Happy Birthday Christine

 

"Help yourself to food and welcome, and then afterward, when you have tasted dinner, we shall ask you who among men you are."

--The Odyssey of Homer

 

It has been two years since January 2001 when I was kicked – or shoved – from the mountain of complacency and told to fly.  Neither I nor the perpetrator of the shove knew what was ahead for us.  In June of that year I lost my uncle, in August our community lost Ruth Waters, and it was then I realized FemmeNoir’s purpose.  In August 2001, FemmeNoir was officially launched.  I began drafting plans, I had ideas, and diligently set out to put those plans and ideas in motion with both the passion and naivety of a child until I was abruptly halted with the news of another tragedy. 

 

September 11, 2001 was Christine’s birthday and the day tragedy, fear and heartache befell a nation who, sans historical accounts of the Civil War or the bombing of Pearl Harbor, knew nothing of the impact or the scars of war on its soil -- the supposed land of the free, home of the brave.  Christine and I could not celebrate her birthday.  Instead, we spent the day watching news accounts of the planes, the victims, the families, and the devastation.  Happy Birthday Christine.  Neither one of us knew this would be her last birthday. 

 

The tragedy of what is now termed “9/11” became a precursor to what was to come for the two of us.  A little more than two months later, I answered my phone and heard the stillness in her voice as she said “it’s cancerous.”  The biopsy proved cancerous and all I could hear in the stillness were the words she spoke weeks earlier and my response to her words “these things on my neck won’t let me sleep.”  I responded “what things Christine, tumors?”  I don't know why I said those words, but with anger in her voice, she quickly got off the phone with me only to call me later to talk about her dreams, her goals, and how beautiful the night sky looked from where she was.  The stillness in her voice and the silence between us that day spoke volumes and, contained within that silence was a prayer and the acknowledgement – tomorrow’s future no longer mattered and the past no longer counted, all we had was each day. 

 

The passionate fires I once flamed for FemmeNoir, slowly dimmed allowing me to use whatever precious fire and/or life force I possessed to be given, without limitation, for Christine’s sake.  This is a very dangerous bridge to walk, but I did it in spite of not feeling like a whole person most of the time.  I did it because somewhere within I recognized the power in nonverbal communication that always existed between the two of us; a communication I neither fully realized nor understood until long after her death.  I now realize she was the one who called me back to her bedside that night. 

 

After being pushed from the cliff and told to fly, I decided instead to perch myself upon every hanging cliff, inside every cave or crevice, and rebelled stating “I will not fly and I shall not fly without her.”  I watched every bird, every beetle, and every bug fly by me and still I refused until one day I heard a most profound voice.  It was not a voice of poetic eloquence, it was not the commanding voice of God, no this voice spoke a most recognizable phrase which was “Ms. Thang Girl, Please!”  I laughed, stepped out and raised my wings and fell into the arms of the winds, in honor of her. 

 

During my flight, I realized many things about myself and realized too what she was trying to teach me all along.  I have talents, I have gifts, there is still more left for me to do and more to give.  She knew it was time for me to go.  She always knew it was time for me to go it alone.

 

One month after Christine’s passing, June Jordan also lost her battle with breast cancer.  Because of Christine and her involvement with the National Black Gay & Lesbian Leadership Forum, I was able to see June Jordan at the conference in Long Beach.  I had some limited knowledge of June Jordan prior to seeing her.  Afterwards, her infectious childlike laugh and joy of life stirred me to reacquaint myself with her work and there I found the words that have stayed with me ever since “what turns my head in the opposite of fear is someone who talks to me.”  The left out lesbian who often went unnoticed, would have walked in and walked out of that church without notice had it not been for Christine Tripp.  The many Sundays I stood outside the church trying to make conversation and found myself going nowhere fast, Christine pulled me in, welcomed me and taught me many things about “the life.”  I became a mission for her as she talked about my closet door ajar and gently, urged me out of my closet.  I thank God for sending her to me or me to her.  God must have told Christine I was on my way and she looked out for me, found me and went about doing God’s work.  Now I am out and everyone knows it and I am freer now than I have ever been.  Christine turned my head in the opposite of fear and talked to me. 

