Transcriber: Felipe Hernanz Reviewer: Denise RQ
Beyond the problematic name,
the rules for Smear the Queer were strange ones.
Me and my friends used to stand around in this bllod-thirsty circle,
someone would toss the football into the air,
and the "queer" is the one that tried to catch the ball
and pick it up off the ground,
and now, without getting tackled or smeared, score.
Look at this angelic face.
I, nor my friends, had any understanding
of what the term "queer" meant,
but we knew that we did not want to be the queer.
But as an adult, when I take a step back
and closely analyze the actual game,
the queer is actually the most courageous one.
So we all should've wanted to be "the queer."
Yet, we raise young boys to wear a mask of toughness in order to be a man,
and we rob them of their childhood and their innocence.
Sport is one of the many vehicles that parents choose
to help their kids put on this mask.
As little boys, we learned that being labeled tough
grant you a certain type of social capital;
being thought of as weak or queer is suicidal,
both athletically and socially.
For all of the rules that I was taught about the game of "Smear the Queer,"
and the rules for how to be a man,
I was never taught how to be myself and how to love myself.
I didn't start my journey towards self-love and self-acceptance
until I broke these rules and took off what I call "the mask of masculinity."
During my time in the NFL, I played
with some of the greatest players of all time,
including a gentleman named Champ Bailey.
Beyond Champ being a future Hall of Famer,
he was also a wonderful teammate.
Champ made it his business to coach us younger players.
I remember sitting in a room and having Champ say
some of the defensive backs had an extra step coming out of our backpedal;
and for you non-NFL fans, defensive backs must run backwards
and then, with as few steps as possible, transition and run forwards.
Someone, maybe Champ, used the term "wasted motion."
The extra step transitioning from backwards to forwards is wasted motion.
But while the other guys were watching their film, becoming better players,
I was focused on myself, and I was thinking,
"Wow, I'm standing gay, I'm walking gay,
I'm running gay, would you just stop being so gay?"
That was wasted motion.
Most of my life, in fact, was wasted motion.
In 2012, when I came out publicly,
I was asked one question over and over again,
"When did you know that you were gay?"
But the question I was never asked,
and maybe, it's even the more important question,
"When did I know that it was unnaceptable to be thought of or to be gay?"
During my sophomore year in high school, when this photo was taken,
I knew at that moment that I had an atraction to other boys.
I also instinctively knew I could not, under any circumstance,
reveal, be labeled as, or have any proximal association
with anyone who was out as gay, or even perceived to be a queer,
because any association would force me to face who I was
and simultaniously, face a society that hated people like me.
Though I could not verbalize this,
deep down I understood, with great clarity,
that I was hiding one of the ugliest and potentially most dangerous secrets.
See, I was not just different, I was gay,
I would be giving up so much power by being gay,
and I'd be violating the very essence
of what I was taught that being a man was.
When you're openly gay, you create a fear in others,
because they believe that you have the power and the potential
to get other boys to be gay too.
So by identifying as an LGBT person,
my existence would threaten the very social order.
Growing up, I understood I must wear this mask of masculinity
every hour, every minute, every second of every day,
and that included taking photographs worrying about my pose,
whether or not I looked as masculine as the guys around me,
and that also meant that I worried about things like my clothing choices.
I would wear a 36 size jeans when I was really a 28,
or a triple-X T-shirt when I was really a "shmedium."
And "shmedium", you all know, means that you're kind of in between sizes,
but I think that my uncle said it best when he said,
"Boy, you just haven't grown into that big old head yet."
But one of the consequences of always wearing this mask
is that you must remain hyper-vigilant to everything around you,
constantly scanning and surveying everyone and everything
in hopes that your performance is rewarded
with a smile, a head-nod, maybe with a Cam Newton dab,
or something that looked like approval.
But for me, wearing this mask of masculinity, it was never ending.
I also knew that one of the rules
was that I must verbally, and with great rage,
name, question, and call out other boys
whose masculinity did not fit into the norm,
and that included calling other kids a faggot.
I used the word "faggot" as a weapon
to enact violence on other kids whenever I could;
and though these kids must have thought that I hated them,
the truth is I wanted to be one of these openly gay kids,
but my struggle with internalized homophobia, self-hatred, and shame
prevented me from embracing them and seeing their real courage.
