Being black and lesbian in America

By Gary M. Kramer
PGN Contributor
© 2008 GAry Kramer and Philadelphia Gay News

Philadelphia-based filmmaker Tiona McClodden’s “black./womyn.: conversations with lesbians of African descent” is a fantastic documentary portrait of 49 African-American lesbians ages 18-60-plus talking, talking and talking about their experiences coming out, dealing with racism, sexism and homophobia, being activists and addressing the issue of gay marriage, among other topics. Each segment of the film represents something McClodden had to deal with over the five years she took to make “black./womyn.”

The film makes its local premiere at 4:45 p.m. July 20 at the Arts Bank as part of the 14th annual Philadelphia International Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. An encore presentation will take place at 5 p.m. July 21 at the Black Box at the Prince. McClodden is scheduled to attend both screenings.

The interviewees in “black./womyn.” are all filmed as talking heads. There are only brief snippets of performance in the film, many as “chapter” openings, and no one is identified except by their first name (and in some cases last initial). This technique allows for the subjects to express themselves without preconceived notions of class/status or label. What’s more, a lengthy sequence in the film allows each woman to self-identify, declaring themselves to be femme, stud, aggressive, butch, fish, tomboy, lipstick, dyke or queer.

On the phone from Brooklyn — where she is on location shooting another film — the 27-year-old McClodden discussed how she conceived of “black./womyn.”

“I wanted to present the women and the community in a classy way,” she said. “I wanted to provide a clear and de-sexualized [portrait]. I was trying to go against the ‘status’ thing when you present a label. I had women from my hometown of Greenville, S.C., and Cheryl Clarke, a poet/writer in New Jersey [side by side]. Do you take Cheryl more seriously because she’s famous? I needed everyone to be equal. No one is more important than anyone else.”

The “stripped-down” style — as McClodden refers to it — is effective and deliberate, but it was also a risk. She originally wanted to include dramatic scenes, and she received criticism from potential funders that suggested “nobody” cared about/would listen to what black lesbians would say.

However, “black./womyn.” proves these detractors wrong. This rousing film will resonate with any LGBT or questioning individual of any age. When one woman talks about mobilizing the queer community, it is empowering. When another describes her dream of getting married, it is inspiring. And when one interviewee says she feels oppressed every day, it is affirming.

But even McClodden was struck by some of what her subjects revealed in their interviews. “Some people are surprised by the gender role [talk] — Lybia talking about picking a side, either a stud or a femme — but the most surprising thing to me was Judi and Lisa S. discussing their discomfort with marriage. Judi, who is an aggressive femme, won’t marry [because of her religious convictions]. This shows her complexity and contradiction.”

Yet one of the best interviews the filmmaker captures is her disabled friend Helen. McClodden recalled, “It took me six years to get that interview!” The wait was worthwhile. “When she opened up about her disability, and she called out how we discriminate [against] ourselves, it was amazing.”

The filmmaker, who does not appear on camera, searched for interviewees at first through friends and friends of friends. Unfortunately, many of those women turned down the opportunity to discuss their lives and feelings for the film. She tried open calls and ads, but many of the women she met were “performative,” and not quite right. Soon she traveled to pride fests, clubs and group meetings, combing New York, Atlanta and elsewhere until she found the right participants.

“I was looking for women who would provide [unique] voices and looks,” McClodden said. ”In addressing those [elements], I wanted women speaking about themselves, unafraid to say this or identify as that. Ages were very big for me. I tried to get a good range of younger to 60-plus.

What emerges is an almost-comprehensive dialogue about queer life. While some interviewees have more to say on a given topic, McClodden includes multiple voices to emphasize or contradict the other participants. In the “gender/identity” section of the film, “black./womyn.” shows how many lesbians know, use and identify with the word “stud.” McClodden also juxtaposes Aisha, who believes the word “aggressive” has a violent connotation, and Veronica, who describes herself as more of an aggressive femme — even though she appears very soft- spoken.

The filmmaker explains her strategy as “want[ing] to get that fly-on-the-wall aspect of the conversation. But I also wanted to facilitate a conversation within the community. We don’t talk about some of these things. They are painful.”

Hopefully, “black./womyn.” will foment conversation and prompt activism. The filmmaker is adamant that there is work to be done within the entire queer community, regardless of race or gender, noting that the transgender community is currently under considerable attack.

She offered her thoughts about being oppressed: “We are dealing with racism and sexism — being women and being lesbians — [and] what that signifies and what that means to being a woman in the African-American and LGBT community. These things stacked up can provoke reactions. The disparities between our oppression and others’ [can’t be compared]. There is a lot of homophobia and violent acts — rape and murder — all over the world. What I am mostly aware of is black lesbian women because that’s the community I am in.”

McClodden launches into a discussion of the “silent secret” of sexual violence in the community and how difficult and shameful it is for some women to disclose that they are being beaten by their girlfriends. But she also feels there are many positive aspects to the community, such as the ability to mobilize in the face of a crisis. She also champions the art created by filmmakers like Michelle Parkerson or the writing of Clarke and Audre Lorde — the latter’s name is invoked many times during the interview and the course of “black./womyn.”

But does the filmmaker feel oppressed? She considers this question before answering, “I can’t say I am oppressed every day, but at one point, in college, I did feel like shit every day. I was trying to figure out where I could be accepted as an activist. It might still be the same today, but I’m not allowing it. I’m not cussing and fussing. I’m maybe trying to give people the benefit of the doubt.”

Coming from the South, where racism and sexism are high and religion drives homophobia, McClodden was raised in a religious environment until she turned 13. She came out in high school, and SAID, “When you come out, you come out forever.” Growing up in a small town, she did not have the support of community centers, and this need to create a consciousness for black lesbian women was one of the factors motivating her to make “black./womyn.”

Ironically, after making such an accomplished debut, McClodden confesses to being a self-taught filmmaker. She dropped out of college after two years of studying film because “there was a lot of homophobia and sexism there.” Finding a mentor in Larry Steele, she went to “boot camp” and learned the basics of filmmaking and videography. After freelance work and contracts to make educational documentaries, McClodden started working on music videos. But these short films were unsatisfying to her, and the filmmaker felt “stuck” in Atlanta, so she decided to move to Philadelphia to be in a “more supportive environment.”

“I enjoy that Philly has such a great art scene and I have to prove myself,” McClodden said. “I wanted to get in a place where people didn’t care what you did as long as you did the work. I don’t regret the move at all. I’ll stay here for a while.”

And while McClodden may be good at getting other women to open up about their experiences, when pressed, the filmmaker gets a bit demure. Currently single — she and her girlfriend of three years broke up a little over a month ago — the first thing she says to describe herself is “I have a lot of tattoos.” She even resists identifying labels.

“I don’t identify with anything. If I have to, because of my appearance, I am more masculine,” she said. “Some people will call me as ‘don’t know.’ I am very feminine in voice and gestures, but I wear masculine clothes. I think the [labels] are valid. I respect people who talk about themselves. But stud/femme trivializes the politics of the community. There are people who are these things, but I’m not a fan of pushing these labels, or picking a side, even as the community pushes.”

So what does being a black/womyn mean to McClodden? She responds with surprise at the question. “I can’t even answer it. It’s like, I have work to do. I have responsibility to my ancestors — beyond slavery — who are lesbians living their lives to get these stories out. It means a lot of sacrifice to me. Even to get the film knowledge. I’ve had to forsake a lot of things, friends and family. I don’t know what it means, but I hope to get closer to it everyday. It’s a good question to ask me on my deathbed. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

With “black./womyn.,” McClodden has made an illustrious start.