Translator: Leonardo Silva Reviewer: Mile Živković
Isn't it amazing when you can finally be yourself?
When you can let all the tension relax out of your bones
and bring in 100% of yourself to the table?
Some people will never notice what this feels like
because they have the privilege of feeling it all the time,
and other people will never know what this feels like
because they've never had the space to feel it.
And I've got this wild idea
that everyone should be allowed to feel that at least once in their life.
I spent a big part of my life bringing about 60% of myself to the table,
different parts in different spaces, whatever felt acceptable at the time,
fueled fiercely by the throwaway comment that, "You can't be black and queer."
And in my 14-year-old head, I took that word as gospel,
because, you see, when I looked around me,
I couldn't see anyone visibly living in the intersection I found myself in.
And it wasn't any news that homophobic behavior
is very rife in nonwhite communities.
So, I thought that was what I had to do, choose between two parts of myself.
So, that's what I did.
I took the unwanted part and tied it in a knot,
and placed it at the base of my stomach.
You see, the thing about not being true to yourself
is that, if you do it for so long, you kind of forget that you're doing it,
and especially when on the outside everything looks alright,
everything looks OK,
but internally, that knot is banging against the base of you,
causing sickness to rise up into your chest, fear all over your bones,
panic when you think you might get found out.
This feeling becomes so overwhelming that I found myself back to square one,
having to make that choice.
But, you see, the thing is I couldn't make that choice
because I couldn't see a world
where I could live with those two things coexisting.
So, it got to the point where I didn't want to live at all.
Fast-forward to last weekend,
sitting around the table in my childhood home with my partner,
drinking a bit too much wine with my parents,
they're laughing and joking about how maybe we should buy a house together.
Soul music dances in the atmosphere, my favorite food on the stove,
a Sunday evening, a daily picture, a normal life,
something that I'd never thought I'd be able to see.
But the thing is I didn't get here by myself,
and I certainly didn't get here overnight.
I got here by being in this space
where I could bring the whole of myself to the table,
by being surrounded by people who champion me to do that
and bring everything to the forefront.
A couple of years ago, I went to a film screening,
a film by a Birmingham filmmaker, Steffan Zachiyah.
He made a film called "Through my Eyes," about black LGBT lives in Birmingham.
The film was great,
but what was even more amazing was the conversations we had afterwards.
A mother shared of the time her daughter came out to her,
how she accepted her all the same,
would love and cherish her, and allow her to be herself.
Partners laughed at jokes about how our culture interacted with our identity.
It sounds so small, but when you've grown up in a community
where all you hear of is a space that was never going to accept you,
to be in this place of hope that maybe you might be able to bring all of yourself
was amazing.
So, that was it: that night, I got on the phone,
I called the organizer and I said, "We need to do this again.
We need to create a space to talk about the things in our community
that haven't been spoken about;
to talk about the homophobic behavior that's killing our young people.
We need to talk about those things that we're afraid of,
we need to create a space where we can be whole."
And that was what we did, we had two weeks.
I thought maybe it would be about four of us having a chat over some biscuits,
but over 50 people turned up.
I remember sitting in the corner of the room, looking around,
seeing smiling faces.
We wrote letters to our 14-year-old selves.
We creatively explored what it would mean for a world
where everyone could live safely in our communities.
A father shared his journey with his daughter,
about his experience in how he'd never thought he'd be able to get it,
but in that space, he was able to do that.
And this is where UNMUTED was born,
a space for LGBT people of color,
a space for solidarity, a space for education, a space for visibility,
a space where that knot in my stomach can loosen
and I can bring everything to this space.
I hear a lot of people say,
"Well, what more is there to be said about LGBT issues?
We've had equal marriages. Then, what else is there to say?"
Well, I think we need to keep talking about it
because 76% of black and Asian LGBT men
will still experience violence from their families.
Black and Asian LGBT women are 70 times more likely to self-harm
than the general population.
And because of family breakdown, LGBT homelessness in youth
is at a record number, but we still don't have an LGBT hostel in Birmingham.
I think it's important that we create set spaces
where people can be themselves, all of themselves,
because when people feel whole, they feel more powerful,
and when people feel more powerful, they feel more valuable,
they feel more valuable to take part, and not only to take part,
but to shape and to create things in the world around them.
And isn't that what we want to see?
A city that's created by all of us, not just some of us?
And if you're a 14-year-old like me,
I just want you to know that it's possible,
it's possible to exist in this world.
And it's not only possible to exist in this world, but it's possible to live,
and not only is it possible to live, but it's possible to be part of the people
that shape and make this city, make this world.
I know it feels hard right now, but you will get stronger.
You will find peace.
You'll find a space where people love you and allow you to be 100%.
You'll find the place here, there is a place for your 100%,
and you don't have to choose.
Thank you.
(Applause) (Cheers)