I also understood that the words "faggot" and "queer"
weren't just used for kids who were actually gay,
but anyone whose gender performance
did not fit into the norm and made others uncomfortable.
So I created as much distance as possible to not be labeled as a fag,
and that meant also that I had to be mindful of rumors,
because one rumor could cause me to lose all of this "imagined safety"
that my many years of well-coreografed and well-performed masculinity'd given me.
Though I spent an enormous amount of time and energy
trying to keep on this mask,
sometimes, that damn mask just wouldn't stay on.
We all know who this is,
and I am the biggest Whitney Houston fan of all time.
In 1993, the Bodyguard album had litellary taken over the entire world.
I was playing this album, I was at home, all alone,
I had my favorite song going, "Queen of the Night,"
and I was spinning around, singing this song
because my voice perfectly matches Whitney Houston.
(Laughter)
I was singing, "I got the stuff that you want, I got the thing that you need,
I got more than enough"
- Told you it matched it perfectly -
(Laughter)
but as I was spinning around, singing this song,
and after I've played it about three or four times in a row
- I'll be honest, about 9 or 10 times I've played this song in a row -
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there it was.
It was masculinity, looking me right in the face,
reminding me that boys don't sing Whitney Houston,
that boys don't act like that,
and demanding that I put the mask back on,
and I remembered that masculinity represented something,
and that something,
just like the performance of masculinity was ever evolving.
Sometimes, masculinity represented acceptance,
sometimes, it represented respect,
sometimes, it represented safety,
and sometimes, it represented power.
But the performance of masculinity never ever meant freedom.
It meant that everyone, including me, would never get to know who I really was.
It also meant that I was practicing a form of self-exploitation
in an attempt to achieve something that wasn't even real.
That wasn't even real.
Over the next 10 to 20 years,
even though I struggled to take off this mask,
I had come out to some family and some friends,
I had a job, I had a partner,
all the dressings that looked like wellness,
I still struggle to take off this mask.
Then I got lucky.
I was fortunate enough to get a job at an LGBTU serving organization
called the Hetrick-Martin Institute,
It was there that I met some of the most gifted young people
who saw themselves as "at promise" not "at risk."
These "at promise" young people showed me how to take off this mask,
these young people didn't waste any energy reenacting scenes or reading from scripts
that weren't written by them and for them.
These young people didn't waste any time worrying about disapproving stares,
and they taught me how to love myself.
They hugged me with everything that they had,
as they offered me the type of compassion that I had yet to offer myself,
and they showed me what real power was,
as they erased the fear that had imprisoned me
and how they gained a type of freedom.
Immediately, I wanted to take off my mask.
That's me there in drag, without my masculitnity mask on,
because I understood, at this moment,
that all types of masculinities and identities deserved to be respected
and honored, free from shame.
No longer did I need the swagger of a Jay Z to protect me against a world
that may only see me as black and gay,
or the bravado of a Deion Sanders
to pretend to have confidence when I was truly dying inside,
or the comedic talents of an Eddie Murphy
to deflect attention away from myself.
I was ready to be free.
So now, when I see NFL star, Odell Beckham Jr. dance
with the freedom of a young child, I get my boogie on too,
or when I see NBA star Russell Westbrook push and create new boundaries
with his clothing choices,
I find out where he shops.
When I see Willow and Jaden Smith
crush the head of normative boundaries created for them
I pause, and I want to cry,
because I know we're all being educated
about how there is no one way to be a man or a woman,
or to be masculine, or feminine.
I know that we're all getting a glimpse of what freedom,
real freedom, really looks like.
So what is the cost of always wearing a mask?
What's the cost of never being yourself?
The cost is never truly loving yourself,
and never allowing anyone else to love all of you.
So we must do the work to understand what masks that we wear,
and get the tools to take off those masks,
and when we must help others get the tools to take off their masks,
and then I employ you to push the conversation even further,
to find the connection between toxic masculinity and misoginy,
and understand how the rule of homophobia is really sexism.
Then we must push it even further to understand
that until women are free, men can never be free.
(Cheers) (Applause)
Then we must do the work to start loving ourselves,
we must develop new and sustainable practices
to give and show ourselves love every day; every day.
Then we must meet some people like this,
some people who allow you to show up in the world as yourself,
and someone who will give you love regardless of your gender performance.
These types of individuals allow us to be free,
because everything else, everything else, is just wasted motion.
(Applause)