 

In a world where many are caught in the grips of xenophobia, Christine recognized the importance of hospitality.  As in Homer's Odyssey, I was the wanderer who has always been the stranger among those I visited in my journey through life.  The Greeks understood the vulnerability of travelers and knew hospitality was a great virtue.  Christine, a virtuous woman, knew the true sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was inhospitality -- she welcomed the stranger and clothed and fed me.  She not only accepted me, the stranger, she also accepted me, the strange as I was not like others she met in her journey through life.  Instead of condeming or judging me, she accepted me, unconditionally.  Additionally, Christine never let me go as I am a wanton wanderer who is wont to return to Mecca at the drop of a hat -- Christine never let me go.  That made her one of three women I have met my entire life who possessed this quality -- they know their job and they never give up until their job is done.  What a wonderful gift and how truly blessed am I.

 

Will I ever meet another person like her?  Probably not.  It takes a special person and a special skill to do what she was able to do and not everyone is capable.  Nonetheless, that no longer concerns me now.  What is most important is I am out and fear no longer occupies the space it once occupied.  Additionally, I now have a purpose which is something I did not have prior to meeting Christine.  I always sought success in things that never truly brought joy in my life.  Now, I only seek to do that which brings me joy – nothing less.  I wish now to carry on the tradition of Christine Adams Tripp by bringing to other women, through truth, honesty and unconditional acceptance, a way to turn their heads in the opposite of fear by talking to them.  Here, on these pages, I hope you find women, groups of women, or a Christine Tripp in your part of the world who will nurture you through the tough times, the fears, and the tears of acceptance, self love and self actualization. 

 

In the two years since FemmeNoir was officially launched, much has been gained and much has been lost.  In the Spring of 2001, a new magazine was launched, AfroXcentric.  By summer’s end, it too was gone.  From New York, in the Spring of 2002, Susan Webley launched Sable Magazine, a website for lesbians of color and now, with a new look and design, it is bigger and better than ever.  This year, in 2003, Nakia Chanel Roberson in Atlanta, started Swirl Magazine.  Also, in Atlanta, Shonia Brown launched Nghosi Books in 2002 and Ms. Brown has done much to promote the works of talented GLBT writers of color across this nation.  Lisa Moore, out of D.C. launched a GLBT writers’ conference in Chicago in the Summer of 2001.  I look forward to seeing more from Ms. Moore in the future.  Unfortunately, this year the National Black Lesbian and Gay Leadership Forum closed its doors after their last conference in New Orleans. 

 

Martin asked a question “How long?”  He answered “not long.”  We as GLBT people of color, queer, same gender loving, and whatever new name, old name, unique name we come up with next – because we are a creative people – have to move forward leaving a legacy behind for those who now, or will, walk across the arid dessert of despair, self-hate, and loathing.  The less we know of our history, the greater the inclination to reinvent the wheel each time we start organizations, writers’ groups, coalitions, and community outreach and repeat the mistakes of our past.  How long?  Not long, is the amount of time we all have on this earth.  How long?  Not long is the length of time I wish for a sister or brother to remain in the closet, if at all.  How long?  Not long is the length of time the Supreme Court, and state and local governments continue to deny us our rights as consensual adults.  How long?  Not long before we see films with the images and likeness of GLBT people of color.  How long?  Not long before GLBT people of color can stand with our heterosexual community, side by side, marching toward the same objective while understanding that for some, the methods used to get there will be just as varied as the people marching – but our objectives are the same.  How long?  Not long before our GLBT community and all communities in this nation are no longer afflicted with xenophobia. 

 

How long did it take me to come out of my closet?  Not long, particularly when I consider the grand scheme of things.  I am out and on my own now.  I hold no crutch and no longer do I ride with training wheels.  I was sheltered, cared for, and nurtured by a beautiful sister who did God’s work for me.  I shall continue on doing God’s work in honor of her.  It has been two years since January 2001 when I was kicked – or shoved – from the mountains of complacency into the skies of potential – I can fly now. 

 

Happy Birthday Christine and Thanks for the Shove!