.

For a city known as a magnet to Blacks, gays, and serial entrepreneurs, Atlanta has a surprisingly short list of people who check off all three boxes.

Mychel “Snoop” Dillard is a high-profile exception. At 36, the Nashville transplant who u-turned from hard-scrabble youth to Vanderbilt University alumni heads a string of successful restaurants and salon spaces across Atlanta.

Now she’s setting her sights on lifting others as she climbs. Dillard recently launched a series of business courses and a four-week mentorship program she hopes can provide tips and tricks for people starting a small business or just trying to keep one afloat.

When Brandi Pinckney-Green learned that NAESM Founder Rudolph “Rudy” Carn needed help to bring his vision for a new Men’s Health and Wellness Center to fruition, her first instinct as a nurse practitioner was to ask how she could help. Despite juggling teaching duties as a nurse educator at Georgia State University and as a home health and hospice RN, the Savannah, GA native, who was born into a family of nurses, says she “saw an opportunity to be a part of something good” when she received the call nearly two years ago to bring her medical expertise to this unique healthcare facility.

I expected it to be really painful the first time I got fucked.

I was 20 years old. I had placed nothing bigger than my finger inside. Before this initiation, I enjoyed getting and giving head and frottage, but no penetration whatsoever. It was a college friend who did the honors. I was not only infatuated with him. I trusted him. I was so relaxed throughout it all that it stumped him. “You sure you haven't done this before?” I told him I really liked it and that I looked forward to getting better at it. Lighting a second post-sex Newport, he advised, “Well if you do that with someone, make sure you get yours back.”

Forget Gun Oil, Wet, or Vaseline—few substances lubricate relations between Black gay men as frequently as marijuana. Online interactions are as likely to begin with an invitation to “match”—where each party supplies a blunt to be shared—as with a greeting or compliment.

“I think smoking weed is probably the best icebreaker,” says Legend Richardson, 33, who began smoking when he was 15 and now consumes marijuana daily. “Ultimately, a 420-friendly hook-up is the best.”

Imagine having to process the life-altering news that you’ve acquired HIV. Now imagine that your new health status can be weaponized against you, setting the stage for a felony conviction with a penalty of up to ten years in prison. The premise may sound like the story arc of a screenplay, but for Georgians living with HIV, the possibility of entering the criminal justice system because of HIV-related offenses is real, even more so if you’re Black, a sex worker, or identify as LGBTQ.

For over 20 years, Tracee McDaniel has been a permanent fixture in trans activism in Atlanta. With a historic appointment by former Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed to the Atlanta Citizens Review Board—making her the first trans person to occupy a seat on the Board—McDaniels is now serving her second term on the LGBTQ Advisory Board under Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms while maintaining her role as Founder and Executive Director of Juxtaposed Center for Transformation, Incorporated—an advocacy, consulting, and social services referral organization, specifically designed to empower the trans and gender non-conforming community.